Where We Belong

by Shann McPherson

  Harley and I walk into the restaurant where the hostess greets us.

  “Reservation under Nash Harris.” Harley smiles down at the young girl, and I almost laugh out loud when she openly swoons, gaping up at him as if he’s some sort of god. But that’s just it. In a town like Graceville, where almost everyone is obsessed with high school football, I suppose Harley Shaw is a god of sorts. He’ll always be the nation’s number-one high school quarterback, always be the varsity footballer who passed over four and a half thousand yards in his senior year, the player who broke the twenty-year county record for the forty-yard dash by almost two seconds.

  He flashes me a smug grin over his shoulder as the girl squeaks something unintelligible before leading the way. I shake my head, rolling my eyes and pushing him forward, which only makes him even more proud of himself. But, much to my surprise, he stops and reaches for my hand, linking his fingers through mine as he pulls me with him, and I can’t help but blush at the feel of all eyes on us as we snake our way through the crowded restaurant, hand in hand. It’s not every day Harley Shaw is seen holding hands with a woman in public, especially not a woman like me.

  Anna and Nash are seated out on the patio overlooking the Chelmer River. Their table is illuminated by the fairy lights decorating the space, hanging overhead, and little lanterns glowing in the center of the table, and it’s beautiful, magical almost. Despite the beauty, I try so hard to mentally prepare myself for the onslaught of their sickening public affection but, when we reach the table, Harley steps aside and my brow furrows, not expecting to see Nash frowning while Anna hisses something in his ear, anger obviously radiating from her.

  “Hey.” I wave with an uncertain, tentative smile, looking between the two.

  Harley stands next to me still holding my hand, and the awkwardness in the air around us is rife.

  “Hey, guys.” Nash’s smile is tight as he flashes Anna a warning glance before standing from his seat to greet us, which is when his eyes flit down to mine and Harley’s conjoined hands. I quickly let go, instinctively stepping away from my make-believe boyfriend just as Nash wraps his arms around me, pressing a chaste kiss to my cheek. Despite his smile, the tension in his body is evident.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask quietly.

  “Nash is being a little bitch,” Anna scoffs, taking a big gulp from her glass.

  My eyes widen in shock at her words, but I try so hard to pretend as if I didn’t hear what she clearly just said, loud enough, in fact, that the table across from us heard.

  Nash stiffens, and I can see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows hard. He nods at me, pressing his lips together in the semblance of a smile, otherwise ignoring my question before moving to greet Harley. Anna hesitates a moment before standing with a smile of her own that doesn’t even come close to reflecting the somewhat menacing look in her eyes that just screams drunk. She moves around the table to give me a hug that, quite frankly, feels a little forced. And it’s at that moment I notice the light smattering of purple lining her right eye that she’s clearly tried to cover with concealer.

  “Oh my God, Anna. Your eye!” I gasp, taking a closer look, feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt. “I’m so sorry.”

  It takes her a moment to realize what I’m apologizing for but, when she does, thankfully she just shrugs it off with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It’s nothing. It was worse this morning, so hopefully it should be gone in a day or two.”

  “Still.” I shake my head. “I feel terrible.”

  “It’s fine!” She cuts me off and, despite her smile, her voice is hard and a little gruff, causing me to quickly shut my mouth.

  I take my seat, looking at Nash as he sits back down, his shoulders tight and his jaw clenched. Anna joins him, exhaling before smiling between Harley and me. She finishes what’s left of her wine, holding the empty glass in the air and beckoning the waiter. If she isn’t drunk already, she sure is on a mission to get as wasted as possible. I flash Harley a sideways glance, but he remains oblivious as he studies the menu. Something is wrong. Between Nash’s obvious tension, and Anna calling him a little bitch, could there be some sort of trouble in paradise? I can’t help but grin to myself as I look down at my own menu, my mind working overtime with thoughts I certainly shouldn’t be thinking.

  Halfway through our dinner, Anna is already onto her third glass of wine.

  I’m certainly not one to judge. I’ve been known to knock back a sixer of beer in one sitting. But, there’s just something so glaringly obvious within her normally flawless demeanor, something hinting at the fact that she isn’t drinking just to get a buzz on. She’s drinking to get drunk.

  “Anna, babe,” Nash says. “Let me top up your water.” He stands, reaching for the bottle of sparkling and leaning across to fill her glass.

  “Thanks,” Anna says with a smile, her teeth gritting together. “But I would really like another glass of wine.”

  “That will be your fourth.” Nash smiles just as tight. “And you didn’t eat lunch.”

  She looks at him, blinking once, her silence speaking volumes I’m sure she means only him to understand.

  “Remember what happened last time?” he hisses, leaning in closer.

  I quickly avert my eyes when Anna turns, her gaze flashing to mine momentarily before searching the patio for a waiter.

  “So.” I clear my throat, squaring my shoulders and pretending as if I’m not uncomfortable as all hell. I smile. “How did everything go in the city? Did you get the dress?”

  Anna doesn’t answer. I’m not sure she even heard me.

  “Yeah.” Nash nods, casting a glance at his fiancée who is no longer paying attention to anything other than the whereabouts of the waiter with the wine bottle. “We collected it from the designer’s store,” he adds before shoving a forkful of food into his mouth.

  “That’s good.” I’m unsure what else I should say. Small talk really isn’t working. I decide in that moment that I would actually rather the two of them to be sucking face than this unbearable tension they’ve got going on. I look down at my plate, no longer hungry, thinking how this night is actually worse than my ill-fated date with Tom. I glance at Harley, realizing how quiet he’s being. I’m so relieved that he showed up. There’s no way I could’ve handled this on my own, but he isn’t even talking. He’s doing little to help the situation. But when I take him in, noticing the beads of sweat collecting on his brow, the way he’s breathing a little heavier than necessary, that’s when it hits me. Oh no …

  “For you, miss?”

  I jump in my chair, turning to see the waiter refilling Anna’s glass before holding the bottle out for me.

  I shake my head, covering my glass with my hand. “Oh, um, no thanks,” I stammer, suddenly far too concerned with Harley to bother about the wine.

  “Harley?” Anna looks up, hiccupping after a mouthful of red. “Are you okay?” she asks with an unnecessary giggle.

  Nash looks up from his dinner, brows knitting together when he catches sight of his best friend across from him, shifting uncomfortably beside me. “You okay, man?”

  “Is it hot out here?” Harley asks, pulling a little at his shirt and looking around for what, I’m not sure.

  “No,” I whisper, leaning in closer. The cool night air is beautiful.

  “I’m cold.” Anna pulls her silk kimono together for effect before finishing the rest of glass number four.

  “You don’t look so well.” Nash notes from across the table.

  It’s at that moment an alien-like gurgle erupts from Harley’s gut. He shifts again as if he’s in an immense amount of pain, taking a few deep breaths. The look in his eye is one of pure panic. “Um—” He glances around, his eyes darting furtively. “W-where’s the bathroom?”

  “I think it’s inside, past the kitchen.” Nash cranes his neck, looking in through the windows, his eyes flitting once again to his best friend. “You good?”

  Shaking his head qu
ickly, Harley tosses his napkin onto his half-finished plate of crispy pork belly, clearing his throat. He wipes at his damp brow with the sleeve of his shirt, flashing me an imploring look as if he desperately needs my help. But all I can do is gape at him, at a total loss of what I can possibly do for him. Normally the whole situation would be hilarious, but not tonight. We’re at Pane E Vino, for Christ’s sake. The fanciest restaurant in the whole damn town. Everybody who’s anyone comes to this place just to be seen, and here’s Harley Shaw—the Football God of Graceville—about to crap his pants. I feel terrible. This is all my fault.

  “E-excuse me,” Harley hisses, his voice strained as he stands, clutching at his belly and turning so fast, he almost trips over his own two feet.

  “I hope he’s okay. He barely touched his dinner.” Nash points his fork at Harley’s plate of food.

  “It must have been something he ate.” I shrug casually as I watch Harley hurry through the maze of tables inside the restaurant.

  “I hope it wasn’t the wedding cake samples you made.” Anna laughs between hiccups.

  My eyes bulge at her remark, my cheeks heating. I know she’s only joking, but I try to keep an impassive face, sinking a little lower in my seat. And I realize at that very moment that there’s no maybe about it; I’m going straight to hell.

  Chapter 13

  “Shit,” Harley hisses from the passenger seat, groaning quietly to himself as he shifts from side to side.

  I keep a tight grip on the steering wheel, navigating his big truck through the dark streets of Graceville. With one eye on the road ahead, and one eye on him, I know I shouldn’t be laughing, but I honestly can’t help myself.

  “Are you okay?” I chuckle, biting back my smile as best I can.

  “No!” he groans. “And stop laughing. It’s not funny!”

  I press my lips together. He’s right. It isn’t funny, and I honestly do feel terrible. He barely made it to the bathroom in time back at the restaurant, and he was stuck in the stall for a good twenty minutes before he finally emerged long enough to tell me he needed to leave immediately.

  “Do you want me to pull over? There’s a restroom at the Wendy’s—”

  “I’m not gonna shit in a damn Wendy’s, Murph!” Harley huffs, his voice gruff and a little strained.

  “Well.” I shrug. “When ya gotta go, ya gotta go.”

  I can feel his eyes on me like daggers, and I stifle the smile threatening me yet again, choosing to stay silent. As Harley protests every slight bump in the road, keeling over in pain when his gut begins contracting once again, I keep my mouth shut. Driving as fast as I can along the winding dark back roads that lead outside of town, I silently pray that we don’t have any accidents until we make it safely to his house. And thankfully, by the time I maneuver the big F-250 into his drive, Harley has managed to keep his bowels under control. But before I even shut off the roaring engine, he pushes open his door, jumps out, and runs inside as quickly as he can while so obviously clenching his cheeks together. Left alone in the truck, I finally release the laughter I’ve been holding in, burying my face into my forearms as I continue gripping the steering wheel to keep me from breaking apart into a fit of hysterics.

  Poor Harley. He’s never going to live this one down.

  I collect my composure and contain my own laughter as I invite myself inside Harley’s house, stopping in the living room. I take a moment to look around at the place I know so well, and I can’t help but smile. Harley’s high school football jersey that was retired after his last senior game with the Graceville Bears is mounted in a big frame hanging on the wall. Beside it, a few other football memories hang proudly; the life-size banner of him that used to hang in the school corridors; a photo from his signing day with State; his Sportscene magazine cover. It’s all up there on the walls, displayed like some kind of shrine, and I wonder for a moment if it’s doing more harm than good. This is a guy who lost everything with one unfortunate tackle. I have no doubt that the memories on the walls are fond, but I can’t help wondering if perhaps he keeps them there only to remind him of everything he could’ve had, everything he lost, and at that thought my heart aches a little for Harley Shaw. I know all too well what it’s like to lose something you love.

  Harley always wanted to play football. Nothing else ever interested him. It was what he loved ever since he got his very first football for Christmas when he was still just a little kid who believed in Santa Claus. Even if it was pouring rain outside, he would be on my porch, or at Nash’s front door, jumping up and down in excitement, waiting impatiently for us to go out and toss the ball around with him. It was his one true love, but there was a sadness behind his love.

  Harley’s father had been quarterback for the Graceville Bears back in his day. But he never made it to college. When he was forced to get a real job at the steel mill after graduation because his girlfriend, Harley’s mom, fell pregnant, Mr. Shaw resented his unborn son. Throughout his childhood, Harley was constantly reminded every day that he was the reason his daddy had amounted to nothing more than a drunk. That he was the reason his momma left to marry someone new. Harley tried so hard to make his daddy proud with football, but it just made everything so much worse. His father resented him for ruining his life, and being good at football only made matters worse.

  So, one day, Harley gave up trying to please his daddy, and he spent every waking minute out of that house. He spent his days at the park, the empty lot behind the Wendy’s, the field, my front yard, the woods behind our house, anywhere he could throw the ball around and practice his passes was where you would find him, doing what he loved, what he’d always dreamed of doing. But, football wasn’t just his one true love; it was his savior, his escape, his one-way ticket out of Graceville and far away from his daddy.

  I step forward as something on the mantel catches my eye. I lean in closer to take a look at the framed photos, and one in particular instantly brings a smile to curl at my lips. Harley, Nash and I stare back from within the frame. We’re not much older than 12, maybe 13. The two boys are dressed in football jerseys brandishing their favorite team’s name and mascot, while I’m wearing a Justin Timberlake T-shirt. Nash has Harley in a headlock, both boys smiling for the camera and, for some reason, I’m holding their beloved football, with a grin so bright it emanates from the photo.

  I pick up the frame, smiling down at the picture, and my heart begins to swell in my chest. We were so young, naive. We had no idea what the future held for us, but that was okay, because we had each other. Before high school football took Harley away, our Friday nights were spent camping in my living room with Momma bringing us snacks while we hid under our sleeping bags from horror movie villains playing out on the television screen. We were just kids back then, but we’d been through so much together. Those days were hard, but I miss them. Without Nash and Harley, I know one thing’s for sure—I would never know true friendship, and I am so thankful Harley saved me from Billy Connor all those years ago.

  I hear the downstairs toilet flush, and I turn, waiting for Harley. After a few moments, he steps through from the kitchen, a sheepish look in his eyes as he wipes his damp hands on the back of his jeans.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, looking him up and down.

  His enviable glow has been snatched from him, replaced by a pale, almost gray tinge to his skin. His eyes are glassy, red-rimmed, and his skin has an unhealthy sheen to it. He does not look okay; I don’t even know why I asked.

  “I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me,” he groans, burying his face in his hands as he flops down on the old leather couch.

  I stand on the spot, looking down at him, trying not to let on how guilty I feel.

  “I barely touched dinner,” he continues with a shake of his head. “All I had today was a bowl of Cheerios, some deep-fried pickles, and those wedding cake samples.”

  I cringe at the combination, but at the mention of my tainted cake I force myself to look away, afraid he might s
ee the truth in my eyes.

  “Maybe it was the pickles,” Harley murmurs, more to himself than for my benefit.

  “You need water.” I hurry through to the kitchen, quickly busying myself and taking the opportunity to get the hell away from him to avoid giving anything away.

  “Shit. Not again!” I hear him yell from the next room. Seconds later, Harley runs past me, through the doorway that leads to the laundry, and I jump when the door to the downstairs bathroom slams shut. With a glass of water in hand, I stand awkwardly in the kitchen, wondering if I should just call an Uber and leave, but before I can do anything, my cell phone chimes from my purse, and I retrieve it to see the screen illuminated with a text message notification, and I can’t help but smile as I enter my passcode.

  Nash: Did y’all get home okay??

  Yes, we only just made it … I reply.

  The device vibrates in my hand with an almost immediate response.

  Nash: LOL. Is he okay?

  I leave the water in the kitchen and move back through to the living room, kicking off my shoes and taking a seat on the couch. I pull my feet up beneath me as I start my reply. Well, he’s currently in the bathroom for the second time since we got back to his house. You’re the med student. You tell me, Dr. Harris!

  Nash: Make sure he has plenty of water, and if he develops a fever, go straight to the hospital.

  Will do, I reply, although I know it’s just a matter of time before the effects of the laxative wear off; unless, of course, Harley becomes dehydrated. Then, I don’t know what I’ll do. If I take him to the hospital, they’ll find out he’s somehow overdosed on laxatives. Harley will know what I did. He’ll hate me. Everyone will hate me. I manage somehow to shake those thoughts from my head, focusing on the now and the fact that I have Nash’s full text attention. I swallow the guilt and the anxiety as I quickly send off a follow-up text message in an attempt to keep the conversation going. Did you and Anna get back to the hotel okay?