by Hannah Gray
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I just figured if I wanted a shot at getting drafted, I needed to smarten the fuck up.” That was a big part of it. Another was, I felt guilty. Guilty for fucking off my entire life while others don’t even have a life to live.
Rinsing his bowl in the sink, he calls over his shoulder, “I’m going to change and go get a workout in. You game?”
“Sounds good,” I say. “I’ll be ready. Where’s Trent?”
He chuckles. “Pretty sure Cam stayed with him last night. So, I say, we leave him alone. He might go caveman on us if we interrupt anything.”
“They are so fucking confusing.” I shake my head. “But you’re right; we’d better leave them alone.”
Trent and this chick have a fucking intense relationship, to put it lightly. I don’t get it. But then again, I’m in no position to judge—that’s for damn sure. And also, if Trent lets someone in, it’s because he thinks they honestly, truly, wholeheartedly deserve it. So, this girl, well, she must be pretty damn special.
I left the other part out—of why I’d decided to finally get my shit together. A few weeks ago, I had gotten mouthy with Mason in the locker room. Trent was fucking irate. And Mason didn’t speak to me for days. As embarrassing as it was, I’d gotten set off because Mason had been chasing that girl. It felt like I was losing him and Trent all at once. And knowing I would never have that again. That feeling of wanting a girl so badly that you acted crazy. Like nothing else mattered in the world besides getting her. Well, that hit me hard, thinking that they could possibly settle down with these girls and I’d be that drunk guy in the bunch. You know, the one who was fifty years old and never got married or had kids. Who just talked about how awesome he had been at college football. Getting hammered too often and bringing home girls he’d never want his mother to meet. Yeah, I really, really don’t want to be that guy. It all just unloaded on me like a ton of bricks. So, what did I do? I’d started a fight with a best friend.
It’s all good now though. A few days after it happened, I realized I was being a bitter prick. I apologized to him and Trent. I made them a kick-ass steak dinner, and it all worked out. I’m still far from perfect—that’s for damn sure. There will always be a little devil sitting on my shoulder, telling me to hurt the ones I love before they get the chance to hurt me. But I feel like I’m at least taking steps to being more accountable. I’m trying to be a better man.
“I’ll be ready in five,” I call over my shoulder as I head upstairs to grab my gym bag.
I’m so glad that we resolved our shit and didn’t drag it out. He and Trent are my best friends. They’ve always had my back, and this time, I was completely in the wrong. That I know. I acted like a dick, and I’m glad Mason is one of those guys who doesn’t hold grudges. Trent, on the other hand? That motherfucker can hold a grudge. Luckily, he loves me like a brother and forgives Mason and me easier than he does others.
As I grab my stuff from my closet, I see my Captain America costume balled up in the corner. My mind drifts back to Halloween night. Whoever that chick was who I made out with in my bed, she was something else. She also happens to be a bit of a mystery. I never did get her name.
And I can’t believe I’m even thinking of her right now. That hasn’t happened to me in so damn long. That only solidifies that it’s for the best that I don’t know her name. I don’t need to do something stupid, like go and get attached. Or worse, have her get attached to me.
I could ask around campus and find out who she was. Somehow, someone would point me in the right direction. There were enough people at that party who might know who was dressed as Captain Marvel. But that isn’t something I’m in any shape to do. I don’t allow myself to feel real feelings for females. Besides having sex with them, that is. But I know better than to think this girl would be my exception or some shit like that. In my story, there are no exceptions.
Everyone loves those stories where the guy swears that he isn’t boyfriend material. And then along comes this girl, usually one who’s portrayed as completely ordinary to the outside world, and instantly, he’s a changed man. He drops everything and is dedicated to this one chick. Shit, this story sounds like Trent’s now that I think about it. But it sure as hell isn’t mine.
I don’t want to be the villain in anyone’s story. I don’t want to hurt others by giving them false hope. I know some who are hurting and want to hurt anyone they come across. That isn’t me though. I just want to survive day to day.
I will never love another female for as long as I’m breathing because I don’t ever again want to lose someone the way I lost Abby.
fourteen
Memphis
I gaze around the cold-ass football stadium, my butt nearly frozen to the seat under it. “Why in the world did we think this was a good idea? It’s freaking cold outside. I would so rather be watching Grey’s Anatomy reruns in bed,” I whine like a five-year-old. I might sound like a baby, but I don’t care. Grey’s reruns in bed are the best. I mean, am I right, or am I right?
Ava pulls her New England Patriots beanie further down onto her head and elbows me in the side. “Would you quit your bitchin’? It’ll be fun.” She rolls her eyes. “Besides, you have seen every Grey’s Anatomy episode, like, three times.”
“Four actually,” I correct her.
Grunting, she gives an irritated look and wags her finger at me. “Point taken. That’s pathetic. Just sit there and eat your junk food and drink your hot cocoa.”
Shrugging, I roll my eyes and groan. “Fine.”
I mean, if I have to come here and watch Lane Rivers’s ass jog by me in his tight uniform and have all six foot two of him flaunted in my face, at least there’s junk food and hot chocolate. Still, I’d rather be in my bed, watching Grey’s Anatomy in my fleece PJs. Even if McDreamy has nothing on Lane Rivers. Hell, even McSteamy has nothing on Lane. That’s just the truth.
“So, are you ever going to reach out to him?” Ava breaks me from my dirty thoughts of Lane and his body.
I play dumb, blowing on my cocoa. “Who?”
She tips her head to the side and quirks an eyebrow. “You’re so annoying. You know who. It’s been weeks.”
Shaking my head, I sigh. “No, Ava. There is nothing to talk about. I told you that.”
Letting out her usual dramatic sigh, she turns to face me. “You say that now, and I get it. But, girl, you left him in the middle of the night after fooling around. How can you be so sure he wasn’t going to pursue you further? You told me you never even told him your name.”
Maintaining an unimpressed expression and tone, I quip back, “He didn’t ask me my name.”
“But he was probably going to! In the morning! When you woke up in each other’s arms.”
Dear Lord, someone just give this girl an Oscar now.
My eyes narrow at my best friend, who has watched way too many romcom movies and now just assumes everyone is meant to be together forever. “Girlfriend, you need to stop reading romance novels and watching chick flicks, like … yesterday. It isn’t like he was going to ask me to stick around for breakfast, or for my number, or to meet his parents. It’s not in the cards for us. After all, he is Lane Rivers. I wasn’t naming our future babies or thinking of what my wedding gown would look like. He’s a player. That’s just who he is.” I pause for a second. “Besides, we only made out. Big deal,” I say sarcastically.
She sticks out her bottom lip, making a pouty face. For some reason, she’s holding on to hope that there’s going to be some follow-up with our story. I hate to be the one to break her heart, but there isn’t.
She doesn’t know the real story of why I left. How I heard him as he cried for another woman. Or how his body trembled in pure agony from whatever hell was haunting him in his dreams. He looked so tortured. I feel for the guy—I really do. But the truth is, I didn’t know him enough to stick around to try to comfort him. And besides, how humiliating would that have been if I’d woken him up and he was crying
in front of a girl that he barely knew? I might not know him that well, but somehow, I don’t believe a guy like Lane Rivers would want someone to see him that vulnerable and … naked. Leaving might have seemed like an insensitive move, but I stand by my decision and still think it was for the best.
The buzz around campus is that the football team is having a really good season. So far, they haven’t lost a single game. Which I can appreciate, even with having zero knowledge about the game.
Watching the field, it hits me that the one thing I never considered when I thought about football players at NEU is that they do carry a lot of responsibility on their shoulders to perform. I’m never one to give that particular group any credit. Though in this situation, I think it’s needed.
The game’s almost over, and while I still have absolutely no idea what the different calls mean, I have to give it to the players; they certainly put on a show. It’s hard not to get sucked into it.
Annoyingly, my eyes keep involuntarily finding Lane on the field. Wearing my sunglasses, I’m hoping it will hide my wandering eyes from Ava. She isn’t the type of friend who would notice it and not call me out. Oh, hell no. Ava would chat endlessly about it, dissecting each and every detail. It would inflate the fantasy of Lane and me getting together to an unbearable size, and her brain might actually explode. I need to be discreet.
The quarterback launches the ball in the air, landing it perfectly in Lane’s hands. Making it look like it’s the easiest damn thing in the world.
Lane takes off running like a flash, making his way down the field. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone move as fast and graceful as he does. Especially at his height. With him standing at least six-two, you would think he’d be awkward on the field. It’s nothing like I’ve ever seen. The dude’s a machine.
Not long after, even with the other team’s best attempt to stop him, they fail. He dives into the end zone.
Everyone in the stadium cheers, “Touchdown.”
When he stands up, his teammates are already there, jumping into him. They’re clearly thrilled that with only seconds left on the clock, Lane has advanced their lead even more.
“Lane Rivers has been on his fucking A game lately. What a weapon,” some guy behind us yells to his friend.
“For real. A month ago, he was out at every party or drunk at The Atlantic every single night. Something’s going on with him.”
A nasally, ditzy voice comes next. “Maybe he, like, found a girl. A good girl will do that to you, you know.”
Ditz Two comes next. “Lucky bitch. I’d give my next breath just to be in his bed for one night. Let alone the girl.”
“A night? I’d settle for an hour! He’s hella sexy,” Thing One fires back.
My sunglasses have come in extra handy today. I mean, they just now hid my eye roll from Ava. I can’t believe what I’m hearing coming from these girls’ mouths. Do these chicks even suspect how pathetic they sound? To settle as someone’s booty call? No, to be thrilled by it.
Gross.
I feel Ava’s eyes watching me, basically burning a hole into my head.
Turning to face her, I ask, “What?”
Raising one eyebrow, she slowly turns her head back, facing forward, and takes a long sip of her Coke. “Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.”
Yeah, sure. She says that now, but this conversation will certainly come back up. Ugh, the thought of that literally gives me a migraine.
I’m saved by the bell, and the game is over. The crowd rustles around us, distracting Ava from a further interrogation.
Thank you, Jesus. Can I get a hallelujah?
I can call those girls pathetic all I want. But then again, it wasn’t that long ago that I was in his bed, eager for his kiss. And who’s to say if that drunk moron hadn’t crashed into his door, pulling us from our trance and making us stop kissing, I wouldn’t have hooked up with him? In that moment, I was so turned on and so lost in his lips and the feeling of just letting go that I probably would have let him take it all the way. So, why exactly am I any better than those girls?
Short answer: I’m not. Not even a little bit. And I don’t even actually think they are pathetic. That’s not it. I’m annoyed that I have to listen to them talk about a guy that I spent only a few hours with yet felt a connection to. It shouldn’t anger me, as he’s the campus fuckboy, but it does. Oh, how it does.
Lane
We’re sitting at The Atlantic after our big win. I think we’re all feeling it. This high we’re on. Even Trent. Even if he’ll never say it out loud, I’m sure he feels it. He has to. We’re 11-0, and the season has about six weeks to go. If we can just hold strong, it’ll be us at that championship.
Trent and Coach tell us all the time, “Don’t get cocky.”
We listen—for the most part. But right now, after just winning our eleventh game straight, it’d be easy to let it go to our heads.
I’ve been trying to keep myself straight. I’m certainly far from an angel though. I still throw back a few beers with the guys on nights like this. That wasn’t my problem. My problem was trying to outrun something that I couldn’t. So, instead, I’ve helped myself by working out more and pouring every single ounce of myself into football. That way, when my head hits that pillow at night, I’m so exhausted that I don’t even have time to think. So far, it seems to be working.
The nightmares are still there. I don’t know if they will ever fully stop. I think it’s my brain’s way of reminding me of my past. Even if I don’t need a nightmare to remember it.
Thanksgiving’s in a few days, and I need to go home even if it’s only for one night. My family wants me there, and it would mean the world to them.
Being back in that town though fucks with my head. When I do go home, I never go to the store or into town. Too worried I might run into someone. I’d rather be a coward instead and hide away.
My parents miss me though. I’ve only made it home a few times each year since I started college. Thank God for Trent allowing me to live with him year-round.
I know that going home will compromise how well I’ve been doing. But my family deserves to be a priority in my life. I can only hope it doesn’t cause me to spiral. As long as I’m aware of it, I should be fine. I can’t hide from my problems forever.
fifteen
Lane
Thanksgiving
I walk off of the plane and make my way up the tarmac. Flying home to Michigan for Thanksgiving is tough with football, and we have another game in just a few days. But it’s important to my mom and dad, and as much as they have done for me, I owe them this.
I’m the middle child of three boys. My younger brother, Logan, is a sophomore at Texas State, and my older brother, Landon, took over my father’s carpentry business and lives only about twenty minutes from my parents.
Landon is married with one daughter and another on the way. My mom is in absolute heaven, having grandchildren that are girls after only having boys for so long.
Walking into the airport, I find my dad grinning like a fool when he sees me.
“Get over here, you knucklehead.” He comes over and pulls me in for a hug.
At six foot two and still working out at least three times a week, my dad is basically an older version of myself.
“Hey, old man. Mom let you out of the house alone?”
He slaps me on the shoulder before releasing me. “Always full of jokes, aren’t ya?! And, yes, she did. She couldn’t come with me because she’s too busy cooking enough food to feed an army for her three sons, who have bottomless pits as stomachs.”
I rub my stomach and laugh, thinking of my mom’s cooking and how much I’ve missed it. He has a point; we can put away some food. I have no idea how my parents could afford to feed us all.
We make our way out to his truck and head toward my parents’ house, which was also my childhood home. I didn’t grow up rich or in a huge mansion, like Trent did, but we grew up in a nice house, plenty big enough for the five of
us.
Logan is like me. He wanted nothing to do with the carpentry business. As kids, we always worked with our dad in the summer and during school vacations, but we never wanted to go any further in life with it. Unlike Landon, who, like my dad, is a very skilled carpenter with incredible craftsmanship. He knew he wanted to be a carpenter at age nine.
“Your mom sure is going to be so happy to have all three of her boys at the table tonight.”
I grin. I have no doubt she will be. She’s the most doting, sweetest lady I’ve ever met. But don’t let that full you; she doesn’t take any shit from anyone. She had a way of keeping us three boys in line, hardly ever having to get my father. Hell, I think we were more scared of her than we were of our old man.
“I’m happy to be home,” I tell him, “even if it is only for one night. It’ll be nice to see everyone.”
I’m still not overly thrilled to be back in Littleton. And trust me, it’s no mistake the word little is in the town’s name. It’s certainly a small town. That means, everybody knows everyone else’s business. Which sometimes fucking sucks.
Shaking his head, he rests his hand on the steering wheel. “I wish you could stay longer. Sure would be nice to spend more time with you.”
His words make me feel bad. But my parents know that we are getting to the point in the season where I can’t afford to have days off. It just doesn’t work that way. Especially if I want to be noticed by the NFL. And I do want that. I want it so fucking bad.
“I know. Me too, old man. Me too. But next week’s game is crucial. I need to be at one hundred percent. Actually, the entire team needs to be running at one hundred percent.” I lightly swat his shoulder. “Believe me, I feel awful about leaving so soon. I’d stay if I could. Really. It’s just hard right now while we’re in such a pivotal part of the season, which could affect my future in football. NFL scouts will be watching. I can’t screw it up now.”