A Game Like Ours: Suncastle College Book One

by Marissa J. Gramoll

  But hey, they stayed together after Lexie’s mom slept with Mick’s dad, so there must be something there. Even if it is just money.

  Shambles.

  My stomach sours as I recall her dad’s words. It’s hard to eat this lasagna. I want to eat. Each bite is a battle as it enters my mouth. I don’t taste, because I’m too worked up trying to make myself swallow.

  My hand shakes. I have to do this. Have to get better.

  I stare at the food on my plate. My body will not tolerate all the shit I’m forcing down. Just three months before season, too. Can’t have this. High carbs. High fat in the ground beef. Too many calories. Not good for me. No, I can’t have this.

  I feel so weighed down. All the things Crossfit Santa said to me in therapy. All the heaviness of being here with her parents when I still haven’t seen mine. All the tension building inside of me.

  I covertly check my phone under the table. No fucking reply.

  Thanks, Mom.

  24

  LEXIE

  I wish I knew how to help.

  Bobby’s shutting down. I see it in every moment of this dinner conversation. The best thing is to finish the meal and see if we can go to his parent’s house. Part of me wants to confront Dad and ask him what the fuck he was talking about. But I won’t do it at the table. And I certainly won’t leave Bobby alone with Mom to go talk. She can be a ruthless viper when she wants to be. He’s dealing with more than enough already.

  I feel his pain and distress as if it’s my own. Being this connected to someone is new and strange. I’ve had empathy, sure, but this is a whole new level. Bobby is often the life of the party, the entertainer, the one making everyone else at ease.

  Right now he is anything but. Even though this is basically a meet-the-parents moment. Let me do somethin’…let me be there for you. Please?

  Dad tends to exaggerate, but the word ‘shambles’ could be a hundred different bad things. Hell, it could mean anything from him destroying Dr. Anderson in a game of golf last week and keeping the teasing up through Bobby. Or it could mean the Anderson’s house burned down, leaving the ashes of their peach trees to be devoured by worms.

  Better to not assume anything until we have the facts.

  I reach out, brushing aside the long cloth that dangles from the table to hold Bobby’s hand. My eyes find his and I smile. Then I look at his plate. Fuck, he probably thinks he needs to eat all that. I’m sure he’s panicking about how it’s not on his diet.

  I wait until no one is looking, and scoop most of the lasagna onto my plate.

  His eyes find mine, a silent thank you written in those perfect blue irises. I love Meg’s lasagna, so it’s a win-win. I know it meant a lot to him that I took it off his plate. He has so much on his plate right now: coming down from a crazy semester, our new relationship, baseball coming up, whatever shambles meant. Extra lasagna is the last thing he needs to pile on top of his proverbial plate.

  We’ll figure it all out, Bobby, I promise. I wish he could read my thoughts. Tomorrow will be better, once my sister gets into town. She and Paisley will take a lot of the attention off us.

  Bobby finishes his last bite and rubs his forehead. I stuff a few bites in my mouth, but it really was too much for me.

  “We have a couple errands to run.” I stand with my plate in my hand.

  “You haven’t even eaten.” Mom scrutinizes my plate. “Sit back down and finish.”

  “I’m good, see.” I take two bites while I’m standing.

  “Alexia Marie Hawthorne, sit down and finish your dinner,” her tone is rash.

  “We’re goin’.”

  Mom raises her hands toward the ceiling with a why me? expression on her face. She dips her head down and massages her temples.

  I feel that pull at my insides, wishing things between us were better. I don’t know if they ever will be. She needed someone more “high-society” to be good enough for her. Not my tattoos and bright red hair and artist soul.

  She never really wanted me.

  Just a mistake.

  I walk around the table and give Dad a kiss on the forehead goodbye. “See ya, Daddy.”

  “I’ll be workin’ a lot while you’re here. We have dinner at Meadow Ridge tomorrow night.” He wipes his lips with a napkin, and goes for his red wine.

  “Yep, plannin’ on it.” I nod, remembering how to get to the country club where we spend every Christmas Eve.

  After we clear our plates, we get into my car, and I see Bobby’s shoulders relax. He sits a little straighter. Color returns to his cheeks, and air fills his lungs like he’s taken his first breath all evening.

  “Jesus, my mother.” I curl my hands around my stomach. “We can get a hotel if you don’t wanna stay here.”

  “It’s fine. If you’re okay?” He puts his hands on mine.

  “Yeah, I’m used to it.” I try to smile, but man I hate how Mom treats me.

  “Thanks for takin’ some of the lasagna.” He rubs my knuckles.

  I shrug. “I’ve got you.”

  We make it halfway to his parent’s house when we stop at a red light. His hand starts trembling under mine.

  “Hey now, it’s alright.”

  “Somethin’s wrong, Lex.” He let’s it all out like a gust of wind in a storm. “And I dunno what it is, and I dunno what I’m bringin’ you into, and I dunno if it’s gonna be okay or not.”

  I struggle for words to say. “Whatever it is, we are doin’ it together.” I squeeze his hands, feeling so cold beneath mine–like he’s been covered in ice.

  He’s holding his breath, and I keep driving. Please, Bobby, let me inside. Let me support you. It’s all I want.

  The porch lights illuminate Bobby’s sweet Southern home. It has a circle driveway, white pillars going from ground to roof. White shutters and gingham window treatments in each window. The house has not burned down. I just hope that means that Dad won against Dr. Anderson playing golf.

  I kill the engine and walk up to the front door with him.

  He jingles the handle but it won’t budge because it’s locked. Bobby knocks a few times, then stuffs his hands in his pockets and leans against a pillar like he can’t stand on his own.

  We wait for several minutes, and I wonder if it’s time to leave. Maybe they aren’t home.

  “Do you have your key?”

  Bobby reaches in all his pockets, frowning while he rolls his eyes. “Probably left them on your nightstand when we were changing for dinner.”

  “We can go get them and come back,” I offer.

  “If they’re home, they’ll answer.” His voice is lower than normal and he clears his throat.

  My heart aches for what he’s dealing with.

  The door slides open and his mom gasps. She’s a tall woman who is perfectly fit, with deep brown hair. A nightgown falls off one of her shoulders as she readjusts, pulling a silky bathrobe tighter around her waist.

  “Bobby.” Her arms come around his neck and I have a chance of hope that maybe everything is alright. I don’t think either of us need any more heartache right now.

  “Lexie?” She comes around me in a quick hug, pulling back before I have a chance to wrap my arms around her. Looking at Bobby, he smiles and nods.

  Is she upset? I can’t quite pick up her vibe.

  “Come on in, honey, it’s freezin’ out here.” She runs her hands down her arms against the chill. We come inside, sliding the door shut behind us. We slip off our shoes in the entryway. A pile of mail sits on their entry table with a few of the envelopes open and the contents sticking halfway out. Boxes stack up against the coat closet door, like it’s holding it shut.

  In the living room, red rooster throw pillows are stacked haphazardly in the corner of one sofa. A dozen candy bar wrappers, an open cracker box–with accompanying crumbs–and a half full glass of water collect dust on the end table. It’s not a lot of clutter, but it’s more than I’ve ever seen at their house before. It always used to be really clean
.

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee? Wine? I think we have some apple cider in the back that I can warm up. Are you stayin’? Gonna need your room? And the guest room, maybe? I didn’t make any real holiday plans, but I’m sure we can come up with somethin’.” Bobby’s mom keeps talking like she’s nervous.

  “Where you been, Mom?” Bobby’s gripping his knees for dear life while we sit on their fabric sofa with black and white plaid squares. He observes the room and gets up to fix the pillows. Then he puts the garbage off the end table in the trash. “You been sick?” There’s no masking his concern.

  She opens her lips to say something and stops it before the words come out. “How about that coffee?” She goes in the kitchen, and Bobby follows her there. Torn between where I need to be and where I am, I stop and think about what may be going on.

  I force a breath, looking around their living room, doing my best not to eavesdrop. It has everything you’d expect. Only, it’s changed too. There aren’t the family photos on the wall. The big recliner, where I often saw Dr. Anderson reading when we came over, is missing. Come to think of it, a lot of this room has changed. Are they remodeling? Where is Dr. Anderson? I force a breath as my stomach cramps with worry. Bobby’s mom is here, she’s alive, I’m sure whatever is going on will sort itself out. Right?

  One thing hasn’t changed. All the baseball trophies and posters hung on the main wall. Their pride and joy, prominently displayed. I can tell how proud of Bobby they are. Bringing myself to the mantle, I look at a bunch of old baseball photos. Bobby and Cody as kids, always together.

  My heart tightens, and I swallow the lump forming in my throat. Hopefully they won’t be in the kitchen talking too long because I really don’t need to stay here drowning in yesterday. The graveyard of my happy memories.

  25

  BOBBY

  “Why are you here with Lexie Hawthorne?” Mom’s voice is a faint whisper as she starts up water for the coffee. Dishes take over the sink. What a mess. Well, not that much of a mess, but for Mom it’s more than she’d ever tolerated when I was a kid. In all my life, there have never been dirty dishes piled up.

  “Why haven’t you returned any of my calls?” Things feel so tense. I’ve fought with Mom, sure, usually about small stuff. Not about big stuff. This feels big, and I don’t even understand why. I don’t know what the hell we are fighting about.

  My head is spinning. She hasn’t been answering my calls or texts. We show up, and she acts like nothing is wrong. Everything is wrong. Garbage overflows from the can. Sticky stuff and crumbs cover the counter.

  “I called you back.”

  “Yeah, weeks later.” I grab a rag and wipe off the counter. Leaning against it, I reminisce on all the times I leaned here talking to her as a teenager. Cody and I both begging her for a ride to GameStop for the newest video game, or bugging her while she cooked dinner, going over college applications and talking about my plans to follow Cody to play professional ball.

  I’d do anything to bring him back right now. So we could both talk to Mom about this and not just me.

  “Wanting to be with your friend is a longing that many experience after losing a loved one, Bobby.” Crossfit Santa’s words come at me, and I swallow a wave of emotion. It’s been such a long day. And I’ve got a feeling it’s gonna get much longer.

  “You can’t expect me to just call you back all the time. I have a life too, ya know.” The level of accusation in her tone makes me wince like when I got in trouble as a kid.

  “It’s just fine for you to have a life, but you cuttin’ me out of it is recent and you know it.” My teeth grind at her defensiveness. “You missed my birthday, Mom.”

  “I sent a package.” She dumps grounds into the Ninja Coffee Machine from her measuring scoop. “You still haven’t answered me.” She gives a level stare. “What is Lexie Hawthorne doin’ here, with you?”

  Heat burns at my eye sockets. If you woulda returned my calls I woulda told you…

  “I’m not blind, Bobby, and I don’t think this is a good idea,” she puts the canister of coffee grounds back in the cabinet.

  “Why? Because you’re afraid of her parents? Her dad just referred to my homelife as ‘shambles.’ Somethin’ goin’ on between y’all and the Hawthornes?” My heart rate skyrockets at the thought. Lexie and I have overcome so many obstacles, already. The last thing I need is a Stark and Lannister debate between our households, like a living version of “Game Of Thrones.”

  “Heavens, no. It’s because I’m afraid of you bein’ with her for the wrong reasons.” Her hands are on her hips, an exasperated huff working it’s way out. “I’ve seen this happen with other couples, and I will not watch you take advantage of that sweet girl because you miss Cody.”

  Shit.

  “I’m not with her ’cause I miss him.” My jaw ticks, front teeth clashing so hard I feel pain. “I’m with her because I love her. And I would have told you all that if you would have replied to my many messages. Jeez, Mom.”

  “Love her?” Mom’s face transforms into the one she always scolds me with. “How are you supposed to know that you love her? He’s been gone less than two years and you’re datin’ his survivin’ partner. Do you really think this is a good idea?” Mom’s whisper is so faint you couldn’t hope to hear it more than a foot away.

  My veins turn to ice. “How can you ask me that?” The words are harsher than they should be, but she is not going to bring up what I’ve been working so hard to forget.

  “What do you want?” her eyes meet mine.

  I want you to accept my choices. I thought you and Dad could handle that.

  “I wanna know what the hell is goin’ on.” I swallow so hard it hurts my throat.

  Her eyes flicker. She bites her lip before her gaze darts away from mine. Then she’s back with a smile plastered on her mouth, trying to hide whatever the hell that was.

  “Wait.” My heart is pounding as I connect a missing puzzle piece. As much as the house is filled with a mess, it’s not filled with any traces of Dad. The shelves in the front room didn’t have his books. The furniture in the room was rearranged to remove his favorite recliner. I turn to the wall behind the kitchen table. Their wedding picture, that has hung there forever, is gone.

  My body goes cold. No, this can’t be it. They woulda told me. If they split up, they woulda told me. Emotions fight to be recognized. I push them down.

  She’s just redecorating. That’s why there’s a mess. She’s moving shit around.

  Only looking at her, I see guilt. I have to ask her a question that hurts just to think about. With a deep breath, I force the words, knowing that she will not offer this information willingly. If she was going to, she already would have.

  “Where is Dad?”

  Color drains from her face.

  I can’t fucking breathe. “Mom?”

  The longer we stand here, the worse I feel. She’s giving me shit when there is something going on. Any shred of a healthy relationship we may have had just shattered like a baseball through a window. Every part of me wants to go get in Lexie’s car and drive away. But I have to know. I have to know about those ‘shambles’ Mr. Hawthorne mentioned.

  “Where the hell is he?” My voice is loud. She jumps. Shit. I don’t usually shout. Even when I’m mad as hell, she’s my mom and deserves respect. I hold a trembling breath in my lungs, pulling at the collar of my shirt. Lexie is at the doorway of the kitchen. Double shit.

  I hold Mom’s eyes, pleading for some sort of answer.

  “Your Dad walked out a few months ago.”

  The words register, and at first I think I heard her wrong. I must’ve heard her wrong. Only her face matches exactly what I think she said. There’s sadness there. Loss. Grief. I understand those feelings. Better than I wish I did.

  “...a few months ago.” Bile rises up the back of my throat, anger coursing through me with each heartbeat. How did I go so long without so much as a returned phone call? They were split
ting up and didn’t bother to tell their only son.

  I grip the counter in both hands to steady the spinning room. “When the hell were you gonna tell me?” My voice is too loud, I know it is, but I can’t stop it. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. My knees turn weak, refusing to hold up my body.

  “Look, Bobby, it’s not because I didn’t wanna tell you. Part of me was hopin’ he would come back.” She crosses the kitchen and stands too close, trying to pull me into a hug. I jerk my shoulder away from her and pain flares in her eyes.

  This is one of those moments I can feel is going to be important as it plays out in front of me. But I still can’t stop myself from making some terrible mistake. Like there isn’t any choice besides a mistake. No way out; all nonviable options.

  “How could you?” Is all I manage to say before I storm out of the house, passing Lexie as I go, slamming the back door.

  I go out into the yard, lighting up the beautiful landscaping and orchard. Storming into the shed, I get my baseballs and go between the many rows of peach trees. Their peach trees. The ones Mom and Dad planted together. Raised together. Just like they raised me.

  I wind up and throw. My ball slams into the wooden fence. Again. Stings reverberate through all my muscles. I throw harder and faster. The box at my feet is the ammo to my rage. I throw. Again. Again. Again.

  She didn’t tell me.

  Dad left.

  Dad left months ago, and she didn’t tell me.

  He didn’t tell me.

  Neither of them bothered to tell me.

  I must not matter to them a fucking bit.

  I stare at the last peach tree in the row. The ground beneath it. My body quakes, remembering. I wanna forget. I just wanna forget. My throat burns. Fucking tears glide down my cheeks. How could you do this to me, Cody?How could you leave me here alone?

  So much pain about what happened years ago combines with the reality of my broken family. A burden I’ve been bearing long before it had a name.