by Sierra Hill
This Thanksgiving, however, would be decidedly different, to say-the-least. Divorced parents, a mom who is dating our neighbor, and three college students reconvening in the house seem to up the weirdness quotient exponentially.
But I am more than thrilled to be back in the same house with my siblings – especially Kady. I’ve missed her so much. I’ve missed her annoying habits, which include leaving make-up and gobs of toothpaste on the bathroom counters, but also her light and bubbly personality. She’s always happy – carefree and effervescent. Kady has this light about her that illuminates everyone and everything around her. When I am down, she lifts me up. And I’m in much need of that right now.
It’s Friday evening, the house smells like baked goods and cinnamon sticks, and the music in the background is full of holiday cheer. But I am not cheerful, because I haven’t heard from Van yet. The last time we spoke was on Wednesday evening, right before I flew back to Phoenix. He said he would give me a call on Thursday. I was well aware he was going to have his “talk” with Lyndsay and he promised he would call and update me.
That may seem odd to others to know he was going to tell me about the intimate conversation he had with his girlfriend, but I was his new sounding board. He’d already told me all about the reason he was ejected from the game last week and the subsequent phone calls with her. I also know that he was seriously worried. I can’t say that I blame him. From what he told me, there is a serious chance that she might break up with him.
What a horrible thing to happen over the holidays.
Sadly, I don’t know how I should feel about that. My emotions are all over the board on the topic.
Obviously, as Van’s friend – the only one he claims he can talk to about these matters – I want to hate Lyndsay with all my guts. How can she do this to such a nice guy? I realize there’s always two sides to every coin – just look at my parent’s break-up for example. While my brother likes to pin all the blame on my dad for leaving my mom and the family, my mom has confided to me a little that she was also at fault. She said over the years she’d lost herself a little more with every passing year, until she realized she was just a shell of a woman. And who can love someone who doesn’t even love themselves? Her words, not mine.
Van shared with me that the distance had a major impact on them both. When at first it made their relationship stronger, over time he said it just weakened the areas that had started to decay and crumble. The weeks and months that went by without visits, along with their crazy schedules during the season, had put a strain on things. Their weekend visits became stilted and uncomfortable – like they were strangers trying to relearn the things they loved about each other.
I don’t want Van to be unhappy. I care too deeply for him. So if finding a way to work out whatever their problems are and remaining together will make him happy, then I’ll back him one hundred percent. I’ll bury my crush in order to remain friends with him. Even if it means my lustful fantasies will never have a chance of coming true.
On the other hand, if they do break up, I want to be there for him in whatever capacity he wants. I doubt Van thinks of me as anything more than a friend, anyway, but if in the off chance that should ever change, and if he feels the same attraction as I do, then I’m ready. I’ll gladly be his rebound girl. See what I did there? Rebound? With a basketball player? Sometimes I’m a funny girl.
Needless to say, if I’m to do any of those things, however, it would require hearing back from him. It’s like he’s dropped off the face of the earth. He hasn’t returned any of my calls, and my texts have remained unanswered. It worried me at first. But now I’m hurt. Frustrated. Even a little angry that I’m so easily forgotten in the presence of Lyndsay.
We’re all finally settled down on the big L-shaped couch in the family room, tired out from the long day of activity, about to watch a movie. Kady’s picked The Sound of Music – her favorite – and we all do a sing-a-long. Everyone except Cade, who just bitches, moans, grumbles and curses while his head is buried in his phone or laptop as me, my mom and sister belt out the all-too-familiar songs.
Cade and I are already sitting on the couch waiting, my mom fixing up some plates of cookies and hot chocolate in the kitchen, and Kady’s upstairs in the bedroom changing into her pajamas. It gives me a chance to share with Cade my thoughts on his girlfriend.
“I’m glad Ainsley and her sister got to come over for dinner yesterday. I really like her, Cade.”
He looks up from his phone, where I presume he’s either looking at a sports website, or is texting with Ainsley or one of his friends.
He gives me a cheesy smile, one that demonstrates how smitten he really is. “Yeah. She’s pretty great, isn’t she?” He and Ainsley have been dating since earlier in the school year and it’s something I never thought I’d see. Cade with a serious girlfriend.
“It’s such a small world, too. The fact that she is grandpa’s nurse is so weird. Cool, but weird.” Cade isn’t the only one in love with Ainsley. My Grandpa Simon is head over heels for that girl. I’m pretty sure he thinks she farts rainbows and unicorns.
He gives me a small grunt, returning to his phone, a frown forming on his face where is grin had just been.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, wondering if something’s going on with Ainsley.
He shrugs before typing again. “It’s Lance. He says Van is over there drunk as shit and cursing up a storm, looking for trouble.”
“What do you mean? That’s not like him. Why is he upset?” I’m pretty sure I know why. That means it may not have gone too well with Lyndsay. My tummy flips and rolls with a wave of worry.
Cade’s eyes zero in on me, curiosity flaring over the concern in my voice, which I couldn’t hide even if I tried.
“Yeah. I guess he’s ranting on about this ball player, Cody. Says he’s going to go fuck the guy up.”
I push to my feet, sliding into my flip-flops next to the lounger and grab at Cade’s hand to help pull him up, too.
“Come on. We’ve got to get over there…this is not good. He needs my…I mean, our help.”
I’m not sure Cade even knows what to make of my sudden call to action, but he doesn’t protest. Instead, he reaches into his pocket for his keys and slips on his shoes.
I run down the hall and then take the stairs two at a time, grabbing my purse from my dresser before rushing into Kady’s room.
“Gotta go…not sure when we’ll be back home. I’ll call you later.”
I hear her shout my name, but I’m already down the stairs and grunting out a good-bye to my mom, who stands in the hall looking confused, and then I’m out the door and jumping into Cade’s awaiting car.
My mind is racing a million miles an hour as we drive the twenty minutes to Tempe, although it feels more like two hours. I imagine a plethora of scenarios and it only heightens my fear. I’m uncertain what we’ll find when we get there, but if Lance’s description is accurate, it could be a pretty ugly mess.
Poor Van. This can’t be a good sign that things went well yesterday. I guess I understand, even though I’m a little miffed, why he didn’t call me. I just hope that it’s not too late and I can talk him down off the ledge when we get there. He’s gotta be hurting pretty good right now.
Pulling into Cade’s parking spot in the front of his complex, we can already hear Van’s loud and agitated voice carrying from inside the apartment.
“Shit,” Cade laments, slamming his car door. “The neighbors are going to throw a shit fit. If we get the cops called again this semester, we might be thrown out on our asses.”
We make it up to the front door when we hear a loud crash from inside and then Lance’s voice shouting at the top of his lungs.
“Dude, calm the fuck down! Do I need to shoot you with my tranquilizer gun?”
Huh? Why in the world does Lance have a tranq gun? I’ll leave that question for another time.
Cade pushes open the door just as Van comes barreling into us full force.
I’m knocked to the ground as Cade tackles Van right beside me. We all three groan in unison. Rolling to my side, I rub my hip that seems to have suffered the brunt of the fall, as I watch in horror as Cade flops on top of a flailing Van’s stomach.
“Get off me, man.” Van slurs, unable to move an inch.
“Not happening until I know you can be trusted to be calm.” Cade twists his butt deeper into Van’s abdominals. “Are you going to calm down?”
Van wiggles and grunts, and then finally lets out a whoosh of air, followed by a very slurred “fine”. Cade jumps to his feet, extending a hand, first to me and then to Van.
I don’t say a word as I stare up at Van. Mainly because I’m in utter disbelief of what I’m seeing. He looks awful. His T-shirt is stained with sweat, or maybe vomit, and he smells disgusting.
Cade seems to agree with me. “Dude, you reek. What the fuck is wrong with you? Go take a shower, it’ll do you some good. I’ll grab you some shorts and come back out when you’re ready. I’ll have coffee waiting.”
Van laughs. Out of all the laughter we’ve shared together, I’ve never heard such a desperate sound. If I could, I would throw my arms around him right this minute. Hold him. Tell him how much he means to me. That I’m sorry he’s so hurt. But I can’t because my brother and Lance are here. Watching our every move.
And if my brother ever found out I had a crush on Van Gerard, he’d throw a hissy fit of ginormous proportions.
Instead of doing any of those things, I reach out my hand to lightly touch his, barely skimming the top of his knuckles.
“Come on, Van. I’ll help you. Just follow me, okay?”
My brother touches my shoulder. “He’ll be fine. I’m sure he can handle it on his own. It’s not your mess to clean up, Ky.”
I wave him off, already reaching around Van’s solid waist to help move him toward Cade’s master bathroom where there’s a walk-in shower.
“I got it. It’s not a problem. I’ll yell if I need anything.”
Cade chuckles, but lets me go with no argument. “Suit yourself.” And then he gives Van a death glare. “Touch my sister and you’re dead.” I groan in embarrassment but keep on walking.
It’s not until we get into the bathroom, Van’s head bobbing back and forth like a dashboard ornament, that I realize this could end badly. I don’t know what I’m thinking trying to take this on myself. Really, how am I supposed to manage to get a six-foot-seven drunk basketball player into a shower? What if he passes out on me? Falls down on me so I can’t get up? And then there’s the teeny-tiny problem of clothes removal. And a potentially naked Van in front of me.
This sounded better in my head when I was just trying to calm him down. Although the Naked-Van sounds pretty darn good.
Taking a deep breath, I get to work. Van’s propped up against the edge of the counter, eyes closes, body swaying gently. I grab the bottom edge of his shirt and start to pull it up and over his head. Unfortunately, I hit a roadblock. Mainly, his size. I’m a fairly tall girl, but still a full foot shorter than him, and I can’t reach, even on tip-toes, past his shoulders.
“Van, you need to help with this. I can’t do it.”
His eyes are dark, gray slits – only half open. But he follows my direction and yanks the material from his body, tossing it on the ground next to our feet. My eyes are now pinned on the dark smattering of curly hair on his chest. Another time, another place, I might have had the guts to reach out and run my hands across his pecs and down his tight, smooth abs. Down the dark happy trail leading underneath his pants…to maybe find some other form of happiness. But sadly, tonight is not the night and it’s not happening now. No matter how much I want to do it.
Truth is, I probably wouldn’t be brave enough to do it anyway. If anything ever happened between us, Van would have to be the one to make the first move. I’ve never been assertive in any way, especially with guys. Not like I’ve had much experience in that department, anyway. Plus, Van wouldn’t dream of making any move on me. His friend. The shy girl who is his buddy’s little sister.
Van teeters like a huge Redwood tree above me, swaying in the wind. The only thing that keeps him upright, evidently, are his hands which grip the edge of the counter behind him. I watch his face, the bright light of the bathroom casting shadows on some of the confliction etched in the lines on his forehead.
He leans forward, bending his head until our noses touch. I gasp, because this is the closest we’ve ever been, except for a few brushes of our hands and knees when we went to the movie together last month. But this touch is intentional. His eyes are severely unfocused but I watch them openly drink me in.
It feels like he’s weighing on a decision to kiss me. Please, kiss me.
Please, please, please kiss me.
I don’t think I breathe as I wait. His voice is raspy and gravely when he finally speaks. It comes out like a torpedo from a submerged submarine.
Fast. Furious. Pummeling its target full force.
Blasting me to smithereens.
“She’s fucking pregnant.”
Who’s pregnant? What in the world is he talking about?
It takes me a second to figure out who he’s referring to. We’ve talked about Lyndsay often, usually just trivial facts about her or that he’d talked to her. Van did give me clues that things weren’t all sunshine and roses between them recently, but he never spoke ill about her or mentioned anything about their sexual relationship. So to hear him tell me that she’s pregnant…well, I’m more than stunned.
He said it with such loathing, mixed with despair. Van is definitely not happy about it.
“Um…wow,” I manage to squeak out, because really? What am I supposed to say to that? “That’s…not a good thing, I take it?”
I have no idea what I’m supposed to say in a situation like this. Gee, the boy I have the hots for just knocked up his girlfriend of five years. I guess congrats are in order? Even though I still want to sleep with him. I’m despicable.
I’m not prepared for the snide, sarcasm that drips from his reply. Or the gorgeous smirk that beautifully contorts his face – in pain and hostility.
“Not when it’s not mine.”
Holy shit. I take an involuntary step back, hitting the wall with my butt. There’s now about three feet between us, but all that space is filled with questions. My head is spinning from the proximity to his naked torso. From the admission of this horrific truth.
“Wha-”
He snorts, interrupting me before I can even get the word out in its entirety. “She’s been fucking some other player for months. Since last May. Behind my fucking back. She’s been together with him and didn’t have the guts to tell me or to break up with me. She’s lead me around by my ball hairs and I look like a chump. A fucking idiot. I. Am. A. Fucking. Loser.”
“No!” I blurt emphatically. Hard and loud enough for him to rear back, his eyes flaring wide in surprise.
I get it. Sweet, docile Kylah doesn’t raise her voice. Ever. But dammit, I will not have Van feeling he is to blame for this situation.
“Don’t you dare feel embarrassed over her errors in judgment or her despicable behavior. Oh my God, Van…I can’t believe her. How could she do this to you?”
His hand rubs at his temples before gliding down his face, as if trying to stave off a headache. His eyes remain closed, head bent toward his feet which are crossed at the ankles.
“I’ve been in love with a cold-hearted bitch. It makes me sick.”
I can’t imagine what’s going through his head right now. My thoughts veer to Lyndsay, wondering why the hell she would string him along all this time if she was with someone else. How could she be so cruel? Why didn’t she just cut him loose earlier on, before all of this happened? He’s right about her being cold-hearted. It’s a shitty thing for her to do.
As bad as it sounds, and as horrible as I feel for thinking it, I hope she gets what she deserves. Her cheating behavior is reprehensible.
My internal berating is interrupted by a groan from Van. My eyes fly back to his, and I see the sudden look of horror in his eyes, his face turning a vile green.
He growls, an animalistic noise, as he moves so fast I barely blink before I see him crouching down over the toilet. “I’m gonna be sick.”
The contents of his stomach splash into the bowl. My own gag reflexes lurch for a second, but I quickly move into action. I pull a washcloth from the rack on the wall and wet it under the sink before I kneel down next to Van.
Laying a hand in the middle of his back, which is now covered in a sheen of sweat, I place the washcloth against his neck. I feel, before I see, his body shiver, the goosebumps climbing over the thick cords of muscles of his shoulders and arms. I pull the cloth away and make a swipe across his face, his hand coming up to take it from my hands.
“Thank you.” He mumbles, pushing his sweat-drenched hair away from his face.
He’d been wearing a man-bun tonight, so most of it was pulled back into a messy roll, leaving only a few wisps escaping at his temples. Most of the time he left if down, either with an elastic sports band tying it back, allowing his gorgeously angular features to be prominently displayed, or he’d wear a beany over his locks. But it was his iconic man-bun that I’d grown to like. I’d only seen his hair down and loose one time before – the day of their pre-season press conference. I’d nearly dropped to my knees when I saw the picture of him wearing a suit, his white shirt collar opened at the top, and his shiny, dark locks brushing at his shoulders.
Unbidden, my hands go to each side of his head and I smooth back the loose hairs, tucking them behind his ears. He gives a soft moan and then shifts off his knees so he’s sitting on his butt, sagging against the side of the tub, his head resting on my shoulder. I dare not move, but take a quick peak over at him. His breathing is still labored, but slowly returning to normal.
