by Leanne Davis
When I get accepted to the community college, I can only stare at the email in disbelief. Me. They tell me I’m welcome to attend school there. I have to pay of course. I’ll have to figure that one out, but they are including my name on their roster and letting me attend. I set the letter down, and tears flow from my eyes. Dani catches me crying. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
I shake my head and show her the email. She grins and gives me a big hug. It’s always funny when we hug. She’s so short and small despite being the true leader between us.
“I’ll guide you, I swear. Every step of the way. You’ll never feel weird or stupid. Okay?”
“I would like that, Dani. I can’t thank you enough.”
She shakes her head. “I just went to school on autopilot before. Neither Wyatt nor I gave a second thought of gratitude for it. You’ve made me look hard at my own life. So I must thank you, too.”
“It’s my fault,” I chant for days before the placement tests. My stomach cramps the morning of the exams. I can’t believe I’m putting myself through so much stress. Dani takes me there and even stands beside me as I check in. The girl at the front desk is also a student. She is nice and chipper and doesn’t think it the least bit odd that I’m there. I feel like a fraud waiting to be escorted out and told to never return. But no. No. It’s not like that at all. Everyone is kind and polite and they welcome me, Jacey Walker, who never thought she’d amount to anything. Now she is ready to take some tests for entrance placement in college. The reality makes me dizzy. They seat me at a computer and tell me what to do and how to start, as well as where to go if I have any questions. My stomach churning in knots, I begin.
When I finish, I feel wilted. Dani comes back and takes me out to celebrate but I fall asleep at eight o’clock that night, utterly exhausted. All the new, healthy, out-of-the-box stuff I’ve been doing lately takes a lot of energy.
I get my results and my heart dips, even though I expected it all along. I have to start with beginning classes in math and English. I have to take three full quarters of math before I can get into a class numbered in the hundreds. Only classes that number in the hundreds count for a college degree. The ones that are under one hundred are called “bridge classes.” They are prerequisites for the “real” classes. Two years? Hell, it’ll be another year before I even start with the stuff that counts toward a degree and I’ll have to pay for the pleasure.
I try to quit. I grumble and whine and complain and no one listens. Not Dani. Not Wesley. Certainly not Wyatt. “So you’ll start this winter. It’s a good transition. No big deal,” Wyatt announces as we wander the campus and the nippy October wind rushes over us. I blow on the hot chocolate warming my hands.
“For you it’s no big deal. You’re almost done with college.”
“We’re not talking about me. Remember, we don’t compare ourselves anymore?”
I apply for and receive student loan money. I save all the money I earn. The Kincaids support me and let me live rent free and eat at their house. I feel exhausted all the time, but also exhilarated. Everything is still so new and confusing, it leaves little time for me to wallow over my past or complain about self-confidence or self-esteem issues. I’m too damn busy for all of that.
As November arrives, Wyatt’s football season winds down. I can’t imagine not going to his games now. They’ve become the single highlight of every other week for me. I now embrace the crowds and yell during the game since it’s mostly about Wyatt’s accomplishments.
All of this happened because of Wyatt. For the first time, I owe a man who doesn’t require or even mention the word sex for payment. No. Wyatt expects me to read. He expects me to continue to read and discuss my ideas with him and go to his library. In short, it’s the best time I’ve ever had in my life.
Chapter 11
WYATT
Watching Jacey handle her experiences this fall makes me reevaluate everything I am. I block out last year and the scene with Hans and instead put all my focus into school, football, and Jacey. It’s not like school and football weren’t enough, but the appearance of Jacey in my life has been both surprising and humbling. Her love for books and learning new subjects has my heart twisting in two. I can only smile at her excitement over every single new thing she learns. She’s amazed when she understands something she reads or remembers new information. The process of learning used to be something she believed she couldn’t do, but I see her doing it all the time. The more we read and talk, the more delighted and confident she becomes.
As she figures it all out, I try to keep my expressions neutral and impassive. I try not to make her feel self-conscious. But she’s so impressed by things I never once considered hard. Checking out a library book? Reading it? Knowing a few general facts about relatively obscure subjects, those little things thrill and elevate Jacey. She equates genius-level intelligence with an offhand type of general knowledge.
I don’t. I think her keen ability to survive and navigate her life all on her own to date are a pretty high indication of how sharp she is. So what if she never had the chance to study books or learn the usual lessons since no one showed her how to do anything? To my surprise, she seems completely enthralled with school, studying, memorizing, and writing papers. Those things always came easy to me. I never had to invest a huge amount of extra effort or time. Yeah, I attended all my classes and listened to the teachers or professors. I also read the material. Occasionally, I even reviewed it for a test. I typed all of my term papers. But whenever I do any of those things, I get straight As. Only rarely do I fail to understand something, no matter how new the material might be. I never need tutoring or extra help, and I don’t have to spend a ton of my time studying. My memory is the kind the education system was designed to favor. Sure, my education is something I care very much about, but I also have no trouble doing it. Jacey considers it the discovery of the millennium. I don’t laugh at her; she makes me reevaluate everything I ever knew and in the best way possible.
Now, if she’s not at our home games, I notice her absence sharply. I love ending the game, whether I win or lose, and finding her there with my family. They all rush me in the usual stampede of well-wishes and hugs. She hangs back. Unsure. Unconfident. Yet her little grin at me and subtle efforts to approach me are what mostly motivate me nowadays. She isn’t sure what to do about all the attention I get from the mob of spectators. I used to be surprised, then I was overwhelmed, then pleased and cocky about it. After last year, however, I hated it. My fraudulent nature seemed magnified with each fan’s yell of encouragement or statement of pride in me or gushing congratulations. Now, I find comfort in Jacey’s interest in what I do and the way others react to me. Dani was a bit ambivalent to what I did. It wasn’t her job to cheer me on, and she was great at preventing my burgeoning ego from running wild, but Dani was never impressed by anything I accomplished.
Jacey always is. And yeah, of course I really like it. I like her undivided attention and thoughtful questions that reveal how impressed she is by what I do. I’ve come to count on her supportive presence.
I started to play strictly for her. Just in case she is watching. Powerful stuff. I never had anyone to play for, and no one supports me like she does. And I enjoy her presence. I try to reciprocate by offering my encouragement as she traverses this new life of hers. Along with my parents and the small town of Silver Springs, which she’s still not used to, she is preparing to start the winter quarter at the community college in January.
Our football season is going well. We are nine and one. Everyone expects us to reach the playoffs. I love to imagine Jacey’s face if that ever comes to fruition.
She came back to campus this weekend. Jacey visits almost every other weekend at campus. She always seems eager to get out of Silver Springs. She never complains and is always grateful for the job and food and safety of a good home. She hasn’t quite got used to the small town and prefers the city around the campus. She, Kevin, and Kayden are also compatible and
sometimes she enjoys hanging out with my roommates more than everything we do together. Often while I tackle my homework and weekly schedule, she’ll be out there in the living room yelling and catcalling over one video game or another.
There have been moments between us when I wasn’t sure what we were. Friends? Yes. One hundred percent. Jacey Walker and I were friends. She and I get along as well as I do with Dani or Kevin. Actually, those were the only two people who knew me beyond the façade of my public image and football player persona. The rest? All fluff. Those two are the real deal… and now Jacey. I’m sure I’m one of the best friends she’s ever had, period. Wesley was her first true friend, and she treats me similarly to the way she treats him.
One Saturday evening when she’s visiting, we all decide to go out with some guys from the team. We haven’t been out in a while. With finals and winter break coming up soon, it seems like the perfect chance to let loose. I’m careful to avoid all the fraternity parties. I don’t need a repeat of that shit. We haven’t gone out to parties together since then, except for a few small gatherings with the football team. The one we attend is a huge, raging party with people spilling out onto the lawn and into the woods behind the house. It is off a rural side road that leads out of town. It takes some pretty skillful navigating to find it.
“Sure wouldn’t want to get stranded here,” Jacey says as she shivers next to me. She’s still very uncomfortable with all the trees in the area. I grew up surrounded by it, so it’s home to me.
“I won’t leave you,” I say as I grin and shift my truck into park. We get out, easily carrying on with our banter as we enter the crowded house.
She whispers in my ear, “Brace yourself for all the Wyatt cheering. On cue… QB1 is here…” and she’s so right. A slight ripple of energy begins as we enter. A sudden interest, then heads turning, back slapping, grins, teasing, mock football throws at me and in no time, I’m drawn into a long discussion of the last few games. I recount our plays and explain the strategies but only in loose, noncommittal ways.
I hear talk of the playoffs and the usual excitement of what might be. Hours pass and I relax and enjoy myself. I even start drinking a little bit. It makes me float, which I haven’t done in a long while. I lose track of Jacey, who was with Duncan last I saw. He’s solid so I don’t worry about her safety. When I grow too warm, I slip out the back door. The back deck drops down to another deck, which leads to a patio with a central fountain. Damn. The owners of this place would hate to see how their estate is being trashed.
I suck in the cool night air. I don’t mind crowds, but I sometimes become claustrophobic if there is constantly football-hero talk. No pressure there. I mostly handle it. But once in a while, I need to breathe. As I do now.
I trot down the steps, following the walkway across the huge yard. It leads to a small pond. I stop dead, however, when I recognize the face at the picnic table. In a grassy spot by the small, private pond, I see Jacey. I watch her smiling and nodding as she waves her hands to emphasize whatever she’s saying. It’s one of those nights with enough moonlight to see but everything is cast in soft shadows. I start to stroll closer, to see what she’s doing and hang out for a few moments. The person sitting across from her suddenly grabs my attention. I see a blond head with short hair. His shoulders are hidden under a large winter coat, and he sits with his hands out in front of him. What stops me dead is seeing Jacey’s hands rest for a moment on the table top before his left hand slides a few inches until his fingertips touch hers in a soft interplay. She doesn’t avoid his touch or look down either. But when his fingers slide over to her knuckles and back up, she seems okay with it.
Does Jacey have a guy? Here? Is that why she came up to stay with me? I stumble over the thought. It is so distracting. I stop dead again. I should have considered that. It was naive and asshole-ish of me not to consider her desire to date. She probably gets lots of offers. She is so beautiful. Breathtakingly so, but it’s much more than that. Her smile, at first so confident and sure you can’t help but return it. And then something in it wavers, and the full wattage of it dims. You sense the insecurity that brews just under the surface of her outwardly confident, charming, and cool demeanor. She’s very strong, but she masks a softness and fragility imposed by a world that for too long abused her.
I never considered that someone here at school in Portland, besides me, could have captured her eye. It stiffens my back. Me. When did I decide I was something special to Jacey? Why didn’t I tell her? She’s smart and funny and sweet and curious and strong and weak and everything I want her to be. In the sweetest and most attractive combination, too.
Why does it take another man’s hand touching her fingertips to realize that? I should be holding her fingers in mine. I should be holding her. Cuddling her. Adoring her. Worshipping her. The woman who got strangled by her last boyfriend is whom I should be protecting, healing, and caring for just as she’s been doing for me since she first showed up. Yet she doesn’t even know all the things she’s done for me. I never told her because I am weaker and more fragile and lost than she is.
It smacks me in the chest. How did I not know?
I have strong feelings for Jacey.
But what if there is someone else? What if she is serious about another guy or headed there? I deserve it since I failed to let her know I felt anything special towards her. What did I do to show Jacey that I thought she was wonderful? Or that I cherished every moment I spent with her? Or that she made me feel better and happier than any other person I knew? All I did for Jacey was check out musty old books from the university library for her to read. I listened to her thoughts as she read the books, being careful not to tell her I read all of them in one night. I had to get it done so I read fast and remember everything. I want to be ready whenever she’s ready to discuss it. I am eager to dismantle our latest subject and learn what she might know about it. As her friend and mentor, I was also an asshole for not realizing it was so much more.
All at once, the guy turns his head to the side, and I catch a brief glimpse of his profile. Hans. Hans Bleckley is the one holding Jacey’s hand in his. My mouth drops, nearly becoming unhinged. No. No. Oh, fuck, no.
Hans Bleckley. She’s sitting with fucking Hans Bleckley. Everything inside me freezes. My heart goes cold, and a sharp feeling hurts my chest. No. What the fuck? What is she doing? With him? With Hans?
I stare, agape and step back once, then twice. I keep staring. What is she doing? Why is she smiling at him? Why is she sitting with him? Why? Why is she alone with him? My mind refuses to compute what I see. And feel. I go numb. I feel the cold. My fear controls me.
Fuck. Why do I react this way? The slimy fucker can’t do anything to me. Something gives my presence away and Jacey’s head jerks up. We make eye contact, and she stares for what feels like a century, but is more likely just seconds. Moments become surreal, morphing into slow motion. She lifts a hand up in a casual wave and gives me a small smile before speaking to Hans. I see my name on her lips. Most likely, she is telling Hans she sees me. Or saying, there’s Wyatt. I push my palms onto my temples and press to relieve the sudden pounding of blood rushing through me. My head is ready to explode.
Jacey is what? What is she doing with Hans? What? Why? How long have they been in such close contact? The pressure in my head finally explodes. What if it’s since that first game in September? Fuck.
I don’t smile. I only scowl as I stare incredulously. I want to break his fucking neck with my fist and… and then what? What would I do? Grab her and haul her away? No. Duh. No. I would— what? What will I do? What can I do?
Hans turns to see why Jacey looks so surprised. He gets to his feet and turns my way. I fist my hands. Stand your ground, I chant to myself. Stand and stay here. Be here. Be present. Do not run away.
Something cold and piercing stabs my heart. It’s so icy, like a cold hand contracting around my heart. Why am I so freaked out by him? Because he hurt me?
But he real
ly didn’t. Not technically. I wasn’t hospitalized. No bones were broken, no ligaments sprained. Sure, I was bruised and bleeding but no worse than I sometimes get from a football game or even a practice. I could sock Hans in the jaw, and I have no doubt I could knock him out in one blow. I could beat him physically in any contest. But that absurd fear continues to plague me. Why? What is it? From the time it happened, I couldn’t describe it in words or understand it.
Jacey is with him. Spending time holding hands. Were they fucking? Oh, Christ, was she fucking him? That sickening thought stabs me. I can’t stand the image in my mind of him touching her. I have more reasons to tell her than just because I like her. I can’t allow her to continue without at least telling her what happened to me. But the words stick in my throat. As everything connected with this asshole does.
“Wyatt?” Jacey’s voice sounds unsure. She is confused. She’s unsure of me and my reaction right now. Standing there, she is not speaking or smiling or acting friendly. I can read her well enough to know that. We are always nice to each other. I realize in that moment how special she is, and it feels odd not to smile at her. Or talk or laugh with the rhythm and natural ease we’ve shared from the start. An ease shared with no one else before. Not even Dani.
“Get out of here.”
I’m not even looking at Jacey. Last time she was with Hans, I would only look at her. This time I won’t look at her. My gaze is firmly stuck on Hans, but it’s really off to the side of him. I refuse to give eye contact to either of them. My voice is low, but not too strong or mean or assertive or brave, not like it should be.
“Wyatt… I… I mean… let me say something,” says Hans.
Say something? If I were feeling normal and not dizzy, and if it didn’t require all my concentration to stand upright, I would have walked over there and socked him in the eye before spitting in his face and kicking him to the ground and… NO! I force myself to quit thinking about it as my breathing turns to shallow panting.
