by Leanne Davis
Jacey, meanwhile, goes around the picnic table and comes closer to me. “What is going on? You two obviously know each other, and something is simmering here. What is it?”
She’s closer to me now. My breathing is heavy. Ridiculously so. But I don’t want her to see me as Hans does: a victim. I don’t want to talk about it… still. Maybe I should. I probably need to. I desperately must, if only for Jacey’s sake. But the words die in my throat.
“Get the fuck out of here, Bleckley.”
I force the words out, almost sounding like I mean them. But it comes out more like a sad, nervous request rather than the command and threat it should be. I obviously can’t fake it.
“Wyatt… please… let me tell her… you. Let me tell you. I was there, but I didn’t do it. Wyatt. I swear to God, I didn’t know anyone was planning to do anything. I was off to the side, and I never meant to do any of it. I swear. I’m not like that. Not at all. I just… they…”
Images split my head in two as he speaks. The voices spearing out of the darkness, surprising me. I smile at first, thinking it’s just more fans. Having been congratulated and exalted for HOURS, I naturally thought this was more of the same. I was so drunk I could barely stand. I was stumbling, uncoordinated, and weak. Happy and weak. My guard was down like it had never been before and I was vulnerable. I wasn’t totally coherent, to be honest.
They surrounded me, fanning out around me. I scanned the faces at first, turning in a circle to see them all. Including Bleckley. I still smiled.
“Whatcha all doin’?” I remember slurring.
“If it isn’t super QB1, Wyatt Kincaid.”
I saluted in the direction of the voice. “Thatchsh me.”
Then it all went wrong. I relived the next thirty seconds for six months straight, every night in bed, and I could never pinpoint exactly what happened or understand it. I never predicted it or asked for it, but I remember being upright, smiling, woozy, and thinking life was fucking sweet when a fist landed in my face, and another shoved my shoulder until I fell forward. I was down before I could even stop smiling. My brain is slower than my reaction. I’m suddenly in wet, soggy grass. It immediately soaks through my jeans and stains my knees. It feels squishy under my chest and my nostrils can’t avoid the fetid odor of mud and swampy grass.
Then I feel the air moving past me before I hear a hard thump and feel an ungodly amount of pain in my middle. Am I being kicked now? I was, and I’m on the ground. I’m continuing to get hit. My brain won’t click and doesn’t catch up to what is being done. What is it? Why is it happening?
“Think you can come over here and take Corey’s place?” I don’t recognize any of the voices as I glance up. I make out three faces… four… five… there were five of them. All white. None of them athletes. Much smaller in muscle mass and pretty unremarkable, at least to me, in appearance. In a mob together? They had me. And I was so inebriated, I was in no condition to defend myself.
I lift my head up when another sneaker-clad foot bashes into the side of it. I flinch and moan and push my hands under me, preparing to do a quick shove to my feet. Another set of hands push on my back while another drops me behind my knees. They hold me down. I push against them, but I can’t move.
“Stay still, you fucker. Think you can come over here and take what’s ours?” A few of them echo each other with insults, most of them racial.
What the fuck? Take what? A football? A college? A quarterback position that none of them could ever dream of playing?
What the fuck? I’m too addled to think clearly or believe this is happening. But I quickly realize I’m trapped and out-manned. It starts to register. Fully and deeply, the realization hits me. It’s been a minute or maybe just seconds. It happens so fast with so many of them upon me. The smell of the wet, soggy ground in my nose and bits of earth in my mouth reinforce my predicament. I feel several shoes pressing on my back and upper thighs, keeping me on the ground so I am unable to fight back against the guys. My breathing changes. My heart jerks into overdrive. Fuck. This is for real. It isn’t harmless guys messing around with me, and they definitely are not fans. They aren’t hazing me. They pin me to the mud, and I don’t know what to do. I’ve never been trapped like that before. Claustrophobia and panic set in. My blood races.
Looking back, I suppose I grew up too sheltered. But at that moment, I realize this isn’t funny. This isn’t a prank. This isn’t even a simple fight. This is fucked up, and I am being attacked.
What is their plan? I have no idea. I’m totally freaked out.
A car started up nearby. I didn’t realize it until later, but I pissed my pants when I saw how far they planned to take it. I was surrounded by the contorted images and sounds and faces and smirks and laughs and even more laughter. They took pictures of me and with me, laughing when they stuck their tongues out and putting their fingers in hang loose signs. They took selfies while I thrashed and moaned and cursed and writhed on the ground. I was terrified. And then a huge, ugly, lukewarm loogie was spat into my face. It landed on my cheek and slid downwards to my neck until it hit the collar of my shirt. “Go home, you fucking asshole!” They followed with more racial slurs.
And then they let me go. They sprinted off in seconds, jumping into the revved-up vehicle before roaring out of there. They were still yelling and cat-calling as they disappeared out of sight. I lay still for a moment on my belly in the mud, spittle on my face, bruises all over me, piss at my crotch and leg, and the tears streaming down my cheeks.
When I was able to sit up, I sat on my ankles and tried to breathe. I rubbed mud on my germ-infested face and wiped my tears. Then I stood up, completely sober now, and ran home. I jumped straight into the shower and threw my clothes in a dumpster the next day. I barricaded myself in my room for three days. When friends checked on me, I claimed I had the stomach flu. But really I just hid and grieved. I never understood, and I never ever told anyone.
Now, one of those voices haunts me as Jacey stands closer to him than to me. I feel like running. I’m scared. It’s so instantaneous I almost can’t resist the urge. But no! No, it’s all different this time. I’m ready now. I know who he is. What they can do. I glance around, worried there are more of them out there. Hans watches my gaze darting around and shakes his head. “There’s no one here but us.”
Jacey’s eyes follow us, and she inquires, “What the hell is going on here?”
“I—I should have told you sooner. I just feared it would end our talks, and I like talking to you.” Hans says before I can find my voice or the words I should use. My head is going to explode. He sounds so reasonable, so likeable, and the “Ahh, shucks, he just liked Jacey so much” routine nearly has me hyperventilating with rage.
But exposing him means exposing myself. My stomach churns, and bile climbs up my throat at the very thought. I turn my back on Hans, looking right at Jacey. “He cheated off one of my finals last year. He almost made me lose credit for the class because he wouldn’t take the blame that belonged solely to him.”
Jacey’s eyebrows scrunch together as she looks past me to Hans. “What a shitty thing to do.”
Hans stares at Jacey and then at me. I don’t turn to acknowledge his stare. I can feel it burning the side of my face. “Um… yeah, it was.”
I turn swiftly, and my eyes harden with anger. “Yeah, the shittiest. So just stay away from me. And Jacey.”
I try to take Jacey’s arm and drag her with me away from this harmful, violent felon who deserves to be charged with assault in my opinion, but she jerks her arm from mine. “Wyatt! I’ll decide who I’ll hang around and why. I get you’re pissed at him, and I can see why, but who I hang around with is strictly between me and them.”
Shit! My made-up story isn’t working. I gave her a reason for me to hate him and for her not to be around him, but it isn’t bad enough to make her hate him on demand. I don’t answer as I look lost and confused as to what to do next.
“Wyatt?”
I gl
ance her way. Her mouth is compressed, and her eye twitches. She’s pissed at me. But it’s nothing compared to what I feel about her being near Hans. On the sly. Right in front of me for months, without telling me.
“I’ll talk to you later.” She tilts her head, resting her hands on her hips now as if she wants me to go. Now. She only needs to tap her foot to confirm it for me. I can’t leave her here. Not with him. My stomach is cramping at the prospect. I hate the thought of him being near her… or me. I feel panicked to get her away, but I cannot reveal the true source of my desperation.
As I twitch and all but skip from one foot to the other in my hyped-up anxiety, Hans is watching us. He says, “I think I’ll go now. We can talk later.” Then to my surprise, he walks around me without another word or even a pause as he scurries away. Scampering away like the fucking rodent he proves himself to be. I don’t expect his sudden retreat, however, so I stare after him.
Jacey does, too, before she whips around back to me. “What was that? What just happened? Why is he all but running from you?”
In total truth, I answer, “I don’t know. I didn’t expect him to listen to me.”
She suddenly advances toward me and pushes on my arm. It’s like a mosquito buzzing over me, but her action is unexpected. “Why are you acting like this? You’re… you’re not supposed to be like that. You’re different. You’re better. You’re not like anyone else. Why are you acting like everyone else does?” Tears glimmer beneath her eyelids.
“How is that? What do you mean?”
“You’re disappointing me. Acting like a jerk. So typical. Like every other controlling asshole I’ve ever known. But you and I aren’t like that, so I don’t know why you’re acting that way.” I reach out towards her, but she slaps my hand away. Tears fill her eyes, and she uses her knuckles to press them back inside her eyes. “You’re supposed to be my best friend!”
Something explodes inside my chest. Mostly because I want so much more than that, but now that I see she’s also friends or lovers or whatever with Hans, I can’t handle it. My anxiety and emotions are overwhelmingly out of control, and I can’t repress them. “Best friends? How could that be? Huh? Because we read stupid books together? Best friends because we hang out like celibate, same-sexed roommates?”
Hurt flares in her eyes, and my stomach flutters with regret. “Stupid books?”
I’m such a pretentious ass. She worked so hard to climb out of the dung her previous life was, through no fault of her own. Her love of books and learning is new, and she never had a clue about either one, let alone believed she could read them, until only a few months before. She tries harder than most straight-A students I know to learn and appreciate what she is doing. She applied to college and waited in anticipation just as if she were me being courted by the National Football League. I just mocked all that matters to her. What her life for the last few months was full of. I diminished her growth. Learning. Getting better. Changing. Who does any of those things? Certainly not I. But she is doing it. And I fucking have the gall to mock her? Because my feelings are hurt, and I feel overwhelmed? Because I failed myself and everything I hold true? And instead of blaming myself where it belongs, I lash out at her?
Disgust and guilt instantly rip through me.
Despite her fear and failures with no one believing anything about her, look how far Jacey has come in life. She ran to Silver Springs to avoid being abused and instead of rebelling or freaking out or even taking a moment to grieve for her tragic past, she’s done nothing but try to improve her standing in life. She decided to educate herself when no one else deemed her worthy of their time or information.
She shakes her head, raising her eyebrows before flipping around and running away. How could I have said the one thing that delegitimizes everything she has worked to change and be? How could I have taken our most unique, powerful and solid connection and mocked it? The stab of regret is sharp in my chest. What have I said? Done? How could she ever forgive this?
Chapter 12
WYATT
Jacey disappears into the woods around the edge of the pond. I instantly realize what I’ve said and done to the very last person who deserves it. I start after her, jogging and then running. My training and speed make it no contest. I am flooded with regret and sorrow for what I said. She can try as hard as she might to flee from me but she’s no match for my strength or speed. I wince and hate myself in that moment. She reached out to me and wanted to be friends. Best friends. And I do this to her. I’m ashamed, and it tears at my heart.
So spoiled am I that it takes this moment to fully appreciate what a gift Jacey Walker is. She is a better person than me. She’s also my best friend. And I mocked her for wanting to improve her life. It all stems from my oversized ego. I felt down so I had to make her feel down. She’s more than I’ll ever be, and I fucking well know it. She deserves to know that. My parents had money, and they cared for me and facilitated my education, putting me where I’m at now. But Jacey lacked all that. Despite the exploitation she endured by her mother and a few other adults, she rose above it and found a positive goal to strive for.
She’s brave, smart, courageous, and sweet. She’s my friend. She’s my best friend and also a wonderful person. I’m so selfish and obsessed with my image and failures, I let my own shit become an excuse for hurting her.
Suddenly, I feel compelled to tell her my grim realization. I grab her around the waist as I catch up to her and finish by using a tuck-and-roll with her in my arms. As I stop her, we land on the ground, and I cushion her body from the full impact.
She squeals as she pushes hard against my chest. “Damn it, Wyatt! That’s not fair.”
I let her go, and she wobbles around, trying to peel herself off me and get back onto her feet. In a lithe jump, I spring up behind her. She grinds her teeth at me. “Yes, we know how agile you are, athletic god, but did you have to tackle me?”
“Did I hurt you?” It’s a rhetorical question because I know I didn’t hurt her.
She’s fuming now, and she wipes off her jeans as if I dirtied them. She never even made contact with the ground. “No. But you have no right.”
I nod, staring at her. “I was wrong to mock your reading books. I love our books. And I always miss you when you leave the apartment after spending the weekend with me. And I miss you whenever you’re not here. And I was a jerk. No, an asshole.”
She stares at me, her eyes growing wider and filled with concern. “Why? Why did you do that?”
“Because you’re right. You are my best friend.”
She stares at me. I try to hold her gaze, but I’m so ashamed that I have to avert my eyes.
“What happened back there anyway? That definitely wasn’t you.”
I sigh. “No. It wasn’t. I just freaked out.” I steel myself as I suck in a long breath. My ragged nerves make my palms sweaty. I’ve never felt nervous with a woman before. It’s a first for me. The butterflies twist inside my gut. I don’t know what is happening or how I missed it before, but I feel all jumbled up and it seems to be more than just Hans.
“Why would you freak out?”
I step forward, getting right into her space. She barely tilts her head to keep eye contact, but her eyes grow larger as her gaze slides up and down my face. The pulse in her throat hums, and she appears suddenly breathless. “Wyatt?”
“I was jealous.” I stare right into her face. I scan her forehead, her eyes, her nose, and her mouth. I stare at her gorgeous mouth. “I was fucking jealous of you being with another man. Because I’m not your friend. I mean, I don’t want to just be your friend.”
Her tongue comes out to wet her lower lip, and she sniffs before replying, “You… and me?”
“Don’t tell me you never thought of it?”
“Sure, I thought of it and swiftly dismissed it about twenty minutes after I thought of it. Last August.”
“Why?” My heart dips as I stare at her wide-eyed, confused gaze.
She snort
s and shakes her head. “Because you’re Wyatt Kincaid. You’re a football hero and an academic whiz. You’re smart and pulled together, and you have a well-respected family. You are everything I’m not, so you’re way too good for me. Duh! That’s why, of course that’s why. Everyone knows that. Everyone.”
I can only watch her. My thoughts are scattered and confused so I keep my hands fisted at my sides. “I didn’t know you thought anything about me. Except that I’m a privileged jerk whom you just happened to encounter.”
“I try to rely on the facts. But I felt…”
My breath stalls, and she feels it. She’s intimidated by our differences, and I know there’s a lot to unpack here. I’m not above her or as wonderful as she seems to think. Far from it. And I’ll tell her that… after we decide if something is brewing between us.
“What did you feel?” I breathe the words and barely speak them out loud. Why am I so paralyzed? With Dani, I had no problem touching her affectionately, and we did it all the time. We held hands, we hugged, I rubbed her back and legs when we sat together, and we easily reached out to one another with ease and candor. But Jacey? I feel immobilized. Is it fear of rejection? I don’t know. It’s just impossible for me to touch her. It’s too critical, and too important.
“Things,” she whispers back. Her gaze is fixed on mine, and we stare, untouching, but I have pinpricks all over my skin from her close proximity. The energy around her body seems to be draining mine. It’s crazy, but I feel connected to her without any contact at all.
When I lift my hand and touch the side of her face, she flinches. The slightest movement, like her eye is twitching, but it’s on her cheek which I am cupping. I hold my breath, wondering why I’m so nervous. Her high cheekbone is under my hand, and I can feel the delicate curve of it against my palm. I shake my head. “You flinched.”
