I arch my brows and try to steady my heart. Holy crap, Jake was right when he said if you don’t marry her, I will.
Opening my mouth to answer, the table jostles across from me and I look up.
“Hey, you guys haven’t had to wait long, have you?” Jake leans forward onto the table with an ordinary look on his face as if he didn’t just run in the winning touchdown.
Throwing my hand across the table, I grip my brother’s arm and give him a firm handshake followed by a fist bump.
“Hey, man … that play was crazy. You were like an animal out there,” I say in amazement, so damn proud of him. “No one stood a chance. Keep playing like that and I think a scholarship is in the bag. Damn, you’re fast.”
Jake shifts back against his seat, still with a bland look on his face. “Yeah, I guess so. The team is pumped that we won. I think most of them are going out to celebrate.”
“Well, get out of here, then. Go join them. You deserve to celebrate that victory. I mean that last play was sick.” I’m practically jumping out of my seat with excitement, feeling as if I just won a game.
Shrugging his shoulders, Jake glances at Alyssa who has quietly been following along with the conversation, laughing and nodding her head.
“Nahh, there’s better company here. Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve been able to catch up.” Jake adds smiling between me and Alyssa, yet his mood seems off for some reason.
“Everything ok?” I ask, hoping I’m reading too much into his behavior.
Jake has always been a little on the shy side and a whole lot more reserved than Tristan or myself; that is until he steps onto a football field. All shyness goes out the window at that point and he unleashes nine kinds of hell on his opponents. Honestly, I’ve always been a bit envious of his talent and speed. Tristan and I were good, but Jake even broke Dad’s 40 time by two tenths of a second, which is astounding. Our dad’s high school football career made him famous in school and here his youngest son blows his record out of the water. Jake can burn through every defensive back in the state and he can catch anything that is thrown at him, yet lately he seems to be losing interest in the game.
Shaking his head, he frowns and grabs a menu. “I’m fine … just hungry.”
I snatch it out of his hand and lay it face down on the table with my palm over it. “Nice shift in the topic. Man, you just played the shit out of that game and look around …” I motion my hand around the room, notating all the chaotic excitement. “Everyone is on cloud nine with the prospect of making it to state for six years in a row. I mean, we won every single year that I played, nearly every year Tristan played and now every year you’ve played. Just look at what kind of legacy we are leaving behind,” I lecture him, slowly noticing his face melting into a scowl.
“Can we just drop it with the talk of football? My world just doesn’t revolve around it like you and Tristan’s did. I just want to eat,” he hesitantly says, grabbing the menu and opening it up so that he blocks me from looking at him.
I know from experience what kind of pressure he already has on him from the team, the coach and most of all me. Besides, how can I get onto him for not joining in on the celebration when I never did myself? Through Tristan’s and my football careers, Jake saw me come home every night and help out at the house. He watched Tristan jet home after each practice and each game to take care of Mom and now I just expect for him to switch gears and enjoy a normal high school existence to make up for our lack of one.
Alyssa, clearly sensing the tension, shifts the subject, “You know what? I’m starved! Who wants to eat?” She grabs up a menu and flips it open as I catch my brother lower his, looking at her with a slight smile.
Subject closed. I shouldn’t pressure him so much. “Sounds good. Let’s eat,” I state as a waitress swings by our table.
We all order and as a creature of habit, I end up ordering the same as usual. The plates make it to the table in a record speed and we each dig in. Between hearty bites of my cheeseburger and seasoned fries, Jake, Alyssa and I keep the mood mellow and less demanding.
After the restaurant starts to clear out, I bring up another strained topic right before heading out. “You think it’ll be ok if I come by the house for a bit tonight before we head back to the apartment?”
“Aaaa … I don’t think tonight is a good night. He had a bad day at therapy,” he says glancing at his phone nervously. “He’s got a lot going on and he has not been up to seeing anyone.”
This sends my frustration through the roof. “Not up to seeing anyone?! I haven’t so much as seen his face since the day we wrecked … not once. I’ve come by … he’s not there. I’ve called … voicemail. Then when he finally calls me, I don’t know what to think. Neither of you will tell me anything that happened. I have no idea how bad he’s hurt. I assume it’s bad, but let’s face it, at this point I’m not sure whether he is paralyzed for life or if he’s missing an arm or what.”
Jake puts his hands up, patting it in the air to motion me to calm down right as Alyssa’s hand runs the length of my back in a soothing gesture.
“I know … I know, this hasn’t been fair to you, but I just think he should talk to you about everything. He’s pretty depressed and asked me to keep quiet. I told him he needs to talk to you and he did … he called finally. It’s just …” He pauses and looks away with a heavy hearted sigh. “ …he doesn’t know how to talk to anyone anymore. He stopped caring a long time ago and so, give him time … as long as it takes, you know?” Jakes pleading eyes are all it takes for the vice of frustration to loosen and set me at ease.
I nod my head, searching for Alyssa’s hand under the table. She quickly grips it, intertwining her fingers in mine then I’m able to breathe. How did everything between he and I get so messed up? And when did we start putting Jake right in the middle? Maybe we always did and I never noticed. It seems as one part of my life is finally falling into place, the other parts are falling apart. My family’s relationship has been tattered and torn for a while; I guess all the pieces are just now beginning to chip away.
All three of us walk out to the curb where Jake’s truck is parked.
“It was good to see you again,” Alyssa says sweetly, giving my brother a surprise hug.
His forehead draws up as his eyes widen and he stares over her shoulder to me with a wide smile.
“It’s getting cold so I’m jumping in the truck while you two say your goodbyes.”
She lets go of Jake and turns to me, a message in her eyes as if she is nudging me to stop pressuring him; be nice; get along; all the stuff Mom would more than likely say.
“Bye, Alyssa. Maybe we can all go to dinner again soon,” Jake suggests and I notice how much this time meant to him. I tend to forget that as I draw closer to Alyssa and her family, Jake still only has himself and I’ve been more than MIA the last two weeks, caught up with my love for Alyssa.
She moves past me and grabs the keys I have dangling from my fingertips. Keeping my ears perked up, I hear my door slam shut a few cars up and move forward toward Jake.
“So if Tristan is too busy to see me tonight, when is a good time to come by?”
“Let me talk to him, ok? He’s been in and out a lot and I’m usually the one taking him to therapy. He’s not able to work at the garage anymore so I’m supposed to meet up with someone and talk to them about a job.”
Stepping forward with a deep urge to smother him in a death grip hug, my heart drops, heavy with all that he has experienced in this life, some of which I am realizing only tonight. He lived the same challenges as me growing up and now with me giving up the task of swooping in to save Tristan’s ass, here he has taken on the feat. Plus, he has the pressures of getting into a good college, keeping up his grades, pressures of winning every game and who knows what else.
“I’m sorry about coming down on you about football,” I say quietly as my arms wrap around him and I crush him in a brotherly hug. “I just want the best for you. You d
eserve the best, you now.”
Jake grips me back, slapping my back twice before we pull away. He stares at me with a close lipped smile, relaying complete understanding and appreciation. That’s Jake; never an angry bone in his body. I’d be in shock if I ever saw him lose his temper and if he did, I’d hate to be on the receiving end.
“I know you do. I’ll give you a call later this week and maybe we can have dinner some night. I guess I better go … Tristan wants me to go check on his car tonight and set up that interview.”
Drawing my eyebrows down in puzzlement, I question his comment, “What car?” The only car to my knowledge that Tristan has ever owned is his red 1969 Camaro that Grandpa gifted him for his sixteenth birthday.
“His Camaro,” Jake says in a tone that says I should already know this. His Camaro?!
“I thought it was totaled? You mean it is salvageable?” Considering it is the size of a casket itself, I really figured it would have been toast after how hard we hit.
Jake chuckles while leaning back against the passenger side of his truck and slipping his hands into his jacket pocket.
“Somewhat … if it was in the right hands.” He raises his brows and goes on, “He has it over at S & P salvage and garage. I’m supposed to go talk to the owner tonight. Apparently, one of his employees has been tinkering with it since it was towed in and they want to show him some things that they’ve done.”
Jake shifts, moving away from the curb and slowly walking around to the driver’s side. I remain still, generally interested in the fact that the car survived. My brother has always loved that car. He got it from my father’s dad, who had always been into restoring classics. Even though we never saw my dad, our grandparents tried their best to stay in our lives, sending us cards and gifts, but never once contacting us or lending a hand to my mom as she got sicker. The day after Tristan received it, Grandpa had an aneurism, dying immediately. My brother took it hard, mainly because I think he saw the gift as one of the last pieces of our dad.
“Well, let me know how it goes. I’m actually pretty interested to see if it can be brought back to life. I haven’t even seen it since before the wreck,” I say, throwing my hand up in the air to wave him off.
Jake opens the door to his truck and jumps in, hollering out, “I’ll keep you posted. See ya.”
A couple steps towards my vehicle and my phone buzzes, announcing a new text. I shimmy my phone out of my pocket and look down at the screen, seeing a picture of the car.
Jake: I wasn’t sure if you would ever want to see this, but I can tell from tonight that you are in a better place than you have been in months. The wrecker sent it to me while you two were still in the hospital.
I stare down at the picture and gasp, a sudden weightlessness in my chest as if I am back in that moment, flying through the air. All of the windows are in shambles with glass strewn all over the dash. The front of the car is compacted with metal digging into the tires and the hood crunched as if it is a simple piece of plastic. While the door on my side looks damaged, the driver’s side has me thanking the Lord that my brother is still with us.
His side sustained the most damage. The tree that we smashed into at the bottom of the embankment must have slammed right into the driver’s door, crushing it like a tin can. Even the base of the frame near the wheel well is completely compressed, leaving nearly no room for a driver to be. I can’t believe my brother was in there and still lived. The roof of the car is torn free above the seat like a sardine can; I assume that is where they had to cut him out. Wow … and Jake says it may be salvageable?
Looking up at my truck, I catch a glimpse of Alyssa in the rearview mirror looking at me; probably wondering what has me stopped on the sidewalk on a surprisingly cold fall night. I look back at my phone once more before clicking the screen off and moving my feet forward. As I stare back at her, I can’t help but be thankful that Tristan and I had an angel looking over us that day; an angel that I believe has been watching over us every day for the past several years. Even after she left, she’s still taking care of us.
THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, I pound my fist to the door of Tristan’s room for the third time.
“Come on, Tristan … I texted you an hour ago and told you I was swinging by.”
I glance down, shimmying my phone out of my pocket so I can look over the text I sent to make sure there is no mistake in what I typed. Pressing my fingertip onto the hard, cool surface, my phone lights up and I move my finger to pull up my text.
Me: Hey
Tristan: What’s up?
Me: Not much. I’m at work. What are you up to?
Tristan: Same as always. At home. Not doing a damn thing.
Me: I had a free afternoon and thought I’d run by before I have to meet Alyssa. I thought we could hang for a bit.
My heart pumps with the same anxiety I felt when I sent it, wondering if some pissy ass comment would come back or if my phone would ring to him shouting. I swipe my finger to read more, studying every word of our conversation.
Tristan: Yeah … ok. I’ll be here.
Me: Cool. See you in thirty.
No further response; nothing. It took him forever to answer if it was ok to swing by, but all he had to do was say no if it wasn’t. I slam my fist into the door again, hastily twisting the doorknob in my other hand until my fingers are stiff and practically formed to the knob.
“Come on, man! I know your door didn’t lock itself! If you don’t want to see me, just say so!” I shove the bottom of my boot into the door igniting a loud thud and making the door vibrate beneath my hand that is resting flat against it. “Tristan, come on. Just answer me.” I wait and hear nothing. “Dammit I’m sick of this! I’m sick of it!”
My heart thunders in my chest and up into my eardrums while my body quakes in anger. Squeezing my eyes shut, I toss my head forward in to the door with a clunk, quietly going over each detail of the past several years, starting with how nearly each and every time I came to Mom’s bedroom door near the end, he would have some excuse for why I couldn’t sit with her. The front door rattles a ways behind me and I instantly snap out of my trance and turn.
“Hey,” Jake says, looking uneasy and nervous. “What are you doing here?”
I find the question odd and I honestly have no clue what the hell is going on, but I am suddenly flooded with an unwelcome feeling from them both; like I now don’t belong in this family, in the home where Mom last lived.
Jake stands at the edge of the living room with his book bag flung over his shoulder and an expectant expression on his face. I step forward, glancing to the room next to Tristan’s, Mom’s old room. The door has remained shut since the day she left. We never even got rid of her stuff, just sealed the room like a tomb. I take another step forward and grip the doorknob for the first time in ages, fear rising within me at the surge of heartache that may pull me under once I step inside.
“What are you doing?”
I don’t answer Jake’s first question and I don’t even answer this one. I can’t; I can’t think right now, I just act, twisting the knob and pushing the door open. I expect to hear a gasp from Jake or watch as a ghost brushes by, but I’m greeted with a soft glow of sun light sprayed across the bed where she once used to sleep. I blink my eyes and remember how quickly the medical supply company was to come and pick up the hospital bed and other equipment. Maybe Tristan called them, who knows; maybe he was even the one that moved her bed back to the center of the room, across from the window. He’d never tell us something so personal.
Glancing around, I move past her vanity in the corner with little bottles of lotions and makeup scattered about still. A couple dresses lie draped over her bench at the end of the bed, along with a dark navy blue one that has been forever abandoned on the floor. Moving my eyes up to look at the bed, I blink rapidly when a flash of her lying there with a fogged up respirator and her beautiful brown hair strewn about on the pillow, appears in my mind. My eyes glaze over as a hand falls onto
my shoulder.
Jake remains silent behind me, but the weight of his loss is felt just as strong as mine. It rolls off of him like a tidal wave, hitting me hard and bringing up something I thought I had buried.
“Don’t you blame him in a way?” The tears in my eyes spill over one drop at a time as I stare at the bed wishing more than anything that she was there one more time.
“What?” his voice comes out shocked and disbelieving, but he knows what I’m talking about.
“Don’t you just wish we could have said goodbye that morning?”
His grip on my shoulder tightens and he moves closer to me, but I don’t want to be comforted right now. I want to feel the pain, I want the anger to surge through me and explode until I have the courage to storm into Tristan’s room and get it all out. Moving forward and out of Jake’s grasp, I gravitate to the bed and sit along the edge, much as I did back when she was here. I smooth my hand over the maroon comforter, the skin of my palm catching on the fabric.
“I wish a lot of things, but I don’t …” I look over at Jake as he pauses, shifting his face back and forth across the floor at his feet. He looks up, his forehead creased in the same pain I saw the day he collapsed against the wall of this bedroom. “I think Tristan did the best he could. He was protecting us.” Jake throws his best effort forth in defending Tristan’s actions during a time when we should have been there every second.
“Yeah but he shut us out in the process.” Hanging my head down, I close my eyes, an ocean of sorrow and confusion pours through my veins like lava. I brace myself with both my hands, the plushness of her comforter hugging them softly as the memories engulf me.
Lightly pushing the door open only a sliver, I shift with the strap of my bag digging into my shoulder with about fifty pounds of books weighing it down.
“Come on, Judd.” Tristan races through the kitchen and to the front door with his bag in hand. “There’s not time this morning. Jake, let’s go.”
Catch My Breath Page 39
