Bri’s car. Which is parked beside Kellen’s truck. They’re both standing a few yards away, staring straight at us. Kellen’s predictable; he’s like freakin’ Batman, always showing up when you need him. But what’s Bri doing here?
“I’m really damn worried about you, Eric,” Coach says. I look back to him. “Officer Martinez told me about you stumbling into Joyner’s like an old drunk the other night. And we’ve got you drinking and driving last season, run-ins with the law all last semester, beating your own teammate in the middle of a parking lot, for Christ’s sake—”
“You didn’t hear what he said.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not the point. This town is looking to bench you before the season even starts. I’m on your side, but I told you to stay low, and busting a teammate’s nose isn’t it. What would it look like if you were out on the mound the first night of the season?”
I’m not crazy about the direction he’s heading. Despite the frigid air, sweat pricks my hairline. “It’d look like you’re a man of grace, and forgiveness, and—”
“Cut the shit. Nearly all your teammates were in that parking lot. How am I going to explain this to guys you’re supposed to be leading?”
“I’m tellin’ you, you didn’t hear—”
“I don’t give a damn what he said!” He glances around. “All I’m hearing are excuses,” he says more quietly, “and it’s getting old. I’ve got half a mind to cut you from the team.”
My heart plummets. Spinning. The world is spinning, and I have no idea if it’s from his words or the coldness or the smack of my head against the pavement. “W-what?”
“I keep bailing you out of messes, but it’s not doing any good when you dig yourself deeper and deeper.” He rubs his face. “Of course, if I did kick you off the team, you’d probably get into more trouble.”
No. No, no, no. This isn’t happening. Damage control. Lord almighty, I need damage control.
“This team’s all I’ve got, Coach,” I try. My voice cracks, but I can’t even care. “I screwed up, okay? Royally. I know that. But you can’t take this from me.”
He points toward the road. “You are this town’s new starting pitcher. In their minds, you are second only to the sweet baby Jesus. They’re already on the edges of their seats, waiting for what’s next on The Eric Perry Show. So the sheriff and I can only make so much disappear when an entire restaurant full of people saw you being hauled away in the back of a police cruiser.” He pauses, and adds, “I’m starting to wonder if I should even try to make it disappear.”
I imagined this moment this afternoon—the moment when Coach Taylor, of all people, finally decided to give up on me. That I’m not worth the effort. I knew it’d suck. I didn’t know it’d make me feel half an inch tall.
“Coach, I—”
“Your parents know about last year.” His words slam into me with more force than a hurricane. All I can do is gape as he says, “I called them on my way up here tonight and told them all about the drinking-and-driving charge. I should have told them back when it happened, but I thought…” He blows out a breath. “I thought I was helping, but I never should’ve agreed to keep it quiet. When I say I’m worried, I mean I’m worried, son.”
Fuck. Just… fuck.
“Coach Taylor?”
He and I both turn. Bri’s standing beside us now, still in those practice clothes, her arms crossed tightly. The wind gusts, sending her ponytail all over the place. The girl’s probably freezing out here.
“Sorry,” Coach says, “what’s your name again? And why are you here?”
She clears her throat. “Um, Bri, sir. Bri Johnson.”
“Oh, yeah. Matt’s girlfriend.”
Right on cue, Matt hollers, “You here to tell him what really happened tonight, Bri?”
Coach closes his eyes and holds up a hand, signaling for Matt to knock it off.
“Ex,” Bri says quietly, and Coach’s eyes open. “His ex-girlfriend. And I’m here because this is my fault—wait, no, it’s not my fault. Eric’s the one acting like an idiot. But I’d bet anything that he was fighting ‘for me’”—she uses air quotes—“and I wanted to make sure he didn’t get completely screwed over.”
She’s right—I got this swollen eye for her. A little appreciation might be nice.
Coach blows out a breath. “So this was over a girl. It’s getting even better.”
“A girl Matt won’t leave alone,” I cut in. “He’s stalking her like a damn nutjob.”
He shoots me a glare before adding, “Then I guess he and I are having a conversation on the way home. And I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Bri, but I’ve already told Eric that I’m at a loss here.”
“There’s got to be something you can do. You can’t kick him off the team when—” She sighs. “When he was trying to do a nice thing. Kind of. Sort of.”
Coach shrugs. “If you’ve got any suggestions, I’m all ears.”
Yes. We are all ears.
Bri chews her lower lip. I study her face, trying to figuring out exactly what the heck’s going through that head of hers, until she lights up. “What about community service?”
“What?” Coach and I both ask.
Bri’s beaming, practically giddy. “Hear me out. You know how people get community service when they go to court? I volunteer every Saturday at the community center right outside Summerville. Maybe Eric can come with me.”
Hold up. Now that practice has started, Saturday is my only free day of the week. I’d have to give that up?
His eyes trained on Bri, Coach crosses his arms. “I’m listening.”
Of course, Saturdays are so overrated.
“We serve breakfast that morning, and I’m in charge of athletic time for the kids—I head up soccer there. So from, like, nine until noon.”
He tilts his head toward me. “You wouldn’t mind hauling this kid around every week?”
“I’m not sure I’d go that far, but the center could use the help.”
I look back and forth between them, like I’m watching some amazing, life-saving ping-pong game. Keep talking.
“How long are you thinking?” Coach asks.
Wait. Since when does my neighbor get to decide my punishment?
Bri shrugs. “I’ll be there every weekend until summer, so as long as you want him there.”
“Let’s say five weeks?”
I raise my hand. “Hey,” I say. “Yeah, remember me? Do I get any say in this at all?”
Coach levels me with a glare. “You want to keep your spot on this team?”
So that’d be a resounding no. And I’m strangely okay with that.
“Then it’s settled,” Coach says, that glare lingering on me. “You’ll help Bri at the community center every Saturday morning for five weeks. It’ll be good for all of us if it looks like you’re actually trying to work this off. I’ll let the boosters know, and I’m sure they’ll be more than willing to spread the word.” He looks to Bri. “And you’ll keep me posted on this guy. My office, Monday mornings?”
Bri nods. “Yes, sir. Absolutely.”
Coach claps his hands together. “Great. Fantastic. Let’s get the hell out of here.” He turns to me. “This is your last chance, Eric. I mean it. I used to let you boys have it out when you needed to, but you have your brother to thank for kissing that goodbye.”
I think back to last season, when my brother beat the shit out of a pitcher in the middle of a game for being a homophobic douchebag. He came out of it with a dislocated shoulder, but he didn’t regret it for a second. “Well, sometimes people deserve to get their asses kicked.”
Pure silence falls over us as Coach gapes at me.
Not my brightest moment. In my defense, I’m pretty sure I have a concussion.
“This is your lucky day,” he finally says. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that. You need a ride home?”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Kellen calls from across the lot. He holds up h
is keys. “I’ve got him covered.”
Coach waves and starts toward his truck, not sparing another glance. I can’t blame him. The man’s a saint for showing up here.
After even more chatting with the officer, Coach and Matt climb into the truck. Only when the officer slips back into the building does Bri face me full-on.
She’s not exactly giddy anymore.
Bri
I’m not entirely sure why I came out here tonight.
Matt and Eric were fighting. They were freaking arrested. Eric nearly got kicked off the team. All because of me.
For a split second, I legit blamed myself, which is ridiculous considering whatever the heck is going on between them has been brewing for years and was bound to explode. But when they were thrown into the back of the police cruiser, I flipped into damage-control mode. I had to fix it. I had to make it right. As twisted as it was, Eric was trying to help, for the most part.
But I’m pretty sure the other part of him just wanted an excuse to beat the crap out of Matt. And to be honest, it kind of pisses me off that he used me as that excuse. So when Eric scratches the back of his head and says, “Thanks for that,” something inside me snaps.
I step forward, closing the space between us. Closer. Closer, until I’m practically standing on his toes. And I can’t help but ask, “What the heck is wrong with you?”
He narrows his eyes. “What the heck is wrong with you? I was sticking up for you!”
Yeah, two can play that game—I narrow my own eyes. “News flash: I don’t need you to fight my fights for me.” I’ve been doing enough fighting these past few months. And sure, maybe it took me a while to actually win the fight, but I did. I don’t need his help.
His shoulders drop. He swears under his breath. “You didn’t hear what he said, all right?”
Something in my chest twinges. It’s most likely my heart, because when you’ve spent months being a verbal punching bag for someone, the heart kind of takes a beating. Muscle memory, and all that fun stuff. “Trust me, I probably heard worse when we were dating. I’m used to it.”
He gapes at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. “You say that like it’s supposed to make me feel better.”
It doesn’t exactly make me feel like dancing through a field of poppies, either. The longer I look at him, at the swollen eye, the bruised nose, the split lip, the red, scraped cheek, the more I realize that yeah, maybe this was more than too much testosterone in one parking lot. Maybe this was a friend sticking up for another friend.
But that’d be easier to believe if we’d said more than a few words to each other over the past few months. It’d be even easier to believe if I was worth fighting for, considering I’m the reason why we haven’t really spoken in those months. My stomach sinks, knowing I actually let someone bully me into staying away from the guy who used to be my friend.
Shaking his head, he says, “Why’d you even come? If what I did was so Godawful, why are you here?”
The wind swirls around us, the breeze whistling by my ear. I don’t know why I came. Maybe because I’m a fixer. Maybe because I can’t stand to see others in trouble. Maybe because I really am stupid. Who knows.
Instead of answering, I back away. “We leave at eight on Saturday,” I tell him. “You’re either in my driveway on time, or I tell Coach to drop your butt. And don’t think I won’t.”
And I mean it. Mostly.
The drive home is quiet, except for Bon Jovi crooning through my speakers. I beat Eric home by a longshot, pulling into my driveway just past ten o’clock. I waited outside that police station for two hours. Two hours. I better not regret this whole saving-his-butt thing.
I cut the engine, sending me into complete silence. My house is dark. Inside, it’ll be even darker. Quieter. Tears spring to my eyes at the realization that I really, really can’t handle the silence tonight. Literally, cannot handle it. Blending into the shadows can provide this strange sort of comfort. But the downside is that if you stay in those shadows for too long, the darkness overwhelms you. Seeps into you. Weighs you down.
It consumes you.
I step out of the car and head for the backyard instead. There are two places around here that I’ve claimed as my own: the front porch and the roof of our shed. They’re good for different things. The porch is good for relaxing. For breathing. The roof gives open access to the sky. To the stars. To dreaming.
Tonight, I need the stars.
The old red shed came with our house. It was worn and raggedy when we moved here, and it’s even more worn and raggedy now. I grab our rusted ladder and place it against the side of the shed, the metal creaking with each step I climb. I hoist myself onto the roof and settle onto the narrow patch of flat-top.
Stars are amazing. Some nights they shine brightly, showing off their brilliance. Some nights are a little dimmer than others, but you can still see the light. And some nights, they’re hidden behind the clouds. But even after all those nights of being hidden, after all those nights of being suffocated by the clouds, they show back up to shine.
Stars are like people, if you really think about it.
I’ve been dim for months without even realizing it. It’s almost like a frog being placed in a pot of water. The frog just thinks he’s in for a swim, right? Like, this is awesome! Too good to be true! And then you turn up the heat bit by bit, and slowly, the frog is cooked through.
(Seriously though—poor frog.)
Luckily, Becca saw how miserable I was and pulled me out of the pot just in time. But now? I don’t know who the heck I am anymore. I don’t. And I think that’s the worst feeling of all: knowing that you’re lost and you don’t know how to get back. This time last year, I was top of my class and kicked ass on the soccer field. And then I let someone into my life, into my heart, into my head, and he jumbled all that up.
As cheesy as it sounds, those stars up there give me hope. That maybe I can break through the clouds and, I don’t know, shine again? And tears stream down my face as I look at those gorgeous, gorgeous stars, the proof that you can shine again.
I don’t know how the heck I ended up here, but this isn’t where I’m staying.
Eric asked why I helped him tonight, and like everything else in my life right now, I just don’t know. I hate not having answers.
Maybe because I know what it’s like to not even realize you’re boiling until someone yanks you out of the hot water. Until a friend drags you to the crappy barbecue place in town, and tells you that you’re so much better than the guy who’s been treating you like you’re disposable. That no, you’re not stupid. That you don’t have to make anyone else happy but yourself.
Maybe I saved him because we all need saving once in a while.
Eric
I know she heard us pull into the driveway. Hell, even if she didn’t, a big clue would’ve been the headlights shining directly on her like a spotlight. But Bri stays on the roof of that shed, like she does most nights.
I don’t think I’m supposed to notice that she’s out there so often; everyone needs their own place to go when things go crazy, and that’s always been hers. The last thing I want is to bug her when she needs her space. But honestly, I wish I could climb up there with her right now. A quiet night under a wide-open sky sounds like heaven.
But her ignoring me is the least of my problems. I sit in Kellen’s truck as it idles in my driveway, the heat spilling onto me as I stare at my house. All the lights are on, including the porch light, which means my parents are probably watching and waiting. Biding their time. Prepared to pounce as soon as I walk through the door.
For whatever reason, I lucked out with Bri coming to my rescue with Coach. I have a feeling I won’t be so lucky with my parents. Especially now that they not only know I’ve been arrested before, but that I’ve been hiding it for a year.
Kellen clears his throat. “You gonna be all right?”
I glance over, only to catch him watching my knee bounce at the speed
of a fastball. “On a scale of heart failure to crapping my pants? Somewhere in the middle.” Taking a deep breath, I say, “Distract me. Tell me something good.”
“Like what?”
“Like—good, dude. I don’t know. Tasha! Tell me about the weekend with Tasha.” Tasha’s his girlfriend up at USC, who came down to spend the weekend with him. They’ve been dating for over a year, and are probably the most chill couple I know. No drama. Just two people who’re up for whatever, whenever.
He shifts in his seat, resting his elbow on the windowsill. “We argued all weekend.” He looks at me, apology in his eyes. “Try again?”
I gape at him. “I didn’t even know that you knew how to argue with someone.”
He holds up his hands. “You asked, I delivered, bro.”
Taking a deep breath, I shake my head. “Sorry, man. Seriously. And sorry about your weekend. That blows.” I look back to my house. Still waiting. Still looming. Still not going anywhere, so I guess it’s now or never. I open the door. “Thanks for the ride.”
He tosses up a wave as I hop onto the driveway. He backs out into the road, leaving me alone with the green mile. Because I may very well be heading to my own execution. Black eyes are hard to hide, and mommas are really unforgiving when it’s clear those black eyes mean you’ve been fighting.
The “getting arrested a second time” thing doesn’t exactly help my case, either.
The house is warm and quiet when I walk inside, the living room a dewy orange thanks to the corner lamp, but the kitchen shines brighter than an interrogation light. Which would explain why my parents chose to sit at the table there.
My head pounds as I kick off my boots at the door. Trudge across the living room, into the kitchen.
Momma stands. Stares at me for a long moment with tear stains covering her cheeks. And walks right out of the room.
Game On Page 7
