Love's Spark

by L A Cotton

  I was packing up my stuff for the weekend, when a knock sounded at my door, and Nev’s head peered in. “Hey, girl, how’s it going?”

  My hand stilled on the pile of books, and I sighed. “Glad it’s Friday. You?”

  “Oh, you know, got me things to be doing.”

  I managed a small smile. “What have you got planned?”

  “It’s our anniversary. We’ve been together twenty-five years.”

  “Wow, congratulations.” I could feel the tears pricking the backs of my eyes, and I tried to swallow them down.

  “Hey, now, don’t get all teary-eyed on me. What’s wrong, girl?”

  “Nothing…everything. Life.”

  He moved into the room and shut the door. “If you want some Nev wisdom, I need specifics.”

  I laughed through my tears. “Mom and Dad split up. Mom’s having an affair. I met a guy, a really great guy, but he’s shutting me out, and I don’t know what to do. I have no real friends to talk to. Growing up is hard work, Nev. I thought high school was tough, but life…life is something else.”

  Nev’s giant frame approached me and he pulled me from the chair, wrapping me into a hug. “Sharn, you are one of the most respected teachers here. You might be young, but you’re a natural with the kids. I’m sorry things at home aren’t great, but shit happens. It’s how you deal with it that counts. And as for the great guy…if he’s that great, it will all work itself out.”

  I sobbed into his solid wall of abs for a few more seconds, before wiping my face with the back of my hand, and sniffling. “Thanks, Nev. I needed that.”

  He smiled. “Girl, for you, anytime. Now shake it off and show me some of that Miss M style.”

  ~

  “I’m sorry I bailed last night, Mae.”

  “Don’t worry. Luckily, Phil was more than happy to keep me occupied.”

  I toweled off my hair, balancing the phone between the crook of my neck and shoulder. “Ew, Mae, too much info.”

  “Are you feeling better? I know you don’t want to talk about what’s been bothering you, but girl, you’ve been walking around with a stick up your ass this week.”

  My forehead creased, but I couldn’t fight back the slight smile at Mae’s words. “I’m working through some stuff. But I’ll be fine, promise.”

  “I’m always here if you need to talk. You know that, right?”

  “I know. Thanks. You’re a good friend, Mae.”

  “I try. Catch you later, sister.”

  I tossed my phone onto my bed and tended to my half-dry hair. The realtor was coming at ten with potential buyers. Dad was away, again, which left me to play happy hostess. Just what I needed. I was just finishing drying the last of my hair as the doorbell rang, and I jogged down the stairs with my fake nice-to-meet you smile plastered across my face.

  “Expecting someone?” Mom barged past me.

  “Hmm, what are you doing here? You know you’re not welcome.”

  “This is my house, too, Sharnai.”

  “Not anymore.” I grunted, and her head whipped around and she glared at me. I checked my watch—five minutes until the realtor arrived.

  “What do you want, Mom? Now is not a good time.”

  “I have a few more things to collect. Bad time?” The smirk painted on her face gave her away, and I slapped a hand to my head as it all clicked into place. “How did you know?”

  “Geary knows someone who knows someone.”

  I snorted at the mention of his name. “What do you stand to gain by sabotaging the viewing?”

  “Your father has disrespected me on more than one occasion; I’m just repaying his courtesy.”

  “Seriously, woman, what is wrong with you?”

  She stalked toward me, her jewelry jangling and her big hair bouncing—fake from head to toe, she sickened me. “Do not test me, Sharn. Don’t play with fire unless you want to get burned.”

  I met her glare. “Whatever, Mom. Eat your heart out. I’m going to my room.” I refused to play her petty games. She was obviously a woman scorned. It was pathetic.

  “Sharnai Macer, get back here,” she shouted as I headed up the stairs, but I ignored her, walking straight into my room and slamming the door behind me. Cindy Macer was a stranger to me—and she certainly didn’t deserve the title Mom.

  A whole hour. That was how long I had to listen to Mom fake it up. I couldn’t believe her nerve. She accompanied the realtor on the tour of the whole house; pointing out every flaw she could think of. When they reached my room, she even went as far as to say that her ‘daughter was ill and the room was off-limits’. She was damn unbelievable. I’d texted Dad to tell him about her little stunt, but he was out of the state and would never get back in time to deal with her. So I left her to it—like I didn’t already have enough on my mind.

  I’d still not heard anything from Keefer. Not. One. Word. I didn’t doubt that he had his own stuff going on, but I had my own stuff, too—in the form of a crazy-ass mother hell-bent on revenge. At that precise moment, I wanted nothing more than to call him. We had yet to speak on the phone, but surely he wouldn’t ignore my calls. Crap. I was turning into a crazy person myself. If he wanted to get in touch, he would. I would not be that girl.

  After the realtor had left, Mom let herself out. I heard the front door slam, but I remained in position; sitting on the floor against the door, I felt completely numb.

  That was how Dad found me four hours later. I'd fallen asleep. He’d almost blown a fuse after speaking to the realtor. Mom did a fantastic job pointing out every imperfection—including some exaggerated ones—to the couple viewing. Needless to say, they weren’t interested. He didn’t say anything to me, but I could tell he was a little pissed that I didn’t do more to stop her. I hated being in the middle, especially when I didn’t want to play any part in their games.

  ~

  Dad hardly spoke Sunday or Monday after school. And now it was almost time for the session with Keefer or Zac, or whoever the hell decided to show up this time. I still hadn’t heard anything from him. Nothing. As far as I was concerned, it was as if he’d been wiped off the face of the earth. What had started out as worry and hurt were now sitting somewhere between angry and pissed. Surely, I deserved some kind of explanation.

  My feet dragged as I headed toward the field and my eyes remained hidden under my oversized sunglasses. If Keefer turned up—and I didn’t expect him to—I didn’t want my eyes to betray me.

  As I rounded the corner, my stomach bottomed out and my heart stopped. Thank God for sunglasses. I was a few minutes late, so I managed to sneak to my place in the bleachers without disrupting Keefer as he talked to the boys. A million questions whizzed in my head, but there was only one thing I wanted—no demanded—and that was answers.

  Chapter 18

  ~ Keefer ~

  We'd been waiting in Shands ER for over an hour. Zac had driven us over right after the hospital called. All I knew was that Dad had been brought in three hours ago, and they were still working on him. I didn't need a doctor to tell me it was alcohol poisoning.

  “How are you holding up, son?” Coach asked. He had insisted on coming with us.

  I slammed my fist into the wall. Fuck.

  “Bro, that isn't going to help any. Sit down. I'll go ask for an update.”

  I dropped into the seat across from Coach and yanked off my cap. Jamming a hand into my hair, I raked my fingers through it. “He was okay. He was doing okay.” I wasn't really speaking to anyone, so when Coach answered me, I was a little confused.

  “Son, you listen, and you listen good. Your father is sick. He needs help, and this is a cry for it. He'll pull through and then you help him get help. But, Keefer, don't go blaming yourself. This isn't your fault.”

  “I should've known. I should've seen the signs. I knew something was off. I fucking knew it.” I slammed my fist down onto my thigh.

  Zac and Coach didn’t know, but I knew. It all made sense now—the trips down memory lan
e, his little pep talk, asking about Sharn, dinner with Mrs. Elms. He was saying goodbye. He fucking planned this—he wanted to die.

  I ran to the nearest waste paper basket and grabbed it, just catching my puke in time. Someone thrust a cup of water at me as I buried my head in the basket again. When I finished, I looked up to find Zac. He handed me the cup and a stick of gum.

  “Thanks, man.”

  He lifted his head in a slight nod. “The doctor is coming to see you shortly.”

  “You don't have to stay. I got this.” My head dropped back against the wall and I closed my eyes as Zac said, “I'm staying.”

  After composing myself, I passed the basket to a nurse stationed behind the desk, apologizing for its contents. She smiled politely and told me not to worry. Yeah right, like that was going to happen.

  “Son, the doctor is coming.”

  I took a seat next to Coach and Zac sat on my other side. A gray-haired man dressed in blue scrubs approached us. “Mr. Smith’s family?”

  I rose and nodded. “I'm his son.”

  “Your father has severe alcohol poisoning. He's had two seizures since he arrived and we've had to intubate. He's lucky to be alive. If his neighbor hadn't found him when she did, he wouldn't have made it.”

  Shit. Mrs. Elms.

  “When can I see him?”

  “We're still monitoring his breathing. As soon as he's stable, we'll be moving him to a room upstairs and you'll be able to see him.”

  “Thank you.” I extended my hand to one of the men responsible for saving my father, and he continued, “Your father has cirrhosis of the liver and other damage related to his alcoholism. Recovery is going to be a long road, and we don't know the full extent of the damage yet. You should be prepared for the worst.”

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  “Thanks again, Doc.” I slumped into the seat.

  An hour later, I was stiff from the shitty plastic chairs and starving. After chucking up the contents of my stomach, I'd managed to sip some water but not much else. No twenty-three-year-old should ever have to lose both of their parents. The torrent of emotions coursing through me was overwhelming. On the ride over to Shands, I felt sure that he was gone. The minute I'd heard the nurse's voice on the phone, I just knew. The pieces of the puzzle all clicked into place.

  Zac nudged me. “Dude, the doctor.”

  I straightened up and took three deep breaths.

  “Mr. Smith? You can see your father now. The nurse will take you when you're ready. His condition is considered stable at the moment.”

  I tried to find the words to thank him, but none came. Zac stepped in. My head was pounding and my body was trembling. I was losing control, letting it slip through my fingers with every second I stood there. There was no way I could see Dad like this. I was so angry with him. With myself. I jumped up and jammed my hands into my pockets. “I've got to get out of here.”

  Zac and Coach looked at me like I was speaking another language. “Son, don't you think you-”

  “I can't, not yet. I'll be back. When I’ve pulled my shit together. I can’t breathe in this place.” I nodded at them both and rushed out of the waiting room. As soon as the outside air hit me, I doubled over, resting my hands on my knees, and tried to calm my erratic breathing.

  Pull it together, Smith.

  There was only one place that would help me right now.

  ~

  Big Joe’s was quiet. I threw a ten-dollar bill into the jar on the worn desk in the reception area and headed to the locker room. I only had the clothes I was wearing, but they’d have to do. My emotions were near boiling point and I needed a release. I found knuckle tape, pulled my jersey off, and started wrapping my hands. There wasn’t any need for gloves—I needed to feel everything.

  During the cab ride over, my head almost exploded as I tried to comprehend that Dad almost drank himself to death. And somewhere, mixed in with all that pain, hurt, anger, and frustration, was Sharn. Fuck, Sharn. I hadn’t texted her since the hospital called—what would I have said? Just when I was about to open up to her—to let her in—Dad went and screwed everything up. But I couldn’t blame him, not really. Coach was right. Dad was sick, and what did I do about it? Nothing. I was his son and I hadn’t done a damn thing.

  My fists pounded into the first bag I came to. The sharp pain splintered up my hand and into my wrist. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. I hardly paused. My movements were quick and powerful. There was no skill—just brute force. Beads of sweat rolled down my naked torso and dripped from the ends of my soaked hair. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. It wasn’t enough. I could still feel myself ready to erupt. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. I imagined Mrs. Elms finding Dad’s lifeless body next to his empty bottles of Jim Beam. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. I pictured Sharn’s face scrunched with concern, then hurt, and then rejection, when she realized I wasn’t going to text. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

  “FUCK.” I looked down at my bloodied hands; red smeared the tatty bag and I dropped down to my knees. My breathing was short and my whole body burned, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I wanted more, but my hands didn’t look like they could take it. I closed my eyes. Sharn’s big browns flooded my mind. I needed her. Needed her touch. Her lips. Her body. But how could I bring her into this shitstorm?

  I couldn’t.

  ~

  After a tepid shower in the grimy locker room, I cleaned up my hands and then the bag. A couple of guys were working out in the battered ring, and I watched for five minutes to try and ready myself to face Dad. I needed to get it over with.

  I checked my phone. One new message.

  Zac: Dude, where are you?

  Me: On the way back now, sorry.

  My hand flagged down a cab, and I climbed in.

  “Where to?”

  “Shands ER, please.”

  Ten minutes later, we pulled up outside of the hospital. I threw the guy a twenty and stared up at the white and red sign. It’s Dad. You can do this.

  Zac approached me from the entrance. “Dude, there you are. Come on. The nurse is ready to take you up to him.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where’d you go? We’ve been waiting almost two hours.”

  “Sorry, man. I had to go to the gym. Beat the shit out of the bag.” I held up my raw hands, and he winced. “Ouch. Maybe, they can take care of those in there.”

  As we walked into the waiting room, Coach stood. “Go see your father. We’ll be waiting.”

  A middle-aged nurse smiled and beckoned me over. “This way, hon.” I followed her into the elevator. “Now, your father is still out. We’re still monitoring his breathing, and he’s hooked up to an IV for fluids. He could awaken at any time, or it could be a little while yet.”

  I nodded.

  We exited the elevator onto the second level. She led me down a sterile-looking hallway and into a small private room. Dad lay in the bed; a breathing tube snaked out of his mouth, and an IV hooked into his left arm. The rise and fall of his chest were visible under the white clinical sheet covering him. I frowned at his skin; it looked sallow. Noticing, the nurse said, “Sometimes people with severe alcohol levels can look a little funny. Don’t worry, it’ll return to normal.” She moved toward the door. “I’ll be down the hall if you need me, or you can hit that button above the bed.”

  She left and I was alone—just me and my barely alive father. I sank into the single seat next to the bed. “Why, Dad? Why?”

  I hadn’t cried in a long time. It had been years. But I couldn’t swallow down these tears. I laid my head in my hands that were resting on the edge of Dad’s bed. It’d been sixteen years since Mom died, but all the pain—that I’d kept locked away for so long—resurfaced.

  I pulled out my phone to text Zac. I had two missed calls from unknown numbers, a missed call from Mrs. Elms, and a text from Sharn.

  Me: Thanks for everything today. I’m going to stay here if they let me. You and Coach go home. I’ll call tomorrow

  A few minutes later,
he replied.

  Zac: Call if you need anything

  Just as I started to pocket my phone, it vibrated again. One new message.

  Ethan: Heard about your dad. If you need anything, you know where I am. Sorry, man.

  Shit. News traveled fast. I hadn’t spoken to him in weeks. Our paths rarely crossed anymore. But he was the one person who knew everything about me, about the shit I’d grown up with, and there was a day when he’d been my best friend. My only real friend.

  Me: Thanks, bro. I’ll call you tomorrow. It’d be good to catch up.

  I didn’t want to open the text from Sharn. She had no idea everything had gone to shit on my end. But I couldn’t delete it without reading it.

  Sharn: Hey, you must be busy. Just thought I’d send you a quick text to say I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. Maybe we won’t have to wake up alone Wednesday morning…

  I stared at the text. Fuck. For the second time today, my heart splintered.

  ~

  It’d been a whole week since Dad was admitted. He was doing better but going through severe withdrawal. The IV fluids they kept giving him were meant to help, but his mood was shitty and worsening by the day. When he’d finally woken up, during the middle of his first night in the hospital, he was delirious and totally out of it. The next morning, he’d been more lucid. I’d never forget the look on his face when he opened his eyes and realized where he was. He looked so full of regret and in pain that I had to grip the bed rail just to get a hold of myself. His eyes spoke volumes—he hadn’t expected to see me again.

  I visited him every day, and Coach had insisted that I take the week off. Dad and I hadn’t talked about what happened yet, but I was present once when the doctors came to talk to him about recovery. I noticed how Dad winced every time they referred to the ‘incident.’ I knew we’d have to talk things through eventually, but it was important that he rested and recover, as much as he could.