The Keeper

by Jillian Liota

  But I am surprised when Charlie returns and takes a seat next to me, pressing play and continuing on as if nothing happened.

  I look at her for a full minute before she finally looks back at me.

  “What?” she asks.

  “Who was at the door?”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “You know who it was. Don’t play games.”

  My brow furrows in frustration.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Charlie re-pauses the movie and turns to face me, her legs crossing in front of her on the couch.

  “You weren’t going to answer it because you want him to sit out there and suffer because you think he did something wrong.”

  “You don’t even know what happened! You don’t know if he did do something wrong!”

  “Exactly!”

  She doesn’t shout the word at me, but it comes out like a whip, cracking into the space between us.

  “If something horrible had happened, you would have told me. But you walked in here and plopped down next to me to watch this stupid sports documentary, and you hate documentaries by the way, like nothing was wrong. So I think whatever is going on now is your fault, not his.”

  I feel the blood rush to my face in anger, but I can’t seem to form a sentence in response. Is she right? Am I the one that messed up?

  Charlie must see something shift in my face because her expression softens. She adjusts herself so she is sitting right next to me, her arm wrapped around my shoulders.

  “No one is perfect, Rach. Being in a relationship is hard work. Sometimes you’re the one to forgive, and sometimes you’re the one being forgiven. But no matter what, both people have to want the same outcome for it to really work.”

  She leans away from me so she can see straight into my eyes.

  “That man has done nothing but fight for you. I won’t pretend to know all the details. I won’t try to make you believe that he hasn’t done anything wrong, because I don’t honestly know. But from the moment I saw you two together it was clear what he wanted. It’s important that you figure out what you want, too.”

  We sit there for a minute staring at each other without speaking when I finally figure out what to say.

  “And if I don’t know what I want?”

  She gives me a soft smile.

  “That’s the beauty of being an adult, RJ. Sometimes you have to make the hard decisions based on just the information you have. Take that organized brain of yours and scan through the information you have about Mack, about you, about the life you lead, and the future you want. And then decide. Is he what you want?”

  I sink into the couch and think on her words for a few minutes as she goes back to her movie.

  I run through the list of cons. The things standing in our way. My concerns. But when I get to the end of that list, all I can think about is the way that I felt in Mack’s arms just an hour ago as he calmed me and talked me through my anxiety attack. That feeling of safety, like nothing I’ve ever known before.

  But even though I have all those warm feelings towards him, and I knew earlier that I was beginning to fall for him, is it fair for me to try and be in a relationship? After I’ve been so hot and cold with Mack from day one?

  “And you may want to pop out and let him know once you figure it out because I may have told him to chill outside and wait for you,” Charlie suddenly blurts out.

  My face snaps to her calculating and very pleased smile. After a very small internal cuss-fest, I slowly stand from the couch and make my way to the door, taking a deep breath and releasing it before reaching for the handle and stepping out to the front patio.

  Mack sits on the stoop with his elbows on his knees, his chin resting in his steepled fingers.

  I clear my throat once. Twice.

  “Sorry you were out here so long,” I finally manage. “Charlie didn’t say you were still here until just a minute ago.”

  He doesn’t say anything, so I step forward and sit next to him, wrapping my arms around my flannel covered legs.

  Just as I’m about to ask why he’s here, I look up at his face and I’m startled by the look of sadness that has overwhelmed his features.

  “This isn’t going to work.”

  The words are out of his mouth for a good thirty seconds before I’m able to respond. And it takes every ounce of strength in my body to ask him this simple question in a way that is calm and collected.

  “What do you mean?”

  He exhales and drops his hands, grabbing my left with his right and twisting our fingers together.

  “Us. We aren’t going to work, are we.”

  It isn’t a question. It’s a statement. And I am shocked at the level of devastation that travels from the ears that received the words, to my brain that digests them, to my heart that breaks at their meaning.

  “I can’t try to be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t see the same things that I do.”

  “What do…”

  “Why did you storm out of my house earlier when Ronnie showed up?”

  I shrug slightly.

  “I was upset. I reacted. She was clearly there for your plans.”

  My reply is laced with sarcasm and tinged with bitterness.

  “My plans,” he says, more to himself than to me. “You really think that little of me? You think I would invite you over to talk about my past and the pain I experienced, with the plan of fucking Ronnie after you left?”

  The disbelief in his tone hurts my heart, but it’s also the acceptance I hear that kills me. He can’t believe that I would think so poorly of him, but at the same time he’s already accepted the idea that I do. My mind is racing, trying to come up with a way to tell him what I really think. But the words I play in my head don’t sound right, because in all honesty, I’m not entirely sure what I think.

  Do I think he would intentionally hurt me? No. Definitely not. But do I think he is capable of ‘double booking,’ as I so eloquently put it earlier? Maybe. And that’s a hard thing to realize. Because it says more about me than it says about him.

  “I have a hard time trusting people,” I finally say, my words barely a whisper. “Sometimes it’s just easier to believe the worst than to give someone the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Why?”

  I shrug again, hating how immature it makes me look.

  “I’m used to the people in my life letting me down. If I don’t rely on anyone, that won’t happen. If I believe they’ll let me down from the start, the sting isn’t so bad when it inevitably happens.”

  “I swear that you are both the most and least self-aware person I’ve ever met. Sometimes you say things that make it so clear that you know who you are and what you want, that you’ve made life choices based on intentional decisions and well thought out plans. And then there are other times where you seem so clueless and so clearly ignorant about why you do things.”

  I scoff and pull my hand from his.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You ever think that you might shut people out because of your dad?”

  And that gets my back up. I stand quickly.

  “I am not talking about this.”

  “Why not, Rachel?” he says, rising to block me before I can storm into the house. “Why won’t you talk to me about this? You have a fucked up dad who ruined the way you see men? No one would blame you for that! It’s actually a very common problem and you can probably find heaps of information online about it. But you can’t just continue to shut people out when things aren’t perfect. You have to talk about it.”

  I try to push past him to get the door and he side steps, blocking me again, placing his hands on my arms and holding me still.

  “You have to talk about your panic attacks. You have to talk about whatever happened to you when you were in high school that you keep locked up tight. And you have to talk about why you’re so quick to believe the worst in a man who
is falling in love with you!”

  I freeze.

  He leans towards me slightly, catching my eyes that are stuck wide open at his admission.

  “I don’t know how many times I can tell you that I am crazy about you for you to believe me. I don’t know what I can do to prove to you that you are what I want, and that what we have is worth risking everything for.” He drops his hands. “But I can’t be the only person who is willing to take risks, RJ. I want to be with someone who is willing to take a risk on me, too.”

  When I look up at him, I see that same sadness in his eyes that was there when he first arrived ten minutes ago.

  He straightens, though. Resolve wipes the sadness from his face.

  “And I don’t think you’re there yet. Whatever it is you need to work through, I get that. We all have our baggage. But if we aren’t at the same place, we can’t move forward together, RJ.”

  His words are again so similar to CC’s from just a few days ago, and my heart tumbles over itself. He leans forward and kisses my forehead, his hands resting softly on my neck. I close my eyes at the tears that are brimming to the surface, as his breath whispers over my skin.

  And I don’t open them again until he’s gone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I wander through the next few days in an absolute haze. Laundry, grocery shopping, homework. I go to practice on Monday and Tuesday, and I spend the majority of time away from Mack, working in the gym with the other keepers. I attend classes, work on my projects, play a game against Santa Barbara.

  And I clean.

  Charlie’s on her semester break due to the strange nursing program schedule, which makes things even worse. She watches me wander around the apartment in the evenings dusting this and scrubbing that.

  She knew something was wrong over the weekend when I came inside after talking to Mack, my eyes glassy, and curled up next to her on the couch. I didn’t say anything to her as she stroked her hands through my hair and continued to watch her movie. She didn’t ask me any questions, which I greatly appreciated. Sometimes a girl just needs to be alone with her thoughts, but not alone.

  Compound my behavior that night with the fact I’ve been roaming the house like a cross between a zombie and a maid, and I know her concern is growing.

  I hate cleaning.

  “Okay, that’s enough,” I hear her say from behind me.

  I look back at her from my position on my knees in front of the oven. I’m drenched in sweat, my hands covered in some weird oven cleaning foam, and my back aches. So as much as I don’t want to have whatever conversation is finally coming my way, my body readily accepts the mini-break it receives.

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Char,” I say, wiping my forehead against the sleeve of my shirt.

  “But you’re cleaning. Cleaning. Like a crazy person.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know whether to shake you or thank you, but I can’t let you just keep going. It has been almost four days.”

  I let out a light huff of laughter, but I don’t respond. I just remain with my knees on the floor, resting on my heels, the silence stretching on between us.

  “What happened?”

  I sigh.

  “He called things off.”

  She says nothing. When I look up at her, her face is contorted in confusion.

  “Wait. I’m lost. What?”

  I close the oven door and turn it on, allowing the heat to do the rest of the work. Standing and walking to the sink, I replay the conversation at my door last night.

  “He told me he was willing to take a risk on me, but I wasn’t willing to take a risk on him. And since I’m not ready, we aren’t going to work.”

  I scrub my hands clean, drying them on the towel folded neatly next to the sink, then refolding it and putting it back into place.

  “And the thing that kills me, is that he’s right.” I look over at Charlie. “I’m not willing to take the risk.”

  “You’re just saying that because you’re scared of feeling something…”

  “I know what I’m feeling Char,” I interrupt. “I’m sad, true. I’m crazy about him, yes. But I also know that he and I are a huge, huge mistake. We are too different, and we have too much against us. I could be kicked off the team and lose my scholarship and…”

  “Would you cut the shit about the team and the scholarship!?”

  My head jerks back at her sudden increase in volume, the exasperation evident on her face.

  “You are one hundred percent using those as excuses, and it’s bullshit.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” She takes a step towards me, her expression full of frustration. “You have this amazing guy who wants to be with you so badly. Yes, you could lose your scholarship and get kicked off the team. But you don’t think that a man willing to risk his job for you would be willing to help you come up with a solution? Maybe he’d be willing to wait a few months? Have you even opened up the possibility of keeping your hands off each other until May? Didn’t you talk to him about what you said about not wanting to wait until you graduate and clarify that you didn’t actually mean it?”

  I shake my head. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why? ”

  “It just isn’t.”

  “Why!?”

  I continue to shake my head, hoping she’ll drop it. But she just stands there watching me, waiting for me to reveal something to her.

  “You don’t know what it’s like,” I whisper. “I can’t go home if I fail. I can never go back there.”

  “I know, sweetheart.” Her tone, so placating, sets me off.

  “No you don’t!” I shout. “You have NO idea what I went through.”

  “Well I would if you would ever tell me!” She looks at me across the kitchen, her arms folded. “I’ve known you for over three years. We are best friends. I have told you the most ridiculous, embarrassing and crazy things that have happened to me. I’ve told you all of the stupid shit I’ve done. But there is some big secret that you keep hidden away, some secret from your past that you don’t want anyone to know.”

  “Why is it wrong to keep some secrets?” I ask.

  “It isn’t wrong to keep things to yourself. But I feel like there’s something going on in your mind and heart that is unresolved, and talking about it can help. I watch you live every day without really living. You are friendly and at the same time you are so closed off with people. But I have never seen you glow like you did when you met Mack.”

  I scoff.

  “It’s true!” She shouts again. “Even after you found out he was your coach, it was like your soul was lighter. You were practically flitting around the apartment.”

  “I don’t flit anywhere,” I respond.

  She gives me a small smile, and I can feel the tension begin to dissolve.

  “Oh, you flitted. All over this bitch, you were flitting and floating.”

  I smile.

  “You know I love you, right?” she asks. I nod once. “I would never, ever try to make you tell me about your past if you didn’t want to tell me. I get it. But have you ever talked to anyone? I mean, professionally?”

  I nod again.

  “I saw a therapist after…”

  “Good. Do you feel like you should go back? Like, maybe there are still some things to work through?”

  I sigh.

  “Maybe. I just… I would have to talk to Jeremy about it, and ask for his help. I used up all of the free sessions Glendale provides to students, which is why I stopped going.”

  I cross my arms and lean onto the kitchen island.

  “I just know he will want to know why I want to see a therapist, and I don’t know if I’m ready to tell him.”

  She reaches across and places her hand on my arm.

  “I know you’re protective of your secrets, RJ, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But you might feel a lot better if you finally let someone help
you carry them.”

  * * * * *

  I’ve never had a practice as brutal as today’s. And it had nothing and everything to do with Mack.

  Rain was pouring down hard and thick, the field covered in mud. And it seemed like none of us had our heads on straight. We weren’t working as a team, and to be honest, I felt completely useless during my drills. I kept slipping. I kept throwing my body in the wrong direction.

  I kept watching Mack.

  And he didn’t look at me once.

  I should have been happy. He was trying to make it easy, either on himself or on me. But it was still miserable to go from avoiding eye contact because I didn’t want everyone to know I kissed my coach, to desperately seeking eye contact as some sort of validation that he was feeling as torn apart as I felt.

  But like I said, he didn’t look at me once.

  “Well that was the worst practice ever,” Piper mumbles as we change in the locker room.

  I give her a small smile.

  “Yeah, we’ve seen better days.”

  “Plans for the weekend?” she asks as she begins to unbraid her long hair.

  “Jeremy and I are gonna see a movie or something,” I respond as I chuck my cleats and practice gear into my duffle.

  I called him yesterday and asked if he was free tonight. Normally he’s traveling or has plans on a Friday night, but he just so happened to be free. Serendipitous.

  “Sounds like fun. I wish I had an older sibling who wanted to take me out all the time,” she grumbles with a smile.

  I laugh, say bye to the girls, then sprint from the locker rooms to the awning in front of the stadium to wait for Jeremy. And as I sit on the benches out front and wait, I replay in my mind what I’m going to say.

  I’ve thought about it for two solid days, whether or not to talk to him about what happened in high school. I got shit sleep last night and woke up cranky after allowing my brain and emotions to wind up and up and up. And when I finally dragged my ass out of bed, I thought about it during my conditioning this morning, during class this afternoon, and when I got back home and began working on my Psych paper.