The Keeper

by Jillian Liota

  Now that I’m waiting for him to pick me up, I know that I’m making the right choice, no matter what happens. If I’ve decided I need his help, it isn’t fair to ask for it without being completely honest.

  Two short honks have me grabbing my bag off the ground and ducking my head low as I sprint through the rain to where he sits in his SUV.

  “I’m glad you called about getting together,” he says as he shifts the car into drive.

  “Me too. It’s important we make sure to spend enough time together.”

  He stays silent for a moment, but then makes a right out of the lot.

  “I didn’t know if you were still mad about Friday.”

  I roll my eyes and twirl my phone in my hand.

  “Just because you were a dick doesn’t mean I’m going to stop talking to you.”

  “I’ll address the ‘you were a dick’ comment later. We hitting Mama Sita’s?”

  I nod.

  “Yeah.”

  Mama Sita’s is a popular Southern California burrito chain with a spot about two miles from my house.

  “Do you mind if we drive through and head back to the apartment though? There’s something important I want to talk to you about.”

  When I get nothing but silence, I turn to look at Jeremy and catch his eyes locked on mine, his face showing an almost grave concern.

  “Why can’t you just tell me now?”

  “Because I want us to be at home. It’s important.”

  “Yeah, I got that. Just tell me now.”

  “Jeremy, stop. I’ll tell you in a bit.”

  “Are you pregnant?”

  “What!?”

  “Are you?”

  I can’t believe he would even… ugh!

  I can feel the blood rushing to my face, demonstrating in a more than obvious way how angry his question makes me. My fists clench and I glare right back at him.

  “When did you become this person who always jumps to conclusions about me? Can’t I have just normal sister-brother stuff to talk about? Does it always have to be that I’ve fucked up in some way?”

  Jeremy sighs.

  “Sorry. I’m just on edge today.”

  I cross my arms and continue to throw daggers at him with my eyes.

  “Well I don’t give a shit. I don’t know what has happened to our mojo in the past few weeks, but I feel like I barely know you anymore. You hardly speak to me, and when you do, you’re either angry or making huge assumptions.”

  “Rachel, I said…”

  “And even more frustrating is that it feels like you don’t know me anymore, either. When did I become this person that you think so poorly of? Why can’t you believe in me? It’s like everything that comes out of your mouth is tailor-made to make me feel like shit.”

  Jeremy sighs again, but we don’t speak, apart from ordering, until we pull into my apartment’s parking lot.

  As he sets his food on the counter, I can see him moving his mouth, talking to himself. It makes my mouth tick up in a half smile. Jeremy’s always done that. It makes him look a little bit crazy, but none of the good ones are sane anyways.

  “I’m sorry my faith in you isn’t what it used to be,” he finally says, pulling out my burrito and setting it on the counter in front of me.

  “I just don’t understand why,” I reply. “We’ve always been so close. What happened?”

  Jeremy turns and opens the fridge, pulling out a bottle of Coke. When he turns back around, his face is like granite.

  “I just have some personal stuff going on. I’ll tell you one day, but not today.”

  He plops the bottle onto the counter and grabs two glasses.

  “Today, we talk about you. What’s going on?”

  My stomach drops and I feel like I’m starting to lose my breath. My skin goes instantly clammy and warm at the same time. I know the signs of an anxiety attack looming in the distance, and luckily this isn’t it.

  I take a deep breath, resolving myself to what’s about to happen as I try and blurt things out in chunks so I can get it all out.

  This is going to be hard. And it’s made even harder by the fact that Jeremy is still looking at me with that same face, the one that says he’s really worried. And I know this is going to be just as hard for him as it is for me.

  “Well…” I clear my throat, trying to remember what I wanted to say but drawing a blank. “Sorry, this is hard. Uhm…”

  “You’re making me nervous, Rach. Whatever it is, just rip off the bandaid.”

  “Okay.” I shake out my arms, trying to loosen the tension that has taken over my body. “I’m wondering if I can borrow some money so I can go back to therapy.”

  Jeremy’s head jerks back.

  “Therapy? Why?”

  “I just… have some things I need to work through.”

  “And you can’t talk to me about it? I can give you some advice.”

  I shake my head.

  “I appreciate that, I do. But this isn’t about getting advice. This is something I need to do. For me.”

  He pauses, surveying me, like he’s trying to figure it out without me saying anything.

  “Wait. You said back to therapy.”

  I nod.

  “Yeah.”

  “When did you go before?”

  “Freshman year until the middle of sophomore year, but I ran out of free sessions so I stopped going because I can’t afford it.”

  God, getting out that entire sentence was like trying to sing a note when you’re out of breath, so you just push on and your voice begins to sound thinner.

  Jeremy slowly unwraps his burrito, his eyes focused on the task.

  “And you can’t talk to me about it? I mean, I’ll give you the money, no problem. I’m always here to help you. But if you’re going through something I want to be able to help, you know?”

  I pick at my own burrito, struggling to get the words out.

  “It just has to do with… dad.”

  “What about dad?”

  “Just some stuff from senior year.”

  Jeremy stops chewing on the bite he just inhaled, swallowing loudly.

  “Did something happen?” At my silence, he prods again. “Rachel, if something happened…”

  We stand in silence, staring at each other.

  “Please tell me.”

  His voice is a whisper, and I know I have to tell him. I can’t protect him from this truth anymore.

  I let out a rush of breath.

  “After you left… he… got worse.”

  “What did he do?”

  “God. He… he called me names. Which I know sounds like no big deal, but hearing him call me a whore and worthless and a fucking dyke on a daily basis was… I don’t know. And it wasn’t just that. He started hitting me.”

  “Rachel…”

  “He slapped and choked and punched and kicked. Over and over. For three years.”

  Jeremy leans over and braces himself on the counter, his face white.

  “It got so bad that I…” I stop, my stomach twisting at the idea of revealing my darkness to Jeremy. “I tried to kill myself.”

  “Oh my god,” he whispers, before he awkwardly folds in on himself and sits on the floor, his back to the cabinets.

  I fly around the island and wrap my arms around him. At first he’s almost limp in my arms, but then he clings to me, so tight, so close, like he can banish away anything harmful or hurtful if he holds me tight enough.

  “Rachel I’m so sorry.”

  We stay like that, holding each other, for ages. Jeremy whispering apologies, both of us emotional and upset.

  “I’ll give you anything you need. You need therapy, I’ll cover it. You need to go to the gym to beat the shit out of a bag, I’ll take you.”

  I let out a half laugh through my tears.

  “Thanks, Jer.”

  He pulls back and looks at me.

 
; “How did I not know? I could have…”

  But I shake my head, almost violently.

  “You didn’t know because I didn’t tell you. I hid it. It’s not your fault.”

  Jeremy wraps his arms around me again, holding me close as we sit on the kitchen floor. After a few minutes of silence, just as I’m about to get up, he speaks again.

  “I should have known something was wrong.”

  “No, Jer…”

  “I should have known!” he almost shouts. “I could see you were more withdrawn every time I came home. I could see you were thinner, and unhappy. You always looked a little more pale. And that one time I saw bruising and you said it was…” he can barely choke out the words, “… it was from practice. It was that asshole beating you! I knew something was wrong but I was so wrapped up in my own shit I didn’t even notice!”

  “I promise you,” I whisper, “I promise you that this is not your fault. I did everything I could to keep you from knowing.”

  “Why?”

  I shrug.

  “I didn’t want to burden you. You were finally free and I didn’t want to add to…”

  “Seriously?”

  I just sit and stare at the floor, unsure how to answer when I know he won’t want to hear it.

  “You are never a burden, Rachel. Never. Not ever.” I can feel the sting of tears again at his words. “You are the best thing in my life, Rach.”

  “But I didn’t want to risk you being on his side.”

  The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them and I slap my hand over my mouth like a cartoon. I can’t believe I just said that out loud, and when I look up at Jeremy, his face is enraged, mortified, astounded.

  “You think…” he braces his head with his hands, “… you think I could ever… ever… believe you deserved anything like that?”

  I’m shaking my head as he’s speaking, already trying to reassure him.

  “Not now I don’t. But I was 15 when it started getting really bad. I was alone and had no one to talk to. I just had dad telling me how worthless I was. Blaming me for everything. Telling me you hated me and thought it was such a waste of time to see me when you came home.”

  I blink back tears, trying to explain to the person who has always been there for me what the thought of losing him did to me.

  “I was worried you’d agree with him, and then I’d be completely alone, because I wouldn’t even have the thought of you.”

  Jeremy’s head drops back against the cabinet behind him and he stares at the ceiling, collecting his thoughts.

  “I know that’s not true now,” I continue. “I had a really great therapist at the College Counseling Center, really. She helped me work through a lot, see how he abused and manipulated me to satisfy something inside of him that has nothing to do with me. But now, I have other things to work on.”

  “Like what?”

  I let out a small, humorless chuckle.

  “Like actually believing I’m worth something. Knowing it’s true because I’ve had a conversation with a therapist, and believing it’s true deep in my very bones? Those are two separate things.” I clear my throat. “And I have a hard time opening up to people… to guys… and I want to be able to.”

  When we connect eyes again, I know he sees it.

  He can see that while, yes, most of this is going to be for me, some of it is for Mack.

  “He’s in love with me,” I whisper, finally letting the tears stream down my face. “He’s in love with me and I don’t know if I’m even capable of loving someone back. And I don’t know how to fix it on my own.”

  He wants to say something about Mack. Lessen his value to me, assure me I don’t need him. But he stops himself.

  Instead, he does exactly what a big brother should.

  “Whatever you need, Rach. I’m here.”

  * * * * *

  I can’t fall asleep when I try to that night, so I open the laptop my brother gifted me for my high school graduation and look up Mack’s Facebook page. I haven’t looked at it since the day I found out he was my coach, and when I go to it I see not much has changed. No status updates. No photos. Nothing.

  But when I click on the box on the bottom right, I see a little green dot next to his name that lets me know he’s online.

  I waver for a moment after opening up the tiny chat box, wondering what I’m doing. But ultimately I can’t help myself.

  Me: Are you there?

  The marker pops up letting me know he’s seen the message, and for a brief second the little bubbles glow on the screen to indicate he’s responding.

  But then they disappear.

  And the little green dot disappears too.

  I sit blankly staring at the screen. He closed his computer or his app to ignore me. My heart drops.

  But for some reason I don’t let that deter me, and I end up sending one message after another in rapid succession.

  Me: I’m sorry.

  Me: I’m sorry for thinking the worst of you time after time when you’ve done nothing to actually deserve it.

  Me: You said you’re falling in love with me and I don’t even know if I can love someone back. But I’m not sure how to fix it.

  Me: And I don’t know whether you think I’m worth the time it would take. To wait for me to figure out what’s broken in my mind and my heart.

  Me: But you should know that I’m going to try and figure it out. I’m gonna try to work through a few things.

  Me: And in the end, no matter what happens between us… even though I hope it’s something good… thank you for showing me that not everyone lets you down. And that sometimes you can meet someone who’s worth the risk.

  I sit silently and re-read the things I’ve written. The words sound stiff and formal, but they’re honest and real. I can only hope I’ve conveyed how I really feel in a way that resonates with him.

  I close my laptop, switch off my light, and crawl under the covers.

  And this time I fall straight to sleep.

  * * * * *

  When I wake up the next morning, I stumble through my routine. I eat my banana, drink my orange juice, and throw my hair up into a messy bun.

  I race back up the stairs to grab my phone off the nightstand, and stop short when I see what’s on the screen.

  Mack: You’re worth the wait.

  And my face breaks into a smile I can’t contain for the rest of the day.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next few days pass without much incident.

  I go to work and chat with CC about insignificant things, even though I know she wants to push and talk about the day I stormed out of work.

  I get together with Piper to work on our Psychology papers and we head to the tutoring center together to get some help.

  I email back and forth with Thomas as we push forward on our joint project.

  He doesn’t mention our failed date and neither do I.

  I visit the College Counseling Center and book in an appointment with Regina, the same woman I met with before. She’s actually in the waiting room chatting with the receptionist when I get there and greets me by name, letting me know she’s happy to see I’m back and looking forward to meeting again.

  I go to practice and conditioning.

  I see Mack.

  We don’t speak. But unlike Friday, our eyes linger. I feel like hope and fear and confusion radiate from both of us.

  It’s encouraging to feel like I’m not alone in this.

  * * * * *

  “Rachel, can I see you for a minute?”

  I hop up from where I’m stretching on the grass and jog over to where Coach Johnson is standing on the sidelines.

  “What’s up Coach J?” I ask, trying not to pay attention to how close I am to Mack, who stands just a few feet away looking at his clipboard.

  Coach Johnson sticks out his clipboard and places a whistle down on top of it.

  “It’
s time to start this practice coordination Coach McIntosh has been talking about nonstop for the past few weeks. He says you’re eager, so I’m assuming you’re ready to go?”

  My mouth hangs open. I’d completely forgotten that Mack talked to me about this. About coaching my fellow teammates.

  “I, uhh… I don’t…” I feel like a bumbling idiot, unable to form thoughts.

  No, I want to say. No, I’m not ready to go.

  “McIntosh, I thought you said you’d discussed this?” Coach J says, looking over at Mack, who I realize is no longer looking at his own clipboard and is instead looking at us.

  “Give us a sec?” Mack waves me over to him, and then leads me a few feet away. “I thought we’d talked about this, RJ. I wanted to give you a chance to coach so you could get some experience under your belt.”

  My voice comes out whiny and panicked. So mature.

  “We talked about it but I didn’t know when it was gonna start! I don’t feel ready at all!”

  “Take a deep breath and look at me,” he says.

  When I look into Mack’s eyes, I see a confidence I don’t feel. I see a trust that I don’t think I deserve. And I see someone who believes in me implicitly, even if I’m struggling to always believe in myself.

  “Have you been watching tape when you’re supposed to and do you feel prepared to play Long Beach on Friday?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ve been listening to Coach J and myself sharing our strategy for the game, reviewing Long Beach’s strengths and weaknesses?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did I say two weeks ago that I wanted the offensive players to work really hard on, because there are several teams coming up who have issues with the same thing?”