Hope for Her (Hope #1)

by Sydney Aaliyah Michelle

  Did I meet someone? Did I come up to their room?

  I moved my legs, and one came up against something solid. I moved my leg back, so as not to wake him, but forced my eyes to focus. It was Josh sleeping on his side, his back facing me.

  I remembered knocking on Josh's door last night, and he let me in without hesitation. After the way I acted, I dropped my head back on the pillow and concentrated on remembering what happened between us last night.

  I sat up but stopped when Josh rolled over on his back. I froze until his breath remained steady. The blanket slipped down exposing his bare chest. His arm covered his eyes, and I took in the unobstructed view of the tattoo down his left side. It read, Every day, I write a new page!

  I wanted to reach out and touch it, trace the ink with the tip of my fingers, but the shame of last night weighed on my brain. I wasn't ready to face him. Last night was not my proudest moment.

  I slid the rest of the way off the bed and rested on the floor, surveying my surroundings. I let out a sigh of relief, happy to discover I had clothes on. They weren’t my clothes, but I figured being clothed was a good sign. Nausea hit me, and I focused on a spot on the wall. An FSU emblem calmed my stomach. I found my jeans folded and sitting on a chair next to the bed. I grabbed them and slid them on.

  I found my t-shirt hanging on the bedroom door. I used the nightstand as leverage to pull myself up and grabbed my tank top. I searched around for my flip-flops, and they sat in order next to two pairs of Josh's tennis shoes in the corner. They looked out of place, but it made me smile. Everything in his room was in order.

  His class books were lined up on the desk and no clothes were on the floor. The room decor seemed too organized for a guy's room. I stepped into the bathroom and splashed water over my face. It cleared my head, but the pounding in my temples remained.

  How much did I drink last night?

  I needed to use the bathroom, but thought against it. I needed to throw up, but wanted to do it in the privacy of my dorm room.

  I dreaded having to explain this to my roommates, but their insight might be helpful. I needed more clues to figure out what happened last night.

  I opened the bedroom door and peeked out. A memory made me pause, but I headed out. I followed the hallway to the stairs and stopped dead in my tracks. My heart raced and I couldn’t catch my breath. Jackson was headed the steps.

  He wore ear buds in his ears and as he jogged up the stairs, his head moved back and forth to the beat. I waited for him to notice me thinking, why is God so against me?

  He looked up and tripped on the next step.

  “Whoa, hey, Carrington." He blinked a few times.

  "Oh, hi."

  "Where are you sneaking off to?"

  "Please don't give me a hard time. I’m not in the mood."

  He laughed and his smile made me want to laugh, but my head hurt.

  "Okay, I guess you’re entitled to one walk of shame a semester." He laughed but blinked and turned away. I caught a glimpse of something behind his smile, maybe regret or disappointment.

  "This is not a walk of shame," I said as I balled my fist and stomped my foot. Of course, I defended myself, "I passed out in someone’s room."

  "His name is Josh."

  "You know Josh?" Of course, they knew each other.

  "We grew up together. He's a good guy."

  "Yeah, he is."

  "I just got back from a run and no one is up yet. Coast is clear. You want a ride?"

  The thought of spending another minute in his presence sounded liked the best and worst idea in the world.

  "Uh, no. I'm fine." I headed down the steps. "The walk will do me good."

  "Okay," he said.

  As I passed him in the hall, I inhaled his scent, and it calmed my stomach. It took all my strength not to jump him on the stairs.

  As he passed, he rubbed my arm. "See you around Carrington."

  I swallowed as tears sprung in my eyes. I blinked them away. His declaration sounded final.

  I headed out the door and down the steps. The air did nothing to clear my head.

  When I reached my dorm room, I found Melinda passed out on the floor next to her bed. I tiptoed over to Jessica's bed, but backed away when I noticed her boyfriend smashed up against the wall behind her.

  I grabbed my bathrobe and a towel and headed to the shower.

  I turned the shower up on high and waited for the room to steam up before I stepped in the stall. Last night, two guys wanted me—and twelve hours and several shots later, neither of them wanted anything to do with me.

  My stomach turned as I thought about them. Fun college times didn't include getting caught up in a weird love triangle between best friends.

  The real nature of Jackson and Josh's relationship fascinated me. Jackson appeared easygoing, laidback, and funny.

  Josh was sensitive, intense, and serious, with a dark humor.

  I wondered what they had in common.

  I turned off the water after twenty minutes and stood pressing my forehead against the shower tiles.

  How did I get myself into this mess?

  I needed to talk to someone. When the steam dissipated, I wrapped myself in my white fluffy robe and crawled into my bed, ignoring the movement from the other side of the room. Jessica and her boyfriend had woken up and started making out. When the moans and slurping sounds started, I grabbed my headphones and cranked the music loud. I pulled the covers over my head and nestled into my bed, resolved not to come up for air for the rest of the day.

  ***

  Joshua Elijah Griffin, IV

  When I woke up, my brain was pounding in my skull. I felt hung over, but it was due to Carrington's antics and not alcohol consumption.

  What a fucking lousy first date, if you would even call it a date, but it was memorable. The rehab counselors discouraged us from getting involved in a relationship until we hit a year of sobriety, and I was beginning to think maybe they were right.

  Watching Carrington almost hook up with one of my frat brother made me want to drink.

  I rolled over to check on her, but she was gone. The only sign she had ever been here was a faint smell in the air along with my t-shirt hanging over the bathroom door.

  I headed out the door to survey the damage from last night.

  "She didn't even stay to clean it up. Bleuch ... and ran off," Brandon said as I walked into the kitchen.

  "Who are y'all talking about?" Randolph asked following me.

  "That really hot black chic with the light brown hair. You saw her Randolph. You were dancing with you for a bit," Brandon said.

  "Oh yeah, she was hot, but weird. Besides, she’s a virgin."

  "No way man," Brandon said. "Not the way she grabbed my dick. She knew what she was doing."

  "And then she threw up on you," Jackson said. "I wouldn't go around telling people that story if I was you."

  The guys laughed.

  I headed back upstairs, figuring she made it out safe, when I noticed Jackson following me.

  "You got class today?"

  "No, I'm heading back to bed. You?"

  "No, but the team leaves around four for the hotel." He followed me up the stairs. Before I entered my room, he stopped me.

  "Your friend, Carrington, she snuck out at about six am," Jackson said.

  "You know her?"

  "I met her a couple of days ago. She's a cool chick."

  He watched my expression. His face scrunched up as if he was trying to figure out my intentions with Carrington. He liked her, otherwise, why would he mention her? He wasn't about to admit it.

  "She's amazing. But, you know the best part about her, she has no idea," I said.

  Jackson smiled and nodded his head. He understood.

  "I really like her, man." I pleaded my case without saying too much. I attempted to muster as much sincerity as possible and make it clear that I needed him to back off. We fell for the same girl dozens of times, but he always won. I never cared
, but with Carrington, I cared. She was mine.

  "Well, like I told you before, be yourself and let her know how you feel."

  Jackson continued to his room. He paused, as if to say something, but changed his mind.

  "Hey man," I said. "Thanks."

  He nodded and disappeared into his room.

  I crawled back into bed. I lay there for a long time, wide-awake. I heard what Jackson said and worried about what he chose not to say.

  I gave up on sleep and instead took a shower and got dressed. I called Carrington but got no answer. I texted her. Again, no response. I gathered my wallet and keys and headed out of my room and down the stairs, plotting opportunities to run into her over by the freshman dorms. As soon as I reached the first landing, all thoughts of Carrington left my head. My father’s voice echoed up the stairs.

  I walked back up the stairs and back to my room, cussing under my breath as I tried to figure out how to get out of the house without him noticing me. I had to think fast because if I waited too long to come down, he would send someone up to fetch me.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  "Josh," one of my frat brothers yelled through the door, "Your dad's here."

  I paused before answering. Maybe he would go away.

  "Josh, man, your dad," he said in a more desperate voice. Like if he returned without me in tow, it would disappoint the great Joshua Elijah Griffin, III.

  "I'll be right there."

  "Okay, man. Your father is here."

  He sounded like an eight-year-old boy announcing Santa Claus coming to town. My dad was no Santa Claus.

  I took a look in the mirror and decided to change my shirt. No need to give him any ammunition to ridicule me. He had a list of go-to insults; he didn’t need any prompting from me. I pulled on a blue button-down and made sure to tuck it into my jeans. I also made sure my belt matched my shoes before heading down the stairs. The pain in my chest increased with every step.

  "You boys don't know how to throw a party."

  I spotted Dad holding court in the main room with eight of my brothers, including Randolph and Jackson, all on the edge of their seats. "Back in the day, when we threw a party, we didn't recover until a week later." He slapped Jackson on the back, and the group laughed.

  "Sir, I have a game to play tomorrow."

  "Hell, we played the game still drunk and had to read in the paper the next morning whether we won or not."

  The guys chuckled. Randolph laughed the loudest.

  I entered the room and stood by the door with my hands in my pockets.

  "There he is. There's my son."

  I cringed when he said it. His toned conveyed both an apology and a declaration of reluctant acceptance. It no way sounded like pride.

  "Hey Dad."

  My dad waited across the room with his arms opened wide, waiting to embrace me and play out this adoring father-son facade. I walked into his arms, and he hugged me, but my arms remained at my side.

  "You look good son. Damn good."

  "Thanks."

  "How's it going?” he asked.

  “Fine." I avoided his gaze and tried to shake off the heavy headed feeling. The brothers acted normal, use to my father’s visits. My chest tightened whenever I stood near him.

  Everyone watched me. My father turned his attention back to Jackson.

  "So, how's the team looking this year?" He wrapped an arm around Jackson's neck. I never noticed how much Jackson and my dad looked alike. They shared the same dark brown hair and both towered over everyone in their presence. If Jackson were my dad’s son, it would make more sense. My dad and I never made sense.

  I wanted people to think my mother adopted me, but even at five-foot-ten, I looked exactly like her.

  "We are going to be good," Jackson said. "Offensive line is solid and wait until you see Parker run. He's going to be a star."

  "Parker's that boy from Miami?"

  "Yeah."

  "Oh yeah, he is going to be good. As long as he keeps his act together. Heard he had a little trouble in high school."

  "Naw, he's got his head on straight."

  "Good to hear, good to hear it. Team's all yours now. It's your job to lead ‘em."

  "Yes, sir."

  He turned to me. "Son, let's take a walk."

  I hesitated, focused on watching the dynamic between him and Jackson. Jackson caught my eyes, but I looked away. I rubbed the back of my neck and studied the carpet.

  Jackson hated my father, but based only on what I told him. In front of Jackson, in front of anyone, my dad was the ideal father.

  "Brothers, it was good to see you."

  "You too, Brother Griffin," Randolph said.

  "Randolph. Join me and my son in my boxes for the game tomorrow."

  "Yes, sir."

  My dad exited the room, and I followed with my head hanging. No way was I going to watch the game in my dad’s suite.

  We walked outside. My dad strolled to the far end of the porch, and I followed.

  "Tell me the truth, you doing okay, Son?"

  "Yes, sir," I said.

  "Did you attend the party last night?"

  "I hung around for a bit but got bored."

  "No temptations?" he asked.

  "No sir. I'm fine." I tried hard to control the tone of my voice.

  "Come on, J, I'm not an idiot. You look like shit." I hated it when he called me J.

  "I didn't sleep well last night."

  "You high?"

  "No. I'm not high, I'm not drunk, I haven't taken a pill, and I haven't hit anyone. I'm fine."

  "Okay, okay. I believe you."

  "No, you don't."

  "Well, I believe Jackson, and he says you’re doing fine. He’ll keep an eye on you. You know this is your last shot. There is nothing else after this. You screw this up and—"

  "I know," I yelled, and my body tensed. "I'm trying here," I said in a more appropriate tone.

  "Well, try harder."

  He spoke all of this with a grin plastered on his face. If anyone walked by, we looked like we were an ordinary father and son chatting on a September afternoon.

  No one understood how much we hated each other, except maybe Jackson. After years of pretending, we played our roles well.

  My father walked off the porch to his black Mercedes parked at the curb. He demanded I meet him for breakfast and the game tomorrow. I refused to answer out loud, just nodded.

  As soon as he pulled away, I sprinted up the stairs. I entered Jackson's room without knocking.

  "Fuck you, Jackson. I don't need a babysitter."

  He stood by his bed, packing for the game.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "My dad having you look out for me. Making sure I don't screw up. I don't need you watching my every move."

  He turned and sat on his bed. He started to speak but stopped himself.

  "What? Why do you keep doing that?"

  "Doing what?"

  "You obviously have something to say, so fucking say it already."

  "Okay. First of all, I didn't agree to watch out for you. You're a grown-ass man, and I have my own life to worry about." He stood up and started pacing. "And second, I don't know what to say to you. I don't know you anymore."

  I stared at him and blew out a breath to calm down, but my chest hurt for another reason. Over the years, despite all the shit I’d put him through, he stood by me. Now, it was different. I heard it in his voice. He was done with me. I turned and walk out of the room.

  "Josh, man, wait."

  I headed straight into my room and attempted to shut the door, but Jackson followed and blocked it. He stood in the doorway with his arms crossed.

  "Leave me alone, Jackson."

  "You're so stupid, man."

  "Yeah, well..." I sat on the bed and picked at the comforter. I hated this comforter. Hated this room.

  "I don't get it. You screwed up your own life to get back at your dad for being such a dick. That is stupid. It d
oesn't make sense. He treated you like shit. He didn't love you. He was a terrible father to you and a horrible husband to your mom."

  "What's your point, Jackson?"

  "My point is no matter how much you hurt yourself, he's not going to change."

  I placed my head in my hands. He sat down next to me and put his arm around me.

  "Dude, I'm looking out for you because you're my best friend, but I am tired of watching you self-destruct." Jackson squeezed my shoulder.

  "You're not going to hold me and tell me how much you love me are you?" I asked as I shrugged his arm off my shoulder.

  "Fuck you, Josh." He pushed me back and stood up.

  I stood up.

  "Listen, I hear you and I get it."

  "Yeah, good," Jackson said. “And if you need extra motivation, well, think of Carrington's ass."

  "You noticed it, too?" I smiled.

  "Dude," Jackson shook his head, "you want to hit that, I suggest you be on your best behavior."

  He made it sound so easy.

  Any hope of hitting anything vanished with Carrington ignoring my calls and texts all weekend. Either humiliation or embarrassment prevented her from answering or maybe my charm eluded her.

  #

  In class on Tuesday, I walked in as the professor started his lecture. I spotted Carrington in her usual seat, but as soon as I walked in, she averted her eyes. I figured I had my answer. I made a beeline for a seat on the other side of the room.

  Chapter Eight

  Carrington Olivia Butler

  He walked into class and I turned my head away as soon as he looked at me. It was all rather dramatic, and I didn’t even mean it. It was a reflex. I was embarrassed.

  Snippets of the other night and my behavior kept popping in my head at the most inopportune times—I thought back to the way he looked when I showed up at his door.

  It was the same look he held now, walking into class. He took care of me, when I half expected him to shut the door in my face. He invited me in, he cleaned me up and put me to bed, and how did I repay him—by ignoring him.

  Real mature, Carrington.

  I watched him from this angle. I imagined how messy his hair would look if he wore it longer. He carried the ‘rolled out of bed’ sexy look well. It might be why I kept having naughty dreams about him, none as real and explicit as the one I had when I woke up next to him.