Casper’s body stills as though in shock, but I’m done with this. Pushing myself up, I reach my hand out as though I want to touch him, but think better of it, and instead spin around and stalk away.
The front door slams and I spring up from the sofa. I know my mom is staying out tonight with a work thing, so I’m not expecting anyone.
“Caden,” Tarrant’s unmistakable growl carries through the empty, open plan, lower floor of the house.
“Hey,” I reply taking a few steps, bringing me closer to him. “What are you doing here?”
He chuckles. “Am I not allowed to come back to my house, or to visit my brother?” He’s teasing, and I shake my head smirking.
“Douche.”
“Probably.” He grins.
“Ice cream?” I ask him. He nods, and we move toward the kitchen. Ice cream’s been our thing for as long as I can remember. We were kids living with a dad who always seemed angry, and a mom in constant fear. Our childhood was fraught with obstacles and emotions our young minds couldn’t process. Whenever we needed a moment, we had ice cream—ice cream and each other. Sometimes we talked, sometimes silence was required. But no matter what, two things had to be exactly the same. Always ice cream and always each other.
I pull two bowls from the cupboard as Tarrant pulls the ice cream from the freezer. He places the tubs in front of me, so I load up my bowl with mint choc chip and his with lemon meringue. We sit on the bar stools and quietly eat the cold, creamy, medicine.
“You good?” he rumbles between spoonfuls.
“Yeah,” my reply is accompanied by my frown. “Why would you ask that?”
“I heard some talk about a couple of guys on the football team.” My mind flashes an image of Tim and Den, and I wince. Tarrant’s eyes narrow on me.
“Nah, I’m good, honestly,” I tell him. I know I’ll face this for the rest of my life and like Whitney said, ‘It’s not right, but it’s okay.’ I’d rather live forever within my own fight than exist in someone else’s peace.
“You haven’t called Laura for a few days…” it’s an accusation on behalf of his girl, “… she’s worried.” He’s ticked, but his annoyance only makes me smile. “That’s funny?” he snaps.
I shake my head. “It’s not that it’s funny. It’s just you’re so different.” He stares at me, waiting for an explanation. “She makes you care.”
He smiles. “You’re wrong.”
My head jerks back. “I am?”
Tarrant finish’s off the last of his ice cream, licking the spoon clean, then he drops it with a clatter into the bowl. “She doesn’t make me care, she just makes me better. I don’t care about everyone. Don’t do shit for others. Not really. I care about her, you, Mom, maybe a couple of friends, but that’s it.”
“Okay.” Confusion clouds my head, and I can’t quite understand his logic.
“It’s simple,” he says without me asking. “She doesn’t make me care, but the love I feel for her has helped me understand how important it is to show the people you love they mean shit to you.”
“She’s it?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Do you remember the green robot I had when we were kids? I got it from Grandad for our seventh birthday?” he asks, confusing me slightly with his sudden topic change.
I remember the robot clearly. He had wanted one for months and months. Dad said no every time he asked. Grandad gave it to him as a present for our birthday, and I got a remote control car. Tarrant treasured that robot. It was called Granville, and he carried it everywhere. I lost count of how many times he got in trouble for bringing it to school. Dad took it away once, and I found Tarrant crying in the corner of our garden. It was the first and last time I’ve seen him cry.
“Granville,” I murmur with a grin.
He nods but doesn’t smile. “You remember when Disco died?” he asks and a stab of pain shoots through me. The anguish must play out on my face because he says, “You remember.”
Disco was my rabbit. I’d asked my parents for a rabbit for three years before, finally, my mom bought me one secretly. My dad was so angry, but I guess he allowed me to keep him because the neighbors had seen us arrive home with him. Every day before and after school I’d play with Disco. He had fluffy gray fur and big floppy ears. He was scared of everyone, but not me. He’d climb into my lap and snuggle. I honestly thought I’d have him forever.
One day I came home from school. We were ten and Tarrant still had that robot, it was his prized possession. Mom was baking, and I ran through the house and into the backyard. Disco wouldn’t come when I called. I panicked that he’d gotten out of the cage, but when I pulled the lid off his little house in the corner of the rabbit run, he was there, lying still. He’d died during the day. I remember thinking he’d been all by himself. I cried for hours, and in the end, Dad screamed at Mom, telling her if she didn’t get me to shut up he was going to lose his temper. Mom cradled me in bed, and I cried myself to sleep.
When I woke up the next morning, Granville was next to me on the pillow. Tarrant had given me his robot to ease my pain. I know he must have been sad, at ten years old, to have lost his best friend. Even though it was a robot, he’d carried it everywhere for three years. I knew that day, I understood completely, even at ten years old, how much my brother loved me.
Tears spring to my eyes and I wonder how over the years, I’ve managed to forget just how much Tarrant loves me. Dad pitted us against each other, and while I bought into that fucking life, Tarrant never did.
“You gave him to me because you love me.”
Tarrant nods. “When I was a kid, I never loved anyone more than you, not even Mom,” he admits.
My eyes widen at his statement. Surprise and affection bursts inside me. “Wow,” I whisper.
“I’d give Granville to Laura, in a second. She has everything… all of me.” His voice is raspy, and his eyes fill with obvious love. “I’m not really sure if there would be anyone else if I lost her.”
“Really?”
He rubs his hand over the lower part of his face as though in thought. “For you, I can be honest. Always.” My lips curl in delight, but I remain silent. “I know we’re young still, by society’s standards...” He flips the bird toward the glass doors leading to our backyard and smirks. “Fuck society. I believe there’s one person out there. One person who will fill every hole inside your soul. That person will stand by your side through the rough times and stand in front of you in the toughest. The person who’s always on your mind. Not just first thing in the morning and last thing at night, but also throughout your dreams.” Tarrant pauses his eyes glazing over slightly. “I don’t know what I’d do without her. It would be like living without my sight. I feel like maybe not everyone has one person, but I’ve always felt something inside of me. Almost a silent voice, telling me that when I meet her, I’d know, and when I love it will be forever. Never will there be anyone else for me. Not ever.”
My throat dries, and I swallow to try and ease it. There’s a thumping in my head, a strumming, I think it’s coming from my heart. I know how I feel about Casper, Tarrant’s just explained it.
“Your absolute,” I say quietly.
Tarrant looks back at me. “My absolute.”
I thought we were different. I mistook different for unique. While worrying about our differences, I never noticed all our similarities. All the ways we’re almost exactly the same, think the same, act the same. Love the same. With our whole heart, for one person, one love, one life, one forever. It’s our all or nothing. Always.
How the fuck will I cope with forever, if Casper decides to live the lie?
“Did Tarrant order you to call me?” They’re the first words out of Laura’s mouth the second our phone line connects.
I laugh. “No, but he did remind me I’ve been seriously lacking in my best friend duties.”
“Ahh, it’s okay, I understand, Caden. I know you’ve been looking for a job and stuff,” she replies qu
ietly.
I feel a pang of guilt, there has been no searching for employment, even though I should be elbow deep in application forms. My mom’s job has taken off, at least that’s what she told me via email the other day. She’s expecting a promotion soon. We barely see each other at the moment. If you had of told me this six months ago—when she was a mess of emotions, unable to even drag herself into the shower, and that she would have found a job and be climbing the corporate ladder so soon—I would have laughed in your face, or possibly punched you. Then again, if you had told me my mom would be able to live life without checking in on me at least once a day, I’d have been surprised, and a little worried.
Now, though, it feels natural. Like the transition she’s made was always supposed to happen. I haven’t been concerned at her absence either. She’s happier than she’s ever been, and I want that for her. I knew the time would come when Tarrant and I would grow up, leave home and make our own lives. Our mother would still feature, but she’d be in the background not the forefront. It seems that the time has come.
“Actually, I haven’t,” I confess.
“Oh…” Her voice is so deflated that the guilt intensifies and I pull at the collar of my sweatshirt.
“I’m sorry, I’ve just been tied up in my own head a little,” I lie.
“And with a certain football player on your mind?” I can hear the humor in her voice.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Yeah, Caden. You’re not discrete with your feelings, your face gives everything away.”
Deciding to change topic I ask, “You coming to my game tonight?”
“Of course. Tarrant’s coming, too.”
“He is?” I’m surprised, Tarrant rarely attends my football games.
“Yeah, he said he’s been MIA too much and wants to show you he supports everything you do.”
My breath catches as I struggle to beat back the overly emotional moment I’m having. “I’m lucky to have him.” I whisper.
“We both are,” she whispers back.
I cough, rub the back of my neck and rein myself in. “So, how’s Morgan? What’s going on with her?”
“Ugh, Morgan. Honesty, I do not know. I’ve been spending more time in the dorm rather than at Tarrant’s place because I need to see her. She needs to know I’m around to talk to.” Laura sighs. “Lately she’s skipping more and more school, and she’s disappearing a lot. I know she’s not going to Max’s or, at least, I don’t think she is. I don’t know what to do.” There’s a desperation in her tone.
“Have you thought about speaking to Max?” I question.
“I have…” she sighs again, “… but I feel like that would be going behind her back.”
“If it’s for her own good—”
“I know you’re right, Caden, but I need to be sure that I’ve exhausted every other avenue first.”
“Okay, how about me, you, and Morgan, go out after the game tomorrow night?” I suggest.
“I have a better idea. How about we veg after the game, at your place, if it’ll be free?”
“Good call. I probably need a night in more than I need a night out,” I tell her. “I’ll check that Mom is going to be away this weekend, and if there’s a problem I’ll let you know.”
“Okay.” She giggles down the phone, and I can hear the deep voice of my brother in the background.
“Annnd that’s my cue to go.” I chuckle.
“Bye, Caden.”
“Bye, Button.” I hang up laughing.
My head wasn’t in the game tonight, and I know coach is pissed.
When I arrived to get changed, Den and Tim kept their backs to me. The locker room was unusually quiet for game night. It stayed like that until Solomon arrived. Immediately noticing the atmosphere, he shouted a few curses, a couple of limericks and a chant, and suddenly everyone was alive and kicking. But even with the vibe picking up, I couldn’t shake my mood. I’ve been stuck in my own head, and there are more than a few reasons why.
When I finally took notice of the homophobes on my team, I realized both their faces were busted up and they wouldn’t look me in the eye. They kept their heads down, and their gazes averted as they jogged out of the locker room.
I had one thought. Tarrant.
I know it isn’t a coincidence. He mentioned them when we had ice cream yesterday. I love that my brother has my back, but he can’t always do this. He can’t save me. I have to speak to him.
“Reigns… a word,” Coach orders as we head toward the locker rooms after the game.
I watch the team filter inside. “Coach?” I pant, jogging over to him. He stares at me as the cold grips my limbs and feeds the brittleness inside.
“Your game was off tonight. Where’s your head at?” he asks softly. Coach is a rough, tough guy. Never have I heard him talk to any of the team with tenderness, until now.
“I…I…” I stutter to a stop, running a hand through my damp hair. “I’m okay, coach.”
“Bullshit,” he retorts with more force. “The guys…” His eyes dart to the locker room entrance then back to me. Anger simmers under the surface. “They giving you shit?”
“No. No, coach,” I answer with a sharp shake of my head.
“Something’s wrong,” he grumbles.
I stare at the worn, world-weary man in front of me and allow myself to wish, for just a second, that this man was my dad. Instead of knowing the narcissistic, cruel and genuinely callous man who gave me and Tarrant life is, unfortunately, the real deal.
“I don’t know if this is where I want to be anymore, coach,” I tell him honestly, giving him a piece of the heavy weight I feel pushing me down.
A number of emotions skitter across his face, each owning him for less than a second before he settles on one—compassion. “What is it you want, son?”
His last word catches me out, son. I’ve never really felt like a son. Dad never cared. To him, I was a trophy, the star football player, someone he could band about to his friends and work colleagues. Especially, when his other son stopped listening to his whispered manipulation.
Mum wasn’t much better. I love her, but I was her shield. Not physically, but emotionally, because she was always so weak where Dad was concerned. Whenever Tarrant wasn’t about, I tried to divert my dad’s anger and spitefulness from her, to me. That thought only makes me take stock, and recognize when Tarrant was home he was the shield for the both of us. He took the hits, so we didn’t have to. He’s always been the tough one, just like with Den and Tim. He fought for us because no one else would. He was our hero, our protector, our savior. I don’t know why I never really took stock of his role before. I think I allowed myself to be blinded by Dad for too long, and jealousy played a big part in that. I’m only now grateful for what he did for me. Tarrant gave me the freedom, he so obviously didn’t have by bearing most of the pain.
“I don’t know what I want,” I answer honestly. “But I know whatever it is, I can finally make that choice free from fear.”
Shaking his head, he drops his chin and stares at the ground. “I want to convince you to stay, God knows you belong on that field, son.” Coach flings his arm out, pointing toward to empty football field. “But my heart says you need to take a stride out on your own. You need to be your own man, Caden.” He pulls off his ball cap and shakes it out a couple of times. “I’m thinking you’ve been stifled for too long, pinned into the space of an uncomfortable shape, one you just don’t belong in. You need to find out where you do belong, where you want to belong.”
My stomach turns and twists my insides causing a queasy feeling. I press my palm against it, putting pressure on the pain. It’s what I’m used to. Covering the hurt, letting the problem fester. It’s what I know. Maybe it’s who I thought I was? Now, though, now I get to choose who I want to be.
I nod.
“I don’t want football anymore, coach. I’m sorry.”
Coach Stanford places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes it
. “Nothing to apologize for, son.”
We stand there for a moment before the rain starts. Coach looks up at the sky then back to me. “You better get out of the rain, hit the showers.”
I glance back at the bleachers knowing I need some time. “I’ll be there soon.”
He smiles softly, and it’s a look I’ve rarely seen on his face, if ever. Another moment passes, as he stands quietly contemplating—what, I don’t know—then turning away, he stalks to the changing rooms. I know the exact minute he’s reached his destination because he starts cussing the team out.
Smiling, I wander over and take a seat. I don’t move for long moments, not until the weight of my drenched clothes, which hang from my frame, dictate my need for warmth.
The rain gets heavier, so I drag myself from my seat and run inside. The moment the hot shower hits my skin I sigh loudly. Everyone has left, so instead of the typical shouting, jeering and general ball-busting that normally happens after a game, I’m wrapped in a blanket of silence. The complete absence of sound allows me time for quiet reflection. I close my eyes, stand still, and let the rivulets of water run down my body, easily slipping into tranquility.
A sudden bang of a locker door causes me to startle and look around. I can’t see anyone, but suddenly aware of the situation I’m in, I quickly finish my shower and grab my towel rushing to get dressed.
Before I came out, before I let people glimpse into my world, into my heart, and before I thought that my sexuality was anyone’s business but my own, I never worried what people thought about me. And except when I was around my dad, I never felt scared. When I first came out, I knew there was a chance I’d be bullied, called names or possibly worse, because I know that ignorant assholes exist. But I always felt removed, like that sort of thing happened to other people. Never me.
Two weeks after coming out as gay and living honestly for the first time in my life, I went to a gay club. I met a guy that night, we didn’t do anything more than chat. He seemed really into me and appeared to like my inexperience. When he asked if I wanted to go somewhere a little quieter, I agreed eagerly. We headed to a late night diner so we could talk more, but when he took a left turn down a street I wasn’t expecting, and I called him out on it, he pushed me into a side alley. He was hitting me before I really knew what was happening, punching me in the side of the head and spitting vicious insults at the same time. I fought back, but without warning there were three more guys on me. His buddies—it was a setup.
Conflicted (The Deliverance Series Book 2) Page 4
