by M. J. Fields
Mitch and I often have little spats, purposely, so that we can spend time “‘making up” in his room.
We don’t have a countdown per se, but, as we near the end of the semester, things become more and more heated and, yes, harder.
With Logan graduating in days, we both know things will change, and sadly, he still won’t divulge anything more about his past, which hurts knowing that, if he can’t fully let go of it, he’ll never have a real chance for a future.
Our last night at Sound, Elle convinces us to all dress up in a festive manner, and they all push me to wear the slutty Santa costume while they dress as slutty elves. We decide to sing only Christmas carols, and I secretly feel bad for not telling Mitch, but he and Logan have plans with the guys, so I don’t mention it.
As soon as we walk in, I head up and request “Santa Baby.” We’ve rehearsed and everything.
We all secretly despise that, as freshmen, we don’t get to do shows, but it’s part of the program. So, this is clearly how we deal with it.
We don’t even have time to get a drink before the DJ tells me the stage is ours and he does it looking me up and down lustfully. And to think, I thought he was gay.
I start us out, then we sing the chorus together. We kill it.
When we begin to walk off stage, the next song begins. It’s the song that Mitch and I were supposed to sing.
When a male says, “Jamie, where you going?” I look over my shoulder and see Mitch dressed in a super stupid elf costume.
Elle gives me a shove.
“I really can’t stay.” I smile as I sing.
He walks toward me, looking at me in a way that makes my body zing. “But baby, it’s cold outside.”
“I’ve got to go away.” I step back, and he grabs my hand, spins me, and pulls my back against his chest.
“Baby, it’s cold outside.”
The entire song is perfect—his timing, his pitch, our harmonies, the way he moves us across the stage.
We end the song with him dropping to his knees. “Baby, don’t hold out. Oh, but it’s cold outside.”
When the song’s over, he stands up, grabs me around the waist, spins me in a circle, and he kisses me… like we’re alone.
That night, after Sound, was magic. I was so close to sleeping with him, but then I realized we hadn’t even become friends on social media. However, he told me that Facebook and IG were lame and that, if I was concerned with my folks seeing posts, we should Snap each other. Neither of us had accounts, so we started them that night
The night before we were all heading home, he begged me to let him buy me a plane ticket. He didn’t want me on “a fucking bus for two days.” When I explained to him that I actually liked the bus and seeing the sites, he told me that he would drive me. I told him no, that the ticket was already purchased and my parents wouldn’t approve of me riding with him, anyway. I saw him shut down, and it hurt. I even tried to explain that he was being irrational to even suggest it because we weren’t even close to a meet-the-parents moment when he can’t even talk about his home life.
“Fine,” was his response before he started to walk away.
Tears stung my eyes as I watched him, but he stopped and turned around.
“I’m fucking trying here, Jamie, I really am.”
I nodded and wiped the first fallen tear.
“I need you to just let me fly you—”
“No.”
“No?” He was even more pissed.
“Why are you making this so much harder, Mitch?”
He stood there, looking at me like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t; he simply stormed up to me, hugged me tighter than I think ever before, kissed my forehead, and then walked out of the dorm.
Mitch
I freaked the hell out on her when I should have just come clean about everything. But, in doing that, I would be admitting that I am more fucked up than she may even imagine, that the God she worships is one I despise, that I have good fucking reason to.
Snap maps—not even sure she knows what they entail—but I know where she is at all times.
Yeah, I know, stalker game leveled up, player.
She snapped me when she got home. I already knew where she was every damn minute of those two days. I watched her little blip move southwest. Two days without sleep sucked hard, but I did manage to get a tree with Dad, Nadia, and Cara without being too much of a prick. Dad’s still sober and still acting like he didn’t fuck up two kids for years.
Sold the App. JT was annoyed as hell it was in bitcoin. He returned the gesture by pissing me off when he insisted that I split it three ways, Cara being the third. She doesn’t know about her account, and she won’t because she’ll blow it, and she’s going to need it to blend in at college. And, as we all know, that takes money.
Unless you’re Jamie.
Fucking obsession mimics the way I was with Lilyanne. Scares the hell out of me, too.
I spent a lot of time with the horses, and the barn’s never been cleaner. Spent a lot of time helping Cara study to retake her SATs. Spent a shit ton of time being pissed at Lilyanne. A first.
Jamie wasn’t communicative at fucking all, so I just watched a dot bounce around Greenville, Mississippi.
By Christmas Eve, I was fucking annoyed, because I hadn’t heard from her since she got home, but thanks to spiked eggnog at Johnny’s Tavern, I slept like a baby.
Christmas morning, I woke to a video Snap. “Wishing you and yours a Merry Christmas, Mitch Moore, but mostly you. Snap me when you open your gift.” She blew me a kiss.
Two seconds later, I ripped open the box and was smiling from ear to ear.
I took a picture of the sock monkey, made from a sock, sitting in a mug, holding a few packets of hot chocolate, and snapped her.
Fucking hilarious. I love it. Merry Christmas, Jamie G.
We agreed to a ten-dollar maximum, which I abided by because I remember not being able to buy gifts to exchange with kids at school like they all had.
I watched her blip move from her church to her home address then waited ten minutes for her to reply with a picture of the SU travel mug that I had shoved chocolates in, along with a ten-dollar Dunkin’ gift card.
Thank you so much, Mitch. This is ‘Moore’ than ten dollars, though, so you’ll be getting ten bucks worth of hot chocolate when I get back to school.
No Snaps for close to a week. Only left the house once, to buy a horse, because she was black as night, beautiful and, well, I wanted her.
The only other time we snapped was New Year’s Eve, both at midnight, my time and hers.
She’s been back at school for two days and hasn’t snapped or messaged me. She also hasn’t replied to mine that I sent a few hours ago.
Logan messaged me, though, asking me if I checked on Keeka, as promised, when I got back. I did. Took shit to her at Lou’s from Logan and plan to go and ask the question straight-up tonight if Jamie doesn’t message me back.
In my heart, I know she’s not carrying my kid. Logic and deductive reason further says no, as well. Evidence in the aftermath of waking up with her in my bed was sorely lacking and straight-up, I don’t lick or tap something any of my teammates or friends have.
Trucker Cohen was never a close friend. Had we been, he wouldn’t have questioned me. Once team always team.
I shake my head at myself because, clearly, I’m questioning shit, so why wouldn’t he?
New year, new rule: Jack Daniels is not your friend. Sam Adams is.
“You look at my belly one more time, and I’m going to stab you in the eye with a swizzle stick,” Keeka warns me.
“Fine, then tell me; did we—”
She leans over the bar, an inch from my face and says, “Nnnnoooo.”
I grab her cheeks, kiss her nose, and laugh. “Thanks.”
“Do that again, and I’ll slice your throat with a lemon zester.” She scowls as she begins wiping down the bar.
“Keeka?”
“Look, your
friends just walked in.”
“We friends, Keeka?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, Mitch. Now, what do you want to drink?” She grabs a bottle of Jack.
“Sam Adams.”
Sitting with the guys, nursing a beer, the same, now warm beer I ordered an hour ago, listening to some of them talk about their hometown holidays and how they fucked their girlfriends, the ones they left and cheated on all semester made me fucking sick to my stomach. I know damn well I’d never have cheated on Lilyanne. Hell, I had ass tossed at me at home and turned it down because there was only one ass I wanted.
Same ass I watch on Snap Maps at some new bar across town.
I know she’s with her friends, because Lisa and Christy added me, and their maps are public, too. Elle’s is not.
“Jesus Christ,” I hear Tank gasp, and all the music dies.
I look around, wondering what’s going on and see that all the TVs, once on different games, all have switched to local breaking news.
Keeka’s the first voice I hear. “Lou, the kid who used my phone?”
Lou nods. “JJ Jones.”
“He called an Uber to take him there.”
Take him where? I ask myself as my stomach sinks.
Lou hugs her. “Well, let’s just hope he got sidetracked.”
I look at the TV closest to us as the news anchor standing in front of a new club that just opened, Chaos, had moments ago been the site of a mass shooting.
I look at my phone and see Jamie’s blip. Then I google the club.
No, no, no! screams in my head and I look up at the TV again.
My ears are ringing. The only sound I hear is the rushing of blood inside them.
Until Keeka cries out, “That’s … That’s—”
“He hasn’t been in town, girl. It could be any black Chevy,” Lou tries to calm her.
I look back at the TV. Fuck no!
I stand up, and my body begins to shake.
“It’s his, Lou. It’s Logan’s.” Keeka points to me, and I nod.
“Okay, sweetheart, now’s the time to pray.”
Keeka rounds the bar, and I meet her halfway. “He’s gonna be okay.”
Tears form in my eyes as I pull her into a tight hold. “Fuck, Keeks. I think Elle and her roommates are there. My girl, Jamie, is there.”
“Elle?” she cries.
“I fucking love her, Keeks. I can’t lose her. And what the fuck is Logan doing! What the fuck!”
I start toward the door when she grabs me. “Don’t you leave me!”
“You won’t get close to that scene,” Lou yells to me. “Sit your ass down and pray, boy.”
I fucking love her, damn You! Don’t You take her from me, too! I scream at God in my head, the one she prays to, the one who damned me from birth, the one who she believes so strongly in.
It seems like an eternity before we see the police arrive on the scene when, in reality, it’s only been a couple minutes. Jamie’s blip hasn’t moved, and I’m numb, so fucking numb, and pissed at myself for not telling her everything, including what I just admitted to Keeka, my not baby momma, before I even had the balls to tell her.
A feeling of helplessness washes over me, and I do it.
I pray.
I pray for Jamie, for Logan, for squad, for JJ, and everyone else in that mess.
Gunshots sound, and we all gasp.
I start to stand.
“No!” Keeka clings to me.
I look down in her eyes and see terror as she trembles under my arm. I know Links is at the scene, that he’s going to take care of the girls, so I need to take care of what I can. And right now, that’s Keeka.
I look from my phone, which I seem to also be praying to, as well, along with asking Lily for a sign, and see a big, black truck parked right at the police line.
A knowing feeling, one that’s been missing from the field, from the barn, washes over me, and I look up at the closest TV and thank Lily and God when I see her.
“There!” I point at the TV. “That’s my girl! Fuck, fuck. Come on, Links! Come on, buddy!”
I see the girls, too, all but Elle.
“Are they Elle’s roommates?” Keeka asks.
“Yeah. Fuck. Come on, Links; get the girl, and get the fuck out.”
I hear someone in the crowd gasp, “Is that Brody and Maddox Hines?”
“Who?” Keeka asks me.
“Fucking legends. Rock stars who live in the same town that Logan does. Kind of related.”
We watch them push through the police barricade.
“That’s badass,” I hear someone say.
I hear one of the guys behind us ask, “Didn’t Brody Hines kill someone?”
“Fucking hope he kills whoever the fuck is in there shooting up the place,” I snap.
A moment later, I see both Hines men walk out, and one is carrying a girl who is clinging to his neck.
“That’s Elle! That’s Elle!”
Come on, Links. Come fucking on, I beg whoever is listening.
“And Logan! Logan is okay, Mitch! Logan is okay!” Keeka holds on to me, body shaking as she sobs.
“It’s all gonna be okay, Keeks.”
“No.” She pulls away from me. “Jones is there. JJ Jones, your teammate, he’s there, too.”
It’s four in the morning, and we’re all sitting around the TVs, still watching body after body being brought out.
“Is that …?” Keeka ask.
I squeeze her shoulders. “No, it’s not Jones, Keeks.”
I reach in my pocket and pull out my phone when it starts ringing, hoping it’s Jamie or Logan. “Coach?”
I listen to Coach Brown sob as he delivers the news. I feel like I’m going to throw up. I tell Coach that I’m here for whatever needs to be done.
“Mitch?” Keeka lip quivers.
I let out a breath and shove the phone back in my pocket. “Downs is in critical condition. And Jones …” I lose what little control I have, and a tear falls. “Jones is gone.”
We all head back to South Campus. Keeka is with us. She and I have been watching Jamie’s blip. All three girls are in Blue Valley. Makes sense that Logan would take them back with him.
“Mind if I shower?”
I nod toward my room. “Yeah, and then we’re going to Logan’s.”
“Are you sure—”
“One hundred percent sure.”
While Keeka’s in the shower, I flip through the local news channels and stall on a picture of Elle. Only, she’s not Elle.
“Holy shit.” I shake my head. “Holy fucking shit.”
I flip off the TV, instinctually knowing that, if Links kept this secret from me, he sure as hell didn’t want the rest of the house knowing. I mean, not that the whole university doesn’t know by now, but again … “Holy fucking shit.”
“What happened?” Keeka’s voice breaks.
I stand up and grab her hands to reassure her it’s okay. “You’re never gonna believe this shit, Keeks.”
“What?”
I let go of her hand and google Brody Hines’s daughter, and a younger version of our Elle pops up.
“Look at the pictures while I shower. But, spoiler alert: Elle is really London Fields.”
“Who?”
“Stepdaughter of the rock star who busted through the police line last night. Stepsister to his son, equally as famous. And how the fuck don’t you know the names of some of the greatest legends of our times?” I drag her into Logan’s room and whisper, “Logan has known her most of his fucking life because his stepmother, Tessa, has a daughter, Harper, who is married to Maddox Hines. Mind. Blown.”
“That was stupid.” Keeka holds her belly.
“He’s gonna want his phone. He’s gonna want to know about the guys, and I sure as hell don’t want him seeing it on TV.”
I look in the rearview mirror at Logan’s truck, ass-smashed to shit, as we pull onto the road to head to Blue Valley, to Jamie.
Keeka sleeps
the whole time. Glad she does. She needs to chill with my not-baby growing in her belly.
Pulling down the snow-covered private driveway, where Coach told me that they were and the blip confirms, I feel my tires start to sink. Logan was right; I should have gotten something more sensible than this thing. I hit the gas.
Keeka, who’s been sleeping, grabs the oh-shit handle.
“You feeling better?”
She yawns and nods as she looks out the window.
“That’s where Logan’s dad and stepmom live.”
“They have a long driveway.”
“It’s a whole fucking road. At the end of it is Maddox and his wife’s house. That’s where Coach said they were heading.” I chuckle nervously. “Never been down this far.”
“Well, if they don’t want us here, we’ll tell them that, as soon as we see Logan and Elle—I mean—”
“Right?” I laugh. “After I see Jamie and know everyone’s okay, I’m gonna kick his ass for not telling me the damn truth.”
“Well, the way I see it, sometimes you have to tell a little white lie now and then to protect what you love.” She rubs her belly, and I cringe inside. “It’s not yours, jackass!”
“You just said—”
“First of all, I was talking about Logan. And second, I don’t love you. As a matter of fact, I’m not even sure I like you right now, so get over it.” She reaches over and slugs me in the arm.
I pull up behind a line of cars and kill the engine.
“Mitch?”
“Yeah?” I grab a hat out of my back seat—fucking hair’s a mess, and I need a haircut.
“I know we’re both happy that everyone here is okay, but not everyone made it.”
I nod and feel the lump return to my throat. “Fucking can’t believe that fucker’s gone, Keeks.”
“Jones?”
“Saw him yesterday, and he was walking on clouds, talking all sorts of shit about an agent and an NFL contract.”
“My heart breaks for his family,” she whispers as we both open our doors and get out.
“Kid was in foster care most of his life. No family that I ever heard him talk about.”
