by Ella Fields
He called at nine p.m., and I smirked as I answered. “Grandpa. You in bed?”
“Almost.” He scoffed. “And you’re one to talk.”
He was right. “How was the meeting?”
A door shut in the background. “Same old. Watch some videos. Coach talks, and we gotta listen. Especially me.”
“Why especially you?”
He paused before saying, “I got in a pretty bad fight at play-offs last season. Let’s just say I’m lucky I still have my scholarship and place on the team.”
Frowning, I tried to keep my tone neutral. “What happened?”
Sheets rustled, and then he sighed. “What usually happens. I get riled up and lose my shit.”
“Toby,” I breathed. “That bad? Why?”
“I can’t control it. It’s like a switch has flipped in my brain, and I can’t turn it off until I unleash whatever’s bothered me so damn much.”
My heart cracked for him. “What set you off?”
“A player talking shit. They started it, which was my only saving grace when it came time to face the music.”
I didn’t think I was ready to ask, but I knew now was as good a time as any. Especially while we were close to the subject. “And the medication?”
“I don’t take it.”
A searing breath left me, and I tried to form a response, but all I had was, “Why not?”
“Look, I’m not new to this. I’ve struggled with it most of my life. Especially once I hit adolescence. As soon as my dad recognized the signs, the same ones he saw in my mom”—I winced at that—“he took me to the doctor.”
“It didn’t help?”
“I don’t know. I guess it did for a while. But I didn’t like it. I felt … different. Not like myself.”
My eyes shut. While I was glad he was talking about this with me, I felt terrible. For him. “And so you stopped?”
“Yeah. I stopped.” He laughed abruptly. “Thought I could get away with not telling Dad, and I did but only for a few months. So we tried something else. And the cycle continued until I entered high school, decided I wanted to play ball seriously, and stopped.”
“What did your dad think?”
Toby hummed. “He wasn’t happy, but we changed some things. My diet, routine, and he sent me to talk to someone for a while.” He paused. “That eventually stopped too. I feel fine most days, I really do. And so we’re at a heavy stalemate where he checks in a lot, and I make sure I let him.”
I couldn’t think of why I did, but I thought about Drew, and about any children I might have in future. “Do you think it’s hereditary?”
“Mental illnesses?” He cursed. “I really hate those words.”
“Not the greatest,” I agreed.
“I’ve heard it can be.” Another long pause. “You thinking about your dad in this case? Or my mom?”
I traced the stitching on my duvet. “Both, maybe. I don’t know.”
“You ever have moments when you think you …?”
“No,” I was quick to reassure. “But Drew, I don’t know. I think he’s fine. I think it’s probably just our dad leaving that’s affected him.”
“He acting up?”
Last I heard from Mom, no. “Nah. But he’s kind of reserved about how he feels at times.”
“I get that. Is he coming here after school?”
“I’m not sure. He’s a junior, but he hasn’t made any concrete plans yet.”
Silence ensued for a little while, and then he asked, “Do you think I might get to meet him? And your mom?”
I didn’t hesitate, or even worry about what that might mean. “Yeah. I think you just might.”
“Speaking of parents, there’s something I wanted to ask you.” Biting my lip, I hummed, waiting. “Come home with me for Thanksgiving?”
I was certain he could hear my smile; it was that huge.
We’d been skirting around the subject for days, and I was driving my mom mad by not letting her know if I was coming home or not. “Okay.”
A few people loitered in the corner opposite ours, but other than them, the cafeteria was vacant.
The upcoming game tomorrow had my nerves tingling and my feet dancing. My gaze zigzagged across the text on the table, unable to focus on any of it.
A foot landed on top of mine. I looked up from my notes to find Pippa staring at me. “Can I help you with something?”
Her lips shifted from side to side, pencil tapping the table. “Perhaps you can.”
The glint in her eye had my feet stilling, and I leaned over, curious. “Wanna go back to my place and let me study you instead?”
“Tempting, but I’ve got my period.”
“We can work around that.”
She smirked, eyes flicking over her shoulder when I waved at Robbo, who’d joined the takeout line.
“Do you talk to your friends about it?” she asked, turning back to me.
“About?” I knew what she was referring to but didn’t feel like talking about it.
“Your mental health.” She didn’t even flinch, just stared at me as though she was talking about the weather.
“Um, no. Not really.” I started rolling my pen over the table with my palm. Pippa watched the movement briefly, and I sighed. “No one would really care, Pippa.”
“How do you know if you haven’t spoken about it with them?”
“Quinn knows some of it. The rest wouldn’t give a damn.” At her raised brow, I conceded. “Okay, maybe one or two would.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” When I just shrugged, suddenly finding my notes more interesting, she continued, “I think it’s important, better, to only have a few good friends. Even just one. Rather than a herd of fake ones.”
Interest piqued, as always whenever she got all opinionated, my gaze lifted. “And why is that?” She didn’t answer right away, prompting me to say, “Pip, who hurt you?”
I’d kill them. Just kidding. Though I could always make myself feel better by torturing them in my head. Not even kidding.
“Just girls. High school. Nothing new, really.” She paused, her lip sliding between her teeth. “Actually, not just girls. Women, in general, can get cliquey. Which is fine, unless it’s not harmless, and the friendships are as fake as the nails they like to wear.”
“Cliques?”
She nodded. “I hung out with a cliquey bunch of girls through most of high school. It’s hard to feel like you can trust or rely on someone when they’re constantly talking crap about other people. It grew tiresome, but I grew used to it. Safe to say I wasn’t sad to say goodbye to them when I graduated high school.”
Seeing that the topic had gotten her worked up, her face flushing slightly, I waited quietly as she gathered her words.
“Shitty behavior warrants discussion, and God knows I’ll speak on that. But drama for the sake of drama, being mean to try to make yourself feel better, those were things I could never and still don’t understand.”
“You’re kind of really awesome.” I butted in, letting the words roll out of me, uncaring, for they were true. Pippa was like a red Skittle, the last one among a sea of bullshit flavors.
“As are you.” She smiled a timid smile, eyes meeting mine. “So give yourself some credit. You’re not only lucky to have a few good friends, but they’re lucky to have you.”
A push of breath set my shoulders loosening. “Pip, they wouldn’t understand.”
“Do they need to understand to care?”
My heartrate soared as I kept my gaze on hers, but I wanted away from the subject. “Where are your crappy friends now?”
“Who knows,” she said. “I think the fact that no one stayed in touch, at least, not with me, is telling enough, wouldn’t you think?”
Taking her hand, I lined my fingers up against her smaller, softer ones. “I think they missed out, but that’s okay.”
She giggled, and I absorbed the rare, musical sound. “Why?”
“Because n
ow I get you.”
“You’re right,” she said after a few breaths, voice barely a whisper. “And that’s more than okay.”
The sweet scent of desperation and dreams permeated the crisp air.
Inhaling a shuddering breath, I watched as Burrows threw long down the field, cringing and clenching my fists in front of me as Willmore Creek’s defense snagged the ball.
Robbo was wide open. Why the fuck did he risk it? The kid was fresh. But he was decent.
I almost didn’t want to watch, but I was left with little choice.
Benched.
Coaches earlier words echoed in my head.
Liability.
Look at you.
You’ll show me your head is on right before I let you on that field.
How the hell he could tell was beyond me. Maybe the slamming of everything I could get my hands on gave me away. The locker, my helmet, and tossing one of my shoes across the room because my hands wouldn’t stop shaking long enough for me to lace it up.
Sure, I was anxious as fuck. Always was before a game against one of our biggest rivals. He couldn’t blame me for that. It was unfair. Total bullshit.
Two passes.
Fumble.
Fuck. No.
I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been benched.
My hands curled into my hair as flashes of a pale, sun-dried field filtered behind my open eyes. A field different from the one I was looking at.
I was as tall as my mom’s belly, which made it hard for me to see if she’d taken off like she usually would during one of my games or if she was flirting with Coach again.
Too many parents were standing in the way.
Ones who were actually interested in watching their kids play.
Where did she go?
Where did she go?
Where did she fucking go?
The whistle blew, smacking me from my head. I was up, not even waiting on Coach. Fuck him. Fuck that stupid flighty bitch too.
Watch me. Just fucking watch me now, Mom.
She’d be sorry she left if she ever saw me.
The lights blinded, the screams from the stands sending my blood roaring in my ears.
This. Everything this was. All of it. I lived for it. I never felt more alive, more like my true self, than when I stepped onto the field.
Getting into position, I stared down the opposing team, shrugging my helmet down as the defense got into position.
Quinn shot me a look when I glanced over, one that asked if I was all right.
I nodded, giving him a quick thumbs-up to appease him. He should have his head in the game instead of worrying about what I was doing.
We were playing like shit.
Time to turn this show around.
Thomas Graham stared me down ten yards away, his top lip curling.
The guy had hated me ever since I slept with his girlfriend at an away game last year. She came on to me. Pretty damn strongly, I might add. How the hell was I supposed to know she was taken?
It was their responsibility to say that shit. But if he wanted beef, he’d get it.
I couldn’t even remember her name. Stacey? Stacia? Shelly? Ugh, fuck. Who cared.
She didn’t want anything special from me.
None of them ever did.
Except Pippa.
Pippa. My gaze darted to the stands.
The whistle blew, and everything from that moment on became a fast-paced blur. Coach was bellowing like I’d never heard before. Graham and one of his teammates made sure to elbow me in the gut, and our defense couldn’t get their shit together to save our lives.
My head started to spin. I needed water. I needed …
“Heard you found a certain someone to constantly warm your cock, Hawthorne.”
My feet stopped, my breathing getting heavier as I backtracked to where Graham was. “Excuse fucking me?”
Shut up, you fucking idiot.
“You heard me loud and clear, asshole. What’s her name? Pippa? Pip for short? Rhymes with, hey Pip, come suck my dick?” He slapped his hands together, laughing. “Nice ring to it. I’ll have to try it out.”
It was his smile that really sealed my fate. I didn’t care what anyone said—a guy knew when he was being goaded. I knew, but there was no turning back now. Not for me.
We were on the ground within seconds, my fists flying at his chest and neck—anywhere I could do damage.
And all he did was laugh between grunts. As they pulled me off him, he took off his helmet and stood, expression now void of humor. “An eye for an eye, motherfucker.”
My rage intensified, becoming some kind of extension of me that I could only watch and not control.
I didn’t see my teammates frozen around me. I didn’t even know I’d started walking off the damn field until I heard Coach. “Hawthorne! Get your sorry ass over here. Now!”
He’d caused this just as much as Graham had. He was probably just looking for a way to get rid of me.
Fucking old prick.
Throwing my helmet to the ground, I kicked my way through drink bottles, yelling obscenities at the top of my lungs.
At that point, I knew I was fucked.
Game over.
Nothing else to lose.
Save for the unraveling pieces of my mind.
The noise was deafening as I ran down the stairs, muffled when I reached the long corridor, and loud again when I made my way past security and hurtled out the doors.
The parking lot was quiet with only a few people standing around. My eyes scanned the dark, trying to find his car beneath the dull orange glow of the streetlights.
It wasn’t there.
The past ten minutes felt like a car wreck in slow motion. Oh, how easy it was to think you’d be able to help someone, to stop them from self-destructing when, in reality, it happened in the blink of an eye.
The switch flipped.
Boom, done. Completely out of your control.
My hands tunneled into my hair, my breath coming in sharp plumes in front of my face as I tried to think.
Think, think, think.
Home. He would’ve gone home.
With trembling hands, I opened my purse, plucking out my phone and hitting his name.
It rang out. I tried again and again. Nothing.
I didn’t even call a cab; I just ran. Ran across the asphalt, over the grass, and along the pebbled paths that skirted between the buildings until I reached the other side of campus.
We were supposed to meet up right after the game. My bag was packed in my dorm room, waiting for me to grab it so we could drive to his dad’s place together tonight.
My lungs screamed. Exercise and I didn’t really go hand in hand, so as I reached his street, I slowed to a walk, trying to get my ragged breathing under control.
It felt like my chest was on fire. I’d like to think it was my body trying to cope with the sudden torture I’d just made it endure, but I knew it wasn’t only that.
It’s like a switch has flipped in my brain, and I can’t turn it off until I unleash whatever’s bothered me so damn much.
My feet slowed to a stop when I caught sight of his driveway.
His empty driveway.
An eerie quiet settled over the street, over me. The house was dark.
He wasn’t there.
After sitting on his porch for God knows how long, I finally dragged myself home. My phone dinged in my purse, and I pulled it out frantically, only to discover it was a text from Daisy. She was going home with Quinn for the weekend and said she’d be back Monday.
She asked me to let her know if everything was okay, which I couldn’t do.
Feeling oddly disorientated, I put my phone away once I reached our dorm.
Chatter filled the halls and rolled out from beneath doors. I didn’t know if it was about the game, about what had happened, or if everyone was just up late.
I didn’t care.
I tried callin
g him again as soon as the door shut behind me and tossed my purse on the bed.
No answer.
Shit.
Where would he have gone?
Where did one go after they’d potentially just ruined their career?
A bar was the first thing that came to mind, but he wasn’t twenty-one.
Maybe he had a fake ID.
Remembering the way he looked as he stormed off the field, I felt my shoulders slump. He probably needed to cool down.
Deciding there was nothing left for me to do right now, I took a shower and stared at my packed duffel bag until I passed out.
He still wouldn’t pick up his phone.
I sent him at least five texts and two voicemails before his phone shut off. I stalked the campus like someone who was looking to score, my eyes assessing everyone and everything.
It was quiet, being Thanksgiving and all, but I had to do something.
Sitting on my ass and letting the anxiety and helplessness drown me wasn’t doing me any favors.
When the sun tilted and afternoon arrived, I decided to give it one more try.
I pulled my coat tighter around me, blowing on my hands as I approached the townhouse. Again, no cars in the driveway. My heart almost bottomed out until I caught sight of the opened door swaying slightly in the breeze.
One of the neighbors was at their mailbox, watching as I approached. I smiled, hopefully putting them at ease.
“Toby?” I knocked lightly on the wood of the half-opened door, wondering why it was left open. Quinn was gone. Maybe Toby’s car was in the garage for a change.
Idiot, Pippa. For real?
All right, I felt pretty stupid for not thinking about that the night before.
I wiped my damp shoes on the mat and walked inside.
The silence that greeted me sent hairs rising on my arms and neck. It didn’t make sense, and any hope I had dashed away when I stalked through the kitchen, then moved upstairs.
His room was a mess.
Not chaos, just … messy. As though he’d come home and frantically grabbed everything he needed before bailing, judging by the note that stared back at me. I tugged it down from the door where it had been hastily taped.
