by Teagan Kade
He doubles over, gasping for breath. When he finally manages to say something, he groans. “Oof.”
For some reason, the scene makes me feel better.
“Wanna come in?”
Baylor looks up and grunts. Begrudgingly, he takes a tentative step inside. He glowers at me, panting. “Fuck, man. What the hell?”
“You started it,” I point out.
“I was going for the door, you slimy fucking—” He cuts himself short. “Never mind. I’ll let this one go.”
“Want a beer?” I ask flatly.
“Oh, you’re drinking tonight?” Baylor quips, smirking.
I don’t respond.
His shit-eating grin vanishes. “Jesus, man, what is wrong with you?”
“I thought walking out of the party, calling in sick and turning my phone off were all pretty clear signs I didn’t want anyone to make any house calls,” I retort.
Baylor gapes at me.
For some reason, the bewilderment on his face softens my anger.
“Sorry,” I say at last. “I’m in a fucking awful mood. I’ll get a beer for you. If you don’t want it, I’ll drink it myself.”
Baylor doesn’t wait in the living room, though. He follows me to the kitchen and hops on top of the counter. I shrug, hand him his beer, and lean against the opposite counter.
“What’s up?” he asks.
“Oh, you know. Taking a few days to myself. Self-care. Ennui. It’s all very important,” I deadpan.
Baylor cracks a smile. “Sounds awesome, man. I’m down for some mani-pedis.”
“Ah, I regret to inform you that I ran out of your pink nail polish.” The corner of my lip quirks up.
We both take a long swig from our individual beers.
Baylor takes a deep breath. I recognize the signs. He’s about to launch into one of those long speeches of his. I ponder on whether I should stop him or not but decide against it. If he thinks what he has to say is worth braving this godawful weather, I guess I should give him room to talk.
“Something tells me you’re not really interested in having a heart to heart with anyone, least of all me,” he starts. “But I think it’s time for us to bury the hatchet.”
“We’ve already done that, though. I’m not mad at you.” I take another gulp of my beer. “I’m not even really mad, exactly, at your sister. Let’s just get that out of the way.”
He gives me a puzzled look. “You’re not?”
“I’m something. And whatever that something is, it feels like absolute shit. But I don’t think it’s seething, white-hot hatred or anything.” I shrug. “I don’t think it makes a lot of difference one way or another. I’m tapped out. That whole revelation of hers a few days back…”
“Yeah, I talked to her. She kind of told me the whole thing.”
That comes as a shock.
I must have the most idiotic, baffled expression on my face, because Baylor bursts out laughing.
“I’ll try not to be offended by the look on your face,” he says.
“It’s just that a few months ago, Joey and I couldn’t even be around each other if you were nearby, out of fear you’d lose your shit.” I chug what remains of my beer. “It’s really odd to know she’s coming to you for advice now.”
“Well, I badgered her until she told me why she was so miserable.” Baylor sighs. “I don’t want to pile on any guilt or anything. I can’t say I really understand the proportions of what this latest ordeal means to both of you, and I also don’t want to meddle and be as big of a dick as I’ve been for fucking ever now, but… Dude. What gives?”
I shrug. It’s all I’m capable of mustering up as a response.
“I’ve never seen you this fucking detached before.” Baylor widens his eyes. “It’s messed up.”
“Tell me about it.”
Baylor empties his can and tosses it at me. “Stop that.”
The fucking thing hits my forehead. Dead center. I snap my eyes up at him. He meets my gaze. Both of us stay like that, facing off but not really, until I erupt in laughter. Baylor follows suit.
“Now, can you drop the fucking angsty fifteen-year-old edgelord act?” Baylor asks. “I’m back on best friend duty. Talk to me.”
“Baylor, seriously, I don’t wanna get into this.” I get up to fetch us some more beer.
“That’s not good enough,” he says in a serious tone.
I scoop two cans out and turn to offer him one, which he takes calmly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask. “‘Not good enough?’ Not good enough for you? For Joey? Who am I supposed to be pleasing here?”
“Oh, get off it.” Baylor hand waves at me. “You were happy four days ago. Finding out that Joey wasn’t drunk can’t have been that big a blow.”
“Oh, really? And why not?” I lean against the counter once more.
“Because you two are… Aw, hell.” Baylor rolls his eyes and downs a fuck ton of beer. “If you ever tell anyone I said this, I’ll deny it. You two are just… When I saw you with her at the restaurant? The way you two light up. It’s… Fuck it, this is sappy, but I can see it now. Why you fought so hard for each other. And I don’t think you should ruin it over something, so, I don’t know, whatever.”
“I’ve wanted your sister since pretty much the first time I saw her,” I tell him. “I kept away. I did what a good friend is supposed to do. Fuck, what a best friend is supposed to do.”
“Please don’t start with another guilt trip. I don’t think I have it in me to stomach another one of those,” Baylor protests.
“It’s not that,” I say. “Every time Joey and I take a step forward, we take two backwards. Shit, even this wedding didn’t happen the way I wanted it to. I was a sloppy mess that day. We don’t have pictures. She was sober and I’m not even sure if it’s to her benefit because it was just so…”
“So the fuck what?” Baylor shoots back.
I startle. “Huh?”
“So the fuck what?” he repeats.
“It’s not how I wanted it to be,” I blurt out. “None of it. I wish I had pushed for her from the start. I wish we hadn’t been sneaking around at the start. I wish I had told you off immediately when you told me to stay away from her. And I wish I had given her the wedding she deserves. Most of all, I wish things weren’t so fucked up she felt the need to hide—fuck, I don’t even get it. Why didn’t she tell me the next day? Why was her being sober such a dirty little secret? You saw her face at the dinner. She looked like a kid caught with their hand in Coach’s cookie jar.”
Baylor blinks at me. “Are you mad at her or are you mad at yourself?”
I stare at him. “That’s actually a good question.”
“I’m not just a pretty face,” Baylor quips. “Look, man, seriously. I don’t think you should sulk here until you have to go back to practice. And I also think avoiding her is lame. Get over yourself and go talk to your woman. Let’s both be real: you and Joey didn’t wait so long to be together only to crash and burn over the finer points of sobriety in Vegas.” He scoffs. “I hope I don’t need to trot out a relationship self-help book and turn to the fundamentals: communication, communication, communication.”
“Well, look at you, love guru for football players,” I tease. My face falls. I shake my head. “I’ll think about what you said.”
“Hey, Kieran, look at me.”
I oblige.
“Would you have married her sober?”
“In Vegas?”
“On planet fucking earth, asshole.”
I laugh.
“Well?” Baylor probes.
“Yes.”
“Was it your idea to get married or hers?”
“Didn’t she tell you all of this?”
“You know chicks,” Baylor says. “I love my sister but holy hell.”
I cock an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like her.”
“I’m simply making conversation. Now, I believe I asked you a question?” Baylor looks at
me expectantly.
“It was mine.”
The memories come flooding back. Fragmented as they are, I still recall very clearly I had to talk Joey into it. I remember her reluctance. I remember how she questioned my certainty. I remember how much assurance I had to give her. If I’m honest with myself, I have to admit that even if Joey had told me she was sober, it wouldn’t have made any difference.
I think back on how she looked at me as we exchanged our vows and slid the rings on each other’s fingers. How she looked at me when we got back to the room and—
My cock twitches. Awkwardly, I snap out of my trip down memory lane and force a cough.
“I recognize that expression. Well, there you have it: the light. Now I’ve shown it to you and made certain that you saw it, I’m gonna split.” He scoots off the counter. “My work here is done.”
“Bay, look--”
“You’re gonna say it’s not that simple and blah blah blah.” He makes a talking hand gesture. “Guess what, dude? Sometimes it is.”
“But--”
Baylor plugs his ears with his fingers. “La la la la, not listening. I’m not the one you should be talking to.”
I shut up.
He looks at me and, satisfied that I’m quiet, pulls his fingers out.
“Kieran, dude, seriously. Stop wasting your time. Let go of all this negativity and go talk to her.”
Baylor strolls out of the kitchen. A second later, he pops his head back in. “I won’t hold it against you.”
“What?”
“Whatever you decide to do.”
“Oh. Uh, thanks.”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “All talk aside… You know I’m gonna kick your ass if you don’t go talk to her, right?”
He leaves.
I groan and wolf down the rest of my beer, thoughts in a total disarray.
Baylor is right about one thing, though: this whole cooling-off-slash-gather-my-thoughts period is useless. There’s nothing to figure out. Nothing to work through.
I want Joey.
I’ve always wanted Joey.
I need to make it good, I realize. I go to the proverbial drawing desk and start to plan.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
JOEY
Sunlight filters in through the drapes of my bedroom window. I groan and toss and turn, trying to find a comfortable position. My head kills. Every single night for the past—three? four? I’ve lost count of how many it’s been—days amounting to a marathon of endless nightmares. I started getting sleep paralysis again.
I caved at some point and called my mom. It feels ridiculous and it’s almost embarrassing, but having her here is also really, truly, absolutely a comfort.
I need those comforts.
Like clockwork, my mom enters my room and perches on the edge of the bed.
“Hey sweetie,” she says softly as she strokes my hair. “I think I’m going to run to the store real quick, okay? Do you need anything?”
I groan in response.
“Want your medicine?”
She’s an angel.
I nod.
My mom scuttles off to my medicine cabinet in the bathroom that’s adjoining my room. She returns with the small, blue tablet and a glass of water.
“Here you go, hon.”
I sigh heavily and push myself up into a sitting position. I take the pill and plop it in my mouth before washing it down with the room-temperature water.
“Mom, can you close the curtains?” I croak, then clear my throat. “Please.”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
She starts to walk toward the door after she’s shut the curtains as tight as she can. I whimper like a little kid and bury my head on my pillow.
“Sweetie? Did you call for me?”
I nod, my head firmly pressed against my bed.
“What’s the matter?”
“I hurt.” My voice breaks. “I hurt all over. He hasn’t called, he hasn’t texted—”
“Sweetie, I’m sure it’s going to be okay.” My mom takes her place on the foot of the bed again, stroking my legs over my blankets. “But like I told you, I really think you owe it to yourself and to Kieran to go talk to him yourself.”
“What if he slams the door on my face?”
I hate I’ve devolved. I’m a sniveling, whiny brat who can’t get out of bed. I didn’t think anything had the power to devastate me like this, and yet… Here I am. Unable to get up. All because of a boy. And because of my own damn stupidity.
“Kieran?” My mom smiles. It’s a familiar sight that never fails to soothe my nerves. “He’s a good egg, hon. You and he are gonna be just fine.”
“If you truly think that, why are you letting me lick my wounds and feel sorry for myself all day?”
“Because, hon, sometimes we all need someone to take care of us.” Mom sighs. “You were forced to be a grownup from such a young age. I know Baylor took care of food and all that. Well, at least until you started cooking circles around him.” Her eyes sparkle. “But you’ve been such a fighter all your life. A little part of me can’t help but hate you’re hurting so much.”
I snuggle up against her and sigh.
“But don’t be fooled, baby girl. If you think I’m going to let you waste all day in bed, you have another thing coming.”
“I know, I know.”
“Why don’t you run to the store?” she suggests. “It would do you some good. Plus, the weather is pretty nice.”
The prospect of hauling my sorry ass all the way to the store doesn’t appeal to me at all. But my mom isn’t the type to tolerate lazy people feeling sorry for themselves for very long. Besides, she’s right. Getting out of the house is probably the best thing I can do for myself right now.
“Yeah, okay,” I agree. “Let me just splash some water on my face, brush my teeth, all that. I’ll be out in a sec.”
“I’ll make you some coffee.” She beams. “I’m glad you’re going, hon. I’ll make a list of the stuff I need, okay?”
I close my eyes and rub over my lids. “Sure thing, Mom.”
Every fiber of my being is literally aching. I don’t know what it is about feeling down in the dumps that saps all the energy right out of you, but whatever it is, it’s hit me hard. Still, I reckon that getting some fresh air will do me some good.
It takes me five minutes to get ready. I’m starting to feel human again as I head to the kitchen. A cup of steaming hot coffee awaits me on the granite counter. I drink it all in one gulp, burning my tongue as I do so.
“Here you go, hon.” My mom hands me a neat scrap of paper that’s folded down the middle. “Only get the bananas if you find those cute little ones, okay?”
I nod, give her a peck on the cheek, and walk out the door.
You go to the store. You come back home. You do some chores. You help to cook. Maybe read a book. Take a nap in the afternoon. Or gorge yourself with sleeping pills and spend the rest of the day in blissful slumber.
The bottom line is, it will get easier. It has to.
I hope I work up the courage to go find Kieran before then.
*
When I’m halfway to the store, I decide to go rogue. Instead of turning right at the intersection on Main, I turn left.
Toward Kieran’s house.
I don’t know what’s come over me, but I welcome it with wide open arms. I need some courage. This limbo we’re in is tearing me apart. Despite the pathetic state I woke up in, I myself am getting pretty freaking sick of crying myself to sleep. That’s not the type of girl I am.
Shit, shit, shit.
The closer I get to Kieran’s, the faster my heart races. I almost take a U-turn and go back to Main, but something keeps me going. Some kind of faith that we’ll be okay.
I pull up to his apartment building. It’s in a nice, residential part of town, comprised entirely of quaint little apartment complexes. No one building is taller than a couple of stories, and they all have individual garden plots that th
e residents are free to use to plant whatever they like. I’ve never had much of a green thumb myself, but Kieran does. He’s good at everything. The hydrangea bushes in front of his place are in a sad state, though, not only because they’re not in season but because of the absolute biblical levels of rain we’ve had over the past few days.
I’m trembling as I get out of my car. Seriously, I can’t even keep my hand steady. I take several deep breaths and then start to make my way down the cobblestone pathway that leads to Kieran’s door. He’s on the ground level, but his apartment is one of the few duplexes—that is, two stories—available in town.
With mounting trepidation, I press the doorbell.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait.
I ring it, again and again and again, but no one answers. I can’t hear any movement inside, either. I pull my phone out of my pocket. The screen is empty of new notifications. Dismayed, I channel my focus into the task in front of me. I tap on the screen to go to my call history. My heart aches when I see how many days it’s been since we last talked. I swallow my pride and hit the button on the screen to call him.
I push my ear against the door.
The phone rings and... nothing.
Fuck. I didn’t consider the possibility of him not being home.
I lean my head against his door. Tears well up in my eyes, stinging behind my lids as I fight to keep it all in.
“Jo?”
I whip around. My heart swells and butterflies materialize in my stomach. It’s Kieran, his window down. He parks behind my car, grabs a few bags from his backseat, and strides across the front yard of his building.
I try to keep myself in check. I focus on my breathing. Rehearse some lines. But the closer he draws, the less control I have over myself. When he’s a couple of feet away from me, I throw my arms around him and squeeze him as tight as I can.
To my surprise, he embraces me, too.
In perfect synchronicity, we pull back. Our motions are mirror images of each other. I look into his marbled green eyes. Take in the sight of his scruffy, days old beard. Tall and ripped as he is, anytime he lets it grow out, he starts getting this mountain man vibe. It’s sexy as all hell.
