Weston
My alarm went off at six, and I felt as hungover as Connor probably was. I showered and dressed, then grabbed an energy bar and some water. I was tired as hell and couldn’t give two shits about the meet.
“Suck it up, Turner,” I muttered. “Your fans are waiting. All one of them.”
But Connor was still sleeping. He wouldn’t show up at the meet until one minute before the first race.
I paused at the door, wondering if Connor would show today, or if he were still pissed enough that I refused to help him with Autumn.
I glanced at his phone on the front table.
I sure as shit helped you out this morning.
An ironic sense of calm came over me. Autumn’s happiness was worth sacrificing my own. Even if it meant my words in Connor’s mouth. My thoughts on the page with his signature at the bottom. Answering Autumn’s texts made him look good, but it made me feel better as well. To be there for her.
Even if she never knew it.
It took three tries to get my car’s engine to turn over. The sound wheezing from under the hood made my teeth clench.
“It would be inconvenient as fuck if you were to die on me,” I told the car.
I let her warm up a little before putting her in drive, and breathed a sigh of relief that quickly turned into a yawn. The car complained the whole way, but she got me to the stadium’s backlot for staff and athletes.
I joined my teammates and Coach Braun in the locker room. The other guys were talking and joking around, heels planted on benches to stretch hamstrings. A couple of them gave me a nod as I entered. I nodded back.
After giving the team his standard pre-race pep talk, Coach Braun pulled me aside.
“We got some NCAA people here today, Wes,” he said, his hand heavy on my shoulder. “It’s early in the season, but scholarship-wise, this could be good for you.”
I shifted out from under his hand, while a steady stream of cursing crossed my thoughts. “Really?” I asked. “Today?”
“I only just got wind of it. I don’t want to freak you out, but one of them is a liaison to the regional Olympic Committee.”
“But you don’t want to freak me out.”
“Accurate.”
His friendly smile faltered when I said nothing else, and he moved off.
Well, fuck me sideways.
My scholarship was done and I had no idea how I was going to pay for my final year at Amherst. Now, on the one fucking day I had a bowling ball of sleeplessness on my back, the NCAA people were here.
I gave my shoelaces a yank. “This should be fun.”
The sky was overcast and cold. I hopped up and down and did high, rapid goose-steps to get my blood flowing. Our opponents today were MIT, Wesleyan, and Boston College. Hayes, the Wesleyan runner who was dating Autumn’s roommate, spied me from his group and jerked his chin in greeting. I stared back until he rolled his eyes and turned away.
“Hey, baby boy! Yoo hoo!”
I whipped my head toward the stands. They were sparsely populated with diehard track fans willing to brave the cold for these last prelims.
And, apparently, my mother.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I muttered.
There she was, Miranda Turner, in a purple and white Amherst jersey, customized with W. Turner on the back. Her bleached blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail, showing her plated-gold hoop earrings.
She waved jazz hands at me, then pointed with both fingers at the man sitting beside her. I couldn’t see much from the field, but my initial impression was of a fifth-grade science teacher. Balding head, oversized glasses, mustache and a windbreaker.
Ma cupped her hands over her mouth. “This is Paul I was telling you about, remember?”
Her thick accent carried over the cool air. This is Pawl I was tellin’ yoo ‘bout, remembah?
I gave a quick wave and pretended that stretching my leaden muscles required all my concentration. No sign of Connor in the stands yet. Maybe he was too hungover to show. He didn’t owe it to me to come to the meets. But it would be the first one he had ever missed.
“That would be the perfect topper to this shit sandwich of a day.”
My first race was the 200-meter dash. Hayes lined up in the lane next to me.
“Got your mama here to see you, Turner? That’s so cute, I could puke. But I’ll leave the puking to you, after.”
I opened my mouth to shoot back a cutting insult but nothing came out. My brain was too sluggish and tired.
“Nothing to say?” Hayes clucked his tongue. “I’m disappointed. Has the Amherst Asshole changed his ways?”
I ignored him, took my starting position and concentrated on driving oxygen deep into my lungs, hoping the cold air would snap some energy into me.
The gun fired.
Normally, I could anticipate the shot, my muscles coiled like a spring, ready to take off the instant the sound cut the air. Not today.
Three strides in and I knew it was over.
For the first time in a long time, I had four guys ahead of me, including Hayes. I dug deep to give it everything I had, driving my legs faster and faster. I caught up and passed a few of the runners, but Hayes was uncatchable.
I crossed the finish line after him, and came to a slow jog. Hands planted on my hips, chest wheezing worse than my car had this morning. I didn’t have to look at the scoreboard to know my time was a good second and a half behind my best.
“Second place,” Hayes said, hardly winded. “This is new. Or were you trying to get a look at my ass? My girlfriend’s in the stands, don’t make her jealous.”
I sucked in air and glanced up at the bleachers. Ruby was there, in bright yellow. And sitting next to her, with my mother and Paul to his right, was Connor.
He cupped his hands over his mouth. “You’re still my boy, Blue.”
“You’ll get ‘em next time, baby!” my mother shouted.
I hid a smile in my shoulder and blinked stinging sweat out of my eyes.
Coach Braun approached. “Talk to me,” he said in his no-nonsense coach voice.
“Shitty sleep,” I said. “I’m okay. I’ll push through.”
Coach pursed his lips, nodding. “Settle in. Focus. We’re still in prelims and today isn’t the last day you’ll see the NCAA.”
“I know. I’m good.”
Forty minutes later, I was lining up again for the hurdles.
I’m so fucked.
My legs felt like dead weight after the first race. I felt the pressure of my mother’s presence and Paul sitting next to her. Sitting where my father should’ve been. Autumn wasn’t there to trick my male ego into a better performance. The NCAA people were there, and I felt the catastrophe coming even before the starting gun went off.
I cleared the first three hurdles, but getting my body over each one grew harder and harder. On the fourth hurdle, I didn’t tuck my right foot enough and my toe hit the board. Not hard enough to knock it over, but enough to throw me off my rhythm. My three-step cadence faltered, and my muscle memory short-circuited.
I shouldn’t have even tried for the next hurdle, but I was moving too fast. My left foot hit the board and my right foot hooked under it as it tipped. I crashed down hard and flung my hands out to save me from smashing face first into the turf. I tumbled with the hurdle tangling in my legs, then lay flat on my back, the wind knocked out of me.
Sucking in deep breaths, I took inventory. Nothing broken. Nothing sprained. But I ached all over and my palms were scraped all to hell. My right knee stung like a bitch. I sat up slowly to visually assess the damage. I’d scraped the skin off my knee cap and a steady stream of blood was oozing down my shin and calf.
The medical team and Coach Braun rushed over. Before they could surround me, I saw my mother, Paul, Connor and Ruby on their feet in concern. My mother clutched Paul’s shoulder and he had his arm around her.
“Wes.” Coach Braun crouched down. “Hey. Look at me. How bad?”
I couldn’t meet his eye. “I’m fine. Road rash and some bruises.”
I kept looking at the ground as I hobbled off the track to a smattering of applause. A medic sat me down on a cooler, cleaned up my leg and bandaged my scraped knee.
“Not your day,” Coach said, his hands on his hips, a sympathetic softness over his face.
“Of all the days,” I said.
“They got all your times from the last two years, Wes. This season is only starting. We all have shitty days. This is yours.”
I nodded. I was supposed to anchor the 4x400 relay but that was out of the question. “Sorry, Coach.”
“It happens,” Coach said aloud, while his expression spoke, Me too.
I looked away from him to see Hayes casually walking over.
“Hey, man,” he said. “You okay?”
“All in a day’s work.”
“You tangled with the hurdle pretty fucking hard. I don’t know how you managed not to face-plant or snap a leg.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
Hayes looked at the sky with a disbelieving little laugh. “Okay, whatever, bro. I’m sorry you got hurt. I enjoyed kicking your ass in the two hundred and was looking forward to doing it again in the four-by-four.”
I swallowed the sharp comeback. What was the fucking point? I was only the Amherst Asshole when I was winning. Without my speed, I was…
I believe Sock Boy is the word you’re looking for.
After the meet, Connor, Ma and Paul came onto the field.
“My poor baby boy,” Ma said, holding out her arms to me. I bent to give her a hug and was enveloped in a cloud of cheap perfume. “Honey, what happened? I never seen you fall so hard.”
“It happens.”
“Hey, man,” Connor said, clapping my shoulder. “That looked fucking rough. Haven’t seen you take a digger like that since freshman year.”
“Thanks for noticing.”
“Let me see your hands,” Ma said. “Oh God, you’re a mess.” She looked up at Paul. “Every other day, he wins all his races. But of course, bring someone special to see my boy and he wipes out. But I’m glad you’re okay. That’s the most important thing, right? This is Paul. Paul Winfield. Paul, this is my son, Weston.”
“Good to meet you,” Paul said.
“Likewise,” I said.
“I’d shake your hand, but I don’t want to add insult to injury.”
I sized him up, trying to discern any signs he was a bum like all the rest of the guys Ma hung around with. Freeloaders who moved in to live rent free, eat her food and drink her beer while she worked at the hair salon.
Paul weathered my scrutiny with calm, smiling placidly under his mustache as he put his hands in the pockets of his khakis, rocking on his heels.
“Now, don’t you give him that look, Weston Jacob Turner,” Ma said, wagging her finger with its gold and pink acrylic curve. “Paul’s a good man and he’s good to me, so you just take that attitude and stuff it.” She gestured to Connor. “Why can’t you be more like this one? Mr. Handsome, always smiling.” She reached over and patted Connor’s cheek. He had his shades on, despite the cloud cover, and looked a little pale and a lot tired.
“You feel like eating, Wes?” Paul asked quietly. “Or maybe just sit and ice the knee?”
“Yes,” Ma answered. “Where are we going to lunch? Hannigan’s? I just love that little country bumpkin breakfast joint.”
Connor grinned. “Lunch at Hannigan’s then. On me.”
“Well, aren’t you the sweetest,” Ma said. “Sounds perfect.”
I studied my best friend. He called to where Ruby stood with Hayes. “Ruby. Lunch?”
“Love to,” she called back, but Hayes’s smile vanished as he and I exchanged glances. She conferred with him and then sighed. “Rain check, okay?”
“Definitely.” Connor turned to us and gestured across the field. “Shall we?”
We headed to the parking lot, my mother walking ahead with her arm linked in Paul’s, gabbling away, while Connor matched my slow limp.
“How’s the knee?” he asked.
“Hurts like a sonofabitch, but I’ll live. How’s your hangover?”
“Hurts like a sonofabitch, but I’ll live.”
My glance slid to him then away. “How late did you get in?”
“Around three. I didn’t think I was so wasted, but apparently I had a whole conversation with Autumn on text that I don’t even remember.”
“Oh yeah?” I said, securing my Academy Award nomination for Casual as Fuck. “How’s she doing?”
“Good. Really grateful that she made it to be with her dad.”
“Thanks to you.”
“So what happened out there today?” he asked, shooting me a glance. “Did you not get enough sleep?”
No, as a matter of fact. I was up until three in the morning texting your girlfriend for you.
“I don’t know what happened. Bad day. Couldn’t be worse timing either.”
“Why not?”
“NCAA people were here.”
“Shut up.”
“One of them was a liaison to the regional Olympic Committee.”
“Oh fuck,” Connor said. “Man, that sucks.”
I shrugged. “I guess.”
“You guess? The Olympics.”
“I don’t know about the Olympics,” I said. “The Olympics won’t pay for next year’s tuition. If the NCAA people were feeling generous today, I blew it.”
Connor looked about to say more, but we’d arrived at his Hellcat and Paul’s silver sedan.
“There’s four of us,” Ma said. “Let’s all ride together. Weston, go up front with Paul. Connor, you come sit by this old lady.”
Paul and I exchanged glances over the hood of his car as we climbed in. He offered a smile I didn’t take or return.
Hannigan’s was hopping and we crowded into a small booth.
“Connor, that Ruby seems like a nice young girl,” Ma said, after the waitress took our order. “You say she’s your girlfriend’s roommate?”
“I did,” Connor said. “Ruby’s all kinds of fun.”
“She’s a hoot,” Ma said. “But where is your girlfriend again? Nebraska?”
“Family emergency,” Connor said. “Her dad had a heart attack.”
“Oh no, that’s awful,” Paul said quietly. “Any word on his prognosis?”
“Not yet,” Connor said. “But I’m supposed to hear from her again tonight.”
“Well, give her our best,” Ma said. “Too bad, I’d like to meet her. And too bad about your race,” she said to me. “I’ve been telling Paul about how fast you are. It was his idea to come watch the meet, since you won’t take the hour drive to come visit your mother.”
“I’ve been busy, Ma,” I said.
“Busy,” she said. “Where’s your girlfriend? How come you don’t got a girlfriend? With your face and your brain, they should be falling all over themselves for you. I’ll tell you what it is—you don’t smile enough.”
“Jesus, Ma.”
She nudged Paul with her elbow. “For years, I’ve been telling Wes he’s a sweet, handsome guy, but he don’t smile. How can you attract pretty girls if you look like you’ve got a stick up your ass all the time?”
“Miranda, leave him be,” Paul said mildly.
Beside me, Connor was laughing into his napkin, shoulders shuddering silently.
“Look at Connor,” Ma said. “Always smiling, showing those beautiful teeth. And let me tell you, Wes.” She started counting off on her fingers. “You’re a beautiful boy. You’re the fastest runner out there when you’re not falling on your face. And you’re a brilliant writer. Paul, did I tell you he’s a brilliant writer?”
“Once or twice.” Paul smiled at me. “I heard you wrote a winning essay for a scholarship to a very prestigious prep school in Boston.”
“It’s all true,” Ma said. “That’s how he met this one.” She patted Connor on the shoulder. “This one…” She shook her head, her lips pursed to hold back a sudden rush of emotion as she took Connor’s face in both of her hands. “I don’t know what we would’ve done without him. And his family. They took care of me. Took care of us…”
I clenched my teeth. That was my dad’s job. And since he’s fucking gone, it’s my job…
“Come on, Miranda,” Connor said, hugging Ma’s shoulders.
“Times are tough and I just feel so grateful to have these beautiful boys.” She turned to Paul. “And now you. I’m surrounded by good men. How did I get so lucky?”
The waitress appeared with a tray, laden with plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon. After she sorted out who got what—with Ma’s loud assistance—we dug in.
I glanced at Paul beside me as we ate, still searching for the scumbag that lurked within his mild-mannered, nice guy act.
“What do you do for a living, Paul?” I asked.
Are you ‘between opportunities’? Taking some time off? Crashing with Ma until you get back on your feet?
Paul opened his mouth to answer but Ma swooped in with a proud smile.
“He’s a regional sales manager for a lumber distribution company. How about that? The buildings you see going up all over? That lumber gets there because of him.”
That lumbah gets they-ah cuzza him. Ma’s accent seemed stronger every time I saw her, and listening to her drew mine out of me against my will, when I worked so hard to kill it.
Paul chuckled. “Miranda makes my job sound loftier than it is.”
“Don’t minimize yourself,” she scolded. “And I’m so happy you took time off to drive out here to see my son. Wish it was a better performance.”
“Thanks, Ma,” I said over my coffee cup, just as Connor dropped his gaze toward his plate and Paul mumbled, “Miranda…”
“Well? Am I wrong?” she said. “You’re always the best one out there. What happened today?”
“I tripped on a hurdle, Ma,” I said. “It happens.”
She shook her head, clucking her tongue. “Such a shame.”
“I thought you were terrific in your first race,” Paul said.
“He came in second,” Ma said. “He never comes in second. That’s how he got the NCAA scholarship, for being so fast.” She ripped open a packet of Sweet & Low and dumped it into her coffee. “Speaking of which, baby, what are you going to do about next year?”
“What happens next year?” Paul asked.
“No more scholarship, that’s what happens.”
I exchanged glances with Connor and shook my head slightly. If I told her the NCAA people had been there on the same afternoon I DQ’d a race, her head would explode.
“You know my friend Gilly?” Ma said. “Her son’s about your age. He was on the verge of jailbird city. Well, this recruiter comes from the Army Reserves and signs him up. Now he’s got a few grand coming in per month, health bennies and they’ll pay for his college.”
“You want me to join the Army, Ma?”
She shrugged and stirred her coffee with a spoon. “I’m just saying the Army Reserves is only one weekend a month.”
“Things are heating up in Syria,” Paul said to his oatmeal.
Ma waved her hand. “Things blow over. They always do.”
“What if that weekend per month interferes with track?” I asked.
“Track’s not paying for your college anymore.” She pointed her spoon at me. “You still got to pay for college.” She tilted her head and half-shrugged and said in a lower voice, “And the monthly pay wouldn’t be so terrible, would it?”
“You don’t need it,” Paul said to her. He put his hand on my arm. “Keep running, Wes.”
I glanced down at his hand, smattered with dark hair and pudgy at the knuckles. A dad’s hand. It patted me, then retreated back toward oatmeal and coffee. And it wasn’t so bad.
“So tell me, Connor,” Paul said brightly. “What’s your sport? You look like a baseball man to me.”
We said our goodbyes in the parking lot. Ma took my face in her hands and smacked a kiss on my cheek.
“You did good. Not your best show, but I’m still proud of you.”
“Thanks, Ma,” I said.
She turned to hug Connor, leaving Paul and me face to face.
“Good to meet you, Weston.” He put out his hand for a shake, then grimaced. “Keep forgetting you’re bearing war wounds.”
I wouldn’t have minded shaking his hand. “Good to meet you, too,” I said, with the most honest smile I could find.
“We’ll see you soon, I hope,” Ma said. “Thanksgiving? Can you manage to haul your butt out east for Thanksgiving?”
“He’ll be there,” Connor said. “My mother is looking forward to seeing you. Felicia and Kimberly, too.” He turned to Paul, and they shook hands. “You as well, Mr. Winfield. Please come. We’d love to have you.”
“My God, is he not a treasure?” Ma took Connor’s face too, kissed his cheek. “Good bye, my angels.”
“Drive safe,” Connor called as she and Paul climbed into his sedan.
A huge sigh gusted out of me as the car drove away.
“I heard that.” Connor’s hand dropped. “I love your mother, but I’m exhausted.”
“Try living with her,” I said. “Paul must be a glutton for punishment.”
“Or he really likes her,” Connor said. “Your mom’s really likable, you know that? You’re really likable when you’re not so busy being a dickhead.” Connor reached to pinch my cheek and said in a high falsetto, “Weston, you sweet, handsome boy. You’d get all the girls if you just smiled more.”
I laughed and knocked his hand away. “You and your beautiful teeth can fuck off.”
He gave me a lift to the backlot where my car was parked at the stadium. Before I could get out he killed the engine and turned to look at me.
“Listen, I know you don’t want to hear this, but if you need help paying next year’s tuition—”
“Forget it.”
“My parents can help you. They would want to help you.”
“I’ll figure it out, Connor,” I said.
“It’s not a big deal—”
“It’s a big deal to me, okay? I take enough from you. I need to figure my own shit out, and take care of Ma.”
“How? The Army?”
“If I have to.”
Connor shook his head and blew out his cheeks. “You’re really fucking smart, Wes. But sometimes you’re really fucking stupid.”
“How’s that?”
“You think this is all one-sided? You think you don’t help me out? You write my damn papers. You got me through the SATs. Hell, the only reason I’m here is because of you.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is true, and that’s why you’re fucking stupid. Because you can’t see what kind of talent you have. A brain and…fucking soul like yours is majoring in Economics? Why aren’t you writing a book? Why aren’t you taking your running seriously? Maybe I don’t have the balls to open my own sports bar yet, but at least I know what I want.”
“Where the hell is this coming from?”
Connor shrugged, his trademark smile all but vanished. “I don’t know. Thanksgiving. I feel like I have to brace myself for battle against my parents while they slobber all over you and you don’t even know why.”
“They don’t slobber on me.”
“You and Autumn are my secret weapons. But she hasn’t even said yes to the invite yet.” He sighed. “I’m just going to fuck it up with her anyway. If we make it to Thanksgiving, it’ll be a miracle.”
I shifted in my seat, glanced down at my raw, scraped palms. “You’re not going to fuck up with Autumn. She cares about you. What you did for her last night was a lot.”
Connor smirked and wore an expression I’d never seen him wear before. “That’s just money.”
I started to protest but he cut me off.
“I know you wrote those texts to her last night, Wes.”
I froze. “I…”
“You said you wouldn’t help me and then you did. Why?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I couldn’t sleep. I heard your phone. It made you look good and made her happy. Win-win.”
Connor nodded, absorbing this. “You know… It never occurred to me to check in with her. I care about her but it never occurred to me. But it did to you.” He looked at me. “Does this mean you’re helping me again?”
“I guess so. If you need me.”
If she needs me. She deserves to be happy.
“I mean…you don’t need my help,” I said. “It’s all there, man. You just need to—”
“Put in the effort?” Connor asked with the rueful smile. “Go on, get out of here before they tow your piece of shit to the junkyard.”
I nodded. “Yep, okay. I’ll see you at home.”
“See ya.”
I climbed out of Connor’s $80,000 sports car and into my junker. The contrast between our lives had never been more obvious. Connor was wrong—sometimes money counted for a lot. Sometimes it was the difference between watching the girl you cared about worry over her dad, and getting her on a plane to be with him.
I turned the key in the ignition, but the car was dead.
I rested my forehead on the steering wheel, feeling as if I spilled out on the track again in front of hundreds of people, and I didn’t want to get up again.
Connor was still parked across from me. Connor might not have thought to call Autumn in her hour of need, but he’d never miss one of my meets. He’d never let me be alone on Thanksgiving. And he’d never drive out of the parking lot until he heard my engine turn over.
He deserves to be happy too.
Connor smiled, waved me over, and gave me a lift home.