Chapter Twenty-Three

Ethan

"Fuck, she's hot," Jackson says once Becca is gone.

It's after midnight and she left a few minutes ago. I wanted her to stay the night but she didn't want to with Jackson here. She wants us to have our guy time, which is considerate of her but I'll miss having her in my bed tonight.

She seemed to like Jackson, although she's friendly to everyone so it's hard to tell.

"She's more than hot," I tell him. "She's smart. A hard worker. Easy to talk to."

He laughs. "Told you."

"Told me what?"

"That you're in love."

"I'm not in love." And yet, sometimes I think I might be. I've never felt this way about anyone but Becca.

"Trust me. I've been around dudes in love and you've got the symptoms. The way you talk about her. The way you look at her. The fact that she's been staying here every night. You're in love. No use trying to deny it."

So I don't. I just sit there, staring at the TV, wondering how the hell this happened because I certainly didn't intend for it to.

"What are you going to do?" Jackson asks.

"About what?"

"Becca. You love the girl, and I'm guessing she loves you back, so what happens now? Did you tell her what it'll be like being with a pro athlete?"

"No, because I don't know if it'll happen."

"It'll happen." He takes a swig of his beer. "The scouts are already calling Coach about you, wondering when you'll be playing again."

"Yeah, he told me."

Jackson coughs on his beer. "You talked to Coach?"

"Last week. I went to Laytham to train."

"No shit?" He sets his beer on the coffee table. "Why didn't you tell me?"

I shrug. "Didn't think about it."

"So what made you show up there? Last time we talked you said you weren't going there until you were off the crutches."

"I changed my mind. I'll be going there three times a week starting on Monday."

"I don't get it. I thought—"

"Just forget it, okay? I don't want to talk about it."

"Fuck that. I want to know what's going on. Why did you suddenly change your mind?"

Do I tell him the truth? I assume he knows our grades are fake but I don't want him knowing I was naive enough to think I was different. Why the hell did I think that? Of course the professors are going to rig my grades. Like my dad said, I'm the star of the team.

When Coach confirmed it was true, I felt sick. He didn't actually come out and tell me my grades weren't real but he made it clear by repeatedly telling me how important football is to the school. How it helps attract students. Boosts alumni donations. Attracts corporate donors.

As he talked, I lost respect for him. Using his players to make money for the school? It's wrong. But then I realized he's just doing his job. I'm sure it's what all college coaches do and yet for some stupid reason, I thought he was different. I thought he was someone I could trust.

I used to confide in him. I'd tell him how I was struggling with my classes, having trouble keeping up. He'd tell me to hang in there, that everything would work out. And it did, but only because the whole system was rigged to make me a star, both on and off the field.

It's all making sense now. My grades are better than anyone else's on the team because they're creating an image. Coach. My dad. The college president. They want to present me as being the model quarterback. The all-American boy who stays out of trouble, gets good grades, and kills it on the football field. The only thing missing is a cheerleader girlfriend at my side. And of course, a leg that isn't broken. But that's just a kink in the road. My leg's almost healed and then I'll be back on the path that's been chosen for me.

"Ethan?" Jackson says. "You awake over there? You didn't answer my question."

"Sorry. Guess I'm tired."

"So what changed your mind? Why are you back at the gym?"

"I realized I can't keep sitting around doing nothing."

"Did your dad yell at you? Did he force you back into training?"

"It has nothing to do with my dad. Football is my life and if I don't get back to it, I might lose it."

"Finally." Jackson leans back in his chair. "About time you finally came to your senses." He swigs his beer. "For awhile there I thought you were going to quit football. If you had, I would've had your damn head examined."

He doesn't understand. He never would. Which is why I never told him that I was even considering not pursuing pro ball. When you have my kind of talent, my level of skill and training, you aren't allowed to turn down the opportunities that are given to you. I know this, and yet I was about to give it all up. Part of me still wants to, because I don't deserve it. The fame. The glory. The money. I don't deserve any of it.

I let my friends die. I could've taken Jason's keys. I could've insisted we stay at the party. At the very least, I could've belted Kasey into her seat. But I didn't. And now they're all dead and I'm still on the path to be a professional athlete.

It's not fair. It isn't right. But what do I do? I have my whole life ahead of me and football is the only thing I know. Apparently I'm too stupid to pass my classes so sports are it for me, which is why I'll be showing up to practice. Whether I like it or not, it's full force ahead. I have no other options. My future is football and I have to accept that.

Jackson points to my leg. "Any update?"

"Not since last time we talked."

"It's been almost three months. It's gotta be getting better."

"It is. The doc said the cast could be off by mid-August. Maybe sooner. For now, I'll keep training my upper body and get back to throwing the ball."

"You haven't been throwing the ball?" he asks, sounding shocked.

"Of course I have," I lie. "Just not enough. And I haven't been filming it to see my mistakes."

"Coach got you on a program?"

"Yeah. He gave it to me last week."

"Why don't we hit the gym tomorrow? I was going to wait until Sunday, but tomorrow works better. That way I can get wasted tomorrow night and rest on Sunday."

"I'm not having a party," I tell him.

He grins. "C'mon. Just a few people."

"You always say that, and a few people ends up being hundreds."

"Not many people are back in town yet. That automatically limits it to no more than ten."

"Ten is too many."

"Ten is nothing. And your girlfriend can come over. You can show her off to our friends."

"What friends are we talking about here?"

"Derek's back tomorrow. He's got a girl and she's got a couple friends that want to come over."

"You already told him this is happening?"

He shrugs. "I might've mentioned it."

"You shithead." I toss one of the couch pillows at him. "I told you no parties."

"It's not a party." He drinks his beer. "It's a small intimate social gathering."

I glare at him. "No more than ten people. And that includes Becca. Any more than that show up, they'll be turned away."

He rolls his eyes. "I swear, I don't know what happened to you. You used to be the life of the party and now you won't even go to them."

It's because of the accident. Everything changed after that. I no longer want to be around drunk people. I don't want to watch them leave the party and get into cars thinking they're okay to drive. I don't want to see a guy in the back seat with a girl on his lap. I don't want to see anyone not buckled into their seats. I can't watch other people make the same mistakes I did that night.

Jackson should know that but he doesn't, which shows we're not as close as we should be. We're friends, but in a superficial way, and yet I've considered him my best friend since arriving at Laytham.

But not anymore. Now my best friend is Becca. She's the one I talk to. The one who understands me. The one I tell my secrets to. The only person I trust.

"Ready to get beat?" I toss the game controller at Jackson.

"Like you could beat me," he mumbles.

"I beat your ass every time."

"Not tonight." He sets his beer down and positions himself at the end of his chair. "Tonight I'm taking you down."

But he doesn't. I've been alone in this house for two months and played video games for hours a day. With all that practice, I'm damn good. After two hours of playing, I beat Jackson on all but one game.

Saturday, Jackson and I go to the Laytham gym to lift weights. Then on the way home, he stops at the store to get beer for tonight. I banned any hard liquor and I put a limit on how much beer he could buy. He complained, as I knew he would, but my house, my rules.

"You coming over?" I ask Becca. It's after eight and people will be arriving around nine for the party I still don't want to have. I'm outside on the back patio where the party is happening. I'm not allowing people in the house because I know they'll trash it, and with my leg, I have a hard time cleaning and I refuse to make Becca clean up their mess.

Jackson has coolers sitting out filled with ice and beer. I'm feeling anxious just seeing them there. The last time I saw coolers filled with beer was at the party last May. I can still see Jason reaching in to get one. And then he got another. How many beers did he have that night? It had to have been more than a couple or he wouldn't have lost control of the SUV.

"See you soon," Becca says.

"Wait. What time you coming over?"

"I just told you, I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Oh. Sorry. Guess I didn't hear you."

She must've been talking when my mind was on Jason. I need to stop thinking about that night. But no matter how hard I try, the memories keep coming back.

"Ethan, are you okay?" Becca's voice is soft, comforting.

Fuck, I need her. I need to see her. Touch her. Hold her. She's the only person who calms me when I'm feeling this way.

"Hurry," I blurt out.

She laughs a little. "Does that mean you miss me?"

"Yeah. So hurry up."

"I'll be there soon."

When she arrives, she's holding three grocery bags and takes them straight to the kitchen where she starts unloading them. They're full of chips and other snack foods.

"I assumed you guys hadn't picked up any food for tonight."

"We didn't, but you didn't have to do this." I stand behind her and lean down and kiss her cheek. "Hey."

"What?" She continues to unload the sacks.

"I need a real kiss."

She turns around and smiles that gorgeous smile that makes my heart beat faster.

Shit, maybe Jackson is right. Maybe I do love her.

I lower my mouth to hers and kiss her, then place my hand behind her lower back and pull her against me, letting her feel how quickly my body responds to her. Wants her.

"Let's go to my room," I say over her lips.

"We can't. The party's starting."

"I don't give a shit about the party. I don't even want to have it. This is Jackson's thing. He can handle it. And I told him nobody's allowed to come inside, so you don't have to worry about people walking in." I kiss her again and don't stop until I feel her pull away.

She looks up at me with those big brown eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. "Okay, let's go."

I smile at how easy it was to convince her. I thought she'd refuse, saying we'd have to wait until the party is over.

"Where you guys going?" Jackson asks as we're leaving the kitchen.

"Not now, Jackson," I groan, annoyed with him. If he keeps talking, Becca will change her mind.

"We forgot cups," he yells as Becca and I go down the hall.

"Then go out and get some," I yell back.

"I bought some," Becca says.

She walks around me back toward the kitchen. I follow her there and watch as she searches through one of the sacks.

I give Jackson a look. He finally gets it and says to Becca, "I'll find them. Don't worry about it."

"It's okay. They're right here." She takes out a package of red cups.

"Got it." He takes them from her. "Thanks."

Becca holds up a bag of chips. "I should put these in a bowl." She starts searching the cupboards.

"Becca." I say, urging her to continue what we started.

She turns away from Jackson and mouths "later" to me.

I glare at Jackson.

"I needed cups," he says to me.

"What?" Becca looks at him.

"Nothing," he says.

Becca finds a bowl and pours the chips into it, then takes it to the back patio.

"What the hell?" I say to Jackson.

"How was I supposed to know what you were doing?"

"Uh, let's see. I'm with my girlfriend, heading to my bedroom. Not that hard to figure out."

He laughs. "You're right. Sorry. I wasn't thinking." He looks out at Becca on the patio. She's wearing a black knit dress that clings to her round, perky ass.

"Damn, she's hot," Jackson says, staring at her. "Look at that ass."

"It's mine. And so is she, so stop looking at her that way."

"Better get used to it. A girl that hot? The whole team's gonna be looking at her that way."

He's right, and it makes me not want to introduce her to them. I'm usually not the jealous type but I am when it comes to her. She's mine and I don't want anyone else having her or even thinking about her that way.

The doorbell rings and I look at Jackson. "I told you to tell them to come around back."

"I did. Maybe it's someone else."

I sigh and go to answer the door. Cami is standing here. She's a cheerleader for the basketball team. We dated last winter. Well, it wasn't really dating. We hooked up. Multiple times. But then she wanted to do all this kinky shit and I wasn't into it. So I moved on and she ended up dating one of my teammates.

"Is this where the party's at?" She holds up a bottle of vodka and smiles with glossy pink lips that match her tight pink dress.

"It's not a party. It's just a—never mind." I motion to the back of the house. "It's on the patio. You can just walk around back."

"I want to see your house." She sneaks past me before I can stop her. "It's nice." She glances at the living room, then slinks over to me and smiles. "I bet you're lonely, all by yourself in this big house." 

"Ethan, I—" Becca stops when she sees Cami, who has now positioned herself at my side, her arm wrapped around mine.

"Hi, I'm Cami." She extends her hand to Becca.

"Hi," Becca says, quickly shaking her hand, her eyes going to me to explain.

I try to free myself from Cami but between the crutches and Cami's tight grip on my arm, it's a struggle to move.

"Cami's a friend from school," I say to Becca.

Cami looks up at me and smiles. "We were more than—"

I cut her off. "Cami, this is my girlfriend, Becca."

"Oh." Cami slowly lets go of me and says to Becca, "Do you go to Laytham?"

"No," Becca says and leaves it at that.

I hear Jackson in the kitchen and yell at him, "Jackson, get your ass out here. You have a guest."

He appears and goes up to Cami, putting his arm around her. "Hey, babe." He kisses her, a long, drawn out kiss that makes Becca look away. I clear my throat and Jackson ends the kiss and says to Cami, "Thanks for coming."

"I brought this." Cami holds up the vodka.

"Let's go in the kitchen and open it." He glances at me and I look at him, annoyed. I told him people weren't supposed to bring their own booze.

When Jackson and Cami are gone, Becca asks, "Are they dating?"

"No, they're just friends."

"But he kissed her. Like, not in a friend way."

"They hooked up a few times sophomore year. He's probably hoping to hook up with her again tonight. And knowing Cami, she'll do it. She's someone who's up for anything."

"How do you know? Did you date her?"

Shit. I shouldn't have said that but now I can't take it back.

"We dated a few times."

"What do you mean when you say she's up for anything?"

I lean down and kiss her. "I'm not talking about other girls with you. I'm not interested in Cami."

"She seemed to be interested in you."

"She's interested in any guy, as long as he's an athlete. She only goes out with jocks."

The doorbell rings again. "What the hell? I told Jackson to send them out back."

"You want me to get it?" Becca asks.

"No, I'll do it." I answer the door and see Russel there. I haven't seen him since school got out. He spent the summer working on his uncle's fishing boat off the coast of Alaska.

"Ethan." He gives me a wide smile and a shoulder hug. "Missed you, man." He stands back and looks at my leg. "How's it healing?"

"Good. I should be off the crutches in a few weeks."

"That's awesome." He looks up at me, his smile gone. "I'm really sorry I couldn't get back here for you after the accident."

"Don't worry about it. They had me so high on pain meds I wouldn't even have known you were there."

"You doing all right otherwise?" he asks, concern in his voice.

This is why Russel and I are friends. He actually gives a shit about people. He's one of those sensitive guys who isn't afraid to show his feelings. He even cried once during a movie. Half the team was there and we gave him shit about it but he didn't care. If he wanted to, he could beat the shit out of any of us. Russel's a linebacker and he's freakin' huge.

"I'm good," I tell him. I turn back to Becca who's standing behind me. "Come here. I want you to meet Russel." I wait until she's beside me. "Russel, this is my girlfriend, Becca."

"Nice to meet you," he says, shaking her hand.

"You too."

"You look familiar. Do you go to Laytham?"

"No, I'm not in college."

She'll be getting this question a lot tonight and I can tell she's already tired of answering it.

"I know where I've seen you." He smiles. "The Chicken Shack?"

She smiles back. "Yeah, I'm a waitress there."

"I always get my food to go but I remember seeing you there. That place has the best chicken."

"We got some left if you want it," Jackson says, coming up behind me. "Becca brought us some last night. We ate half of it but the rest is in the fridge."

"A hot girl who brings you fried chicken?" Russel smiles at me. "You lucky son-of-a-bitch."

I lean down and kiss Becca. My friends love her. I knew they would.

More people arrive and they keep coming to the front door but I send them to the back patio. Sixteen people show up, which is more than I wanted, but knowing Jackson, I expected at least twenty or twenty-five. He never listens.

Even though Jackson swears he told them not to bring booze, they all did. Bottles of hard liquor line my patio table. People are getting drunk. It's making me nervous.

Becca notices and pulls me inside. "I could tell them to leave."

"No, it's fine. I have to get used to it. This is just one of many parties I'll have to go to this year."

"But it's so soon after—"

"I know," I say, stopping her before she mentions the accident. I'm trying not to think about it. I won't get through this party if I do. But my mind keeps going there. The bottles of liquor. The red cups. The music. The sounds of girls laughing. To anyone else, it's just your average house party, but to me, it's so much more than that. It's like I'm reliving that night. There are fewer people and the location is different, but other than that, it's the same.

"Let's get out of here," Becca says, taking my hand.

"I can't. It's my house. I don't trust Jackson to take care of it."

"We'll just go for an hour. They can't do much damage in an hour."

"You don't know Jackson. He could trash this place in ten minutes, especially now that he's drunk." I shake my head. "Everyone out there is drunk. They're all going to deny it and try to drive home. And then..."

"I'll drive them." She stands in front of me, her eyes on mine. "I'll drive them all home. You won't have to worry."

"You can't. There's sixteen people out there. It'll take you all night to get everyone home."

She smiles. "I have a mom van, remember? I can load all the kids in the van and drive them all home."

"You'd really do that?"

"Sure. Why not? I'll even pack them some snacks to keep them quiet."

I laugh. "How is it you always find a way to make me laugh when I'm feeling like shit?"

"I don't like seeing you upset." She reaches up and kisses me. "C'mon." She walks past me and heads to the bedroom.

"I thought you didn't want to do it until everyone left."

"We're not doing it," she says as we go in my room. "We're just getting away from all the people. Seeing you out there, I could tell you needed a break."

"I do, but the bed? Things are gonna happen." I smile at her as I set my crutches down and lie beside her, facing her.

"Maybe. Maybe not." She adjusts the pillow under the side of her head. "So...how bad is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"The party. I know it reminds you of that night. So how bad is it?"

How does she know this shit? How does she know what I'm thinking? How I'm feeling?

"I'd rather not talk about it."

She nods. "You're just like Mike."

"What?" I look at her. "What's your brother have to do with it?"

"He can't talk about what happened."

"What happened? What are you talking about?"

"His leg. How he lost it."

"He lost his leg? What the hell? How do I not know this?"

"Because I don't like talking about it. I don't like people defining him by that. Treating him differently. Feeling sorry for him."

"Wait." I try to remember back. "I met your brother at brunch that day and I didn't even notice. How could I not have noticed?"

"He walks really well with the prosthetic. And he was wearing pants that day."

"Which leg?"

"The left."

"What happened?"

"Last year when he was stationed overseas, someone planted a bomb in their tent. Mike was standing just outside it and when the bomb went off, something hit his leg and severed it. That's all I know. He refuses to tell me anything more."

"Shit. I had no idea. I knew you said he does that podcast to help veterans but you never said why he started it."

"I don't like talking about what happened to him. It makes me mad. All he wanted to do was help people and then someone bombs his freakin' tent." Tears wet her eyes and one slides down her cheek.

"Becca," I say, softly, my hand cupping her cheek. "I'm sorry."

She nods. "He's better now. And back here for good, thank God. I hated it when he was over there. He's all I have left for family and I was so afraid I'd lose him."

Becca doesn't consider her mom her family. She hasn't talked to her since that day we had brunch. I doubt she'll ever talk to her again.

"I'm only telling you this," she says, "because I thought it might help you. The only reason Mike's been able to move on from what happened is because he talks about it with people who've been through it. He said he started the podcast to help other veterans but I think it was also to help himself." She takes a breath. "I guess what I'm saying is that I'm here for you if you want to talk about that night, and if not, then please, talk to someone about it. If you don't, you'll just keep replaying it in your head. Blaming yourself when you shouldn't."

Becca is the only one in my life who even mentions the accident. Everyone else avoids the topic. Pretends it didn't happen. I don't blame them. It's uncomfortable to talk about and they probably assume I don't want to. And it's true, I don't. I wish I could because maybe Becca's right. Maybe talking about it would help stop the memories. But I can't. I won't.

"I'd rather not," I tell her. "Talk about it."

She looks at me and I see the frustration on her face. She's trying to help me and I appreciate that, but I don't want her help. Not with this. I just need time. Eventually I'll get past this.