Everything We Are, page 14
“Looks like someone has something to be thankful for!” Jude says with a laugh. “You gonna offer your guest some breakfast?”
Ky looks from us to the stairs, which his newfound bed buddy has walked down.
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath.
I don’t wait to hear anything else and instead turn and run up the stairs to my room, shutting the door behind me. What else could Kyler say without indicating to Jude something happened between us? It’s our little secret and one we can’t share without people forming an opinion.
A few minutes later, there’s a soft knock on the door.
“Thea? Are you okay?” Jude asks through the wood.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, but my voice betrays me, and it comes out with a wobble, and I cough to clear my throat.
“You don’t sound it. Please can I come in?”
Instead of answering, I go to the door and open it by way of invitation and then sit on my bed. Jude follows and sits behind me.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?”
I take a deep breath and sigh before replying.
“Adam and I broke up last night,” I tell him.
“Shit. I’m sorry, Thea. I honestly thought you two were endgame.”
I smile sadly at Jude’s words. Adam and I used to joke all the time about how we’d be old and gray and sitting on the porch in our Adirondack chairs watching the sunset. It’s the typical fairy-tale ending kids wish for when they’re growing up, and we were no different. In hindsight, we were both naïve to believe it would actually happen, but it’s not uncommon for childhood sweethearts to be happily married for the rest of their lives. I guess we were both wrong when we thought we’d be one of those couples.
“So did I,” I reply. “I guess we just grew apart.”
“Is that all it was?”
Jude’s question takes me by surprise. Apart from Kyler, no one knows about Adam’s indiscretion with his colleague, and I’m sure Ky wouldn’t have discussed it with Jude.
“What do you mean?” I ask Jude, wanting him to tell me what he knows.
He sighs before responding. “Nolan told me what happened the other night. In the parking lot after the game? He said Adam was shouting and being a bit rough with you. Apparently, Millie was worried by how angry Adam was and texted Nolan to come and help. Honestly, I had planned to talk to Adam about it when we were back home but didn’t want to overstep without speaking with you first. It’s not okay for anyone to physically hurt you, Thea.”
“I know, Jude. He was just frustrated and upset by some things.” I try to reassure him. Adam and I may have broken up, but the last thing I want is for Jude’s relationship with him to be affected by it. They’re still friends, despite our relationship status.
“Don’t make excuses for him.”
“I’m not. It’s just . . . I don’t know. Adam got it in his head Kyler was some kind of threat and so was warning me off him.”
“Kyler?” Jude exclaims, disbelief in his tone. “Why the fuck would Adam have a problem with Kyler? They hardly know each other.”
I shake my head. “I wish I knew. He said Ky was at the town council meeting they had about the development Adam’s working on. It turns out it’s the same development which is making Ky’s mom homeless. Adam said Ky was disruptive at the meeting, always interrupting or whatever, and then physically assaulted Adam afterward. I asked Ky about it, and he said he didn’t touch Adam.”
I pause, trying to make my voice as steady as possible before I tell Jude the next part, the bit which really was the catalyst for mine and Adam’s break-up.
“Ky also said he saw Adam . . . with another girl. He had his hands all over her and was kissing her outside.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jude grits out, his voice rising in anger. I shake my head again.
“I asked Adam about it, and he didn’t deny it. He said he was lonely, so what did I expect? That it’s my fault for moving.”
“Jesus Christ, Thea.” Jude stands and paces in front of me with his hands on his hips. He covers his mouth with his palm and takes a breath before continuing. “Is he for real? Who the fuck does he think he is? There is no excuse for hooking-up with someone else. I swear to God, he better be grateful we’re not in the same zip code at the moment as he’d find himself best buddies with my right fist.”
“Violence doesn’t solve everything, Jude.” I chastise him in the same tone Mom would use on us. Although don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful my brother is willing to stand up for my honor.
“It does if that fucker is upsetting my sister!” Jude bellows before sitting back down on my bed, his shoulders slumping.
“It doesn’t matter now anyway,” I continue, “even I felt we were drifting apart. I was just being a fool to myself and denying it. It’s for the best. We’re better off without each other. Besides, in my heart of hearts, I don’t think I could comfortably continue being his girlfriend, knowing he’s playing a part in hurting the family of one of our friends.”
“Is that all it is?” Jude asks and I turn my head to look at him, my eyes narrowing as I try to decipher what he’s trying to say.
“What do you mean?” I question him.
“This thing with you and Kyler. You might think I don’t notice anything, but I see things, Thea. I see the looks you give each other. The way your eyes follow him when he’s in the same room and vice versa. The tension between the both of you after his fight at the bar.”
“I was just helping with his injuries is all.” I quickly answer, trying to direct Jude away from this conversation. Kyler’s his best friend, and I know he doesn’t think badly of him, but all the same, I don’t want Jude to know the extent of my feelings toward Ky. Not yet, anyway. It’s too fresh, both in relation to my breakup with Adam and with the shaky ground me and Ky are tentatively standing on. That is, if there is still some ground, after what I witnessed this morning. If I’m being honest with myself, that’s what’s playing a huge part in why I’m upset at the moment.
Jude stares at me for a while, his eyes moving back and forth between mine, and I know he’s trying to search for some hidden sign telling him there is something I’m keeping from him. Eventually, he nods and places his hand on my arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Just . . . tell me if it turns into something more? Kyler’s life is complicated, and you deserve anything but. Unfortunately, I can’t help you if you keep me in the dark.”
“Okay,” I tell him, wondering at which point I should tell my brother that in my mind, it’s already turned into something more. And the “complication” I witnessed earlier today has already formed a wound in my heart.
Eighteen
Kyler
I fucked up. It’s the only way to sum up how I feel about things right now, and the only thing going well for me is hockey. Everything—shit with my mother, my sister, Thea, and school—all seems to be circling the drain. I don’t know if I’m coming or going half the time. One of the servers quit at The Crease, which somehow falls onto my shoulders since I’m the most “senior” person there, practice and games be damned. One of the new guys asked me to cover a shift and when I told them I had a game, he legit asked if I had to be there. Clearly, he’s not an NU fan because if he was, he’d know I’m the leading scorer in division three right now and yes, NU needs me there. I take that back. They don’t need me there because our second and third strings can get the job done, but they want me there, and sometimes it feels damn good to be wanted. Even if it’s by a bunch of sweaty hockey players. They want me because I’m their teammate and for the talent I bring to the ice. Nothing more. Winning isn’t on my shoulders, not with our exceptional line-up. We’re a team and we win as a team.
It’s Friday and we have a home game tonight. Regardless of whether we win or lose, people will congregate at our house. Fans and classmates want to celebrate or mourn with us. It’s funny because if the hockey boys are out and about at one of the restaurants, locals will buy our beer and dinner. It’s like we’re doing God’s work or something when in reality, all we’re doing is winning. We bring pride to Northport, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.
I’m the first one to wake this morning. It’s chilly in the house and the stairs creak with old age. I adjust the thermostat when I get to the main floor and wait for the heat to kick on. Our house is in rough shape. The landlord doesn’t exactly take care of it because it’s the hockey house, so repairs are minimal. We call him if something isn’t working and maybe, if we’re lucky, he shows up in a timely manner. During the season, the mention of tickets sitting at will call usually gets him here faster. Once the heat starts streaming through the vents, I make my way into the kitchen. Ever since Thanksgiving, I’ve spent more time at home. I’ve tried to find a way to talk to Thea about what she saw, but she’s short with me. It’s “hi” and “bye” or she’ll tell me there’s a plate waiting for me in the refrigerator if I happen to come home early from a shift. Honestly, I’m surprised she still cooks for me. If I were her, I wouldn’t even bother because I’m not worth it. On the nights I go fight, I don’t come home at all and usually crash at the bar, in the office on the cot, or sleep in my car in my mother’s driveway. I suppose being a loner has its perks.
Turning on the tap, I let the water run for a couple of seconds before filling the glass carafe to the top line, and then I pour it into the coffee maker. I add a new filter, the coffee grounds, and then turn the coffee pot on to brew. Why we don’t set this thing at night, I’ll never understand. I know we all have different schedules, but most of us want coffee before we start to act like civilized humans.
The first set of footsteps are heavy, and when Nolan enters the kitchen, his eyes light up. I feel like I’m in the middle of a Folgers commercial and Peter’s just come home for Christmas. It’s very picturesque with Nolan staring at me, his hair standing on end, and his red robe untied. I chuckle and hand him a mug, while I wait for the coffee to brew.
“I was just wondering why we don’t set the timer on this thing at night.”
“Because we’d never remember and we’d still be here at the crack of dawn, waiting for a cup of Joe.”
“You’re probably right,” I say to him. Behind us, there are more footsteps, followed by a grumble. “Morning,” Devon says as he comes into the kitchen. He opens the refrigerator, huffs, and then closes it. “I’m getting breakfast at the Pit.”
The Pit is a local diner for students near campus. It’s not really a pit, in the word sense, but a state-of-the-art dining space with televisions, sofas lined up against the walls, tons of seating, and probably fifteen different options. They have world cuisine, sandwiches, an ice cream bar, and make-your-own whatever. There’s even a Sunday Dinner counter because the founder of Northport is British and wants to pay homage to his roots. I’m not complaining because I love a good roast.
“See ya,” Nolan says through a yawn.
“Up late?”
“Yeah, texting.”
“What’s her name?” I ask.
He shrugs.
Most of us think Nolan has a girl back home but he won’t say. He never flirts with anyone, unless you count Millie, and they seem to have more of a brother/sister sort of relationship. He antagonizes her, and she tolerates him.
When the coffee is done brewing, I pull the pot out and pour myself a cup first before filling Nolan’s cup. We both drink ours black, but Thea likes to put creamer in hers. Right now, there’s about five or six different flavors clogging the inside of the door. Everything from pumpkin spice, to peppermint, to eggnog. If there’s a flavor, we have it. And I’ve tried them. They’re gross. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy pumpkin pie and peppermint candy, but not in my coffee especially when it has already been roasted and tastes like something—not sure what that something is—but it has its own taste. I don’t think it needs any extra flavoring, especially French vanilla.
“Coffee,” Thea says as she comes into the kitchen. I hand her a mug because I’m the one standing in front of the cabinet and reach for the pot to pour her some. She’s in her robe. It’s thick, pink, and fluffy, and turns me on. Well, the robe doesn’t, but the person wearing it does. Each time I’ve tried to talk to her, she lets me know she’s not interested in what I have to say. Thea always has her noise-canceling headphones with her or she gets a phone call. Anything to avoid having a meaningful conversation. Although, I don’t blame her. I haven’t given her anything meaningful since I met her, except for the night we spent in my bed.
“Game night,” Jude hollers when he walks into the kitchen. He’s fully dressed and I’m questioning whether he just completed the walk of shame or he’s actually ready to go for the day.
“Yeah, it is!” I high-five Jude. “Castle is going down.”
“Skidmore isn’t going to know what hit them,” Nolan says.
“Well, clearly not you,” Thea adds. The three of us look at her in utter confusion. She takes a sip of her coffee and takes a long-ass time swallowing. “You know, since you guys can’t hit and all.”
“Pshaw,” Jude spits out. “We can hit, we just can’t fight.”
“And we pinch,” Nolan says.
I slug him in the shoulder. “Don’t be telling our secrets.”
Thea’s eyes go wide, until the three of us start cracking up. “That was mean. I know you can’t pinch anyone because you wear gloves so why did you say that?”
“Because you’re gullible,” Jude says. He walks over to his sister and tugs on a clump of hair sticking wildly out of her bun.
“Am not,” she says, but deep down she knows she is. We can tease her and she’s okay with it. Jude and Nolan leave the kitchen and I use this opportunity to stay near Thea.
“Thanks for dinner last night. On a full stomach I was able to stay up and finish my paper.”
“That’s good,” she says. Gone is her sweet “you’re welcomes” and the notes she used to leave for me.
I inhale deeply and try again. “Would you like to ride with me to campus?”
Thea turns the faucet on and allows her mug to fill with water before dumping it out. “I think I’m okay to walk.”
“That’s dumb. We both have class at nine, in the same building. Why would you walk?”
Thea doesn’t say anything. I move closer to her. Our hips touch. I set my coffee cup down into the sink and when her hand reaches for the faucet, I set mine on top of hers. She doesn’t pull away, at least not at first. What I wouldn’t give to touch her again, like the night she spent in my bed. If there weren’t so many extra ears around, always listening, I’d blurt out everything I want to say, but I can’t. She can’t know how sorry I am until I get her alone and she’s done everything in her power to keep that from happening.
“Thea.” Her name, coming from my mouth, is smooth and sweet. “Let me drive you to school.”
She says nothing. Instead, she turns and walks away. I don’t know how long I stay in the kitchen, but it’s long after she’s walked out the front door.
I’m the first one on the ice. The clock reads ninety minutes. An hour and half until game time. I stand there and stare at it until it starts ticking off the seconds. The other team is in the visitor locker room hyping themselves up to take us on. They have nothing to prove, and we have everything to lose. I look up and count the twenty banners hanging from the rafters. There are just two years, in the last twenty-two, when we haven’t won the conference championship. This is how long NU has been a prominent force in men’s hockey. At the other end of the arena, where the doors to the concession stand are, four national championship banners fly, along with two for our women’s team. Players come here to play for the best, and to be the best. There is nothing mediocre about our program. To win is an expectation and one we’ve put on ourselves.
The rest of my team comes out. We skate around the ice a few times and then break off into groups to stretch or practice moves. The sound system blares “Enter Sandman” by Metallica, and I smile.
“You know this is your new nickname, right?” Jude hollers toward me.
“Yeah, I heard.”
“It’s because he’s killing everyone on the ice,” Marty blurts out. I’ll gladly take his definition over the actual meaning of the song any day. After five minutes, we switch. Jude is in goal and we’re firing shots at him. Nothing too aggressive because we don’t want him exerting himself before he has to, but enough to warm him up. When the horn sounds, we leave the ice and head back to the locker room for a twenty-minute chat. We go over strategy, who is guarding who, what plays we are going to run, and the line switch. When we get the signal from our manager, we head back out with me leading the pack.
I stand at the door, leading to our bench. When the lights go down and the music starts, the team files out, one by one. I give everyone a high-five as they pass by, with me being the last one on the ice. I do one half loop and then line up on the line, facing the American flag. After the anthem is sung, the line-ups are announced, and it’s time to drop the puck.
Before I make my way to the center, I stop by my goalie. “One period at a time,” I say to Jude.
“One goal at a time,” he replies.
I skate toward the middle, bending at the waist halfway there. When I get to the center, I stare at my opponent. He knows I’m the best and he wants to be me. That’s my mindset and he can’t change it. No one can.
The official blows his whistle. I focus on the black disc in his hand. My stick is poised, ready, and the second the puck hits the ice the blade of my stick is moving it toward Brad and my shoulder is pushing the other center out of my way. He attempts to grab my shirt, but my arm swings over the top of his hands and he has no choice but to let go. “Get the fuck off me,” I say for good measure. Right now, I’m public enemy number one. Everyone on this team and every team we play wants to take me down. They want the number one ranking all to themselves, but there is no way I’m letting them have it. I have too much riding on my season.
