Chapter 13 #2
“Please don’t tell anyone,” I ask Bennett. “I know it’s a big ask, but I wouldn’t if it literally wasn’t life or death.”
“Easton.” He gets to his feet, brows furrowing.
“Please.”
“Of course I won't." He shakes his head. “I’d never tell anyone. Ever.”
“Thank you.”
“But...”
“I gotta go.”
“Easton.”
I know I’m running again, and I drown in self loathing as I step away. But I just unloaded some heavy shit, and I’m trying not to spiral right now.
I have work tonight anyway.
“I’ll see you later.” Opening the door, I rush out of the room and down the hall.
My heart is racing like a drum, stomach in knots. I need to take a few minutes outside before I leave.
Work helps distract me. We’re busy tonight, so I’ve been slammed with dishes. But when I’m done, I offer to stay late and help clean up.
It’s not any earlier than three in the morning before I’m walking home.
I’m too tired to think, so it works in my favor.
As soon as I walk into my room, I see Bennett sleeping in his bed after nights of being away. Nights of me lying in my bed, staring at his and wondering how much he’d hate me now.
My feet shuffle forward toward him. I hover over him, eyes slowly taking in his face. How can someone who looks so masculine and rugged be so beautiful?
My heart clenches, and my stomach twists, hands itching to reach forward and brush the hair from his face.
He looks so peaceful right now. Lips parted as he breathes softly, long lashes fanning out over his cheekbone.
My eyes travel down his body. He’s not wearing a shirt. His blanket is draped over his lower half, leaving his chest and stomach on display. He’s so fucking hot, his body carved from stone.
It kills me that I’m going to have to make it seem like I don’t want him, because everything inside me is telling me I do. I really fucking do.
Sleep didn’t come easily. By the time I fell asleep, I only had two hours before I had to be up for football.
“Wright, what the fuck is wrong with you!?” Coach Creed shouts. “Get your head in the fucking game!”
Anger boils inside me. This is fucking practice, not an actual game. So I missed the fucking ball? Big deal. If he keeps yelling at me, I’m going to lose my shit.
Balling my fists in anger, I take a deep breath and keep going.
Doesn’t matter. Between my head being a jumbled mess of thoughts about Bennett, of what we could have if it wasn’t for my father, and the fact that I’ll never have it, add on the lack of sleep, making my body physically weak, I’m useless for the rest of practice.
Body aching, head throbbing, and lungs screaming, I walk over to the bench a sweaty mess. Grabbing my water, I chug it, groaning when Coach makes his way over to me with a pissed-off expression.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Coach asks. “My fucking grandma could have caught those throws. And you're telling me you wanna make it to the pros? Not like that, you're not.”
My jaw grinds, nostrils flaring. “Fuck you.”
His eyes darken.
“Excuse me?”
“God forbid I have an off fucking day,” I snap.
“An off day?” He growls. “You’ve had an off week. One that almost cost us the last game.”
I know he’s right, but does he have to fucking rub it in my face?
“Brody.”
The sound of Ellie’s voice makes my eyes snap over to her. She’s walking toward us with a look of concern on her face.
“Just a minute, baby. I’m just dealing with Easton,” he growls.
She stops in front of us, looking between the two of us. “I’ve heard. But, how about you let it go, okay?”
Coach's brows furrow as he looks down at his wife. “What?”
“Let it go,” she tells him, and from her tone, she doesn’t want him to argue.
He lets out an annoyed huff before looking at me. “Do better,” he snaps.
He kisses Ellie on the top of the head before storming to the locker room, leaving her alone with me.
When she smiles up at me, it takes everything in me not to break.
“How are you doing?”
Fuck. Fuck! How is it that a simple question hits me so fucking hard?
Because she’s the only one who’s ever seen me at my worst. She found me that night outside the park, broken and scared.
She was everything I didn’t know I needed. She’s always been like that; more of a mother to me than my own mom.
I love my mom, don’t get me wrong, but she was weak. No matter how many times my father hurt me, how many times I begged her to leave, to take me and run, she didn’t.
She’d just tell me she loves me, that she was sorry, but she couldn’t. After a while, I stopped asking for help and just accepted that this was my life.
Then there was Ellie. She always seemed to just know. Know what was going on at home, what I needed at that moment. From when I was a kid, to right up to that night.
She saw me crying on the ground, covered in my own vomit, and took me back to her place. She cleaned me up, clothed me, and brought me home. She held me in her car as I cried. Never once did she ask me what was wrong, or what happened. She was just there.
She kept me from doing stupid things in the wrong frame of mind.
This woman has always meant so much to me. When I lost Bennett, I lost her, too. His whole family, really.
There was a point when Coach Creed saw me as his own kid, before he hated me.
“I’m fine,” I tell her, but I know she can see it’s a lie.
“I’m here, you know? If you need anything. Anyone to talk to, I’m here.”
The back of my eyes sting, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep it together.
I give her a stiff nod.
“And so is Bennett.”
That caught me off guard.
“What?”
“I know the two of you have a rough past, but that doesn’t mean he’s ever stopped caring about you. Yes, you hurt him. But he never hated you for it. Just... wanted to understand.”
This is too much. Too many feelings, too much accepting things I’ve been burying down and trying to forget.
“Whatever is going on between the two of you, I hope you can work it out. I know a lot of time has passed, but it’s not too late.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I rasp out.
She smiles, putting her hand on my arm. “I think you do. Just take your time. Be patient with yourself and Bennett. And if you need anything, like I said, I’m here.”
She gives my arm a pat before turning around and leaving me standing there, feeling like a little boy who needs a hug from his mom.
Before I know what I’m doing, I'm following after her.
She turns around, eyes surprised, and lets out a huffed laugh as I wrap my arms around her. “Thank you.” My voice is thick with emotion.
“You have nothing to thank me for, sweet boy,” she tells me. “You’ve always been like a son to me. Nothing has changed.”
She has no idea just how much I needed to hear that.