Chapter 14
One problem with living in a small town and having the same friends since kindergarten? When you want to escape, it’s hard to find some privacy.
“What the fuck, dude?” Gus shouts, striding toward me with his hands outstretched. “We were supposed to go to Wade’s, then you just take off?”
“Wasn’t feeling well,” I say, tossing another ball in the air and slamming the bat against it with a satisfying smack.
“That won’t help.” Gus nods toward the half-empty bottle propped against home plate.
It’s the only thing helping actually.
I don’t reply, just pick up another ball and send it flying into right field.
“We playing pickup?” Wade asks, approaching. “I missed trying to hit off you, man.”
“Sweet. You broke into the equipment shed?” Ricky’s here now too.
I didn’t break in. They haven’t changed the code since I stopped playing. Which will probably make me a prime suspect, if anyone reports the mystery of a bucket of baseballs going from being neatly stored to scattered across the frozen field, but I really don’t give a shit.
“Why don’t you guys go grab the balls?” Gus suggests.
“Leave ’em,” I say, reaching into the bucket again.
Gus steps closer. “What’s going on, Cap?”
I drop the ball and reach for the bottle instead. Gus watches me take another swig, judgment and concern written all over his face. I don’t know why he doesn’t just give up on me like everyone else. He has plenty of other friends. He has a dad. He’s headed to college in the fall.
I wait, but he doesn’t walk away. I sigh. “Just in a bad mood. Needed some time alone.”
“You were fine before … this have something to do with her?”
I scoff, dropping the bottle. “Dunno who you’re talking about.”
Most people would take the note of warning in my tone seriously.
Gus calls out my evasiveness. “I’m talking about Wren Kensington.”
I glower at Gus, who’s staring steadily at me. We both knew exactly who he was talking about—that was his cue to drop it.
“You guys disappeared for a while at Wade’s party,” Gus continues. “Your truck smelled like fancy perfume for a few weeks after the Fourth. And she sure didn’t come to the yacht club because we had the superior party—Cammie said the Kensington place was crazy.”
“What the fuck was Cammie doing there?”
Gus shrugs. “I dunno. She came to the marina when we couldn’t find you and mentioned she’d been there.”
I grab another baseball, tossing and catching it as I watch Ricky and Wade collect the many I’ve already hit. It’s annoying—I wanted to leave a mess behind.
“So … Wren Kensington?”
“Drop it, Gus. And get over your stupid crush on her. She won’t be back.”
Gus doesn’t even flinch. “Fuck. You really like her.”
“I liked fucking her, is all.” I slam another ball.
“Home run!” Wade yells from the outfield.
Gus shakes his head. “Yeah, right. You’re out here, drunk and playing baseball by yourself because you ‘liked fucking’ a girl you hadn’t seen in months? I mean, I haven’t seen you this low since …”
I laugh. Once. Humorlessly. “It’s not the fucking same.”
For many reasons, including that I’m at fault for this fuckup.
I drop the bat I’m holding, picking up the bottle with both hands instead.
Gus reaches for it, too, yanking it from my grasp. He flips it, letting the remaining liquor spill out to soak the strike zone. “Where’s your truck?”
I scowl, annoyed by his intervention, but also too drained to really summon any annoyance. “Home. I walked here.”
“I’ll walk back with you. Just let me tell the guys.” Gus jogs toward where Wade and Ricky are still collecting balls, pausing to pick up the bucket that’s nearly empty.
I turn, shoving my hands in my pockets and heading toward the sidewalk. I make it about halfway down the block before Gus catches up to me. He doesn’t chastise me for walking off, and the guilt makes me feel even worse.
“Sorry,” I mutter as a blanket apology for this entire night.
I’m pretty sure it’s past midnight, but I’m not sure. I left my phone in my truck when I got back from the marina. No matter what time it is, this was a shitty way to start the new year.
“You’re better than this, Cap,” Gus tells me.
“I’m not. Obviously.”
He nudges my arm with his elbow. “You are. You’re just having a bad night.”
I blink rapidly, a deluge of exhaustion hitting me as I trudge along. My muscles feel leaden, soaked with rum and weighed down with self-loathing. “I’m like my dad.”
Gus grabs the sleeve of my coat, pulling me to a halt. “You’re nothing like that piece of shit, Cap. Nothing. You got a good arm from him, and that is it. You care about other people, not just yourself, and your dad never did.”
I shake my head. “He did. He loved Skylar. He let it all fall apart after losing her, you know?”
There’s so much pity on my best friend’s face. It makes me feel sick. The contents of my stomach are spinning like a washing machine.
I pull my arm away and continue walking. Gus does too.
“I’m always here to talk, Cap,” he tells me quietly. “I know it all sucks and nothing I say will fix it, but I’m always here.”
“I know,” I say thickly. “Thank you.”
We walk another ten minutes, past the library and Dunkin’ and the gas station.
“I did like her. She was … it was different.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Gus has turned his head to look at me.
Before he can say anything, I add, “I don’t want to talk about it. Just … yeah, you were right.”
“I’m sorry, man.”
“S’okay,” I slur. “Was never gonna work out.”
We walk another block.
“Want me to come in with you?” Gus asks once we reach our neighborhood.
I shake my head, glancing at my house and noting the light on in a downstairs window. I don’t know how Mom can sleep in that room. She doesn’t, I guess.
“What time is it?”
Gus checks his phone. “Little after two.”
I sigh. “Happy New Year.”
“Drink some water, Cap,” he calls after me.
I wave a hand, acknowledging the suggestion, as I head up the front walk. The door is unlocked, so I don’t have to locate my key.
It swings open before I have a chance to push, my mom jumping back with a startled, “Oh,” as I enter the front hall.
I shut the door against the cold air sneaking inside, and she flinches. It’s dark and late, and I suddenly feel like I’m being suffocated by ghosts. How many times did she intercept Dad here while I slept down the hall, oblivious?
“I’m not gonna break anything,” I tell her.
She frowns, assessing my disheveled state. “Of course you’re not, Sawyer.”
I laugh darkly, resting my head back against the door. “You sure? I’m half him after all.”
“You’re drunk, is what you are.” Her voice is full of recrimination.
“Yep.” I pop the P obnoxiously.
Mom’s face softens. “Did someone say something to you about …”
“No one has to say anything, Mom. They all know. Everyone fucking knows! How can you stand to stay in this town? In this house? You can’t, right? That’s why you’re always gone, leaving me here.”
“It is my job, Sawyer. I am doing the best I can to hold things together. You want to leave your friends? The marina? The house where your sister lived? Start over somewhere else? If that’s what you want, what you really want, tell me, and I’ll call a realtor tomorrow.”
I close my eyes. “I don’t know what I want.”
“Go to bed, Sawyer. We can talk tomorrow.”
I open my eyes in time to see her turn toward the kitchen. “Why didn’t you tell me, Mom?”
Mom stills. “It wasn’t something I ever wanted you to know, Sawyer. Do you know how humiliating it would have been to tell my son something so ugly about his father?”
“More humiliating than me finding out with everyone else?”
“I never thought that would happen, honey. I got blindsided too.”
I blow out a long breath. “I hate him. I really, really hate him. He fucked up everything, even worse than it already was.”
“I know.”
I shove away from the door, slipping off my shoes and hanging up my jacket.
“Hey.” Mom walks closer.
She’s not short, but I tower over her. I inherited Dad’s height. I might even have a couple of inches on him by now.
“We will get through this, Sawyer, you and me. Okay?”
I nod, too tired to summon more of a response.
Her worried eyes scan my face. “I’ll see if I can change some trips—”
“No. Don’t change your schedule. I’m hardly ever here anyway.”
She sighs. “We can discuss it more when you’re sober. Tell me how you’re feeling all the time, not just drunk in the middle of the night, yeah?”
I nod again, even though I probably won’t. I already said too much tonight.
Mom reaches up, brushing some hair off my forehead. “I love you, Sawyer.”
“I love you too,” I say, then start down the hallway.
“No more drinking!” she calls after me.
“I’ll drink less.”
“I mean it, Sawyer. Or Uncle Carl will be coming to stay with you whenever I’m out of town.”
I grimace. My mom’s older brother lives in the same town Mom grew up in. He works remotely in some software job, and he has three cats that he brings every time he visits, which has thankfully not been frequently.
“And have some water before bed. I need your help taking down the Christmas lights tomorrow, and I don’t want to hear you complaining about your hangover all day.”
“I will.”
I swerve into the bathroom, down about a gallon of water straight from the tap, strip off my clothes, and then face-plant on my bed in my boxers, sinking into a sweet oblivion where nothing that happened earlier exists.