Chapter 11
11
BECK
“ H ow’d he hurt his foot?” Anya asked around a mouthful of cupcake. Her eyes were bright with curiosity. She’d been asking me questions any chance she could, wanting to know everything about Gavin. How I knew him. Why he was punching me last night. Why he was shouting so much.
“I don’t even know,” I said.
Maybe it was stupid to let Gavin just wander around the house on his own, but I didn’t care at this point. I was just hoping he would wander right out the front door. I wasn’t worried about him hurting Anya. He might be a complete piece of shit, but he wouldn’t hurt a kid. I knew that much.
“Well are you gonna take him home? Is someone coming to get him? Does he want something to eat? I can make him some eggs and toast or something,” she said, licking the frosting from the wrapper.
“No,” I said. “He can figure his life out on his own. He’s an adult. And seriously, Anya? A cupcake for breakfast?”
“The FDA updated their nutrition pyramid, you should check it out sometime, grandpa. And I’m gonna make eggs anyway, I don’t mind adding a few extra.”
“I said no.”
I drummed my fingers on the counter as Anya pouted. “I’ll just make them for you, then.”
“Yes to that,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. “What’re you doing today?”
It was Sunday, my one day off from everything, and this was not how I wanted to be spending it.
“Well, Sara slept over. She’s still sleeping, but when she wakes up, she’s gonna help me with my project and then we were gonna go ride our bikes around. It’s pretty nice out today.”
“I thought I was helping you with your project.”
Anya raised a judgy brow at me. “Do you know anything about physics?”
“No, but you asked me to help you.”
“Well that was before Sara offered, she’s a whiz at physics. But thanks for wanting to help despite your lack of knowledge.”
I snorted and pulled out my phone when it vibrated. It was a text from Kyle.
Kyle: Hey, there’s a half-off all IPAs special at The Taproom tonight if you’re interested?
I closed my eyes and took in a long breath, then shot him a quick text back apologizing and saying I was busy.
Which was the truth. I had a hungover asshole with a busted foot on my hands.
Fucking Gavin.
What the fuck was he even doing?
“I’ll be right back,” I told Anya. She just waved her spatula at me, watching something on her phone while she cooked.
I left the kitchen, moved through the family room, down the hall, and rounded the corner.
Stopped.
Gavin was just curled up in the fetal position on the floor, not moving.
What was going on with him? Was he just hungover and feeling like shit?
No. I knew deep in my gut there was more going on here than just a hangover. He was his usual hostile self, sure. That was to be expected. But then he’d started crying.
Even with everything he’d put me through, the sight of him like that was a punch to the gut. It was like when I’d found him with a needle in his ass, looking as hopeless as I’d ever seen him. It fucked with my head.
It seemed I hadn’t really let go of all those feelings from so long ago. But that was then, and I needed to remember that Gavin wasn’t the same person I’d grown up with. Not at all.
And he kept reminding me of that every time he opened his goddamn mouth.
“Gavin,” I said, toeing his shoulder. He didn’t acknowledge me.
I crouched down and shook him. “Gavin!”
“Mm.”
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Resting,” was his weak reply. Almost a whisper.
“Okay,” I said, coming to the end of my rope with him. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna let you rest in my bed for a few hours, tops, put some ice on your foot—you better hope you didn’t break anything—and then you’re getting the fuck out of here. Got it?”
He didn’t respond.
“I’m picking you up now. Don’t fucking attack me.”
No reply.
Fuck.
Sliding an arm under his shoulders and looping the other under his knees, I gritted my teeth and hauled him up against my chest. He kept his eyes closed, his hands tucked into his chest, chin down.
My heart thudded hard at how vulnerable he looked.
And then I stalked to my room and practically threw him onto the bed.
“I’ll be right back with some ice,” I said, not sure if he was even listening to me.
Anya was singing along to something on her phone, bouncing around the kitchen when I came in. She lowered the sound when she saw me. “What’s he doing now?”
I did not like her interest in Gavin. He wasn’t worth it. Unfortunately, she just really liked people and believed there was good in everyone.
“He’s sleeping.”
“Aw. So no eggs?”
“I already told you no eggs.”
“Yeah, but that was like, a suggestion. I put four in for him. He’s big. Not as big as you, but still. Big.”
Accepting that she wouldn’t relent until she fed him, I said, “Fine. Do we even have any eggs left after this? Should I go to the store?”
“Nah, we’re good. There’s still another carton.”
I pulled open the freezer and grabbed one of the ice packs I used when I had sore or strained muscles, then shut it again.
“Anya,” I started, and when she looked over at me expectantly, still so bright and happy despite everything we’d been through, a rush of love so pure and profound burst through me that, for once, it made me glad things had turned out the way they did—because now I had her in my life. “He’s not a good person. I don’t want you to talk to him. Ever. He’ll be gone in a few hours, so just…please, just leave him alone. He’s like a rabid animal. You saw him last night.”
“Then why’d you bring him here?” she asked, completely unfazed.
Good. Fucking. Question.
“I didn’t want him to get arrested again,” I said, and that was the wrong thing to say because it only set fire to the embers of her curiosity. It was fully blazing now. I could see it in her eyes.
“Oooh, what was he arrested for? How long was he in jail? Or was it prison?”
“For assault. He spent six months in jail. So don’t go near him. He wouldn’t hurt you, but he’s a piece of shit, and I don’t want you around him. Got it?”
“Yep. Got it, Beckers. I hear you loud and crystal clear.”
She was absolutely going to try and talk to him. I would just have to sit in the room until he left, it seemed.
I started to walk away when she called out, “I’ll bring you the eggs when they’re ready!”
I waved over my shoulder, then headed back to my room.
Gavin was, once again, curled up on his side. Facing the windows.
“Gavin,” I said, approaching the bed. He didn’t respond, and I didn’t expect him to. He was on top of the covers, one foot resting above the other, and when I saw the bottom of his bad foot I muttered, “Fuck.”
It was swollen and mottled with red and purple bruises. They practically covered the entire sole, and I was pretty sure he’d broken something. Multiple somethings. Doing what? I looked at the iron bars, then tried to shove away the wave of guilt that started rolling over me.
It was his own damn fault. I was only trying to help him and not get myself hurt in the meantime.
“Christ,” I muttered, moving to the end of the bed. “Gavin. I’m putting the ice pack on your foot. Don’t fucking kick me.”
Nothing.
“That’s right, Beck, bring home the violent drunk and then let him stay here,” I muttered to myself. “Because you can’t just leave well enough alone. No, you’ve gotta be everyone’s hero. No matter how much it’ll hurt you.”
I reached out and, as gently and slowly as I could, positioned the ice pack and wrapped the velcro straps loosely around his foot.
He flinched and made a small sound that squeezed at my chest.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I asked, not expecting a reply.
I didn’t get one.
I sat down in the armchair, debating whether or not I should just force him out of here, take him to the hospital to get an x-ray, or do nothing at all. Let him find his way home—or to a doctor—on his own, because he wasn’t my fucking problem.
Except, I’d made him my problem, hadn’t I?
“You goddamn idiot,” I said to myself.
Ten minutes later, Anya quietly opened the door, balancing two plates of food on one arm like a pro. Her gaze immediately went to Gavin, who hadn’t moved an inch.
“Anya,” I said, beckoning her over to me. She hesitated, glancing between me and Gavin, then walked toward me. She handed me the plates and sat her butt on the arm of my chair, propping her foot on my thigh.
“Has he said anything?” she whispered.
“No.” I didn’t whisper.
“Hm. Does he want some water? Juice? Coffee? Kombucha?”
Gross. “No.”
“Where’d he get all those scars?”
My gut tightened. “I don’t know.”
“They look pretty bad. Like, really bad. I don’t think he did that to himself.”
There was no way he could’ve done that to himself.
When I said nothing, she kept going. “So he was on the wrestling team with you? How old is he?”
“Yes. He’s twenty-four.”
“Oh. When was he arrested?”
“Two years ago.”
“So did he finish school?”
“I don’t know. Probably not.”
“Well…what’s he doing now? Do you still talk to him? Where did you find him?”
I leaned my head back against the chair and sighed. “No, I don’t talk to him. He wasn’t very nice to me when he was on the team. He wasn’t very nice in general. I found him on Briar Street in some holly bushes.”
“What was he doing in the bushes?”
“I don’t know, Anya. I haven’t seen him in two years. I don’t know what he’s been doing, I don’t know what he’s doing now, I don’t know why he was in the bushes.”
“If you don’t like him, why did you help him?”
“Because…” Because if I were in his position, I’d have wanted someone to help me? Because I couldn’t let go of eight years of memories? Because some part of me felt like the Gavin I knew was still in there somewhere, and hoped he might make an appearance again?
What a fucking joke.
“Because it was the right thing to do.”
“Hm. Was it, though?”
“Anya,” I said, getting exasperated. Not really with her, these were all pertinent questions. Good questions. I was mostly annoyed with myself because I felt so fucking stupid for bringing him here. “I honestly don’t know. I just didn’t know what else to do. I don’t know where he lives, I don’t know anything about him. We’ll just let him rest, and when he wakes up, he can go do whatever the fuck he wants.”
“Okay. Your eggs are gonna get cold.” She patted my shoulder and hopped up. “Oh, and Sara drank the rest of your coffee.”
That little…“Why does a sixteen-year-old need fucking coffee?”
“She says she can’t function without it.”
“That’s…incredibly concerning, actually.”
“I know. I told her that, word for word.”
“Good. Now tell her to make me a new pot.”
Anya gave me a two-finger salute. “Roger. On it.”
With one last look at Gavin, she skipped out of the room and closed the door softly behind her.
I set one plate on the dresser and dug into the other, inhaling the eggs and toast in a minute flat.
“You still eat like a pig,” came Gavin’s quiet voice from the bed. There was none of the anger or contempt from earlier, just a dull weariness.
“Oh good, you’re up,” I said, ignoring his comment. “Now you can get the fuck out of my house.”
“Hurts,” he whispered.
I bet it did hurt. I wanted to tell him that was nothing compared to the pain of what he put me through for years, but instead, I said, “Yeah. Looks like you broke something.”
I didn’t have much sympathy for his self-inflicted wound. Gavin continued to make choices that only caused him—and the people in his vicinity—pain. I wondered how he could stand it. I guessed he just didn’t care.
He used to care. When we were twelve, he’d accidentally killed a bee while swinging his baseball bat when we were playing in his backyard. He was devastated, cried for hours, and insisted we bury it and hold a funeral. He was sad for days.
Where was that Gavin? How could someone change so drastically? Was it even possible to have the very core of what made a person who they were just…disappear?
I walked over to stand in front of the windows he was facing. He was staring at a spot on the blanket with a distant look in his eyes, and something about it was uncomfortably eerie. He looked…haunted, almost. He was here physically, yeah, but in his mind he was miles away. It reminded me of my mom, and I fucking hated that. “Gavin. You need to have someone come pick you up. You can use my phone to call someone, since you obviously don’t have yours. I just want you out of my house.”
He didn’t look up at me or say a word. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and set it on the bed between us, opening up the dial pad. “Give me a number.”
He blinked, and then his eyes drifted from the spot he’d been staring at toward my phone.
“Gavin. Give me a number. You need to have someone take you to the hospital.”
He looked up at me then, his breathing picking up its pace, his chest moving rapidly. He had both hands sandwiched between his cheek and the bed, like a little kid, and he whispered, “Fuck you.”
That was it. I was done. I wasn’t doing this with him anymore. He could never— never —just have a normal conversation. It always had to be volatile and toxic.
I wanted to throw my phone across the room. I wanted to shake him until his brain rattled back into the right place. I wanted to find the switch that he’d flipped ten years ago and flip it back.
I started pacing back and forth, wanting to throw some punches, take someone down, anything that would help ease this frustration and anger. No one pissed me off like he did. No one.
I stopped pacing and pointed at the phone. “Call someone right the fuck now, or I swear to god, Gavin?—”
He mumbled something I didn’t catch.
“What?” I snapped.
“There’s no one.” His voice was hardly there.
“What do you mean, there’s no one? Call your girlfriend, or your friends, or your dad.” He visibly tensed up on the last one. When he lifted his eyes to mine again, there was an emptiness in them that terrified me. The most awful sensation crawled down my spine, like the wispy legs of a quickly-moving spider.
“I don’t have anyone,” he said.
“Fine. Then I’ll drive you home. Let’s go. Right now. Where do you live?”
He kept staring at me with that blank expression, and for once, I wished he would just be a prick again. At least then he showed some life. This Gavin…fuck. This Gavin I didn’t know how to handle.
He smiled at me, but it was a terrible thing.
Cold.
Mocking.
Lifeless.
It made my lungs constrict, made my palms tingle, sent a wave of goosebumps down my legs.
“Nowhere,” he said. The smile slowly fell away, and I swallowed around the thickness in my throat.
“Nowhere,” I repeated.
“That’s right.”
“Nowhere,” I said again, deeply unsettled by this entire encounter. “You must have somewhere . Where is your mail sent, for fuck’s sake?”
“My old house.”
“Then let’s go. I’m taking you there.” I reached out to grab my phone, and his hand flew out from under his cheek, fingers wrapping around my wrist. Tight. Tight enough it hurt.
“No,” he said. I could hear the fear in his voice. Could see it on his face. Could feel it in the way he was gripping me. “Please, no. Just—I’ll leave. I’ll go.”
His eyes were begging me now, and I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know this person. At all. And I didn’t like this new version he’d become. Because it was so far from anything he’d ever been that it felt like I was with a stranger right now.
“Why don’t you want to go to your dad’s? What happened? What did he do, Gavin?” I asked, my mind an endless merry-go-round of what happened what happened what happened.
What the fuck happened that he was this terrified at just the mention of his dad? He’d hurt him that day. I knew that. Had he kept on hurting him? Something dark moved in my blood, and I cut off my thoughts before they could spin out of control.
“Nothing. Nothing happened. I’ll leave. I’ll go.” His eyes were slightly panicked now, his grip only getting tighter.
“How will you leave?” I said roughly, letting him hold my wrist. “Huh?” I gestured toward his foot with my other hand. “How are you going anywhere? You need to get an x-ray.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “It’s fine.”
He’d done a complete one eighty from this morning, and I was seriously rattled. Bitchy Gavin I could handle. Was used to. Scared Gavin…fuck. My insides felt like they were going through a meat grinder.
Gavin let go of my wrist and started to roll over, then gasped when he moved his foot. He buried his face in the comforter and screamed.
Jesus Christ.
“Okay,” I said. I was done talking. “Let’s go. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“No,” he gritted out in between harsh exhales. His face was tomato red.
“Yes,” I growled, reaching for his arm.
He turned his head and sank his teeth into my forearm, snarling like a fucking animal.
“You fucking—” I wrapped my hand around his throat and ripped him off me, shoving him into the bed as he made a choking sound. His eyes were full of fire again, and he raised his fist like he was going to punch me. I grabbed his wrist and pinned it to the bed. “Stop,” I gritted out. “Stop fucking fighting me, you asshole!”
He raised his other fist and I let go of his throat to hold that one down, too. His features were twisted in pain, and it was like he couldn’t help himself. He had to fight. He had to be defiant. Whatever void he’d fallen into before, he’d pulled himself out of it now and was ready to be at odds with everything I said and did again.
When he kicked his leg up and started to wrap it around my waist, I yelled in frustration as I sat up and grabbed that leg, rolled him ass over head, positioned myself behind him before he could move, and put him in a half nelson. My right arm wound underneath his armpit and across the back of his neck, locking him in place as I straddled his hips. He started scraping at the bed, trying to get me off him, and the way he was screaming right now, I was pretty sure the neighbors would call the cops.
“Stop fucking fighting me!” I shouted, beyond enraged that he was this combative. This fucking careless with himself.
The door flew open, and Anya ran into the room. She gasped when she saw us. “Oh my god! Beck, what the fuck!”
“It’s fine,” I shouted over Gavin’s screams. “Gavin,” I said, lowering my mouth to his ear. “Stop. Just stop. You’re only gonna make it worse, and then you’ll never be able to walk again. Is that what you want?”
He stopped struggling beneath me, was whimpering now, and the sound of all that anger funneling into something as pained as the noises he was making now clawed at my compassion. He didn’t fucking deserve it.
Just when I was about to let him go, he tried to work enough room from my hold to head-butt me.
I shoved him down into the mattress, hard enough to make him cry out. I honestly didn’t know how he still had the strength to fight so hard when he was in this much pain. I was so pissed off that he kept fucking up his foot, that fighting me was more important than getting help.
And then I let him go and got off the bed, breathing hard. Anya latched onto my forearm, and I hissed as she squeezed the spot he’d bitten. She looked down at my arm and said, “What the hell!” She aimed a mean look at Gavin, who had flopped onto his side and was watching us, breathing hard and groaning, and said, “You dick, why would you do that! He’s just trying to help you!”
Gavin started to laugh, and it was interwoven with groans and these high-pitched whines that grated on my eardrums. He sounded like a lunatic, and I was pretty sure he’d lost his mind. There were tears streaming freely from his eyes now, pouring out fast and choking him up so much that the sounds he was making became garbled.
Anya finally looked wary of him. She glanced up at me in question, and I started pushing her out of the room.
“Come on. We’ll leave him alone. He’s not going anywhere, and if he does, good riddance.”
I slammed the door behind me.