Chapter 12
Javi, Present
I drop my practice bag in the entryway of my house and close the front door behind me.
Practice kicked my ass today, and I’m just ready to pass out at this point.
My exhaustion wasn’t helped by the fact that I stayed out in my car for the last thirty minutes or so, just staring at Declan’s balcony. I don’t even know what I’m looking for. A glimpse of him. I guess.
He’s been avoiding me ever since our make out session in the hall.
Not that I’ve sought him out or anything, but it feels like I don’t see him anywhere.
I don’t remember it being like that before.
The only time I lay eyes on him is during lunch, and I only get to see him with Landon.
Both of them laughing and talking like they’re best friends forever.
I spend most of my lunch just glaring at them. No one calls me out on it because Grant does the same thing.
It’s probably best that he’s ghosting me. What was going to come of it? Nothing. He betrayed me once. I’m not a fucking idiot to go down that path again.
It was a lapse in judgement.
Scott pokes his head around the corner from the kitchen up ahead. He smiles, letting it stretch all the way to his cheeks. “Hey! It’s Javier, honey!” His voice sounds excited—bordering on the edge of crazy.
Oh, I see. He’s in a good mood right now.
That should make me happy, but all I can think right now is: How long will this one last? A week? A few days? Maybe it won’t even last the rest of the night.
How long until he lets the real him back out?
My mom comes bustling around the corner, wrapping me in a huge hug. Her smile’s also big—almost matched to Scott’s. She’s always loved when he’s in a good mood, even though they never last.
So I put on an equally big smile for her.
“Hello, Javier. How was your practice?” she says as she stands back from me, taking my arm and leading me toward the kitchen where she and Scott are gathered.
“Bien,” I answer back.
She stiffens a bit—her eyes briefly flicking up to my face before she drops them to the floor, letting my arm go as we reach the kitchen.
She didn’t say anything. But she doesn’t have to. I’ve lived in this house with her.
You know he doesn’t like that, Javier.
Let’s all enjoy this night, Javier.
Don’t make him angry, Javier.
Scott walks past me, giving me a friendly pat on the back as he goes. “So, how has school been this year, Javi? You always get good grades. I’m sure it’s the same.”
I don’t mention that it’s many months into school and this is the first time he’s asking me. I also don’t mention that he knows fuck all about my grades.
I smile again. “It’s going good. Nothing interesting.”
“That’s my boy!”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes as he sits in a stool at our large kitchen island and cracks open a beer.
The sound is deafening. Sharp on my ears. Almost like it crawled inside and sliced my eardrum.
It’s a warning shot going off in the kitchen. Only to me and my mom. We know what usually follows.
Scott takes two long pulls from the can. Mom quickly glances at the motion and then back down at the chicken she’s rubbing with spices.
A little time passes in silence. Just the sound of Scott swallowing beer. Until Mom looks directly at him. A big smile on her face as he takes another large gulp. “Scott, Javier mentioned they had a good practice today.” She looks over at me, a plea behind her smile. “Javier, tell Scott about it.”
She thinks this can still be salvaged. She knows he likes football talk. He can go on and on about the good old days when he was playing.
I know better. It’ll all be downhill from here. I can see it in the slow blink of his eyes. The alcohol is already starting to dull whatever happiness he started with.
He turns to me and I try to stay enthusiastic for my mom. “Oh, yeah?” he starts, tipping his head back and taking another two swallows from the can. “I would hope so because so far your team’s record has been shit.”
He crushes his beer can in his hand, getting up to throw it in the trash and retrieve another from the fridge. No pat on the back when he pushes past me this time.
“You’re never going to get an offer to any good college with a record like that. I hope your coach knows that. He should listen to me when he’s out there on the damn field.”
My smile turns into a tight line. I make a noncommittal noise so he knows I heard him, but then I’m silent, getting a water from the fridge so I have something to do.
He’s already lost interest in me, sitting back down and cracking open another beer as he watches my mom put the chicken in the oven. “Did you put too much seasoning on that chicken? You always do that.”
It’s that point. The one where you’re at the top of the rollercoaster. The peak. Seeing the whole horizon in front of you, knowing that you’re about to drop so far down, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.
Hopefully it’ll be quick.
He takes another swig as my mom glances at him from the corner of her eye, her smile straining but staying in place. “I don’t think so. I’ve put less the last few times.”
He’s quiet, staring at her with that bleak, soul-sucking look as she grabs a pot from the cabinet and starts filling it with water.
He takes another gulp of beer. “Why do you always have to smirk?” he asks her.
My stomach drops.
Down we go.
She turns back to him from where she stands at the stove, wide-eyed and timid. “I didn’t—”
“You always put too much shit on the chicken and I can barely fucking eat it.”
She stays calm, her tone placating. “The last two times I made it, you said it was better.”
He explodes, raising his voice and coming around the island to stand closer to her. I take a step closer too, readying myself. “That’s because you’re too fucking sensitive. I can’t say what’s on my mind. The chicken is always like that.”
She takes a big breath. I can see tears glittering in her eyes.
That pisses him off too. He’s yelling now. “Don’t sigh like I’m the fucking problem here!”
A tear slips out of her eye as she shakes her head. “I’m not—”
“Yes, the fuck you are! Get out of the fucking way!”
He bulldozes his way in between her and the oven. I quickly step up and tuck her behind me, backing away from whatever Scott is about to do.
Ripping open the oven, he pulls the sheet pan of chicken out with his bare hands.
A yelp flies out of his mouth as he drops the hot pan, scattering uncooked chicken all over the kitchen floor. “Scott!” my mom exclaims.
He lets out another wail of pain, clutching his hand against his chest as he looks around me at my mom. “You made me burn my fucking hand! Are you happy now?!”
He yells again. A sound of nonsense. Just unfettered rage from a man who never learned how to deal with his fucking emotions. Then he rears back his other hand and punches at the fridge.
My mom gasps behind me, and then we’re all silent for several long seconds.
“Fuck this,” Scott mutters, walking away from us and swiping his car keys before slamming the front door. The roar of an engine and the squeal of tires is heard shortly after.
Then it’s just me and Mom.
We don’t say anything as we start picking up the chicken and throwing it in the trash. I get a wet floor wipe and begin wiping away all the oil and spices while Mom washes the sheet pan.
When we’re done, we both stand there a moment.
This has happened so many times. Although, this one was more intense than some. The drill is usually the same. We pick up the pieces together and she gives me a hug or apologizes, even though it really means nothing, because how long until it happens again?
“Esto sólo empeorará, Ma.”
She crumbles, tears freely flowing down her cheeks as she covers her face with her hands, trying to hide it all. Or maybe stop it. “Lo sé. Lo sé, papi. I’m sorry.”
I hold her, rubbing my hand up and down her back, trying to detangle this cocktail of emotions I have going on in my head.
When she pulls away from me, she says she’s going to bed and to order pizza if I’d like.
I wait until she disappears down the hall and then go out the backdoor, toward the place that used to make me feel better. Although it probably won’t now. But I need something.
Right before I enter the woods, I turn back and look at his house.
And even though I don’t want to, I can’t help wishing that I still had him in my corner.