23. Kai
Kai
Icheck my phone and there is an unread text from Aiden.
hey man, how are you feeling about your next game?
Pretty good, their offense isn’t as strong as ours and
it’s a rebuilding year for them
Why?
just wondering. I might have something cooking for this game and a few others
could you be any more vague?
I placed some bets on your game in Rochester
And D.C.
WTF man you know I can’t be involved in any shit like that.
I know I know. I’m not asking you to do anything other than bring your A game
And score at least one goal…
When I don’t respond, he continues and something about his tone sounds eager. Desperate even.
When have I ever asked you for anything?
goodbye Aiden
I’m deleting this thread
Aiden would always question me from time to time about games I had coming up and I know he likes to gamble, along with dabbling in drugs and overindulging in alcohol—but this feels different.
He has never asked for specific outcomes before and I always keep our conversations general, never giving him anything tangible he could latch on to.
I love Aiden and he’s one of my closest friends, even and especially after all the shit we’ve been through.
But I have no dreams of losing my career, not when I worked my ass off to get it.
My brain drifts back to the first time I realized Aiden’s life was far from perfect. It’s two weeks after we beat the shit out of each other over Kendall and right before I realized I had been punishing him for something that wasn’t his fault.
“So…” he says.
“So. Kendall wants us to resolve things. Whatever that means.” I respond and take a drink of my iced tea, condensation droplets forming on the outside of the glass.
“Yeah, I know. Listen, I’m sorry I called her a slut and all the other things I said about her this year.” He looks down at his paper plate, rolling a piece of uneaten crust between his thumb and forefinger.
“I’m sorry I broke your nose,” I affirm, looking directly at him.
He pops the piece of crust in his mouth and wipes the grease off his hands with a flimsy napkin. “Lucky for me girls find bruises and a crooked nose endearing,” he grins, and I think that’s going to be the end of the conversation. But he presses on, undeterred.
“Seriously though, can I ask you something, Kai?”
“Sure, fire away,” I reply.
“Why do you hate me so much?”
Why do I hate him so much? What is it about him that makes me so adversarial, makes me want to bash his fucking head in almost every time we talk?
I’m not even sure how to answer his question.
Somewhere along the way, all the squabbles and arguments blended together and the root of this rivalry became muddied.
“I feel like it’s mutual hatred, don’t you think?” I try to play it off as a joke, but it just makes me sound like even more of an asshole.
“I don’t know. I feel like you came back to school after your accident and I was public enemy number one. I just followed suit. But I never had any real reason to hate you,” he confesses and it sounds raw, honest.
“I don’t know if you remember but the day of the accident, I was supposed to get a ride home from the game…with you.”
“Oh.” He pauses. I can tell he’s rolling over that statement in his head, picking it apart.
“So, you blame me then for the accident, your mom?” he questions.
I shrug. “I needed someone to blame other than myself.” I admit, peering down at my hands.
“Wow, that’s fucked up man,” he finally says.
“I know…” I trail off, realizing how stupid and juvenile it all sounds out loud.
“I get it. I’ll be the villain in your story if you need me to be, but I think we both know terrible shit happens to good people all the time, and there isn’t usually a reason or an explanation. That’s just life.”
“Yeah, what terrible things have happened in your life, golden boy?” I inquire, slightly ticked off, but starting to warm up to the idea of not hating him.
“Is that what you think?” he scoffs. “My life is great and everything is wrapped in a perfect fucking bow?”
“I guess,” I mumble, shrugging my shoulders.
“Well, after your accident, my mom was in rehab for two years and it almost destroyed my family,” he explains in a hushed tone.
“Fuck, Aiden. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Well, why would you? You stopped talking to me. I mean things are different now, better. She’s been sober for almost six years. But it doesn’t take away the feeling of always waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Another phone notification pulls me out of my memory but I make a mental note to check on him soon.
Something about this text exchange feels off, maybe he’s got himself in too deep with gambling or maybe he owes someone money.
Maybe I’m overthinking it. Aiden is a grown adult and he can take care of himself.
But it doesn't change the unsettling feeling in my stomach or the cold dread slithering up my spine.