Chapter 26 Bryson
Bryson
“Dude, I haven’t seen you in weeks. If we didn’t play football together, I swear I’d think you dropped off the face of the planet.” Ashton slams his locker shut next to mine, then slings his bag over his shoulder.
“We’re roommates. You’re being dramatic.” I laugh, slipping my shoulder pads over my head and hoisting them into my locker.
“Are we? Roommates? You don’t even live at our place, man.”
Ashton’s not completely wrong. My stuff lives at our place, at least, half of it does.
But I’ve been at Jaden’s every spare minute for the last week.
She’s depressed, even though she won’t let me label it.
She pulled back from practices again. And she doesn’t seem to have a plan for going back.
At least, not one she’s willing to talk to me about.
I fall back on my ass and exhale before meeting Ashton’s gaze.
“I know I’ve been spending a lot of nights at Jaden’s—”
“All the nights,” he says, punctuating it with a snarky laugh.
I roll my neck, trying to evade the bristly way his tone makes me feel. When I meet his gaze again, I catch what better be a slight hint of guilt pulling his mouth tight on one side.
“We’re going to Slices tonight. Amelia needs to get some new content, and I was hoping that maybe if I can talk Jaden into a game of cornhole or darts or something that she’ll feel that competitive itch again.
You know, let her write the caption and take a jab at football players.
That always lifts her spirits. Might help to have a fellow instigator tag along.
” I stare at my friend with a slight pleading look, and he chews at the inside of his cheek. I think he’s considering it.
“You know this isn’t like you blowing your shoulder out, right?”
I flinch at his response.
“Yeah,” I huff. “I know that.”
Ashton shakes his head and looks at the floor.
“It’s fine. You don’t have to come,” I bite back, standing and snagging my clean T-shirt from my locker. I swap out the sweat-soaked one from practice, then grab my sweatpants and do the same.
“I’ll come. But I’m being real with you, Bry.” His heavy hand lands on one shoulder, so I freeze and take in a deep breath, so I don’t simply react.
I’m sure he thinks I’m just being defensive, but I know that what Jaden is going through is different from my injury.
I also know that nobody gets what she’s missing quite the way I do, at least not in her world.
Taryn isn’t at Jaden’s level, and I don’t get the sense that her world would end if she suddenly couldn’t play tennis again.
And that’s the thing. In Jaden’s mind, she’s done.
She doesn’t see the path forward, but she’s also stopped looking.
“Don’t come unless you’re going to help,” I say, swiveling my head to meet his concerned expression.
“Same goes for you, then,” he says, patting his hand on my shoulder once, then leaving me alone with my own angry thoughts.
I grab one of my sneakers from my locker, but when I can’t undo the knot in the laces, I toss it back inside.
The bang echoes throughout the empty locker room.
I’m the last guy in here, so at least nobody can see me give in to the frustration.
I growl, letting that sound reverberate around the tiled floors and shower stalls.
“Fuck!” I slam my locker door shut, but it only bounces back open.
I slump back onto the bench and stare at the grates on my locker door until my eyes begin to blur the holes together.
I haven’t called my mom in a month. I’ve been avoiding my dad too.
Amelia’s filled both of them in on what’s happening, but neither has reached out to me.
If it’s not football, it’s not important to Jacob Moss.
And my mom probably thinks she’s giving me space.
I’m twenty-two. I can handle it. Except, I can’t. I so fucking can’t.
I stretch into my locker for my phone and earbuds, then push the buds into my ears and pull up both of my parents’ contacts. It’s been ages since I’ve talked to them both at once, and despite how little they like each other, I think I kind of need them both right now.
I press my mom’s contact first, then grip the sides of the bench while I watch my screen and await her answer.
“Hey, honey. How are you doing?” Her tone is subdued, like she’s working at a spa. It’s comforting, and I miss the way she used to take my stress away when I was a kid by simply saying nice words and running her hand through my hair.
“I’m sure Amelia filled you in,” I sigh out.
“She did. I’m so sorry, honey. Amelia said Jaden’s incredible. I’m sure this is so hard on you both.” Empathy. I breathe it in, but I know it’s not the only thing I need. I need some tough love too.
“It is. But I was wondering . . . This is going to sound weird, but do you mind if I loop Dad in on our call? I kind of need you both, I think.” I chew at my thumbnail while my mother mulls my proposition over for a few quiet seconds.
“Okay,” she croaks. I hear a door shut on her end. She must have stepped into her office for privacy.
“Hold on,” I say, placing my mom on hold so I can call my dad. Naturally, it takes two attempts for him to answer, and his greeting is abrupt as always.
“Bryson.” I’m sure he’s paying attention to something else right now, but I need his focus for a few minutes.
“Hey, Dad. Hold on, I’m connecting you with Mom.” That should do it.
I hear my father clear his throat as I merge our calls. I definitely caught him off guard.
“Hi, Jacob,” my mom says, the first to offer an olive branch.
“Liv.”
I think maybe that’s my dad’s version of an olive branch. I suppose it’s nice to know that my father greets both of us with the same curtness.
“Thank you both for being on the phone with me, together. I know how little you like it.”
“Of course,” my mom begins. My father overlaps her with a blunt okay.
“This might sound hard to believe, but I actually need advice from both of you.” That comment gets a chuckle from both lines, which sort of eases the mood.
“I know Amelia has filled you guys in on what’s going on with Jaden, but I don’t know that she can really paint the full picture for you.”
I pause for a moment and take a deep breath.
It was so much easier when I was a high school hotshot who could just show up with a new girlfriend every other week and know they would all get the same formal greeting from my dad and kindness and cookies from Mom.
Even after my parents divorced, I never hesitated to introduce them to someone I was dating.
Hell, even if it was a girl I was simply trying to charm.
This time is different, however. Not just because of the circumstances and struggles Jaden is going through, and that I am feeling by extension, but because I love her. I see her in my life beyond right now. Whether or not I can get her on the court again doesn’t matter when it comes to how I feel.
I decide taking a page out of my father’s playbook is best. Direct and to the point.
“I love Jaden. And I don’t mean in like a childish fleeting way—I fucking love her.
And it is absolutely killing me to watch her struggle.
I know there was a time when you two loved each other that much, or at least you thought you did.
I need some advice on how I stand by someone going through something like she is.
When do I push? And how do I let them quit? ”
This may be the first time in years that my father hasn’t responded to me with a single-word answer in under a second. He’s silent, which means he’s either taking another call at the same time or perhaps, well, thinking. Regardless, I’m not surprised when my mother is the first person to talk.
“Oh, Bryson. This must be killing you.”
“It is,” I say. “But I know this isn’t about me, and it’s killing her more.”
“Has she talked to anyone? Like a therapist?” my mom asks.
My father finally cuts in with a short, breathy laugh.
“What, Jacob?” This is the point when my mom’s tone sours thanks to my father’s quick dismissal of something she suggests. They have their patterns.
“Just you and therapy is all. Because that worked wonders with us,” he says, then scoffs.
Before this devolves into the way discussions between the two of them have in the past, I cut things off and force them to refocus.
“Your son needs you now,” I snap.
My mom is quick to apologize. My father’s apology is his silence. I’ll take it.
“She talked to someone at the hospital right before she was released, but I don’t think she’s been talking to anyone regularly,” I respond to my mother’s suggestion.
“Mental health is tricky,” she says. “We’re all just a bunch of petri dishes mixed up in different ways.”
“Yeah, but I feel like Jaden and I have very similar petri dishes.”
My father laughs again, and this time it provokes me.
“You know what, Dad? Maybe it was a mistake bringing you into this call. I’m so sorry to cut into your precious time. Here I figured you would give a shit that your son was hurting.”
The line goes silent again, and I let it fill the space for several awkward seconds. Finally, my father clears his throat.
“I’ve seen some of her tennis matches.” I flinch hearing his admission.
“You have?” I question.
“Well, I mean, I needed to know if this Jaden Johnson was worth your sister’s investment, and I could tell there was a pretty strong connection between the two of you at dinner the other night. You remember . . . when you both walked out on me?” As if he hadn’t instigated it.
“I seem to remember it being a very good time for us to leave, but that’s not the point right now.” I’m sure my mom will want to know what this is all about later. She has her own flaws, and one of them is reveling in the ways my dad can simply blow it when it comes to compassion or intimacy.
“You’ve actually seen her play?” I prod.
“Yes. I’ve watched highlights along with a few of last season’s matches from the Cordon website. She’s good.”
I blink wildly, because that sounded an awful lot like a compliment. A month ago, my dad thought Jaden was capable of committing wire fraud.
“She’s not just good, Dad. She’s probably the best damn women’s college tennis player in the country. And she has dreams of going pro.” At least, she had dreams. I worry she lost them somewhere on that court under the hot October sun.
Dreams like Jaden’s are something my father can identify with.
He didn’t have the talent, but I know he had the desire from little slips in stories he told me about his time playing in high school and when he was recruited to play at Tech.
I know he fancied the thought of being a pro, of leading an NFL team, or at least being a backup somewhere.
I’m sure it’s why he wants it for me so badly.
“If you love her that much, then you need to remind her of her dream,” my mom says.
“She’s right,” my father agrees. I hold my mouth, waiting for the but in his response. It’s strange to hear them on the same page, especially given the way this conversation veered down two paths at the start. I think maybe it’s happened five times in my entire life.
“How?”
The line is quiet again for a few more seconds, until finally, my father is the one to answer.
“Any way you can.”
I let them both off the call while my mind races with a complete and utter lack of ideas.
I check the time on my phone. Tennis practice should just be wrapping up.
If I hurry, I can probably catch Taryn, and maybe between the two of us, we can muster one idea of a way to remind Jaden of her own initiative and drive.
I grab the hoodie that’s been hanging on the side of my locker for the last month, then close the door before grabbing my duffel to head to the tennis center.
I pause just outside to slip the hoodie on after I’m hit with the fall chill coming off the nearby ocean.
It’s my favorite thing about this place.
Or rather, second favorite. And after feeling inside my hoodie pocket, I think I may have just thought of a way to wake up the dream that lives in my number one.