Chapter 38
Ethan
Waking up is a challenge and when I finally come around, I wish I hadn’t. It’s a little after eleven according to my alarm clock. I’ve been out cold for hours after knocking back one of the two Ambiens my mom gave me for the flight over, tucked away in the bottom of my travel wallet.
After making sure she got back to her room safely, I couldn’t sleep for shit knowing Mia was in her bed right on the other side of the wall.
The restraint I showed outside was nothing compared to the will power needed to stay in my room instead of banging down her door, begging her forgiveness, and after she realized how I really felt, I’d have taken her right there on the floor, against the wall, everywhere, anywhere, however she wanted it.
What a time to choose to be a gentleman.
Mia only wants me as a rebound? Fine. Great, even.
I was stupid to imagine I could ever be more to someone like her.
‘Give me a break, Ethan.’
As if she’s going to choose me. When Mia Meyers looks my way, all she sees is a dumb jock stereotype. I don’t like how I look through her eyes.
Afternoon practice doesn’t start until twelve which still leaves me with way too much time on my hands.
Pacing up and down my room isn’t helping but I can’t face the ref or fake casual conversation with the baristas at The Snug.
What I need is to talk to someone who really knows me, someone who doesn’t think I’m the biggest piece of shit on the face of the earth.
When I can’t think of anyone, I almost laugh out loud.
Mom hasn’t exactly been my biggest cheerleader since the accident and Dad would’ve been last on the list even before.
How can a man work as a lawyer, have the patience to spend weeks, months, years on a case, but fail to find a shred of tolerance when it comes to his own family?
Chris was always my go-to guy for everything from pep talks to deep and meaningfuls – he has a gift for finding the balance between what I want to hear and what I need to be told.
But I don’t even have his number. I could try one of the guys on the team, Assad or Michael, but they’re probably sleeping off their hangovers and it’s not like I could tell them the whole truth anyhow.
There’s only one other person I can think of.
Along with my mom’s sleeping pills, there was a small square photograph tucked into the leather travel wallet on my desk.
Bre’s high school senior portrait. She gave it to me the first week of school at Marshall.
Walked right up to me, pressed it against my chest, wrote her phone number on the back, then put it in my hand before walking away.
How could I not fall for her right then and there?
I dig it out and hold the tiny square at arm’s length.
Looking at her now is like looking at a stranger.
Long copper hair, pale green eyes, knowing smile.
Perfect hair, perfect makeup, perfect posture.
Perfect everything. At least on the surface.
No one was ever allowed to know what was happening on the inside. Not even me.
Sticking the photo in the pocket of my shorts, I pull out the phone card they gave us at enrolment and head for the payphone outside our flat.
I can’t call from here. If Mia comes out and sees me, I don’t know what I’ll do.
So, I jog downstairs, slip out the front door and let myself into the neighbouring dorm, taking the stairs two at a time until I’m at the top floor.
The phone sits unused, the hallway silent.
I dial her number then slump against the wall, sliding down to the floor as I wait for the call to connect.
‘Hello?’
Her voice hits me like cold shower.
‘Hello?’ Bre says again. ‘Who is this?’
‘Hey,’ I reply, pulling my knees up under my chin. ‘It’s Ethan.’
I’m expecting her to hang up but she doesn’t, even though I’m half hoping she will. What am I planning to say to her?
‘What the heck, Ethan? It’s a Sunday and it’s not even seven a.m..’
I gnaw on a hangnail on my thumb. ‘Figured you’d be up for church.’
‘I’m not going.’ There’s a pause. ‘My parents are on vacation.’
Showing up at church every Sunday was a big deal to Mr Kershaw.
All part of the happy family performance he puts on to keep the electorate content.
Being a politician in the South is a family business, after all.
Breanna wasn’t really interested but the payments on her Jeep and her credit card depended on keeping up appearances.
What was she driving now? I wonder if she got another Jeep.
I don’t know if I could even look at one after everything that went down.
‘I meant it when I asked you not to call me,’ she says, quiet but not tender. ‘What do you want?’
What do I want? It’s a good question.
‘Just wanted to check in, make sure you’re okay.’
‘No, you didn’t. You called me because there’s no one else you can call.’
She’s right, as usual.
‘How are you doing?’ she asks and I can only laugh.
‘Not great,’ I say before shaking my head at the falsehood. ‘Actually, that’s not even true. Classes are good, soccer is good, it’s just …’
‘You can’t stop thinking about the accident.’ She finishes the sentence for me and I feel impossibly guilty when I realize this might be the first time in her life she isn’t entirely right. I have stopped thinking about the accident, at least some of the time, and I don’t deserve the reprieve.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask and there’s a little snuffling sound, not quite a sob but enough to pull on my heartstrings.
‘It’s hard … My dad is still so angry with me and I hate that I can’t talk to anyone. They’re all still asking what happened with us, why you left. My friends know I’m not telling them the whole story.’
I stare at the staircase in front of me, the first wooden step dipping in the centre from decades of use.
I know you can’t believe everything you see online but the whole time I was locked up at home, Bre was running around with her friends.
She didn’t have any real injuries, just a few scratches, and if she felt bad about what happened, you’d never know it from her social media.
The few times I managed to check in on the family computer, she looked like she was doing just fine without me and the more I thought about it, the more I realized she’d been doing just fine without me for months, even when we were still together.
‘There is no “whole story”,’ I tell her. ‘I got the chance to play for Hemden. I didn’t want to do long distance. We called it. I’m the asshole, end of conversation.’
‘Wasn’t that easy convincing everyone you’d turned your back on your precious team at the drop of a hat,’ Bre replies. ‘Wasn’t so easy to convince them you turned your back on me.’
‘Would’ve thought you’d have that part covered since you were the one who broke it off.’
‘My dad didn’t give me a lot of choice.’
‘Didn’t seem like you put up much of a fight.’
‘Yeah, well …’ She swallows and it echoes down the line. ‘How is Chris?’
Classic Bre. Didn’t like where the conversation was headed so she goes in with a low blow. It’s so obvious now. She’s more upset about her friends believing I’m the one who ended things with her than she is about what really happened that night.
‘How do you think?’ I murmur. ‘Chris is in a wheelchair and it’s my fault. My brother hates me as much as you do.’
‘Ethan.’ She breathes my name on a sigh that used to mean something so different.
‘This isn’t getting us anywhere, I should go.
And I don’t think you should call me again.
My dad wouldn’t like it if he found out and, oh, Ethan, I don’t know what else to say.
Things weren’t all that great between us before the accident, you know. ’
She exhales my name again and I manage a despondent smile into the receiver, one she can’t see but I think she can feel. Whatever we had is so far gone, I can hardly recall it.
‘There’s no point playing woulda, shoulda, coulda,’ Bre says. ‘You made all the decisions, not me.’
‘They were for the best.’
‘Best for who?’
‘All of us?’
I was so certain at the time but in hindsight, I’m not so sure.
I lean my head backwards and tap it lightly against the wall.
‘It’s not like I had a lot of time to think about it.
When you wake up in a turned-over Jeep and you don’t know if your brother and your girlfriend are dead or alive, you kinda panic. ’
‘You don’t need to remind me. I was there, I know.’
‘You sure you haven’t told anyone?’ I ask.
‘We might not be together anymore, but I know it’s important to you,’ she replies, indignant. There’s a heavy pause and then she speaks again. ‘I heard there’s a girl from Marshall at that new school of yours.’
I hear the question in her statement, curiosity or jealousy, I’m not sure. She never did like to compete and I doubt that’s changed even though we’re not together.
‘Yeah, there is,’ I reply warily.
‘Mia something?’
My stomach clenches at her casual ignorance, like I can’t comprehend someone not knowing everything about Mia Meyers.
‘Kylie says we had a class with her last year, but I don’t remember.’
‘No reason why you should,’ I tell her, suddenly desperate to throw her off Mia’s scent. It’s an innocent enough statement but I know her too well.
It hurt like hell to walk away from my home, my girlfriend, Marshall and my team.
When I arrived at Hemden, I thought I had nothing else left to lose but that’s not true anymore.
Four thousand miles away and Bre could take it from me, if she wanted.
One email. One letter. She’s not naturally cruel but she is her father’s daughter and that man has never knowingly let a living soul get one over on him in his life.
If Breanna knew how I felt about Mia, all bets would be off.
She could get in touch with her no problem, writing a letter is simple enough.
Worse still, I wouldn’t be able to defend myself if she did.
It eats me up, knowing that I haven’t told Mia the whole truth about why I’m here, but I can’t even if I wanted to.
And deep down, I really don’t want to because everyone who does know, hates me.
‘You must’ve at least run into her, this Mia,’ Bre says lightly. ‘What’s she like?’
‘She’s nothing like you,’ I reply, and from the satisfied little sound that passes down the phone line, I can tell she’s chosen to take it as a compliment.
But still, it’s not enough. I don’t want her even thinking about Mia.
‘She’s an English student, super nerdy, you know the type.
Kind of sad, honestly. Just a Waffle House waitress. ’
Her dismissive little laugh cuts me up like nails on a chalkboard but at least I know I’ve done a good job of throwing her off Mia’s scent.
I’m about to say goodbye when I hear a girl’s voice in the background, a hand over the receiver, muffled words I can’t understand. It sounds like Kylie, her best friend, but I can’t be sure. It’s so long since I spoke to any of our friends. Her friends now.
‘Well, I gotta go,’ she says brightly, a whole different person. ‘Sure was great to hear from you.’
‘Who’s there?’
‘Kylie. We’ll talk again real soon, okay?’
‘No, we won’t,’ I say with a sad smile.
‘No,’ she replies, sunny disposition faltering. ‘I guess not.’
‘Bye, Bre.’
I don’t wait for her goodbye before I end the call. Still slumped against the wall, I let my head fall backwards and close my eyes, replaying everything in my mind, and if I didn’t hear the door to the flat on my right open then quickly close, I might’ve stayed there for the rest of the day.
‘Phone’s all yours,’ I call out to whoever is waiting but there’s no response.
Maybe I sound as pathetic as I feel. Unable to summon the energy it would take to stand, I crawl over to the stairs before pulling myself up with the handrail, skulking down to the ground floor, alternately worrying about Bre, feeling guilty about Chris, hoping I’ll see Mia and dreading the inevitable interaction, all at the same time.
Whoever said college is the best time of your life had no idea what they were talking about.