32. Highs And Lows
32
Highs And Lows
Clayton
A loud banging on my apartment door wakes me from my sleep. Groaning, I roll over to check the time on my phone.
7:45 a.m.
This better be fucking good. Rocky and I flew home Friday, and after a few delays at the airport in San Diego we didn’t land in Florida until late. By the time we got our checked bags, found my car in the parking garage, and each made it back to our respective apartments, it was in the early hours of the morning.
As much as I wanted Rocky to spend all day Saturday at my apartment, the two of us both had schoolwork to catch up on, laundry to wash, and groceries to get. It’s now Sunday morning, and I still feel exhausted.
Without answering the door, I already know who it is. Only two people would have the balls to show up at my apartment at this hour on a Sunday morning, and only one of those people would willingly be up this early.
The pounding continues and I roll my eyes. Throwing on a pair of black sweats over my briefs, not even bothering with a shirt, I pad down the hallway and through the kitchen and living room, rubbing my eyes. I’m five feet away from the door when I snap, “Good fucking Christ, Jackson. Would you have some fucking patience?”
Unlocking the front door, I throw it open, and his fist almost hits me in the face as he attempts to bang it against the door some more. “It’s about time.”
He brushes past me and walks right into my kitchen; you wouldn’t know that just a few months ago, the guy blew apart his knee. Helping himself to my coffee grounds, he throws them into the coffee maker to brew us a pot. “Good morning, Jackson. Please, do come in.”
Closing my front door, I sit on the kitchen stool as he moves about my kitchen as if it were his own. “Don’t 'good morning, Jackson' me. I gave you one whole day to rest, and now I need to know.”
Running my hands through my bed head, I sigh. “Need to know what? ”
Jax looks at me deadpan. “You and Rocky. What happened last week?”
“Since when are you so invested in my relationships?”
“Ummm, since you actually fucking have one, even though the two of you like to act like you don’t. Everyone sees it, Clay. You guys aren’t as subtle as you think you are. Even Theo—”
He cuts himself off, as if he’s said something he didn’t mean to. Choosing to ignore the smart-ass remark about me having a relationship, I focus on the name he said just before he stopped talking. Jax spins around to grab a couple of mugs out of the cabinet. As he’s pouring some of the delicious-smelling coffee into them, I ask, “Theo? As in Theodore Young? As in the athletic trainer?”
“Hmmm?” He pretends he didn’t hear me as he slides the mug across the counter, but I’m not buying his bullshit. “Jackson…”
“Clayton,” he counters.
“What have you been doing talking to Theo? You’re not even playing anymore and he’s not even you’re physical therapist?”
Jax chews on the corner of his bottom lip, which he only does when he’s feeling nervous. He opens and closes his mouth a few times as if he’s trying to work up the courage to say something before shaking his head. “Nothing. I’m not. Don’t try to change the subject.” He points his finger across the counter at me. “Tell me what happened.”
I look at my best friend for a moment and realize he doesn’t look like his usual self. Whereas I look half-dead from a weekend full of travel and time zone changes, Jax looks… exhausted. His black hair is completely disheveled, and his bright blue eyes don’t have any of their usual shine. There are dark circles underneath his eyes, and his clothes look wrinkled and worn. Like he’s had them on for hours instead of just putting them on this morning.
But if there’s one thing I know about Jax, it’s that if he wanted to tell me something, he would, and if he’s not ready, then there’s no use in pushing him. He and I may share the same upbeat personality, but he’s far more secretive than I’ll ever be. Which I’d assume has a lot to do with the fact that he grew up with three younger and incredibly invasive brothers.
1 ?? Relenting, I take a long and slow sip of my coffee, Jax’s eyes not straying from mine, before saying, “We hooked up.”
“And?”
I knew that wasn’t going to be the answer he was looking for. I’ve shared a lot about my relationship with Rocky to Jax. He’s my best friend and brother, and I know I can trust him to keep my private life private. He’s also one of the smartest people I know and has always encouraged me to stay true to my feelings, even when I confided in him my developing feelings for Rocky after his birthday party.
Sighing, knowing he’s not going to drop it until he hears what he wants to, I finally confess the thing I’ve only said to myself. “I-I think he’s the one, Jax.”
“No shit. You think?” I pin him with a lethal glare and he chuckles as he holds up his hands in defense. “Sorry, continue.”
“I’ve never felt like this about anyone in my life, man. I told him I love him, Jax.”
Jackson’s eyes go wide in surprise. “You did?”
“Yeah, I did. You know me… if I’m feeling something, I say it. We were just having this really special moment, and all of a sudden, everything I’ve felt for him since this whole thing started just felt so big, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t hold it in anymore.”
“I’m assuming he didn’t say it back.”
I shrug and tell Jax the same thing I told Rocky, meaning it wholeheartedly. “No, he didn’t. But it’s okay. He’s not ready, and I wasn’t expecting him to be. The way I feel about him isn’t dependent on him reciprocating those feelings right away.”
Jax’s eyes soften as he asks, “How do you know? How do you know Rocky is it?” As I look at him, I get the feeling he’s asking for himself just as much as he is for me.
I think about my answer for a moment before explaining, “For as long as I can remember, I’ve moved through almost every minute of every day with a giant weight on my chest. The expectations of everyone around me, of my parents… my father, of myself, feel so heavy sometimes it’s almost debilitating. I’ve found ways to lighten the load, but it’s never fully gone. But when I’m with Rocky… he feels like the drug for all my anxiety, Jax. All my panic. All of my fears. All of my anger . It’s in the way he looks at me. The way he touches me. The way he speaks to me. The way he believes in me. It’s just… him.”
Jackson smiles softly at me from across the counter, but I notice the water that pools at his lower lids before he blinks it away. “Shit, man.”
“Yeah.” I huff a laugh. “Shit is right.”
Jackson hangs out in my apartment for a few more hours as he listens to my stories about my week with Rocky’s family. And the more I talk about my teammate, my partner, the man that I love… I know that, without a doubt, everything I just confessed to Jax is true.
Rocky is it.
Now, I just have to wait for him to realize it.
It’s now Tuesday evening, and I was riding the high from spring break with Rocky all the way through our Monday morning practice and throughout classes today… that is until we just got our asses handed to us by Virginia State. And on our home turf, no less.
It wasn’t that Rocky and I even played terribly, and it could easily be contributed to our fun-filled week in San Diego, but the fact of the matter is, Virginia’s players just got off spring break, too. Sometimes you just get steamrolled, and there’s fuck all you can do about it. Once you’re too far behind in points in volleyball, it’s extremely hard to recover .
And that’s exactly what happened.
We didn’t win a single fucking set. Not one.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, Rocky got pulled to the side for an interview—of which I managed to avoid much to his despair—and the first thing I find when I pull my phone out of my bag in the locker room after I’ve showered is a string of texts from dear old Dad.
Dad
You looked beyond sloppy in the first set, Clayton.
Your hits weren’t connecting as they should be. Clean it up. Don’t be an embarrassment.
I told you Rockwell Campos wasn’t going to do you any favors.
You have no chance of upholding the Aldrich legacy with a partner that does nothing but weigh you down.
That match was a fucking disgrace. The two of you should be ashamed. We will discuss this later.
As I read each text, the grip on my phone tightens to the point that I worry it will shatter in my hand. I can feel my vision tunneling and my chest tightening. My eyes begin to well with tears as I recognize the all too familiar signs. “No, no, no. Not here. Not now.”
Not wanting to do this here, I quickly turn off my phone and shove it to the bottom of my bag before throwing on my clothes. With my bag slung over my shoulder and my body fighting for air, I all but run out of the locker room. As soon as I round the corner I run square into the man who has quickly become my solace. But he can’t see me like this.
I can’t let him see me like this.
“Hey, thanks a lot for making me do—whoa, Clay. What’s going on? What’s the matter?” I hear the panic in his voice, but I can’t stay here. I need to get home.
As he reaches to cup my face in his hands, I dodge his grasp. “Nothing. I-I.” My voice catches as it becomes harder to breathe. “I need to go.”
I step around him and speed to my car, ignoring his calls for me to come back.
By some miracle, I manage to make it back to my apartment building. Feeling like the drive might have calmed me down for a moment, I realize I’m sorrily mistaken when I see the very cause of my impending panic attack standing in front of my building. One hand tucked into the pant of his suit, the other holding the phone to his ear .
“D-Dad?” I shake my head in disbelief as I walk up to him. “What-what are you doing here?”
He rolls his eyes and removes the phone from his ear. “Clayton, I’ve been trying to call you.”
Fuck. “I haven’t been able to check my phone. It’s-it’s dead.”
Lies.
My fingers start to become numb as I flex them into fists at my side. If he sees me fall apart, I’ll never hear the end of it. Aldrich men are stronger than this. We don’t let the pressure get to us. We stand tall in the face of adversity.
“Care to explain what the hell happened out on that court?”
“You’re here? You came to my game?” It’s pathetic that the simple act of my own father driving a few hours to watch his only son play a sport he loves surprises me, yet here we are. But of course, this is the one game he chose to show up to.
“I had a meeting this afternoon with some investors in town. They knew you played for the school and had a game today, so they suggested we go watch it as a show of goodwill toward me. When it became clear all you were going to do was embarrass me, I was able to get them to leave early, and I came straight here. ”
And there it is. His being here had nothing to do with me. This trip was all about him.
Everything is always about him.
He pins me with his most disappointed glare, and I can feel chills begin to sweep over my body while a bead of sweat travels down my spine at his disapproval.
I need to get upstairs. He can’t see me like this.
No one can see me like this.
I open my mouth to respond, but I can’t get any words to come out. My dad continues to ramble on, but I don’t hear a single thing he says because, over his shoulder, I watch as Rocky’s car comes to a screeching halt in front of my building.
This cannot be happening.
Rocky cannot see this happening.
Before Rocky even closes the door of his car, I’m already in my building sprinting for the elevator with my dad calling after me just like Rocky did outside of the locker room.
But I know that all Rocky wanted to do was make sure I was okay; all my Dad wanted to do was ensure that I felt less and less okay.
As I finally reach the door to my apartment, I manage to unlock it before my vision fades to black, and I collapse right in the doorway.
1. Beautiful Things - Acoustic - Benson Boone