Chapter 3 #2
“No. None of this is on you,” I say firmly.
“I made stupid choices. That’s the bottom line.
One of the guys on the team saw me struggling and offered to help.
At first, I thought he was proposing to train with me.
You know, put in some extra work after hours?
But his solution was performance-enhancing drugs.
And by then, I was desperate. Exhausted.
Realistically, I wouldn’t have been able to manage any additional training anyway.
I was barely keeping up with my classes and practice as it was. ”
My mother frowns sympathetically. “You should have come to me, Riles. If you’d just told me, or Jack—someone—that you were having such a hard time—”
“I was ashamed,” I say, cutting her off.
“People were expecting great things from me. I was Riley Walker, number twenty-nine. Captain of the team here in Llyn Lakes. Tri-county champs all four years and second in state my senior year.” I shake my head.
“And there I was riding the bench. I’d kind of expected it—that I’d have to start from the bottom there and work my way up, but I hadn’t been prepared for how much it damaged my ego.
It shattered my confidence. There was so much pressure. And I— I choked, Mom.”
I slug back a large gulp of my Irish coffee and grimace.
It’s already gone cold. Pushing up from the table, I move to the cabinet over the fridge, rummaging around and finally pulling down a bottle of whiskey.
It’s dusty, but the seal is unbroken, so I know it’s not one of my water and corn syrup concoctions from years ago.
I hold it up to my mother, silently asking if she wants some, but she shakes her head.
“Anyway, what could you have done?” I ask as I return to the table with a glass and pour myself a generous three fingers.
“I could have been there for you,” she says fiercely, then frowns at my glass. “When you started pulling away, I was devastated.”
My heart clenches at her words. All the damage I’ve done to the people I love. Because of my pride.
“I made so many mistakes back then. I handled everything wrong. You have no idea how much I regret it,” I say, my voice coming out as a croak. I reach out and place my hand over hers, where it rests on the table. She flips it over and interlocks our fingers, squeezing mine.
“I do know. I just wish …” She trails off, swallowing thickly. “I wish there had been some way to help you in time.”
“What do you mean?”
She pulls her hand from mine and gathers them in front of her on the table. I watch her pick distractedly at a hangnail as she searches for the right words.
“Well—” she starts, then clears her throat.
“Well … after it became clear you were doing drugs, Jack and I looked into rehab facilities. He was going to loan me the money. We were making a plan to confront you about it. I even spoke with a woman at the clinic who was preparing to guide us through an intervention over spring break. I was planning on talking to Steph about it, too.”
Steph. Fuck, did she know?
“That poor girl was a mess by then, Riley,” my mother adds, pulling me from my thoughts and causing a familiar wave of guilt to sweep through me.
I know.
Jesus, fuck, I know. I did her so wrong, and it’s the biggest regret of my life. But all I say is, “Did— does she know? About the drugs? And … prison?”
My mom shakes her head. “We didn’t get that far. Nobody knows outside of Jack and me.”
“Not even Aidan?” I sit back in my seat, shocked. Still shocked that my mom has known all along, and even more shocked she’s kept this secret. From me and everyone else.
“I don’t think so,” she replies with a shrug. “At least, I never told him, and I know Jack hasn’t either.”
“Wow,” I murmur.
My mom continues with her version of the story—and here I thought I’d be doing all the talking. “So, we were making plans to help you when Jack learned you’d been kicked out of school. I thought for sure you’d come home then, tail between your legs. But … you didn’t.”
I suck in a long breath and hold it, closing my eyes momentarily to psych myself up for this part of the story. My mother waits, watching me patiently as I take a bracing sip of whiskey. Her eyes linger again on my glass.
“I didn’t,” I agree with her. “By then, I was in too deep. You know how they talk about gateway drugs? Well, after I started on the steroids, and they seemed to be helping, I decided I needed some assistance with my classes too. I went back to that same teammate, and he gave me some Ritalin. It helped me stay alert and awake to study. But then I wasn’t sleeping, and was so exhausted at practice, so I moved on to Vicodin to chill out.
Then Oxy. The next thing I knew, I was popping pills just to function and struggling to pay for them.
So that same guy introduced me to another guy, and then … ” I swallow thickly.
“And then you were dealing,” my mother supplies softly, her silver eyes, so similar to my own, wet with unshed tears.
“Then I was dealing,” I repeat. I drop my gaze to the table and trace a scratch in the wood with my finger that’s been there since I was a kid.
The sight of it is soothing, somehow, for its familiarity.
“I was crashing on that guy’s couch and then, later, on a mattress in a dingy, grimy basement after I got busted. ”
My mother slaps a hand over her mouth at this revelation, but she’s unable to contain the sob that leaves her, and I watch as the tears that had been threatening finally spill over, shame and guilt warring in my chest. I’ve managed to surprise her with something after all.
“I wanted to go to you,” she says, her voice thick from the tears. “I wanted to be there for your arraignment. But I was so angry, Riley. So angry. And sad. Hurt. And then Jack found out you were pleading guilty. The next thing I knew, you were being sentenced.”
“Eight years,” I supply, taking another sip. Much longer than I’d been expecting as a first-time offender.
“Yeah.” My mother sighs. She bites her lip, again looking at my glass, then lets out another long breath.
“I think … I need to go to bed. This has been a really long day.” She pushes to her feet slowly and rounds the table.
“Thanks for talking to me tonight,” she says, tenderly resting a hand on my face. “I know it wasn’t easy.”
I nod, and she lets her hand drop.
“Good night, baby,” she murmurs.
I toss back the remains of my whiskey. “Good night.”