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Greyson
The Past
“You see the game last week?” I ask.
Tilly rolls her eyes and signs, I got better things to do, Pretty Boy.
She lifts her foot, shoving on her skate.
I bark out a laugh as my brows lift. Nerves swarm in my stomach. I’m not sure why. It’s been doing that lately. Ever since I started this thing with Tilly Harper. Adam came to me desperate. He was worried about her mental health and his plate was stacked full. She always hated his overprotective nature, so he asked me to talk to her. Maybe she would listen to someone who wasn’t her family. Someone who wasn’t an authority figure.
That was four months ago. The summer slipped by quickly, and before I knew it was my final semester at Denver. I had been working my ass off to get ready for the draft, so my visits became less frequent, but it was the Holidays, and I was home for a small window of time. Instead of spending it with my family, I’m out here. With her.
She still hadn’t let me hear her voice yet, but she was ok. She wasn’t unstable or a danger to anyone. She was just grieving. She’s going about it in her own way and one of those ways I’m learning is skating. I sit here for hours, watching her glide across Piper Lake like some kind of angel. Funny thing is she has no idea my mother use to be a competitive skater before she met my father.
I take a deep breath before I lift my hands and sign. Pretty boy?
Her eyes widen and a red tinge stains her cheeks as she stares at me. Her blue eyes glisten as she watches my hands fumble in the air.
Did I do it right? I sign.
For the last three weeks I had been taking an online ASL course at night. After class and practice, it was late as shit, but I was determined. If she wasn’t comfortable enough to speak, I wanted to be able to communicate. To know her thoughts. Most of the time I talked, and she just laughed, smiled, signed something I couldn’t understand, or sometimes said nothing all. But Tilly’s heart always shined through in everything she did. Her determination. Which is why I loved to watch her skate. I could relate to the work ethic. She would spend an hour watching YouTube videos before she’d step on the ice and attempt the move. She wouldn’t leave until it was mastered. I would shout the little things she needed to do. Squeeze your middle tighter. Pull that outer leg higher. I was forced to watch enough videos of my mother I could coach a whole damn team of figure skaters. Plus, I was competitive by nature, and I lived for training. Pushing.
My instincts told me I was getting too close, but when all I ever felt was pressure imploding on top of me, the only peace I have ever been able to achieve is when I’m here with her. On the lake.
When most eight year olds were hiking or riding bikes, my dad had me running drills. Memorizing plays and watching “film.” I loved football. I dreamed of football. A career. To be able to follow in my father’s footsteps. But that dream came at a price.
A bashful smile graces her face, and she lifts her small hands. Not bad. Someone’s been practicing.
I chuckle and for some unknown reason I was fucking blushing. In front of a seventeen year old girl. My best friend’s seventeen year old sister for that matter.
What the hell am I doing? Being a good friend. That’s it. Getting her through her grief. For Adam.
She laughs, full on, with her head tilted back and I swear in that moment I had never heard anything more beautiful. So powerful. When her hair falls over her shoulder, I reach up, touching the shell of her ear.
You’re not wearing them?
She shakes her head. They hurt my ears sometimes. I’ve had these a long time and I’m outgrowing them, but they’re really expensive.
“Have you told your dad?” I say and sign, just in case I screw it up.
No. He’s dealing with enough. I don’t want him to worry. I’ll be ok.
I watch her expression change as she looks out over the water.
I nudge her with my shoulder, and she glances over at me.
Tilana Rose Harper was more than she appeared. She was softer. There was vulnerability behind the girl who always rebelled against the given rules.
She pushed to her feet, grabbing my shoulder for balance before she places her blade on the ice.
Tell me Rosie, what’s your dream? I sign.
I wasn’t expecting the odd feeling to hit my chest when she looked at me. It was like I could see the word clearly. It danced in her pale blue eyes.
You.
And the fucked up thing about it was, for a second, I almost let myself feel the same.
