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I kept peeling. The label was nearly off.
“Once, when I was fourteen, I was hanging out with a buddy of mine. I found myself watching how he laughed, how his mouth moved when he talked. Whenever he touched me—if our hands brushed or whatever—it went straight through me. Like electricity. But no one had to tell me that you can’t have those kinds of feelings and play football.”
“Football has a default setting,” Holden said.
My eyes shot up to his, relief and gratitude flooding me that someone else got it. That I wasn’t crazy. The solidity of my life cracked a little but refused to break.
“Yeah, and to try to change it is impossible, so I played along. I dated girls a few times but never had those same reactions so I just…shut down. Refused to question it.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m questioning everything. All the time. Which is totally your fault.”
“I’m totally okay with that,” Holden said. “In every possible way.”
The few feet of space between us thickened and grew heavy. His gaze, fiery hot under all that ice, watched me, promising answers. All I had to do was ask…
I tore my eyes off of him and shook my head. “It’s too late.”
“Why?”
“Because my mom is dying.”
The label came off, whole and curling on itself and I tore it to shreds, my heart tearing along with it. “My father turned his dream into my future, and now he’s losing the love of his life. My career is the only thing that makes him happy. It gives back something he lost. If he knew I wanted a different life, it’d destroy him.”
“Quite the predicament,” Holden said, though there was no mocking in his tone. Only a heaviness, as if he felt the weight of it too. “And what does your different life look like?”
“You’ll think it’s dumb. Or cheesy.”
“Try me.”
“In the offseason, I work at our family’s auto body shop. I want to do it full time and eventually take over the business and stay in Santa Cruz. I love this town. I want to have a home and…raise a family. Somehow.”
Holden stared at me for long moments; then he downed the rest of his martini in one go and held the glass against his shirt, eyes closed.
My ears burned. “I told you it was cheesy.”
“It’s not. It’s just…different. My ideal life is lightyears from yours.”
“Oh yeah? Well, it’s your turn now. What’s the title to your life story?”
“Misery,” Holden said. “It. The Dead Zone. Desperation… Goddamn that Stephen King hogged the best ones.”
“What a bastard,” I said with a grin.
Holden peeked open one eye and heaved a sigh. “If I’m going to tell this dark and depressing tragedy, I’m going to need more alcohol. You probably should too.”
“I’m good.”
“You sure? My story is R-rated. Borderline NC-17.”
“And I suppose mine was PG?”
“I’ll give you PG-13.”
I laughed. “Fuck off.”
“Have you ever given a blowjob to a married psychiatrist in a sanitarium?”
