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Our son looks fearfully between the two of us, confusion covering his features. “Why are you yelling at Troy?”
“I was bad,” Troy speaks up immediately before closing his eyes and exhaling a breath. “I was really bad.” Snapping my eyes to his, I see the regret cloaking him as he addresses Dante. “I let my temper get the best of me and said some things that weren’t nice. Things that I shouldn’t have said. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I’m going to put myself in a timeout. I’m sorry,” he says to me pointedly, and all I can do is nod.
And with that, he stalks toward his house and slams the door behind him.
Troy
It’s been a shit long week. I’m embarrassed I showed my ass that way to Clarissa. She’s barely met my eyes over my morning breakfast with Dante. Twice I’ve tried to apologize and twice she’s made an excuse to leave the room. I’m a pariah in my own house as well, the tension between the walls thick. Theo’s not speaking to me, which is understandable. My apologies mean shit to everyone around me. And Theo and I aren’t the only brooding sacks to occupy the house.
Lance is more isolated than ever, constantly trapped in his room, waiting for the bomb to drop. Though my current situation is shit, I can’t help but be grateful that I’m not in his shoes.
His expression is grim this morning as we pass each other on the stairs. “Hey man, what’s good?”
“Not a fucking thing. You?”
“Same.”
Last night we suffered a debilitating loss, and I feel like my future is slipping through my fingers. It’s easy to see Lance feels the same.
“Fuck that asshole,” Lance says, reading my mind.
“What coach in the history of fucking ever lets his personal life interfere with his career?”
“I don’t know what’s going on,” he runs a hand down his jaw, “but there’s got to be more to it.”
“I can’t believe he’s willing to throw a season over this. We need to win.”
“You and me both.”
Lance is my opposite, the dark to my light, tattoo clad, more menacing in appearance. Inside he’s mostly heart, and this conclusion I’ve come to with just the short interactions between us. I’d fumbled into discovering what makes him tick, and we aren’t so different. Lance doesn’t judge, and if there’s one thing I know, he would keep my secrets just as safe as I have his.
He seems to weigh my expression and my stinking desperation, and I can feel the tension rolling off of him.
For the first time in six years, I’m ready to confess, in need of an outsider’s perspective.
“Hey man, you want to get out of here and grab a beer?”
Lance nods. “You read my mind.”
Loretta’s Dump Cake
Police Officer, Army Brat, US
Makes 12 servings
1 hour
1 Large Can Crushed Pineapple – Well drained
2 Cans Cherry Pie Filling
1 Yellow Cake Mix
1/2 Cup Chopped Nuts
2 Sticks Margarine
Grease 9x13 baking dish. Add cherry pie filling and spread evenly in pan. Top with pineapple. DO NOT MIX. Sprinkle dry cake mix over fruit and top with nuts. Melt margarine and pour on top of cake mix.
