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“We’re leaving.”
“Why? We just got here. Your mom and I—”
“Are what? Gonna sit around and compare stories about how much you hate me?”
“Ben, no. I was—”
“Listen, I didn’t bring you here to make shit worse—to make her say the fucking shit she did.”
I storm past her, stepping over the ruined trophies, and walk out of my room.
My mom appears from the kitchen as I hit the bottom steps. “Will you two be staying for lunch?”
“Not this time,” I snap, then stop and look back at Mak. “Let’s go.” I ignore the confusion in her eyes. She doesn’t move, and it makes me angrier. I grab her arm to move her along. She’s barely able to say goodbye as the front door slams behind us.
“Ben, what’s wrong?”
“Just time to go.” I release her and storm toward my Jeep.
She grabs at my arm, but I shrug her off. “Ben—”
“Get in the car.”
“Ben!”
I hate the way her voice breaks me down. But she can’t fix this. No matter how hard I want her to. “Get in the fucking car, Makayla.” For once, she holds her tongue and waves at my mother from her seat as I pull out.
The drive home is silent. My head is spinning, and I can barely focus on the road. We pull into the apartment building, and I stop in front of my building.
“Are you not going to park?”
“No. Get out.”
“What?”
I don’t even look at her. I can’t. “I need to do some shit. Get out. I’ll be back later.”
“Are you serious right now?”
I slam my fists against the steering wheel. “Get out, Makayla!”
“You know what? With pleasure, asshole.” She attempts to slam my door, but I’m already taking off. I am an asshole. It’s who I am. And I hate it. I hate the weight that sits on my shoulders. On my chest.
I’ve battled my whole life to be good enough. Good enough for football. To be a good son. To be worthy ofherlove. And for what? To never amount to anything I’ve fought so hard for? Football is gone. He’s gone. She only reminds me of who I’m not.
I park, jump out, walk into Jimmy’s, and take a seat at the bar. “Hey, sweetheart. Let’s line up some shots.”
“You sure? You look a bit sad. That never turns out good.”
“I said line ’em up.”
* * *
“Yo, my dad’s here. I’ll catch ya later.”
“You got this, man! Can’t wait to see you on primetime so I can blow kisses at my TV!”
I wave to Kip and head out. Hannah and Makayla are lying on a blanket in the front yard as I pass by.
