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I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “It makes her happy,” I mumble.
Dad’s silent for a beat. “She sure could use a little happiness right now.”
I don’t respond. I don’t know how to. My dad is a good man, was a great husband, andisa phenomenal father. The divorce didn’t come from the usual reasons: constant arguing, financial problems, or infidelity. There was, however, another man.
A man Ihate.
“How are you, son?” Dad asks after seconds of my silence.
“Good,” I lie. “How’s the farm?”
“Great.” He’s lying, too. I spent most of the summer at the farm going through the numbers, and there’s not a single piece of evidence that things aregood. He must sense what I’m thinking because he adds, “You just worry about taking care of your mother and getting through your senior year, okay?”
I heave out a sigh, let my shoulders drop with the burden of his and everyone else’s expectations. “Yes, sir.”
* * *
There’sno denying that I’ve always had a pretty decent life. Even with my parents’ divorce and moving out of state, it didn’t affect me as much as it probably should have. Back home, we lived too far away from any schools that made the commute worthwhile, so I was home-schooled my entire life—right until high school when we up and moved. My best friend, Mia, was my only classmate, and my mom was our teacher. From sunrise to sundown, wherever I was, Mia was, too.
I never would’ve thought that my moving away would break her more than it broke me.
We were both raised on farms. Her grandfather had a dairy farm, and my dad took over Eastwood Nursery. Along with my mom’s “fuck what people think” attitude, I was raised on hard labor that involved heavy machinery and even heavier lifting. So, it’s no real surprise that I got a lot of attention when I first stepped foot in public school freshman year. I was a fourteen-year-old boy in a grown-ass man’s body. It didn’t take long for the girls to notice me. And then the coaches. I’m not all that great at any one sport—unless sex counted as a sport—but I was good enough. I don’tloveorganized team activities, but I appreciate a good game.
I guess you could say I likechallenges.
Physical.
Mental.
As long as I win.
Add that to my height, my size, and here I am: Monday morning, the first day of senior year, doing what I’d grown up doing—lifting heavy shit. Only now, the bags of sods are replaced with barbells, and I’m not on acres and acres of land. I’m in the school’s weight room, one headphone in, ignoring everything else around me. This is my zone, my sanctuary. The one place in this suburban shitshow where I can think my own thoughts, let my pulse pound to its own rhythm.
It’s where I can get lost and feel found, all in a single exhale.
“Two more, and you’re good,” Dean says, spotting me while I finish the last set of reps on the bench press. Besides Mia, Dean’s the only other person I’d consider an actual friend. Sure, I’m always around a ton of people who know my name, and I know theirs, but those relationships are all superficial.
Isn’t that what high school is?
If I needed someone to talk to, to dump what little emotional baggage I have, I’d call Mia.
If I needed bail money because I was pulled over while having inappropriate things done to me, Dean’s my guy.
To most people, Dean’s the quiet, respectful, people-pleaser type, and I… am not. If it weren’t for football, we’d probably never have crossed paths. He keeps me grounded while I get him high. On paper, we don’t make sense. In reality, paper doesn’t mean shit.
“All right, ladies, you’re done for the day!” Coach Griffith yells, and I push myself to the edge of physical pain twice before calling it quits.
Chest and triceps burning, I sit up, towel the sweat off my brow, and look toward Coach, where our teammates are already huddling around him. “I feel like you’ve gotten weaker,” Dean says as we go to join the rest of the team.
I shrug. I didn’t work as much as I usually do over the summer, so yeah, he’s probably right.
Coach eyes us both, glaring because we’re taking our sweet ass time getting to him. He’s already losing his patience with us, and the season hasn’t even started. “You’re all out of shape,” is the first thing he says. “You’ve had all damn summer to get your asses straight and—” he cuts himself off, huffing a frustrated breath. “We might have a shot this year, gentlemen,” he announces, then pointedly glares at my friend beside me. “Especially since Dean’s girl dumped him.”
A united hiss fills the room, and all eyes go to Dean. I don’t know how he’s kept the whole breakup a secret, but good for him. Three weeks ago, he’d called… and called and called and called, and no matter how many times I rejected it, he kept calling.
I was still in North Carolina, trying to keep Mia in one piece, and when I finally felt comfortable enough to pull away for a few minutes, I called him back. He told me that Bethany—the girl he’d been with since middle school—had broken up with him. He was a mess; it was evident in his voice. A part of me wished I could be there for him, but there was no way I was leaving Mia’s side. Or my mom’s. Especially since Mia’s dad was the only one there to take care of her… and I didn’t trust that motherfucker as far as I could spit.
Dean didn’t tell me why he and Bethany broke up, and he still hasn’t. A couple of weeks later, when I got back into town, I took him out and filled his bloodline with enough weed to help him forget. It was the only thing I could think to do. I’d never been in his situation. Never even cared enough for a girl that I thought about her when she wasn’t around. Love… love, at this age, is bullshit. It’s deceitful and vicious and cruel, and it exposes the weakest parts of the strongest people. And I’ve been witness to the destruction love can cause too many fucking times that I want nothing to do with it.
