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"I know you had a shit time with your dad, Chase, and if you want to talk about it, I'm here."
The words mean a lot to me, and I nod in acknowledgement.
Luke turns on the TV and starts flicking through the channels. He stops on a rerun ofLaw and Order: Special Victims Unit. Olivia Benson is badass, and Luke and I like old-school crime shows. We watch as the episode plays out. With each minute, my chest tightens, and my stomach churns. When the cops finally take down a woman who's been molesting her boyfriend's fifteen-year-old son, sweat is beading on the back of my neck. The plot line is eerily close to my real-life one.
I look at Luke. He's completely invested in the show, shaking his head, huffing at the characters, and puffing his chest out in outrage.
I take a breath, turn to him and ask, "Do you think a dude can be raped?" His eyes dart to mine, then back to the TV.
"That," he points to the TV, "is rape. That's a kid. He doesn't know what he's doing, and the woman is a fucked up psycho." He pauses for a minute, thinking before continuing. "Do I think a full-grown man can be raped? I guess it depends on the situation. I don't think my dick is getting hard if I'm not into it, but I don't know. Our bodies have natural functions that we can't stop even if we want to, so I guess so."
I nod and just stare at the TV. I watch as the boy is reunited with his father. The dad hugs and holds his son, tears in his eyes. He apologizes over and over again, promising to never let anything happen to him again. I swallow hard, wondering what my dad would have done if he knew the truth. Wondering if he would have even cared.
"Why?" Luke asks, glancing between the TV and me.
I go still, holding my breath. This is it. This is where I tell my best friend what happened to me all those years ago, or I don't. I'm standing on the edge of a precipice, hovering over a long plunge to the rocks below. I can back away from the edge, or I can jump. If I back away now, no one will ever know. I can stay on the cliff forever. If I jump, I may splatter on the rocks, or someone might catch me. There are no guarantees. But I've been up here for a long fucking time, and it's lonely here with just me and my demons. And staying up here hasn't done me a lick of good so far.
I turn to Luke. My best friend. If I can't trust him, I can't trust anyone.
"Because that," I croak, throat dry, pointing at the TV, "is my story. That happened to me." Luke's eyes alight with anger, pain, and something else. Something like shame, but it's not directed at me.
"Why didn't you say anything?" he chokes as if strangled. "My parents would have done something."
"Because I was embarrassed and ashamed and confused. I don't fucking know. And your parents had already done so much for me. I didn't want to be a bigger burden on them."
"You were never a burden, Chase. You're my brother. You're like a second son to my mom and dad. They would have murdered whoever it was." He stops as if wracking his brain, thinking back to that time in our lives. "Who was it?"
"It doesn't matter anymore," I say, shaking my head.
"Like hell, it doesn't," Luke growls. "You can still go to the police, Chase."
"Just leave it." He looks like he wants to argue but backs off. For now, at least.
"Does Lily know?"
"Yes," I swallow. "She knows." I don't elaborate on how the subject came about.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Luke asks awkwardly. I can tell he's unsure how to broach the subject, so I shake my head, and he seems to understand.
The silence stretches between us, but the awkwardness is gone, and our attention goes back to the TV. Luke's right. He's my brother. And knowing he's here and has my back is enough.
17
Thanksgiving 2.0
Lily
"Happy Thanksgiving!" I smile into the phone. Mom and Dad have finally evolved into the digital age and are using FaceTime. Up until recently, I frequently took FaceTime calls—and I use the term loosely—where I would watch my parents' ears in varying shades of darkness until they got used to holding the phone so the camera was in front of their faces, rather than pressed up against the sides of their head. Thankfully, that phase is over.
"Happy Thanksgiving, honey," Mom replies, Dad by her side. "Any plans? Are you cooking a feast for the entire team?" No, thank god. Most of the team is enjoying a day off the ice because tomorrow is back to work against Boston. Coach McCall gifted the team one day of rest after their road trip, with an optional skate this morning.
Boston games are always brutal.
"Holly and Luke are hosting a little shindig," I say. For the first time ever, Holly is trying to make a turkey. It's her first holiday as a married woman, so she and Avery volunteered as tributes to host a small dinner. Although their idea of a small gathering is wildly different than mine. The guest list includes me, Chase, Holly, Luke, Ryan, Avery, Taylor, Tyra, Ollie, and Ozzy. And I invited Riley purely for entertainment's sake. As far as I know, she's still refusing to call Ozzy, so while Holly plays hostess, I plan on playing matchmaker.
"That sounds nice," Mom smiles. "I can't believe just last year, Luke brought Holly home to meet us, and now they're married. Just think, soon we'll have babies to spoil." I roll my eyes. Since Holly and Luke got engaged, my mother has been infected with baby fever. It's no secret my parents want to graduate into grandparenthood sooner rather than later, but I'm relatively sure Holly is leaning towards later. But I swear to god, if Mom doesn't see a baby bump by Christmas, she'll swap out Holly's birth control for prenatal vitamins.
"I wouldn't hold my breath, Mom. Luke and Holly want some alone time before procreating. They're not in a rush."
