Changing Forever (21 page)

I pick up the phone and call the one person who might have something to help me figure her out.

“Hello,” he says, his voice scratchy like he hasn’t been up for very long.

“Hey, Beau, how you been?”

“Good, good. You?”

My foot bounces on the ground as I sit on the edge of my bed, trying to do something I’ve never done before … ask for help. “I’ve been better. Do you want to grab a beer or something? I need to talk to you.”

“You’re scaring me,” he says, concern evident in his voice.

“I just need some help with a little situation, that’s all.”

“I have class in ten, but I’m free after that. Why don’t you come over? My fridge is still full from the last party I had.”

“Thanks. I’ll be there.”

Angry knuckles pound on the hollow wood door. I don’t have to open it to know that it’s Dad, and that he’s not very happy with me. Anyone who’s ever been on my dad’s bad side can tell you he’s not afraid to show his emotions, good or bad.

“Drake, come out. Now!” Yeah, I’m in a whole lot of trouble.

“Coming,” I reply, taking one last look at my hair in the mirror. I’ve been trying this new thing where I spike it up in the front. It’s not quite right yet, but it’s getting closer to where I want it to be every morning.

“Drake, if I have to tell you one more time, you’re going to be running laps around the block all night in the rain!”

I put one hand on the knob and turn the light off with the other. Here goes nothing.

He stands right outside the door with his hands on his hips, face bright red. Maybe I should have come out the first time he asked.

“What are you doing? Your sisters still need to brush their teeth, and you’ve been sitting in there for almost half an hour with the door locked.”

I shrug, burying my hands deep in my pockets. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”

“Go eat your breakfast.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He’s always hard on me, but I rarely hear him yelling at my sisters. It’s unfair. Sometimes I just want to throw my favorite shirts and video games in a bag and run away. Anywhere has to be better than this.

“Is that what you’re wearing today, Drake?” my mom asks as I step into the kitchen. I look down at my old red t-shirt and jeans with holes in the knees; it’s actually one of my favorites.

“It’s all that’s clean,” I lie, pouring some milk into my cereal bowl.

My sisters sit across from me, venom in their eyes. “You got in trouble,” Quinn says, sticking out her tongue at me.

I shake my head, watching the light rain fall against the window. I wonder if Coach might cancel practice tonight. We practice seven days a week, almost every month throughout the year. If it’s not outside, it’s inside. I love football, but living it almost every day is a little overwhelming, especially when my friends are off doing their thing.

“I’m taking off,” Dad announces, pulling my mom away from the sink to wrap her in his arms. He’s done it every morning since I can remember. It’s gross.

He kisses her lips before letting her go to kiss the top of each of my sisters’ heads. When he gets to me, he messes up my hair and says, “I love you. Be good.”

Usually I say something back. I’d tell him that I love him, but not that morning. I broke the rules that morning, and it nearly broke me.

We all watched him walk out the door, my sisters even waving behind him. I moved my attention back to my full bowl of Frosted Flakes. Dad gets mad at me a lot, but he’s usually okay by the next day.

My mom finishes the dishes while we eat the last of our breakfast. I stare out the window in wonder of all the colorful leaves that cover our usually green lawn, and after a few minutes, I hear a series of sirens in the distance.

“Mom, what’s that?” my sister Quinn asks, running to get closer to the window.

“There’s probably another fender bender out on the highway. They’ve got to fix some of those stop signs.” She wipes her hands on a dishtowel and throws it on the counter. “Okay, we need to go. Get your coats and shoes on.”

We listen without giving Mom any grief today. Days like this, when we’re already on Dad’s bad side, we know better than to make it worse.

We’re all quiet as we drive out of our sleepy little neighborhood to the main road that goes through our town. I’m completely in a daze with my forehead pressed against the cold window when we come to the stoplight that controls when we get to cross the highway. Lights—red and blue—flash, highlighted even more so by the bleak day.

I’m staring out the window, wondering if we’re going to be late for school when I hear her scream. I’ve never heard my mom like that, even when she’s angry with us, and as I watch her run out the door, I see why. The twisted piece of metal in the middle of the road is the same color as my dad’s old Ford.

My heart stops … completely stops in my chest. I’m only eleven, but I’m not stupid.

My mom crumbles to the ground in front of our car. My eyes search frantically for the telltale Southern Iowa Hawks sticker on the bumper of his car. It’s older, worn by the sun, and I’ve never seen another one like it. A painful tightness grips my heart when I spot it. This isn’t good. Not one bit.

A tear rolls down my cheek. More want to follow, but I hold them in.

“Drake, what’s going on?” Tessa asks from beside me.

Using one hand, I wipe the tear from my face, and with the other, I grab her hand in mine. “It’s going to be okay.”

I have to be strong. It’s what my dad would want me to do.

That day, a drunk driver took my dad’s life and destroyed my family, and while I blamed the selfish bastard, I’ve been harder on myself. In my mind, I thought my actions caused it … by the things I didn’t say that morning. I’ve wondered every day since if he was thinking about me when he was hit. If I hadn’t been such a little shit that morning, would he have paid better attention when the light turned? Deep down inside, I think I know it had nothing to do with me, but my guilt makes it feel like it had everything to with me.

That was the only time I didn’t say I love you back to my dad, and I’ve held that regret inside … it’s become a permanent part of me. What happened that day has affected every decision I’ve made since. It’s why I keep running, to get away from the monsters that are constantly chasing me. But when you’re living in a nightmare, no matter how fast you run, you’ll never get away.

I need to find a way to turn this around … football can’t be the only thing I have in my life. At some point, I have to start letting him go and live for myself. I need to find forgiveness.

Taking a long, deep breath, I knock on Beau’s door. At least five times on the way here, I wanted to turn around and go back home. I hope this doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass.

“Hey,” Beau says, opening the door to invite me in.

“Thanks for letting me come over, man.” I pat his back as I walk past, taking a seat on the edge of the oversized couch. I helped Beau and Cory move their stuff in at the beginning of the semester. It was a bachelor pad back then: white walls, black leather furniture, a few lamps, and a big TV. Their girlfriends have worked wonders with the place, adding some bright red and blue pictures and a big red rug. I think it’s crazy they let them do it in the first place.

“You want something to drink?” Beau asks, opening the fridge.

“Beer. Please.”

He looks over at the fridge door, his eyebrows pulled in. “Don’t you have practice today?”

“Fuck,” I groan, rubbing my hand over my face. “I hate football season.”

Beau laughs, walking to me with two waters in his hands. “It’s only a few months out of the year.” Sitting in the chair across from me, he watches me intently. It’s time to get this show on the road.

“I need some help.”

“Okay, be a little more specific.” He twists the cap off his water but never takes his eyes off me.

“Emery.” It’s one word, but by the way his face relaxes, I think he knows where I’m going with this.

“Go on.”

“I like her. Fuck. I mean I like her a lot, and I’m not sure how to show her that in a way that doesn’t piss her off. Things will be really good between us for a few hours, or even a day, then I fuck it up.”

He glances up at the ceiling, letting out a deep breath. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Nothing. I mean everything. I don’t fucking know.” Throwing my hands in the air, I accept defeat. Emery 1, Drake 0. This game could go on for eternity, and I think she’d still own it.

He leans in, elbows resting on his knees. Eyes as serious as I’ve ever seen them. “Just tell me what happened.”

“We had that project to do so we were spending time together. You know me. Usually, I don’t give a damn if a girl likes me. It’s not at the top of my priority list, but Emery
, she’s different. She’s smart, confident, and she doesn’t give a fuck that I’m the quarterback of the football team. She just cares about me as a person … I can’t explain it.”

I stop, rehearsing the next part in my mind. Beau knows me, but he also knows Emery, and I don’t know what he’s going to think about the rest of this. “I kissed her one night at a party. She was flirting with Cole, or should I say, he was flirting with her. I pulled her away, and we ended up in the bathroom. We’ve been doing this stupid back and forth thing ever since. I pull away, she gets pissed at me, then we repeat the whole process all over again a few days later.”

Closing his eyes, he asks, “Did you sleep with her?”

“That’s really none of your fucking business, Bennett, but yes. We’ve had sex.”

The way his eyes burn into mine when he opens them tells me he thinks I’m a freaking idiot. “Have you established some type of relationship? If all you do when things are good is have sex, you’re not going to get very far. I don’t know Emery well, but she’s not just any girl. She’s not the type of girl you fuck just to fuck, Drake. She does everything for a purpose. What’s yours?”

His words shatter every thought I had about why Emery and I weren’t working up to this point. It’s not about what I’m doing, or what we’re doing. It’s about what I’m
not
doing. “I told her something I hadn’t told anyone before. No one here anyway.”

“Really? When did you do that?”

“After we had sex for the first time,” I admit quietly.

Beau shakes his head as he stands and walks back to the fridge, pulling out a beer this time. “I’m sure she appreciated it, but if you really want something with Emery, you’re going to have to do more than pillow talk. Dates? Dinner? Dancing? I don’t know, but this is not going to work with her. She’s too fucking smart for your shit.” He stops, taking a long drink from his beer. “The good news is, she must like you a little bit if she’s put up with you this long.”

“Okay, I get it. What do I do now?”

He laughs, setting his beer down on the coffee table.

Sitting back, I rest my arms on the top of the couch. This is going to be a long fucking afternoon.

After talking to Beau, I feel better and worse. Better because I know what I have to do, and it’s not completely impossible. Worse because he made me see myself through Emery’s eyes. It’s not a pretty picture. In fact, it’s so much fucking worse than ugly.

I texted her on Monday night and told her I had some shit to work out before I could see her again. Shit being myself, but she didn’t have to know that. Not yet.

But today, I find myself in class with no option but seeing her. She’d never skip. I wanted to but felt like she’d read too much into it if I did.

I arrive early on purpose, selecting a seat in the middle of the lecture hall. I’m being a coward again; I didn’t want to walk into the room and have to decide whether or not it was a good idea to take a seat next to her. I’m not ready to talk about everything.