Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
My brain has been on overdrive. Telling Larissa about my mom and Harlee, and Philip and Kim, put me into a weird frame of mind.
I lay beside Larissa as she slept. Memories I didn’t know I still had came back to me in the dead of night. I remembered Harlee screaming and trying to feed her a package of broken crackers I found in the cupboard. I recalled how our house always smelled like bleach. I heard my mom’s voice, something I knew I remembered but intentionally blocked out, sing “When You Wish Upon A Star” while her voice broke and tears streamed down her cheeks.
My stomach knots as I remember it all again, and I wish so fucking much that things had been different.
But they weren’t. All that shit—that fucked-up crap of a hand that I was dealt the day I was born—it’s all a part of my makeup. It’s ingrained into the fiber of my being.
I’ll never escape it.
It’s no wonder everyone walks away from me eventually. I’m poison.
“Don’t you worry, Hollie Boy. I will always stay by your side, even when I’m so drunk and high that I can’t feel my face. Mommy loves you. You’re my person forever, Hollie. Forever.”
I take out my phone and find River’s number. He answers on the third ring.
“Hollis,” he says, relief evident in his tone. “What’s happening, buddy?”
“Do you know what I’m doing?”
“No, or else I wouldn’t have asked.”
I chuckle. “I’m looking at a fucking river.”
“Is this some joke about my name because I’ve heard them all.”
“I bet you have.”
I run a hand down the side of my face. The stress in my back from sitting up most of the night eases just a bit.
“How’s your mom?” I ask him.
A door squeaks in the background and then what I think are footsteps tap down a flight of stairs. Finally, he sighs. The sound is heavy and tired, and I know he’s struggling.
“She’s sick,” he says as if that explains it all. “I just … fuck.”
“You know I’m sorry. I hate this for you. Is there something I can do?”
“Nah. I’m okay.” He laughs. “I mean, I’m sure as hell not okay, but I’m making it.”
“Ana with you?”
“No. She’s with her folks back in Braxton. They flew in from Greece to be with her. Fucking miss her.”
It’s so hard thinking about River finding his person. His Kim to her Philip, the Judy to her Ronnie. It’s not that I want that, but I can’t begrudge my dude for finding his girl.
“Need me to Door Dash you some ramen or something?” I offer.
“There’s no Door Dash here. And I hate ramen. You know that.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” I joke.
“Good thing I’m not a beggar then.”
We laugh. To an outside person listening in, it would sound like two friends having a light-hearted conversation about food. But it’s not, and we both know it.
We both hear it.
Our voices are tired and riddled with anxiety. The words are gruffer than they usually are too.
“How’s the blonde?” he asks.
“Larissa,” I say, happy to get to her name. “She’s good.”
He scoffs. “Don’t lie to me, Hudson.”
“Nah, she really is good. In every way.” I grin.
“There you go. You’re coming back around now.”
“You’re such a fuck.”
He laughs.
I look across the water again and feel the air against my face.
“I know what you’re getting at,” I tell him. “And she is good. We had fun last night.”
He pauses. “But …”
“But it’s done.”
The words taste rotten as I spit them out and admit the finality of my time with Larissa. Sure, I could milk it out for a few more days while I’m in town, but what would be the point?
I’m a method to end the madness in her life, a screw in her toolbox, so to speak. That’s it. And that’s fine.
Why would I want more, anyway? What would be the point in trying to figure out how to see her again after I go back to school—if she even wanted to see me, that is? The reason I’m here in the first place is because I’m not at a Bowl game because I can’t keep my shit together.
Why in the world would I even entertain the idea of juggling someone like Larissa when I can’t keep myself in the air?
I had enough dropped passes this year to prove that.
“I’m going to be smart here for a second,” River says. “This is a new skill of mine, so be patient.”
I laugh at him.
“Watching my mom be sick has changed a lot of shit for me,” he says, his voice void of any levity. “We went four years thinking football was life. We balled out, had fun—we lived a life, Hollis. But what do we have to show for it?”
“Not a National Championship this year.”
“Exactly.” He sighs. “Look, maybe this was the universe trying to tell us something. Maybe we … made complete asses out of ourselves on the field so we could look beyond the goalposts.”