I was eleven. He was eight. It was my fault.
The doctor wants me to stay the night for observation, but I lie and tell him I’ve got a roommate who will wake me up. I can’t stay here. I’ll lose my mind if I do.
The doctor makes me call my “roommate.” Ballistic is the most likely to wake up and answer, as well as give me the least grief over this.
As predicted, he doesn’t ask any questions, just says he’ll be there as soon as he can.
I sit in the chair rather than on the bed while I wait. I stare at the empty mattress and fall back into memories I’ve tried to bury for years, but can’t.
We were going to be late. It was my fault because I’d been screwing around, playing ball hockey with some of the guys after school even though my mum said to come right home. Now we’d have to run if we were going to make it.
Quinn wasn’t a fast runner, though, so he kept falling behind, and he was whining about being out of breath. He had asthma, so I slowed down and found his puffer in his bag.
There was a shortcut we could take, but my mum always told us never to go that way, ’cause it was through a bad part of town. It’d cut ten minutes off our walk, though, and then we wouldn’t be late and Quinn wouldn’t have to run.
“Don’t tell her we came this way,” I ordered. “We’ll get in trouble if we’re late.”
He hesitated for a second. Trouble in our house didn’t mean losing privileges and not having time to play video games. It meant my mum losing it. Sometimes when she was mad, she hit me. It’d been happening more often.
“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” Quinn said.
Decision made, we slipped through the broken fence and down an alleyway. It was dank and dark and smelled like urine. We were halfway through when four guys appeared out of the shadows. They were older—I couldn’t tell how old—maybe in high school still, maybe beyond that.
My heart kicked up a notch, and Quinn sucked in a breath as I moved him behind me. There were too many of them for me to protect him.
They circled us. Taunting. We had money. We wore it in expensive rucksacks and nice clothes. They wanted what we had. Quinn got mouthy, which he only ever did in my presence, and when they tried to take his rucksack his books fell out, scattering over the ground, so I pushed one of them.
And that’s when everything changed. The sharp sting of something hard hit me in the back. And then again and again. I knew what it was: rocks in socks. Fill an old sock with rocks and it becomes a violent, effective weapon.
I covered my head and spun, searching for Quinn, who was screaming.
The sound cut short when one of the teenagers’ makeshift weapons slammed into his temple.
Quinn’s mouth was open, and his eyes were suddenly blank as his body swayed and crumpled to the ground.
Sirens wailed like crying babies in the distance. The teenagers shouted and swore and disappeared like vapor.
I shook my brother, blood dripping from his temple. I screamed his name, but his eyes were vacant.
He was gone. And it was my fault.
“Lance? Buddy?”
I rub my eyes to black out the memories and hiss at the pain in my right one. I look up to find Randy standing at the door of the room in pajama pants and a wrinkled T-shirt.
His eyes go wide as he takes in my face. “What the fuck happened to you?”
I push up out of the chair and bite back my groan. I’m already sore, and it’s only been a few hours. “I’ll explain in the car.”
We don’t talk in the elevator.
“Wiener’s in the truck,” Randy says as we cross the parking lot.
It takes me a few seconds to process that. “Miller and Sunny’s dog?”
“Yeah, we’re watching him for a few days ’cause he’s making it difficult for Sunny to sleep. If I didn’t take him, he would’ve whined at the door until I got back and kept Lily up. She’s gotta skate first thing in the morning.”
“Shit. Did I wake her?”
“Nah, she had a busy day. She was KO’d when I left.” The truck beeps as he unlocks it.
I open the passenger door and Wiener barks at me, then runs to the other side like he’s never seen me before. Wiener is a wiener dog, hence the name. Miller and Sunny have been fostering him for awhile, and Randy and Lily have taken him for sleepovers or whatever. It’s like training wheels for kids, I guess. The thing is freaking skittish.
Climbing into the truck hurts. And it’s only going to get worse, which isn’t great since we have skate practice tomorrow afternoon in preparation for next week’s final exhibition game before the season. I buckle up as Randy turns over the ignition and talks to his dog as if it’s a person.
“So, you wanna tell me what happened that I’m picking you up at the hospital in the middle of the night all beat to shit?” Randy asks.
“Tash happened.”
He pauses with his hand on the gearshift. “Tash did this to you?”
“No. Tash didn’t do this.” I motion to my face. “She’s what happened tonight that resulted in this bullshit.”
“You’re gonna explain that so it makes sense, right?”
“Tash is in town. She wanted to see me.”
“Again? Wasn’t she just here a few weeks ago?”
“She came back. As she does.”
Randy knows I’m not good at saying no to her. “Ah, man. You should’ve called. You could’ve come over. Or I would’ve gone for beers with you or something.”
“You had a night planned with Lily.”
“We were just watching a movie. It wasn’t a big thing.”
“The season’s starting soon. I’m not going to interfere with your time with her.” Especially not since his dad blew in and out of town not long ago and that sure as fuck didn’t go well. I think he might still be repairing the damage.
“Lily would’ve understood.”
Wiener turns around three times beside me and settles his butt against my leg. I know better than to pet him right away or we’ll have to go through the whole barking-skittish thing again.
“Maybe, but I don’t want to be the friend who’s a problem.”
“You’re not a problem, Romance.” Randy taps his steering wheel. “So I’m guessing things with Tash didn’t go well?”
“Nope.”
“What happened?”
“Just the usual bullshit. Me wanting things I shouldn’t, expecting it to be different when it never is.”
Randy doesn’t know how things go down between me and Tash. He has a vague understanding that I wanted more out of it than she did, and that’s about it. As far as most of the team is concerned, I’m the asshole because we were fucking in the gym locker room and got caught, resulting in Tash’s termination from her job as team trainer. The real story behind that scenario isn’t quite so straightforward.
“What happened that your face ended up being used as a punching bag?”
“I went to a bar, and some chick recognized me. She and her friend propositioned me, and one of them had a boyfriend she failed to mention. He showed up and got all aggressive, and I stepped in the middle to make sure she didn’t get a fist in her face.”
It’s the abridged version. Randy doesn’t need to know the less-than-flattering details. He’s aware of what I’m like when I’m in a bad mood, especially after I’ve seen Tash.
“Jesus.”
“Pretty sure he wasn’t looking to save me based on the state of my face.” I close my eyes. My head hurts. I can’t tell if it’s from the concussion or the whiskey, or both.
Wiener nudges my hand, which is his way of telling me he’s ready for pets. I scratch his head, but keep my eyes closed. I’m so tired of everything.
Randy nudges my shoulder. “’Kay, man, we’re home.”
I crack a lid, disoriented until I realize I’ve fallen asleep and we’re parked in Randy’s driveway. “You brought me to your place?”
“You have a concussion. You gotta be woken up every two hours.”
“It’s mild. I’m fine.”
Randy strokes his beard. “And if Tash calls again?”
“She’s not gonna call again.”
“You sure about that?
“If she does I won’t answer.”