You and Everything After

“Does he act…like…high or anything?” I ask.

“No. Maybe? I don’t know. He’s jumpy, and just weird. And he gets a temper—it just comes out of nowhere,” she says, stopping to hum something to Jackson, to calm him. Even her humming sounds stressed and sad.

“What was he on…before?” I know so very little about drugs. I’ve never liked them—not even the prescription kind. My mother begged me to take something for my depression, but I refused. I don’t like the idea of chemically changing my mind. It just seems dangerous.

“He took a lot of things. Pills, mostly. But at his worst, he tried meth,” she says, and I react poorly.

“Fuck, Kel? Meth? Jesus…and you married him?” I feel bad the second I finish talking, because I can hear her tears picking up again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just don’t like that he’s making you feel this way—for whatever reason.”

“I know,” she sniffles.

“Can I talk to him?” I ask, seriously considering buying a ticket to fly home tonight so I can choke the fucker.

“No! No…he, he would just get angry that I’m talking to you about any of this,” she says. “Ty, I never said anything, but Jared…he doesn’t care for you. It’s not personal, it’s just our history.”

“Yeah, well, that goes both ways.” I’m hot now, and I don’t care to spare Jared’s feelings. “Sorry,” I throw in at the end, but only for Kelly.

“No you’re not,” she says, her voice evening out a little.

“You’re right,” I smirk. “I’m not.”

Silence starts to fill our time, and I can hear the sounds of her house in the background—the water running in the sink, her working a bottle together, getting it in her son’s mouth, and the soft sounds of a music box starting up behind her.

“I think I just needed to talk to someone, honestly. Maybe…maybe if I feel like there’s more to this—or if he starts acting weird again, more often…I don’t know. Is it okay if I call? I don’t want my parents to get involved. Not yet,” I can’t believe she’s even asking.

“Kel, it’s always okay for you to call,” I say, wishing I could just hug her and make this okay.

“Thanks,” she says after a few more seconds. “Listen, I have to get Jack down for his nap. But Ty? Thank you so much…for listening. I think—” she pauses to laugh lightly. “I think I might just sleep tonight.”

“Anytime, Kel. Anytime,” I say, and I wait for her to hang up.

I’m fifteen minutes late for my appointment with Cass. I didn’t want to bring the anger and sinking feeling from my phone call into anything with her. But I’m not sure that’s possible, because she’s started her workouts, and all I can seem to do is sit here in the corner and bark orders at her—hoping I can pull my shit together by the time the coach shows up to surprise her.

Cass

“Faster. You can go faster!”

Ty’s been…he’s been a little tough today. I like tough in a trainer. I can take tough. I thrive off of tough. It’s what made me good in the first place. But there’s an extra edge to everything, too. And I don’t like that edge in a boyfriend.

I push the speed up on the treadmill and go faster anyway, because I also like to win. And if he thinks I can go faster, I’m going to go twice as fast just to prove to him that I’m better than he thinks. Run, legs! I promise, we’ll rest later.

I barely notice the next two minutes of sprints that pass—mostly because I keep stealing glances to the side where Ty is talking to Coach Pennington. I recognize him from the pictures I’ve indulged in of the soccer team’s website.

McConnell was never one of the schools I dreamt about when I had fantasies of playing soccer in college. I always thought I’d go Pac-12. But that was all before I gave up on myself and spiraled into self-pity and degrading behavior—before my mom cried that I was pushing myself too hard and going to ruin my parents’ marriage.

I’m dreaming of playing for McConnell now—dreaming stronger and harder than I have for anything in months. I tick the treadmill up one more level for the final sprint, just to show off how badly I want this.

When I’m done, I spend five minutes walking a lap or two on the indoor track. My body feels alive, my veins pumping blood faster than my muscles can burn it off. It’s adrenaline—I’m sure from knowing the coach is here…waiting for me.