I didn’t bother knocking on the door. I kicked it. Over and over. “What the hell?” was her mom’s response when she opened the door. The moment I saw her, I hated her more. She looked like Laney. Almost identical. Same dark hair. Same dark eyes. Same light skin. “Want to tell me why you’re literally kicking down my door, kid?”
My heart pounded so fast I couldn’t count the beats. With shaky hands, I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and brought up the picture of Laney in the restaurant from the night before. I showed it to her. “I just thought you might want to see what your daughter looked like on her sixteenth birthday.”
Her jaw dropped.
“It was yesterday, just in case you’d completely forgotten everything about her. She ordered lobster. She didn’t like it. Then we went back to my house and my brothers gave her presents and we sang Happy Birthday and she had cake and danced with my dad to his wedding song with my mom. My mom’s dead now, but she loved your daughter, more than you ever will, more than you ever have. And I’m kicking down your door because I’m imagining it’s your face—” She gasped, but I kept going. “Quit making her cry. Quit hurting her. I hate seeing her sad and I hate you. It would be so easy for her to hate you, too, but she doesn’t have it in her heart because her heart’s beautiful. She’s beautiful. And you’re missing out on all that beauty because your heart’s black and ugly and full of hate!”
I shoved the phone in my pocket and turned to leave. I was halfway to my car when she called out, “You her boyfriend or something?”
I froze, my feet glued to the ground. Then I shook my head, told her the truth. “I should be so lucky.”
Chapter Eleven
LUCAS
I take Dad’s advice, give Laney time, give her space. I hate space, but I need it, too, because everyone’s noticed my deterioration. My brothers see it, but they don’t ask. Garray asks, but I don’t tell. The worst, though, is Cooper fucking Kennedy. He pushes me, on and on—physically, mentally.
Rumor says he was caught having sex on campus with the daughter of a UNC member of faculty—the girl was underage. His parents threw their money around, managed to get the charges dropped, but the school needed to do something to save face. They handed the issue over to the athletic department, made them decide on Cooper’s punishment. His penalty? A semester off the track team and going back to his old high school to help coach. Apparently, the UNC athletic department doesn’t understand the meaning of irony. So now he’s here, every Monday and Friday, and I’m his pet, his project, his punishment. Only he’s the one doing the punishing.
Laney doesn’t take my calls.
Doesn’t respond to my texts.
Doesn’t answer the door.
Doesn’t even glance in my direction.
Not until September 25TH , the anniversary of my mom’s death.
The kids don’t go to school on September 25TH . We visit her grave. Lucy and Cameron drive down from campus and they join us, too. Cameron asks Lucy to marry him. I’m happy for them. Really, I am.
But not as happy as when I see the crocheted flower sitting on our doormat, a sign that Laney had been here, that she remembered. Of course, she remembered. She’s not me.
The first year anniversary, the flower was yellow. The following year, it was orange. Every year since, it’s been a different color. This year, it’s green.
I pick up the flower and place it on the mantel, along with the others, right next to a framed picture of my mother. I congratulate Cam and Luce again, then go to my apartment, change from my suit and tie and into my running gear and I run. I run the same route twice before I find myself at the crossroads. I pause. Look left. Look right.
468 steps.
Knock knock.
I don’t expect her to answer, but if she’s in her room, I want her to hear the knock and I want her to know it’s me. And I want her to know I appreciate her and that I’m sorry. For everything.
She does answer, her eyes red. She has the same look on her face that she did the last time I was here. Only I didn’t cause these tears.
“Thank you,” I tell her.
“You’re welcome,” she says.
Then she closes the door, dividing the space between us.
I hate space.
The days pass, turn to weeks, my mind a fog with zero clarity.
It’s 11:49 pm. I know, because I’ve been clutching my phone, watching the minutes tick down. In eleven minutes, I’ll be eighteen years old.
Every year since Laney and I have owned cell phones, she calls at midnight, on the dot, and over exaggerates the singing of Happy Birthday.
Every year.
Midnight.
11:59, and my thumb hovers over the screen, waiting, hoping, praying.
At 12:01, I die inside.
“And the school had such high hopes for you,” Cooper says, sitting on the grass in front of me while he does his own set of cooldowns.
I take the bait. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean the fall season starts in a couple of weeks, and you’re not even close to your PB.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“But that’s the thing,” he says, switching positions. “You’re not fine. Track is a lonely fucking sport, dude, and only you can control your performance. If your head’s a mess, it shows in every stride, every millisecond you’re out there.”
“It’s true,” Garray agrees, running a hand through his shaved, blond hair. “And it’s worse for cross-country runners like me.”
Cooper nods. “You want my advice, Preston?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“You’re wound up. Something’s messing with your head and you need to get rid of it.” He points to his left, toward the girls’ track team. “Go fuck the brains out of your hot girlfriend. Grace, right?”
I shake my head, eyes narrowed at him. He knows I broke up with Grace the day after I tried to explain it all to Laney. The entire school knows.
He smirks. “Oh wait, you’re not with her anymore, right? Maybe it’s that chick from my college?” Fuck him. I’d made out with a girl when I visited Cam and Luce on campus to get away from this bullshit, and when she got me in her car, I couldn’t fucking go through with it. I lied, told Lucy’s friends that we’d screwed. What was I going to say? That I almost puked at the idea of being with anyone other than Lane?
“Roxy, right?” Fuck Cooper Kennedy and fuck him for knowing so much.
“Fuck off.”
He laughs, motions toward the locker rooms. “Or does your problem have to do with her?”
I follow his gaze to Laney standing just outside the tunnel leading to the locker rooms, adjusting the straps of her backpack. She glances up, then down again. I’m on my feet before I have time to register why she’s here, just glad she is. My heart pounds, thuds hard against my chest, and I quicken my steps, widen my strides until I’m standing in front of her.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” she says back.
“You, um…” Breathe, Luke. “You waiting on me?”
My heart pounded so fast I couldn’t count the beats. With shaky hands, I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and brought up the picture of Laney in the restaurant from the night before. I showed it to her. “I just thought you might want to see what your daughter looked like on her sixteenth birthday.”
Her jaw dropped.
“It was yesterday, just in case you’d completely forgotten everything about her. She ordered lobster. She didn’t like it. Then we went back to my house and my brothers gave her presents and we sang Happy Birthday and she had cake and danced with my dad to his wedding song with my mom. My mom’s dead now, but she loved your daughter, more than you ever will, more than you ever have. And I’m kicking down your door because I’m imagining it’s your face—” She gasped, but I kept going. “Quit making her cry. Quit hurting her. I hate seeing her sad and I hate you. It would be so easy for her to hate you, too, but she doesn’t have it in her heart because her heart’s beautiful. She’s beautiful. And you’re missing out on all that beauty because your heart’s black and ugly and full of hate!”
I shoved the phone in my pocket and turned to leave. I was halfway to my car when she called out, “You her boyfriend or something?”
I froze, my feet glued to the ground. Then I shook my head, told her the truth. “I should be so lucky.”
Chapter Eleven
LUCAS
I take Dad’s advice, give Laney time, give her space. I hate space, but I need it, too, because everyone’s noticed my deterioration. My brothers see it, but they don’t ask. Garray asks, but I don’t tell. The worst, though, is Cooper fucking Kennedy. He pushes me, on and on—physically, mentally.
Rumor says he was caught having sex on campus with the daughter of a UNC member of faculty—the girl was underage. His parents threw their money around, managed to get the charges dropped, but the school needed to do something to save face. They handed the issue over to the athletic department, made them decide on Cooper’s punishment. His penalty? A semester off the track team and going back to his old high school to help coach. Apparently, the UNC athletic department doesn’t understand the meaning of irony. So now he’s here, every Monday and Friday, and I’m his pet, his project, his punishment. Only he’s the one doing the punishing.
Laney doesn’t take my calls.
Doesn’t respond to my texts.
Doesn’t answer the door.
Doesn’t even glance in my direction.
Not until September 25TH , the anniversary of my mom’s death.
The kids don’t go to school on September 25TH . We visit her grave. Lucy and Cameron drive down from campus and they join us, too. Cameron asks Lucy to marry him. I’m happy for them. Really, I am.
But not as happy as when I see the crocheted flower sitting on our doormat, a sign that Laney had been here, that she remembered. Of course, she remembered. She’s not me.
The first year anniversary, the flower was yellow. The following year, it was orange. Every year since, it’s been a different color. This year, it’s green.
I pick up the flower and place it on the mantel, along with the others, right next to a framed picture of my mother. I congratulate Cam and Luce again, then go to my apartment, change from my suit and tie and into my running gear and I run. I run the same route twice before I find myself at the crossroads. I pause. Look left. Look right.
468 steps.
Knock knock.
I don’t expect her to answer, but if she’s in her room, I want her to hear the knock and I want her to know it’s me. And I want her to know I appreciate her and that I’m sorry. For everything.
She does answer, her eyes red. She has the same look on her face that she did the last time I was here. Only I didn’t cause these tears.
“Thank you,” I tell her.
“You’re welcome,” she says.
Then she closes the door, dividing the space between us.
I hate space.
The days pass, turn to weeks, my mind a fog with zero clarity.
It’s 11:49 pm. I know, because I’ve been clutching my phone, watching the minutes tick down. In eleven minutes, I’ll be eighteen years old.
Every year since Laney and I have owned cell phones, she calls at midnight, on the dot, and over exaggerates the singing of Happy Birthday.
Every year.
Midnight.
11:59, and my thumb hovers over the screen, waiting, hoping, praying.
At 12:01, I die inside.
“And the school had such high hopes for you,” Cooper says, sitting on the grass in front of me while he does his own set of cooldowns.
I take the bait. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean the fall season starts in a couple of weeks, and you’re not even close to your PB.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“But that’s the thing,” he says, switching positions. “You’re not fine. Track is a lonely fucking sport, dude, and only you can control your performance. If your head’s a mess, it shows in every stride, every millisecond you’re out there.”
“It’s true,” Garray agrees, running a hand through his shaved, blond hair. “And it’s worse for cross-country runners like me.”
Cooper nods. “You want my advice, Preston?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“You’re wound up. Something’s messing with your head and you need to get rid of it.” He points to his left, toward the girls’ track team. “Go fuck the brains out of your hot girlfriend. Grace, right?”
I shake my head, eyes narrowed at him. He knows I broke up with Grace the day after I tried to explain it all to Laney. The entire school knows.
He smirks. “Oh wait, you’re not with her anymore, right? Maybe it’s that chick from my college?” Fuck him. I’d made out with a girl when I visited Cam and Luce on campus to get away from this bullshit, and when she got me in her car, I couldn’t fucking go through with it. I lied, told Lucy’s friends that we’d screwed. What was I going to say? That I almost puked at the idea of being with anyone other than Lane?
“Roxy, right?” Fuck Cooper Kennedy and fuck him for knowing so much.
“Fuck off.”
He laughs, motions toward the locker rooms. “Or does your problem have to do with her?”
I follow his gaze to Laney standing just outside the tunnel leading to the locker rooms, adjusting the straps of her backpack. She glances up, then down again. I’m on my feet before I have time to register why she’s here, just glad she is. My heart pounds, thuds hard against my chest, and I quicken my steps, widen my strides until I’m standing in front of her.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” she says back.
“You, um…” Breathe, Luke. “You waiting on me?”
