I didn’t want any of Rikker’s sympathy, and I sure as hell didn’t deserve it. “The only thing that fucked with my head was the surface of the ice.”
Rikker gave a grunt of disapproval. He wanted a confession from me — some kind of closure for old fears. As if that would help me become a better boyfriend, the kind that wasn’t afraid to hold his hand in the hospital.
But he was only partly right. That scene in the alley had scared me silly. But admitting it now wouldn’t help. Those old fears had crusted over into something more like disgust. And I’d been trapped in it from the moment I left Rikker alone there to fend for himself.
You can’t solve that with a quick chat in the back of a rental car. You can’t solve it at
all
.
Even so, I relaxed my body against his. I had to. Everything was just so screwed up. I was injured and in pain. And my teammates thought… I didn’t have a clue what they thought. I felt sick just wondering. The touch of Rikker’s hands was the only thing in the world I had going for me.
The only thing.
His fingertips made slow circles through my pain. His whisper was so soft that I wouldn’t have heard it if I weren’t practically sitting on him. “What am I going to do with you, G?”
My eyes had drifted closed, and so when Bella opened the driver’s door, they startled open again. But I didn’t pick my head up off Rikker’s chest. That would have required more effort than I was capable of exerting.
Bella slid into the driver’s seat and turned around. When she saw us basically cuddling in the backseat, a flash of raw hurt crossed her face. Then, without comment, she passed a cup of coffee and a bakery bag into the backseat. Rikker set the bag in his lap, and took the coffee into his free hand. He kept his other one on my head. The engine fired up, and Bella reversed out of the parking spot.
We rode back to Harkness that way, with me drowsing on Rikker. He had to wake me when the car pulled up in front of Beaumont House. “Let’s go, big man. Time to get you set up inside. Bella, I’ll return the car if you want.”
“I got it,” she said, her voice low. “And then I’ll hit the pharmacy for his meds, too. See you upstairs.”
“Thanks,” I said, my voice thick.
“It’s nothing,” she said.
—
Rikker
I followed Graham into the Beaumont House courtyard. He seemed a little unsteady on his feet, and I didn’t want to leave him alone, even though we’d never really walked around together before.
Not once.
For some reason, my mind picked that moment to realize just how fucked up our relationship really was. There were people in the world who would have used the word “perverse” to describe the things that Graham and I did in the bedroom. But they had it backwards. What was
really
perverse was the way we pretended like we didn’t know each other all the other times.
Graham had to get
a head injury
before he forgot to get pissy about me walking beside him. Fuck my life.
At his entryway door, Graham waved his ID in front of the sensor. I followed him upstairs, and into his room. His eyes were at half-mast.
“What can I get you?” I asked.
He put his hand over his face. “A new head, or a bottle of Johnnie Walker.”
“Okay, what’s third on your list?”
“I need a shower.”
“That you can have.”
Graham carried his towel and his toiletries out into the hallway, and I made myself sit down on his desk chair instead of following him. But sixty seconds later, I heard a crash from the bathroom. With my heart in my throat, I shot out of the room and into the bathroom, all the while picturing Graham prone on the marble tiles. But I found him kneeling there instead, staring down at his shower stuff where it had scattered all over the floor.
“Shit. Are you okay?”
He looked sheepish. “I stumbled a little. It’s nothing.”
Standing over him, I pushed one hand through his soft hair, willing my heart to stop pounding. “Let me pick this stuff up. Come on.” I turned on the shower for him and watched him strip. But he looked steady enough, I guess. So I collected the shampoo and the shaving stuff he’d dropped and handed the caddy into the shower stall.
“Thanks,” he sighed. “I’m okay now.”
I stood there for a second, wondering what to do. “I’ll be in your room,” I said finally. “Don’t be a stranger.”
He gave me a half-hearted chuckle. So I pushed open the bathroom door, and almost collided with Hartley.
“Hey,” he said, his eyes darting to the bathroom door. “Bella texted that you were back. How is he?”
“He’s better,” I said. “He’s not confused anymore, but his head hurts.”
“Okay,” Hartley crossed and uncrossed his arms. “That’s progress, I guess.”
“Sure,” I said, feeling miserable. I was worried about Graham, but I sure as hell wasn’t allowed to say so. “Let’s, uh, give him a minute.”
“Yeah,” Hartley said. “So, listen. I just propped open the entryway for…”
But now there were rapid footsteps coming up the staircase. And when I looked down, it was Graham’s mom who was charging up them. “Johnny Rikker!” she squealed. “I have a bone to pick with you.”
“Uh, what’s that Mrs. G?”
Beside me, Hartley lifted an eyebrow.
“My baby has a concussion, and it’s all your fault.” Mrs. Graham reached the landing and launched herself at me, throwing her arms around me in a hug.
Awkwardly, I hugged her back. “I didn’t trip him. You should really take it out on that bruiser at Central Mass.”
“
Hockey
, John. He never mentioned playing hockey until you wanted to try out in the eighth grade.”
Over her shoulder, I took another involuntary look at Hartley. He was now staring at the two of us with undisguised curiosity. “Sorry about that,” I stammered. “He wasn’t supposed to get his bell rung.”
“Oh, I don’t really mean it,” she said, releasing me. “Is he okay? I was worried enough to get on a plane at seven this morning.”
“He’ll be okay. You can see for yourself in a minute.” I jerked my thumb toward the bathroom door, where the sound of the shower had ceased. Then, remembering all the paperwork from the hospital, I opened the door to Graham’s dorm room and grabbed my duffel off the floor. From inside, I pulled the packet of instructions. “Here’s what they sent for… you to read.”
I stopped myself just in time from putting “me” in that sentence.
“Thank you, honey.” Mrs Graham took the papers from me and began to flip through them, right there on the landing.
My sleep-deprived brain was just figuring out that I was handing Graham over to his mother, the same way I’d handed over the paperwork.
Graham opened the bathroom door then, wearing a towel around his waist. “
Mom
,” he said, shock in his voice.
She hug-tackled him. “Sweetie, I was so worried.”
“I’m all wet. Jeez. Everybody give me a minute, okay?” Graham disappeared into his bedroom, glowering all the way.
“I’m going to baby him,” she announced. “He’s just going to have to put up with it.”
Hartley smiled at her. “Good luck with that.”
That’s when Bella came charging up the stairs, too. “Oh, Mrs. Graham!”
“Bella, sweetie!” They hugged, and I noticed just how crowded it had become here outside Graham’s room.
Bella held up a little white bag. “I filled his prescription. And the pharmacist said not to take these on an empty stomach. So I bought him a sandwich at the deli.”
“Oh honey, thank you! Here I was practically flapping my arms to come here to take care of him, and the three of you have already done it.” Mrs. Graham rapped a knuckle on the room door. “Michael, can we come in yet?”
“Yeah,” came Graham’s reluctant voice from inside the room. The door opened, and he stood there, filling the space, a freaked-out look on his face.
I could see how this would play out. It wasn’t going to be me who sat down beside Graham, asking him whether or not he wanted to take something for the pain. It wasn’t going to be me who read the proper dose off the medicine bottle.
Ten minutes ago, I’d assumed that Graham and I would spend the rest of the day napping on his bed, so that I could keep an eye on him. But that wasn’t going to happen. I wasn’t going to take care of him. Or even tell him how much I wanted him to feel better.
That was not allowed.
Mrs. Graham put her hands on her son’s clean T-shirt, nudging him aside to enter the room. And Bella followed her.
That left Hartley and I in the hallway, with a nervous Graham practically blocking the way into his room. His wishes could not have been any plainer even if he’d held up a sign reading:
You Are Dismissed
.
Message received.
I shouldered my duffel bag. “Feel better,” I said lamely.
His answer was gruff. “Thanks.”
With out another word, I turned around and began to trudge down the stairs. Exhaustion made my legs feel heavy. And when I pushed the entryway door open at the bottom of the stairs, the damp March air gave me a shiver. I stopped to zip up my jacket.
“Hey, Rikker.”
I turned to see Hartley jogging up to me. “Hey.”
When I headed for the courtyard gate, he followed. “You knew Graham in high school? He never mentioned that.”
Shit
. “I’m pretty sure that was intentional,” I said, my voice low.
“Wow.” There was a silence while Hartley did the math about why that might be. Graham would probably shoot me if he heard this conversation. But what was I supposed to say?
When Hartley spoke again, what he said took me by surprise. “You want to grab a slice somewhere? I’m starved.”
The invitation made my throat feel thick. Because I did, in fact, want to grab a slice with Hartley. But if we did that, he might ask me more questions. And I’d be tempted to answer them. And that was simply not allowed.
I was feeling so raw, and totally friendless. “I didn’t really sleep last night,” I ground out. “I think I’ll have to take a rain check. Thanks, though.”
“Yeah, okay.” Hartley held the gate open. When I walked through, he touched my shoulder. “See you at practice Monday.”
“See you,” I grunted.
I’d made it only a few paces when Hartley called after me. “Hey Rikker?”
When I turned to look at him over my shoulder, he was smiling at me. “Awesome play last night. You know. Before…”
The game, and our crazy combo goal, felt like a hundred years ago. But it had, indeed, been awesome. “It was, wasn’t it?”
“The best.” He gave me a wave, and I crossed the street alone. Because that’s how I did everything.
I let myself into McHerrin and trudged up the stairs. When I opened my room door and looked inside, what I saw was an empty little shithole with bare walls. And I was never going take down Skippy’s snowboarding picture to replace it with a shot of me and Graham on a beach somewhere. Even your classic bro shot — two guys holding cans of beer, with baseball caps on backwards — that would never be okay with Graham. Because one of the two visitors I had to my room in seven months might
guess
.
Dropping my bag on the floor, I flopped down on the bed, alone with my bitter thoughts. Sleep would help, so I tried to make myself comfortable. It was nice for Graham that his mom had come running into town to take care of him. But I’d bet cash money that I was a better napping partner than she was.
As I tried to fall asleep, another dark thought bothered me. It could have been
me
who sustained the concussion. And when I tried to flip the picture around in my mind, I didn’t like what I saw. Would
my
mom fly out to take care of me? Not hardly. And would Graham be willing to sit on the edge of my bed, asking me if I needed anything? Sure. Unless Hartley or Coach showed up to check on me. And then what would he do?
I had a feeling I wouldn’t like the answer.
In a few short weeks, the hockey postseason would be finished. I’d have my weekends free again. My teammates would use that time to go to parties with their girlfriends, or hang out with their buddies in the student center. And where would I be? Killing time until it was late enough to sneak into Graham’s room for a few hours, before I snuck out again before dawn.
Graham was never going to budge from his closet. So my choice was to either leave him, or just get used to dining on the scraps he gave me.
So pathetic.
I rolled over, feeling sorry for both of us.
The next two days sucked in much the same way.
For almost forty-eight hours I’d heard nothing from Graham. My texts went unanswered. Just when I was really getting worried, he finally called me Monday afternoon as I was walking out of Spanish class.
“Hey,” he said. “I only have a minute. My mom’s in the bathroom, but I just wanted to say hi.”
“
Hi
,” I said, maybe a little testily. “How’s your big old melon?”