“Come on, Double-D. It’s just a little water!”
His cackling laughter was muffled by the water, by the rush of blood over my eardrums, by the pounding in my chest, and the screams of anger clawing their way up from where I’d buried them for far too long.
The cry was coming. They were going to see it.
I wonder if Zack’s eye is black? I hit him so very hard.
“Honey, everything all right in there?” I drop the towel on the floor at the sound of my mom’s voice.
“Just cleaning out a strawberry from sliding today!” She’ll buy the lie. She always does.
“That boy has been sitting in his truck in the driveway for a while now, so, uh, Dad went out to talk with him.” That thought actual breaks through the noise in my head. The puckered smile on my lips feels good.
“He’ll survive,” I shout through the heavy rain that I let hit my face. With every drop of water, my eyes free themselves. The puffiness is disappearing; the redness will go away soon. This cry has come to its end.
I’m able to pull myself together with the aid of five more minutes of hot water, and after a half-assed attempt to scrunch my own hair into beachy waves, I rush downstairs to save Cannon from my father’s company.
“Sorry, I had a lot more dirt than I realized,” I lie as I slip into the passenger seat. I lean over the console to meet my dad’s gaze through Cannon’s window.
“Hey, Daddy.” I smile at my father, everything from before neatly packed away where it belongs.
“Take it easy on him,” my dad jokes. He pats the open window frame twice with his heavy hand, and I stifle my laugh because that’s his way of warning Cannon that he could end him if he wanted to.
“Good night, sir.”
My dad’s expression as Cannon rolls up the window is priceless, his brow pulled in tight and his mouth twisted in a very distinct version of, “What the hell was that?”
“He intimidates you.” I snuggle into my seat, glad to be dry and warm and clean.
“Yes. Very much,” Cannon agrees without flinching.
For the short drive to Eight Lanes, I get to live in this little bliss. There’s no need to pretend, no threat to my pride lurking around the corner.
Only, there is.
Cannon doesn’t know Zack’s joining us tonight. I can tell by the abrupt stop that sends me forward into the dash. I plant both my palms against it to stop myself. The jarring action is too much to keep my bliss in place.
“I’m gonna kill him,” Cannon seethes. It’s just a thing people say, but I think perhaps he means it.
“Please, Cannon.” The sound of my hard breathing is strange to my ears. I’m struggling with this. It’s too big this time. I feel Cannon’s eyes on me but I force myself not to look into his until I’m in complete control of myself. I don’t know that I could ever be fully prepared for all I see in his eyes when I finally do.
I’m not alone in this.
It isn’t about baseball, or about his season or his brotherhood—hell, his family! It’s about a wrong, and doing what’s right. And I’m asking him to ignore that feeling in his own chest. I don’t want him to. I don’t want this to be anything. I want it to go away so I can win on the field. I’ll do it that way, the only way it ever should be between me and any other teammate or competitor. Equal—even.
“What did he do, Hollis? You can trust me,” he says.
“I know,” I answer without hesitation. I grab his hand and squeeze it hard. My eyes focus on my grip, the way my veins bulge with the strength of my clasp on his hand. When I loosen my hold, he tightens his, and that small gesture breaks me just a little.
“It was just hazing,” I begin, knowing in my gut that I’m starting out with a lie.
I shake my head.
“Tell me, Hollis. I promise you, I won’t betray you.”
His words are direct, and they cut deep. My dam breaks, and those tears I worked so hard to bury, the embers I put out in the shower, they come gushing out again.
Cannon pulls into the lot and drives to the opposite end, to an area where the lights don’t fully glow. We’re protected by the darkness and fully alone. He kills the motor, shifts in his seat and cups my face in both his hands, erasing the tears with his thumbs as fast as they fall.
“He hurt you.”
I shake my head no, because he didn’t really. None of them did. Not physically, other than some scrapes and bruises. Emotionally, though, yeah, Cannon is right. The only way forward is to share what happened, but the last time I did this, committees met, parents got together and made alliances and cast votes. My dad was out and we were on our way to Indiana.
Without pause, Cannon leans forward into me, pressing his lips on mine softly, as if sucking away my struggles and making them his own.
“Promise me you won’t tell my dad,” I say. It can’t become his battle again. He’s fought for me too many times. He’s lost.
“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.” His words come out in soft kisses against me, whispers as he closes the space between us even more, ensuring our privacy.
I breathe deeply and let the silence settle in, looking down as I sit back because I think it’s easier without staring into his perfect blue eyes. No more excuses at my disposal, no more fear of judgement. Just one more abusive, sexist, small-minded moment in an unfortunately long teenaged history of such moments.
“Jay and Roland picked me up first.”
I swallow before continuing, feeling the weight of his eyes on me even though I’m not looking at them. I deliver the rest of the story—an event
