Washed Up (Bayside Heroes)

“Mom! You up there?”

David.

“Oh, my God. Oh, shit. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Amanda flies through a string of hushed curse words, kicking me off her and scrambling to do something — anything — but there’s no time.

Already, David’s footsteps pound on the stairs, him taking two at a time like he always does. We don’t have time to put on clothes. We don’t have time to talk through what to do. We don’t have time to hide me. We don’t even have time to close the fucking bedroom door, which was left wide open in our haste last night.

And in the next breath, he swings through it.

“Wake up, sleepyhead! Your brand-new car is waiting in the driv—”

I barely have time to get beside Amanda and pull the sheets up over us both, and I watch in slow motion as David’s words get cut short, as the excitement drains from his face, as a mixture of embarrassment and confusion wash over him. He looks like he’s about to duck outside, like he’s about to apologize for catching his mother indecent.

But then, he sees me.

And all that confusion, all that embarrassment? It’s replaced by pure, unforgiving rage.

“What the fuck is going on?!”

“David, please,” Amanda tries. “Just wait downstairs, let us get—”

“Why the fuck are you in my mom’s bed, Greg?!” He ignores her, staring blatantly at me, his chest heaving, lasers beaming from his eyes.

I hold up my hands in surrender, swallowing. “I can explain.”

He laughs, haughty and irate. “Oh, please do. I’d love to hear you try to talk yourself out of this.” He shakes his head. “Actually, I’d love to never hear you talk again. To never see you again.” Emotion chokes his words. “Fuck, I think I’m going to be sick.”

He takes off down the hall, and instantly, Amanda and I jump out of bed. She tugs on her robe while I struggle into my still-damp shorts laying on the bathroom floor, and then we both tear down the hall after him.

“David?” Amanda calls.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” David calls from downstairs, and we both fly down them, trying to catch him before he leaves. He’s at the front door when we reach him, and he spins on me, shoving me hard in the chest. “You’re my fucking friend, Greg. You’re supposed to be my best friend!”

“Just listen for a second,” I try.

“She’s my mom, you piece of shit. My mom.”

His blue eyes are more a shade of red now, his brow furrowed deep, neck strained as he puffs his chest to mine.

“I care about her.”

David’s head snaps back, and then he laughs. “You care about her. Yeah, enough to fuck her when she’s not even divorced? You’re a goddamn pervert and a backstabbing prick. That’s what you are.”

“David,” Amanda scolds.

He spins on her then. “He’s my friend, Mom. You’ve known him since we were kids. What the hell is wrong with you?”

That breaks her, tears shimmering in her eyes, and I step between them to get his rage centered on me again. “Listen, I know this is hard. We didn’t want you to find out like this.”

Fuck.

I know the moment the words come out that they’re a mistake.

David’s brows shoot up. “Find out,” he repeats, eyes skirting to his mom. “How long has this been going on?”

“It hasn’t. It was one time,” Amanda says, but I cut her off.

“I think we’ve both known for a while how we feel about each other.”

David’s jaw drops, and he lets out an incredulous laugh, walking away from us with his hands scrubbing back through his hair. Then, he spins on me again.

“And what? I’m supposed to be okay with this? Give you my blessing? Call you Dad?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say.

“Ridiculous?” He almost laughs again, but it dies in his throat.

Then, he rears back, and slams his fist right into my eye.

“OH MY GOD, DAVID!”

Amanda’s scream is all I hear over the ringing in my ears, over the pain striking like lightning as I grunt and nearly fly to the ground. I cover my eye with my hand, taking a moment to compose myself, missing half the conversation happening around me before I finally come to again.

Just in time to see David storm out the door and hear it slam behind him.

Amanda is staring at a set of car keys in her hand, her bottom lip wobbling, tears streaming down her face.

I run to her, wrap her in my arms, quiet her and hold her head to my chest. “It’s okay,” I tell her, even though we both know it’s not. “Just let him cool down. He was surprised. It’ll—”

“You have to go,” she says through the tears.

“I’m not going anywhere, not after that.”

“Greg, this was a mistake,” she cries, pressing her hands into my chest. She pushes gently, creating space.

Space that nearly kills me.