My heart’s hammering in my chest. Just seconds ago, I knew what I came here to say. Now, I can’t gather a single thought.
Why is Harrison always in a mood …?
I peel my eyes off of him and glance at the rest of the place. “I didn’t realize your cabin was, like … a single room, pretty much.” I back away from him and stroll over to the foot of his bed, then glance back at him. “Why don’t you stay in the bunkhouse with the others? You get some kind of special seniority or somethin’?”
Harrison rolls his eyes. “Didn’t I say that much already?”
He’s so testy. I glance around his place again. “Everything’s so organized. So … in its place.” I notice a perfect line of neatly-hung clothes in his closet, the door of which is half open. “You’re a total neat freak. No judgment. Believe it or not, I’m one, too.”
He lets out a sigh. “What do you want, Hoyt? You should be spending time with your coworkers, winning them over, or—”
“I’ll take that as a joke,” I say, “as I’m pretty sure they already know exactly what to think of me.”
“So go to sleep, then. You still got chores in the morning.”
“Why are you trying to get rid of me so fast? I said I came here to talk.” I shrug. “Besides, can’t catch a wink even if I tried. Some of the others are drunk and loud, playing cards and watching TV. Rust is my new best friend and is loud about it—note my sarcasm.” I saunter over to the desk. “Gets fucking lonely in that mudroom, to be honest. You’d think there was just a small bit of space up in that loft area where the bunks are, just a small area to squeeze my cot in. I wouldn’t be a bother to anyone.”
“Better off in the mudroom,” he says. “Trust me. You’re apart from the others. Gives you some privacy. No one gets any. They’re all in each other’s space. You’ll come to appreciate that.” He gives me a look. “Especially if you’re the neat freak you say you are.”
I snort. “So you think squeezing me in the grimy mudroom next to a pair of old laundry machines is better? Hey, I’m not complainin’,” I quickly add when I see the look on Harrison’s face. “I’m just saying, it gets … lonely.”
“It’s just been one dang night.”
“One dang night’s enough to know it’s a lonely mudroom.”
“Hey, look, if it really sucks that bad, you can stay home and commute. That was always an option.”
I shoot him a look. “You know that’s not an option.”
“Isn’t it? You could see if your mom or stepdad can give you a ride back and forth at four in the morning. But since it’s roughly twenty minutes either way, the daily commute’s gonna take away almost an hour of your time. Trust me, you’ll come to cherish and worship every hour left of your day after you realize how much of it you’ve gotta sacrifice for those animals out there.”
I sigh. He just doesn’t get it.
“So are we good?” he asks. “Think you can manage another night in the mudroom without crying yourself to sleep?”
I drop my gaze to the desk, gnawing on my lip.
Obviously that’s not what I came here to talk about. Or whine about. Or whatever the hell Harrison thinks I’m doing.
Maybe it was a dumb idea to come here at all.
“So what is it?” asks Harrison. “You miss your friends? Your old teammates? Your partners in crime? They’re still around. They can stop by the bunkhouse sometime to visit you. There. Problem solved. No more loneliness.”
Staring at this desk makes me think of all the time spent in the Spruce High library studying for tests I knew I’d bomb. Julio, one of my teammates and best buddies, could ace a test even after spending a whole night up with his girlfriend Stacey, and he got into UT. Then there’s Benji, who against all odds also got into UT. The second we graduated, it’s like I don’t exist anymore to them. They’re busy being excited, looking forward to rooming together, getting hyped up for the experience. Benji’s already talking about a fraternity he’s going to join. I’m already just a faded memory, like prom, like a half-remembered teacher’s face … like that one huge touchdown that saved our school from a humiliating defeat, but all you remember is a vague good feeling and nothing else.
My friends are having a blast all summer together. They’re pretty much packed and ready to leave this town in the dust.
Ready to leave me in the dust.
I’m going to be a loser still stuck in his hometown when he’s forty-five, with a lame job, no real friends, no significant other, no kids, still living at home … a once-football-champ who peaked in high school and fizzled out like a firework.