Catch Twenty-Two (Westover Prep 2)

“Vaughn has a few ideas,” Linc says.

My eyes cut to the third-string defenseman, but I’m not really paying him any attention.

“I was just saying that she’s a whore and nailing little Frankie Young should be on all of our to-do lists. I mean the girl is already pregnant, so it’s not like any of us can knock her up again.” He grins, loving that he’s the primary focus of the entire football team. “Am I right?”

All I see is red when the guys chuckle and agree with him.

“You motherfucker!” I roar as I storm across the room and punch him right in the nose.

I don’t stop when the blood starts flowing. I hit him over and over and over until I’m overpowered by several guys on the team. I’m seething, breaths coming out in rough, uneven pants as they all stare at me.

“What the fuck, Benson!” Linc hisses.

“You don’t treat another teammate that way,” a guy behind me adds.

I spin in a circle, looking every single one of them in the eye before I speak as calmly as I can manage. “Fuck each of you and fuck this stupid team.”

I walk out of the locker room without looking back. I scan the parking lot for Piper’s car or Dalton’s truck, but neither are here this early. I’m on edge, ready to burn the entire world down. I can’t stay here today. I can’t face another day of Frankie avoiding me.

I climb in my truck, slamming the door closed with way more force than necessary, but instead of cranking it and barreling out of the parking lot like I want to, I grip the steering wheel and take long, deep breaths, slowing my heart rate as best as I can.

Getting into an accident is the last thing I want. Even if Frankie isn’t talking to me. Even if she wants nothing to do with me. I still have a baby on the way, and I’m bound and determined to be a good dad. I won’t be one that ignores signs and symptoms. I won’t be one that feels the need to man up instead of going to the doctor. I won’t be the kind of man that leaves his family behind because he’s too stubborn.

When I don’t feel the urge to drive my truck off a ravine, I crank it and head home. Thankfully, Mom found a local job with Frankie’s mom’s help and she isn’t home when I return.

Stupidly, I never got Frankie’s number, but there’s no way I can go back to campus and force her to talk to me. That’s a recipe for disaster, so I try to take a roundabout way of getting ahold of her. She doesn’t have any active social media, which is weird in today’s world, but after seeing the way people treat her at school, it isn’t surprising either.

Piper doesn’t seem like the type of friend that would betray Frankie by giving her number out, but Dalton is a guy and must understand where I’m coming from, even if the only interaction we’ve had was him punching me twice for upsetting his girlfriend.

I shoot him a message in Instagram.

Me: Give me Frankie’s number.

It’s hours before he responds, and his message makes me see as much red as I did in the locker room.

Dalton: No.

Somehow I manage not to throw my phone against the wall and shatter it.

Me: Can you give her my number and ask her to call me, please?

I add my number to the message, but he doesn’t send me another one to confirm one way or the other.

Anxiety makes me restless. I need to see her. I need to speak with her. I need to apologize and tell her everything even though the thought of her rejecting me makes me want to run and hide like a small dog afraid of a raging thunderstorm outside.

It’s the rejection I fear the most. Frankie is incredible. She’s smart and compassionate. She’s going to be an amazing mother, but most important of all, she doesn’t even need me to make that happen.

And what have I proven to her? Nothing, only that I’m capable of walking away when she needs me the most.

That night in Utah seems like a thousand years in the past. A thousand nights of going to sleep without her. A thousand breaths we haven’t shared. A thousand prayers gone unanswered. And all of that distance, all of that time lost is because of me.

“You’re a fool,” I tell my reflection as I sit on the end of my double bed. “A complete idiot.”

I can’t stand the sight of myself, so I flop back on my bed and stare at the ceiling. Our new house is exactly what you’d expect for a lower income area. It’s not bad. It’s just basic. Basic light fixtures, plastic overlay for the shower in the single bathroom, no tub. There’s no real yard to speak of, the complete opposite of the house we stayed in on Mrs. Jacobson’s property.