Jeremy didn’t respond but turned the wheel sharply to move us from the highway to my driveway. He gunned the engine and took us up the hill and through the trees. When he stopped near the house, I opened the door and jumped out—not thinking. I winced and held my side for a minute until I could breathe right again.
Jeremy came around from the other side of the car to help, but I waved him off.
“Hey, Thomas?”
“Yeah?” I replied as I opened the door.
“I didn’t miss anything,” he said. When I looked over to him, his eyes were focused on mine, and for a moment, we just stood there looking at each other. Jeremy finally inclined his head a little and opened up the car door as I went into the house.
My head was feeling a little wonky after the pain pill Dad let me take. He didn’t say anything about it at all; he just brought one of the pills with a glass of water and a sandwich and told me to eat first. I knew he felt bad about it—he usually did when I actually got hurt. That hadn’t really happened since last year, though.
Dad knocked on my door, and I pulled myself out of bed to go and unlock it.
“You doing all right?” Dad asked.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I told him.
He stood in the doorway while I went and sat down on the black leather couch under the window. He was fidgety, and that could only mean one thing. I didn’t want to hear it. It didn’t matter.
He started saying it anyway.
Babbling…barely understandable.
I knew he was sorry. I knew he didn’t mean it. I didn’t need to hear him say it.
“I never really thought…I mean…when she was here…I never thought I’d have to do this on my own.” He looked back at me. “I get a little carried away sometimes. I know that…but I don’t mean it. You know that, right?”
“Sure, Dad,” I replied. I needed him to just stop and move on. I didn’t want to talk about this. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have been out all night.”
“Right,” he agreed, though I kind of wondered if he even remembered that bit of it. “Yeah…we’ll have to talk about your curfew.”
“Sure,” I said with a nod. I knew he’d never actually come back and talk about it. I’d never had any real rules, not that kind, anyway. Play soccer. That was my only real mandate.
He walked over and sat down next to me, and I tried not to flinch.
“I’m not going to do that again, son,” he said quietly. “I just…I had too much to drink. You know how it is…on that day.”
“I know,” I replied. I didn’t look at him and focused all my energy on being completely still.
“You’re a tough kid, though,” he said. “So…you’re okay, right?”
“Sure, Dad,” I said again. “I’m fine.”
“Good kid,” he said as he patted me on the back and stood up. I didn’t exhale until he left the room, and I could lock the door again.
I crawled into bed, careful not to bump my left side too much. The pain was down to a dull ache at least. As I slipped off into that state of mind where you’re not quite awake and not quite asleep, my brain recaptured the day’s events. I slowed down the images as the morning scrolled by, reveling in the memories for a bit and then tried to ignore the rest of the day as it spun through my mind.
The next day at school was…awful.
It started off okay—I got up a
nd did my run. My time sucked because my side fucking hurt, but Dad didn’t say anything about it. I gathered my stuff together, threw on a jersey, and headed off to school.
So far, so good.
As soon as I got out of my Jeep, the comments started.
“Hey, Malone!” Some other senior walked up to me and raised his hand for a high-five. “Nice job!”