Holding Onto Forever

“I told you, I don’t care.”

“Same.”

I storm out of the bedroom and take one look at her friends. “Get out,” I yell at them. They go scrambling as fast as they can, making sure they have all their paraphernalia with them. I look down at my coke-smeared coffee table. The sight of it disgusts me. It’s the piece of furniture that goes flying against the wall. Followed by my two end tables. I bend over at my waist to catch my breath, only to feel her hands on my shoulders.

“Noah… Noah, stop,” Dessie yells, but the damage is done. My living room is a wreck with shattered furniture everywhere. “It’s okay, baby.” The switch in Dessie’s tone doesn’t take me by surprise. I’ve been with her on enough photo shoots to be familiar with her Jekyll and Hyde routine. Although this is the first time she’s used it on me.

Righting myself, I move out from her under touch and look at her. “I’m in love with Peyton, Dessie.”

“What?”

My body sighs, almost as if saying those words out loud to her is some sort of relief. I suppose in a sense, it is. “I love her.”

“For how long?”

Shaking my head, I stare down at the ground, too cowardly to look her in the eyes. I was wrong to ever pursue anything with Dessie, but the pressure of looking a certain way for the league has weighed heavily on me.

When I finally find an ounce of courage to look at her, she steps back and shakes her head. “Have you slept with her?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

I nod, knowing that by admitting this, I’ve lied to her about my relationship with Peyton. “It was before you and I met.”

“Doesn’t matter, Noah. You told me you hadn’t, that nothing had ever happened between the two of you.”

“I know.”

“So how many times, huh? Are you sleeping with her when you’re at away games? Do you fly her there because she certainly doesn’t come to your home games? Do you screw her in our bed?

“I’ve been with her one time, Dessie. Like I said, it was before I met you.”

“I don’t believe you,” she scoffs. I knew she wouldn’t, which is why I never told her the truth. “Was the accident a ruse by your parents to get you away from me? Is that why you’ve been in Chicago to see her?”

“You really think that little of my parents?”

She shrugs. “It’s not like they like me. Your father didn’t even invite me to come with you to Chicago.”

Shaking my head. “The last words you said to me were something like, ‘It’s always about Peyton.’”

“Well, isn’t it?”

I nod without reservation.

“Fuck off, Noah.” Dessie rushes back toward the bedroom and slams the door. I do the same, except I leave the apartment and head to the basement garage where my car is parked. It feels good to be in control of the car, telling it when to turn, speed up or slow down. It’s the only thing in my life that I can tell what to do. I’d like to tell Peyton to wake up and have her listen, but she isn’t.

I find myself in the driveway of my coach’s house. As luck would have it, his wife is outside tending to her rose bushes on this rare warm winter day and waves, although I have a feeling she has no idea who she’s waving to.

“Hi, Noah. How are you?” she says as soon as I make my presence known.

“I’m good, just here to see Coach.”

“Go on in, you know where to find him.”

I do as she says and head toward his basement where he has a massive media room set up. Our last game is being shown and most of the coaches are here, watching it.

“Westbury, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Um…” I run my hand through my hair and motion for him to join me in his home office. He follows me in and takes a seat behind his desk. “Sunday afternoon, my best friend was in a car accident. You may have heard about it, Kyle Zimmerman was driving.”

“Oh, Noah. Yes, I had heard. I’m sorry. When is the funeral?”

I shake my head, understanding that ESPN had inaccurately reported the passenger in Zimmerman’s car died. “She’s hanging on by a thread. Peyton, that’s her name, she’s in a coma, and honestly Coach, my head and heart is in Chicago with her.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m not asking for time off, but I am asking that after the game this week I be excused from practice so I can be with her.”

“It’s a mighty big request.”

“I know, but until she wakes up I’m really not going to be of any use to you, physically or mentally.”

He nods but doesn’t answer my question. “Let’s see how this week goes, shall we?”