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“Ditto.”
She walks up the stairs to the large house, and I wait to leave until she waves before going inside.
I pull out my phone, my stomach reminding me that it still hasn’t eaten. It’s too late to go to the dining hall now, but I’ll drop by the café on the way back to the athletic dorms. I scroll through my contacts and tap on Lex. He answers right away, and I let out a breath. “Hey, you got a minute?”
“Of course, brother. What’s up?”
“Life’s been hitting me hard. You know?”
“Oh, I get it. You want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know if I’m ready.”
Good ol’ Lex. He doesn’t badger me with questions, he launches into what he’s doing lately. He’s been through the wringer too, and it’s nice to catch up like old times.
I miss the hell out of these guys. Football truly does not feel the same without them, and I wonder if that’s a major part of the doubts I’m having around football.
Cade Farmer, regular guy?
Somehow, that doesn’t sound right either.
6
Charley
“Can you warm me up a couple of Hot Pockets?”
I check my phone for the time, the Lysol still lingering in the air from cleaning up the kitchen from Dad’s early dinner. “I’m going to be late…”
He moves his stare toward me, eyes beady. “Why aren’t you planning better? So, I get to stay here and be hungry while you get to go out? How’s that fair?”
“I did plan. I was about to leave.”
“But I haven’t eaten.”
I want to scream that he just fucking ate. I literally cleaned off his plate three minutes ago. “Can it wait until I get back? I thought you were done with dinner, and I have to be there on time.”
“You know what, Charlotte? I’m hungry. It’s not my fault. I have a fucking disease. I guess I’ll go and make it myself.” He attempts to lift from the chair, arms straining to assist in pushing him up.
He doesn’t get very far.
“Dad, it’s fine,” I snap, rubbing my forehead and cringing at the attitude laced in my words. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Maybe adding one more task to my plate has tipped me over the edge. Or the fact that I don’t want to let Coach down by being late when he already reprimanded me.Orthe fact that I’m constantly seeing Cade around and he goes out of his way to annoy me every time.
I liked being invisible.
Dad’s face scrunches up, turning red. He falls back into his chair, and it rocks violently. “I don’t know why you act that way toward me. I’m trying!” He takes deep breaths, rubbing at his arms. “I wouldn’t even be this way if it weren’t for you!” he wails.
His thick hands come up to shield his face, and my stomach twists. He blubbers some more, and I fight the urge to feel bad for him. Up until a few years ago, it would break me if I saw him like this, but then it occurred to me that his face was always dry after a supposed sob session. No tears. No apologies. He throws a temper tantrum, then returns to normal when he gets his way…and right now, he really wants me to cook his food. That’s it. It’s forever about food.
I should leave. Let him figure it out.
I grab my bag and start to walk toward the door but stop when his voice comes out weak. “Why don’t you love me? No one’s loved me since your mom. I sit here all day by myself. I can’t do anything, and no one cares.”
My shoulders sag. “Dad, I do love you. You got me this job, and I already got a talking to from Coach T about being on time, and if I make the food for you, I’m going to be late. In fact, I’ll have to run to get there on time now.”
“Well, you should’ve thought about that before!” And just like that, his sobbing morphs into sharp words like whiplash.
My hands ball into fists. We have a stare-down session, and I’m ashamed to admit my mind wanders to what it would be like if I didn’t have to take care of him. Then guilt settles in like a torrential downpour, and I turn on my heel, return to the kitchen, and throw two Hot Pockets on a plate to warm up.