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June – Seven years ago

Paul

T he radio is blasting as we head down the highway. Mom’s singing at the top of her lungs as we head out of town for hockey camp. She loves her early 2000s songs, so I know them all. Green Day, Beyoncé, Radiohead, Britney Spears. My gear bag and duffle are in the back of our Ford that’s older than Mom, and we drive with the windows down since there’s no air conditioning.

These are the moments I love the most with her. It’s just us, laughing and having a good time. A lot of my friends are embarrassed by their parents, but I’m not. Mom is the best, and Dad loves her more than life. They are relationship goals.

Someday, I’ll find a love like theirs, and life will be perfect.

“Okay, big man,” Mom says as she turns down the music. “What are you most looking forward to during camp?”

“Playing hockey. Duh.” I roll my eyes but laugh.

“Well obviously, smartass.” She huffs at me. “What specifically? Is there a skill you’re looking forward to perfecting or a coach you want to work with?”

I shrug. “I dunno. I’m just happy I get to go. I’m gonna be a hockey star one day, you’ll see.”

She smiles at me, taking her eyes off the road for just a second, but that’s all it takes for the world to turn upside down. In the blink of an eye we crash into something big and lose control.

“Mom!” The scream rips from my throat as fear like I’ve never experienced before chokes me. The unimaginable force of the crash jerks me forward on my seat belt. The screeching of tires overwhelms my head; burning rubber and hot radiator fluid fill my nose before my brain can process that we’ve stopped moving.

My head is buzzing, and my body trembles as I look around. My eyes are wide with adrenaline and fear. We’re off the road, facing a ditch next to a field.

“Mom.” My voice is small and cracks as I turn to check on her. She’s slumped over, leaning against the steering wheel. “Mom!”

I fumble with my seat belt, but I can’t get it to unlock.

“Mom!” I lean as far over as I can, forcing the seat belt over my head to give me more room while a white-hot pain high on my chest steals my breath for a second. Clutching my right arm against my chest, I shuffle my way across the bench seat until I can reach Mom. Her face is turned away from me, and I’m afraid to move her. Reaching a shaking hand to her neck, I feel for a pulse, but I can’t find one.

Am I in the right spot? Tears are making it hard to see, and the knot in my throat is making it hard to breathe.

“Momma,” I sob. “Please wake up.”

I shake her shoulder a little, but she doesn’t respond. Pressing my ear to her back, I listen for any kind of noise, but there’s nothing.

Picking up her hand, I hold it against my cheek and sob until my throat is raw and my eyes hurt, rocking back and forth.

I know I should call 911, but I can’t see anything through the tears. Nothing is where it was, so I don’t see her phone. How can I call for help if I don’t have a phone?

“Hey!” There’s a male voice outside the truck. “You guys okay?”

A man in a John Deere ball cap appears at my window, takes one look at me, and wrenches the door open. “Hey, man, come on. Let’s get you out of here and I’ll help her. Okay?” He reaches for me, but I scream.

He holds up both hands like he means no harm, then backs up.

“Bethany!” he yells up toward the road. “Call 911. There’s a kid in here and a woman, I think. The driver doesn’t look good.”

He moves around the truck to Mom’s side and reaches in through the window to touch her neck. His shoulders drop, and I know before he says anything what he knows. She’s dead.

Part of me knows it, but my brain can’t accept it as truth.

“Come on, Mom. Wake up. Please.” The adrenaline is fading, zapping my energy, and dropping me into shock, I guess. Numb is better, right? Easier.

The next few hours are a blur. From the side of the road, to an ambulance, to the hospital. The seat belt broke my collarbone, so my arm is in a sling. I’m sitting on a hospital bed with Grandma, picking dirt and grass from my clothes when Dad comes in.

“Heather?!” His panicked voice echoes in the space, and I look up to see him frantically looking for Mom while staff follow behind him telling him he can’t be back here.

“Dad!” I get up off the bed and run for him. I wrap my arm around him for a hug. He wraps an arm around me, patting me on the back, then steps back and holds my good shoulder.

“Where is your mother?”

Tears fill my eyes, and my lip trembles as I shake my head. I can’t say the words. A couple of nurses in green-blue scrubs pull him off me.

“Sir, you can’t just burst back here! Who are you looking for?” the lady with black glasses and long brown hair in a ponytail asks him.

“Heather Johnson. She was in an accident with my son.” He points to me, almost angry as he demands answers.

The nurses look at each other for a second before the same one speaks again. “Sir, if you’ll come with us, we’ll fill you in on the situation.”

“No! Where is my wife?” He’s yelling now, and I flinch back. I’ve never heard him like this, and honestly, it scares me. Grandma wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into her while I cry on her shirt.

“Ryan.” Grandma uses that soft tone she uses with me when she knows something is about to hurt my feelings. “Please go with them.”

He stares at her, red-faced and breathing too hard with his hands on his hips before his face falls.

“No. She’s not.” He drops to his knees, and a heart-shattering yell echoes in the room. Grandma approaches him and wraps her arms around his shoulders with tears running down her face.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats like this is her fault.

It was my fault, though, wasn’t it? Because she turned to look at me. I’m the reason we crashed.

Guilt eats at me. I’m the reason Mom died.

“They hit a bear on the highway doing sixty-five.” Grandma’s words are quiet but teary while I’m frozen to the floor. I’ve never seen my father break down like this. It’s terrifying and has me sinking to the floor with tears once again streaming down my face but no sound coming from my mouth.

Grandma reaches for me, but I can’t move. All I can do is stare at my father while he grieves the loss of Mom. Maybe I don’t want to find a love like theirs after all. If this is what it feels like when I lose them, I don’t want anything like it.

Dad starts banging his fists on the floor as he yells, then stands abruptly and storms out. Grandma gasps and covers her mouth with her hand as she watches him leave. The door slams against the wall on his way out, and all I can do is stare.

He left me here.

Happy birthday to me.

Brendon – Five Years Ago

The game is over, and we’re trudging back to the locker room, sweaty and exhausted, but everyone is happy. We won, even though we were a mess out there. I was anyway. Every fuckup plays on repeat in my head, and I know Chad and his goons will take it out on me. They always do. My gut tightens, and my mouth goes dry at the thought. I don’t want to deal with them today. They’ve been getting worse lately, leaving marks that I’ve lied to my parents about, just brushing the bruises off as hockey injuries.

At my cubby, I strip as fast as I can, shower and get dressed with anxiety nipping at my heels to make me move faster. I keep count of how many teammates are still around and where the coaches are. Who’s still around and how long I have before I’m alone with my terrors.

Get out while you still can.

After pulling my jacket on, I’m straightening my tie when the laughter that haunts me echoes in the locker room.

My stomach rolls, and bile threatens to choke me as my hands pause on the silk. Fear has me freezing, gluing me in place despite knowing that makes me an easy target. My ears pick up every footfall from the four of them, their breathing, the smacking of bubble gum in John’s mouth. I’m hyperaware of everything but can’t do anything to stop whatever is about to happen.

The blank mask I’ve perfected since starting on this team falls over my face on instinct. Can’t let anyone know about the pain, the bullying, the terror. Be a man. Don’t show any weakness. Weakness makes you a pussy.

Chad steps in front of me with a smile that promises pain on his face. His friends create a shield around us, like I have any chance of getting away, and crowd my space. I never had claustrophobia issues, but the last few months, I do. I hate feeling trapped.

“M-my mom is waiting.” I stumble through the lie and hope like hell it works. Almost everyone knows my parents work full-time to put food on the table and rarely make it on time for pickup.

Chad is always the last one here since he’s Coach Williams’s stepson. That man shouldn’t be in charge of kids. He doesn’t give a fuck about the bullying his stepson doles out. I’ve tried talking to him about it, and he tells me to stop being a pussy.

“You know, birdy, you’re a shitty liar.”

“You know what my mom used to do to me when she caught me lying?” Garret, the black-haired boy with evil in his eyes, says. “Washed my mouth out with soap.”

My body feels like I’m vibrating, but my hands are surprisingly steady. I do everything I can not to react to them. They want a reaction, and by denying them, maybe they’ll get bored. So far, this theory isn’t panning out.

Delight brightens the muddy brown of Chad’s eyes, and the urge to cry or beg is so strong I almost give in to it. But it won’t make a difference. If anything, it’ll just make it worse.

“John, grab the bar of soap from my bag.” Chad doesn’t look away from me when he says it, watching for my reaction. The boys laugh, and John turns away to do as he was told. They are probably all victims of Chad as well if they don’t do what he wants.

“Are you gonna chirp for us? Squawk?” Chad moves in closer to me as John shows up with a blue plastic soap box. Chad holds his hand out, and John gives it to him without a word.

Without thinking about it, I step back, right into Andrew. The curly-haired blond guy is the biggest guy on our team and is known for being a bruiser. His arms band around me, forcing what little air I was able to manage from my lungs.

I’m going to throw up. I can’t do this.

I yell as loud as I can, hoping someone will hear me, but they never fucking do. It’s not fair! Why am I always the damn target? I hate this place and everyone in it.

Chad shoves the bar of soap into my mouth so deep I choke on it, but he won’t let me spit it out. He holds it in as I gag, tears running down my cheeks as I try to breathe and not throw up. My body tries to save itself, turning and squirming, trying to get away, but Andrew is fucking strong and has the upper hand. They all laugh at my pain, at my fear, at my humiliation. The bitter taste of soap fills my mouth, bubbles forming on my tongue and around my lips from the movement. Chunks of the bar wear onto my teeth too, and I will never be able to get it all out of my mouth.

“No one will ever believe you.” Chad finally moves his hand and the bar falls, leaving me panting and coughing with drool dripping down my chin.

I used to love coming to practice, lacing up my skates, and taking to the ice like a bat out of hell, but now I dread it, and I can’t even tell anyone why. I’m lying to everyone because I’m so fucking ashamed of what I’ve let them do to me.

Someone punches me in the stomach, but I don’t see who it is, and it doesn’t matter. Andrew lets go of me, and I drop onto my knees hard enough for the sound to echo.

“I hate you,” I manage to get out. Chad grips my hair in a tight fist and jerks my head up.

“Look at you, birdy. Crying, on your knees like a bitch.” He backhands me. Hot, sharp pain explodes across my cheek. “If you want to act like a little bitch, I’ll treat you like one.”

Dread settles like an iceberg in my stomach. What does that mean?

“Hold him still,” Chad says, and it feels like Andrew grabbing a hold of my elbows and pulling them behind me.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I start to tremble and try to pull away from Chad, but all it does is put me closer to Andrew.

Chad unzips his pants and pulls his dick out, stroking it until it starts to thicken.

“You aren’t exactly my normal type, but a mouth is a mouth, right?”

* * *

The pull of my hair and saliva on my chin don’t matter, but I choke and cough when he finishes. My stomach rolling at the bitter taste on my tongue. The bang of the locker door closing makes me jump, and for a second, hope blossoms in my chest. Is someone going to find us and help me?

No one can know about this.

I hold my breath, both wanting to be saved and hoping no one finds me like this.

Coach Williams comes around the corner, lifts an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything about me on the floor, probably looking distraught and a complete mess.

“Boys, time to go. Come on.” Coach Williams meets my eyes for a second, then turns and leaves. My heart breaks, shatters in my chest. How is this my life?

“You’ll make someone a good pussy if you practice.” Chad puts himself away, ruffles my hair, then turns and strides down the aisle with his lackeys following along behind him.

Scrambling on my hands and knees, I grab my gear bag from the now empty locker room and run outside to wait for my mom. It’s cold, but I don’t care. It’s better than being in there.

I sit on the dirt next to the building where the wind is blocked, and my stomach rolls. Saliva pools in my mouth, and I race for the garbage can, throwing up everything in my stomach. Water, my protein bar, soap, and him. It burns my nose and throat and leaves me gasping for breath. My abs ache, but it’s better this way. I don’t want any part of today left in my body.

A shiver races up my spine at the thought, and I settle back against the wall, using my shirt to wipe my face.

I don’t want to do this anymore, but I don’t know how to make it stop either. The coach doesn’t care, clearly. He’s supposed to support us, shape us into the best players we can be, but he’s allowing his kid to torment me.

I’ve been playing hockey since I was five. I love the game. But I need to get off this team. For two years, I’ve dealt with this, and it’s steadily gotten worse. I can’t do it anymore. If I can’t switch teams, I’ll have to quit playing. The thought makes me sob. I don’t want to give up hockey. Pulling my knees to my chest, I wrap my arms around my legs and cry. In the shadow of the ice rink where they encourage us to play injured and to suck it up, I’m weak.

A while later, Mom pulls up to the curb, and I make my way to the car. After dropping my bag in the back, I sink in the front seat and force an air of excitement I don’t feel. I don’t know if she can smell him on me or not, but the need to shower again and brush my teeth is so heavy on my shoulders. I’m exhausted, and I’m sure my eyes are red from crying, but she’s too distracted by driving to notice.

“How was the game?” she asks as she gets us turned toward home.

“We won.” I smile and start talking about the game. I tell her about the shots our goalie blocked and the times we managed to hit the net.

“Sounds like you guys played a great game. I’m sorry I had to miss it.” She pats my knee as she pulls into the driveway, and I jump out of the car, galloping toward the house like I’m riding a horse or something. She laughs behind me, and I dance on the porch as I wait for her. I’m exhausted and want to crawl into bed, but if I’m making her laugh, maybe she won’t look too closely and see how broken I am. I can’t let her down. She’s a good mom, and I don’t want her to be ashamed of me.

“What do you want to eat?” She unlocks the door, and I bow.

“Ladies first.” I extend my hand, and she heads inside. I’m not at all hungry. The idea of eating turns my stomach again.

“I’m good, Momma. I’m gonna change and take a nap.” I kiss her cheek quickly and bound up the stairs to the bathroom. Once the door is closed behind me, I lean against it and let the mask fall. Since I showered at practice, my mom will probably inquire if I take another one, so I grab a washcloth and scrub my face, neck, and hands, then brush my teeth until my gums bleed and I can’t taste him lingering anymore.

My shoulders sag once I’m cleanish, and my eyes close as I suck in a deep breath. Slowly, I make my way to my room and pull off my suit. I hate that thing. Nothing good ever comes from wearing it.

Lying down on my messy bed, I pull the blanket over my head, curl into a ball, and cry until I pass out.