Page 5

Chapter 5

Open Wounds

Brandon

I can’t put it off any longer. I have to know.

“On a scale from one to ten. If one is a double rainbow, and ten is the panda bear that hiccups the theme to Jaws”, I swallow, “Just how viral did it go?”

“How viral did what go?”

“Freddie. Please. This isn’t my first rodeo. I know the internet is going to internet. I’m just asking that you prepare my delicate ego for the virtual hazing it’s about to receive”. I sit up in my hospital bed. “It’s not like the game was televised, so that limits the audience. It’s what, a solid four?”

He won’t meet my eyes. “Five? It made local news?” My alarm grows. “Six?”

“No, not a six”.

“Thank fuck for that”.

“More like a nine”.

“Nine?!”

“A low nine. Practically an eight”. He hands over his phone, open at a social media channel. “You better see for yourself”.

It’s slow-motion footage of me with the ball, bouncing it right at Volchok. It comes back to me, hits the net then, BAM. The three of us collide right into the posts. Volchok and his defender pick themselves up. I stay lying there, whilst an animated bear appears on the screen laughing his head off.

I sneak a look at the view counter and my heart flies into my mouth. One hundred thousand views. It’s not even been a day.

The intrusive thoughts win, and I scroll down to the comments:

BearsFan99: KNOCKED THE FUCK OUT!!

MikeDad: Clearly fake. Anything for attention. Pussy.

BearsFan99 : SWEEET DREAMS NEPO BABY

MikeDad : Google this little bitch. What a disgrace to the game.

WolvesSuck: Like and follow for the latest Carter scandal & why Brandon’s more of a bitch than his father.

Underneath there’s a link to an opinion piece, ‘ Hero to zero for Senator’s son as he wins the game with questionable tactics, immediately pays the price’. My mouth runs dry as I recognise the journalist’s name. Richard Crawley.

Crawley’s been obsessed with my family for years. He wrote the book on us, literally. An actual book. Not to mention hundreds of BS articles. He’s always popping up as a talking head to slam my dad on the morning news, but he leaves me out of it. Mostly.

I scan the article ‘ latest hurdle to engulf the Carter family… revelations from former ex-lovers… scandal hit following allegations of…son Brandon’s hit in popularity’…

I stop reading after that.

“Nine it is. It’ll pass. This shit always does”. I suppress the irrational wave of annoyance at Freddie’s concerned expression. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Is there more Jell-O?” I twist round in my bed, getting caught up in the drip.

“That’s your IV, not a vending machine”.

The doctors kept me overnight as a precaution. My phone is plugged in on my bedstand, where a half-drafted text to my dad blinks back at me.

Sorry if I worried you or Mom. I’m totally good. Let me know if you’re free for a chat soon :) P.S. We won! Love, Brandon.

My finger grazes the ‘send’ button.

“We should be out of here soon”, Freddie continues. “Straight back to Prism. Or as we’re calling it, the Hotel of Champions”. He starts flicking through channels on the TV, stopping at movies. He scrolls through different options, when suddenly one jumps out at me.

“Wait”, I say, “Hold it there”.

“ See You At The Altar ?” Freddie’s eyes pop out of his head. “You can’t be serious”.

“Because it’s the most expensive flop in modern cinematic history, or because it completely derailed my mom’s movie career?”

“Both”, Freddie says flatly. “Plus it’s a romantic comedy. Not your usual genre”.

“I’m in the mood for a happy ending”.

“Would you like to be alone?” Freddie grins. He nods towards the screen. “This is the one where your mom is torn between two guys right?” Art imitating life. She’d had a very public affair with her co-star whilst married to my dad. “Which one does she end up with?”

“Neither”, I turn down the volume. “That’s the point”.

“I’m not sure you’ve grasped the concept of how happy endings work”.

“She ends up dancing in some shitty downtown club with her best friend. Even though she ends up single. She’s still okay. She has her best friend”. I dismiss Parker’s face from my mind. “To me, that’s pretty cool”. And about as much as I’ll ever get.

“Have you heard from Parker since yesterday?”

Just his name sends a thrill through my whole body. “Nope”, I keep my eyes fixed on the screen. “Why would I?”

“He came to see us play for a reason”. Freddie hovers on the edge of my bed. “Whatever falling out you two had—don’t look at me like that, I know something happened—it might help you talk to him. Get some closure”.

“I don’t need closure”. I manage to inflect every single word.

“No?” Freddie raises an eyebrow, “Because there’s a pattern, Brandon, of you doing damage to yourself whenever he’s in your vicinity. And it’s not good for you”.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about”.

“I know that the two of you used to be inseparable. I know you change the subject if his name is ever mentioned. I know that your sudden inability to see a massive goalpost and two opposing players coincided with him being in the crowd yesterday”.

My smile freezes on my face. Freddie knows me well, but not well enough for me to tell him about Parker. I’ve never told anyone what really happened between us. “And I remember the state you were in when you arrived at college”.

“You think I pulverised myself to get Parker’s attention?”

“I think you’re careless with yourself when he’s around”.

There’s a sudden buzzing in the back of my head that has nothing to do with my minor concussion. There are a hundred things I could say to neutralise this, but my body is so tense I’m scared it’ll crack in two if I try to explain.

I’m rescued by a knock at the open door. “How’s my most impatient patient feeling?”

Ok, so my desperation to avoid spending the night in hospital didn’t exactly endear me to the nursing staff, but Dr Stassi Abiola is a badass. She’s about my mom’s age, with beautiful thick braids, bright white kicks and a megawatt don’t fuck with me smile. “Still causing the orderlies to re-think their career in caregiving?”

“Patiently being a patient who’d very much like to get out of here”, I match her smile hopefully, “But mad impressed by your wordplay, Doc”.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Brandon”. She glances up over my chart. “I’m sorry. Have you had another outfit change?” Freddie brought me some casual clothes to wear, given that my soccer kit was a bloodied mess, and I couldn’t bring myself to get wedged into a hospital gown.

“You told me to!”

“I told you to put a shirt on”, she says bluntly, causing Freddie to hide a grin behind his hand. “A move that made me unpopular with more than one of my nurses. Any headaches?”

I shake my head vigorously to prove it. She takes out a pen-light and asks me to follow it. Once we’re done, I pull out my best puppy dog eyes. “Please may I be released? I swear, if I see any goalposts or shithouse goalkeepers, I will avoid them like a, like a…”

“Yes?”

“Like a really good avoider-er”, I finish lamely.

She raises her eyebrows. “Is he always like this?”

“He’s not used to having to work so hard to get his own way”, Freddie explains. I break out my best blue steel pout and she sighs. “People don’t say no to that bone structure, do they?”

“Not usually”, I say. She shakes her head and takes my chart over to a nurse. I cross my fingers as Freddie whispers in my ear.

“You’re flirting with women now? You must have got hit harder than I thought”.

“It’s the concussion talking”.

“Tell your concussion to put some ice on it. She’s wearing a wedding ring”.

“ She also has pretty good hearing”, Dr Abiola says, smiling. “Actually, your popularity extends beyond the nurses ”, she adds, giving an admonishing look to the pretty blonde loitering in the doorway. “I received a special request to check on you last night”. My heart skips a beat. Parker.

“From Vanessa Weaver”.

If Parker cared, he’d have called.

Or he’d be here.

“The name doesn’t ring a bell”. I sit up in sudden alarm.“If I say that I don’t remember, are you going to make me stay another night?”

“Keep the sling on for a couple of days. You need to stay under observation. I assume I can trust your friend to do the honours?” Freddie nods. “There’s some paperwork to sign, some medication to take, but after that, you’re free to go. I’ll be back in a moment”.

“I’ll get us some coffee”, Freddie says, hopping off the bed. When he gets to the door, he turns back. “We don’t have to be at the airport until tomorrow night. That’s plenty of time to go and see Parker. I’ll drive you”.

He’s gone before I can reply.

There’s a big part of me that has always wanted to go back to that night with Parker. If I’d have known the last time I saw him would be the last time, I’d have done everything differently.

I slide carefully off the bed and start to gather my things. I just want to get out of here. My jacket is hanging up by the window, and I pause to take in the view.

I’ll say this, Parker’s city is beautiful.

I press my face against the glass, counting rows of buildings, making it to nearly twenty-five before the tops blur with the early evening sky. Most of the windows have lights on, and I hate myself for wondering which room might belong to Parker, and how far it is from mine.

By the entrance, an ambulance pulls up, its lights flashing. A woman pushes a kid in a wheelchair towards the carpark. There’s a lot of people coming and going. But it’s the figure standing alone that makes my breath freeze in my throat.

It can’t be.

Parker.

He’s stood at the entrance. Even from here, I can see the ripple of tension across his shoulders. Like he’s waiting to be caught someplace he shouldn’t be. He neatly steps aside to let an elderly couple pass. I’m three floors up, but I can see him perfectly. Which means if he looks up, he’ll see me.

Like he’s read my mind, that’s exactly what he does.

Our eyes lock, and I instinctively reach for him, my fingertips gently connecting with the glass. He stares at me, expressionless. Neither of us move.

A loud, boisterous cheer jolts me back to reality. My entire team, led by Freddie and flanked by an amused Dr Abiola, charge in, whooping and cheering. They circle me, obscuring Parker from view, as I’m yanked from the window.

“Visiting hours are over”, Dr Abiola calls, over the hubbub. I extract myself from the huddle just in time to see Parker striding away. My heart sinks. “And Brandon? Don’t celebrate too hard”.

I nod, forcing myself to smile. Freddie’s right. I need to see Parker again. Properly. Check that everything is good in his world and show him that everything’s just great in mine.

And if he tells me to go to hell, then that’s that. At least then I’ll know for sure. I can live with that.

It can’t hurt more than it already does.