Page 43

“She was given medication, but that became a fight to get her to take. Sometimes she’d do it.

Sometimes she wouldn’t. After a while, Dad couldn’t do it anymore.

He was tired of fighting with her, tired of taking the brunt of it when he was trying to help.

I think he always loved her, but not enough to stay.

And…” He pauses, wetting his lips. “And I can’t help but wonder if he’d still be alive if he had.

Because he wouldn’t have remarried or gotten in that car to go on vacation with his new family.

He would be with us. Helping Mom. Helping me. ”

My fingers tighten around his arm. “You can’t do that to yourself. What-ifs are a dangerous thing to get sucked into, Alex. Thinking about all the ways life could be different doesn’t get us anywhere.”

All he does is lift one of his shoulders.

“It doesn’t matter, I guess. Because he left.

And he asked me to come with him. He tried convincing me it was for the best. But what would happen to Mom?

He didn’t want to deal with her, and he didn’t want me to either.

But somebody had to, so I stepped up. I did what I could. ”

This has been going on since I knew him? I would have never thought he was taking care of his mom and trying to make sure she was okay.

“I got her to take the medication and go to her appointments with the therapist,” he says, leaning his head back against the seat.

“For a little while. She was doing better. Her episodes were less frequent. Therapy seemed to help. It was…good. Things were good. Dad and I would go out to baseball games and hockey games. We’d practice together.

I spent some time with him and his girlfriend, who was a really nice woman.

Life felt normal for a little bit. He got remarried and moved on with his life, so I tried to do the same. ”

Alex shakes his head at something. “When I got into the frat at Lindon, one of the requirements was moving into the house. And it seemed like Mom was good on her own as long as she kept taking her meds, so I moved out. She seemed happy to me. Happy for me. She hadn’t had an episode in a while, so I assumed things were going back to normal.

But then we got the call about Dad and his wife, and things took a turn for the worse. ”

I fight the frown that tries weighing down my lips, choosing to stay quiet. No number of apologies or condolences can make him feel better or bring his father back, no matter how sorry I feel for him.

“The doctors think the trauma triggered her,” he murmurs. “It makes sense. She loved him. Still does. Losing him was like losing the part of herself that was…normal.”

“There’s no such thing as normal,” I tell him.

He finally looks at me. “Maybe there should be. Because then at least we’d have a baseline to get my mother back to it.

She spiraled after his death. She almost missed his funeral because she wouldn’t get out of bed.

It’s a miracle I got her to go. I know she would have regretted not attending.

God only knows what she would have been like then.

But after…it was bad, Olive. Real bad. And I couldn’t tell anybody because she was my responsibility.

So, I dealt with her. When I was scouted, I got an agent who I knew could get me the best deal out there for her .

Somewhere that would give me enough money to put her at the best psychiatric hospital there was before she completely destroyed herself.

Somewhere that could monitor her and figure out the best medicines and therapies without causing more problems. That’s why I signed with the Penguins. ”

He signed with a team for his mother ? I’d always wondered why he chose Pittsburgh. He never talked about the team before. It was always Boston or New York. Those were his big dreams.

Now it makes sense.

My heart does a tap dance in its cage and swells so big that I think it might burst. “You’re actually kind of amazing, aren’t you?”

He blinks, brows crinkling. “For putting my mother in a mental institution?”

“For caring enough about her to get her the help she needs,” I correct him.

I can tell this hasn’t been an easy decision for him, but it sounds like it was the right one.

“My friend reminded me of something important about everybody needing an ally. Your mother has you, but who do you have? I wish I would have known sooner about this. I could have been there for you—been the person you needed.”

His eyes go back to the windshield. “I didn’t want you to look differently at me or my mother. She’s sick, you know? Not everybody would get that.”

“I would.”

His eyes go back to me, confusion in them.

I squirm a little. “I deal with depression.”

His eyes pin me to my seat, making me fidget again.

“It’s not the same,” I reason, “as what your mother is going through, but I understand not wanting people to see you differently. My mother used to be on medication for depression and she used to see a therapist. I deal with it too, but I’ve managed to cope with it without medicine.

I went to therapy with her once or twice, but never on my own.

I have good days and bad days. I can’t say I’ve ever felt “normal”, whatever that is.

But most people wouldn’t expect that from me because I look fine.

I act happy. I make jokes. I usually have a smile on my face.

The truth is, I’m not always like that. I struggle, and I don’t always know the reason why. ”

He continues to study me silently.

“My point is that mental health is really hard to deal with sometimes. Whether it’s your own or somebody you care about.

But we all go through it. I don’t think there’s a single person on this planet who’s happy all of the time.

We all have battles. We all deal with emotions.

I have depression, and it sucks. My mother has depression, and it sucks.

Your mother is bipolar, and that sucks too.

None of us are alone in that battle. The world is starting to become more aware of it, which can only help people like us. ”

The intensity of his stare makes me a little uncomfortable.

Does he know I’ve never admitted that to anybody?

Not Bodhi. Not Berlin. Skylar barely knows about it.

She’s seen me in one of my off moods where I had to shut out the world and feel my feels in the darkness of my room.

She’d check on me, know I was okay, and then give me space.

She can see the emptiness in my eyes when others can’t.

But I never really opened up or tried to explain why I am the way I am.

I’m just…me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

“For the same reason you didn’t tell me about what you’ve been through,” I admit. “But now we know, so now we don’t have to be alone. And that’s…I think that’s a good thing. We can be each other’s allies.”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I think you might be right.”

He flips his hand so he’s able to interweave our fingers, rubbing the pad of his thumb along the back of my hand.

We sit like that for a while until we finally decide to leave.

Give yourself a chance, Skylar had told me.

This is me trying.

*

Alex walks out of the gas station holding a plastic bag, waving at somebody who calls out “Go Penguins” in another car pumping gas beside us. When he slides into the driver’s seat, he reaches into the bag and pulls out a glass bottle of Coca-Cola, and a bag of dark chocolate-covered pretzels.

He passes them to me silently before pulling out a Dr. Pepper for himself and setting it into the cupholder in the center console.

“You remembered,” I say, scanning the bag.

He glances at me briefly before putting the car in drive and heading back onto the road. “You always mix pretzels with chocolate, but you prefer dark chocolate because milk and white are—”

“Too sweet,” we say at the same time.

I nod toward his Dr. Pepper and Cream Soda. “I see you found a way to get both of your favorite drinks in one. I don’t envy your taste buds right now.”

I hated cream soda as a kid and can’t stand Dr. Pepper either. I’ve never tried the combination, but it makes me cringe when I see him drink it.

“Not all of us can have exquisite taste,” he comments, shooting me the first grin he’s given me since I showed up at his door.

I move my head back and forth contemplatively. “That would explain my interest in you,” I say sarcastically, earning a chuckle from him.

The first hour and a half back to his apartment was quiet.

I could tell he had a lot on his mind, so I let him simmer in whatever his thoughts were without cutting into them.

Then, at the hour and forty-five-minute mark, he turned the radio on, handed me his phone, and told me to play whatever I wanted on the Bluetooth.

The thirty minutes following were less thick thanks to the Pop 100 hits cutting through the silence. As much as I wanted to blast one of my favorite artists, I figured he’d been through enough today. Secretly, I think he appreciated that.

I open the bag of pretzels and hold one out to him. “I know you don’t have a sweet tooth, but since you like black coffee you probably don’t mind bitter chocolate.”

His lips kick up into the smallest smile as he accepts it and chucks the whole thing into his mouth. “You’d be surprised to know that I occasionally put milk into my coffee these days.”

I gasp dramatically. “Rebel.”

He snorts.

We share the bag of pretzels until there’s none left, and banter back and forth about the fall of pop music thanks to autotune and cancel culture, until we enter Pittsburgh.

It isn’t until he stops in front of his apartment complex that he turns to me. “Go on a date with me.”

I stare at him, unblinking. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Dragging my tongue along my bottom lip, I fidget with the seatbelt across my waist. “We went out earlier.”

Alex’s brows go up. “Yeah. With my mother. I don’t usually like taking girls out to third wheel it with me and my mom.”

“That’s probably smart.”

“Just so we’re clear, I usually don’t let women meet my mom on the first date either,” he adds nonchalantly.

“Do you make them wait until the second?”

“At least the third,” he muses to play along with the lighthearted banter. He sobers. “But I’m being serious right now. Give me one reason why we shouldn’t go on have dinner.”

I think about it. “Because we just ate pretzels,” I say lamely.

“They sure as hell didn’t fill me up. Are you trying to tell me you can’t possibly eat another bite?”

My lips twitch. “Well…”

“It doesn’t have to be dinner,” he tells me before I can come up with another excuse. “We could grab drinks, unless that Coke put you past your daily liquid capacity.”

I eye him. “I just… Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“Why the hell wouldn’t it be?”

“Because we could be seen.”

He blinks slowly. “Are you trying to hide me, Olive? I feel like some sort of man candy that you’re ashamed of.”

He’s kidding, right? “Don’t be ridiculous. If anything, it’s the other way around.”

Now his eyes are narrowed in disapproval. “I don’t want to hear you say that shit. I’m the one asking you out on a very public date. You’re the one resisting.”

I sigh. “It’s not because of you . I was just all over social media because I was seen out with Bodhi, and we both know what those comments said.

Can you imagine if another picture surfaced of me out with you?

Everybody would think I’m some sort of puck bunny.

I don’t feel like being called a whore again anytime soon. ”

His face darkens. “You won’t be. I’ll make damn sure of it.”

Oh damn. He’s using that husky, serious voice that goes right to my lady bits. Not fair. “I appreciate that, but you don’t control what people post online. The keyboard warriors always have something to say.”

“No, but I can control the narrative.” When he sees that I’m not backing down, he compromises.

“I know a place that’s private. The guys go there all the time.

It’s quiet. There’s a back entrance and a VIP section.

Go out with me, Olive. Don’t let those assholes win.

Do what you want to. Because I think you want to get dinner with me.

I think you want to do a hell of a lot more. ”

I don’t allow myself to blush. “What makes you so sure?”

His eyes spark. “Because you drove all this way to see me, and we both know it’s not just to make sure I’m resting. If anything, you’re probably going to help me do the exact opposite. Because you’ll be in my bed.”

Dear baby Jesus in a manger. Yep. Ovaries activated. “Maybe I plan on sleeping on the couch.”

He smirks. “Baby, we both know you’re not sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Goosebumps cover my arms.

And I don’t have the energy to deny any of it.

“One drink,” I relent. “And maybe an appetizer.”

“Dinner,” he negotiates, “and we split a bottle of wine. Your choice. Even that sweet white shit you love so much.”

Give yourself a chance.

My lips twitch upward. “It’s a date.”