Page 5 of Project: FU (Longwood U #3)

TAVIS DAVENPORT

I glance up as I’m tying my laces. At this height, I can see the picture frame perfectly. A picture of me and Rachel when we were eleven. Our arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, and big, dirty smiles on our faces. She has a smudge of mud across her forehead. My entire neck is caked in mud.

The picture never fails to make me smile. I sit up, staring at the picture. At two people who were absolutely best friends from the second they met. Kids who made mistakes and laughed about them.

Then made bigger mistakes. Made sacrifices for those mistakes.

In the process, the friendship they shared for so long just… faded away. That happens when you have four crying children under six, no money, and life weighing on your shoulders as you struggle between happiness and doing what’s ‘ right .’

I get to my feet and look around the bedroom.

My bedroom. In the guest room where I’ve been since Orion moved out three years ago.

We were lucky enough to buy a four-bedroom house with room to grow.

It allowed us to build a room in the basement for Orion when he was a teenager to allow him and Skye some privacy.

When Orion moved out, Kelsey moved to the basement, and we redecorated her bedroom, turning it into the guest room we’d never had room for. A guest room that Rachel and I both knew wouldn’t see any guests because I was moving into it.

It finally gave us room to have our own space. Which might have been counterproductive for a marriage that’s long since fallen into nothing more than roommates who barely talk to each other. As soon as there was a bed in the room, that’s where I began sleeping.

For the first time in years, I slept all night. I found peace in my sleep.

Rachel is a perfectly considerate bed partner, but maybe a decade ago, we stopped pretending we were happy. We stopped fighting a relationship that we never really committed to. Never truly wanted.

I think we’re both much happier with me in the spare room.

Except that neither of us is happy. We may have silently agreed without putting it into words that this isn’t working, but we’re still at a standstill. Two lives on hold.

Hell, I’m going to a second job I don’t need just to get out of the house! To get away from a life I no longer feel comfortable in. A life that’s felt like a lie a little more every year that passes, and we’re stuck in this empty routine.

I think the moment I truly felt the shift was when Orion moved out. A part of me knows that Rachel and I put every effort into making something work that we didn’t care about for our family. Our kids. We wanted to give them a happy, stable home. Every decision we made was to ensure that.

Orion moving out was the ‘ aha ’ moment, telling us that our kids are grown now. They don’t need the things they once did.

My oldest child leaving also drove a stake into my heart. Dramatic, right? My very first baby was a grown man and moving out. It hurt. It was right and I’m so damn proud of him. I’m proud of Rachel and I, too, for raising such an amazing young man.

That doesn’t mean watching him grow up and no longer need me doesn’t hurt.

I’m close to my children. Some more than others. My boys, specifically. Hannah, too, to some degree. Especially when she was younger. I believe at some point, Hannah and I will be close again, but right now, she’s a teenager, and being close to your father isn’t ‘ cool .’

I get it. I’m still not close with my parents after more than forty years of life.

Which might be why I made such a concentrated effort to develop a solid relationship with my kids. Orion and Skye shared my love of hockey from a young age, which might have given our relationship a nudge in the right direction. We had something to bond over.

That bond simply grew as they got older. They always wanted to share things with me, and I’m fortunate that they still do. Orion lives close to campus, and he stops by constantly to meet me and Skye for lunch. He still takes classes, too.

Skye attends the school where I work, and we ride to school and home together every day. He has a car, but he chooses to drive with me unless he has a specific reason not to.

It means a lot to have them in my life still. To still see them and talk to them as we always have.

My fourth child, my oldest daughter and second chronologically, is a different breed altogether.

Filled with drama and arrogance, a complete lack of regard for those around her.

I remember her throwing a fit when she was eight because she wasn’t picked up by the Class-A cheer team.

Rachel and I exchanged a look as she literally screamed in the middle of the announcement ceremony, thinking, Who did she get that from?

It didn’t matter that the other girls had better skills than her. It didn’t matter that they tried harder, practiced more often, and deserved the spots. Kelsey wanted to be on one of those teams, and therefore, her lack of skill and effort in honing those skills didn’t matter.

That was the first time I was embarrassed by one of my children.

In fact, the few times my children’s behavior has embarrassed me have all been Kelsey’s.

Over the years, Rachel and I wondered what we’d done differently when raising her than we did with Orion, Skye, and Hannah.

It’s difficult to believe that it’s all simply an individual personality.

So many behaviors are taught, learned, and a product of their environment, so what the hell had we done wrong?

We’ve since stopped asking ourselves this question. Kelsey is an adult now. A spoiled, self-centered adult, but an adult all the same. It’s time for her to fight the consequences of her own actions.

Such as getting in a fight and coming home with a bloody nose.

I think we’ve all come to the conclusion over the years that whatever story she tells has only a smidgen of truth in it.

For instance, ‘ Nolan’s slutty sidepiece hit me ’ is likely not what actually happened.

In fact, the only part of her attestation that might have some truth is that whoever hit her has some connection to Nolan.

I’m bummed they’re no longer together. I liked Nolan.

I loved it when he hung around the house.

He’s the very first person Kelsey has ever brought home—friends included—who we’ve all liked as a family.

He got along well with Kelsey’s siblings.

He could talk hockey with me easily. He cooked with Rachel.

The more time he spent here, the more we got to know him, and the more I think we all fell in love with his personality. He’s a fun, loving, easy-going guy.

In my secret heart of hearts, I wondered what he saw in my daughter. I’ve always had this fear that she was going to eat him up and spit him out. While I don’t know exactly what happened there, I have no doubt that Kelsey is somehow at least partially to blame for the falling out.

I rest my hand on the picture frame, holding the memory of me and my childhood best friend for just a second before leaving the spare room.

I know Skye and Hannah are aware I sleep in there.

They’re not blind. I was moving my clothes into the closet when Skye came home one day.

He stood in the hall and watched me for a minute before helping me, all while talking about a class.

Maybe pretending he wasn’t helping his father move out of the room he shared with his mother. Maybe in silent support. Maybe just to spend time with me. I don’t know.

I tap on Skye’s door, and it opens a second later. He smiles, his curly hair so much like his mother’s. I know genetics don’t work this way, but I think his eyes are a combination of Rachel’s blue and my brown. They’re unique. Beautiful.

“I’m heading to the bar. You need anything?”

Skye shakes his head. “No.”

“Staying in tonight?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Probably.”

I grip the back of his neck and kiss his forehead. The right side of his mouth rises a little higher than the left as he gives me a crooked, somewhat amused smile. “Love you, kid.”

“Love you, Dad.”

I have good kids. I’ve always thought so. My three angels balance out the one hellion. I believe Kelsey is good at heart, too. Or at least, I think she has the potential to be good. In the end, I think she’ll mellow out and become a good person.

How much am I trying to convince myself of this and how much of me believes it?

I tap Skye’s chest as I turn for the stairs. I used to stay home to hang out with my kids after coaching at the college, but between school activities and homework, the nights when they’d not come out of their rooms were getting far more frequent. Which left me in silence with Rachel.

When did we run out of things to talk about?

I stop in the kitchen where Rachel is preparing dinner. “I’m heading to the bar.”

She looks up and nods. “Okay.”

I stare at her for a minute. There’s so much to say and yet the words don’t form.

I’m not sure what I want to say, though I know that one of us needs to begin the conversation.

We deserve to break free of this prison we’ve let ourselves become trapped in.

We’re young. There’s still time to find a happy ending.

“What?” Rachel asks.

My mouth opens, but words just don’t come out. I sigh and shake my head. “I don’t know. Something.”

She gives me a smile. Not a happy one. Not a sad one. It’s understanding. “I know, Tavis. I know.”

I nod. “I’ll be home late.”

She nods in response instead of telling me she knows again.

With nothing else to say, I head for the door.

Most nights when I work at the bar, I walk. We live in a pretty small college town. It’s expanding all the time, which I really love. Longwood U is a remarkable school and I’m so proud to be a part of it. More and more people are coming to the area, and the community is really building up.

But because we got in early—and with a little boost from my investments from my NHL days—we scored a house close to campus and downtown.

I’m within walking distance to most places.

While Skye and I usually drive to campus, I tend to do so to make sure we have a vehicle should one of us need something during the day. It’s only a ten-minute walk.

With traffic lights, an abundance of crosswalks filled with people going to/from work and school, it takes us longer to drive to campus than it does to walk. I don’t think either of us minds it, though. It gives us time to catch up every morning and afternoon.

The bar is a sixteen-minute walk, which I appreciate. It’s close to campus, so there’s always an abundance of college kids. There are always those who try to drink illegally, but I think most come to let loose and find a good time.

Longwood U is a medium-sized campus, always growing little by little. But it’s a good, quiet, inclusive campus. There’s not a lot of drama. Not a lot of negativity. Not a lot of headlines. It’s what I always imagine a world moving toward peace and leaving hate behind would look like.

Even better, our sports department is getting stronger.

I was happy to come on board a few years ago, as they were getting ready to introduce a new hockey team.

I didn’t start as a coach, but as a consultant.

However, it wasn’t long before I decided I really wanted to give college coaching a try, and the coach at the time, who only lasted eight months, had just resigned.

I’ve always loved coaching. It just makes me happy.

I love the sport and helping to shape guys who are also passionate about it.

There’s nothing that makes me prouder than seeing one of my hockey guys become proud of the player they are.

Whether that’s a particular goal they’ve been trying to hit, a record they wanted to break, a personal achievement they wanted to reach, the coveted Stanley Cup, or something else.

Their pride in their skills, in their game, is what keeps me coaching.

On nights that I don’t have practice or games, I tend to pick up shifts at the local bar—Hoola. Home just doesn’t feel comfortable anymore. It doesn’t really feel like home. It’s no one’s fault. Not really.

If anything, the blame is on Rachel and me. This isn’t one-sided by any means. Yet neither of us seems to be in a hurry to have a conversation we know is going to disrupt all our lives. There’s comfort in routine. Familiarity. Even if we’re not happy with it any longer.

It’s not forever. But I suppose neither of us is in a hurry for change. There’s nothing driving us to make that change happen. I suppose that’s why we’re content to keep the status quo.

Unless something pushes one of us for a change, I have a feeling we’re going to be living with ghosts of the past and life’s could-be’s as roommates while our children grow up and move away.

Maybe that’s the nudge we’re waiting for. An empty nest.

I push the bar door open with a sigh. At least for now, I can entertain myself with the amusement of drunk college kids trying to remember how to flirt after a drink or two.