Page 106 of Sweat

“Tommy?” His voice is small, rough like gravel, and emoting that sleepy sort of confusion like I just woke him from a long sleep.

“Hey, buddy,” I meekly coo, like he’s Mav after a nightmare.

“What’re you doing here?” he rasps.

“I’m here to see you. You weren’t at practice today, so I came to make sure you’re okay. Are you okay?”

After a beat, Rowan grumbles, “What day is it?”

“Monday. Four in the afternoon.”

A low, groggy groan rumbles quietly from Rowan’s chest. He’s smells like he hasn’t showered since Davis, and his dreary face looks like he hasn’t shaved since that morning either.

“Let’s get you out from under there, okay? Can you move?”

When Rowan doesn’t answer for a while, I look up to where Matt lingers fearfully in the doorway. He pushes his hair back, then comes over to help.

With a lot of coaxing and some tugging, Matt and I squirm Rowan out from his hidey-hole. In only a rumpled t-shirt and boxer briefs, Rowan drops his butt to the bed, and Matt grips him by the shoulders to keep him sitting upright.

“Rowan.” Matt shakes Rowan a little. “Did you take anything?”

Rowan’s head shakes.

“Did something happen?”

Lightheaded from how infrequently my lungs have taken breath, I watch in worry and guilt, expecting Rowan to say this is all my fault. Isn’t it? I fucked up, and now I fucked him up. I broke him, and as selfish as it is, I don’t want Matt to know this is my fault.

Rowan nods, and I gulp.

“What happened?” Matt asks. “Did someone hurt you?”

When Rowan’s eyes flit to me, I want nothing more than to burrow myself under that bed and never come out. But then he looks back to Matt and mumbles, “My mom showed up in Davis. My real mom.”

After an achingly long time, Matt murmurs an, “Okay,” pats Rowan gently on his bicep, then stands and asks me if I’m planning to stay.

Takes me a few blinks to process the question. I have that class, but I still don’t care about it. I don’t know what good I’ll do here, or if Rowan even wants me here, but I can’t leave. The thought never crosses my mind to go.

I nod, and Matt sidles past me and out the door.

“Wait.” I chase after him and catch up as he’s crossing the threshold into the backyard. “Where are you going?”

“Need to take care of some things,” he says, much too casual for my comfort.

“He missed practice without calling Coach. He missed his classes—”

“I’ll take care of it. I’m a dad, Tommy. I know how to handle this stuff. Just stay with Rowan and make sure he’s okay. If you need anything, I’ll be in the house. The backdoor’s unlocked.”

As confused as I am anxious, I find a pack of room temp water bottles on top of the dryer and take one into Rowan’s room.

He’s slouched forward, face between his knees and his hands behind his head, like he’s suffering motion sickness on a turbulent plane.

“Hey, hey, hey,” I murmur, uncapping the bottle and lifting Rowan upright. “Drink this, okay?”

He doesn’t speak, but he parts his lips when I touch the rim of the bottle to them. With a slight tilt of his head back, he drinks.

“I’ve been so worried about you,” I say. “Is your phone off?”

He doesn’t answer, just hands me the bottle. I cap it, set it aside, and in the time it takes me to turn back around, Rowanis standing. His arms open, and I walk into them to cradle him to my chest.

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