Page 70 of Body Check
Before he can get a swing in, Deano clamps a hand on his arm. Mickey’s fuming, but the last thing we need is to start a bloodbath in here and have Coach catch us.
He shrugs out of Dean’s hold and gets right in my face. “Stay the fuck away from my sister. Are we clear?”
I should walk away, but I can’t. “No, we’re not clear. I’ve got shit going on right now, but it’s got nothing to do with Bridgette.”
“Then what is it?” he yells. “What’s such a big fucking deal that you broke Birdie’s heart?”
“I didn’t—it’s not Bridgette. She’s perfect—I…I’ve got shit going on right now and I need you to get out of my face before I lose my shit.”
But Mickey is relentless. The guy is a dog with a bone. He just can’t leave it alone. “You’ve got shit going on?” he says. “Join the fucking club. We all do. My sister’s dealt with her share, so what makes you so fucking special that you can throw a damn tantrum just because you have a bad day?”
Something in his words sets me off and I lose it, right there in the middle of the damn weight room, the one that’s lined with glass windows, the one Blue and I used on our first day here. “I’m not having a bad fucking day, you asshole. I’m not throwing a tantrum. My dad—” I choke on the last word.
The whole room goes silent.
“Your dad?” Blue asks. “Papa Wagner’s fine. He had a concussion, but you said he was doing better.”
“We thought he was. We were wrong. I went over there to do some stuff for my mom, and as soon as I turned into the neighborhood, I found him wandering into the street. He didn’t recognize me, had no clue where he was.” I’m sure all the guys are looking at me, but I’m just looking at Blue. “It’s dementia. Early-onset. He’s too fucking young for this to happen, but it’s happening anyway. We just found out. I mean, there were signs, but I didn’t want to see them.”
My best friend looks as broken as I feel. He wraps me in a bear hug, and though I’m not the touchy-feely type, I hug him right back.
I look around the room, and the guys’ faces are all solemn, even Mickey’s. Ollie claps me on the back. “We’re here for you, Wagner. Whatever you need, we’ve got you.”
What I need is to wake up from this nightmare, but that isn’t going to happen. I also need to talk to Bridgette and apologize, if she’ll even talk to me. I hop back onto the treadmill because I’vegot to get my workout in. And even I know the world doesn’t stop spinning just because my little corner of it is falling apart.
For the second time today, Mickey walks up to my treadmill, but he’s not angry this time. “Jesus, Wagner,” he says, his voice full of defeat. “I’m sorry. I?—”
“She was crying?” I ask, feeling sick about the fight we had. “I’m such an asshole.”
Mickey nods. “She was pretty wrecked, but that’s because she loves you. You need to let her know what’s going on, you need to lean on her.”
I can’t do anything but nod, because for once, I agree with every word Mickey said.
33
Bridget
When my no-show from this morning wanted to reschedule for tonight, I was happy for the distraction. I’ve been a mess since my fight with Dutton, so it felt good to channel all that restless energy into a cut and color.
But now that I’m finished, I’m back in my feelings. I wave goodbye to Tara and Sophie and tell them I’ll see them tomorrow. The fall air is crisp, and I wrap my jacket around me as I walk toward my dorm.
But I don’t make it very far before I see Dutton leaning against his SUV. “Can I give you a ride?” he asks, his voice soft.
Maybe I should say no, but the misery on his face matches the misery on mine, so there’s only one answer.
He opens the door for me before rounding the car and settling himself in. He drives us to campus and parks in the lot next to my dorm. “You didn’t deserve the way I treated you today,” he says. “I want to apologize and explain, if you’ll let me.”
We walk the familiar path together, key into my building, and walk the flight of stairs up to my room. We’ve made this trip a hundred times, but we’re quieter tonight, disconnected. I hatethis fractured feeling, so when we’re on the other side of my door and Dutton opens his arms to me, I fall into his embrace.
There’s so much we need to talk through, so much he has to explain. But for right now, it feels good to be back in his arms. I sit on the edge of my bed and he takes the chair in the corner of the room. I miss our connection already, but I need a clear head if I’m going to listen to what he has to say.
Dutton’s quiet for a minute, and I study his face. He looks defeated and I want to reach for him so badly. But then he starts talking, and all I can do is listen.
“My dad was in a car accident this summer. The investigator said he hydroplaned and hit a tree. His car—a convertible that he treated like a precious little baby—was totaled. My dad survived with just some bruises, but he also had a concussion. The problem is, it never really went away. The doctors kept telling us to give it time, but we’ve run out of time, and he’s just getting worse.”
Dutton tells me about finding his dad in the street yesterday, about the neurology appointment, about the diagnosis. I hate that he’s been going through all of this alone. And I feel stupid and selfish for a moment that I dragged him into my family drama, all while he was dealing with much more serious stuff.
“I didn’t want you to see him like this,” he tells me, his voice breaking. “I didn’t want it to be real. Hell, I didn’t even tell Blue what was going on. I just couldn’t face it. I have to, and I will, but fuck…”
