Page 27 of A False Start
A strangled groan erupts out of my throat. But I say nothing. Nadia’s head rests against the glass of the passenger side window and the words are flowing. Saying anything now would just be an interruption.
“Eventually Stefan went off to college. And then he never came back anymore. That’s when my mom started drinking. I’m pretty sure he was her favorite—her reminder of a happier time in her life. Me? I was just a reminder of the monster she was locked in that fucking house with. From what I gather, she had a lot going for her before she met him. Plans. Dreams. And then, it all just went out the window. I don’t actually know though because I never really got to know her.”
Horror washes over me. I spend an awful lot of energy feeling sorry for myself, and suddenly I feel like I have no right to that level of self-pity.
How can I feel bad for myself when Nadia has been throughthat?
She continues before I can say anything. Her stream of consciousness completely unfettered. “I think she became boring for him to beat up when she was passed out. So, eventually I became the new target. It happened the first time when I was fourteen. That’s when I decided I would never be his victim. I would never beher. And I started staying at other people’s houses because it was preferable to staying at my own.”
“Where would you stay?”
“It started out with girlfriends. Ended up with boyfriends.” Her voice is detached, in a faraway place. “For a few years there at the end, it was...a lot of boys.”
My heart clenches thinking of someone so young and impressionable with no direction. No support. No love.
“Did your parents wonder where you were?”
She snorts.
It’s almost cruel to not grab her hand, to lend a gentle touch to her after the way she just sliced herself open for me. But I also know that keeping my hands off her is in everyone’s best interest.
So instead, I fill the space with a confession of my own.
“I didn’t always have a stutter, you know.” I slur the wordstuttera bit. It always trips me up. It seems cruel to have made that word have so many hardtsounds. I’d like to kick whoever came up with that square in the balls.
Her head whips to me, ripped right out of the memories she’s been immersed in for the last several minutes. “Really?”
I nod.
“How?”
“I used to play pro football. I was a two-time Superbowl champion. A Ruby Creek sensation.” My ensuing chuckle is laced with disappointment. I didn’t just let myself down with my spiral—I let a whole town down.
She nods eagerly, entire body turning toward me, hanging on every word. “I lived for football. Spent my life on the road, chasing wins, partying, and fucking every girl I could.”
I chance a look her way. Her throat bobs with a thick swallow, pink staining her cheeks.
“A simple play went wrong. I failed to attach my chin strap, and when I got sacked, I went down hard. And my helmet went flying.” I groan at the mere memory of how young and stupid I’d been.
“Oh shit.” Her nose scrunches up. She’s adorable. So enthralled inme.
“And all I remember is waking up in the hospital. My body was fine, brain not so much. Concussed as fuck. Spent a couple of weeks there. Probably took a few years off my parents’ lives in the process.”
“That must have been terrifying for them.”
I just nod. I don’t like to think about how hard I’ve been on my parents. I’ve been terrifying them since I was a kid, I’m sure. But these last several years have really taken the cake. Their only boy, spiraling while they stand back, powerless to help.
“Apparently, with some brain injuries, there can be the onset of a stutter. Sometimes it’s short-lived; in other instances it sticks around.” I shrug. “I’m almost certain there’s a mental aspect to it as well. It’s always thek’s andt’s that get me.”
“What do you mean?” Her head tilts, curiosity lacing her tone.
“Like...sometimes I overthink it, and then it’s worse. Stress and pressure make it worse. Some days are just better than others.”
“Is today a good day?” Her voice is lilting and soft, and I can’t help but turn my attention over to her beautiful face. All warm golden tones and chocolate fondue eyes.
“Why?” My voice comes out more gravelly than I intend.
Her tongue darts out over her bottom lip, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You’ve used words that begin with both those sounds in the last few minutes with no problem.”
