Jerkbait (21 page)

38

O
ur rooms looked almost normal. Mine still had a patch in the ceiling where the fan was, and the bunk bed was still there. The window in Robbie’s was still sealed shut. The desks were returned, along with our computers. Even the staplers.

I turned over on the bottom bunk. I finally had my room to myself again, and suddenly it felt too big. Was it possible to get claustrophobic in reverse? This was our first night at home since Jimmy’s, and I wasn’t afraid, exactly, just . . .

Okay.

A little afraid. Jimmy’s dead face. Red on the white snow.

I pulled the sheets over my shoulders. Stuffed them back down a minute later. I sighed and heard,
Can’t sleep either?
in my head.

I turned. Robbie stood in the shadow of my doorway, silently closing the door behind him. He didn’t say a word as he moved to the edge of my bed. I scooted over and lifted the covers. He climbed in beside me and we shifted around, attempting to fit both of us on the single mattress, which was only mildly successful. Robbie muttered something about me taking it easy on the Twinkies. We shook with silent laughter, side by side, long enough to know it was about more than Twinkies. “Tomorrow,” Robbie whispered, “I’ll take the top bunk.”

Tomorrow.

I sighed. We drifted into silence, our breaths syncing.
“Are you going to call any of those groups?”

I’d driven Robbie to his first therapy session today and he’d come out armed with pamphlets for organizations like You Can Play and The Trevor Project. He hadn’t exactly been enthusiastic about them.

“I’m not sure they’re for me,” he muttered.

“Um, one’s for gay athletes.” You Can Play was perfect for my brother, and we’d all seen the NHL commercials, different players stating their acceptance and welcoming of LGBT athletes in professional sports. “Of course, they’re for you.”

“Yeah, but . . .” Robbie’s voice trailed off. “It doesn’t matter. Not like they’re going to do anything. Probably shouldn’t even bother with therapy.”

“
You were looking forward to it.”

“Yeah, but I don’t feel any better.”

“You had
one
session. It’s not an overnight thing.”

“How would you know? You’ve never gone.”

I said nothing, and took my own advice.
It’s not an overnight thing.

I needed to do something to help. I wasn’t sure what I could do that would make a difference, but I was no longer willing to sit back, passively, waiting for something to happen. As much as I wanted to be my brother’s anchor, I knew I couldn’t be the only one helping him. He needed a whole support system.

And maybe that was why I dug out my cell and sent the text.

39

I
skated next to Robbie at the pond. We wore our gloves and carried sticks, passing a puck between us. It was the only way I could get him to say yes to going out. It hadn’t been a full week, but Robbie wasn’t getting better. He was getting worse, the light in his eyes dimmer, his desire emptier.

“Did you call any of those groups?” I asked as we cut across the ice to change direction, flipping the puck on my stick like a pancake. Before it could reconnect with the tape on my stick, Robbie’s stick snaked above mine and stole the puck.

“No.”

“This afternoon, then?”

“Lay off it,” Robbie said firmly, picking up the pace in a silent challenge for a one-on-one. I hustled to catch up to him. I only made a few laps before I stopped, hands pressed on my thighs, panting.

“You okay?” Robbie asked, stopping before me.

I nodded before getting out a yes. I stood upright as a car pulled up to the edge of the pond next to mine.

With the sun’s glare on the snow, I could make out the shadowed outline the figure getting out of the driver’s side, rooting in the backseat for gear. I held my breath as I looked at Robbie, who was stock still, then back to the figure leaving the car, picking his way on the ice carefully before pushing off and skating toward my brother.

I kept a close distance. Robbie didn’t move until Raiden faced us.

“The hell do you want?” Robbie asked, tone sharper than I thought it would be. My chest tightened—what if I screwed up again? What if texting Raiden was the last thing Robbie needed, not the thing he needed most?

I’d never seen Raiden so silent around my brother. He didn’t utter a word, not a snarky comment or a stupid joke. Not even a quote from
Happy Gilmore.

“I said, what do you want?” Robbie growled. He drew up his stick in both hands, shoving it against Raiden’s chest to push him back on the ice. A show of assertion in the hockey world. A statement if a referee made the wrong call.

I guess I was the referee. And judging by Robbie’s stance, I made the wrong call. Or text, rather.

Raiden took a step back, and Robbie used his stick to give him another hard shove. That time, instinct kicked in and Raiden pushed Robbie, hard. Before I could blink, their sticks and gloves were on the ice. Robbie lunged toward Raiden. They gripped each other’s collars, holding each other at a distance as they swung, sometimes catching part of the other’s jaw with their bare knuckles. Their bodies careened from side-to-side until they toppled to the ground, Raiden on top of my brother. Robbie’s body became limp as he released his hold on Raiden’s coat and covered his face. I could hear his muffled cries.

Before I could skate forward to assess the situation, Raiden got to his knees. Straddled over my brother, he pried Robbie’s hands away from his face and leaned down, whispering something I couldn’t hear. He rested his forehead against Robbie’s, murmuring something again. His shoulders quaked, then his head dropped, closing the gap between them as he kissed my twin, long, careful, and slow.

I watched them on the ice, kissing under the morning sun. No one else in the world but them. When my brother’s arms wrapped around Raiden’s shoulders, I took my cue.

I skated off the ice as silently as I could, started my car, and backed out of the parking lot.

On the highway, I flickered on the lights as I drove home solo in the morning snow. Raiden couldn’t cure my brother’s depression, but he could help give him the strength to keep going, keep trying to get help. As I parked my car, sun broke through the heavy clouds. Peeking through the snow were a dozen crocus buds. The end of our winter gave way to hope, and I’d never felt so light, so connected, so strong.

EPILOGUE

I
stood in the wings waiting for “Cold Feets.” Opening night. I was floating; I was where I belonged. There was no nausea, no pounding heart, no constriction around my throat. There was nothing to be afraid of when nothing could match what I felt the night Robbie was taken, or Jimmy’s dead body in the snow.

From the wings, I scanned the audience as Heather belted out “Show Off.” Really, it was a perfect role for her. I could admit that even though we’d refused to talk outside of rehearsal, only interacting for our numbers. It almost wasn’t fair that she hadn’t paid for what she did, but I guess that’s showbiz.

My eyes sorted through the crowd. Mom and Dad were in the first row, dead center. Before I could find my brother, I was tapped on the shoulder by Cade, the guy playing George.

I nodded and slipped to the side of the stage, waiting for my cue. As soon as the stage darkened just enough, the attention on the Man in Chair, I slipped behind an open frame that was supposed to be a mirror. The second I came into full sight, pulling into my toothpaste commercial grin, the theatre erupted so loudly, the Man in Chair had to pause before his monologue. As my eyes adjusted to the bright lights, I could make out not only my parents in the first row, but the hockey team taking up the next few rows near them, screaming and hollering their support. Robbie was welcomed back to the team and basically won them the playoffs, but he gave me his trophy, saying it was really mine. He sat by Raiden, smiling and whispering something in his ear. Their hands were beneath the armrest that separated them. I imagined their pinkies were linked.

I slipped into “Cold Feets,” spurred by the crowd’s energy. I tapped clean and quick, not faltering on the tricky steps as Cade joined me for our short duet. We finished to thunderous applause.

I was
ready to leave the theatre with Keisha when a voice drew my attention.

“Tristan.”

Without looking, I knew who it was. So did Keisha.

“I’ll catch you outside. Tell my parents I’ll be out in a few,” I told Keisha, giving her a quick kiss before I turned back. I shoved my hands in my pockets and walked backstage. “What do you want?”

Heather stood hugging her sides, trying to force eye contact. “Just thought we should talk.”

“Oh, really? Because I got more applause than you?”

Heather twitched. “Just thought you should know that Durrell and I aren’t a couple anymore.”

“What a shocker.”

“He broke up with me.”

“Shocker.”

“Tristan, don’t,” Heather said in that tone that used to make me crumble. I pursed my lips together so I wouldn’t fall back into my old habits of apology.
She continued, “I wish I could give you a good reason as to why I did what I did. I just . . . I messed up. Big time.” She looked me in the eye, biting her lip. Heather was a good actor, but I’d helped her with enough lines to know it
was
acting. I just couldn’t figure out what she wanted. “I mean, you’re my best friend and I was horrible to you. It like, wasn’t even me. And I know I don’t deserve it but Tristan, I am
so
sorry.”

She touched my cheek with her cold fingers. “Let’s go back to the way it was. Our sleepovers, practicing choreography. Maybe what should have been.”

Then, without warning, she leaned in and pressed her lips against mine. My chest got tight with the kiss, but this time it wasn’t from affection or wanting. This time, it was from disgust. I pushed her back.

“Don’t touch me,” I said. “I’m with Keisha.”

“But isn’t this what you want? What you always wanted?”

“No, actually,” I said. “I want Keisha.”

Heather’s face twisted up. It still didn’t seem quite sincere. “Why can’t you just forgive me?” she pleaded. “I need you. You’re my best friend. I
need
you to work with me. Backstage, onstage, we could be a dynamite couple.”

I touched my lips and looked at Heather. For a moment, she looked sweet and kind, the way Heather did for our four years of our friendship. For a moment, I wondered whether it was just in my head, whether she really was acting.

But then I thought about the weeks of cruelty. About Robbie’s second and third suicide attempts. About Heather turning Durrell on me, turning the team on me. Thought about the way she got the guys to destroy my locker, betrayed my confidence, made Robbie decide to out himself before he was ready to—just so he could right her wrong, just so he could protect me.

I took a deep breath, and stepped away from her. Shook my head. “I’m sorry, Heather. I don’t think I can.”

“Tristan—”

She extended her arms to me, but I turned my back to her and walked toward the stage door.

“Tristan!” Heather’s desperate plea was accompanied by sobbing. I hesitated. I considered turning back, about saying,
“Okay I forgive you, but this is your last chance.”
I lingered, shifting my weight from side to side
before I saw him.

I don’t know how he got backstage, but there was my twin, standing maybe twenty feet from me, congratulatory flowers clutched in one hand. He stood still, but in my head, I could see him shaking, scared, waiting for something, for me. Like he wanted to protect me but still needed some sort of protection. It would be a long road to recovery, but now, instead of going alone, Robbie was looking for someone to guide him through dangerous territory. More specifically, he was looking for
me
. I was younger than him by fourteen minutes, but I was his hero. I was team captain. Robbie looked up to me. Always did, but I was too jealous to realize it until now. Robbie wanted me to lead him through life, and I was okay with that. I’d stay by his side, not from obligation, but respect, love. I’d be there when Robbie came to me in the night. When he would cry, I would pull him close to me, hum a little in his ear, sing something from a musical I liked. I would be there for the good times, blanket pulled over our heads as he’d whisper about
real
kisses and Raiden. I’d be there for him at draft day, squeezing his hand as each GM would make their selection until his name was called. I would go to his playoff games and scream louder than anyone when he scored or got an assist, or got in a fight with anyone who dared call him “queer.” I would be there for him when the trial about Jimmy came up, testifying the truth, letting the world know how good a person Robbie was, how scared we were, how we almost died.

I would be his best friend, his brother, his twin.

My fists bunched up. I looked over my shoulder. Heather stood waiting, begging me to turn back the clock, to go back to the time when we were the only people who mattered in our own world of musicals and fan-fiction and pretending we were someone else. That we were the only two people in the world that mattered.

Slowly, I approached Robbie. I felt like I was dragging something heavy with each step.

Is everything okay?
he asked without speaking out loud.

I looked over my shoulder once more; Heather was still standing in the wings, waiting, watching.

Yeah, it’s fine.

Together, we walked to the stage door. Outside, our friends and family and castmates would be waiting. The whole hockey team and our parents. Raiden. Keisha.

I put my hand on the door, then hesitated.

You don’t have to
, Robbie said in my head.

I know,
I thought, before I pulled it open. Robbie stepped out into the cheers first, leaving me to close Heather and the memories of the nothing Robbie and I used to be out of our lives.