Nepenthe (Bracing for Love #2) (11 page)

“What?” I was not expecting that at all.

“You said slow and steady, so we're starting small.”

Oh, God. This is going to take forever. “I don't have one. What's yours?”

“Marie.” She pauses. “When did you start playing football? And if we're going to do this, you have to answer the question and add another sentence at least. Otherwise, you'll only answer it and we won't get anywhere.”

Ugh. Why did I get myself into this mess? Might as well tell her. “As soon as I was old enough to play, my dad signed me up.” One more sentence, right? What do I want to say? This is harder than I thought it would be. I sigh and turn to lie on my back, Olivia resting an arm over my stomach and her chin on my chest, still watching me. “He used to tell me all the time that I'd be a huge star in the NFL one day.” It'll never happen now. That's always been his and my dream, and I'm lost without it. I've never done anything else, never had any other interests. I'm taking years upon years of work, dumping it in the trash, and starting over.

“I'm sure your parents know you're still going to be successful.” She's trying to be helpful, but she's not. It isn't her fault, though.

“My parents are dead.” My gaze is locked on the ceiling. I haven't said those words in a long, long time. I haven't had to. My parents aren't a topic I want to discuss. Thinking about them and being around my siblings on the anniversary of their death and funeral is enough. It's all I can handle even after all this time.

When we were younger, they would share memories and try to talk about them as much as possible. I didn't ever really join in, and now, I rarely mention them aloud. Jon was the one who noticed that I didn't when we were kids. Shortly after is when they stopped sharing their memories, I think. Still, I didn't have to talk about how I was doing. Everyone always asked about Lucy first, always spoke to her first, and then trickled down to the rest of us. Sometimes, people wouldn't even ask us about ourselves. Only about how Lucy was doing. My grandparents cared, but Lucy was the priority.

They told us we could talk to them about anything, that they were there for us, but no matter how much I wanted to run to them and say, “I want my parents back,” I couldn't do it. Things wouldn't have changed anyway. Maybe my siblings reached out to them, because sometimes they would change the subject when I walked in, but I don't know for sure. I couldn't do that myself. It was too hard.

I wanted to cry, but I didn't. And I always lied if someone ever asked me about me. All I could hear in my head was what my dad told me. He even had one of these talks with me a few days before they were killed. I can't remember what exactly caused him to give us the big-brother guidelines, but his words rang loud and clear in my head every time I felt like I wanted to break down in tears.

Be strong for her when she can't be.

Lucy wasn't able to be strong then, but I could show her by example that we could survive the death of our parents. Only, I wasn't surviving very well either. I didn't want to let her down, or my brothers, or my parents. I'm expecting Olivia to ask what happened, but she doesn't.

“Tell me about them, and your siblings, too. Just one or two things.”

This is torture and she's slowly killing me. I think about what I want to say before I do. “Luce is like the center and we revolve around her. From the moment she was born, my dad drilled into our heads what we were supposed to do as her big brothers. He would say, 'You have to help teach her to do these things on her own, but when she can't, that's where you and your brothers step in. You have to be strong for Lucy and protect her. You and your brothers have to take care of her and always be there for her. It's your job as her big brother.'

“After they died, she needed us. We'd all do absolutely anything for her without a second thought, and she'd do the same for us if we asked. So, there you go.” That was way more than I wanted to say, but now, we can move on to something else.

“Have you told them about being dropped this semester?” Olivia asks after a brief pause.

I glance at her. “No. My reasoning is sound, so don't even try.”

The fury spikes in her eyes. “What's your sound reasoning, then?”

“Didn't you just hear what I said? How can I be strong for Lucy if she's having to worry about me? I don't want any of them to worry at all. I'm the oldest, that's my job. They don't need to know and I don't want to tell them.” Maybe I will once I figure out what the hell I'm doing.

“You should tell them.”

“Well, I'm not. Next question.”

She performs her little analyzing stunt again. She doesn't ask anything, though. “Get up. I'll be right back.”

I do and she heads towards the bathroom. A deep, supposedly calming breath does nothing to make me feel better. Why in the hell did I say I would talk? Why?! When Olivia returns, I buy myself more time by going to the bathroom myself. She's in the kitchen cooking scrambled eggs once I come back.

“Where are your friends, Corey?” She jumps right into the interrogation.

“I don't have any. My friends were my teammates and once I was off the team, I didn't talk to them anymore.” I take a seat at the bar, feeling weird that she's cooking in my apartment.

“Yeah, but didn't you have like a close friend or two? You stopped talking to everyone?”

“Yep.” I feel bad about it sometimes. My closest friend was my teammate Jamal, and he tried for months to talk to me and hang out. Once I moved here, he stopped. I wasn't being a friend to him, or allowing him to be a friend to me, so our friendship ended. “Didn't want to be around them anymore. I wasn't one of them.”

“They're still your friends. You should try getting in touch with them again.” I send a quick glare her way. “What made you move here?” Smart move to change the subject, Olivia.

I laugh at the stupidity of my actions. “I thought it would help to be away from where everything ended, but it only made things worse. I didn't want what I lost being thrown in my face every day.”

She's quiet as she grabs a few slices of bread for an egg sandwich. I wouldn't be surprised if that mind of hers is jotting down notes. “What about a girlfriend?”

How much longer is this going to last? I rub my eyes, hoping I don't have another tear-fest like yesterday. “She dumped me after I was injured.”

Olivia places the sandwiches on the bar, grabs two bottles of water from my fridge, and sits down next to me. “Because you couldn't play anymore?”

“Thanks,” I say after taking a bite of the sandwich. “And not exactly.” Olivia has watched me fall apart, seen me cry for no reason, and has been on the receiving end of my angry outbursts. Now, I'm having to dig up my past that no one has ever seen and show her all the skeletons left behind. I don't know whether to hate her for it or myself for offering. Or, maybe I'm taking a small solace in the fact that she's someone I can tell these things to, even if it's a struggle.

“She's not like you,” I add. Olivia looks a bit surprised and then confused. “I mean, uh...” Shit. This is why I don't like talking, because the words never come across the way I intend them to, or they reveal too much truth. “She never pushed. That's what I mean. If I didn't want to do something, she dropped it. If I didn't talk to her for days, she took my excuse and accepted it. Afterwards, it didn't take long before she gave up on us and so did I.”

Olivia's voice is gentle as she speaks what I didn't. “You gave up on a lot of things.”

Thankfully, I'm looking at my empty plate and not her. “Yeah.”

And I did. Everything hurt so much that it seemed like the only option. Sometimes, it still feels like the only option. Anything pertaining to football, I stopped doing. My world stopped turning, positioning me on the dark side where the sun never gets to rise, and it seemed pointless to try and keep the broken pieces left of my life together. So, I gave up. I moved away. Neither made it easier.

Now, I've taken a baby step, just a little one, but I think my world moved an inch too. There's a sliver of light to be seen. It's only visible when I take a moment to stop and squint to search for it. It's better than nothing, I guess.

“Why did you kiss me that morning?” Olivia's question drags me from my thoughts as I turn in my seat to face her, my knees bumping into her thigh along the edge of the chair. “I'm curious. Why me? Why a kiss and not a hug? Why that morning? You haven't done it since. Not that I'm sure whether I want another or not, but I'm curious,” she finishes, repeating herself again. Olivia must really want an answer because she turns in her seat like I did, her knees between mine.

I've never had a girl ask me why I kissed her before. It's weird. I mean, I know I'm not chatty, but it can't be normal for her to ask me this. Knowing Olivia, a simple “I wanted to” won't suffice either. “I'm not sure this goes with your old-fashioned point of view,” I try to deflect.

She shrugs and gives me a little grin. “Sometimes, I get a little wild. It happens.”

Her response makes me laugh. Olivia doesn't seem like the type to get wild. Ever.

“You said you would talk,” she reminds me since I'm taking too long to answer. Her four fingers on her right hand rest on my knee.

With a deep breath, I close my eyes, trying to visualize that morning in my head. It feels like forever ago. I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. This feels more intimate than the other things I've shared with her today. Like I'm not just showing her the skeletons, I'm letting her get a closer look to fully examine them and discover what happened. Her fingers wrap around my wrist, tugging my hand away and causing me to open my eyes. Don't get me wrong here, I hate her pushing most of the time, but her waiting until I'm ready freaks me out even more.

“I wanted to,” I say first, just in case my words manage to twist themselves into something she doesn't approve of. “I woke up feeling good, like things could be better. There's a chance that won't ever happen again, so I took it while I could. While I felt like I could, while I still wanted to. Is that enough for now?” Why am I asking her? I offered to do this, so I should be able to say when I stop. Still, I wait for her answer.

She's watching and thinking. Her mouth parts, like she wants to ask me something.
Please don't
, I silently beg. She nods. “Yeah. Thanks, Corey.” Olivia leans over, placing a soft, short kiss on my lips. “How about I give you a haircut and then we go out like we were supposed to yesterday?”

“Can't we stay here?” I don't feel like leaving, especially if I have to go see Dr. Stewart later.

“No. The point of me asking was to get out of the apartment. It won't be terrible, I promise.”

I stare at her for a moment. “What are we going to do?”

Olivia sighs. “You don't need to plan this out. C'mon. Live a little, Corey.”

Live a little? Doesn't she know living makes me tired? I know what she means, though. She doesn't mean live as in the ordinary, day-to-day stuff. She means going out on a limb, trying new things, and breathing in life instead of always breathing it out.

“Fine, but don't get used to it.”

She grins. “I'll be right back, then.” Olivia disappears out my door to run across the hall.

Time with Olivia and a doctor's appointment all in one day? This will either turn out really great or like shit.

SHE RETURNS A few minutes later after I've washed our dishes. When I turn around, she's holding a towel and a little kit.

“This isn't my first time cutting a guy's hair,” she explains. I guess she means her brother. “Come sit.” I do and for the first few minutes, I cherish the silence, the feel of her hands in my hair, the snipping of the scissors and the buzzing of the razor. “Hey, were you still going to find a second job?”

“I probably should.”

“Well, I may have one for you, if you're interested. You're going to have to be able to make the commitment, though.”

Uh-oh. What is she thinking? Commitments aren't something I particularly want to make during a time when getting out of bed is hard to do sometimes. “What is it?” I ask anyway.

“My uncle is a carpenter and he's about to start a remodeling project for a client. He would be willing to bring you on as like an apprentice. You can work with him, learn how to do stuff, and maybe even enjoy it. He does all kinds of things, so it could be fun. You'd start next week if you want to do it. Though, you would have to meet him first.”

Carpentry? My dad was a carpenter too, but he never got the chance to pass that on to us. All I know is football and being a bouncer at a club.

“He would teach you everything. A lot of skills that would last a lifetime no matter what you end up doing,” Olivia adds, definitely trying to sell me on this. “All you have to do is go in, work hard, and come home. You work, you get paid. You'll make enough you could quit the other job if you wanted. But if you don't work, you don't make money. Plus, as long as you can nod in understanding and don't have any questions, you won't even have to carry on conversations with anyone.”

I'm sold.

Surely I can do that. Maybe it would be cool to experience what my dad did, too. Olivia places her tools on the counter and removes the towel around my shoulders.