Other Broken Things (20 page)

Found Joe. With him now. He's been with his sponsor. He's sober, but exhausted.

Should I come over?

Give me some time. We need to work some stuff out. Can you call my mom?

What's he doing now?

Sleeping.

Fine. I'll call her. Text me when he's awake. And don't fuck this up.

For a second I'm breathless. The reality of the situation comes crashing down on me along with an almost unbearable weight of responsibility. This is the hard stuff and I'm diving in headfirst. And Kathy isn't intervening. She's letting me go. Letting me fix this. Trusting me.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second and pray. Then I slip on top of the covers next to Joe and watch him sleep.

*  *  *

It's five o'clock by the time he wakes. I've dozed off a few times but always jolted awake when he shifted or made a noise. When he finally blinks his eyes open, he stares at me with such empty sadness I want to crack in half.

“You're not supposed to be here,” he says, and pulls at one of my curls before tucking it behind my ear.

“I know.”

“Should I be expecting the cops?”

I shake my head. “I'm seventeen. That's the age of consent in Illinois. My dad was just talking shit. I looked it up on the Internet at school.”

He flinches. “Natalie. That's not the point.”

“No. You're right. But even if it were possible, Mom wouldn't let Dad press charges. It was a stupid threat to keep you from being with me.”

Joe rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. “He wasn't wrong.”

I lift up on my elbows and tap his chest. “He was. He wouldn't understand us. He wouldn't understand what we have.”

He sighs. “Natalie. You're so young.”

“It's not about that and you know it. I've had just as much life experience as you.”

He rolls over and faces me. “No, you haven't. You're just getting started. Yeah, you've probably experienced more than the average seventeen-year-old, but you've still got the safety net. You
need
the net.”

I cup his cheek in my hand. “You can be my safety net.”

He pulls away. “I can't. Look at me. I relapsed. I'm okay now, but I don't have years of sobriety anymore, I have days. You need your parents.”

“No. I really don't. They haven't done nearly as much as you have for me these past few months.”

“Because they're not alcoholics. That's not something to hold against them.”

I sit up and he follows so both our feet are hanging off the side of his bed. I take his hand and he lets me, twining our fingers together. “Why'd you drink? I mean, after everything, after so many years of sobriety, did my dad's stupid threat really push you over the edge?”

He rakes the fingers from his free hand through his hair. He still smells like he needs a shower, but his face is clearer. “It's complicated.”

I let that sit between us for long enough that he sighs again.

“About a year ago, there was a girl who came through the program a lot like you. A bit younger, but with the same kind of chip on her shoulder. Entitled, bratty, I liked her right away.”

I laugh.

“She liked me too.”

I freeze for a second and shut my eyes, releasing his hand. “Tell me you didn't sleep with her.”

“What? No. It wasn't like that.”

I open my eyes again. “Well, there's that at least.”

He blinks at me. “Do you really think so little of me? Five minutes ago you were going on about how your parents don't understand
us
and now you're accusing me of sleeping with every young girl who I become friends with.”

I flinch at the harshness of his words, but raise my chin anyway. “We're alcoholics, Joe. We don't always make the best choices.”

He stares at me for a long moment. “Exactly.
We
. Are. Alcoholics. You said it. Finally acknowledged it, for real. We're alcoholics. And we
don't
make the best choices. Remember that, Natalie.”

He's spun my words on me and I want to punch him. It's infuriating how quick he is to give up on us, to give up on what could be something great. “So this girl . . .”

“Yeah, well, she was doing really well. She had a sponsor. She was working the steps and getting her life together. I don't think she had the kind of money you do. And her parents weren't so invested, but she was doing good.”

“So what happened?”

“She disappeared. All of a sudden. Stopped coming to meetings. Stopped calling. Wouldn't return my texts. She dropped off the face of the earth.”

“Jesus.” I release a breath. “That sucks. What does that have to do with me, though? I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.”

“I looked for her a long time when she stopped coming around. Even went by her house, but her parents said she ran away. They'd filed a missing persons report and everything. But no one could find her.”

“So do you think they were right? Do you think she ran away?”

“I don't really know,” he says. “But I realized something then. And I'd almost forgotten it until I saw the look on your dad's face.”

“What's that?”

“I realized I can't save people. I can't be an anchor for someone. I couldn't be that for her and I can't be that for you.”

“I didn't ask you to save me.”

He shakes his head. “All you do is ask. Everything you do cries out in desperation to be saved. You said it yourself. I'm the reason you stay sober. I can't be that. Don't you see? I want to take care of you. I want to make all the bad shit go away. I want to protect you from this life, from your shitty friends, from your absent parents. I want to give you everything, make you happy again. But it's not my job.”

“I never said you had to.”

“And that's the problem, Natalie.” He takes my hand in his again. “You never asked me to, but I did it anyway. I wanted to. Christ, I still want to. And I can't be that. Because if it keeps going like this and I lose you one day, just like I lost her, it'll tear me apart.”

“You won't lose me,” I whisper.

He stands up. “You can't promise that. Not how you are right now. You haven't even been sober for six months. You're young and you have so much life ahead of you. But you have a road you have to take and I can't take it with you.”

I stand up and take a step closer to him. “I'm going to prove myself to you, Joe.”

“You don't have to . . .”

“No.” I hold up my hand. “You said what you think. That's fine. Don't believe in me. Don't believe in us. I can believe enough for both of us. It's hard as hell, but I'm not bailing. I'm not taking the easy way out. Not this time. I'm going to fight for us. Because this is right. Just don't give up completely. You're a few days sober. Good. It was a slip. That's it. Stay sober. Fucking show up to meetings. Be here. And wait for me.”

“Natalie . . .”

I press a kiss on his mouth, but he doesn't return it. “I'll prove it to you,” I whisper again. Then before he can say anything else, I gather my stuff and walk out his door, texting Kathy to come over. I take two deep breaths, open and close my fists, then I breathe into the Breathalyzer, start my car, and drive home.

I'm standing
in the center of the gym before anyone notices me. Josh puts down his weight bar and takes a step in my direction, but Jerry grumbles at him from the opposite side of the room and waves him off.

Jerry's steps are long, measured strides. My heart is hammering so much I barely register all the other activity in the gym. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

I speak before he can say anything. “A long time ago, you told me you thought I could make it. Do you still think I can?”

“You're out of shape and fatter,” he says, but the look on his face is enough to make my heart drum faster.

“What will it take?”

“Gotta get back here every day.”

I shake my head. “I have AA three times a week.”

He shrugs. “Come in the mornings. This summer you'll need to be here four hours a day, minimum.”

I nod. “I might have to get a job.”

“Your mom seems like she'd be flexible.”

“Yeah. Maybe. But not my dad. He wants me to work some conservation corps to build character.”

Jerry huffs. “Boxing builds character. Talk to your mom again.”

I look up at the fluorescent lights, shutting my eyes for just a second and listening to the sounds of the gym. The grunts and the flesh smacking against gloves and the dance of feet skipping rope. It's so familiar. I return my gaze to Jerry and say, “What if she doesn't go for it?”

His mouth dips in a frown. “Well, that's the thing, isn't it? You're going to need to decide what to do with that. You're eighteen soon. I was on my own at eighteen, but you're softer than me. I don't want problems with your parents. It's on you to decide how much you want it and how much it's worth.”

I look past him at the two guys sparring in the ring. Two years ago I could've beat both of them.

“Do you think I was addicted to boxing?”

He laughs. “Probably. Doesn't mean you weren't good at it.”

“I'm trying to work on balance.”

He shrugs. “So don't come back.” But it's there, even if he won't say it.

“I want to, though. I want this. I don't want to let this go. I never really did. I was afraid, I guess.”

The smallest grin flashes on his face. “Well, what do you know about that? Seems like you figured a few things out while you were gone.”

“Yeah. Okay then,” I say.

“Okay,” he answers.

I turn on my heel to leave, but he rests a hand on my shoulder. This is very un-Jerry. He doesn't touch you unless he's trying to beat the shit out of you.

“You're here. You got your stuff?”

I nod.

“Well, then, you might as well suit up. Show Josh how much work he may have in store for him.”

A weight lifts from inside me and I give him a wide grin. “Maybe it won't be so much.”

He throws a punch and his fist stops in front of my face again. This time I don't flinch. “Yeah, it will be.”

I lift my chin. “What do you mean? I didn't flinch.”

He laughs. “Yeah, but you didn't duck, either.” Then he points me to the locker room and heads in the opposite direction.

*  *  *

Sparring with Josh kicks my ass. It's not even funny. I'd gotten fit enough at one point that I barely even felt hits. Now I feel every jab like it's a needle being stabbed into my torso. Josh is relentless and Jerry screams at me the entire time I'm in the ring. By the end, I'm drenched and breathing so hard I can barely speak.

“You let your body go to shit,” Jerry says.

I nod, but I haven't felt this light in a long time. My head is in one place and it's here. For the past hour nothing with my parents or Joe or Kathy or Brent or my loadie friends has entered my brain. It's just this. Me, Josh, boxing gloves, and the rush of knowing that this might still be mine.

I grin before responding, “I can get it back. I'm not that bad off.”

Jerry shakes his head, but I see a small smile before he looks down to unlace my gloves. “It's going to take a lot of work.”

“Yep.”

“You know what you gotta do, kid.”

I nod and snatch my gloves from him, tucking them beneath my arm as I head toward the locker room. “I'll see you, Jerry. Thanks, Josh. I'll get you back soon.”

Josh smiles and waves. “You better.”

And I pretend I don't hear Jerry say, “Hope she's got it together this time,” to Josh as I push through the locker room door.

*  *  *

When I get in my car I take a deep breath and hold on to the rush of fighting for another few seconds. Then I puff into the Breathalyzer and drive to Brent's house. His mom waves me in, her hard, assessing look turning to surprise when she sees me fresh-faced and sober. I've hardly made the best impression on her in the past, and even if she is cool with Brent, it sucks to be the girl a guy's parents want you to avoid.

Brent blinks in shock when he sees me and it takes him a second to fully open his bedroom door to invite me in. I sit on his unmade bed and look at my hands, picking at the tape residue on my knuckles. Finally I feel him sit beside me.

“You wanted to talk?” I say, and I'm grateful my voice is solid.

“Huh. Thought you'd keep avoiding me.”

I look at him now and I wonder if I'm ready for this. “Sorry, I just don't know what to say.”

“Maybe that you got an abortion without asking me to help or how I felt about it?”

“So you
do
think that's what happened. I figured as much.”

“Isn't it?”

I swallow. I do not want to have to explain this. “I miscarried after the accident. I mean, yeah, I would've probably gotten an abortion. I said as much at the party, but it didn't work out that way.”

“Why didn't you tell me? I wanted to visit you in the hospital.” His voice is painfully soft and I feel like donning armor. My hands ball into fists and a little tension eases.

“Yeah, but you didn't visit. And I didn't tell you because it didn't really matter. Plus I was dealing with court and rehab, and Jesus, it wasn't that big a deal.”

“Thing is, Nat, it was my baby too. And I get that it means more for girls or whatever, but still, it's like I wasn't even part of it. You didn't think to call me in the hospital after the accident? I mean, did I even cross your mind?”

“Did I cross yours?”

“You know you did. I would've . . .”