I feel like everyone’s lives are moving forward, while mine is going in reverse.
I’m twenty-one years old, and my dad is still calling the shots. And there’s nothing I can do about it.
As I wander around campus, my feet start to lead me in the direction of Drip, but I think better of that impulse and make a hard right toward the south parking lot. Just because he’s a good listener doesn’t mean I can dump all my problems on Ian.
Especially now.
How can I face him after this? He’s gotta know, right? Like, they have to email him or something. Do I explain? And if I do, I’m once again in the position of unloading the messy details of my life onto Ian. That’s hardly fair.
When I reach my car, I pop the trunk and stow my hockey bag inside. The sun’s shining overhead, it’s 50 degrees, and spring is suddenly in the air. It’s not a heat wave, necessarily, but that doesn’t stop me from tugging my shirt off and tucking it into the band of my shorts. I’m roasting, but that might have more to do with my workout regimen and the emotions swirling around in my head than the weather. Besides, I could use a little sunshine. So instead of hopping in my car and driving back to an empty house, I stick my keys in my pocket and head toward the walking path. I could use a cooldown, especially since I have a game tonight.
I walk the path for half a mile or so until I come to a fork in the road. Wow. Thanks, universe. Like I needed a visual of my life right now.
I look to the right where the path is solid and even, no curves or twists. What you see is exactly what you get. It’s lined with streetlights and well-maintained shrubbery. If I head in that direction, it’ll take me past the back of the library, and I’ll eventually end up at The Chapel. I’ve walked that path thousands of times.
I look to the left where the path leads up to the edge of the woods. That’s where the pavement ends. I can hike through the trees and get lost for a while. There’s no set trail there; you have to make your own path. It’s rocky and uneven, but the view from the top of the hill is breathtaking.
I look right again, then left. I can hear my dad’s voice in my head, and somehow my decision to take a walk feels much more significant than I intended it to.
I’m a rule-follower. A team player. A people-pleaser. I do what I’m asked. I exceed the expectations that are set for me. I color inside the lines because it’s easy and I understand how to do it and I’m good at it.
But today, instead of going right, I go left.
My steps quicken, as though my feet understand that if they slow down, my brain might make them turn in the other direction.
My heart is racing, which is stupid. I’ve barely exerted myself so I can’t even blame my pulse on the walk. Nope. It’s not the short, uphill climb that has my pulse roaring. It’s my act of defiance. Going left, instead of right. It feels big. Scary. Uncharted. But it’s just a walk, I tell myself. I’m just taking the long way home. Nothing wrong with that.
Soon enough, I’m walking up the dusty, dirt path that leads to a spot Ty thinks he discovered. I don’t have the heart to tell him it’s been a campus favorite for years. Tossing my shirt on the ground, I sit, my knees bent and my head hanging between them. I should grab my phone and send a selfie to Ty, but my mind is running at full speed right now, so maybe I’ll do that later.
I raise my face to the sun, and though it’s low in the sky, I feel its warmth. Stretching out, I lie on my back and soak up the last of the day’s rays. I’m most at home on the ice, but I can’t deny it feels good to be outside today. And I have to admit, Ty’s right. There’s something calming about this spot. I’m doing my best to tune out the noise in my head and focus on what’s around me. I’m trying like heck just to be, even though that’s not really a natural state for me.
I guess it’s the house I grew up in, or even the teachings that I’ve been force-fed as far back as I can remember, but I’m rarely alone in my thoughts. There are always shadows there—and the echoes of my dad’s voice and the voices of a bunch of middle-aged white men with 0pinions on everything.
And those opinions don’t match my own.
I’m not exactly sure what my opinions even are, but I know they’re not narrow. I know they’re not rooted in judgment.
And I’m pretty sure they have a lot more to do with my favorite TA than just what’s on the lesson plan.
As soon as the thought crosses my mind, my eyes squeeze shut instinctively. I’ve never said it out loud. Never really thought about it for too long. But sometimes it feels like this year is determined to make me acknowledge things I’m just not ready to face.
Being friends with Ian was one thing. But the first time we were really face-to-face outside the coffee shop, the feelings I had were decidedly not friendly. I’ve had a lot of guy friends in my life, but I’ve never had lusty thoughts inspired by their forearms.
Eventually, and because his friends started dating my friends, we became, well, friends. And maybe it’s the class, or maybe it’s seeing him in his element, but there’s something about Ian McBride that makes me want things that have always been forbidden.
My dad may have pulled me from Ian’s class, but he has no control over my thoughts. And it seems neither do I because my thoughts keep looping back to Ian.
I open my eyes and sit up again. I should probably head back soon, especially if I want a pre-game nap. I grab my shirt and pull myself up to a standing position just in time to see a guy running up the hill. As soon as I spot him, he goes down.
I hear the snapping of branches followed by a thud, followed by a curse.
Jogging toward the path, I can see that he’s moving, so that’s a good sign.
“Hey, man, are you ok?” I ask, automatically scanning his body for any sign of distress. I’m no medical professional, but I’ve been an athlete long enough to be able to identify most minor injuries.
“Booker,” the guy on the ground says, and that’s when I look at him—really look at him. Lying on the ground in front of me is the man I just kinda sorta admitted to myself that I might have a crush on.
I don’t usually swear, but sometimes, it’s warranted. Damn you, universe.
