Same field.
My dad was always so proud when I’d run off the field, and he’d give me a high-five on the way to the locker room.
Now, it’s like he hates me.
Maybe I hate him a little bit too.
TWENTY-THREE
It’s getting late in the day, and Jasper still hasn’t come back to the farm. I didn’t think he’d stay longer than an hour, so I guess maybe I’m a little concerned.
He’s a grown man, and I know he can handle it. But also... he was nervous. I don’t think he actually wanted to go, no matter how guilty that made him feel.
So when Kelly suggests I go to his parents’ and check on him, I’m only mildly ashamed at how fast I jump at the chance. I drive to the address she gave me and look at the nice modest, white house at the end of the block and frown when I don’t see Jasper’s truck here.
I decide to knock on the door and smile when it’s Logan who pulls it open excitedly. “Emerson! You came to play with me?”
“Hey, buddy,” I say fondly because the kid is really cute. I ruffle his hair and kind of sidestep that question because I’m not going to tell him I’m not here to play with him. “I was looking for your brother.”
“Hi.” I hear a soft voice and see Jasper’s mother coming up to the door. “Jasper left about two hours ago.”
My belly does a flip and then sinks. “Two hours ago?”
Logan looks sad, and his mother brushes her hand over his hair. “He didn’t go back to the farm?”
I shake my head. “No.”
I can see the worry on her face and on Logan’s. I don’t like it. Something must have happened, but neither really give me a clue. His mom clears her throat softly and sighs, “You might want to check the football field. I know he used to go there on tough days. If he’s not at the farm, I assume that’s where he is.”
Football field? Really?
I didn’t realize he was such a jock, but that’s fine. She gives me general directions to get there, and I thank her and say goodbye to Logan before I drive out, finding the football field where she said it would be.
It’s totally empty, which makes sense with it being summer and a Sunday. Seems like the whole town shuts down on Sundays.
I climb out of my car and walk down to the gate, letting myself into the stadium, terrified of what I might find.
I see Jasper right away when I step on the field, lying flat on his back and looking up at the sky with an empty bottle next to him.
Well, this isn’t good.
I walk over to him and see it’s an empty vodka bottle. “You drank an entire bottle of vodka?”
He barely moves his head to look at me, his expression almost bored. “It was almost empty already, and that was hours ago, so the buzz is already wearing off. You should just go.”
“Not a chance,” I say and sit down on the ground next to him. “What happened?”
“Go away, Emerson,” he says, his eyes no longer looking all that bored. They’re full of fire now, and I can handle that.
“No,” I say easily and then lie down next to him, our heads only an inch apart as I look up at the clouds rolling in above us. “What happened?”
“What happened is my father hates me. That’s what happened. And I deserve it.”
“Bullshit,” I say, letting my head fall to the side to look at his profile. “Bullshit,” I say again, a little more firmly this time.
His head rolls to the side, his eyes fixing on mine. “He hates me.”
His eyes are a little puffy and red, likely from crying, and my heart cracks open for him. “He doesn’t.”
