The Fall (Rules of Play Book 4) Page 2

  So I do the only thing I can: I lie. Do I feel bad about it? Maybe a little, if only because I’ve been trying to live a more honest life, but I’m not perfect, and I don’t owe Mav an explanation, roommate or no. We live together. That’s it.

  I don’t break eye contact. No games. That’s what I want him to see. Yet it feels like he sees what I don’t say. “My old coach couldn’t give me what I needed. I getting the discipline at my old school. If I’m making this my career, then I want the best coach, the best environment, the best leadership.”

  A slow, thoughtful nod. “That makes sense.” Still, questions linger in his eyes. I’m not answering any of them.

  “But what about you,” I say, shifting the direction of the conversation. “What’s your grade, major, etc.?”

  “I’m in graphic design. Junior. I hope to eventually have my own design firm.”

  “Cool.”

  The moment stretches, neither of us willing to speak first. God, this is awkward.

  Eventually, Mav sighs. He still holds the ice pack to his face. Water drips down his cheek, dampening the collar of his shirt. “Look, can we get past the awkwardness of me walking in on you taking a shower? I’d like to talk about our living situation. Boundaries. I’m not a confrontational person, but I appreciate open communication. If I’m doing something that’s bothering you, I’d rather you tell me instead of being passive aggressive about it.”

  A huge sigh blows out of me. “Man, I’m so happy you said that.” I chuckle softly and rub the heel of my palm against my forehead. “Why don’t we start with things you absolutely can’t stand when living with someone else, and then move onto things that bug you, but aren’t the end of the world.”

  “Probably we should talk about rent and utilities first.”

  Makes sense. Talk about money owed before airing out our dirty laundry.

  He goes first. “According to the contract, we have individual leases, so we’re responsible for our own rent. I’m guessing the utilities are under your name?”

  I nod. “I got set up with the electric company. The bills are sent to me electronically, but I can forward them to you each month. Or print them out, whichever is easier. There’s no internet though.”

  Like the reasonable guy he is, Mav takes it all in stride. “Forward me the emails. I’ll pay my half, say, a week before it’s due? Is that enough time? Or two weeks?”

  “One week works.” I suddenly have to fight my smile. Look at us, being all domestic. It’s like we’ve been cohabitating for years instead of twenty minutes.

  “I’ll take care of internet so everything’s not under your name. Do the same stipulations work for you? I’ll forward you the bill, you pay a week before it’s due?”

  “Sounds good. Oh, and don’t get the fastest internet. That shit’s a scam. Get the middle of the road. Unless you’re a gamer?” I probe. Mav doesn’t fit the stereotype. He wears fitting clothing. Not all black. His hear is cut, and he isn’t pale like me. I, however, am as pale as they come. A curse of my Irish heritage.

  His laughter floats over, an easy, warm sound.

  Aaaand I’m staring at him again. Fuck me.

  “Sure thing,” Mav says. I’m already learning the inflections of his voice. A bit of humor rounds out his words. “And no, I’m not a gamer. Most of my free time is spent cooking.”

  “No shit?” Well, well, well, this is a most excellent treat. “You any good?”

  He hums under his breath, stretching one arm over the back of the couch. Less than a foot of space separates the tips of his fingers from my shoulder. “Define good.”

  “You don’t give people food poisoning.”

  He laughs. The thing is, I’m serious. My freshman year, I roomed with a guy who tried to cook a raw turkey in the microwave, no joke. His friends came over for an early Thanksgiving meal. When I tried to warn them, he basically kicked me out of my own dorm. The next day, I heard four of his friends had to be hospitalized for food poisoning.

  As such, my expectations for meals are quite low. As long as the food doesn’t kill me, I’ll eat it. Unless it’s chopped liver. That shit is disgusting.

  “No,” Mav says, “I don’t give people food poisoning. Or at least, I haven’t yet. The jury’s still out on whether that will happen in the future. No, I just like making good food with fresh ingredients.”

  “Pasta?” I hedge, trying to hide my excitement. Hey, I love my carbs.

  “What kind?”

  “Spaghetti.”

  He nods. His eyes crinkle in contained mirth. “I make a mean tomato sauce.”

  Score. As far as I know, every chef needs a food tester. I’m happy to volunteer.

  I glance at my phone and see it’s almost two. I’m supposed to pick up some furniture. “I need to get going, but before I do, I just wanted to put something out there.” My leg jiggles nervously. My skin grows hot to the touch. It’s none of Maverick’s business who I fuck, but I’d rather get it out into the open now than risk having him freak out when he interrupts me and some guy hooking up on the living room couch.

  “I’m gay.” It’s the simplest way to get the message across. You just say it. You say, This is me. “I don’t know if you have a problem with that, but I just wanted to let you know so there’s no weirdness between us. I’ll let you know if I’m bringing someone over so there’s no surprises or anything…” I trail off because Mav starts chuckling. It’s like a cattle prod to the spine as shame slaps me in the face. I know shitty people exist in the world who don’t recognize queer people as normal, but I had hoped Mav wasn’t one of them.

  “Don’t worry,” I growl, fury slithering through me like a serpent flashing its fangs, “I’ll be sure not to show my gay tendencies around you. Should I use separate cutlery? Wouldn’t want you to catch my gayness, after all.” I practically spit the words at him.

  As swiftly as Mav’s laughter appeared, it vanishes. He’s somber. “August. No, that’s not—I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing because you don’t have to worry. All of my brothers are gay.” He looks upset by the fact that I’m upset, which throws me.

  I blink. The growling beast inside me settles down. “Really?”

  “Really.” A timid smile lights his hazel eyes. His mouth soon follows, a slight curving that grows deeper. “I get it,” he says, lifting his palms in a gesture of understanding. “Knowing what my brothers have gone through over the years, it sucks, but it’s unfortunately something they have to deal with.”

  “And you’re the only straight one?” I ask. “How many brothers do you have?”

  “Four. And yeah, the only straight one.”

  I should feel relieved that he accepts me, but all I feel is disappointment. I already have a hard-on for my roommate. My straight roommate. “You got a girlfriend?” I say.

  Mav’s face shutters so quickly I’m surprised I don’t get whiplash. My stomach clenches in trepidation.

  His entire facial structure tightens, the bones severe and harsh under his skin. A fog slides over his eyes, an effective barrier between us. The silence stretches for one second, two, five, ten…

  I clear my throat. “I didn’t mean to touch on a sensitive subject.” How can I fix this? The damage has already been done.

  He shakes his head, and his eyes clear, somewhat. “I did have a girlfriend, yeah. Not anymore though.” He looks at his phone. “I’m going to start unpacking. Let me know if you need help doing the same.” He gets up and moves to the kitchen, leaving me sitting on the couch alone. I watch Mav go, wondering what I said that made him so upset, and wondering what I can do to bring the light back into his eyes.

  Chapter 3

  Maverick

  Shortly after I begin unpacking my dishes, I hear the front door shut. The force rattles the windows of the old house, sends vibrations through the floorboards beneath my bare feet. W
ith August gone, I’m alone. The invisible hand around my throat loosens, opening my airway to much-needed oxygen, which I suck deeply into my lungs. My head clear, slowly. My anxiety settles.

  Today marks six months since Kailey’s death.

  Everything is heavy, like I’m moving underwater. My mind, heavy with memories I’ve yet to let go. My body, heavy with sadness, crushed beneath the weight of the world. I loved Kaylie. I was planning on marrying her. But life is cruel. She was taken from this world too soon, taken from me.

  I stack my plates and put them in one of the empty cabinets. Line up my glasses beside them. Slip my silverware into the drawer.

  The first three months following her passing, I walked through life as a ghost. Food lost its taste. Music lost its joy. I stopped cooking. Couldn’t even walk into a kitchen. I barely had the energy to eat, much less boil a pot of water. The world no longer held color. Going through the motions, that’s what it was. I flunked out of my classes. Lived life on auto-pilot.

  Without my family to keep me grounded, I thought for sure I’d have floated away. My bills went unpaid. The trash piled up. Moving into my parents’ house helped alleviate the burden of caring for myself, because I couldn’t, at that time.

  On the fourth month, I found the motivation to move back to my apartment. Except I knew, as soon as I stepped through that door, that I couldn’t stay there. There were too many memories of Kaylie and me. And now here I am, in this new house, ready to start fresh.

  Healing is not an easy path. It’s a road full of cracks and pitted gravel, uneven terrain. It is a road with no end some days, only this light you walk toward but can never reach. The path, however, has begun to smooth for me. I no longer trip as often as I did.

  Once I finish putting away my dishes, I move on to appliances. I notice August already set out a toaster, so I keep mine in the box. I remove my waffle iron though, because homemade waffles are a thousand times better than frozen ones.

  That’s when someone bangs on the front door. “Little bro! You there?”

  Wiping the dust from my hands, I open the door to Kellan and his tank of a boyfriend, Harp. Kellan, as usual, makes me want to claw my eyes out when I look at him. It’s those stupid Hawaiian shirts. There is such a thing as something being too much. Today’s pattern is pink flamingos, limes, and suns, all stamped on a background of tacky orange.

  I make a face at his chosen attire, and Kellan laughs, pulling me in for a hug. “Tell me how much you love it,” he says, leaning back to get a good look at me. He’s smiling, but worry lurks in his expression.

  “I love it so much I can barely contain myself,” I answer dryly.

  Harp laughs, and we shake hands. The man has wide shoulders and thick calves. His long blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail. His face is covered in a beard that makes him look like a mountain man. Kellan has an arm looped around his boyfriend’s waist and beams at him like he’s God himself.

  Months ago, Kellan took a last-minute trip to Mexico, where he met Harp. I never learned what, exactly, went down in the Yucatan. Whenever I bring it up, Kellan goes red and quickly changes the subject. Harp works part-time at the university in their financial apartment, as he was an accountant in a past life. The rest of his time he makes art, these stunning charcoal portraits. Since moving in with Kellan, he’s already sold a bunch of pieces, and he has quite the online following.

  I’ve never seen Kellan so enamored with someone. I’m happy for my brother, I am, but I can’t help feeling jealous that while Kellan has a loving relationship, Kaylie is gone. She’s never coming back.

  My smile is too brittle. It fractures, folds into a frown. I don’t miss the glance Kellan and Harp share. I want to be alone, but I know that would only worry Kellan further.

  “Thanks for coming,” I say, stepping aside to show them the new place. Kellan looks at everything with raised eyebrows, his upper lip slightly curled. Yes, my older brother is a snob, and he knows it. Our dad is a billionaire, so it’s no surprise Kellan has higher standards than most.

  As for me, I don’t need much. Stuff doesn’t matter. Family, friends—that’s what is truly important. I couldn’t care less about fancy cars, designer clothes, the newest gadgets. I’d give it all up to bring Kaylie back.

  “Nice place,” Harp comments.

  “Oh, yeah,” says my brother with a bite of sarcasm. “Just what we want. A house falling down around us.”

  Harp rolls his eyes in exasperation, pulling a laugh out of me. Yeah, that’s my brother all right. I send him a question with my eyes. Why are you dating him again?

  His mirthful expression says, I have no idea.

  As if sensing the silent conversation occurring, Kellan shouts, “Hey!” He swats at Harp until the man bundles Kellan in his arms and plants a kiss to his temple. He’s much larger than my brother. Kellan isn’t a small guy by any means, but he melts under Harp’s touch.

  “We can’t all live in a palace,” I say to Kellan as he takes it upon himself to rearrange the furniture.

  “You met your roommate yet?” he asks, shifting some boxes against the wall to clear a pathway.

  “I have.” An image of him in the shower flashes at the forefront of my mind. The way the water darkened the fiery red of his hair. I clear my throat. “He’s actually your new teammate.”

  “No shit?” Kellan straightens, his brow furrowed. “What’s the name?”

  “August. Red hair. Freckles.”

  My brother’s mouth drops. “No shit.” Shocked, he shakes his head as if to clear it. “That’s… wow. Some coincidence.”

  Something in his voice gives me pause. It’s like he knows something I don’t. “Do you know him or something?”

  “Never met the guy. But there have been rumors. Supposedly he—well, I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. I don’t even know if they’re true.” At Harp’s look of approval, Kellan perks up. “But yeah. How weird is that?”

  Rumors? About what? Not that it’s any of my business.

  As we carry the rest of the boxes in from my car, I ask Harp, “How’s the art coming along?”

  A wide smile stretches across his face as he hauls three large boxes in his arms, weaving through the deadly maze of stuff cluttering the living room. He sets them in a corner. “Just sold a piece last week. And get this, I’ve been getting requests for commissions. The cool thing is, I’ll be able to take those clients with me when Kellan and I move.”

  Kellan graduates from Notre Dame in the spring. Then they’ll be moving to wherever Kellan signs with a pro team. It’s a bittersweet thought. Soon, I’ll be the only sibling left in the area, since Noah moved to Seattle earlier this year.

  “That’s awesome, man. Good for you.” I’ve seen some of Harp’s work. It’s freaking amazing. His skill with charcoal blows my mind. He did a picture of Kellan as a birthday gift over the summer, and when Kellan opened it at our Friday night dinner, he sobbed like a baby. The level of detail was phenomenal. Somehow, he’d managed to transfer my brother’s personality onto paper. It now hangs in their apartment over the mantlepiece.

  “I keep telling Harp he should charge more, but he doesn’t,” Kellan calls from the hallway.

  “How much do you charge?” I ask him.

  He shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “Thirty an hour.”

  Kellan scoffs. “He should be charging closer to seventy-five. I would, if it were me.”

  Harp’s cheeks grow ruddy. “It’s enough for now. I’m still growing, you know?”

  When Kellan returns, the two start bickering, and I retreat to my bedroom, wanting peace and quiet. Seeing them so at ease makes me remember how it was for Kaylie and me. I loved that girl. Fuck, did I love her.

  There’s nowhere to sit in my room except on the floor, so I lean against a wall and drag a smaller box forward that holds her old stuff. Inside sits a slend
er photo album on top. Kaylie made it for me as an anniversary gift last year. I flip through pictures of us over the years, taking in her smiling face. Seeing her brings a pang to my heart.

  “Hey.”

  I glance up from the photo album, not certain how much time has passed. Quickly, I slip the album back into the box, nervous about Kellan seeing it. “Hey.” My therapist says everyone heals on their own time. Kaylie’s things bring me comfort even as they sharpen the sadness, make it more acute. They hold me back from moving forward with my life. I’m not ready to close that door, and I don’t know when, or if, I ever will be.

  “You okay?” Kellan asks, crouching down beside me.

  I shrug and close the box that holds Kaylie’s things, shoving it into the corner, before pulling one that contains my books closer. “I’ve had better days. Been doing a lot of thinking.” I use a key to cut through the tape and pull open the box flaps. “It’s been six months,” I say, not looking at him.

  “Shit, Mav. I didn’t know.” The pain in his voice is plain.

  I can only nod.

  “Hey.” Kellan waits until I give him my attention. “Why don’t you come out with Harp and I tonight? It might help take your mind off her.”

  “Can’t. Too much to do.” I finger the frayed threads on the hem of my t-shirt. “But Friday, maybe?”

  He nods, holding my gaze for another moment before squeezing my shoulder in comfort. “Friday it is.”

  Chapter 4

  August

  The moment I step foot onto the Notre Dame field, I know this year is going to be different. The turf is springy. It smells like every soccer field I’ve ever played on: sweat and water and dark earth, and yet there’s a difference in the way the wind blows, of how the light filters through the clouds. I squint through intense sunlight, taking everything in. The stands. The goals, their nets empty. The way each boundary line is newly white, perfectly straight. And then the huddle of college-aged men near the bleachers.