Habit, p.16
HABIT, page 16
Theo sets his beer on a nearby desk and inches into Toby’s space, his chest puffing up as he nears his face until they’re almost nose-to-nose. I have my own battles with Toby, but for Theo, this moment is about his sister. And something in my gut tells me Toby is itching to push my friend over the edge. Before that can happen, I step between them and strong-arm Toby backward a few steps, not fast enough to knock him down but with enough force that he gets my point.
“All right, that’s enough,” I hiss. My eyes lock with Toby’s. He blinks to look over my shoulder, lunging forward to fake Theo out, but nobody is fooled. I put my palm on his chest and our gazes lock again.
“Let’s get this out of the way,” I say, nodding my head to the side, to the far corner of the room away from the people having a good time.
Toby hovers for a moment, a front I recognize quickly because that’s how the guys back home always intimidated people instead of having to get into an actual fight. Knowing he’s not going to demand I fight him right here and now, I roll my eyes and leave him standing alone as I head to the back of the room. I slide up to sit on a metal desk and wait for him to finally join me. He only lags a few seconds. He leans against an opposite desk and folds his arms, his T-shirt sleeves cut short to accentuate his biceps. It makes him look like a cartoon.
“How do we get past this?” I offer first, figuring if I wait for him he’ll choose to stare at me and flex his jaw all night.
“I don’t think we can.”
I appreciate his honesty, and maybe he’s right. But I have to try. If I want any shot at all, I need to get the guys behind me. All of them.
I nod slowly.
“Here’s the thing about that. I know I can. So, what you’re really saying is you don’t think you can get past this.” It’s twisted logic, and I can tell he’s a little confused by it thanks to the squiggle on his forehead.
“Whatever. Listen, this is my senior year. Me and the guys have plans. We want to make memories, and you coming in with your big fucking head is just messing up our rhythm.”
Big fucking head?
I laugh and quirk up the side of my mouth, and maybe it’s subconscious but I also drag my hand through my hair, sampling the size of my noggin. I think he was being metaphorical, but also, I don’t think Toby’s that bright.
“You know what? You’re great at the run,” I say, a total lie because he’s average at best. And our running backs are slow compared to most of the public schools. The only thing great about our running game with Toby at the helm is he doesn’t have to throw so there’s a lower chance for an interception.
“I am great, and you’re shit. So how about you stop taking favors from daddy and quit the team?”
Wow. That escalated quickly. I wonder if he’s like this when he sits down for college interviews. Those checks his dad writes must be enormous.
“Right. Okay. Well, Toby”—I run my palm over my chin and get to my feet. It’s a total power move because I’m much taller—“I’m not going to quit the team. This is everything to me, and I am going to work my ass off to see it through. So, like I said, either you can get past this and maybe I’ll let you run the ball a little here and there, or you can quit the team. How’s that sound?”
Okay, my buzz is hitting my head. Nothing too strong, but enough to drop my filter and let my inner thoughts loose. It’s kind of nice saying those things you really want to say out loud.
“That might be hard when your dad gets fired,” he says, and suddenly I’m stone cold sober.
“Excuse me?” I tilt my head and step into him.
“Oh, you must have heard the stories. You know . . . about Morgan Bentley and the last coach? They had a thing.” Toby actually holds up his hands, making a fist with one then moving his fat finger in and out of it with the other.
“Watch yourself,” I seethe. Theo is on the other side of the room, so I’m in charge of stopping myself from going too far. I know what he’s doing. He’s provoking me. Maybe I’ll take a swing and get expelled for assault, and he can report Theo’s secret lair and ruin life for everyone.
Keep it together, James.
“Just, I noticed her in his truck the other day when I was working the security booth. They were coming in pretty late, just the two of them. I could show you the picture if you want.” His lips can’t hold back his gleeful smile as he grins at me like a psychotic clown.
“Maybe I ask your dad about their relationship? Or I could ask around campus, see if anyone else has seen them together.”
I hold his stare, studying his eyes and looking for the weak link in his game. This school is toxic. These people are toxic. And more than his accusations ruining my life, they’d implode my parents’ marriage.
“Go ahead, ask around. Ask my dad, or his assistant coaches for that matter. My father can’t stand Morgan Bentley. And you know what? Neither can I.”
The words leave my mouth before I have a chance to evaluate them. They inflate on my tongue and choke my windpipe. I smell the way they burn up in the air. It was a pretty harsh lie, but I sold it. Only problem is that lie was Toby’s end goal all along. I was too furious to see it coming, too proud to slow down and simply stand my ground. I let him take me low.
“I see. Whatever you say, James. Hey, nice game today,” he says, his lips puckering into a pretentious and tight grin that dimples his cheeks like the sour of a lemon.
I stand pinned in place, my feet lead on the floor as he winds his way back to the exit, not bothering to provoke another soul on his way out of the fire. The only thing left for me to do is look down at the floor and follow the trail of glitter to the glass office door, shades drawn and lights off.
I hold my breath. I hold out hope. And then I hear the click of the lock.
Chapter 15
Morgan
He isn’t going to leave.
It would have been better to run out of here in front of everyone, under the cover of a small gathering. It might have caused a scene, and James probably would have gone after me or tried to make me stay so he could explain, but if I had just left, this would be done by now.
Instead, I waited. I cried—I hate crying—and nothing is done. Everything lies ahead. I’m considering living out my days in this old office and digging out that weird bag of pot to get by.
“Morgan, please open the door.”
It’s four in the morning. His parents have to wonder where the hell he is. My roommates are wrapped up in their own happiness and probably don’t even miss me. Not that I’ve been there much for them. Lily’s big swim meet is soon. I should be doing those little things Anika would have done—leaving little notes of encouragement for her to find, stopping by her practice to cheer her on and embarrass her in that loving way, or organizing a party for after she competes. And Brooklyn . . . I think she’s hooking up with Cameron, which scares me because he takes absolutely nothing in life seriously. I haven’t been a very good friend. I’ve been busy wasting time, thinking I was falling in love with a stupid boy.
I can’t very well sit in here for an entire weekend, and I really want to take a shower. Lifting my tired body from the floor where I have been wallowing for the last hour, I use the door handle to stand the rest of the way, flipping the lock as I do. I step back and a second later James pushes it open an inch.
“Thanks,” James says. He’s resting his head on the metal frame. I wonder how long he’s been standing there like that. I was too afraid to peer through the drawn blinds.
“You can come in,” I relent, turning around and heading to the rolling chair that I had my first good cry in hours ago.
James takes measured steps into the office, the archive space behind him an eerie kind of silent. He stops at the desk, his fingertips tapping the wood as he looks down with a thoughtful expression. He sucks in his lips and nods before slowly making his way backward to the wooden chair on the other side of the room. I think he’s afraid I might hurt him.
“What? Can’t stand being close to me?” I mock him with a bitter tone as I throw his own words back at him. I’ve been practicing that for hours. It didn’t feel as good as I thought it would.
He lifts his gaze to mine, his eyes heavy and the corners of his mouth weighed down.
“You know I didn’t mean that,” he croaks.
Deep down, I do. But hearing something like that said about me out loud is hard to shake off. I can’t parse it out just yet, because while he’ll probably deny it, there was some truth in those things he said to Toby. His dad can’t stand me. And I know why.
“Why did you blow me off at the fieldhouse the other day? Remember? While your dad was sort of letting me in the door?” He remembers. His dad’s mood wasn’t entirely about football.
He shakes his head and draws in his brow, but I keep my gaze locked on his face, my eyes narrow and drilling into his. After several seconds, he exhales and leans his weight back, flitting his eyes away.
“It’s not like you think,” he relents.
“But it is.” My quick response takes him off-guard, and his eyes bolt to mine for a brief second before looking away.
Shaking his head, he leans forward to rub his temples.
“Morgan, the last couple years have been a battle for our family. My parents were in a bad place, and as much as we came to Welles for my benefit, this move was kind of for them, too. I’m not saying you can outrun your demons, but where we lived before, the things tearing down the trust between my mom and dad were everywhere.”
He pauses to sit up, a short, sad laugh lifting his shoulders.
“I don’t know for sure, but I think my dad was seeing someone on the side, or at least flirting with the idea of it. I don’t think it progressed to an affair or anything like that. And I’m sure there’s a lot more to it than the small pieces I put together, but where we were, our routine and our environment, it all fed into the story. It was this story that just wouldn’t end. Bickering in their room that I heard through the walls. Days of silent treatment. They put their energy into me by coming here, and maybe it’s unhealthy to be their distraction, but it’s my family, Morgan. I haven’t seen them this happy in a long time. And my dad . . . I think he’s afraid of anything shaking up their new beginning.”
I let his truth simmer. He has no idea what demons are, what consequences from decisions looks like.
I breathe out a laugh as I sit back and fold my arms over my chest, my gaze off to the side so I don’t look him in the eyes and lose my way.
“You know, I’m used to people not liking me. I mean, the first time people started trashing one of my photos on social it was kind of hard to take, but the older I got the more I realized they do that for sport. They don’t really know me.”
My gaze shifts to him, and my teeth gnaw at the inside of my cheek.
“But you? You know me.” I swallow the hurt that comes with that statement.
His focus dips below my gaze as his Adam’s apple moves up and down. A single tear slips from my right eye, and I swipe it away, my sniffles giving me away and bringing his attention back to my face. I’m so angry and hurt, but more than that . . . I feel betrayed.
God, I was really falling for him. And I know he has feelings, too. I can tell this is hurting him—that hurting me hurts. But he still did it. And yeah, maybe I wasn’t meant to hear him say that awful truth to Toby. And Toby’s a real dick for luring it out of him the way he did. But when his back was pushed into a corner, he chose football. He chose to believe the rumors.
He didn’t ask me.
“Remember me telling you about the last time my dad had me ‘entertain’ some of his clients? How things didn’t go so well?” I can feel the tears welling in my eyes, but I won’t cry over this.
James’s mouth is closed tight, his jaw flexing and eyes pained, the weight dipping his brows.
“My family has this big yacht. It’s more like a company yacht, really. We’ve been on it as a family of four once, and we never left the dock. But my dad’s on it all the time. Some of his biggest acquisitions were negotiated on that thing while floating out in the Atlantic.”
I pause to gather my thoughts, my mouth growing dry. James’s breathing is growing heavier, his chest slowly inflating as he takes in my words. I can see it in his expression, in the locked focus of his eyes— he’s trying to get to the end of my story before I do. He won’t get it right. The only person who knows their story is the one who lived it. That’s why it’s so important to listen.
My teeth graze against my bottom lip as I let it slip from my nervous hold.
“My dad has had the same lawyer since he made his first million. Edwin Hague. He’s good. Probably saved my dad millions by now, and I’m sure he’s kept him out of prison for shady financial shit. If it’s an important meeting, he’s in the room.”
James shifts in his seat, folding one arm over his chest to prop up the other so he can chew at his thumbnail. I close my eyes and shake my head.
“Don’t work ahead. Let me tell this story,” I say.
I draw in more air through my nose, my pulse oddly even. It’s strange how I haven’t had a panic attack since my accident. It’s as if that trauma rewired the damage from all the ones before.
“My dad invited me to join him for a business dinner out on the boat, asked me to invite some of my girlfriends from the city. Not Brooklyn or Lily, but old family acquaintances. People I grew up with and often ran into at society events. The ones you see on my social media pages.”
I shrug because my digital life looks nothing like my real one. There’s nothing wrong with those girls. They played the same kind of part I did in our world—rich girl, daddy’s girl, brat, influencer, the list of titles goes on. None of us were ever close. We were pleasant to one another. Every now and then one of us would start some drama about the other on Twitter, but even that was more about the attention than the relationships within. Meanwhile, my real friendships—Brooklyn, Anika, Theo, and now Lily—those were off the page. Protected. Not salacious.
“I knew what my dad was up to. He wanted to make this dinner party seem hip. He was courting Silicon Valley guys and their startups, which he would eventually buy for cheap and fold into his empire. Having me and my friends hanging around meant buzz, and buzz made young business types make poor decisions and sell themselves short. The deal was done by the time dinner ended, but we were in an ocean and drinks were flowing. Everyone was having a good time.”
I shrug, pursing my lips in admission.
“Nobody was running off and hooking up, but there was plenty of flirting. Mostly innocent stuff like dirty talk in a corner while the guys watched me and my friends dance and simply be young, reckless teenagers.”
I smile at the good stuff, the fun of being in such a privileged position. It lasts for a second before it fades into a soured line.
“I never liked Edwin. Something about him has always given me the creeps, even when I was a little kid. He was that guy who always handed out money when he came over, like he was buying me. When I was five, he’d slip me twenty bucks and tell me to buy a bunch of junk food. When I turned sixteen, he gave me a grand and told me to party hard. My parents laughed and said he’s like an uncle.”
I stare ahead into James’s eyes, my mouth watering with sickness.
“I was catching my breath, drinking water to sober up and hydrate from all the dancing. I’d only stepped off to the side for a minute when Edwin placed his hand on my bare back. I stiffened under his touch, and when he tried to slide his hand lower inside my dress, I tore away from him. Almost nobody noticed. One or two of the girls I invited saw me jerk away, and without asking, they knew. Things like that had happened to them—they happen a lot. My dad saw it, too. And the worst part was I thought he would get mad at me for running off, for making a scene and ruining his party. For offending his best lawyer, his faithful friend.”
“He blamed you?” The first words James has uttered come out coarse, angry. His jaw is rigid, his molars pressed together as his nostrils flare.
I spit out a breathy laugh and shake my head.
“He said it didn’t matter because it all turned out fine in the end.” I swallow down the bile that comes up when I quote him. I can still picture the movement of my father’s lips as he says those words to me.
“It was the next morning, and I was trembling as I stepped up to join him on the patio over a late breakfast. I wasn’t hungry. I wanted to throw up. And all I could do was force myself to apologize for ruining his party, knowing I wasn’t to blame at all. That his lawyer was a piece of shit for a human, and that a real dad would do something on his daughter’s behalf. But he closed a deal, and Edwin got a bonus. It all turned out fine in the end.”
My tongue presses behind my front teeth as my mouth hangs open in a hostile, faint smile. I haven’t talked to my mother since she conned me into helping my dad again, and honestly, maybe life will be better if I cut both of them out of it. I’ll keep Braden, the half-relative the universe must have thought I needed. The universe was right. But I needed Coach Wallace too.
“Morgan. That’s . . .”
He swallows, and I laugh softly then shrug.
“Awful? Yeah, it is. Common? Yep, that too. Sexist? Assault? Probably.” I have many labels for the shit I’ve worked through. I’m still learning how to assign blame to others, and I’m getting better at it.
“It is. It’s all of those things,” he answers.
The quiet takes over for nearly a minute. We endure long stares, and he begins to speak a dozen times or more. He wants to apologize on behalf of everyone, but that’s not for him to do. He can, however, apologize for himself.
“My depression hit a pretty serious low last November. And I remembered Coach Wallace’s talk about mental health during one of our workshops the year before. The school hosts those things to tick off boxes and brag about being proactive. But Coach Wallace’s talk was really good. It was enough to help me recognize when I needed to talk to someone. And he’s the one I talked to.”
