Rumor Has It (Longwood U)

Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

DAK

There’s been a strange distance between me and Sparrow for the past week. Ever since Rumor called him in. I understand the way I felt for what it was—jealousy. Maybe possessiveness. I didn’t want him there at all, even behind the camera.

I wanted to be enough for him so he’d choose to stay with me. To fuck me. Not be tempted by these straight guys who wanted to experiment.

He didn’t. It shouldn’t hurt to know that, but it did. It does . I went over when he came back from Rumor, and we fucked. He told me about the games he filmed and how for one entire session his camera wasn’t on at all. They laughed, then decided to teach him how to use the camera.

I felt better after. But there’s still something between us that wasn’t there before, and not in a good way. Less talking. Less hanging out on either side of fucking. It’s making a pit form in my stomach. It’s like I can actually feel him creating space between us. I’ve run through the gambit of things I can say to bring us back to where we’d been.

But every time I try, I fall short.

Today was the first day I stopped at his place and he wasn’t there. At least I think he’s not there. He didn’t answer the few times I knocked, and he’s never ignored me. I don’t think Sparrow’s the kind of guy who would ignore me .

But I do get the feeling he’s slowly phasing me out of his life. He’s ready to move on.

He’s still completely into sex. Addictingly so. I’ve never been as turned on as I am when we’re fucking. And it’s still not because it feels mind-blowing for me physically, but because seeing Sparrow so into it is the biggest aphrodisiac.

But the comfort after is gone. The easy company and conversation. The teasing and laughter. He doesn’t even call me Risk anymore. I fucking hate that he doesn’t.

Standing outside his building, I look up. I’m on the wrong side to see his window, not that it would help because I can’t see inside. Not to mention that’s creepy. Also, there’s far too much reflection on the glass at this time of day.

Because I’m pathetic and the thought that he’s ignoring me is giving me anxiety, I text him.

Me

Hey. You busy?

It’s casual enough, but when I see the last text between us was three weeks ago, I cringe. Because I don’t text him. I just show up. This is basically me admitting that I’ve been to his place and he’s not home, so I’m checking in because I’m a loser and need some reassurance that he’s not ignoring me.

The thought occurs to me that he might be at Rumor. I choose to pretend that’s not an option to convince the bile in my stomach to settle.

Reluctantly, I walk away from the apartment complex and back toward campus. It’s several minutes before Sparrow returns my text.

River Sparrow

Hanging with some friends.

Nothing after that. Nothing. It’s fine. But do I leave it like that? Do I respond? It feels weird not acknowledging his text, so I send back?—

Me

Cool.

Fuck, I’m lame. What’s wrong with me?

Instead of staring at my phone and pining after someone who maybe doesn’t want me around anymore, I dial Edin. He answers on the third ring, and it sounds like chaos in the background.

“Hey, man,” he greets.

“What’s going on? It sounds like the roof is coming down.”

There’s banging and yelling and Morgan crying. Something slams and it makes me flinch. Morgan’s cries get louder.

Edin sighs in exhaustion. “Hold on a second.” He very clearly pulls the phone away from his face because when he hollers, it’s loud, but not deafening. The noise abruptly stops. Including Morgan’s cries.

“If you’re going to be a piece of shit, I’m taking Morgan and leaving. Get your fucking act together. She deserves a better environment than you screaming all fucking day, Lydia.”

“You can’t just?—”

“I can just. Try me. Fucking try me. I’m at my limit. You wanted to see how far you can push me, well you’ve found my limit. I don’t care if you want to be a shitty, bitter person. I don’t care if you hate me. But if you can’t be a good mother, then you’re not going to be one. I’m done. I’m so fucking done with you. Do you understand me? I’m. Fucking. Done!”

Silence. Absolute silence. It extends so long that I pull my phone away to make sure the call didn’t drop. Jesus.

When I bring it back to my ear, I hear Edin say, “Come here, baby. Let’s go play outside.”

“Okay, Daddy,” Morgan whispers.

Footsteps. A door opening and closing with far more control than I think he actually feels right now. But his anger seeps into the phone.

“Here you go. Play for a bit and let me talk to Uncle Dak. Okay?”

“Yep,” she says, sniffing.

Then he’s back on the phone. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You okay? What do you need? ”

“A different life,” he mutters. Then sighs. “Never mind. What’s up with you?”

“Edin—”

“I know you want to help,” he cuts me off. “You can’t. I made this fucking mess. Now I have to deal with it.”

He sounds so tired.

“Please, please, please come visit me. You and Mo. Please. Just for a long weekend.”

“Maybe,” he says.

“You and I both know maybe means no.”

He chuckles, but it’s not humorous. “What’s up with you?”

All of my problems seem so stupid and insignificant right now. There’s my version of miserable knowing that something I don’t want to be over might be, then there’s Edin miserable, where he doesn’t want to live his life anymore.

I glance up and my stomach drops when I see Sparrow across the quad. He’s with two guys. Both shorter, softer. Adorable. Sparrow’s smile is back. One of the men is hanging onto Sparrow’s arm.

Everything feels sour. I want to cry. Are those his friends or… someone else he’s interested in? When his arm wraps around the one that had been hanging off him, I force myself to turn away. I sink against a tree and close my eyes.

“Dak?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Sorry.”

“What’s going on with you? Tell me literally anything.”

“I, uh…” Words fail me. I’m not going to whine about my pathetic problems when he’s having an actual problem. Sighing, I shake my head. “Nothing really. Just classes and shit. Haven’t talked in a while, so I thought I’d check in.”

“And you call when Hell is breaking out,” he mutters, bitter amusement in his voice.

“I really wish I could do something,” I say.

“You know… me too, Dak. I really just…” he trails off. “Don’t know what to do.”

“You know what I think.”

He huffs. “Yeah. I know. But I can’t just get a divorce because things are hard. That’s not going to give Mo a better life. ”

“I think you’re wrong. Don’t pretend she can’t feel how much you and Lydia hate each other. A better life for all of you is getting out of there.”

“If I leave, that means we’ll get 50/50 custody, and I don’t want Morgan alone with her. Not when I can’t trust she’s not going to throw a damn tantrum and break and slam shit. I don’t want my daughter living in fear while she’s visiting her mother. At least when I’m here, I can stop it.”

I can’t argue with that. I don’t even think he’s wrong. If that’s how Lydia behaves now in his presence, what will she do when he’s not around?

“Look. I need to go see what this crazy bitch broke. Call you later, okay?”

“Yes. Please think about coming out here. Even just for a weekend.”

Edin laughs quietly. “I’ll think about it.”

“I miss you,” I insist.

A heavy sigh fills the receiver. “I miss you too, Dak.” Then the line goes dead.

More than anything, I’d like to get rid of that stupid woman. I get that it takes two to fuck, but this is no life for Edin or Morgan. If I were a kinder person, I’d include Lydia in that. I’m sure Edin isn’t perfect; he’s a boy that was forced to grow up far too early. It made him bitter. Knowing he’s at fault for his own actions doesn’t change that.

But I’m not a bigger person, so I don’t give a fuck what happens to her. I just want her to go away.

My phone flashes at me as I pull it away. I received a text while I was on the phone, and I’d like to say that listening to Edin’s situation has put my life into perspective concerning what actually constitutes a problem. My stomach flips when I see Sparrow’s name.

River Sparrow

I’ll let you know when I get home. You can stop by if you want.

I don’t answer. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to or if he needs an answer. So I don’t. I text Ezlo instead, hoping he’ll be around. I have no idea what his jumbled text back means, so I tell him I’m in the quad and take a seat, not facing the direction I’d seen Sparrow in.

Minutes pass as I watch people wander around. Maybe they’re directionless, or maybe they have destinations. I don’t know. Everyone looks absent to me right now. Like they feel my loss and are just going through the motions of life.

“Hey,” Ezlo says, and I glance up at him.

“Hey.”

“This is a weird place for you to be hanging out.” Ezlo drops his bag and takes a seat next to me.

I shrug. For some reason, I haven’t told him about Rumor or Sparrow. I haven’t told him anything. Ezlo is almost always pretty self-contained when it comes to the world around him. He doesn’t need a lot of input. He creates his own homeostasis and entertainment, and those around him are just along for the ride.

I’m not sure he’s even noticed I haven’t been around much over the last month.

We sit in silence for several minutes, and I muse that this is probably the longest he’s ever sat still.

“I’m afraid of not living up to their legacies,” he says quietly.

This isn’t the first time Ezlo’s started a conversation in his head and halfway through has invited me into it, thinking I know what he’s talking about. “What?”

Ezlo sighs. “The reason I quit hockey,” he explains. “It’s not because I don’t love it. I miss it so fucking much, Dak. But I don’t want to live my life trying to fill shoes I may never have the greatness to fill. I get that making it to the AHL or the ECHL is still great and amazing and more of an opportunity than so many athletes get. But I don’t always want to hear the whispers that I didn’t get the talent my parents have. I don’t want to live in their shadows as never being as good as them.”

“Ezzy,” I start, but then I’m not sure what to say. I wrap my arm through his and lean heavily into his side. “You’re an amazing player, Ez. I have no doubt that you’d make it to the NHL.”

He sighs. “But I don’t know that. I secretly entertained offers in high school, Dak. I even had a couple who wanted to put me on their farm teams, but… I just don’t want to hear the comments that I’ m good but not good enough to be great like my fathers. They’re both in the NHL hall of fucking fame, Dak.”

I laugh. “Ezlo, my parents are the Buffalo trio. I completely and totally understand the kind of shadow hanging over your hockey career. They’re talked about with reverence, like they’re the fucking messiah when it comes to hockey. When I was nine, my coach told me I had some big skates to fill because my fathers were practically hockey gods. Trust me, I get it.”

He smiles, but it’s not full of Ezlo energy like normal. “I know you do.”

“If you miss hockey—” I stop talking when he shakes his head.

“I do. A lot. But I know I can’t live with that kind of pressure on me.”

We sit quietly for a minute before I say, “Sometimes I wonder if they’re disappointed I didn’t go into hockey. Are they disappointed I decided to quit and chose a career path that has nothing to do with hockey?”

“Did you quit for the same reason?” he asks, looking at me.

I frown. “I don’t know. I mean, I was ten so maybe? It just wasn’t how I wanted to spend every waking minute, you know?”

Ezlo nods. A minute passes. “I don’t think they’re disappointed.”

“No?”

“I always tell myself that if they’d been disappointed in my life choices, then they could have chosen to have another child and try again for one who followed in their skates. This wasn’t a last-minute decision not to go pro. I’d been saying I wasn’t going to for at least the last few years in high school.”

“Even if they chose to have a second child, it doesn’t mean they’re disappointed in you.” Ezlo gives me a smile and I realize that he might have led me into saying that as a way to make sure I understand that myself. “Fucker,” I mutter.

A glimpse of his normal smile flashes across his face.

“Why did you just tell me this?” I ask.

“You’ve been really quiet this week,” he says. “Sad. I don’t know what it’s about, but I thought you should know I understand the pressure that maybe you’re under.”

“It’s sweet that you shared your secret to cheer me up, Ez.”

“I shared it because if anyone would know how I feel, it’s going to be you. Literally no one understands how I feel or why I feel that way. When I first started having these thoughts and doubts, I did express them to a couple people, and you know what they said?”

“I can imagine.”

He snorts. “That I’m being ridiculous. No one should compare me to my parents. It’s stupid to throw away a career I want out of fear. Don’t be an idiot, you’re going to do great, Ezlo. On and on and on. So, I stopped talking about it.”

“That’s shitty.”

“It’s life. When people learned I was serious about not going pro, I lost three supposed ‘good’ friends on my team. We’re going in different directions, Ez. Nothing personal. ”

“I just… wow. That’s really shitty.”

He shrugs. “Is what it is. One of them got hurt right before our senior year. An injury he couldn’t recover from and skate like he used to. Guess who wanted to be friends again?”

“I hope you told them to eat shit.”

Ezlo grins absently. “Kind of. I told them I had no room in my life for fair-weather friends. They’d already shown me their true colors, and I wasn’t interested.”

“Good.”

“Boy, did they get pissed when I threw it back at them,” he muses, shaking his head.

“Asshole deserved it.”

A comfortable quiet surrounds us for a few minutes.

“So… you want to talk about what’s made you so sad?” Ezlo asks.

I shake my head. “No. I don’t.”

He nods. “That’s cool. But you can if you want to.”

“I know, Ez. Thanks.”

He nods again. For a long time, we sit right there, watching people moving around while saying nothing. I don’t know what he’s thinking about that’s got him so quiet. Maybe just more reflecting on why he gave up hockey.

But no matter how much I’d love to stop thinking about Sparrow, knowing there are people with actual problems in the world, that’s the only place my mind wants to go. My chest hurts at the thought that what we had is over before it truly began.