Page 29 of Xavier

CHAPTER 14

Xavier

LSU’s campus was huge.

With a sprawling greenery that was the size of a small town, surrounded by dozens of buildings that made up the rest of the property, it made it easy to get lost once you were past the front entrance gates.

There were a couple of signs here and there pointing toward different directions, but outside of that, you were on your own.

Dexter and I had left early this morning and grabbed a bite to eat before coming over here, giving us the time to wake up and recharge before we took on the massive undertaking of exploring this entire place before we were due back to Gage’s house for lunch at one.

With it being winter break, almost the entire campus was deserted aside from us wandering around. Which was kind of nice. Not many people got this kind of an unfettered tour ofa potential school without being hassled by a second year tour guide trying to upsell you on the meal package.

As much as it’d kill me to have Dexter living so far away from me, I could see him walking across these soon-to-be-busy sidewalks getting to class with his backpack stuffed to the brim with textbooks and notes. I could see him proudly repping the purple and yellow colors of LSU and excitedly telling anyone who asked him where he was going for his four-year degree.

All of this could be the dad in me being proud of my kid even before he actually agreed on committing to a college before we could even tour one fully. I never had any doubts in me that he’d get into a great school, regardless. He had the drive to go far in life in whatever he wanted to do. Anyone could see that.

“They’ve got a huge sports program here,” Dexter told me while passing by the gates heading toward the stadium. From here, I could spot the familiar yellow goal posts rising up over the buildings blocking the field from view. “They’ve put a lot of money into their football team.”

I raised my brow. “You interested in something like that?”

His head snapped to me while a small snort escaped him. “No offense, dad. But do I look like the type to do sports?”

Ironically, he had my build, just without all of the muscle attached to it. He was still a growing kid, though, young enough that his second bout of puberty hadn’t yet hit. So, there was still time.

Mentally, though?

No, I couldn’t see Dexter running around a football field and getting slammed to the ground while trying to wrestle around for a pigskin.

“Hey, I’m not here to judge your interests,” I teased.

If anything, I wanted to encourage whatever it was he typically occupied his time with. Reading, exercising, lounging around playing video games. None of that mattered to me as long as he was happy and still kept up his grades.

Back in the day with my own dad, I’d never had the luxury of sitting around doing nothing. He was of the old school mindset that moving equaled productivity and relaxing was born out of laziness. I’d had a lot of pent up energy when I was younger, which translated to keeping myself busy whenever I had any kind of downtime.

Hence the military.

After a while, though, it weighed on me. I’d had a hard time transitioning into civilian life—my whole adolescence having been molded into creating anxiety anytime I didn’t at least keep my hands busy. Sometimes, I wondered if that was the reason I’d ever picked up the bottle in the first place.

Alcohol quieted my racing mind like no other. Once my PTSD took control, abusing it was just another step on my already growing totem pole of vices that would eventually kill me one day.

These days, forcing myself to relax was like learning an entirely new language. I was clunky at it, bad at practicing when I should be, and had a habit of wanting to rely on my old ways in order to make myself feel better.

My therapist had said that, as a form of perfectionism, trying once and failing had resulted in me giving up. Hearing that for the first time spun me around for days. I’d never considered myself tobea perfectionist. And yet the more internal work I’d done, and the more I uncovered who Ireallywas, the more accurate that damn statement was.

Haunting me, to this day.

I’m proud that I never went back to the bottle. It’d been tempting as all hell, don’t get me wrong. Falling back into my old habits, as my therapist had said, would be taking the easy way out. But I’d be damned if I became a quitter.

I hadn’t been raised that way and I certainly wasn’t going to start.

Dexter nudged me with his elbow, reaching for the door to the main academic building and holding it open for me. “Football’s not really my cup of tea.”

“So what is?” I asked, stepping inside and waiting for him to follow me before we began strolling leisurely down the long hallway.

The place was three stories, large glass panes stretched up to the ceiling that had round tables on the other side of it, facing out toward the main lobby. The staircase leading up to the first floor was more grand than I’d ever seen a college have.

Twin banners were hanging from the ceiling over the staircase in that familiar purple.

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