Page 11 of Rough
I inhale quickly; the thought shocking me to my core. There’s a pressure building in my throat, and no matter how many times I try to swallow it down, it only grows in size until there’s a ball lodged behind my vocal cords. My mouth starts to water, and I think I’m going to be sick.
“Pull over,” I croak out, my eyes wildly looking at my phone, then to the window. Back and forth, I wait, but nothing happens.Clyde doesn’t make any attempt to listen to me except to press the gas harder, speeding us up, so I yell louder. “Pull. Over!”
Convulsively, I swallow over and over, only feeling slightly relieved when I hear the turn signal indicate that we’re changing lanes. The moment the car comes to a stop, I shove my door open and let my body fall out into the ditch. I make it only a few feet before I’m heaving into the long grass, my stomach expelling everything I’ve eaten today.
As I throw up, I feel a soft hand graze over my back, but I shrink away from it. I don’t want Trina touching me right now. I don’t wantanyonetouching me.Goddamnit! My fucking dad just died!
I hear Wilder say softly, “Why don’t you wait in the car?” and Trina’s hand disappears from my skin after she squeezes my shoulder lightly once more. My body continues to wretch, Wilder standing next to me the entire time without saying a word.
It goes on for what feels like forever, but eventually I stop, letting my body fall heavily to the ground, where I hang my head between my knees. I feel weak, exhausted, and numb.
“Drink,” he orders me, shoving a bottle of water into my hand. Taking a sip, I rinse my mouth and spit it out next to me, then another one to wash the taste away. “You good?” he asks, causing a broken moan to escape me before I pull myself together.
“N-No,” I croak out, taking another sip to clear my throat.
He nods his head in my peripheral vision, settling his arms on his knees where he’s sitting next to me. “Donny?” We both know the answer, but I tell him anyway.
“Died,” I spit out, clenching the bottle in my hand until the remaining water flows over my hand.
Wilder’s hand reaches out to clamp down on my shoulder, this time without making me feel uncomfortable, and digs his fingers into my muscles. “Fuck. I’m so fuckin’ sorry, man.”
I know this hits him hard, just as hard as it affects Clyde. My dad has been like a father to both of them for our whole lives, and it’s a fucking painful blow. When mom called me yesterday, I dropped everything I was doing to go find Joe.Fuck, was it only yesterday that she called?Clyde and Wilder were with me, and, without a word, they followed me to the main office. I told him I needed to leave for a family emergency, the other two insisting they take vacation time with me. Joe wasn’t thrilled, but what could he say?
My dad has cancer…hadcancer. He’s been fighting it for over a year, and they never fucking told me.What the FUCK is happening right now?
“I’m good,” I mutter, trying to drag myself to my feet. I feel wobbly, my legs barely holding me as I climb to my feet. Stumbling forward, Wilder grabs my arm to keep me steady.
I force myself to stand up straight and brush the dirt from my pants before facing him, meeting his eyes. They’re glassy, probably matching my own, but he’s holding himself together for me. His eyes bounce back and forth between mine before he steps closer and wraps his arms around me tightly.
My head falls to his shoulder, but I don’t return the hug, my arms limp at my sides. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers, and I choke out a sob. “God, I’m so sorry.” His voice is broken, just as overcome as I am. All I can do is shake my head and pull away, using my shoulder to wipe away the tears that want to escape.
“Let’s just get home, yeah?” I ask, not able to say anything else. He slaps me on the shoulder and turns with me back toward the car. Clyde is standing next to it, leaning back with his hands in his pocket. Trina must be inside, thank God, and I step up to him.
“Don?” he asks, and I nod once.
Clyde pushes off the car and slowly wraps his arms around me. Never in my life can I remember a moment where this man has expressed any sort of feelings, let alone a hug for someone other than our Betsy. This time, I lift my arms to hold him against me, knowing that if Clyde is with me like this, he needs it more than I do.
We silently stand together in the dark on the side of a highway, his chest heaving rapidly against me, but he remains silent. Not a sound or word, just tension in his arms as he grips me. Finally, he pulls away and shoves me from him. Walking back toward the driver’s side, he calls over his shoulder, “Let’s get you home,” then slips inside.
My eyes find Wilder, who’s staring at where Clyde just disappeared, jaw loose in surprise, before he clicks his teeth together as he glances at me. “Ready?” he asks, and I nod. Seems that’s all I’m capable of right now.
This time, he lets me sit in the front, taking the back with Trina so I don’t have to deal with her brand of comfort. I stare out the window for the remainder of the drive trying to stop memories of my father from filtering into my head. I can’t do that just yet.
Trina forces Wilder to swap places in the back, and this time when she slides her palm over my shoulder, I reach up and give it a squeeze. It’s the only way I know to get her to stop, but also to thank her for her support.
Once the SUV rumbles up the driveway only an hour after the sun rises, I sigh in relief.Home.Christ, we’re home, but it’ll never be the same. As I walk up the front steps, it feels noticeably different, like I can tell that he’s already gone. Thankfully, the front door is unlocked, so I push it open, the door creaking as it swings wide to allow us inside.
Everyone follows me quietly, then stops when I freeze, catching sight of the body on the couch.
Betsy…
In jeans, socks, and a long-sleeved flannel shirt, the girl who’s been my best friend since childhood is curled up onmycouch with a pillow between her legs and an arm over her face. Stepping closer, I see her hair, longer than I remember, fanned out in a mess over her face with her mouth hanging open, softly snoring in my living room.
There’s a yellow lab stretched across her feet, watching me through tired, slitted eyes and a slow thump thump thump of its tail. Reaching a hand out, I let it sniff me before running my fingers through its silky fur. Mom would have a fit if she saw a dog on her furniture, but I don’t urge it down. They look cozy together.
“Who’s th—” I shush Trina immediately, never looking away from Betsy. I lean further over the back of the couch and use one finger to brush her hair from her face. She wrinkles a brow under my touch and groans as she shifts to her side, cuddling another pillow to her chest. Her dog doesn’t move, just readjusts with her.
My God, I haven’t seen her in so long and she’s changed so fucking much.
