"I'm sure they always knew each other. They went to the same school, but he played ball. They hung out in different crowds and stuff." The urge to touch her more takes me over and I slide my other hand over her stomach, then hoping and praying it's okay, I let it slip under her shirt a little. Not too far, but enough so I can brush my thumb against her bare stomach.
"Is this okay?"
"You wouldn't have your hand if it wasn't."
Somehow, I believe her.
"Anyway." Brush, brush, brush. Her skin is so soft, so perfect, I can't stop feeling it. "Mom and her family went out to dinner one night and her dad started in on her. They left, but he blew up at her in the parking lot. Dad was there, saw them, yelled at grandpa and then started talking to her at school. They were friends at first, but she said after like six months, he kissed her. They had to sneak around because my grandpa obviously hated him. Graduation night, she didn't go home and never went back.
"His parents let her stay with them, since they were both eighteen and all. My dad's parents are awesome. He probably could have gone to any school he wanted because he was good at ball, but he stayed local. Went to school, they got a tiny apartment. His parents helped them a lot. They loved Mom. They helped her open her store, too. He was still in college when they had me. I think it was the first time she knew what it was like to have a real family. His parents moved to Washington when he died, but we still talk to them all the time."
"It's like a fairytale," Kira whispers.
"Yeah?"
"Definitely. They loved each other a lot, didn't they?" Her voice is soft. She rolls toward me, so my hand drifts to her side.
"Yeah... it was hard on her and Bill. She never loved him the way she did Dad."
"I wonder if my mom has or had that kind of love. It sucks not knowing. I mean, I guess she couldn't have. Why would she have left me if she did, but I still wonder."
Tell her. Tell her. Tell her. That I love her that way. That I would do the same things for her. That I love her the way Dad loved Mom. "You could always go ask her. Have you decided yet?"
"No. I still don't know."
My hand is big, splayed in the dip of her waist. She feels so small, so good.
"You'll figure it out. You'll do the right thing, no matter which way you decide."
She leans closer.
I lean closer.
My hand runs up her back, over her bra strap and back down, just needing skin to skin contact.
"Are you going to kiss me or what, Coach?"
I'm smiling against her lips, but then I can't concentrate enough to smile. Only enough to kiss her. She moans a little in my mouth and it's awesome. Knowing I affect her the same way she affects me. Rolling onto my back, I pull her with me so she's lying on top of me rather than the hardness of the truck. She kisses my neck. I kiss hers. Nips my earlobe. I do the same.
Energy zips through my body. Maybe through my body, into her and back to me again.
"Kira, " I whisper against her mouth.
"Carter," she throws back at me.
"I—" My phone beeps, contrasting the quiet.
"Crap." I fumble for it. A sudden sickness wiping out all Kira's electricity.
The name BILL lights up my screen.
Pushing to sit up, I hit talk. Kira kind of rolls off me at the same time. "What's wrong?" I ask.
"Nothing. Sara was having a bad day and wanted her mom so I brought her home a few hours ago. I just wanted to call and check in, but your mom must have let her phone die because it's going straight to voicemail."
I feel like I died too. Sara is home. Sara is home with Mom on the anniversary of my dad's death. And I know she's been sober and she promised me she would be okay, but somehow, I know she's not. I probably knew when I left, but I went anyway. And my little sister is with her because I went out.
I see that bottle sitting in the box. The very full bottle that she could drink. How drunk would that make her? For all I know, she could even have more. Would she wait until Sara is asleep? Why didn't I take it earlier? At least stay until she finished folding the clothes so I could take her bottle.
"Carter? Are you there?" Bill's voice says. I'm climbing out of the truck. When did I move?
"Yeah, I'm here. I'm sure everything is good. I'm actually on my way home right now."
"Okay, well it's no biggie. I just wanted to check in."
"All right. See you later." I try to sound calm, but as soon as the words leave my mouth, I hit end on the call. "Come on. We gotta go."
Kira doesn't ask questions, just starts grabbing the blankets and helping me stuff them in the truck. A few seconds later, we're both in the cab, the truck is started and I'm peeling away. My hands are shaking as I grip the wheel.
"Do you want me to drive?" Kira asks.
"No."
"Okay, slow down and be careful. It won't help if we don't get there okay."
"Sara's home. Bill brought her home on the day my dad died? What was he thinking? Fuck! What was I thinking? I never should have left her."
Kira mumbles a curse. "She said she was fine, right? I'm sure she's fine, Carter. She hasn't been drinking at all lately. I doubt she would do it with Sara. And if she is...you know it isn't your fault, right?"
Her question isn't worth replying to. Fighting will just slow me down. How could things have changed so fast? I'd been laying there with Kira feeling free and now this. She's drinking with Sara and I know it, which means I'd known she would drink all along. Knew it, but I still left. Talk about selfish.
The second we pull into the driveway, I run to the door. As soon as I have it unlocked, I toss my keys to Kira who ran up behind me. I don't want her to see this. Can't handle the thought of her hearing Mom slur my name, or need me to carry her up the stairs.
"Take my truck home. I'll call you tomorrow and you can bring it back."
"Carter."
I turn to her. "Please, Kira. Just go. I can take care of it."
Racing into the house, I slide to a stop at what I see. Mom lying across the couch. Black and purple bruises on one of her arms, like she fell or ran into something really hard. She's always bruised easy and quick, but this is bad. The coffee table is wiped free, her stupid knickknacks and candles scattered on the floor.
And I can't move. My whole body is frozen, staring at Mom. A very drunk, passed out, Mom.
Chapter Seventeen
"Oh my God," Kira says from beside me. "Tell me she had that bruise before you left, Carter."
I don't have it in me to say no. I don't have it to tell her to go home either. There's nothing, nothing inside me right now. "Sara..."
Kira touches my arm and then runs for the stairs. I know I should do something. Be the one upstairs checking on Sara. Go over and try to help Mom, but I can't move. Am I broken? I feel it. Nothing on me will move.
Rolling over, Mom groans, reaching her hand over to the table. It flops around, reaching for something that isn't there. The bottle that fell to the floor.
And all of a sudden, I hate her. Hate everything about her. Hate that she can't get better. That she'd chosen this bottle over us. That she loved my dad so much she can't get over it. There have been times I've been mad at her, times where I hated what she does, or maybe thought I could one day hate her, but this is different. I really do hate her and I hate myself for it.