"I love you, Tasha. I love you! I only came here to explain myself!"
Did she pause before she walked inside or did I imagine it? I couldn't tell. And it didn't matter anyway, because a pause wasn't going to fix anything. I punched the steering wheel as I backed out into the street, swiping angry tears off my face. It was my fault. Fucking all of it was my fault. Kelsey Richards groping me - that wasn't my fault. But the rest of it was. I was the idiot who decided that doing shots of straight vodka at my high school prom was a good idea. I was the moron who had just tried to fight Ray.
I was shaking with anger the entire drive home, crying and not even bothering to try to stop myself, full of self-loathing and a feeling of utter futility. On the football field, that pride was a bonus. Coaches praised me for the way I never backed down. NFL scouts nodded with approval. And at eighteen years old I had just been given one of the most profound lessons of my life - that bulldozer shit doesn't always result in a win.
When I got home I went straight to my room and didn't come out for two days. Skipped school, missed a football practice, didn't eat. It was only on the third day, when my dad forced my bedroom door open and demanded to know what the hell was going on that I partially emerged from the deep, dark pit of despair I was in. It was awful. And it wasn't just awful because Tasha was gone or because I'd finally been made to pay for my recklessness and unwillingness to back down - it was awful because it was scary just how low I could go. Before Tasha, there had been a halo of invincibility around me. Kaden Barlow. Reinhardt High's quarterback, breaker of all the records, shoe-in for the NFL. I was the golden boy and soon I would be the king - everyone believed it. Even me. And then suddenly I'm in my room in the dark, raging at myself and the world and unable to give even a single shit about football or my 'career' or anything except Tasha Greeley and the fact that I'd lost her.
My dad had a sandwich with him. He set the plate down on my bedside table and then sat down in the chair in front of my desk, looking at me.
"Son, we've left you alone for two days. You've missed school and football. I think it might be time to talk, don't you?"
I didn't want to talk. Not because I thought my parents didn't care - I knew for a fact they did - but because I knew they wouldn't be able to help. Would they be able to somehow get Natasha to hear me out? Would they be able to get her back for me? No. And nothing else mattered. I also knew they would try and do that thing where older people romanticize the suffering of young people, try to write it off as puppy love or a learning experience or something like that. And I was pretty sure I was going to lose my shit if someone tried that on me when I was in that state of mind.
Still, my dad deserved an answer. He hadn't done anything wrong.
I looked over at the sandwich. "Is that soppressata?"
"Yes, it is. Your mother drove to the city to get it - she knows it's your favorite."
I almost started fucking crying again at that damned sandwich. I mean, I didn't, but it almost happened. My emotions were all over the place and that in itself made me feel even more like a freak, like someone who wasn't me.
"Well, thanks for that," I said, picking up the sandwich and taking a bite. I should have been starving but the flavors were just dull in my mouth. I didn't take a second bite. I looked up at my dad.
"I fucked up."
"Yeah, we assumed as much. Now, don't get angry, but we called the school. We called your coach. No one has any idea what's going on with you. The police haven't called, either, so I assume you haven't done anything illegal. What is it, Kaden? Your mother is worried sick."
My head felt heavy on my shoulders. My body felt weak. I was going to sound like the world's biggest pussy if I told my dad what was really going on. But what choice did I have?
"I fucked up with Tasha. I got drunk at prom and some girl kissed me and Tasha saw it. Now she won't speak to me."
To his credit, my father took what I told him seriously. He ran his hand over his chin and nodded.
"Yeah, I figured it might be something like that. At least after we talked to the people at school. You got drunk at your prom? Hm. I suppose I'll leave the question about where you guys got alcohol for some other time. And Tasha caught you kissing another girl? Is that it?"
"I wasn't kissing her!" I burst out. "Jesus! No one will believe this! Dad, can you just listen for a minute? Without interrupting? Just one minute?"
"Sure, son. Not a problem."
"OK. I was drunk. Not just a little drunk - I was really, really drunk. I was supposed to meet Tasha in the gym but time got away from me because - yeah, because of the drinking. Anyway, this girl Kelsey Richards has been into me for a long time. She came up behind me and started grabbing me. I thought it was Tasha - I thought she'd come to find me when I didn't meet her in the gym. So, yeah, I turned around and started kissing Kelsey, but only because I thought she was Tasha! And as soon as I realized it wasn't her - which was, like, five seconds or something like that - I stopped. And dad, I wasn't even tempted, I was grossed out. I was really pissed at Kelsey, too, but then Steve Carlson started going all white knight and I was so wasted anyway that I just wandered off to who knows where. Aaron Sokolsky took me home and I spent the night there and then, well, Tasha just stopped talking to me. She's totally ignored all my messages, e-mails, calls - all of it. She's avoiding me at school. So I can't even explain myself! And it's driving me fucking crazy!"