Kyle ducked his head so Grandpa wouldn't see the shine of tears in his eyes. "Thanks."
They stood awkwardly for a second before Grandpa snorted. "Okay, enough feelings crap. Let's drink. If you promise not to tell your dad, I'll let you have two beers."
The hard tangle of pain twisted up in his chest loosened a bit. "My lips are sealed."
Thursday morning, Kyle woke up early, forgetting he was almost done with the Gladwells' yard. Good thing he didn't have to be over there right away, because his head was killing him. After the first beer, Grandpa decided he needed a boilermaker-and that Kyle did, too. He had to admit, the whiskey shot had made his troubles fade, but now he was regretting ever listening to the old man.
"Never trust a marine, retired or not," he groaned, falling back on his bed. He hadn't been this hungover since that summer he and Cade had sneaked vodka out of Cade's dad's liquor cabinet. They'd thrown up for three hours later that night, trying to hide their dumbassery from his parents by barfing in the neighbor's bushes.
Thinking about Cade made him feel guilty. They used to be best friends, but Kyle hardly talked to him unless Cade came to him first. Baseball took up a lot of his time, sure, but he could've made more time. Why had he let eighth grade change him so much? If he hadn't, would he be here now-breaker of Faith's heart because he had problems? A loner with a crowd of friends? A supposed player without a single notch in his belt?
On the other hand, if he hadn't changed, would he have met Faith at all?
That line of questioning felt like it would burn his brain out of his skull … or maybe that was the whiskey chaser. Either way, he had to face the day: he still had practice and work to finish, and the Gladwells hadn't paid him yet. Honestly, if he could avoid going over there, he'd waive the bill, but that would never fly, would it?
He sat up slowly to find four Advil and a big glass of water on his nightstand. A note in Grandpa's handwriting next to it said, Sorry about that. No … not really.
Kyle snorted and downed the Advil with a big slug of water. By the time he showered and threw on some athletic shorts and a T-shirt, he could keep his eyes open without squinting. He took the stairs slower than usual, just in case, and went to the kitchen for some toast.
Grandpa was doing a crossword, a big mug of coffee on the table in front of him. "How's the head?"
"As bad as yours, I'd expect." Kyle poured himself some coffee and threw an English muffin into the toaster. "I have to go back over to Faith's. I need to finish their yard."
"You going to talk to her?"
"No." When Grandpa eyed him over the rims of his glasses, Kyle held up his hands. "She's probably pretty pissed at me. I should leave her alone."
"That's an excuse."
"Whatever."
"Hmpf, so you say."
"Yeah, so I say." He leaned against the counter. "I think I might go to Cade's after, if he's home, before practice."
Grandpa brightened at this. "Really? I like that kid. Haven't seen him for a while. Tell him hi for me."
"Will do."
After his breakfast, there was no point in stalling. He coaxed the Toyota out of the garage and drove to the Gladwells' house. Faith's car wasn't in the driveway, and Kyle felt like a coward for being relieved that she wasn't home. Mrs. Gladwell's car was there, though, so he trudged up to the front door and rang the bell.
She came to the door. Nothing about her expression accused of him of hurting her baby. "Kyle! Here to finish up?"
"Yes, ma'am. I just need in the garage to test the sprinklers, then I'll be out of your hair."
Her smile turned sad. "That's too bad. I kind of enjoyed having you around."
She knew, then, and her disappointed expression made him feel about two inches tall. "It's been a good job for me, too."
"Is that all?" she asked, the look in her eye knowing enough that he squirmed.
"Yes," he muttered, looking down at his shoes. "I guess that's all."
"Oh, Kyle." She sighed. "There's a lot I'd like to say, but I promised I wouldn't butt in. Thanks again for all your hard work. While you're fixing the sprinkler, I'll write you a check."
His neck grew hot. He hurt her daughter's feelings, and she was still nice to him-and willing to pay him. This sucked. "Thank you."
When she opened the garage door, he scurried inside gratefully. Guilt clawed its way up his throat, threatening to gag him. He wished he could explain everything to Faith, but with Cameron on the warpath, the best thing he could do for both of them was stay away. She wouldn't suffer for being with him, and he wouldn't have to risk losing everything he'd worked so hard to build.
Part of him wondered, though, if being with Faith was worth the risk. That was selfish thinking, though. There were times he thought she saw right through him, but that didn't matter. He was bad for her. Too messed up in the head and the heart. She deserved more than he could give her.
Still-maybe Grandpa was right. Maybe he should apologize.
He finished up with the sprinkler and knocked on the front door. Mrs. Gladwell appeared, holding a box and an envelope. "The check," she announced, holding up the envelope, "and a special thank-you for all the hard work. The yard is perfect for the luncheon."
"The grass might not be totally rooted by then, so you'll want to be careful where you set up tables." He swallowed hard. "Is, uh, is Faith around?"
"Her play director called everyone to an impromptu brunch with the principal players to lay out the details about rehearsals next week. It's time to start the full cast run-throughs, so he wanted to meet with the stage crew and the principals."
"Ah. Okay, um … " Now what? "Could you tell her … could you tell her I'm sorry?"
Her smile was kind. "I will. Anything else?"
He shook his head, defeat making his bones ache. "No. That's all."
She handed him the box and the check. "It's been nice working with you, hon. I hope to see you again sometime."
He doubted it, but he gave her a polite smile. "Thanks. I better run."
As soon as she closed the door, he jogged to the Toyota, wanting to put distance between himself and this house. In fact, he wanted to put distance between himself and everything his life had become. Frustrated, he drove down to the park where the Little League fields were. There was a trail that wound through the trees around it. He tied his shoes, twisted his torso to stretch his back, and started the timer on his watch.
Without bothering to think about pacing, or distance, or anything really, Kyle took off like he was being chased. Sweat soon stuck his shirt to his back and chest, and his lungs burned, but he didn't stop. He wanted to run until he forgot. Until he was too tired to think. Practice would be extra hard ahead of Tuesday's game, but until then, he needed a release. A runner's high was the only way he thought he could get it.
Grandpa would say he just needed to get laid.
Kyle ran harder, until his breath came in wheezes, before flying into the outfield on one of the Little League fields. He collapsed on the grass and flopped onto his back with his arms over his head. The sky was that pale blue you only saw in spring, and a flock of grackles flew overhead, cawing like the world owed them something. He'd always been so happy here, playing baseball, not worrying about girls, or bullies, or how to hide inside himself for protection. The smell of the grass in the outfield calmed his soul more than anything else.
It wasn't enough, though. He was sick of the lies, the charade. At some point, he needed to reclaim the happy kid he'd been and ditch the surly, confused guy he was. But how? He couldn't just … change and expect no one to question it.
He found himself reaching for his phone. Before he realized it, he was texting Cade. Which could end up being futile, as Cade was the lone guy at Suttonville who still called people instead of texting.
K: You there?
It took five minutes before the little dots indicating a return message popped up. He imagined Cade staring at the phone, wondering if he should text back or call.
C: Kyle?
K: No, it's your Aunt Tilly.
C: Now I know it's you. What's up, man?
K: You busy? I need to talk.
C: I'm busy with the musical all weekend, but how about Monday after rehearsal? We get out at seven. You can swing by my house.
The show. That's right-Cade ran AV for the drama classes. That meant he was with Faith. That hurt, but at least he could ask how she was without being obvious.
K: Yeah, that'll work. See you then.
His phone rang ten seconds later. "You know what, if you're texting me, I probably ought to make sure you're not standing on a bridge looking down or something."
Kyle laughed at Cade's wry, but suspicious, tone. "I'm lying on my back in the outfield of a Little League field."
"Oh, that's fine, then." Cade paused. "You okay?"
Kyle had to take a long breath before answering to make sure his voice didn't crack. "Not exactly. Girl trouble, you know?"
"You? Girl trouble?" A snort. "Since when?"
"I'm serious, man. There's this girl I really like, but I keep screwing things up. I want to do better for her." God, he sounded stupid. "I need advice."