The Failing Hours(40)

Is it?

“You’ve been a real prick in the past, but since the fundraiser and those kids and that girl…” He pushes a paperweight to the corner of his desk. “I’ll admit you’ve been easier to handle.”

I consider this; I guess it’s true I haven’t gotten into any arguments with anyone on the team since I started the Big Brothers program.

“Son, I’m going to ask you another personal question. You don’t have to answer, but I want you to give my words some real consideration. Will you do that for me?”

What can I do but nod? I’m his captive audience.

He steeples his fingers again, resting his pointy, wrinkled elbows on the desk and leaning forward.

“Now, I don’t want to sound preachy, but that little gal you’re spending time with has had a difficult life. Anyone can see that. She worked tremendously hard to get to where she’s at with all the hurdles she had to face.”

How the fuck does he know all this?

“The last thing she needs is someone with a chip on his shoulder fucking it all up.” Coach coughs into his closed fist. “I’m not telling you to break up with her, but I do want to tell you this: share your burdens with her, but don’t weigh her down with them. I know you have a lot of anger because of your folks, but Zeke, you’re a grown man. It’s time to let that shit go.

“More importantly”—his beady blue eyes pin me to the chair—“maybe it’s time to relieve someone else of their burdens instead of worrying so much about your own.”

I can’t believe all the sensitive bullshit coming out of Coach’s mouth; this is a man I’ve seen reduce grown men to tears, and now he’s doling our relationship advice like he’s…like he’s fucking Dr. Phil.

“Give it some thought,” he concludes. “And close the door on your way out.”





“Hey Zeke.” Rex Gunderson, our team manager, nudges me in the arm with his boney elbow. I don’t even know why the hell I let him and Oz follow me to the library tonight—neither of them ever shuts up long enough to let anyone study. “Isn’t that your tutor?”

Gunderson’s nasally voice breaks through my concentration, snakes through my cerebellum with alarming speed, and has me jerking my head up. Scanning the perimeter of the library. Skimming over the entrance. Glancing toward the back stacks, to the circulations desk.

Finding Violet.

Schooling my features into an expressionless mask of indifference so they don’t start in with the questions, or give me a rash of shit.

“Yeah, that’s my tutor.” I lower my head, determined to keep my eyes glued to a term paper.

“She’s not just his tutor,” Oz says with authority. “Is she Daniels?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“He’s why.” I cast a glance toward Rex Gunderson, wide-eyed and curious, then back at my roommate. “Why are you even here?”

“Ozzy invited me.”

“Of course he did.” Because he knew it would irritate the piss out of me.

We collectively watch Violet round the circulation desk, bending at the waist to straighten a cart of books, pulling one out and moving it to the bottom rack. Stand. Straighten the hem of her dark gray shirt.

“Psst,” Oz hisses loudly, cupping his large hands beside his mouth like a megaphone. “Psst, Violet.”

“Dude, cut it out,” I demand, smacking him in the tricep. “Knock it off.”

He is the picture of innocence. “What? I want to say hi.”

God he’s so fucking annoying.

I suck in a breath when Violet glances up, eyes scanning the first floor of the library. Know the exact moment she spots us by her sweet smile. By the way she nervously smoothes down her hair and bites her lower lip.

Beside me, Oz seizes the opportunity of having her attention. Shoots his hand in the air when she glances over again, signaling her with a wave, wiggle, and shake of his meddling fingers. He waves and waves, tattooed arm flailing around as if independent from his body, causing a scene. She’d have to be blind not to notice him, especially with that bright yellow Iowa t-shirt he’s sporting.

“I said knock it off.” I’m gritting through my teeth.

I see her flaming red blush from here—a blush I’ve seen over her entire naked body half a dozen times—and want to fucking punch my roommate in the face for drawing attention to our table, and for making her uncomfortable.

“Put your damn arm down,” I hiss, slapping at it.

“Dude, chill. I thought you’d want to say hi to your girl over there.”

I do.

I don’t.

I—not like this.

My face burns as red as hers, and I’m pretty sure the tips of my fucking ears are red, too.

“I do, but not right now.”

Oz scrunches up his ugly ass mug. “Why not? I thought the two of you were a thing. Canoodling and shit.”

“What’s canoodling?” Gunderson asks.

“You know,” Oz starts with an air of authority. “Snuggling and hanging out and shit.”

I’m telling you, ever since he started dating Jameson, he thinks he fucking knows everything there is to know about relationships; I could do without his unsolicited advice.

“Why do they call it canoodling?” Gunderson just will not let it go.

Oz shrugs. “How the hell should I know?”

“It sounds awful.”

“Well, Rexy, maybe that’s why you’re still single and Zekey and I are both in budding relationships.” His thumb flicks between the two of us. “He’s finally getting sex regularly, which is why he hasn’t been such a bitch.”

My response to them both is to glare down at my notebook and thump my pen on the table as Violet’s jeans and white shirt appear in my peripheral view.

“Incoming! Look alive, old chap!” Oz declares merrily. “And try not to fuck this up by being your usual cheerful self. That was sarcasm in case you missed it…”

“Shut up, scrot.”

“Why are you getting all defensive? I’m trying to help you charm the ladies.”

“That’s never going to happen,” Gunderson chuckles.

They’re the opposite of helpful, and they’re grating on my last nerve. The tension in my hands, legs, and shoulders is insurmountable, my fingers tapping on the table anxiously like a fidgety crack whore.

Oz laughs, kicking me under the table. “Relax dude, or she’ll think you have issues.”

“I said. Shut. Up.”

“Say shut up please.”

Oh my fucking god, seriously?

“Say it.”

I clamp my lips together.

Oz raises his dark eyebrows. “Are you really not going to say please?”

I don’t have to reply, because my eye roll speaks volumes. Crossing my arms, I glare.

“Your Darth Vader death stare doesn’t intimidate me,” he drones, unimpressed. “Just say please and we won’t embarrass you when your girlfriend gets here.”

My lips part, mouth clamps shut. Opens. Jaw clenches. Nostrils flare.

Violet zigzags her way across the room, sights set on me, timidly approaching with a warm smile on her lips.

“Shut up. Please.”

Ozzy and Rex Gunderson cackle like a pair of washwomen, Oz tipping back in his chair.

“Did you hear that Rexy? Daniels just said please! Holy shit, that’s gotta be a record for something. Write that down somewhere. I—” His voice breaks off when Violet reaches the table.

“Hi guys. Zeke.”

Oz and Rex wait for me to say something, one of them kicking my shin under the table.

I dig way down deep and come up with “Hey.”

Violet shifts on her heels, lips rubbing together. “Hey.” Her eyes twinkle, amused.

“How’s it going, Violet? It’s Violet, right?” Gunderson asks, his stupid face lit up with a stupid grin. The idiot is smiling ear to ear and gives me another kick under the table.

“Yes. Hi, we haven’t met.” She extends her hand and he takes it, first to shake it, and then to kiss her wrist.

“My cherie, a pleasure.”

Violet giggles, taking back her hand, her light laugh indicating that she’s entertained. “Very charming.”

Oz groans. “Ignore him please; he’s a moron, which explains why he can’t make the wrestling team.” He looks her up and down, smiling a crocodile smile that drops panties all over campus. “You working?”

“Yes, but only for another hour.” She shoots me a sidelong glance. “No appointments today.”

“Zeke says you’re his tutor,” Rex says. “What subjects do you tute?”

“A-All of them.”

“All of them? Like—all of them?”

“I guess I shouldn’t say all,” she amends. “I should say, most.”

“Maybe I should hire you.” Gunderson waggles his brows at her, the little fucker. “I need serious help with chemistry.”

“S-Sure,” Violet stutters. “You can check the schedule at the circulation desk and arrange it.”

“What if I pay you on the side? That’s what Daniels does, isn’t it?” The little asshole isn’t talking about tutoring anymore, and everyone knows it. “Do you take side jobs?”

“Enough with the questions Rex. Jesus, give it a rest,” I snap, ball cap coming off, fingers raking through my dark hair. “Leave her alone.”