Out of Play

Chapter Thirteen

Bishop

The urge to puke hits, and I actually have to fight it down. Last night I’d been all screwed up in the head. I couldn’t believe I kissed her. Couldn’t believe she told me no. Actually, what I can’t believe is that it bothers me so much. She’s just a girl, or should be anyway, so there’s no reason I should have felt like someone kicked the crap out of me. No reason I should have sat behind my drums all night, beating out all my pent up energy, with nothing except Pe

I should have just moved on.

So, I called Marya

It felt right at the time, but now watching Pe

Marya

My head is so screwed up. There can’t really be two me’s.

“Who was that?” Marya

“A friend,” I tell her before closing the door.

“Bishop, are you hooking up with the locals?” she teases, trying to wrap her arms around me from behind, but I dodge her.

“Gary will be back soon. If this is going to work, we need to get out of here now.” After walking over to the couch, I grab my bag. I can’t believe I’m doing this while Gary’s taking Troy to the airport. Can’t believe I’m doing it at all.

“I’m still shocked they made you come here and sent you with a babysitter. That’s such bullshit.”

For a minute, I wonder if she remembers what happened to me. That she was there, laughing and dancing when I almost OD’d, but I don’t because she’s right. It is crap. Not that things aren’t better here than I thought, but because they forced me. “It’s not that bad. Like a vacation.” We head out to her rental car.

On the way, I text Gary to tell him I’m with Pe

I lean back in the seat and think about Gramps, wondering if he remembers what happened last night. If things will be weird the next time I see him. Maybe it’ll be like tit for tat. He keeps my secrets, and I keep his. Not that his Alzheimer’s is a secret, but I’m pretty sure it’s not something he wants to talk about.

“You’re awful quiet. You’re not usually like this.”

Marya

“You got anything to drink?”

Marya

“Do you have any smokes?” She glances at me.

“Nah. I’m trying to quit.” Just since last night, but whatever. That’s what makes me suddenly realize what’s different. Why I’m so freaked out. The Bishop Marya

I don’t want to go back to that night.

“Wow…that’s new.”

If she knew me, she would know it’s not. I’ve always hated smoking. I just do it.

Finally, we pull into a tiny, hole-in-the-wall hotel. “Nice place,” I say, trying to chill out.

“Whatever. You’re the one who dragged me to this crappy town.”

Her words make me frown, but Marya

It’s about the same size as my cabin only not as nice. It’s got a cheap picture on the wall and an old blanket on the bed. The TV looks like it’s fifty years old. Dust flies up when I sit in the chair by the window.

Now what?

My leg starts bouncing and I start drumming my hands on my knees, wishing I was back at the cabin with my drums instead of here.

“Relax, Bishop. Damn, you’re wound up tight.” She tosses her bright pink bag on the bed and does the hair flip thing girls do. It’s blond, but all I can think of is it’s not the right blond. It looks fake. Maybe not fake, but not as…pure as Pe

“You got anything?” Marya

She doesn’t even have to specify what she’s talking about. Even though I just drank the water, I feel thirsty again. “Nope. Your stuff hasn’t come. You?”

The memory of holding Gramps’s pill bottles makes my palms itch. I squeeze my hands into fists, trying to forget. Trying to focus on my drums, working on the Corvette, and snowmachining with Pe

The girl is exhausting. In a good way.

When I kissed her, it felt so fucking awesome I thought she had to be feeling it, too. But really it was just a screw up, since she obviously wasn’t. And then I got back to my cabin, and the whole night came crashing back down around me. The hockey game. How it felt to hold Gramps’s pills. The kiss. Back and forth between kissing and pills, kissing and pills. I hadn’t been able to turn my brain off until I called Marya

“Now, Bishop… What kind of question is that?” She winks at me before she opens her bag. “I have a bottle of vodka.”

I want to tell her to stop.

I want to tell her to hurry up.

Not understanding either of the reactions, I try to ignore them and let her do what she wants to do.

Marya

Both my legs are moving, and both my hands are drumming, and my heart is trying to find the same rhythm as my hands and my legs, and it all feels like too much.

And not enough at the same time.

“What’cha got?” I push to my feet, walk over, and sit on the bed. A little voice whispers that I should go—this nagging sense of wrongness overwhelms me. I’m so sick of feeling guilty for everything.

After grabbing the bottles, I fumble them in my hands. Then I read each one until I find what I want. My hands tremble as I shake three pills out.

Marya

Fuck it.

I toss all three in my mouth and swallow.

I expect the hyperactive limbs to slow, but they don’t. Expect to feel better, but I don’t. I’m still thinking about Gramps and Pe

Trying to relax, I lean against the headboard of the bed and grab the remote to the ancient TV. News blares through the speakers, and they’re talking about hockey, which makes me think about Pe