Out of Play

The doctor keeps Mom from my room for my recovery. I’m angry and she’s here and I want all of this to be over. I want to be home with Gramps working on my car and giving Bishop shit for not keeping up—even though he does.

I hear long recovery. Physical therapy. Pain medication. Rest. Calm. Nothing I want to hear.

Bishop still hasn’t made his way to me. I think that hurts almost as much as losing Gramps.

…

Mom and I drive home together, and she’s sort of understanding I need her to be quiet because she’s said nothing. I feel empty. I should be worried I’ll never play hockey again or that my arm won’t work right or wonder how far behind in homework I’m going to be, but I don’t have it in me to care about any of that. Gramps and Bishop are the only things swirling in my head. As soon as we stop in the driveway I push open my door, determined to do this on my own.

“I’m going to see Bishop. I’ll be inside in a minute.” Though, I haven’t totally figured out how to walk by myself yet.

She sucks in a breath like she’s bracing herself.

“What?” But before she can answer, Mitch slides into my driveway in his truck. Driving like an ass, as usual.

Before Mitch opens his door, Mom says, “He’s gone, Pen. He and Gary left. I have a number for you.”

“He left? Why didn’t you tell me?” The hollowness grips at my insides in a feeling that’s a million times worse than my shoulder. “Give me the number.”

Mom slides out her phone and scrolls to Gary, handing it to me.

I hit send with shaky hands. It hasn’t even sunk in that he’s not here. Bishop would never just leave. Not with me hurt. Not with Gramps’s death. How crazy is it that I never even got Bishop’s number? He was just here.

“Hello?” Gary answers.

“What’s going on?” My voice has nowhere near the strength I need for it to. My body has no strength.

“Pe

“What are you talking about?” I’m blinking back tears again. Even my lips are trembling, I’m feeling so much. How could he… “Was he sick or something?”

Mitch stops next to me, his brows pulled down, and he’s leaning forward, trying to see my face.

“You know who he is, right?” Gary asks. “The drummer for—”

“I know who he is!” I yell, pain spreading through my side so sharp I gasp, and Mitch wraps an arm around me. “Where is he?”

He sighs. “He has a drug problem, Pe

It’s like someone’s just stuffed my head with cotton—something that makes it hard to think. To see. To breathe. Drug problem? He’s on drugs, and he never told me? My world tilts. I don’t get how Bishop could be on drugs. He never seemed like a junky to me. Never once acted high. And he knew, knew how I felt because of my dad. And. And he knew how I hate being lied to. In a strange way, that’s not the worst thing he did. How could he have all the faith in me—tell me I can go to school where I want and play on the men’s team—when he wasn’t even staying clean? In a way, he was another person making choices for me. Or allowing me to make choices based on a lie.

And he left. Left me the way Dad did. I know it wasn’t his choice, but I feel left all the same. Mom chose Ben over me. Mitch left me for Becca. Gramma and now Gramps… Why am I so easy to leave behind?

“Do you know my dad died?” I ask. It’s all I can think of—easier to focus on this instead of the fact that two people I care about are gone in one swoop.

Mom’s hand goes to her mouth, and she blinks as a few tears fall. I’m not sure if this makes me feel bad for her or more angry. Probably, I should feel bad.

“You mean Gramps?” Gary asks.

“No!” I snap. “My dad!”

“No,” he whispers.

“Some stupid asshole who liked to get wasted killed him. When you see Bishop—if you see Bishop—tell him to leave me the fuck alone.” I hang up the phone, hand it to Mom, and the first sob hits me, sending shocks of pain from my shoulder through my body. It’s not taped tight enough. No one could tape me tight enough.

My hip aches as I move back to my house a half step at a time. I know I should be leaning against someone, but Mitch doesn’t feel right anymore.

Bishop’s gone. Walked out on me when I needed him most.

I lost my Gramps. His happy face, his freaking pies, and his horrible country music.

I don’t have enough people to lose two at once.

There’s too much hurt. Too much cracking apart. Too much everything. Every kind of pain. Bishop’s gone. The bastard left. God. And the reason he was here. I can’t breathe. Don’t want to move. I’m stopped in my driveway wishing I could pass out again. Wishing to not feel. To escape. Anything. I’d do anything. My body shakes, spreading the shoulder pain, which is nothing compared to how my chest burns.

Mom tries to touch me, but I push her away because I’m just not ready to deal with our mess right now. Mitch tries to support me as my thoughts continue to spin.

Shit. Bishop did want to talk. Was this it? What he wanted to tell me before the game? The thing I made fun of him for? It’s just that the other thing was so big, I didn’t see this coming, and I feel stupid. I’m still pissed. Him being some kind of rock star was an okay thing to share because it didn’t make him look bad. But him being some drugged-out drummer wasn’t important enough to share. Fine. Whatever.

“Pe

Am I down? Mom’s wiping away her tears and kneeling in front of me. I’m sitting in the snow, and Mitch’s arms are around me, pulling me to my feet.

“Pe

I let him half carry me to the door. I’ve never let anyone see me this weak. I’ve never been this weak. It just fuels my anger.

“Can I—” Mom starts.

“I got it for now,” Mitch whispers as we pass her on our way into the house.

“He left, Mitch.” More searing pain. “He just left.”

…

I’m not sure how long Mitch stays. I sob when he brings me a piece of Gramps’s apple pie. And part of me smiles because Gramps was right. He said it was a good one—renaissance man and all that. I sleep. I wake up. I sleep. My surgery is one long day of more haziness and drugs. Mitch is still around. It’s crazy how I thought he was more than a friend. This feels nothing like being next to Bishop, which sends another hit of searing pain through me.

Right now, Mitch is the best friend I have. Maybe the only real one. I’m snuggled against his warmth, with days worth of paper plates and cups strewn about my room, scrolling through everything I can find on my phone about Bishop Riley. None of it meshes with the guy I knew. Drugs. Girls. Hotness… Okay. That one came with him. There’s such a disco

I’m sorry

Anyone and everyone is sorry. It changes nothing.

When my bedroom door opens, I quickly disco

What? I slowly scoot to sitting in bed and double over the pain is so intense. “You just walked into my house?” How long has it been since I took something for pain? It’s like there still isn’t enough tape to keep my bones from feeling like they’re scraping around inside me, and my surgery scar itches like crazy.

Rebecca glances between Mitch and I a few times, and then crosses her arms. “I lent you my boyfriend for nearly a week. Where he slept, with you, after finally admitting to me that he loves you.” Her whisper is harsh. “Though he claims its just friendship, I think I’m allowed to walk in.”