Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Outside, the rain has come to an end. The sun is back out.
Brock pushes open the door to the front covered awning of the clinic, then glances back at Kyle. “You comin’ or what?”
Kyle remains silent and still.
“What is it?” asks Brock. “What’s the problem?” He gazes outside, as if looking for something threatening, a person Kyle knows, a coyote, anything. Then it slowly dawns on him. He looks back. “Really?”
Kyle peers at him. “What?”
“Are you …?” Brock steps away from the door, letting it close. “You really can’t walk out there? For real? Because of … of the sunlight …? You’re not playin’ with me?”
“What do you think?” says Kyle back.
Brock gazes through the glass door, a mixture of wonder and bewilderment twisting his face. He looks as if he’s about to ask Kyle something again, still fighting his own disbelief.
Then he shifts gears completely. “Fine, we’ll wait then.”
A moment later, they are standing in front of the clinic’s sole vending machine, which only serves coffee and powdered donuts. Brock stares at it in disgust. Kyle picks at his fingers as he waits, saying nothing.
Brock smirks. “Hey, you remember when we’d raid the hell out of that machine at the arcade?”
Kyle looks up. “You mean when we were kids?”
“Parents left us at the mall, we’d run rampant, hit that old arcade by the movie theater—closed down now, by the way—and they had these sick vending machines we’d raid, you’d get mad when they didn’t have your favorite candy, Sour Patch Kids, Gummi Worms, whatever the hell it was that week …”
“Yeah,” says Kyle, the memory coming to him. “I do.”
Brock chuckles. Then he frowns and smacks the glass of the machine in front of him. “Who in the hell puts coffee in a vending machine? Tastes like dishwater. And who knows how old those donuts are.”
“What did you hope to accomplish, Brock?”
“Huh? I was hopin’ to accomplish puttin’ somethin’ in my stomach, what do you mean?”
“I meant by coming out here. Seeking me out. Confronting me.” Kyle turns to him. “The first thing you did when you saw me was try to knock my face off.”
“Can you blame me?” Brock stares into the machine. “You ruined my life, Kyle.”
Kyle frowns. “How?”
“You ruined my life,” repeats Brock, firmer. “You have no idea how messed up I was after you died. After I … thought you died. Even after our big fight in the locker room, I thought to myself: ‘y’know what, he’ll come around one of these days, he’ll get this Tristan thing outta his system, become my friend again, and everything will go back to normal’. I believed it.”
“You threatened to end my career in sports,” says Kyle. “You had all the power of your family at your back. You—”
“Lord help me, how thick are you? You really think I’d do that? We were in high school, we were stupid, dumb teenagers, I didn’t have any of that kinda power. You think my dad really would’ve done anything? He was an asshole back then, he’s an asshole now all the same. I won’t ever be enough for him.”
After it comes out, Brock recoils, as if he didn’t mean to say so much. He shoves money into the machine, grabs the package of powdered donuts that fall out, carelessly tears it open, then shoves one into his mouth. Powdered sugar hangs from his lips as he chews resentfully.
Kyle puts his hands in his pockets. “You married Jessica. I assume you had success in your career. Sports car outside kinda suggests that.”
“So? You think it makes me happy? Jessica fuckin’ trapped me into marrying her. She—” He stops at once—both chewing and speaking—then lowers his head. “Shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s fine, let it out. What am I gonna do with your secrets? You’re in the middle of telling me how I ruined your life.”
Brock shoves another donut into his mouth, chews, glaring ahead at nothing. He swallows. “Doesn’t matter what happened to her. To me. Pregnant in high school. Lost the baby. Then our dads had this heated talk in my living room, I remember the way her dad spoke about me like I was scum. Still to this day thinks I’m scum. Why am I always fuckin’ proving myself to every damned person I know?” he asks suddenly, package of donuts crinkling as his grip tightens. “Everyone thinks I’m a shithead before we’ve shared two words with each other. That’s my destiny, I guess, being a rich shithead son to my shithead of a dad. Everyone talking behind my back in college, in football, like the only reason I got on any team was because of my dad or my family’s influence, money, clout, strings pulled. All of my friends abandoned me. Jessica, we were happy at first, but now she can’t stand the sight of me. Keeps me in this sham marriage for appearances, for God and Christian men and women, for her parents … for our son, the only soul on God’s green Earth I truly love.” He sighs. “But he’s a mama’s boy, goes runnin’ off to her when it’s tough, when he needs somethin’, I’m just the stranger who’s always at work, always in a mood, always …” He stops, stares ahead blankly. “Always drinking. Might seem crazy to you, but I think, I honestly think, had you stuck by my side, you and I could’ve ruled the world. I’d have had the sense not to marry Jessica, thinkin’ it’s what I had to do. I’d have had a friend, a real, true friend, not one of these elitist club member douchebags who just like me for my money. Kyle, you stuck by through it all, even when I took—” His voice cracks. “—when I t-took you for granted, my best friend, my … my brother from another mother, you were still right there, loyal as ever. This is all my fault, isn’t it?” His shift in tone surprises Kyle. “It isn’t yours. Of course you went to Tristan, went to the freak ‘cause he paid attention to you. All this, what happened to you, what he did to you, your family being slaughtered … it’s … all … my fault. I could’ve … could’ve saved you from him, had I been a better f-f-friend. Fuck.” He fights back tears as he offers the package of donuts to Kyle. “Want one? They’re disgusting.”