Page 58 of The Other Side of Wild
Hannah’s beer hits the table with a slightthud; she’s picking at the label, not looking at anyone. “It was good. I’ll cover the next two games, and then I’ll be done.”
DONE?
“Wait, what? What do you mean?” I turn towards her a bit too fast. I almost fall off my chair.
“A couple gave me their card at the carnival. I really didn’t have any intention of calling them, but when everything went up in flames, I ended up back home. I realized a lot, mainly that I don’t know whoIam as a person. I only know who my dad told me I was.” Is she moving? Is she going back home? No, that’s why she’s being so nice to me tonight. She’s leaving.
I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until Hannah is in my face telling me to breathe. My eyes are shut, her hands frame my face, and I lean into her touch, relishing in the calming effect she has on me. Who knows how long I’ll have it? “Greyson, take a breath for me.” The concern is evident just from her voice; I crack one eye open and can confirm that very notion.
Her eyes frantically search my face, eyebrows pulled together, revealing the little lightning bolt crinkle she gets between her eyebrows when she’s mad or worried. Taking a deep breath, I put my hands on her wrists, keeping her palms where they are on her face. “Are you okay?” She asks slowly, as if she’s scared I’m going to bolt.
“Are you leaving?” A crack in my voice echoes through my skull. The furrow in her brow gets even deeper as her head tilts to the side as she takes me in. I don’t know how much time passes before her face relaxes, and she gives me a reassuring smile.
“No, I’m not leaving.” She finally puts me out of my misery. “I just realized that as much as I enjoyed my job as a sports journalist, I wasn’t doing it for me. I was doing it to prove Icould. I’m going to be working for a company called Boswell Events; they do what I did for the carnival on a bigger scale. Their office is in one of the high-rises across the street from Beautiful Pour.” Her eyebrows wiggle at the mention of our favorite coffee house.
Sighing, I pull her into my chest. I hate that I didn’t know any of this; I want to be part of her future. I want to love this woman with everything I've got. She’s not ready to hear that, though, so for now, I’ll keep it locked in the little lock box of my heart.
I groan as I roll out of bed this morning. It’s one of those days already. I’m out of my sling, but Lord almighty, my right arm is weak. I tried to put a plate back on the shelf last night after I got home, and halfway there, my shoulder gave out. A freaking plate. It’s less than two pounds. Of course, not only did that tank my pride, but it hit my psyche. And down the drain, I went into a spiral of negativity. Even after how great of a night we had dancing, I can’t seem to shake it off this morning.
I don’t want to get up; I want to lay here all day. I don’t want to go to therapy; I’m weak, broken. What’s the point? There is nothing worse than being kicked when you’re down, and this is exactly what it feels like. Like I walked out into the street, got hit by a car, and then run over by the six cars behind it.
There’s a knock on my door, but I don’tmove. Then there’s another knock, a bit harder this time. “I’m coming, geez. Calm down.” This time, there’s banging. Someone had better be dead, or I’m going to start throwing stuff. I fling the door open to find Monroe and Andrews outside with the biggest smiles on their faces.
Before I can ask them what in the world they’re doing here, they push past me. “Sure, guys, come on in.” If my voice could spew venom, it would have.
Once they’re inside, they turn back to where I’m still standing by the door. “Special delivery!” Monroe calls. Color me curious; I hike an eyebrow in their direction. Smiles still plastered on their faces.
“Are you going to tell me what special delivery means, or are you going to stand there like the creepers you are?” My patience is wearing thin.
“Aww, we got grumpy gills today,” Andrews whines in a voice that grates on my nerves. But before I can snap at him, he holds up a bag. A Beautiful Pour bag.
“What’s that?” I point to the bag with my good arm.
“I believe it’s a muffin. Monroe has your coffee.”
“How do you two know my coffee order?” They give each other a look that also makes me mad.
“Look, guys, I’m having an off morning. I’m trying really hard not to blow up on you, so if you could just get to the point of why you’re here, I’d appreciate it.” Monroe immediately holds out the coffee he had behind his back.
“Sorry, man. We stopped by the coffee shop after our skate and ran into Hannah. We told her we were thinking about checking in on you. She ordered this for you and said to tell you thanks again for being her dance partner last night.”
Well, if that didn’t just flip my bad mood right on its head. I grab the coffee and take a sip; it’s like that moment when the Power Rangers morph and all that lightning goes crazy. Go go, Greyson-ranger. “Thanks guys.”
“Wanna help me with a secret mission?” I raise my eyebrows twice in rapid succession.
“Yes! I’m a fantastic secret agent. Very demure, very mindful, very professional.” Monroe pulls at the collar of his shirt like a man in a suit would. Andrews and I share a look before we bend over the island, fists banging on the surface as we laugh at our ridiculous friend.
Bad mood forgotten. I’m thankful they showed up because I would have isolated myself from the world, and that would have been a giant step in the wrong direction. I filled them in on the plan Tatum came up with and showed them the picture he drew, which is now hanging on my fridge. They nod their agreement. “I think that’s a good idea. She’d like that. A lot.”
“I’m gonna need some help.” I say as I point to a phone number on the bottom of the paper, “If one of you can figure out how I rent one of these things, I’d owe you big time.” They hold their hands up, silently implying they want high-fives. But apparently, we’re children because I shake my head, and we all bump chests instead.
“Team Han-son!” Andrews and I look at Monroe, clear confusion on both of our faces. “You know, your ship name.”
“My, what now?” I feel the tension in myforehead from how high my eyebrows are pulled.
“Your ship name, it’s your name, and Hannah’s put together. Han-son.”
“I think you’ve taken one too many hits to the head.” I can’t keep a straight face. Is that really a thing? Whatever, I’ve got help. The army is volunteering, and I’m going to try my hardest to let them help. But for now, I need to get ready and head to the arena. “Alright, ladies, out. I need to get ready. I have therapy in an hour.”