Page 4 of Off Sides

I scrub my hands over my face and wish I could disappear yet feel guilty for wanting to at the same time. Mom needs help. I get that. She didn’t plan to be raising kids on her own. She didn’t expect to lose the love of her life to cancer and be left with a mountain of debt.

But I also promised Dad I would look out for Char and Matt. I promised to do my best to help Mom because she was going to need me after he was gone. My entire future has been planned so that I can stay here and play hockey so I’m still around to help out after I graduate.

I want to break down. I want someone to tell me this isn’t my fault or my responsibility. Matt is a dumbass and acting out for attention because he didn’t process Dad’s death and feels abandoned by Mom. I had hockey to focus on and use to work my grief and anger out, Charlotte did dance, Matt had nothing.

“You can go back to class,” Mr. Clouse says. My stomach tightens as I force myself to stand.

“Can I check on him?” I pop my knuckles just for something to do, a nervous habit I can’t seem to quit.

“Sure, if the nurse says it's okay.”

I’m out the door and down the hallway in the blink of an eye. With my hand on the doorknob, I knock as I turn the handle.

“I just wanted to check and make sure he’s okay,” I rush the words out when the nurse, Miss Beverly, looks over her shoulder at me. “Our Mom is on her way. Can I just sit in here with him until she gets here?”

She sighs and flicks her gaze to a box of gloves on the wall. “Put those on and come here.”

I drop my backpack and pull on the blue gloves.

“Hold your hand right here, keep pressure on it.” She shows me how she wants me to do it, corrects my hold, then steps back. “I’m going to need a statement from both of you, the police will too after your mom gets here.”

Matt’s shoulders droop and he drops his chin to his chest.

“I don’t want to go,” he whispers.

“You need stitches, you don’t have a choice. They had to call her.”

With his free hand, he wipes his face then leans forward to press his head against my chest. It’s the first time he’s reached out for physical comfort in years. Since both of my hands are on his arm, I can’t hug him back and it kills me. He may be fourteen but he’s still a kid. He needs his parents.

“I’m sorry I’m not Dad,” I whisper into his hair, and he lets out a little whimper like he wants to sob but won’t let himself do it.

Yelling comes from outside and we both turn to watch through the door. We know that voice and that tone. Mom is here and she’s pissed.

She’s never been physically abusive, never laid hands on us, but words cut deeper than a knife sometimes. I was younger than Matt is now when I had to step up and help raise my siblings while also taking care of my dad who was wasting away. It took two years for him to pass. Two years for us to watch and wait and wonder if today was the day.

I grit my teeth and square my shoulders as I wait for her to come in here and tell me what a fuckup I am. Matt is desperately trying to pull back the tears but all he’s doing is hyperventilating now.

Mom comes in, scared and furious with wide eyes and tension vibrating the air around her.

“What the fuck?!” she all but screams. The harsh sound bounces off the walls and makes us flinch.

“I-I-I-I’m s-s-s-sorry.” Matt struggles to get the words out between the too fast breaths. My hands are still keeping pressure on his arm so I can’t even comfort him. Part of me wants to punch him, though, because he’s an idiot.

Mom’s cold eyes flick to mine like I hold the answers. But I don’t. I’m almost four years older than him.

“How could you let this happen?” she demands, shoving me out of the way and pulling the gauze back to look. “Jesus fucking Christ.” She looks around the space and points to the packets of gauze for me to hand to her.

Humiliation burns the back of my throat as she gives directions and I hand her what she needs. She gets a thick patch on and tapes it down to keep pressure on it until she takes him to the hospital.

She jerks him off the table hard enough that he stumbles. Turning those cold, exhausted eyes to me, she shakes her head before she says, “All I’ve ever asked of you is to keep him out of trouble.”

1

Nick

The music in the club is deafening and the writhing bodies on the dance floor means it’s hot, but there’s a heaviness in the air that feels like sex and pleasure. Gay clubs are a gift from the gods, and you can’t convince me otherwise. It’s a safe place in a world that isn’t.

The bass vibrates my bones, possibility hums along my skin, and arousal hits my veins like adrenaline. It’s been a long season with not much time for sexy fun times, so tonight, I’m on the hunt. I need to come, and at this point, I don’t care if it’s down a throat or in an ass.