Someone You Love by Kristen Granata
Bryce
Sweet Jesus, give me strength.
Touching Charly is dangerous. I try to keep my distance, but once I’m close enough, she sucks me in like a rip current. I need to paddle out to shore, fight the urge to allow myself to be pulled under, because as much as I’d love nothing more than to succumb to her, I know where that’d leave me after she’s gone, and I can’t go down that road.
People leave me because my limitations become a burden to them. My ex left because I was no longer the football star she’d signed on to be with. I’ve heard, “This is too much,” or, “I can’t be what you need,” as if I need something different than anyone else in a relationship.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t fault them. I get frustrated with my own limitations sometimes. I can’t expect anyone to make sacrifices for me.
But isn’t that what love is about? Making sacrifices, because you’d give up everything to be with the one you love, because nothing else matters if you’re not together, because you’d rather go through the rough patches together than face it alone?
I don’t think Charly is anything like my ex. Only known her for a short time, but that’s what my gut tells me. Still, fear gnaws at me, and I don’t know if I’m willing to give in to this feeling and find out. I’m guarded and jaded—a grump, as Nana calls me—but the truth is, I push people away because it’s easier than opening myself up to the possibility of rejection. It sucks being left because of something I can’t help.
Yet here I am, following Charly around like the stray dog we just found, begging for scraps.
Why can’t I push her away?
She stretches her legs out in front of her in the canoe, and kisses Edward on his nose. The blinding smile hasn’t left her face since we got to the dock, and I can’t tear my eyes away from her. She’s genuinely happy, soaking up every bit of this experience. It makes me want to give this my all, knowing she’s doing this for her mother, and knowing how much joy it brings her.
I hold out the oars. “You ready?”
She squeals with a giddy grin. “What if I flip us over?”
“We’re wearing life vests.”
“What if Edward can’t swim?”
“He also has a life vest.”
“What if there are water snakes?”
I shrug. “Don’t flip us over and we won’t have to find out.”
She groans, and snatches the oars out of my hands.
“You’ve got this, Charly. Just do what I told you.”
She squares her shoulders, and dips the oars into the water, leaning back as she pulls them against the water. “Are we moving? Is it working?”
I chuckle. “Yes. Keep going.”
I try not to focus on the slight sounds she makes, grunting as she rows, but after almost kissing her in the shower yesterday, my mind has been in places it shouldn’t. It would’ve been so easy to give in to her, to meet her waiting lips, and taste that sweet mouth. The way she looked up at me when I told her we could keep Edward was my undoing, as if I was a hero—her hero—and I didn’t realize how badly I want her to view me as exactly that. It’s like she’s awakened something inside me.
I want to help her.
I want to take away her pain. Carry it for her.
I want to give her what she needs.
I want.
And that’s dangerous. When I want, when I care, I’m left with nothing but disappointment.
She’s a beautiful ray of sunshine, and I’m the shadow lucky enough to bask in her light.
“What’s this notebook for?” I tap the edge of the quilted book.
“It’s my journal. Mom left it for me to write about my experiences on this trip.”
“I used to journal.”
She peeks over her shoulder. “Really?”
“My therapist said it would help.” I swallow, glancing across the water. “Coping after the accident. We didn’t know if I’d regain the use of my legs, so it was an emotional time.”
She stops rowing, and twists at the waist to face me. “Will you tell me about the accident?”
I scrape my fingers along the back of my neck. Will I? Should I?
“If you don’t want to, I understand.” She turns back around, and dips the oars into the water. “But I just want to know you. All of you. Even the parts you think I shouldn’t.”
Maybe it’s because she’s not facing me, or looking into my eyes.
Or maybe I want to see her reaction. To know if she’ll judge me.
Whatever the reason, I tell her.
“I was at a bar after the Super Bowl. The team liked to party, and we were always fired up after a win, but this was huge. It wasn’t in our hometown though, so we weren’t surrounded by fans who were happy with our victory. It was a particularly rowdy crowd that night. I should’ve known better. I should’ve left with some of the guys when they called it a night and went back to the hotel. But I didn’t. I kept drinking, and ended up getting into a fight with a local. He mouthed off to me about the game, and it escalated from there. He threw the first punch, and I just lost it. I beat the guy pretty badly.”
I take a deep breath, bracing myself as the moment replays in my head for the first time in a long time. “I was walking away, thinking the fight was over. But the guy got up and charged at me. I landed on top of a chair we’d knocked over, and bent back in an awkward way. Between the weight of the guy on top of me, and the way I landed ...” I shake my head, still mad at myself after all this time. “I was young, and stupid. A hothead. But I knew better than to behave like that. It was selfish. I acted like a privileged prick, and threw my entire career down the drain over some idiot in a bar. I let down my team. I let down my fans.” I pause. “I let down myself.”
Charly stops rowing, but she doesn’t turn around.
“You wanted to know why I got so defensive when I thought you were afraid of me? After word got out about the fight, the media said I was a monster. The guy’s bruised face was all over every newspaper and TV screen. And my ex sold my story to a reporter. She got paid for it, and twisted everything around. She said I was dangerous, that I was a loose cannon who couldn’t be trusted because of my temper.” I look down at my legs. “Meanwhile, I was living in the spinal unit in the hospital being told I would never walk again.”
Edward rests his head in my lap, and I scratch behind his ears. “I made a mistake. A bad judgment call. But it’s one that has lifelong implications. I’m no better than the woman who drove drunk, and crashed into my parents’ car.”
“That’s not true. You’re both alive, so you got a second chance.” Charly turns around, steadying herself as the canoe rocks. “You’re lucky in that regard.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Feels like part of me died that night. I lost the most important thing in the world.”
“Football.”
I nod. “I became obsessed with proving the doctors wrong. People told me I was crazy, but I needed something to look forward to. Something to work towards. Something to focus on. I needed something from my former life. And after I recovered, I started training. I even told myself Coach would take me back if I could get back to the way I was before the accident. But in the end, I was scared of stepping back on that field, and re-injuring myself or ending up paralyzed for good. So, I never played again.”
“That must have been incredibly hard to walk away from. It was more than the game. It was your hopes and dreams. Your future.” She meets my eyes for a brief moment. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
“Thank you for listening.”
Charly rows in silence for the next few minutes, her eyes scanning the water. I’d love to ask what she’s thinking—what she’s really thinking, and not saying. But I don’t.
I gesture to the sandbar behind her. “Row us to land, and we can have lunch.”
When we get to shore, I set my cooler on the sand. I lay out a red and white checkered table cloth, and set out several containers of food for our picnic lunch.
When Charly finishes taking pictures of the seascape, she turns around and gapes. “You packed a picnic?”
“Not just any picnic.” I hold up my index finger. “A New York-themed picnic. Manhattan clam chowder, pastrami on rye mini-sandwiches, and New York cheesecake bites for dessert.”
She covers her mouth with her hands. “Bryce, I can’t believe you did all this for me.”
I glance down at the food. “I wanted to bring a little piece of home here for you.”
I know how it feels to miss your home—what it once was, what it used to represent before tragedy struck, and it was changed forever.
She kneels down on the table cloth beside me, locking her watery eyes on mine. “I appreciate this more than you will ever know. You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble for me.”
Doesn’t she know? She’s exactly the kind of person I should go through all this trouble for.
I adjust the brim of my baseball hat, and hand her a thermos. “The chowder should still be hot.”
She ignores the soup, and cups my face, bringing my eyes to hers. My heart beats a drumline in my chest, and my lungs constrict.
“Thank you for this. I mean it, Bryce. Thank you.”
I swallow past the dry lump lodged in my throat, and nod. “You’re very welcome.”
My acceptance of her gratitude makes her smile, and then she’s tearing into the food, talking a mile a minute about everything from the food in New York to the diner she works at—all the while, moaning between every bite she takes. Watching her eat my food is like watching porn, knowing the food I created for her pleasure has that kind of effect on her.
“Man, your ex-girlfriends must have left the relationship twenty pounds heavier than when they met you.” She dabs at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “Your cooking is outstanding.”
“I didn’t cook much back then. Not unless it was with my grandfather.”
“What do you mean back then? As in, before your accident?”
I nod. “I had to eat, breathe, and sleep football. I didn’t have time for much else.”
She squints one eye against the sunlight. “What about after? I can’t imagine you not cooking for them at the inn.”
I toy with the edge of my napkin. “I haven’t had any girlfriends since I’ve been here.”
She covers up her surprise by turning to glance up at a bird flying past. “Why not?”
“It’s been hard to let anyone in after what Ariel did. At the time, I was paralyzed from the waist down, so it was tough on her. We didn’t know what my future would be like, and my football career was over. I needed a lot of help, and I wasn’t in the greatest mental state. Then she sold lies to the tabloids, and I think that was her way out without having to tell me that she didn’t want to be with a disabled person.” I crumble up my napkin and toss it onto the table cloth. “People looked at me as a burden. I think they still do. I don’t want anyone to have to deal with that kind of responsibility.”
“She broke up with you because you were paralyzed?”
“It wasn’t like that. She was young. It was a lot to ask.”
She sets down her plate. “You were the one who was injured, yet you just said it was tough on her.” A disgusted noise leaves the back of her throat. “You don’t just leave people when they need you the most. And you certainly don’t sell them out to the tabloids.”
Affection warms my chest. “Ariel wasn’t the one for me. She was the quintessential partner to have as a football player. She loved the game, understood how often it would take me away from her, and she handled the press with ease. Understandably so, as her father was one of the best quarterbacks of all-time. But without football, whatever was between us dissipated. I’m glad we parted ways. It was a long road to recovery for me, and I needed to go it alone.”
“Pfft. No one should have to go through anything like that alone.”
I arch a brow. “Is this about Ariel, or is there someone you’re bitter about?”
She leans back on her palms, stretching out her legs in front of her and crossing them at the ankles. “I guess I’m projecting a little.”
“Tell me about him.”
Tell me about the bastard who hurt you.
“Greg met me when my mom was in remission. Six months later, her cancer came back, and I got swept back up in a whirlwind. I can admit, I was consumed with taking care of her, and trying to find ways to help her feel better. But he wasn’t the most supportive person. He’d get mad, and say that I wasn’t giving him enough attention. And I wasn’t, so I can’t argue that. I just wonder if it’d been someone different, someone more understanding or caring, if things would’ve worked out differently. Or maybe it was too much to ask of anybody.”
“How did you two leave things when you broke up?”
She laughs. “Well, I walked into his apartment after visiting my mom’s grave on my birthday, and found him having sex with his co-worker on his kitchen table.”
I choke on my spit, and sit up ramrod straight. “Are you kidding me?”
“I kid you not.”
Anger balls my hands into fists. “What a piece of shit.”
She waves her hand like it’s not a big deal. “It’s fine. Did it hurt? Sure. I wish he would’ve been man enough to have broken up with me. But he didn’t deserve to be with someone who wasn’t devoting 100% of herself in the relationship. I couldn’t give him what he needed, and he couldn’t give me what I needed.”
“And what was it that you needed?”
“Someone to be there for me. Someone who wouldn’t let me down.” She sets her emerald eyes on me. “Someone who wouldn’t leave when things got hard.”
Something cracks in my chest, like a dam springing a leak. Hadn’t I wanted the same thing when my life fell apart?
She’s threatening the safety of the wall I’ve built over the years—the wall that keeps emotion out.
“You deserve that, Charly.”
“So do you.” She raises her water bottle between us. “So, screw Greg the Cheater, and screw The Little bitch Mermaid you dated. We’re better off without ‘em.”
A loud laugh bursts from my chest, and I tap my bottle against hers. “Cheers to that.”
When we get back to the house later in the afternoon, Charly insists I shower first so she can write about the day in her journal. I’d love to know what she’s writing—if anything in there is about me. So much so that I’m tempted to read it when she leaves it on the island in the kitchen and heads to the bathroom when it’s her turn.
I stare down at the yellow quilted cover, and Edward cocks his head to the side.
Don’t do it, his eyes warn.
“Maybe just one page.” I flick open the cover and scan the first entry, my eyes landing on the words, ass of a grandson. I suppose she’s not wrong. I was an ass the first night she was here.
I want to keep reading. Want to know her thoughts, especially after what I shared with her today.
I glance at the hallway, and the sound of running water lets me know it’s safe to continue. My insecurities get the best of me, and I turn the pages until I get to today’s entry:
June 15th
Dear Mom,
Today was amazing. Bryce took me canoeing. It’s definitely overrated. I think my arms are going to be sore for a week. But the weather was perfect, and the water was so calm. I’m glad I didn’t take Jared up on his offer to take me. I would’ve spent the day feeling uncomfortable, and it would’ve soured the experience.
My favorite part was when Bryce surprised me with a New York-themed picnic. He’s what you would’ve called a good egg. He’s thoughtful, caring, and sweet—when he lets himself be. He’s so guarded, but when he opens up, it’s beautiful. He’s real, and genuine, and ... I don’t know. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, being that we just met, but it feels like there’s something between us. A spark. Like he gets me. Greg never got me. (I know, I know. You told me so.) It’s been so long since I’ve felt like this. I wish you were here to meet him.
I miss you, Mom.
I read Charly’s words a dozen times, over and over again, and my heart swells.
There is something between us. I feel it, and now I know she feels it too. But reading what she isn’t telling me makes me want things I shouldn’t. Her stay here is only temporary, and then she’ll be miles away. She’d chalk it up to a summer fling, and something about that doesn’t sit well with me.
So I close the book, and head to my bedroom.
This was a bad idea.
I shouldn’t have read her journal. It’s an invasion of her privacy. A violation of her trust.
I won’t do this again.