The Understatement of the Year (Ivy Years #3)

April

COAST TO COAST: Carrying the puck from deep in your own defensive zone all the way to the opposing team’s goal.

Graham

My mother spent almost a month at Harkness helping me stay current on my schoolwork. I ended up dropping my computer programming class, but everything else got done.

Eventually, as my stamina increased, there was less for her to do. So, in mid-April, the morning after taking Rikker and me out for a nice steak dinner, she flew home to Michigan.

For the first time in fifty-three years, the Harkness hockey team had made it all the way to the Frozen Four. This time, I rode the bus to Boston with the team. And I watched from VIP seats as my teammates eked out a win over North Dakota. And then promptly got their asses handed to them by the Minnesota Gophers.

Watching the loss of the national championship game was heartbreaking. On the other hand, it was our most winning season ever. And apparently, the hockey alumni gave more money to the school’s endowment than any other year in history.

So at least somebody at Harkness won.

Now the world’s longest hockey season was finally over. All that was left was the end-of-the-season surf ‘n turf party that Coach always threw. On a sunny Sunday around noon, I walked out of the Beaumont Gates with Bella and Hartley. We were supposed to clear the last few items out of our lockers, and then head over to Coach’s house together.

I didn’t have any stuff in my locker, obviously. It had all been cleared out for Bridger. But I tagged along anyway, following my friends to the rink.

The first thing I saw when I walked back into the locker room was Rikker.

Eight months ago, I’d been sent into a tailspin by the sight of him. This time, he was a sight for sore eyes. Rikker sat on the bench in front of his locker, pulling his phone out of his pocket. But instead of looking up at me, he frowned.

Rikker put the phone up to his ear. “Hey,” he said. “I saw that you called, but I’m kind of…”

Whomever was on the other end of the call must have interrupted him. Because Rikker’s mouth closed into a grim line. And then I watched the color drain from his face. The phone slid out of his hand, clattering onto the bench beside him. Then Rikker hunched forward, his free hand covering his eyes.

One second later I was across that room, grabbing the forgotten phone. The display said SKIPPY on it. And the thin sound of a voice was coming from the speaker. “Rik? Rikky, are you there?”

“Hey,” I said into the phone. “Skippy?” I sat down beside Rikker. “What the hell happened?”

“Who is this?”

“Mike Graham,” I said.

There was a beat of silence. “I had some bad news for Rikker. Can you get him to talk to me?”

I took another look at my boyfriend. He was staring at the floor with unseeing eyes. If I had to describe him in one word, I would have chosen “catatonic.”

My chest got tight. “Skippy,” I prompted. “Just tell me what’s the matter.”

He sighed into the phone. “Rikker’s Gran collapsed after church this morning. They took her away in an ambulance.”

“No!”

“Yeah.”

In my head, I was chanting it again. No. No. No. She had to be okay. She just had to. “Where is she now?”

“Fletcher Allen, I’m pretty sure. It’s the big hospital up here.”

“Uh, okay.” Fletcher Allen. I didn’t even have a pen. I looked around, and Hartley was standing beside me. “Can you… I need something to write on.” He turned on a heel and walked off. “Okay, Skippy. Does Rikker know how to get there?”

“Yeah, he’ll know where it is. And I’m going over there now to see what I can learn.”

“How did you hear about this, anyway?” I had a wild hope that maybe Skippy was just wrong. Rikker’s Gran was just about the heartiest old lady I’d ever met.

“My mom was there at church. She called the ambulance. This only happened like a half hour ago. Mom sounded pretty shaken up.”

Damn. “All right,” I swallowed. “I’m going to find a car. And it will take us about… three-and-a-half hours of driving time. Maybe four.” In my panic, I couldn’t remember how long it had taken us to drive it at New Year’s.

“I’ll call you when I hear something.”

“Thanks,” I said, uselessly. I ended the call, thinking only about the fact that I needed to borrow some wheels. Who had a car?

I looked up then. And every guy in the locker room was staring at me. At us, actually. Because Rikker was still curled into himself. And my free arm was on his back, my palm on his neck, my fingers in his too-long hair. It wasn’t sexual. But it wasn’t how you touch a teammate. It was the touch you gave your boyfriend when his world was splitting in half, and there wasn’t anything you could do to stop it.

For a long second, I just went still. It occurred to me that I could jerk my hand off of Rikker. Any other day, I would have done just that. But for once in my sorry life, there were more important things to worry about. So I took a long breath in through my nose, and left my hand right where it was. “We need to borrow a car,” I said. “We have to get to Vermont. Like, yesterday.”

The deep silence lasted a little longer, until Bridger McCaulley broke it. “My girlfriend has a car. But I’ll have to find her and get the keys.”

I stood then, ready to take him up on it. And I moved my hand to the top of Rikker’s head, my fingers in his soft hair. Until now, I’d failed Rikker at every opportunity. But not today. His grandmother had said that her years with him were a joy. She was practically bursting with pride for him. I could do that, too. I could stand here, claiming him as someone who mattered to me. It was really the least I could do.

“You can take mine,” someone said. I turned to see Trevi fishing a set of keys out of his pocket. “And I’m parked right behind the rink.”

“Thanks, man.” I let go of Rikker only so I could catch the keys as he tossed them.

“I’ll walk you out there,” Trevi said, heading for the door.

I bent over Rikker, still feeling eyes on my back. “Come on, Rik. Let’s go see her.” I squeezed his shoulder.

Numbly, Rikker stood up and walked out after Trevi. He’d left his duffel bag on the floor.

At some point Hartley had come back with a pad and a pen, which I no longer wanted. “What’s the problem?” he asked as I hoisted Rikker’s bag onto my shoulder.

The locker room was still listening to every word I said. “Rikker’s grandmother in Vermont — that’s where he lived after his parents kicked him out. She collapsed today. We don’t know why.”

“His parents kicked him out?” Hartley sputtered. “Like, permanently?”

“Pretty much. Gotta run.” I left the locker room without so much as a glance back over my shoulder.

Trevi drove a Volkswagen Jetta in cherry red. “Thanks, really,” I said when he showed us his car. “I’ll take good care of her.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Minutes later, Rikker and I were speeding up the interstate. For a hundred miles, he said almost nothing. He sat in the passenger seat beside me, his eyes on the road. During the long stretch on highway 91, I reached over to palm his thigh. And he took my hand absently, holding on to me with dry fingers. I didn’t know what was going through his head. I only knew that it wasn’t good.

“Where does your uncle Alan live?” I asked at one point. Because we really needed to call him. “Somewhere near Atlanta, right?”

“Yeah.”

As we drove through Central Massachusetts, I felt Rikker’s phone vibrate in my back pocket. Since I was driving, I ignored it. If the news was really dire, they’d call back. And there was no way to get him there any faster, anyway. But as we crossed into Southern Vermont, the phone began to vibrate again. So I pulled off the highway in Brattleboro, stopping at a gas station. I set the gas nozzle to fill Trevi’s tank, and then I took a look at Rikker’s phone.

There were two text messages from Skippy. The first one had read: I’m @ the Fletcher Allen ER waiting room. No news yet. The recent message said: She’s alive but unconscious. Being treated for stroke.

I replied: Thx. Just hit VT border. -MG

Ducking back into the car, I took a look at Rikker. His head was tipped back on the headrest, staring at the windshield.

“Rik?” He turned to look at me, but his eyes were blank. As if I could see right through him. “Skippy texted that she’s alive, but unconscious.”

My boyfriend swallowed roughly. “Okay. We’re not too late.”

I’d never heard Rikker sound so vulnerable. And if his Gran died, I was going to be really hacked off at the universe. I crawled forward a few inches and captured the side of his face in my hand. “We’re not going to be too late. Come on, now.”

He sighed. “She’s only seventy-six. I’m not ready.”

There was a lump in my throat now about a mile wide. And I couldn’t even blame my concussion. “This could turn out fine.”

He knocked his head back against the headrest. “If she goes, I have nobody left. That’s it.”

Something shifted in my gut, and not in a good way. I leaned all the way over to him now, catching the back of his neck in my hand. “That is just not true. I know she’s special, and I hope she lives to be a hundred. But you are not alone. You hear me?”

His eyes shifted in my direction, and for a split second I saw him emerge far enough from his misery to really read my face. So I kissed him on the forehead.

“Thank you,” he said. “For…” he waved his hand toward the steering wheel.

“It’s nothing.” I heard the gas pump click off. “You need anything?” I pointed at the store. Because I was basically starving to death.

“Just need to get there.”

“You got it.” I hopped out to replace the gas cap. Food could wait.

I accelerated up the on-ramp again, marveling at my own stupidity. You need anything? That was the question I’d just asked Rikker. Today, for once, I really meant it. Too bad it took a freaking tragedy to extract my head from my ass.

The headache kicked in around White River Junction. And by Montpelier, it was fierce. “How fast can I drive this stretch?” I asked Rikker. I hadn’t seen a cop in a good long time.

“Eighty,” he said without hesitation. “They don’t patrol very hard. Just watch those U-turn spots in the median. Slow down for the ones that are blocked by trees.”

I kept our speed up, and I tried to ignore the pressure along my brow line. Rikker grew agitated as we approached the Burlington area. When his foot tapping started making me crazy, I reached over and settled a hand on his knee.

“Sorry,” he sighed.

There was nothing I could do but drive and give his leg a squeeze. No more texts had come through, either.

“You want exit fourteen,” Rikker said eventually.

Yes, yes I do. The last five miles seemed to take forever. But then we were finally pulling into a big parking lot, and then jogging on stiff legs toward the E.R. doors.

Inside, Rikker charged toward a desk, although there were too many other people waiting in front of it. Abruptly he changed course, veering into the waiting area. I spotted Skippy with two older women, and they were waving him down.

Skippy stood up to wrap Rikker in a hug, which should not have bothered me. But there was something awfully intimate about that hug, the way he pulled Rikker’s ear close to him and began to whisper. And Rikker’s eyes fell shut, listening to whatever soothing words Skippy had to say.

It’s hard to describe how badly this ate at me. But it wasn’t a typical lover’s jealousy. The problem was that I had never greeted Rikker that way, and certainly not in a room full of people. It struck me how badly I wanted my share of that affection. I’d been missing out, and all because of fear.

Right then, a little light went on inside my thick head. I already knew that my refusal to come out had hurt Rikker. But until that moment, I don’t think I ever understood that it had hurt me, too. Because the cost of avoiding unfriendly eyes wasn’t nearly as great as the cost of forgoing even one of Rikker’s hugs.

I approached the two of them slowly, making a path between the people. And not a soul was bothered by the two men embracing on the green linoleum tiles.

When I arrived beside them, Skippy stepped back, but he held tightly to both of Rikker’s hands. “Okay, here’s what we know. If you’re going to have a stroke, you want to do it in a room full of people. She got her first CT scan about twenty minutes after she collapsed. And the window for treating a stroke with the strongest meds is something like three hours.”

“Did they give it to her?” I asked. “What’s that stuff… it breaks up clots, if you get it soon enough?”

Skippy nodded. “They gave it to her. She’s being scanned again right now.”

“John,” one of the older women said. She wrapped a wrinkled arm around Rikker. “Hang in there, honey.” Then she extended a hand to me. “I’m Gertie.”

Gertie? The one who cheats at poker? “Graham,” I said, shaking her hand.

“If you don’t mind,” Gertie said, “I’ll take John to try to find the doctor that explained everything to us. He won’t be able to see her until she’s back from the tests, though.”

“Is she conscious?” Rikker asked, his voice husky.

Gertie shook her head. “No, honey. But the doctor said that’s not unusual.”

Rikker’s eyes closed, and then opened again. “Let’s go, then.”

They walked off toward the back, leaving me standing there with Skippy and a woman who looked an awful lot like him. She had the same quick brown eyes. “I’m Linda,” she said. And then I saw that she had the same carefree smile as her son, too.

“Graham. Nice to meet you.” We shook, and my head gave me a stab of pain.

Now that my hands were finally free, I could indulge in a full-on massage of my own forehead. The ache had spread, radiating out to my hairline and temples.

“Are you okay?” Linda asked.

“Sure.”

“Wait… you have a head injury, I thought?” Skippy asked.

“I’m okay, I’m just…” probably going to collapse now. Because I’d delivered Rikker to the hospital, my body chose that moment to experience a massive adrenaline crash, and a blood sugar crash, too. Also, I’d skipped my head-injury-patient nap. The only thing to do was to look around for an empty chair. And when I found it, I sort of oozed into it like a blob.

“My goodness,” Skippy’s mother said. I felt her sit down beside me, although I couldn’t see her because my face was in my hands. “Can I scare up some aspirin for you?”

“That is a great idea. But I’ve got it.” I shoved a hand in my pocket and came up with my magic little bottle. I’d downgraded to plain old ibuprofen, and it usually took the edge off. I took out two of them and dry-swallowed them.

“Seriously, are you okay?” Skippy asked, sitting on my other side. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Uh,” good question. “Yesterday, I think. We were on our way to a party when you called.” There was probably a vending machine around here somewhere. And I knew I should find it.

Skippy made a sound of disapproval. “You know it’s almost five o’clock?” He pulled out his phone and tapped it a few times. “Hiiiii Sweetie! No real news yet. But Rikker got here, so that’s good. His boyfriend is about to pass out, though. So maybe we should have that Thai food sooner rather than later.” Skippy tipped his head in my direction. “You eat Thai?”

“Sure?”

“Put in an extra pad Thai for Rikker, because that’s good warm or cold. Thank you, Sweetie. Love you too.”

Skippy’s mom, who had wandered off, returned to my side. This time, she held out an ice cold can of Coke. “This is what I drink when I have a headache.”

“Wow, thanks,” I said. Sugar and caffeine were excellent headache remedies. “You didn’t have to do that.”

She smiled at me. “We’ve been here all day, just wishing there was someone we could shore up,” she said. “You’re elected.”

Skippy’s mom put one hand on my back, and Skippy added one on his side. I was so delirious with exhaustion that it almost seemed as though their touch was the only thing holding me together. I popped the can open and took a long drag of the soda. Then I looked down at the floor so neither one of them would notice that my eyes had become curiously damp.

Rikker

A month ago, when I watched them carry Graham off the ice, I thought I knew fear. But it was nothing like this.

They finally let me in to see Gran about an hour-and-a-half after I got there. And then I almost wished they hadn’t. The ICU was full of frighteningly ill people. And Gran frightened me the most. She was so still, and so fragile-looking in that bed.

It was a lonely vigil, because only one family member was allowed to accompany her. There was nothing I could do but sit in another awful plastic chair and make deals with God. Please make this turn out okay, I begged.

The trouble with this strategy was that I wasn’t on great terms with God. Even if he looked past all the swearing and fornication, I hadn’t been a regular churchgoer for years. And I was angry at pretty much anyone who brought up Jesus in a non-ironic way, because I’d been brought up by and among a bunch of fundamentalist homophobes who claimed to be doing God’s work as they shunned me.

That wasn’t really His fault, though. But prayer was probably a dead-end for me. That only left hope, and I guess I had plenty of that.

I hoped Gran would wake up.

I hoped that the effects of her stroke would not be too vast. (And by too vast, I meant that I hoped her sharp mind and her sharp eyes would scrutinize me by morning.)

I hoped that I could help her even a fraction as much as she helped me.

At some point during this vigil, I fell asleep.

Someone patted my hand.

I woke up with a start, to find that the hand-patter was a stout nurse. “She’s awake, honey.”

My eyes flew to Gran, who was looking around critically. Another nurse raised Gran’s head a few inches, and then held the straw of a water glass, and I saw Gran take a sip. When she swallowed, a little of the water dribbled out on one side. “Dis can’t be good,” she slurred.

At the sound of her voice, my eyes welled. And that was the moment she locked onto me, and I saw her make a sad face.

“Oh, don’t you worry about him,” the nurse said to Gran. “He’s just exhausted because it’s the middle of the night.”

I heaved myself out of the chair and wiped my eyes. “Hi, Gran,” I said. I leaned down to give her a kiss on the forehead, and my stupid eyes filled again.

“Honey,” she said, her voice thick and awkward. “I’m shtill here.”

“I can see that,” I managed. But I was losing my battle with the tears.

“Go home,” she said. “S’late.”

“She’s right, sweetheart,” the nurse who’d awoken me said. “Tomorrow morning she’ll be transferred to a proper room. You can talk then.” She gave me a gentle nudge. “Your grandmother will rest better if she’s not worrying about you.”

I took a minute to mull over that logic, and decided that she had a point. “Okay. I’ll come back first thing.”

The nurse fished a scrap of paper from her pocket. “Your friends left this note for you, in case your phone went dead. Now have a good night.”

I kissed Gran once again, and she looked at me with soft eyes. Then I stumbled out of the ICU, leaving all of its beeping machines behind. The note was from Skippy. “It’s midnight. Taking Graham home with us. Ring if you need anything, or want us there. Or come over. Call my cell or knock on the window to the right of the stoop.”

According to the clock in the waiting room, it was three in the morning. When I passed through the hospital doors, it took me a couple of minutes to get my bearings. I’d toured around the University campus with Skippy before, but I’d never paid much attention to the medical complex. Eventually I figured out where I was, and walked about ten minutes through the quiet little streets to Skippy’s place.

I pulled out my dying phone to verify that I was in front of the right house, because it would suck to accidentally wake a stranger at this hour. Right after I rapped on the window glass, I heard movement inside the room. So I climbed the little wooden stoop, and Skippy appeared at the door in a kimono. He and Ross lived in an old Victorian that had long ago been broken up into cute, creaky little apartments.

Wordlessly, he let me in. When I stepped into the living room, I saw a Graham-shaped lump asleep on the pull-out couch.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

“How is she?” he mouthed.

“She woke up, and spoke a little. But she looks awful.”

Skippy winced. “Tomorrow you’ll know more.”

“Yeah.”

He pointed toward the back. “Help yourself to anything in the bathroom. I’m going back to bed.”

“Skippy, thanks,” I said again.

Big parts of the day had been lost in my stressed-out haze. But I knew that the people in this room — the sleeping one, and the kimono-wearing one — had been pulling puppet strings in the background, making my nightmare just a little more bearable. Hours ago, I’d caught Skippy waving maniacally from the other side of the ICU glass. When I’d gone out to see what he wanted, he’d shoved a paper carton of pad Thai into one of my hands, and a pair of chopsticks in the other. Then he’d pointed at a bench. “You can’t go back in there until you eat that,” he’d said. It had been easier to comply than to argue with him.

Now, Skippy leaned in to give me a quick squeeze. “Any time, honey. You’d do the same for me.” He turned away then, heading back to bed. We didn’t have to say anything more, because we both knew it was true.

I kicked off my shoes, and turned my attention to Graham, who had somehow zapped me from Connecticut to Vermont like a superhero. Even though we’d spent four hours in a car together, I felt as though I hadn’t talked to Graham in a year.

Dropping my jacket and jeans, I crawled onto the bed beside him. The pull-out sofa was the usual disaster — a thin mattress over dubious springs. But I’d never been so happy to be anyplace. It would have been polite to just lie down quietly and go to sleep. But that wasn’t good enough for me. I curled into Graham, tugging him into my arms.

“Are you okay?” he asked sleepily. I watched him wake up fast, his eyes snapping open, assessing me. “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head. “I just miss you. Maybe I should have just let you sleep, but I love you too damn much.” If the people in my life were going to start collapsing everywhere, it suddenly seemed important that I let them know.

He put a heavy palm on my cheek. “Love you, too, Rik.” The sentiment just rolled off his sleepy tongue. Then he let out a colossal yawn. “What time is it?”

“Three? Four?” I yawned, too.

“How is she?”

“Woke up. She sounds awful, but she’s there, you know?”

“Thank God.” His arms came around to squeeze me. “When I picked up that phone today, and Skippy told me what happened, I panicked.”

I tucked my body even closer to his, my mouth just beside his ear, so we could talk quietly. It was so still here. That’s how Vermont always sounded at night — quiet enough to hear your own thoughts. “That part of the day is hazy for me,” I admitted. “Thank you for getting me up to Burlington.”

“It’s hazy for you,” he repeated.

“Yeah. I was freaking.”

For a minute he didn’t say anything. He just nuzzled my neck. “I don’t think the team will forget it anytime soon.”

“What do you mean?”

Graham kissed my jaw a few times before he answered. “I don’t have to agonize over staying in the closet anymore.”

“What?” I pulled back so I could see his face.

But Graham’s eyes were closed, and his face was serene. “Just didn’t have time for the cover-up today. I kind of let it all hang out. For me, anyway.”

I traced back in my mind to try to figure out what he meant. “In the locker room?” It hadn’t been my sharpest hour, but I didn’t remember any words exchanged, other than Graham asking to borrow a car. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

He gave a sleepy, half-shrug. “Doesn’t matter. Don’t care anymore.” He tugged me back down onto his body. “Middle of the night, Rik. I’m only good for sleep or sex.”

Smiling, I rubbed up against him. “I guess it would be rude to fuck on Skippy’s sofa bed.”

“Sofa might not survive it,” Graham mumbled.

“Good point.” I pulled up the blanket and lay down in Graham’s arms. Sleep clobbered me immediately, and I was out.

I woke up the next morning to the sound of Ross making coffee about ten feet away in their little kitchen. Graham’s big thigh was practically wedged into my ass, and I was clinging to the edge of the bed. I was either going to have to become a more assertive sleeper, or share only king-sized beds with him. With both my feet, I shoved his leg out of the way.

“Unnrgh,” he said.

“So true,” I agreed. And Ross laughed over the burble of the coffee maker.

Skippy came barreling out of the bedroom a few minutes later, and began organizing us in his Skiptastic way. “Graham can shower while you call your uncle,” he ordered. “Let me find a couple of Ross’s t-shirts for both of you.”

I gave Ross an apologetic look, and he just shrugged, sticking a piece of toast in his mouth.

“…Ross and I have class later this morning, but I want to run into the hospital with you, so I can report back to Mom. Now come over here and eat something quick.”

Graham and I let Skippy march us around. As a result, thirty minutes later we were both more refreshed and better fed than would have otherwise been possible.

Ross tucked their little poodle into its duffel bag and put it over his shoulder. Then we all went outside to walk to the hospital together.

On the way into the building, Graham took my hand and gave it a squeeze. Oddly enough, he didn’t let it go. We all approached the information desk together, where I learned that Gran had been transferred from the ICU to a regular room on the fourth floor.

“It’s good news that they moved her, right?” I asked as all four of us waited for the elevator.

“It’s awesome,” Skippy agreed.

Graham squeezed my hand, which he was still holding. Weird.

On the fourth floor, we looked around for the right set of room numbers. And I was so eagerly scanning the signs that I didn’t notice the woman standing outside a room at the end of the hall until we were almost upon her.

My mother.

As we moved toward her, I watched her mouth fall open.

Nice to see you, too, Mom. “How is she?” I asked without preamble.

“What is he doing here?” she asked.

Beside me, Graham’s body went completely still. But he did not remove his hand from mine.

There was a nasty silence, and then I felt Skippy push past my other side, as if to get a better look. “That’s her?” he asked. For obvious reasons, he’d never met my mother. “That’s the crazy bitch who calls herself your mom?”

“Skip,” Ross warned. “Simmer down.”

“You think I should be polite?” My ex-boyfriend spat. “Fine. Thank you, Mrs. Rikker, for kicking your son out when he was sixteen. Because if you hadn’t, someone else would have had to take my virginity.”

My mother gasped, and clenched her fists. And it seemed entirely possible that I was about to witness a physical altercation between my mother and my ex-boyfriend, who was currently wearing a pink t-shirt reading Power Bottoms for Jesus. The dog, sensing trouble, chose that moment to let out a high-pitched yip. And Graham squeezed my hand as if he meant to solder himself to me.

At that moment, I felt as if I was looking down at my whole life from above. And what I saw was hysterical. A gurgle of inappropriate laughter contracted my stomach.

“Don’t laugh, Rikky,” Skippy said, his voice tight.

But why not, right? Because the only thing really wrong was the fact that my grandmother had just had a stroke. All the rest was, as Coach liked to say, noise.

Ross put two meaty hands on Skippy’s shoulders and eased him back. “You’re upsetting Bella,” he said. “And if that happens, we’ll get thrown out of here.”

“It would be worth it,” Skippy snapped.

My mother spoke again. “You are not welcome here,” she said. And something in her tone made me pay attention. To my horror, she was pointing at Graham.

I didn’t even know that it was physically possible to go so quickly from zen to absolutely enraged. My chest squeezed like a vice, and I actually gagged for a second on my own haste to shut my mother up. I was finished being wounded by her. But you do not get to say that shit to Graham.

But it wasn’t me who told her off. And it wasn’t Skippy, either.

“Oh, hell no,” Graham spat. His hand finally let go of mine, but only because he wrapped it around my shoulder instead. “That is not even true.” His voice was shaking, the same way mine would be if I even tried to speak right now. “It took me six years to realize that I am welcome here, and you are not going to change that.”

My mother’s face was bright red. “You’re not helping,” she whispered. “Except to condemn him to hell.”

And there it was. No appeal to my mother could ever breech the seawall. Her Bible was her rulebook. And it wouldn’t even help if Skippy started in on his list of all the contradictory shit in the Bible: thou shalt not eat bacon, or wear clothing of mixed threads. That wouldn’t matter to my mother. Because she had been taught to fear rather than to think. And she was good at fear. A real pro.

“BOYSSS!” came a warble from inside the hospital room.

My grandmother’s voice woke me from my stupor. I gave Graham a little nudge toward the open doorway. We went inside, where my father and my uncle Alan stood, their asses parked side-by-side against the windowsill. “Gran,” I said, coming over to kiss her. She looked bright-eyed today, although her face was pale and puffy.

Skippy and Ross followed, and it was now quite crowded.

“I need to talk to John,” Gran said, her words not quite clear. With her left hand, she shooed my father and uncle toward the door.

Skippy took the hint, too. “Good to see you, Mrs. Rikker,” he said. “My mom will be by later.” He gave her a wave and tugged Ross out the door with him.

My father followed them. But on his way past me he stopped. Then he put a hand on my shoulder. “John,” he said simply. And I could feel his eyes heavy on my face. But I couldn’t go there right now. I wasn’t ready to have a Moment with this man who had not stood up for me when I needed him. After a few seconds, he reluctantly let go of me and walked out.

Graham also detached his arm from my back, but I caught him by the hand. “Stay,” I said. I didn’t want him in the hallway with my parents. I shut Gran’s door and faced her.

“I haven’t done the right thing,” Gran said.

“What? Sure you have.”

She gave her chin a little shake. “I let your father off the hook because I liked your company.” Her speech was slow, as if it took more concentration than normal. “Should have forced the issue before now. The longer you avoid each other, the harder it gets.”

Oh, hell. My eyes were getting hot. “I loved living with you.” Wait, I didn’t want that in the past tense. “I love it, and I’m spending the summer in Vermont.”

She shook her head again. “Taking care of an old lady is not what you should be doing.”

I yanked the only chair closer to the bed and sat down beside her. “That’s not your call. I like it here. My friends are here. And Graham is going to visit me.” I looked over my shoulder, up into the serious face of my boyfriend, who nodded.

“Your father needs to see you,” she said, clearing her throat. “And I need more care than you can give.”

“So what? We’ll get a part-time nurse. That pantry off the kitchen can become a main-floor bathroom, and you can move into the sewing room. It’s not that tricky.”

Her eyes were soft now. “Your father,” she repeated.

“I’ll visit him. A little. A week or two,” I promised. “I’ll try it. And if it’s awful, Graham’s mom will let me crash at their place. But you’re not throwing me out, Gran. You wouldn’t do that.”

Her eyes teared up. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“So cut it out,” I said, wiping mine.

“All right,” she sniffed.

“You just folded like a bad hand of poker,” I joked.

That earned me an eye roll. “I will throw you out now, though,” she said. “You should be at school.”

“For five more weeks,” I said. “How long are they going to keep you here?” For all my big plans about keeping Gran in her home, I didn’t know if it would actually work.

“There’s a rehab unit I’ll go to,” she said. “Then maybe Gertie’s.”

“Okay,” I said, because I was in over my head.

“School,” she said, squeezing my hand. She looked exhausted now.

“I’ll call tomorrow?”

She smiled at me, and I stood up.

“See you soon, Mrs. Rikker,” Graham said, his hand on the doorknob. “Feel better.”

“Wait,” I said, stopping him. I stepped into Graham’s personal space and wrapped my arms around him. “Thank you for telling off my mother instead of strangling her, like I wanted to. Because now I don’t have to visit you in prison.”

Chuckling, he hugged me back. Right in front of Gran.

Outside the hospital room, my parents and my uncle Alan were standing around looking tense. I pulled Gran’s door shut behind me. “What did the doctor say this morning?” I asked.

My dad cleared his throat. “The anti-clotting medicines are working for her. There will be a lot of recovery time, but they like what they see so far.”

“Good,” I said.

“I’m sticking around for the week, to see her settled into a rehab program,” Alan said.

“We need to put in a bathroom downstairs,” I said.

He smiled. “I’m on it, kid. I’ll call around today, unless you want to steer me to any particular guys?”

“Gertie is the one to ask,” I told him. “She knows all the gossip. And maybe Skippy’s mom.” I glanced at Graham, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and staring down my mom. “We have to get back to Connecticut,” I told the group. Then I grabbed for Graham’s hand and turned toward the elevators. I wouldn’t have minded talking to Alan a bit longer, but I’d reached my breaking point. I couldn’t handle my parents on top of Gran’s stroke. That was just more than I could take.

“I’ll walk you out,” my father said, jogging to keep up.

Great. I pressed the elevator button and prayed for deliverance. Graham squeezed my wrist. Then his hand came to the small of my back, where he rubbed a reassuring circle. It was both sweet and devious at the same time, because my father would not appreciate the PDA, no matter how mild.

“You look good, John,” my father said.

I said nothing.

“I want you to come home this summer,” he added.

“What, did she threaten to cut you out of the will?” I tapped a rhythm on the elevator button like an impatient fool.

“John,” my father sighed. “I do love you.”

“Got a weird way of showing it,” I said. “Although the tuition checks are always on time. So I suppose Mom wants me to be grateful.”

“Your mother thinks…” he sighed.

“That is debatable,” I argued.

“She believes in tough love.”

“…Which worked so well.” I wasn’t going to make this easy for him. “You are never going to change me, okay? Not about this. So you can take me or leave me.”

“I’ll take you, then.” The elevator doors opened, finally, revealing four other people. I stepped in, and Graham and my father followed. “Will you please come home this summer?” my father asked.

Ugh. I could just picture it. Tense silences at the dinner table, or worse. If my mother campaigned for me to attend a Healing Camp, I was not going to be nice about it. “I will visit,” I said. “Because Gran wants me to. But not right away. I need to be around for her.”

The doors opened, and we all got out. I plowed forward toward freedom. The automatic doors parted, and then I was sucking down the fresh Vermont air. That helped.

“John?”

God, he was like a dog with a bone. “Yeah?”

“You’re a good grandson.”

“I know that already.” I patted my pockets. “Car keys?” I asked Graham. He held them up. Because I couldn’t avoid it any longer, I finally met my father’s eyes. He looked a lot like me, actually. And I spent a long second wondering if someday I’d have worry lines on my forehead, like him. “I’ll see you. Maybe in August.”

“I hope so, son.”

It shouldn’t have made a difference to me that he called me “son.” But somehow, it did. “Okay,” I said, my voice gruff.

“I look forward to it,” he said.

I drove us out of town and onto the highway. We didn’t speak, probably because I was thinking too hard. And when I checked Graham’s face, I found him dozing in the passenger seat. Eventually I pulled off the highway, and up to the drive-through window of a fast food restaurant.

When it was almost our turn to order, I put a hand on Graham’s knee to wake him, because I didn’t know what he’d want. “Lunch time, baby. What do you like from Wendy’s?”

He shook himself into consciousness. “Um, taco salad?”

I just stared at him. “Really? A salad?”

Graham gave me a sleepy grin. “I have a lot of salads for lunch. But never for dinner.”

“I didn’t know that. We never eat lunch together.”

A sad expression passed through his eyes, but then he smiled again. “Some idiot thought we shouldn’t. Can’t remember why.”

My heart gave a little kick just to hear him say that. “We’ll start now.”

“Okay.” Graham leaned toward me then, cupping my chin in his hands. Then he kissed me, just like that. In front of God and everybody.

“Ahem.”

I pulled away from Graham to look up into the face of the pimply young man in the Wendy’s window. “Sorry,” I said automatically.

“You could let me join in,” the guy said. “Or order your food. One or the other.”

I just blinked up at him, too surprised to go on. Graham leapt in, ordering his salad, and then I pulled it together, adding my order.

As soon as I pulled ahead to wait for the food, Graham began to laugh. “The look on your face,” he chuckled. “I thought I was the prude.”

“He just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

Graham stretched as best he could in the passenger seat. “Jesus. What a rough couple of days.”

“I could use one or two with no drama.”

“You know what I want? Forty-eight hours in bed. You. Me. Maybe a couple of movies. Sleeping. Sex. Food, because eventually we’d get hungry. But no interruptions.”

“Sounds great. But instead, you’re going to get midterms. And spring training.”

He sighed. “I know. But eventually we’ll be off this treadmill, right? You promised me a camping trip in Vermont. I want to pick apples and have sex in a tent.”

At that, I cracked up. “You heard that?”

“Of course I did.” Graham tried to give me money for lunch, but I waved him off. The lady from the next window handed down our bag, and I moved the car to face a grassy slope at the back of the restaurant.

Graham passed me my sandwich, but he said something that made me forget to eat it. “Hey, Rik? I’ve decided not to play hockey next year.”

“What?”

Calmly, he stirred his salad together while he talked. “There are a whole lot of reasons. And some of them you’re not going to like. But just listen, okay?”

“Okay.” Although I doubted that I could ever agree with this.

“For one, I don’t want to risk another concussion. Supposedly, if I got another one, it would take twice as long to heal.”

Oh. “Ouch.”

“No kidding. But also — I need to make some changes. I want to stop hiding. But I have to do it on my own time. And I don’t want us to be the gay couple on the team. I don’t want to be in the news. So I’m not going to play.”

“Jesus, Graham! You…”

He held up a hand. “You’re still listening right now, please. Originally, I played hockey because of you. It was your pick.”

“…But you’re good at it.”

Graham shrugged. “Not as good as you. But that’s not the point. Just shut it for a minute, okay? There are other things I want to do instead. Do you know Dan Armitage?”

I shook my head.

“He’s going to edit the Daily News next year.” That was our college paper. “He needs a sports editor, and I’ve always kind of wanted that job.”

“Really?”

“Really. I want to write about lacrosse and football. A couple of guys have gotten jobs at ESPN from working that beat.”

Huh. “That’s cool. Except you never mentioned that before.”

He put down his fork. “I know that. My whole life, I never got in the habit of saying what I wanted. I’ve got one year of college left. And I want to spend it on the things I choose.” He reached across the gearbox and put a hand on my chest. “All the things I choose. And mostly, I choose you.”

“Well, shit…” That made me swallow hard. “It was your team first, though.”

“Whatever. I’m just glad you showed up to be on it.”

Holy hell! It had finally happened.

Carefully, so as not to disturb the various food items on our laps, I pulled him by the back of the neck just far enough over to kiss me. “You’re it,” I whispered. “A perfect ten on the Rikker scale.”

“The what?”

But I couldn’t even explain without my voice breaking. So I sat back in my seat and just studied him. He was wearing Ross’s crimson ‘Bama t-shirt, and watching me with those cool blue eyes.

“Love you so much, G,” I choked out.

He stole one of my French fries. “Love you, too, Rik. Now eat your lunch so that we can go home.”