“The more money they made, the higher maintenance and more demanding my mom became. Everything had to be perfect. Everything had to be expensive. When it wasn’t convenient to drag me to France, they’d leave me with aunts and uncles and my dick of a cousin.”
I listen silently as he begins opening up, words halted but constant. “My mom’s sister was…not loving.”
A stormy shadow crosses his eyes as he recalls his aunt from whatever memory category he’s compartmentalized her in.
My heart skips a beat. “Did they hurt you, Zeke?”
A bitter laugh. “No. They did nothing.”
“What do you mean they did nothing?”
I want to put my hands on him—touch him—but I don’t.
Can’t.
The energy in the room grows.
“My aunt and uncle took me in for money; my parents sent them a shit ton every month so I was out of their way, so my mom could do whatever the fuck she wanted, when she wanted. It was all about money, a glorified foster care system.”
It’s starting to make sense.
The bets. The charity. Giving his parents’ money away.
The anger and resentment.
Zeke Daniels feels abandoned by his family.
“My parents chose work and travel. My aunt and uncle chose money. Oz is choosing Jameson.” His low voice rumbles, spitting the words out. “Everyone has a choice.”
And no one chooses me.
The unspoken words hang between us, heavy and thick like a downdraft, like a noose around the column of his long, thick neck.
Slowly, I move around the table.
Slowly still, my fingers feel for his forearm, the tips brushing his wrist. “Zeke, I—”
His reflexes are quick, capturing my hand in his bear-like paw. “Don’t, Violet. Don’t try to make me feel better. Don’t feel sorry for me.”
“Maybe I don’t feel sorry for you. Maybe I feel something else.”
Compassion.
Empathy.
A connection.
Love.
“I can tell by the fucking expression on your face you feel sorry for me. Knock that shit off because this isn’t a pity party, Violet. You know, when I came to college, I thought the team was going to be the family I needed. I couldn’t wait to get out of my aunt’s fucking house. Couldn’t. Wait. If they had colleges on the moon, I would have applied there.”
He continues on, oblivious to my concerned countenance, worried only about himself. His feelings. His childhood.
“Then Dorffman up and quits because he met his girlfriend Annabelle and wanted to transfer to Florida State. Pfft, Florida of all fucking places. Bryan Endleman used to hit and quit everything, including guys, until he met Rachel. Packed all his shit and moved out of the house and into her apartment just like that. We were like brothers.” Zeke snaps his fingers in the air in front of his nose. “Two weeks and he split. Gone.”
“But he was still on the team at that point, right?”
“His head wasn’t in it. So what? We all moved on. Got along fine without him—he was a slob anyway and I didn’t need his shit lying around. Oz moved in with us after that.” He sounds bitter. “Then of course, here comes Jameson.”
To ruin everything.
I hear the words as if he’s speaking them out loud.
My head gives a little shake. “If you’re thinking he chose Jameson over you, Zeke, don’t. He’s still your friend. You can’t push him away because he’s falling in love.”
He snorts, crossing his arms. “Love. Hilarious.”
Love. Hilarious.
A little shimmer of hope dims inside me with his biting words.
“You don’t think Oz is falling in love with Jameson?”
“I think he loves fucking her.”
I pull away, his crude words startling. “Fucking.” I test the word out; it’s one I rarely use. “Is that what we’ve been doing? F-Fucking? You know, since you obviously have no feelings for me other than physical.”
His face is red. “Jesus Christ, Violet, stop twisting my words.”
I tap my foot. “I’m not, I’m using deductive reasoning.”
“That’s not what this thing is and you know it. Stop putting words in my mouth.”
I ignore him. “But the idea of romantic love is hilarious, right?”
Not surprisingly, he has nothing to say to that, so I ramble on.
“J-Just because Oz and James are sleeping together doesn’t mean they’re not in love and planning a future together. It doesn’t mean he isn’t still your friend.”
“My friend? Bullshit. Those guys on the team aren’t my friends. They don’t give a shit about me.”
Another shake of my head, this one woeful.
“I’ve never met anyone so self-deprecating in all my life,” I all but whisper, just loud enough for him to hear across the room.
Zeke tilts his head and studies me, eyes thinning into slits. “What did you just say?”
“Y-You heard me.” My chin tips up boldly, but I’m so devastated by this entire conversation my stutter decides to return in full force.
Zeke scratches his chin. “I don’t think I did, because it sounded like you just called me a whiney baby.”
“I-I didn’t call y-you a whiney baby. I said you were self-deprecating.”
“What the hell does that even mean?”
“It means…” I start slow, choosing my words carefully and speaking them one at a time so I get them right. “That you’re only seeing negative things about your life. Basically sabotaging your own happiness before you even know something is going to fail, before people leave. Because despite your tattoos and your devil-may-care attitude, you actually lack…”