Page 78 of What We Knew Then
I focus on the hand Cora’s holding as the words leave my lips. “The night of the accident. The one where I crashed the car at the park.”
She nods, waiting for what comes next.
“Oliver. We were both in the car. He was my—” My brain sputters. Fucking trips over itself. Because I don’t know how to label him. Teammate. Friend. Brother?
“Best friend,” I finally say. “I sort of lived with him and his family. Because, mine… well…” My voice stutters, useless for a second.Because mine wasn’t safe. Because mine taught you to listen for footsteps and read moods like weather.
I swallow. “You couldn’t even call them parents. The Knights took me in, and my mom barely noticed. I was thirteen when I stopped going home to my real mom.”
I point to the scar on my lip. “This right here? People think I got it from hockey. Makes sense.” My body tenses with the truth. “But what no one knows is that it’s actually from one of my mom’s boyfriends… I was probably eight when this happened. I came out of my room because I hadn’t eaten in two days. It was the weekend, otherwise I’d eat at school. I was trying to find something in the fridge when he pushed me and I hit my face on one of the shelves.”
Cora’s hand covers her mouth as her eyes widen.
“There was so much blood. And then I got in trouble for bleeding on shit. So, when I tell you I didn’t have parents, I mean it.”
She doesn’t push, doesn’t fill the silence. Just stays there, steady, like she understands that some things take a minute to say.
I’ve always known I don’t deserve her. But this is like having someone hold a light to all the parts of me I usually keep shoved in a dark corner as I try not to flinch.
“I learned early how to be easy,” I say. “How to take up less space. How to not make things worse.” My mouth twists.
And then it’s like I’m back there. To that night.
The party is too loud, too bright, and full of people who say Oliver’s name like it belongs to them. I don’t really like going out but I typically do whatever Oliver suggests. That’s what friends do. We’ve always been sort of a package deal. I went where he went, slipped into his friend groups.
My teammates like me just fine. We get along enough to have that symmetry on the ice. But deep down? If I wasn’t part of the Oliver package, I’m guessing things would be different for me.
Everyone loves him. Oliver is the golden boy. The person professors trust, coaches brag about, and girls wave at from across the room. He remembers everyone’s birthday. He holds doors. He texts his mom back. I’m just lucky to be in his orbit. A part of his family. I know that. He follows rules because they make sense to him, not because anyone’s watching.
Tonight, Oliver drinks. I kind of can’t believe it. I’ve seen him buzzed when we’re at a teammate's place but not really when we’re out anywhere else. Never at a party like this.
At first, I cheered and laughed with the guys as he chugged and slurred some of his words. When he clapped my back too hard, it was almost like a relief to see him loosen the reins.
“Hey,” I say later, when the music is a wall of noise and the air is thick with sweat and the promise of summer. “Let me drive.”
He smiles like I’m being dramatic. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” I put my hand in his chest, stopping him from walking past me towards the car. “And that’s okay, but just let me drive.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’ve only had, like, two beers.”
“In the first twenty minutes,” I argue. “Give me the keys.”
He claps me on the shoulder, easy and careless. “I’m really fine. It’s not that big of a deal.” His words are louder than they need to be. Almost like he wants the others to hear.
Maybe he’s sick of being the good guy. The guy on the team with a 4.0, dad as his coach, never really been in trouble.
I know the guys give him shit but in the way you do when you’re with friends. You joke around and everyone has something they can pick on. People pick on Oliver for being good.
Feels like maybe Oliver’s sick of being picked on. Maybe he wants to be someone else tonight.
He walks towards the car and I follow.
“It’s like a five minute drive. Don’t be so annoying.”
It’s one of the first times he has said something like that to me. It scratches at old wounds which break open every once in a while, sometimes when I see my teammates with their families. Knowing mine exists out of pity. Or that’s what it feels like sometimes. Honestly, right now, Oliver kind of reminds me of home. My real one. Of my mom and her guy of the week trying to get me to be practically non-existent.
I back off. I have to. He’s right—it’s only five minutes back to the apartment. We’ve been here for a few hours… maybe he hasn’t actually had that much to drink.
