most of my nights now revolved around spooning lacey to bed. it was the best damn sleep of my life. i knocked out at 12 and was up like a soldier at 7:30. having her nestled into my arms, our breathing in sync, felt like a horse tranquilizer. almost like i would die and have my heart restarted by the grating squeal of our morning alarm. 

time away from kelsey was improving lacey’s mood. her grades had even seen a bit of an uptick. she stopped missing classes too, which took a lot of stress off my mind. martha hadn’t let up, but it seemed manageable now, and we were a united front in dealing with her. there were still times when it was too much, but being able to comfort each other in the late evenings at least offered some respite. 

dad was…dad. he didn’t seem to notice anything in his usual way of being oblivious to our feelings. despite his renewed interest in where i was going at night, i didn’t make my dui a repeat issue. it wasn’t about him, though. i couldn’t bear to see that look on her face again. the disappointment, the fear. 

“lace, its time to get up.” i muttered, wiping sleep from my eyes. she poked her head up from the covers groggily and blinked at me. between bed head and the gentle look on her face, it reminded me of a baby deer taking in the world for the first time. “come on.” i repeated, tousling her hair.  

“okay. okay.” she said groggily, sitting up. the twice snoozed alarm went off and our hands practically met in silencing it. i let her claim the victory, rolling out of the covers and striding to the bathroom. as much as i wanted to keep the sugary aerosol on my body, it was probably better to shower it off. lacey stretched and made for the door. she would peek her head down the stairs in an effort to sneak into the hall bath, her usual morning prep room.  

when i didn’t hear the familiar sound of running water underneath the floorboards, something tripped my sense of self preservation. forgoing the shower, i hurried down the steps to see lacey cornered by kelsey against the last few. 

“-was out all night and you weren’t in bed when i got home.” kelsey sneered. she had a hand at one hip and another with the pointer extended in accusation towards lacey. neither girl was put together, i was surprised kelsey was even out this hour. up, sure, but not distracted with makeup or hair? 

“i just needed something in cain’s room.” 

“all night?” kelsey practically shrieked. the stabbing pointer made another pass, this time connecting with lacey’s sternum. 

“next time you need a towel in the morning, at least take it with you before storming off.” i said, loudly stepping down the last few stairs. kelsey snapped her head around to look at me, eyes lingering on my abs. ugh.  

“this doesn’t concern you, meathead.” 

“well, i heard my name, so i guess it does.” i said with as little emotion as i could muster. “i heard you were out all night too, is that right? with permission from mom, i suppose?” it killed me to say that word referring to martha, but i knew it had the desired effect when kelsey’s expression shifted from smug to concerned. she was intelligent enough to catch on to the implied threat. her face twisted into a snarl and she took a step back. 

“don’t think this is over.” she snapped, disappearing into the shared bedroom with a dramatic about-face. 

“thank you.” lacey breathed out. 

“knight in shining armor, right?” i said, already turning back upstairs. i almost tripped as she rushed me from behind. her arms wrapped around my waist, the side of her face pressed into my lower back. i gave her clasped hands a pat and an affectionate squeeze. when she let me go, the towel came out of my hands and went with her, just barely clearing the bathroom door as it shut with a thud. 

today was supposed to be a day of rest. sunday, funday. not. sundays were all about church. the hours before church, the service, the long wait for parents to intermingle while their kids kicked rocks in the parking lot, and most unfortunately, sunday dinner. martha made a specific occasion of sunday dinners; dress clothes, eating as a ‘family’ in the dining room.  

it was a ritualistic torture method we had slowly devised ways of defeating the longer we endured it. my track meets happened on sunday, generally sparing me from most, if not all of church, and lacey had study hours during the service. not coincidental things. whenever we had something we knew they couldn’t postpone or reschedule, it happened on sunday. 

lacey had been behaving and her grades had improved. after conversations with her teachers about potential prospects in college, a convincing enough case was made to dad that she should stay in the tutoring program. idle hands and all that. i think martha was just happy to be rid of us when the rest of the parents were around. it didn’t matter to me, i had other things to focus on. 

“10.45, great work cain.” 

“thank you Mrs. Lindsay.” i huffed, jogging over to the bench at the edge of the track where a gatorade cooler had been propped up. i grabbed a mottled styrofoam cup and poured myself some liquid stamina. 

the St. A’s track was pretty grandiose, surrounded on two sides by towering bleachers that bounced harsh light in every direction at midday. there had been plans to paint them but in the two years i’d attended they still remained silver and bleak. inside the standard olympic track was a football field that doubled for soccer and lacrosse. i had no interest in either, but i often saw the teams practicing and my girlfriend would often be high flying as i dashed across the straightaways. 

“it’s like you’re imagining kirsten is down there cheering with how you’re running.” coach lindsay said, ribbing me. i gave her a courtesy chuckle. 

katherine lindsay was a tall, lean woman. an ex-olympic who retired to her hometown to teach. the kind of athlete who did not take any excuses. she had thick, mean brows that knit together at even the slightest sign of weakness and a voice hoarse from shouting across fields every day. 

“actually, we’ve been a bit distant recently. haven’t talked much in the last few weeks.” a half truth. we’d talked a pretty normal amount for the level of communication our relationship constituted. it was me who was feeling distant. 

“oh? trouble in paradise?” 

“that whole killing my brother thing.” i replied sarcastically. we both laughed at that.  

“jokes aren’t like you cain, what’s up?” she said, suddenly serious. i gulped down the rest of my gatorade and made an exaggerated basketball swish as the cup soared into a metal garbage can between the bench and bleachers. 

“i think we just met different people, new people.” another half truth.  

“oh, who’s this new girl?” 

“well, she did, anyway.” a lie. 

“ah.” 

“yeah.” i stated. definitive, with a head nod and a small sigh for good measure. she clapped me on the back and shook my shoulder a little. it was nice to know she cared, that she was willing to reassure me and be supportive. i wished i could open up, but there wasn’t much i could say that she would understand. 

“plenty of fish in the sea if it doesn’t work out.” 

“i know. thanks coach.” i replied, already lining up for my next sprint. track was my escape, my world. something that made me feel like a lightning bolt streaking through the sky. electric, powerful. something that would fry the fuck out of you if you got in my way. 

i set my feet, closed my eyes and exhaled. my heart beat in my body like a drum. a primed ignition, a racehorse bucking against the starting gate. my feet exploded off the ground at the starting whistle, catapulting me forward like i was swan diving into the track. every measured breath saw my arms come up and swung back, counterbalancing and keeping me upright. i let the momentum carry my stride, raising my knees high and pumping my arms higher. sprinting was about the start, the volatile burst in the first few seconds of a race. you rarely had time to make up position; things were over in under 10 seconds. 

don’t look back, look at the finish. look at your goal. envision yourself tearing across that line as you exhale. arms high, legs out, push against the ground and lean into the dash like you’re tripping, flying, with each stride. i broke the white marker at 100 meters and let the momentum fade away, slowing to a jog before circling back, hands on my head. 

“10.34, you’re close.” coach lindsay remarked. 

“i need to be at 9…for nationals” i gasped. “for scholarships.” 

“we can get you there, but i think any university in the state will take you where you’re at.” 

“it’s not just about me…it’s…” i trailed off. damn it. i mentally kicked myself for running my mouth. 

“always the family man.” 

“yes ma’am.” i huffed, sinking down onto the bleachers again. the cold aluminum of the bench was a welcome reprieve to my burning legs. “my dad is on fixed income, i have younger siblings, you know the drill.” i added hastily. she nodded and gave me a look like i couldn’t fool her, but didn’t push the issue. 

that was what kept me talking to Mrs. Lindsay, what made me respect her. there was never a moment where i felt pressured to answer, or to reveal more than i had in the moment. she was easygoing about the interpersonal and would respect my boundaries regardless of her own opinions. 

“that’s enough for today, cool down and make sure the frosh don’t hurt themselves.” she said, jabbing a thumb towards a group of kids in gray PE uniforms. they were jumping sideways across the landing pit. i sighed, getting up to start my cooldown laps. as i passed, i called out for them to knock it off, maybe too aggressively. one kid flinched mid step and fell on his ass. 

“woah, my bad, no volume control. sorry.” i said, jogging over and offering the kid a hand. he declined it and dusted himself off. his mop of black hair was plastered over a pudgy face, bits of sand from the pit sticking to the sweat on his cheeks and arms. 

“you’re cain, right? i’ve seen you at other meets. you’re the new captain?” 

“no, thats still kenny.” i responded. “he hurt his leg but he’ll be back in a month or so.” 

“you’re fast, like really fast.” the kid said, awestruck. it was weird, nobody had ever complimented me directly like that before. adults, who i had learned to show humility in front of, had made similar comments, but it felt out of place coming from somebody near or below my age.  

i showed them some basic long jump form, despite the fact i was terrible at it, and they seemed even more impressed that i could perform the moves. when i was certain they weren’t a danger to themselves, i gave the kid, whose name i discovered was davey like the locker, a thumbs up and jogged off. 

when the practice meet was over i found lacey in the stands and tossed her the car keys so she could hang out in the AC until after i had showered. her tutoring ended about an hour before my meets, a convenience that martha and dad didn’t need to know about. since the sprints were last on the docket, she got to see me run. something about that gave me a warm fuzzy feeling, like how i had watched her soccer games when she had wanted to be sporty too. it was all books and computers now, though. 

it took me a while to get through the tangle of parents and kids filtering out from the field. people all moved in the same direction without any sense of order or urgency. the clock was ticking though, as family dinner crept closer by the minute. i tried to let myself slip into the crowd and lull until i could break off into the locker rooms. it didn’t really work and ended up agonizing over the thought of sitting at that table for even an hour, forced politeness and all. 

the gym showers were an ice bath, but years of military rinsing with the shitty attic tap had hardened my body and soul. so much so that i didn’t notice someone else had entered while i contemplated my impending doom underneath the piercing stream. 

“fuck, man, doesn’t that bother you?” 

“uh…it’s refreshing. especially when it’s like 90 out.” i replied, turning to see who had asked. one of our JV distance runners, with spiky hair and a scruffy orange goatee that dripped sweat. 

“you’re different.” he muttered, turning the handle on the shower across from mine and giving the water plenty of space. maybe i was. i closed off the tap and shook my hair dry, the sun would do the rest. 

“hey, cain?” he asked, grabbing my attention as i turned to go. 

“yeah man?” 

“nice shit out there.”  

“you too.” i called back, exiting the showers, feeling a little bad for not remembering his name. 

brushed chrome fell away and alabaster tile continued into the locker room, more of a prison gallery, really. beige painted steel folded into tall rectangles, all secured with shitty padlocks. rows of wooden benches between them, their surfaces busted up and scratched to hell. i hated the locks, especially mine, which had been a hand me down from dad. my usual ritual of shaking the thin door and then the tumbler to get the shackle open was proving ineffective. 

“hey, what was your name again?” i asked, seeing him leaving the showers. his expression made that guilty feeling intensify. 

“jaden.” 

“nah, man, your last name.” 

“oh, harlowe.” he replied, seemingly relieved. 

“right, harlowe, thanks. coach asked me to select some people for a varsity tryout.” 

“no shit.” he said with a smile. 

“seeya around big J” i said, adjusting my waistband before heading for the door. should i have slapped him on the ass? was that the protocol in this situation? i shook my head.  

social stuff was not my wheelhouse. it wasn’t that i was bad at talking to people, i just overly optimized my time. structured my interactions. forgot the important things like people’s names. it prevented me from getting close to anyone unless they came with other benefits and created awkwardness the next time we were face to face.  

lacey was waiting in the car, parked in front of the admin building that sat directly behind the gym. she was in the passenger seat, tapping her high tops to a song that i could just barely hear through her headphones. i opened the driver door and slid in, lifting the left ear cup. 

“volume.” 

“kay.” she rolled her eyes, swatting at my hand. i dropped the headphones and moused up her hair. 

“you do want to hear when you’re 40, yeah?” i replied, somewhat exasperated. 

“just drive, cain.” she breathed through a sideeye glare. i resigned myself to letting her have the moment. what was coming would suck for both of us.  

i put the key in the ignition and when the car finally turned over i put my hand out. she glanced at it and offered her own. soft, small in my palm. a great contrast to the weathered steering wheel and rough interior of an old car. i pulled out of the parking lot, taking a quick right onto the main boulevard, head still abuzz even without a glacial torrent streaming over it. 

the drive was quiet, just us, the road, after school event traffic, and that god damn perfume. i flipped the radio on and tapped my thumbs to The Smiths while lacey stared out the window. she’d done her curls today, bobbed them. a few sprung out of hair pins now that they were tied back into a high ponytail. i should’ve been watching the road, tried to, but our eyes met in the passenger window on every red light. 

i would rather not go. 
“do you want to sneak out for dessert after?” 

back to the old house. 
“huh?” 

there’s too many bad memories 
“dairy queen, post mortem.” 

too many memories, there. 
“yeah, sure.” she replied, squeezing my hand this time.