Unbecoming Darrell Matthews - 7. Chapter 7

I stared. "A-Adam?" He was a little taller than I remembered and his hair had darkened to a honey-gold color, but his startling green eyes were still as mesmerizing as ever. They narrowed as he looked at me. "It's me, Darrell."

"I remember who you are," he replied coldly.

Brock's eyes traveled back and forth between us. "You two know each other?"

I waited for Adam to speak. When he didn't, I said, "We used to be friends."

"We used to go to the same school," he corrected. He said to Brock "At one point Darrell here took pity on the poor little geek boy and hung out with him for a while..."

"It - it wasn't-" I began.

Adam continued as though I hadn't said anything. "...But it wasn't long before he got tired of pretending to be a ‘nice guy' and took off." He looked at Brock. "You'll find out," he added, turning and leaving the room.

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. As miserable as I'd been, having to tell Adam I couldn't be his friend anymore, I hadn't realized his take on the situation. Of course, I didn't tell him why I had to break it off - and I didn't give him a chance to ask, either. Still, the last thing I expected upon meeting him again was hatred.

As Adam disappeared from sight, I moved toward a chair sitting in a corner of the room and dropped into it, my legs suddenly weak. Through blurred vision I saw Brock stand in front of me. "Sorry," I whispered, dropping my gaze to the floor.

"For what?"

"For..." What was I apologizing for? "For making him leave. I didn't know he hated me that much."

Brock dropped to one knee in front of me. "He doesn't hate you," he said quietly. "You hurt him, obviously, but Adam doesn't really hate anyone."

I smiled a little. "I should have told him why at the time, I guess," I replied. "But it was just..." I shrugged. "It sounds so stupid now."

"Tell me."

Sighing, I said, "I was... so stuck on him, you know?" Brock nodded. "I used to sneak peeks at him through the window in the music room door. I talked about him a lot - probably too much - and then one day my dad asked me about him."

Brock waited for a second and then prompted "What did you tell him?"

"You have to understand," I said cautiously. "My dad was - is - very... opinionated."

"Oh?"

I nodded. "I told him Adam was a swimmer and that he played flute." I could feel my face getting red. "He said he sounded gay and told me stay away from him." When he didn't say anything, I murmured, "I wish I'd never listened to him."

Brock got to his feet and stood staring down at me. At last he asked "He's a homophobe?" I nodded again without looking up. "And how does he feel about you?"

"It... didn't go over very well," I said, staring at the floor. "My parents are getting a divorce."

"Wow."

I went on, "All my life my dad had been right there, you know? Pushing me to do better - to be better. He always said I was going to go places and be someone important... the day I got my football scholarship, he'd never been prouder of me. And then I got into that accident and ruined everything."

"You ruined everything?" Brock echoed.

"Yeah," I answered. "I was supposed to go home after the game, but we'd just made it to the finals and one of the guys was throwing a big party-" I broke off and looked up at him. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

Brock smiled. "Sometimes you just have to talk to someone," he said.

"I talk to my shrink." I stared down at my hands dangling between my knees. "I shouldn't be telling you that," I added. "Don't want to scare you off already. " I looked up.

‘Stunned' was probably the best word for the expression on Brock's face. I awkwardly got to my feet and asked, "What's the matter? Did I do something wrong?"

He shook his head slowly. "No," he replied. "But I think I did."

"What do you mean?"

"Darrell," he began. "Did you think I invited you here tonight because I wanted to..." Brock rolled his hand in a ‘come on' gesture. "...See you?"

It was my turn to look stunned. "Didn't you?"

He sighed. "I just wanted to be your friend, Darrell. I wanted you to meet our friends. You looked so unhappy that day in the clinic, I-"

"'Our friends'?" I repeated.

Nodding, he replied, "Adam's my partner, Darrell. We've been together for two years."

"Two years?" I was beginning to sound like a parrot.

"We met when his dad was stationed overseas," Brock explained. "This was my house - it's ours now, of course - and Adam was just finishing school..."

I knew my face was flushed, my cheeks red with embarrassment. I could feel the heat burning my ears. How could I have been so stupid? One guy shows me a little attention and immediately I assume he wants me? How egotistical can you get?

I barely heard what Brock was saying. I had to get out of there. Now. I looked around desperately for a way to escape.

It came in the form of Adam hollering from the other room. "Brock!"

"Excuse me for a second, Darrell, will you?" he asked. I nodded mutely. "I'll go see what he wants."

As soon as he was gone, I turned and slipped out the double doors leading to the backyard. It took a moment for me to get my bearings in the dark, but after a few wrong turns I found myself on the front driveway not far from my car. Climbing in, I glanced over my shoulder, half-fearful that I'd been followed, but there wasn't any sign that my escape had been noticed. I started the car, put it in gear and sped off down the drive to the main road.

Back at home I parked my car in the garage and went through into the kitchen. I didn't bother turning on the lights, instead threading my way through the familiar shadows and heading directly for my room. I ignored the blinking red light on the phone signifying waiting messages. I knew they'd be from my brother, asking how the party went. I couldn't bear to hear his cheerful tone right now.

I stripped off my clothes, throwing them in the hamper, and went into the bathroom I shared with Trent. For a while I'd had difficulty spending any time in there after what happened but I soon convinced myself it was only a room and being afraid of going into it was sheer stupidity.

As I turned the shower on as hot as I could stand it, I thought about that. I'd been doing a lot of stupid things since the night of the football game - the accident, fighting with my dad... throwing myself at Brock. Sure, I didn't know he was with anyone when I first met him, but that was no excuse for my falling over myself trying to start something with him. I'd been behaving like a lovesick schoolgirl.

Another voice in my head whispered that that was only to be expected. After all, I wasn't very old or experienced - how was I to know he wasn't coming on to me? And the comment about jacking off with his left hand instead of his right... Only single guys need to do that, right?

Still, I argued back, climbing into the shower and grabbing the soap and a washcloth. Assuming that the only reason he'd spoken with me was because he was trying to pick me up... that's pathetic.

Not really, the other voice temporized. What would anyone have thought in that situation? He was sitting right next to me in an empty waiting room, flirting outrageously - that's a pick up scheme if one ever existed.

I rinsed off and grabbed the shampoo. It was blatant, I thought angrily. Anyone else could have seen that and laughed it off - or, conversely, been uncomfortable at the insinuation and told him to fuck off. I just fell all over him. I might as well have shouted ‘I'm desperate!' and torn my clothes off.

The water began to run cold and I realized I'd been standing under the spray, not moving, for quite some time. I rapidly scrubbed my hair to rid myself of the last of the shampoo and turned off the taps. As I stepped out and reached for a towel, I heard the phone ringing downstairs. I considered going down to get it, then decided to let voicemail pick up. I really didn't feel like talking to anyone right now. In fact, I didn't feel like doing anything. I rubbed harder with the towel as remembered embarrassment flushed my cheeks again.

The phone fell silent. I hung up the towel and headed to my room, sprawling facedown on the bed. Adam, I thought miserably. How could I have been so hurtful? If I had had more of a backbone I would've told my dad that I wanted to stay friends with him - regardless of what he may or may not have been. Instead, I let him run my life for me. The phone downstairs rang again.

No, that was wrong. He wasn't running my life for me, he was running it for himself. I tried to think of something I'd done because I wanted to instead of because he expected me to and came up blank. The warring voices inside my head returned with a vengeance.

You wanted it as much as he did - if not more.

I didn't know what I wanted, I argued. I wasn't given the chance to find out.

Was it so bad? You loved to play. How was helping you get better at it a bad thing?

It wasn't... but he didn't have to push me!

You didn't mind being pushed - sometimes you even went looking for him.

I burrowed my head in the pillow. I didn't realize...

What?

My eyes began to burn with unshed tears. I didn't realize I had no life.

The voice in my head sounded almost smug. You don't have one now, either, so stop feeling sorry for yourself.

**

I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew I was blinking at my alarm clock, trying to make my eyes focus. Ten thirty. I'd only been asleep for a couple of hours and now there was someone banging on the front door. I pushed myself off the bed, grabbed a pair of sweatpants from my dresser and pulled them on before heading downstairs. I unlocked the door and yanked it open, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

"Darrell?"

I opened my mouth, but it was a couple of seconds before I could say anything. "Adam? What are you doing here?"

Instead of answering, he turned and waved at a car sitting by the curb. Its headlights flashed once and then it drove away. He looked at me. "I came to talk to you," he said. "May I come in?"

"Yeah, sure." I stepped back, opening the door wider. "Uh... let me get a couple lights on." I left him standing in the hall while I turned on a lamp in the living room. "Come in," I said. "Make yourself comfortable." I watched as he closed the door and then moved into the next room, sitting down on the couch. "Can I get you anything?" I asked.

"No." Adam clasped his hands between his knees and stared at the floor. I waited. At last he looked up and asked, "Are you going to sit down?" I could feel my cheeks flame and I nodded, lowering myself into a chair. He stared at me for a minute more and then said, "Tell me why."

I knew what he was asking. How could I explain it? "I'm a coward."

"What?"

Rubbing my hands over my face I said "I don't have a good excuse, Adam. I'm a coward - that's all there is to it."

He studied me for a second. "Darrell Matthews, all-American boy and football star is a coward?" he snorted.

His words stung. I thought I'd gotten over that. "Thanks," I muttered, getting to my feet.

"Where are you going?"

I waved a hand at my bare chest. "To get a shirt on. I'll be right back." My leg ached as I climbed the short stairway to my room. After I slid on a t-shirt I grabbed my cane and limped back down to where Adam was waiting. His eyes widened slightly. "I just need to grab some Advil and then we'll talk," I said, ignoring his look. "You sure you don't want something?"

"A... a coke would be good," he said finally. I nodded and headed for the kitchen. When I got back he was staring at the floor again. I held out the can for a second and then set it on the coffee table in front of him, wanting to sit down. He watched me get more comfortable and then asked, "What happened?"

I sighed. "I had an accident. " I didn't really want to get into it. "Long story."

He looked like he was going to ask for details, but instead said "You were telling me why."

"No, I already told you why."

"I call bullshit." He stared at me defiantly. "I don't believe you're a coward, Darrell."

"Really?" I leaned my elbows on my knees. "You don't know me, Adam. You never did."

I could see tears gathering on his lashes. "You never gave me a chance, did you?" he demanded. "You just told me to leave you alone!"

"I had to!" I yelled back. "You don't know... don't understand..." I began to choke up. "I wanted to be your friend," I said at last. "I wanted to. He wouldn't let me." I hung my head, shame burning my cheeks. "I liked you, Adam," I whispered. "A lot. He..." I lifted my eyes to his face. Adam was staring at me with pity. It made everything worse. "He asked me about you," I went on, my voice going flat. "I told him you played the flute and was on the swim team. He said you sounded like a fag and I wasn't allowed to hang around with you anymore."

Adam asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because..." There it was again. "Because I'm a coward."

The corners of his lips turned down in a frown. "Why did you show up at the house?" he asked. "Were you looking for me?"

Once again guilt slammed into me, almost taking my breath away. "I didn't know you were there," I replied, closing my eyes. "I saw Brock at a restaurant and he invited me."

"My restaurant."

I opened my eyes again. "What?"

Adam cocked his head to one side as though he were thinking. "It's my restaurant," he repeated. "AJ's Place."

"I didn't-"

"Adam James Warren," he interrupted. "AJ's Place is mine. Brock bought it for me."

I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. "That's nice of him."

We were both quiet for a few minutes. I was thinking and Adam... I don't know what he was doing. Suddenly he sighed. "I didn't come here to apologize for what I said." I kept quiet. "I came to find out what you wanted and why you ran away."

"I wanted..." I opened my eyes but didn't look at him. "I... I didn't know about you two. I thought..." I shook my head and climbed to my feet. "It doesn't matter anyway," I said instead, moving toward the front door. "It won't happen again."

Adam didn't get up. "Darrell-" he began.

"As for your other question," I went on, overriding him. "I told you before - I'm a coward." I opened the door and then stood there, waiting.

A couple of seconds passed before Adam stood and walked toward me. "Brock was right, you know," he said quietly. "I don't hate you." When I didn't reply, he added, "And I still think you're full of shit. You're no coward." He brushed past me and headed out into the night.

I watched until the same car pulled up and he climbed inside and then I closed the door softly, leaning my head against it. "You don't know me, Adam," I said to the dark wood. "No one does - not even me."