TW// Mention of suicide

"NO," ROMAN GRUMBLES, squinting in front of him underneath the bright sun of the mid-afternoon. It was a nice day out, sunny and warm but with a cool breeze that rippled through my shirt.

        I glare up at Roman, nudging him with my shoulder. "Dude, you told me to pick out what we're doing today. I picked!"

        Roman glances at me and then back at the huge soccer field in front of us. "I was inside of you less than eight hours ago; don't call me dude. And I am not doing this."

         I sigh, picking up the soccer ball I'd grabbed from the bottom of Roman's closet. I wasn't entirely sure why he had a soccer ball if he hated soccer, but I was just glad it was there. "You are doing this because you like to make me happy," I retort. "Dude."

Roman's face is wounded, like a sad puppy who'd been kicked while he was down. "This isn't going to be good, Braylen. I'm telling you."

        "That's the point. Soccer was one of my best sports in PE. It's the only one I didn't fake a stomachache for. I'm practically a professional and now," I say, tossing the ball over to him, "I'm going to make you one."

        He catches it at the last moment, twisting the ball around in a way that has me staring at his ring-adorned fingers. "You're not a professional soccer player, Braylen."

        I frown. "Hey, I really am good!"

        "I've seen you trip over your own feet on the sidewalk," he remarks. "There's no way you can be good at a fast-paced, strategic sport. There's just no way."

        I nod towards the ball. Roman purses his lips before placing them on the ground. I smirk at him as I run towards the ball, so quick that Roman can't even move as I side-sweep him and kick the ball to the left, making Roman fall flat on his bottom. He props himself up onto his elbows just in time to see me kick the ball into the net, waving my hands up in excitement. "Very funny," Roman deadpans. "Can you help me up, Ronaldo?"

I grin, rushing back over to him and locking our hands together to pull him up. "Is that hip replacement bothering you again, old man?" I joke and Roman glares at me.

"Hilarious. Truly," he mumbles, cheeks turning pink. "Okay, when do these lessons start?"

        I tug at Roman's hand, pulling him up halfway before kicking his legs out from under him again. He falls flat on his back and I bark out a laugh, squeezing my eyes shut as tears threaten to spill. "Okay, lessons start now."

¥

Roman was absolutely awful at soccer.

I had never seen anyone look as uncoordinated as him, which was sort of unsettling. He'd seemed so fluid when boxing—none of that translated over to his soccer playing. Still, I couldn't remember smiling this much in a really long time. An impossibly long time.

The warm summer air turns into a cool breeze framed with an orange sky. I pant softly as I sit down on the grass, glancing over at Roman who sits beside me. We'd spent the whole day in the park, playing soccer, talking, laughing. I felt high. Like I'd smoked something a thousand times over and it was finally hitting my brain. I'm getting ready to ask Roman if he wanted to grab dinner before he had to go to work only to find him staring back at me. There was some glint in his eyes that had me shrinking back, had the smile falling from my face far too quickly.

"Don't look at me like that," I hiss suddenly, bringing my knees up to my chest and swiping at the sweat on my forehead.

He doesn't listen. He just keeps staring. "How am I looking at you?"

I clear my throat, unsure if saying it out loud made it worse or not. In the end, I just swallow hard and stand up, brushing away invisible dirt from my pants. "We should probably head out. Oba must think I've been kidnapped by now and you have work, so."

"Why did you come by last night?" he blurts, staring up at me. "You were upset. I know you well enough by now to know that. So what was it?"

I sigh deeply before plopping back down onto the grass next to him. "After...after he died, I--I wrote about him. Everything I could. About how we fell in love, how he died. Everything. And I turned it in for an assignment at school. And my teacher had it published. It did all right."

"All right?" Roman repeats, an eyebrow raised.

I scoff. "A little better than all right. The last time I checked, the story had close to 200,000 devoted readers."

"200,000?" Roman shouts and I almost instantly blush. "Braylen, that's incredible. Can I read--?"

"No!" I hiss. "No, the...the story wasn't about that. I never really wanted anyone to read this, okay? It's personal. I-it's painful. And every single time someone reads it or sends me an email saying how much they loved it, it's like it's happening all over again. Like I'm on that bridge with him all over again. And I can't keep going to that bridge. No matter how many people want me to."

Roman stares back at me. I'm given no warning when he reaches over and grabs my hand, looping our fingers together before I pull away. I glare at him from the corner of my eye but he doesn't heed the warning, only rubs his thumb along the outside of my hand. "And you shouldn't have to," Roman murmurs. "But your words have touched people. Whether you intended them to or not."

"They want me to speak about him. At some stupid suicide prevention event," I spit. "If I knew anything about suicide prevention, I would've prevented it. But I didn't. I couldn't."

Roman's face contorts into a frown. "Braylen, that wasn't your fault."

I pull my hand away from him, folding it on my lap. "No, I know. I know that. But I can't stand up there and talk about him, Rome. I can't be their spokesperson."

He shrugs his shoulders. "Then you don't have to be. You don't owe anyone anything."

"It doesn't feel that way," I respond. "I just feel like everyone needs me to be something for them. Those readers need me to be this strong guy who survived the most painful thing he'd ever experienced. My family and friends need me to be the old me, the one that laughed at every joke and had hope that things would be better in the future. And you—"

"Me?" Roman asks, eyes wide.

I stare at him. "You want me to be more than I can be for you, Roman. And you have no idea how much of an ass I feel like even saying this to you, but I can't. I can't love you. I can't even let myself like you. And I know that you've let down walls for me and this hasn't been easy for you either, but I—"

"Do not need to be anything for me," Roman responds. "B, I've told you this. How I feel about you is my business. You don't need to rush yourself into something you're not ready for. I know what this is to me and I know what this is to you. And I am okay with that."

I shake my head. "But you shouldn't be. And I am an awful person for making you feel that you have to be."

"You are not awful. You're human," Roman says.

I glare at Roman only to find him looking back at me with the sincerest expression I'd ever seen him make. I soften my gaze, feeling thick emotion welling up in my throat. "You really don't think I'm a bad person?" I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.

Roman smiles softly as he reaches forward and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Not a chance."

¥

It's nearing 8:30 when I finally get back home, in desperate need of a shower and a stupid goofy grin on my face. It's no secret that last night had been amazing, but today had been just as spectacular. Roman seemed almost apologetic when he told me he had to go and get ready for work at the bar; I was surprised at how sad I was to see him go.

I walk through our front door, silently cursing the alarm system that notified the entire house when somebody walked in. Turns out, the chime wasn't needed. Oba, the twins, Robyn, and Devin were waiting just in the kitchen and they'd all seen me come in.

I scoff softly, eyeing everyone. "Hey, guys," I say, voice tentative. "What's going on?"

Oba turns to the twins. "Maybe you two should go up to your rooms."

       The girls glance at one another before sighing simultaneously and trekking up the stairs. I frown softly, walking deeper into the house and staring back at everyone. "Did something happen? What's the problem?"

        "The problem is that it is almost 9 o'clock," Oba says and her tone is more hostile than I'd ever heard it. I couldn't remember her ever really getting mad at me, except when I'd gotten detention for punching Sebastian when we were kids. But this was worse somehow. "And I haven't seen you since 7:30 last night."

        I take a short breath. "Yeah, I went out."

        "All night?" Robyn asks, rubbing the back of her neck uncomfortably. I notice a red rim around her eyes like she'd been crying. Over me? "And what? You couldn't pick up your phone? Answer a text?"

        "My phone died," I say, furrowing my brows. "I haven't gotten any calls or texts."

        Devin glares at me. "Your phone died? Are you actually serious right now?"

        Robyn shakes her head. "I called Hayley crying because we didn't know where you were or if you were okay! Do you get that? We've all been freaking out. Hunter, Hayley, your family. And you just walk in here totally fine?"

        I lower my eyes at her. "What, would you rather me have shown up with a broken leg? A gunshot wound?"

        "This isn't funny, Braylen," Oba says with a glare. "I was two seconds away from filing a missing person report!"

         "Okay, okay! I get it. You thought I was kidnapped or something. Won't happen again," I respond, crossing my arms.

        Devin shakes his head. "No, I'm not letting you just cop-out like that again. You've said that before. We didn't know if you were hurt or alive or—"

        Devin continues talking, but I've tuned him out. My brain whirs as I try to spot the weird undertones of this conversation, working desperately to put together what they were saying and not saying at the same time.

        It all clicks to me at once.

        "You thought I died," I mutter, dropping my arms to my side. "You thought I hurt myself."

        They exchange looks like they thought they'd been just so subtle. I laugh bitterly. "No, go ahead. Say it. You were scared that I disappeared for less than 24 hours, FYI, because you think I'm suicidal."

        "We didn't say that," Aunt Amanda interjects, eyeing Robyn nervously. "We just think you've been behaving differently lately. Y-you're less yourself."

        It was a slap in the face. It hurt coming from my friends, but from her? That meant it must've been true. I wasn't even sure if she knew how true it was, actually. I didn't know myself. Not anymore.

        "Yeah," I mumble. "Well, consider this your warning. I'm leaving again."

         I turn on my heel and bound up the stairs two at a time, hot tears flooding my vision. I hear footsteps following behind me and swipe at the tears. "Braylen!" Oba shouts. I push open my door and shut it behind me. "Braylen, open this door!"

        I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, my red cheeks, my bleary eyes. I looked like a mess. I looked damaged. Is that all people see when they look at me?

        "Stop crying," I whisper, wiping at the tears on my face. "Stop it."

        I shake my head to clear it before grabbing a large duffel bag, stuffing any and everything I can into it. I can hear someone banging on my door, willing me to open it. I do after a couple of minutes, brushing right past Devin, Robyn, and my aunt. I can see the twins peeking out from the hallway. I'm not surprised. They'd probably never heard their mom yell before. I didn't think I'd ever heard her yell before.

"Braylen," Robyn cries, running behind me. "Braylen, where are you going?"

I stop, one hand on the door and the other clutching my bag. "I love you guys, okay. I'll see you soon."

"Braylen!" Oba shouts.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. And then I'm out of the door and hopping into my car and driving away before anyone can stop me.