“Indie,” I say, choking back my emotions, which hit me harder after her last sentence. “This isn’t goodbye forever.”
She softly smiles and then takes a step back.
“Indie.” I grab her hand. “This isn’t a forever goodbye.”
“Then what is it, Lincoln? A promise to see each other later? When? You and I both know this is not a catch you later. This is where our road splits—where you go one way and I go the other.”
“Are you saying you’re never going to call me? Answer my texts? Come to one of my games when I make the big leagues? Are you saying you’re never going to see me again? Because that’s bullshit.” Anger bubbles out of me before I can stop it. “And you were ten minutes late. Is that because you weren’t going to show up at all?”
She shakes her head. “Don’t do this, Lincoln. Don’t fight with me, not right now.”
“Well fuck, Indie.” I pull on my hair. “What the hell do you expect me to do? You’re my goddamn best friend and you’re just going to cut all ties as if I don’t matter?”
“But you do matter.” She pokes me in the chest. “You matter too much. I don’t know how to do this, to give you up without cutting all ties with you.”
“You don’t give me up. That’s what you’re not getting. You don’t give up on us. You make promises to meet up in the future. You make promises to call me. To text me back. You don’t just cut me off. That’s not what friends do.”
She bites her bottom lip. “I’m not sure I’d be strong enough to say goodbye to you again, Lincoln. To see you, talk to you, know that you’re so far away, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Well, this isn’t just about you, Indie,” I yell. “This isn’t just about your feelings. Ever consider that I might need you? That I’ll need to hear your voice, to watch movies with you through FaceTime, to text you when I need a second to take a breath? I’m about to embark on one of the hardest journeys of my life, and I’ll never make it if you cut me off. If you take away my best friend.” I choke on a sob and bury my hand in my hair. “Please don’t fucking do that to me . . . please.”
Her chest rises and falls, her eyes search mine, and even though they’re full of vulnerability, they’re also laced with understanding.
Taking a step forward, she smooths her hands up my chest and says, “I’m sorry.” Waves of nausea hit me. This is it. What I say doesn’t matter. She’s still going to cut me off.
But then, she stands on her toes and places a soft kiss to my lips. “I’m so sorry, Lincoln. I was thinking about myself, not you.” Her hand grips the back of my neck and she connects our foreheads. “I won’t let you go.”
A harsh exhale comes out of me. “Promise me, Indie. Promise me you won’t let me go.”
Her teary eyes look into mine. “I promise you, Lincoln. As long as you want me as a friend, I’m yours.”
“Thanks for letting me stay here,” I say, setting my bags down in a small living room.
“Had the extra room,” my new roommate says, as he lounges on the tiniest couch I’ve ever seen with a sketchbook on his lap, his hand scribbling across the paper.
“Is this place close to the field?”
“Pretty close, yeah.” Maddox pauses his drawing and looks up at me. “Coach thinks we’re going to be friends because we’re both pitchers. He’s a dumbass. We’re both vying for a spot in the big leagues and only a few pitching spots open up on a team, if any.”
“You’re telling me this will be a very uncomfortable living situation and that I should watch my back and not attempt to talk to you, because you’ve been here longer and have better things to do than play Mario Kart with your competition?”
He sits up on the couch, sets his book down, and clasps his hands together. The guy screams Rebel with his tattooed sleeves, intense gaze, and messy hair that dips over his forehead. When I heard I could stay with Maddox Paige, I was relieved I’d have a roommate. Now I’m second-guessing that.
“You’re telling me you have a Nintendo Wii in your bags? Not an Xbox or PlayStation?”
I shrug. “Guilty. I have two moms and they were obsessed with Mario, which transferred over to me.”
He stands and walks over to me, inches away from my face, his intimidating persona making me wilt. He looks me up and down and then in a low voice, he says, “Set it up. You’re going down, Castle.” With a smirk, he continues, “Want some Cheetos?”
I take a deep breath. Jesus Christ.
When I look over at him, he’s smiling, leaning against the counter. “Dude, relax, I was only kidding. It’s cool you’re here. I’ll show you the ropes. Now, Cheetos?”
I chuckle. “Uh, yeah. Cheetos.”
“Cool.”
Relieved and still slightly frightened, I start setting up the Wii. I hand Maddox a remote with a wheel and then sit next to him. Our shoulders bump from the lack of size of the couch and Maddox says, “No accidentally bumping someone’s shoulder while driving. I play fair.”
“Surprising, given the way you greeted me.”
“Did you want a hug and kiss?”
“Wouldn’t have hurt. That’s how my moms greet me. You would have made it feel like home.”
“Two moms, huh? Would that make you adopted?”
“Yup,” I say as the Wii warms up.
“Badass, man. Your moms cool?”
“Well.” I push my hand through my hair. “They’ve become famous for their website design for two porn sites and just started on their third. Revolutionizing the industry.”
“No shit.” Maddox laughs. “Does that make it hard to look at porn, knowing your moms had a hand—no pun intended—in creating it?”
“Up until yesterday, I didn’t have to worry about seeking porn . . .”
“Ah, you leave a girl behind?”
“Something like that,” I say, working my way through the menu of Mario Kart. When Maddox picks Princess Peach as his driver, I look at him, questions written all over my face.
“What? I like to pretend her tits jiggle when driving.”
I let out a roar of a laugh and nod. “Okay, fair.” I don’t mention that Peach is who Indie drives. It sends a jolt of sadness through me.
“So, were you dating?”
And here I thought this guy wasn’t much of a talker. I guess I should never judge a book by its cover.
“Best friends . . . with benefits.”
“I see.” I feel his eyes on me, but I don’t turn to look at him. I select the Mushroom Cup and lean back on the couch, my attention entirely on the TV.
Later that night, when Maddox and I separate to our rooms, I lie down on my twin-sized bed and pick up my phone. I debate not calling her—giving her time after I left—but before I know it, the phone’s pressed to my ear.
She answers on the third ring and I relax into my bed.
“Hey you,” she says, her voice sleepy but also aware.
“Hey Mayhem,” I sigh into the phone. “Met my roommate.”