The Hard Count(110)

“I have one more question,” I say, blushing.

“Go ahead,” he says, his eyes on me, searing.

“All of that—running the ball in with your hurt arm, winning this game single-handedly but giving credit to your team, as if they really had anything to do with it,” I say, my voice clearly denoting my sarcasm. “Taking a spot on my dad’s team, helping my brother. All of that, just to make me happy. Tell me, Nico Medina…how did that make you feel?”

His lip ticks up, and his eyes narrow, his hair falling forward over one eye—my heart pounds at the sight of him.

“Terrible,” he says, his lips fighting not to laugh. “I took absolutely zero pleasure from it. If I could go back, I would hide and avoid you like the plague.”

His laughter breaks through, and I push into his chest, knocking him to sit on the grass. He pulls my legs around him, holding me tight.

“It made me feel like everything else I do for you does,” he says.

The intensity of his stare and the closeness of him makes my skin tingle. I suck in my bottom lip and breathe in quickly through my nose.

“And how’s that?” I ask, my head falling forward, my lips craving his—coming home.

“Alive,” he says against me, his lips grazing mine with the sweetest words ever. “Loving you—it makes me feel alive.”





Epilogue





Nico


The grass is cold.

It surprises me, because the last few weeks have been so warm. I’ve gone running every morning for the last month, and by the time I get back to my house after crossing the bridge and back, I’m dripping with sweat.

There’s a chill in the air today.

I think that’s Vincent…talking to me.

“Hey, bro,” I say, pulling my shirt from my body and laying it on the grass, sitting on it and bending my legs in front of me.

I rest my palms on my knees, and spend the first several minutes just…feeling. It took a while before I could find the courage to talk out here. It took me a while to find my voice, I guess. My mom had Vincent buried in West Haven. It’s on the other side of the freeway, and newer than the city cemetery closer to our house. She didn’t want to see him surrounded by graffiti, she said. I’m glad he’s here. He’s close enough to home, but he also got out. My heart feels a stabbing pain every time I see his name etched in the small concrete slab buried in the ground, the green grass bordering it on all sides, the small metal vase perched on the corner—a rose, or something else, always inside.

I tip the vase back to check the level of the water and smirk when I see it’s full. Momma and Maria don’t miss a day. When the roses are out of season, the Mendozas plant something else.

“The women are still working hard to make sure you look good, Vincent. Your flowers are always the best,” I smile, leaning back on my hands and tilting my chin to the sky, feeling a warm breeze brush my face while my fingers dig into the cool blades beneath them.

I breathe in deep, holding the air in my lungs. I need my brother today. I can’t explain why exactly. I think it’s just that this day was one I always pictured him being here for, and the fact that he’s not? I feel it.

It hurts.

I sit up again, leaning forward and pulling the folded paper from my pocket. It’s funny how easy it’s always been for me to just speak. Last year, I argued both against and for the death penalty in front of the school board, a few legislators, and the two hundred people who attend the annual debate with St. Augustine. I didn’t sweat. Nerves weren’t even in the picture.

Today feels heavy, though. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because it’s the last time I get to be this version of me. I haven’t felt like a kid since Alyssa moved into Vincent’s room the day my brother shipped out, but I also haven’t quite been adult. I’ve been…something else. Today, though…today, I become something more.

“I’m making a speech tonight,” I say, unfolding the paper in my lap. “I know, I know—of course I am. I never shut up. You were always the first to tease me for being such a goody-goody.”

I look up from the page, the breeze blowing the deep-green tips of grass around me. That’s Vincent—laughing.

“I also know you were proud,” I say. “You didn’t have to say it. I felt it.”

A car drives by slowly, so I lean forward and look into my lap. There’s something personal about being in the cemetery. It’s a place for secret conversations. Maybe that’s just the way I feel, but I’ve noticed that other people that come out here—they like to be left alone, too. It’s sort of an unspoken agreement. We don’t stare, and we let people have their space and time. I glance up when the car disappears behind the thick trees.

“I was wondering if maybe I could just run this by you once? I know you never really liked to hear my speeches. You always said I was better when I didn’t have something planned, but this one’s important. There are a lot of people that show up for this thing, and I just want to make sure I get it right.”

I clear my throat and look around to make sure I’m still alone. It’s just me and the car—the woman driving was older, and she’s too far for me to see now.

“Okay…here goes…”