Date Me, Bryson Keller(51)

It’s unfair that Bryson’s dad asked him to carry such a burden. He was meant to protect Bryson, not the other way around.

I reach out and cup Bryson’s cheek. He leans into my touch and closes his eyes.

“She’s pregnant. He says he wants us all to be a family again. But it feels like he’s replacing us now. Replacing me with a new son.” Bryson’s eyes open. “I know he’s my dad, but I kind of hate him. I hate him for all the nights he made Mom cry alone in her bedroom when she thought I was sleeping. I hate him for destroying a perfectly good family. For being so selfish. But I also feel guilty because a part of me loves him. He’s my dad, after all. And I miss him.”

There is no right or wrong in this situation. And all I can offer Bryson is my shoulder. The chance for him to break down without judgment. I pull Bryson’s head to my shoulder. It isn’t much, but maybe, just maybe, it’s what he needs.

He breaks then. Whoever says that boys don’t cry—or shouldn’t cry—needs to walk off a very short pier into a shark-infested ocean. As Bryson cries, I slowly rub circles on his back. We stay like this as the sun shifts and Bryson’s heart empties. After a while, he sags against me. I maneuver us so that we’re lying down and his head is resting in the crook of my arm. I close my eyes to the sun and hold him close.

    “Thank you for coming,” Bryson says. “After Dustin, you were the only person I wanted to see. I wasn’t sure you’d pick up if I called. Dustin didn’t.”

“Well, from now on you can always call me,” I say. “I’ll always try to pick up.”

I’m not sure how long we lie there. Just two boys forgetting the world.





22


“I have an idea,” Bryson says eventually.

He gets up, and I sit up, too. The sea breeze rustles my hair. I follow Bryson as he walks to his Jeep. He stops at the trunk and opens it. Clothes and other sports equipment lie scattered there. He digs for a while before finding what he’s looking for.

A basketball.

“Let’s play.”

Staring at the basketball under Bryson’s arm, I realize just how long it’s been since Dad and I last played. With me being distracted by senior year, time has passed so fast and both of us have just been too busy with our own lives.

Bryson throws me the ball and I catch it. It’s so well used that most of the lettering has disappeared from the surface of the rubber.

“Will this make you feel better?”

Bryson nods. “Yes.”

Of course playing sports is how Bryson Keller cheers up.

    We head toward the basketball court and I throw the ball back to him. He catches it. Bryson starts to spin the ball on his finger.

“First person to get to ten points wins,” he says.

“And the winner gets one wish,” I say. “Deal?”

Bryson laughs. “Fine. Deal. I should warn you, I’ve been told I’m a sore loser.”

“Me too,” I say. “I’ve never been a fan of losing. My parents have even placed a board game embargo in our household.”

“Cute.”

I bounce the ball toward him, and he returns it. I dribble around him. I’m so focused on the ball that I don’t think much about Bryson’s presence at my back. I fake right but turn left. I jump and shoot. The ball circles the rim before going in.

“Not bad, Sheridan,” Bryson says. “You have some skills.”

What few skills I do have pale in comparison to Bryson’s. Soon he’s up 3–1. When I manage to win the ball away from him, I waste no time in shooting. The ball bounces off the backboard and I hold my breath as I watch it finally slide through the net.

Adrenaline courses through my veins. As we play we forget everything. We become just two boys on a court, each one trying to best the other. Each of us trying to win.

The sound of the ball bouncing on the asphalt becomes a mirror to my own pounding heart. I lose myself to the rhythm, and soon we are 8–9, with me in the lead. I can taste victory. It’s so close.

Bryson delivers a jump shot, effectively squaring us up. He catches the ball on the rebound. His hair is damp with sweat and his skin is red from exertion. Yet somehow he still manages to look good.

    “I’m impressed,” he says.

“I’m more than just a pretty face,” I say.

Bryson bounces the ball between his legs and smiles. “There’s the Kai Sheridan I’ve come to know.” He dribbles the ball around me, teasing me. “The Kai Sheridan I’m falling for.”

By the time I look up, the ball has already left his hands. I turn and watch it swish through the net.

And just like that the game is over.

I’ve lost.

I turn back to Bryson.

The grin on his face is wild and uninhibited. It is the smile of a victor. He throws his hands in the air and begins a victory dance that consists of a lot of hip thrusting and fist pumping.

Watching Bryson Keller like this, I wonder if maybe I’ve won.

“That’s cheating,” I say, resting my hands on my knees. A stitch flickers in my side, a clear signal of just how unfit I am. “You distracted me on purpose.”

Bryson laughs. He mirrors my pose now. Sweaty and out of breath, we stand and stare at one another.