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“How’d you go with Abby today?”
David might as well have spoken to the wall.
Kevin sat slouched on the couch, head turned towards the snow scraping at the window. It was nearing twilight, Kevin’s skin tainted blue. His face was the only patch of skin David could see, the rest of him swallowed by an oversized PSU hoodie. His hand lay carefully on a pillow, propped on his knee, finally free of the brace.
The healing wound was ugly, and David tried not to look. Every time he did he remembered that night, flashes of it.
A terrible cold despite the warmth of whiskey. Frantic hands and frosted breath, shuffled shoes. Blood leaking from a mangled hand. Blood leaking into a cloth, onto a couch, leaking from a boy, barely a man. Glassy green eyes and glossy flesh. A boy, barely a man. Kevin Day, a shadow of Kayleigh, lost and found.
Just over a month ago; David wouldn't forget.
He brought over the bowl of pasta, the spaghetti long cold and all he could scrape from the cupboard. Kevin wouldn’t eat it, but the offer was there if he needed it. David could only imagine how strict of a diet he was on at Evermore. Based on the looks Kevin gave him whenever Abby wasn’t in charge of his meals, it was worlds away from stale pasta and almost out of date tomatoes.
“Feelin’ alright without the brace?”
Kevin was still yet to acknowledge him.
David dragged a chair over, the scrape nasty and loud. He sat down next to Kevin, willing to be just as stubborn, if not more so. He’d managed to wrangle some kind of truce with Minyard, however unpredictable. Kevin should've been easy in comparison.
He almost laughed at himself. It’s been so long, he thought, you’ve forgotten just how stubborn she could be.
David ignored the jolt of pain under his ribs. “You gotta talk to me, Kevin,” he said. “Abby made it clear this is a delicate point, I have to know when something’s wrong.”
Kevin’s eyes finally locked onto his, and they burned.
“Something is wrong,” he spat, voice scraping and nasty, like David was talking to one of his Foxes. Kevin held up his hand, the wound catching in the light. “Being stuck in here is wrong. Being unable to cut up a fucking banana is wrong. Not being on the court is wrong and constantly monitoring this like it’s going to go septic is wrong.”
“I hear you. But you’re not alone, and it’s okay to be scared.”
“I’m not-” Kevin caught himself and turned back to the window. His hand shook, and David looked away from it. “I’m not talking to you about this.”
“Then talk to Betsy.”
Kevin scoffed. “What the fuck would she know?”
“A lot,” David sighed. “She’s with us for a reason. I chose her specifically to help my Foxes, and that now extends to you.”
“I’m not a Fox.”
Yet, a voice prodded. David forced it down.
He’d thought about the future once or twice, and where they went with Kevin from here. He indulged a few tangents, abandoned some others. In all honesty, David was too preoccupied by the now to bother. The look on Kevin’s face every morning was enough to ground him, keep him present and alert.
“If you ever want to play again, therapy is necessary. No,” David corrected, “at this point it’s mandatory.”
“Like that’s happening,” Kevin’s throat bobbed. “Look at me, I’m pathetic. It's only been a month and my calves have shrunk, I doubt I could even run a lap without getting puffed-”
“Kevin.”
“-not to mention my hand. I told you, I can’t even use a kitchen knife, how the fuck am I going to find the power to pick up a weighed racket, let alone throw a ball? I’m useless and I don’t-”
“Kevin,” David raised his voice and he didn’t like the way Kevin flinched. Only barely, just enough. David swallowed his reaction. “Breathe.”
Kevin took a deep breath. His voice was quiet, like a dragon that had puffed out all its fire and was left only with charcoal. “It’s true.”
“It’s not. Plenty of people have come back from injuries and succeeded.”
“You didn’t. And what would you know about success?”
“Ouch, kid,” David huffed, close to a laugh. “I hear enough of that out there,” he pointed vaguely outside, “I don’t need that in here, not from you.”
Kevin went to wave his hand, a harmless gesture. He stopped with a wince, and covered his left hand. His next inhale was shaky, and David did his best to keep his face neutral. Calm and balanced, like Kevin was any of his Foxes, like that was possible when Kevin was so much more, always would be so much more to David.
David nearly reached out for him, but stopped himself at the last second. Kevin looked worlds away from comfortable with touch, all hunched and moping. David kept his hands to himself, itching for a glass or a cigarette. David’s eyes darted to his empty alcohol cabinet and he cursed the little demon that kept breaking in.
The ensuing silence felt more delicate than the last.
“I think,” David said, “if you want to play, you will.”
Kevin’s gaze didn’t move from the window.
“You’re like your mother, more than you know,” David added, as softly as he could bear. “This would be a beginning for her, not an end. If you want to, you will. I know you will, just as she would.”
Kevin finally looked at him, and his eyes were clearer. His jaw moved, like he was about to speak, but he kept quiet, still so far from David. Close, finally close, and still so far away.
“I can’t play with my left hand.”
“Then don’t,” David couldn’t help himself. He reached out and pointed at Kevin’s right hand, finger meeting skin, solid and weighted. He didn’t speak, letting the silence do the talking, letting Kevin put the pieces together like Abby had to that cold, bloody night.
Green eyes sparked, still dull and purple stricken, but something. It was a catch of flame, a beginning. It would be enough, because David knew that look, he’d seen it twenty years ago on a face so painfully like the one he was looking at. The ache behind his ribs flared.
“So, what do you think?”
Kayleigh’s cheeks were flushed, dark hair wild and her grin blinding. She’d run laps around him, the colourful tape on the makeshift court sticking up and ragged, worn from their shoes and the humidity. David was seeing stars, hands on his knees, sweat irritating his eyes.
“I think you’re insane. This game is insane.”
Kayleigh’s eyes brightened. “And?”
“And,” David laughed, “it might work.”
“Might,” Kayleigh’s voice was fierce. “It will.”
David believed her then, and he believed in Kevin now.
“Eat something, would you?” David stood, both his hip and knee following with a pop. “If the spaghetti is that terrible we can order takeout.”
If David waited a second longer than he should have in case Kevin said anything more, he would hardly admit it. But wait he did, lingering on the threshold of the hallway for a whisper, a breath. Something, anything. It was clear Kevin didn’t have anything more to say.
David came back an hour later to an empty bowl and a dozing Kevin.
He sat down in the chair again, the night having settled and the snow taken with the light. He ran his hand over his face, feeling every wrinkle and line under his fingers. David adjusted the pillow and Kevin’s hand, lest he wake with an ache. He went to leave, but stopped himself. David sat back down and looked at Kevin. He looked at the oversized hoodie, the dark circles and the jagged, raised lines on his hand.
David wondered what Kayleigh would do, and wondered again if she had any idea who the people were that she would leave her son to. It was an aimless thought, one that always left David angry. It wasn’t an anger that led to anything profound or explosive, no revelations or broken glasses. Just anger, raw and useless because it changed nothing.
Kevin was alone for most of his life. Kevin was abused, Kayleigh was dead and David was useless.
Was, David thought. Was, then not now. He’s here and he’s not going anywhere.
David grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch to wrap around Kevin. He contemplated waking him up and dragging him to a proper bed but Kevin’s sleep had been stilted, and he needed the rest. David turned to move and caught Kevin’s eye as he did. He was usually such a deep sleeper, and David paused in surprise.
Kevin flexed his hand, adjusted the blanket higher and closed his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, softer than David had ever heard him.
“Try not to throw out your neck,” David said, because the alternative was too hard. Anything, any time. I’d do anything to make it right because she's not here to. “Goodnight, Kevin.”
David retreated to his bedroom, tired down to his bones as he passed the only photo he had of Kayleigh in his apartment, small and nestled on the hall table. It was one of the few he had of her. The only copy, his alone. A polaroid from their first training, Kayleigh's makeshift racket broken in half, eyes squeezed shut from laughter. She didn’t laugh much, and it was a near miracle that he’d captured it.
David thumbed the frayed edge, mouth twisted and grim. “He’ll find a way,” he said, quiet in the dark. “He will. He has to.”
Neither of them said anything the following morning about the polaroid perched on the chair, still by the couch.