Rekindle

29

"I went to a Catholic school elementary through junior high," he began. "Uniforms, church on Wednesdays during school, religion classes, the whole nine yards. No nuns. Although I got my hand slapped by a ruler once or twice."

I crossed my arms and snorted. "You. Catholic."

He popped the second pill in and chased it down with water, setting the glass on the table. "I'm half-Irish, you can't really expect anything other than a Catholic upbringing."

"Half-Irish?" I asked.

"Why do you think Alex makes hot toddy all the time?" he questioned in response, taking a peek at the inside of his bruised wrist. He reached into the drawer beside me for tape. "Traditionally an Irish drink. And dark hair, light skin, none of this ever resonated with you?" He swept his hand over his face, presenting it with a tiny smirk. Minuscule. Tolerable.

I cocked my head to the side, not letting him get away with another ego boost. "I thought Irish people were redheads."

"Misconception," Asher sighed, picking at the end of the tape. He gestured it toward me. "But I'm supposed to be telling a happy story here Straw, not discussing genetics."

"My bad," I said, setting the sling down for the moment and pushing off the counter, taking his wrist in my hand and the tape from his fingers. "Go on."

"So, Catholic school," he breathed out, close, somewhat nervous. "Alex played varsity lacrosse. One of those freshmen all the upperclassmen take to really well. That kind of asshole. If you think he's an asshole now you should've seen him when he was fifteen." Asher settled back into a comfortable, casual tone again, laughing once. "Take a guess as to what position he played."

I reached behind me into the drawer for some prewrap, sticking the tape to the table's edge. Taking his wrist in mine again, I started wrapping and kept my head down to cover the blush of embarrassment, considering I knew nothing about lacrosse. Or most other sports, for that matter. "The...scorer?" I sheepishly said, stealing a glance up.

"Exactly," Ash responded, disregarding my lack of knowledge. "Attacker. It's the position that gets all the glory. Did wonders for his ego."

I smiled at the sarcasm, tearing the prewrap off and picking up the tape again. "Go on."

"He had his friends, but naturally, a few of the upperclassmen were bitter about a freshman starting varsity over them," he continued. I actually didn't quite understand, given my school experience, but nodded nonetheless and ensured I didn't wrinkle the tape as I wrapped and listened. "The thing you have to understand is that every stigma about Catholic school students being absolutely fucking insane is true. The hazing was out of control. Virgins were in a slim minority by sophomore summer. Kids smoked and drank behind the school during study hall all the time. Weed, cigarettes, coke, meth. They did it all."

I nodded again, being gentle as I went over the bruise. "Go on."

Asher sighed. "And so, they planned to kidnap him, lock him in the locker room, come back at night, beat him up, tie him to the football post, and leave him there until morning. Hazing ritual."

I stopped and looked up. "Holy shit."

"There's nothing holy about it, Lace. Terribly ironic for some Catholic boys." He flicked a bread crumb off the table.

I suppressed my smile. "And how'd you know all that?"

"Alex told me after the fact," he said, yawning. "Again, Straw, I'm supposed to be telling a story here."

I shook my head and hid my smile, going back to wrapping. "Go on."

Asher exhaled quickly, shook his grogginess off, and continued. "I walked over to the high school every day in the fall, getting a ride home with Alex and his friend after practice. Dad didn't want me taking the bus and being home alone, and the bus was usually too noisy to read anyway. I read in the grass far from the field during practice, usually. Wasn't ever a bad deal until it got cold. I read up in the locker room then. Or just outside it. Place smelled godawful."