After months of therapy, Garrett Delko is still struggling to cope with his brother's suicide. The only time he finds peace is on the pitching mound and with a mysterious girl he's been obsessed with since the first week of college. One night, he se...
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Garrett breathed in deeply letting the bittersweet aroma of coffee fill his lungs. It was his fifth cup of the day, and he planned on drinking another as soon as this meeting was over. It would be hell on his ulcer, but he had hours of studying ahead that would last well into the morning. Truthfully, he needed the distraction.
For over two weeks, the same image assaulted as he tried to sleep—his brother lying face up on his bed, an arm hanging off the side and rivulets of blood running down his fingers and onto the carpet. The knife he used to slit his wrists still clutched in his other hand, and held to his heart like it was his saving grace, which was utter bullshit. Garrett couldn't close his eyes without remembering the fear and desperation etched on Spencer's face. He cursed his brother for looking so afraid. He was the one who decided to take his own life. He was the one who chose to do it in his bedroom where he knew his family would find him. The least Spencer could have done was looked happy or content. Maybe then Garrett could convince himself it was okay. That Spencer was finally at peace.
But his brother wasn't. He died alone and in agony.
And the messed up part?
Garrett hated him for it.
So every night, he tossed and turned until he grew so frustrated he threw off his covers and put on his shoes. Mile after mile he ran until his legs were rubber, and his eyes refused to stay open. By the time he stumbled into bed, his alarm would go off, and he had to get ready for classes. It was a vicious cycle wrecking havoc on his life. He couldn't pitch worth shit, he was starting to get shin splints, and he kept getting called out by professors for napping during class. Plus, he had to study extra hard to make up all the lectures he was sleeping through.
He didn't know how much longer he could go on. He was worse off now than back when Spencer had died. He should have booked an appointment with his therapist, Dr. Shinn weeks ago when he first noticed the change but calling felt like admitting defeat. All the progress he'd made, all the months he spent...gone. He didn't want to start over. He wanted to move on.
But that wasn't quite right either. Moving on felt like a betrayal of the highest order. If he didn't mourn, if he didn't feel, then who would? Garrett wouldn't let his death be something he moved on from. So he was stuck. In between wanting to forget and to stay. In between loving the older brother who always had a nice thing to say, and hating the boy who took his own life. It was maddening, but Garrett didn't see a way out.
"Am I boring you, Saint?" Jordan barked from the front of the room.
Startled, Garrett blinked and looked up from his place on the couch. The whole baseball team was watching him and not in a good way. Most of them were pissed for having to spend a Tuesday night crammed in Jordan and Gus' tiny apartment.
"Sorry," Garrett mumbled. He couldn't have been the only one zoning out, but of course, Jordan picked on him and no one else. Gus noticed as well, raising an eyebrow, but kept his mouth shut which didn't surprise him. Gus was a follower. He never questioned or disobeyed even if he felt something was genuinely unfair. He hated conflict as well. Garrett had seen a guy directly cut in front of Gus as they were waiting in line for Star Wars tickets and Gus didn't say a word. However, when they got to the theater, Gus made sure he was sitting behind the guy, and every so often, he would kick the chair pretending it was an accident.
