Afterleavingmyhotelroom, I order an Uber to the Winterbrook Community Center. I pull my hood up as I make my way through the lobby. I don’t want to interact with anyone.
Walking outside, I see a black SUV pull up. It matches the description on the app. After confirming with the driver, I climb into the back. The driver gives me a nod and I do the same. There’s instrumental Christmas music on the radio. I stare out the window, and the scenery passing by is blurred by the tears that won’t go away.
A few minutes later, I see the community center come into view. I thank the driver and hop out. Thankfully, the community center seems fairly calm. I walk up to the counter and am greeted by a teenage boy. I’m about to pay for a daily pass when the manager, who I remember is named Mary, walks to the counter.
“Eddie, hi! I thought that was you. Can we help you with anything?”
“Hi Mary, I was just hoping to get a workout in.”
“Alex, go ahead and give him a free pass,” she says to the boy that was helping me.
“Thank you,” I say as I put my wallet away.
“Of course. We so appreciated you giving the kids lessons. You’re welcome here anytime.”
I force a small smile and head to the workout center. There’s a row of treadmills visible through the tall wall of windows and I make my way to them.
Stepping on the closest treadmill, I set the speed to a light jog, then steadily increase the pace. I need to run. That’s it. I need to run far, far away from my feelings and the memories and the decisions.
The sadness seeping into my heart is unbearable. That’s why I avoid Christmas. I’m not the only one. It’s been an unspoken family rule since the accident.
Joey loved Christmas. He still believed in Santa. He’s the one who kept the magic of the season alive to us. He made us get our tree out the day after Thanksgiving. He loved driving around to look at Christmas lights. His absolute favorite thing was making each of us a personalized Christmas gift. It was always so random. My favorite gift he made me was a pet rock. It was a turtle with a shell that looked like a tennis ball. I keep it in my tennis bag to this day.
I train the hardest during December every year. My parents manage a catering business, which is nonstop during the Christmas season. They like it that way. We stay busy to cope.
My goal is to be a Grand Slam Champion so that all we’ve lost isn’t in vain. I want to make my parents proud. I want to bring them happiness…because I’m the reason they’ve experienced debilitating grief.
We lost Joey, and our family will never feel whole again. I don’t know how to live in a world with this deep, overwhelming darkness. Avoiding things that remind me of him is the onlything I’ve found that helps. If I dip my toe into Christmas, the painful memories rush in.
I turn the dial on the treadmill another notch.
My lungs scream at me to stop, but I don’t listen. All the feelings that I’ve worked so hard to keep hidden are catching up to me. I know I told Roger I could do this, that I would do this Mynt to Make a Difference week, but I can’t. Not even for career saving sponsorship.
Chapter 14
Maya
Asuddenbangjoltsme awake. I hold my breath, coming to the realization of where I am.
“Maya?”
I blink my eyes at Eddie, who’s looking at me dumbfounded.
“You’re still here?”
His question confirms that I did, in fact, stay in his room while he was gone.
Eddie stands near the kitchenette, almost like he’s leery of me.
I sit up straighter on the couch. “Sorry, I know you wanted alone time. I only meant to stay for a little while, in case you changed your mind or needed anything. I must have dozed off.”
He sets his wallet and phone on the counter. Then, without looking up, says, “You’re free to go. I’m fine.” Immediately, he starts walking toward his bedroom. I hear him say, “I’m leaving. Tell your boss I’m sorry.”
I don’t move, but my stomach twists itself into a knot. I’m trying to process the negative thirty-degree windchill he’s suddenly giving off. But, if I’ve learned anything from Mountain Wilderness training (required high school course for studentsliving in Winterbrook), it’s that the instinct of an injured animal is survival. This means that they can react more defensively or aggressively than normal.
Eddie’s heart is wounded.
I tiptoe to his bedroom door, which he left open. Standing in the doorway, I see him throwing clothes into an open suitcase. “Can I help you pack?” I ask.
