Chapter Text
Adam was never outgoing. Worse, in his father’s opinion, he was shy—extremely so. His older brother, being the person Adam talked to the most, was the first to realize the extent of it, as well as the emotional torment he went through.
Adam drove Julie and her bags to the airport on Thanksgiving morning before going to his grandma’s house. Even though he knew exactly where she lived and how to get there, his nerves were still high until he saw a car he knew belonged to his father. He went around the block to find an open strip of curb to park beside, worrying that the wrong spot would get his car towed and him arrested. Once the car was stopped, Adam took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself and try to tell his body that he wasn’t dying. Even when he was calm, he couldn’t force his body out of the car.
Inside, the Banks family was scattered around the house. Some were watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on the TV, some were cooking, and some were playing field hockey in the backyard. Alex and Philip were in the latter group, though Philip was more engaged in his watch than the game.
“How bad can traffic be if Adam’s not even here yet?” he muttered, looking at his older son.
Alex shrugged. “He’s probably kissing his girlfriend goodbye.”
“For how long?” Philip raised an eyebrow. “Can’t be that long if she has a flight to catch.”
“Why don’t you call him if you’re so concerned?”
The man patted his pockets. “Don’t have my phone,” he reminded his son—a fact that he’d complained about in the car. “You call him.” Alex rolled his eyes but whipped his Motorola out of his pocket and dialed his brother’s number.
Adam heard his phone ring from the passenger seat and picked it up quickly. When he saw it was his brother, he answered it immediately.
“Are you almost here?”
“Yeah,” Adam told him. “I just parked. I’ll be in in a minute.” He climbed out of the car onto legs he wished would stop trembling, slamming the door behind him. “Where are you?”
“We’re in the backyard.”
“Okay,” Adam nodded to himself as he crossed the road, frantically searching for oncoming cars. “I’ll be there in a second.”
He kept the phone to his ear until he heard his brother hang up, then he closed it and slipped it into his pocket. He stood on the sidewalk in front of the house and stared at it, trying to catch his breath and make his feet start moving. He wasn’t very successful with either.
Eventually, his brother emerged from the side of the house. “What’re you doing?” he shouted, which suddenly got Adam’s feet working. He ran to his brother’s side without a word. Alex raised an eyebrow. “How long were you standing there?”
Adam shrugged. “Not long,” he mumbled.
Alex didn’t believe him, but he said nothing as his brother followed him around the house to the yard. “Look who I found,” he announced, making heads turn and Adam’s face blush.
Their dad tossed his hockey stick to his youngest, who reflexively caught it without paying much attention. “You’re in,” Philip groaned, straightening his posture and allowing everyone to hear it crack and pop. “I’m all played out for now.”
Alex grabbed the stick he’d let fall to the ground earlier and ushered his brother into the game. Once they started playing, they both forgot about how long it had taken Adam to arrive.
Eventually, their uncle checked his watch, and announced that the football game was starting. Everyone outside filed through the backdoor and took whatever empty seats they could in the living room—some of them were stuck on the floor.
“Look who finally showed up,” Adam’s mom smiled, gesturing to her younger son. “Was parking okay?”
Adam shifted uncomfortably, feeling too many eyes on him. “There was just traffic at the airport.”
“Come sit with your favorite aunt,” his dad’s younger sister, Grace, who was sitting on the floor, urged, patting the space next to her. He obliged, sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. “So,” she smirked, “Alex tells me you have a girlfriend now.”
Adam felt his face heat up and he glared at his brother, who was squished on the sofa. “Alex is a liar.”
Grace laughed, along with half of the room. Adam wanted to disappear.
“Grace still doesn’t have a boyfriend, either,” his grandma told him.
“I’ll get a boyfriend when Adam gets a girlfriend,” she quipped.
“You might be waiting a while,” Adam mumbled.
Grace chuckled. “I think I’ll manage.”
“You got Maine Girl,” Alex shouted out.
Adam groaned, rolling his eyes, and repeated what seemed to be his catchphrase: “Julie’s not my girlfriend.” The room erupted in laughter again—Adam didn’t quite understand why.
They all watched the Lions beat the Steelers—which Adam knew Goldberg would complain about for the next week—and as the coin was tossed for the second game, the front door opened and stole half of their attention. Adam watched as two girls who he’d never seen walked in confidently, and his grandmother rushed to greet them.
“These are my neighbors,” she told the family, gesturing to the new guests, “Marian and Raina.”
The girls smiled kindly, and real seats were opened up for them as Alex and Fiona, their younger cousin, moved to the floor. An unwelcome tightness settled in Adam’s chest, and he wasn’t quite sure why. He was already on edge sitting in such a full room—which he knew was unreasonable, but he’d dealt with it long enough to expect it—but it had gotten exponentially worse since the girls’ arrival. He was having to consciously move air in and out of his lungs, and it was more difficult than he thought it should have been.
After the first quarter, he stood up silently and went to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He took a few steps further into the room and had to grab the counter, feeling like his legs could give out any second. He ended up slowly lowering himself to the ground and leaning his back against the sink cabinet, stretching his legs out in front of him. He closed his eyes and breathed, slow and deep, the way he did when they did a lot of cardio at practice. He knew that, eventually, breathing would begin to come naturally again. He just had to wait.
His eyes were still closed when someone knocked on the door, and he heard his brother’s voice on the other side. “Adam? You alive in there?”
He stood up and walked to the door, unlocking and pulling it open. He nodded.
“You missed the entire second period.”
“Oh.” He hadn’t realized he’d been gone that long. If he had to guess, he would’ve said five minutes, at the most.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Alex raised an eyebrow, then decided to let it go and dragged his brother back to the living room.
Adam spent most of the evening feeling mildly out of breath, but he survived. His teeth were grinding and his leg was bouncing most of the time, but he managed to avoid a major freak-out, which he considered a win. And the Vikings beat the Cowboys, which everyone—except for Dwayne and the rest of Dallas, he was sure—was thrilled by.
As the family left, Alex followed Adam as he separated from their parents toward his car. “Gimme your keys.”
“Why?” Adam asked, already handing them over.
“I’m driving,” he told him, like it was obvious.
Adam didn’t object—he didn’t love driving, he was just the only one on the team with his own car in Minnesota. He climbed into the passenger side and watched his brother adjust his seat and mirrors. When the car started, Adam’s Radiohead CD began to drown out the silence.
Eventually, Alex began a conversation. “So, what were you doing in the bathroom for twenty minutes?” he asked, glancing at his brother in the corner of his eye.
Adam shrugged. “Breathing?”
“Breathing?” Adam nodded. “You couldn’t do that in the living room?”
“It wasn't working,” Adam mumbled.
Alex sighed. “Is that what you were doing in front of the house for ten minutes?”
“No,” he shook his head, “I was just getting ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“I don’t know,” he muttered quietly.
“Why do you—”
“What is this?” Adam snapped. “An interrogation?”
Alex chuckled. “You wanna see an interrogation? Come home drunk. Mom and Dad will interrogate you then. This,” he gestured between them, “is not an interrogation. This is just me trying to understand you.”
“Well, stop,” Adam frowned.
“Why should I? Kid, you’re not normal.”
“Shut up.”
“No,” Alex said, calm yet firm. “It’s one thing to get nervous before a test or a game or something, but having a panic attack—”
“I didn’t have a panic attack!” Adam barked, more defensive than necessary. Alex raised an eyebrow at him, then sighed.
“You shouldn’t be freaking out about walking into Grandma’s house.”
“I wasn’t freaking out.” Adam crossed his arms over his chest. He desperately wanted to end the conversation, but he wouldn’t let his brother get away with saying anything that he thought was untrue.
“Yeah?” Alex asked, clearly not believing him, and not ready to let him get away with anything. “What were you getting ready for, exactly?”
Adam was quiet for a few seconds, trying to figure out exactly what to say. “To see people,” was what he ended up saying.
They were at a red light, so the older brother fully turned to look at the younger, studying him. He noticed how he was avoiding eye contact by not only staring out the windshield, but looking sideways out of it so his brother wasn’t even in his field of vision; he noticed his fingers scratching at his pants; and the leg that was bouncing at freeway speeds.
“Adam,” his voice softened, “kid…”
“Fuck off,” Adam growled. He leaned against his door. “Leave me alone.”
So Alex did. He turned the music higher and stayed silent for the rest of the drive. When they got home, he parked in Adam’s usual spot in front of the house and followed his brother inside. Adam practically ran upstairs to his room, but Alex stayed downstairs, walking to the kitchen where their parents were shoving leftovers in the fridge.
“Adam needs help,” he told them, leaning against the counter and staring at them.
“Help with what?” his dad asked, only half paying attention. “Homework?”
Alex shook his head. “Mental help,” he clarified. “I think his brain’s messed up.”
His mom frowned. “Don’t say that about your brother,” she scolded.
Alex shrugged. “I don’t mean anything bad, but the kid’s got some issues.”
“He’s shy,” Clara said politely, the way she’d always done. “We know that.”
Alex shook his head vehemently. “Shy is being nervous to talk to a hot girl. Shy isn’t hyperventilating in the bathroom because new people walk into the living room.”
“When did he do that?” Philip asked flatly.
“He was gone for pretty much the whole second period of the Minnesota-Dallas game. Maybe if you paid more attention, you’d notice things about him.”
Philip was getting visibly irritated. “So what do you suggest, since you’re clearly an expert? Give him a lobotomy? Take him to a shrink?”
“That’s not actually a bad idea,” Alex shrugged.
“Adam doesn’t need a shrink,” Philip grunted. “He just needs to get over his shyness.”
Alex scoffed. “That hasn’t worked for seventeen years. How much longer are you gonna wait?”
Clara put a hand on her husband’s arm to pacify him. “Maybe he’s right,” she said softly. “I mean, it might be worth a try.”
Philip pushed her hand away and stormed off.
Clara looked her son in the eye. “I don’t think you’re wrong,” she told him, “but I don’t think your dad or your brother are gonna go for it.”
Alex went back to college on Monday, and the rest of the family went back to their normal routines, and the topic was either ignored or forgotten.
For Christmas, the family drove together to Philip’s brother’s house. Adam walked in with them without issue, so Alex thought their parents had done something for him.
Until it was time for dinner. Their Uncle Henry and Aunt Danielle called everyone to the kitchen to dish up. They went in age order, so Adam was squished between Alex and their cousin Michelle. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot and had his eyes glued on the plate in his hands, visibly uncomfortable. Alex could hear his teeth grinding rhythmically.
Once plates were filled, the line marched to the dining room and spread out to eat. Adam stopped in the doorway, staring at the table like it was a puzzle he was trying to figure out. Alex stood patiently behind him for a few seconds until he decided to gently push his brother toward a chair.
Once everyone was sat, they said grace and began eating. Out of the corner of his eye, Alex noticed Adam’s hand shaking slightly as he brought his fork to his mouth. He could also feel his leg bouncing rapidly under the table. The younger boy was quiet throughout the meal, but Alex listened to his breathing—it sounded deep and deliberate, almost labored.
While opening presents, Adam sat inches away from his brother, and his eyes flicked to Alex seemingly once a minute. He looked like he was only halfway there.
“So,” Alex began once the whole family was back in the car, “I take it you haven’t gotten Adam a therapist yet.”
Adam kicked his shin, and their mom turned around with a frown. “Let’s not start this now.”
The conversation was shelved until they got home, where Adam made a beeline to his bedroom, leaving the other three in the dust. Alex turned to his parents and crossed his arms.
“I don’t wanna hear it from you, Alexander,” Philip said quickly. “Your brother’s fine.”
“Fine?” Alex almost laughed. “Were you looking at him at all today? Just ‘cause he doesn’t have a bone sticking out of his skin doesn’t mean he’s fine.”
“I didn’t see anything,” he growled. Turning to his wife, he asked, “Did you see anything?”
Clara shrugged. “Nothing abnormal for Adam.”
“Normal for Adam isn’t normal for everyone. The kid was scared the entire time we were there… that’s not normal.”
His mom looked uncomfortable, eyes flicking between her husband and son, both of whom were fired up and looked one word away from needing to be physically held back. “You might be right,” she whispered.
“Thank you!” Alex yelled, slightly relieved. “Look, I’m not saying he needs a lobotomy. Maybe just take him in once, and if they say he’s all good, we’ll forget it and get him checked for asthma or something.”
His dad huffed. “If you can get your brother on board, do whatever you want.”
Alex smirked and nodded, then walked quickly through the house to Adam’s room. He knocked harder than he needed to, the way he always did, and waited for an answer.
“Hey kid,” he said, stepping inside and leaning against the door as it closed behind him. “How much of our screaming did you hear?”
“Enough, I guess,” Adam huffed. “I don’t want therapy.”
“Why not?” He shrugged. Alex sighed. “Why not just try it once, just to see.”
The younger boy shook his head. “I don’t wanna go just for someone to tell me I’m fucked up.”
Alex stared blankly at him. “Do you think you’re fucked up?”
Adam’s eyes flicked up for a split second to meet his brother’s, then they returned to his hands, which were fidgeting with a pen. “You think I am,” he mumbled, “and you’re probably right.”
Alex nodded slowly. “So why don’t you wanna do anything about it?”
“I don’t wanna be broken.” I’m already broken enough, he thought.
“Just try it once,” Alex urged, “for me. If you hate it, I’ll… wash your car or something.”
“You can do that anyway,” Adam smiled slightly, “if you want.”
Alex swatted his brother’s shoulder as he stood up. “Nice try,” he called over his shoulder.
Adam was not looking forward to talking to a therapist. His appointment was the first week of February, but he’d been dreading it since his dad scheduled it just after New Years.
He wasn’t sure if he was thankful or upset that his dad went in with him. While they were sitting in the lobby, he felt like he was running a marathon. When he was called inside, he froze like a deer in headlights until his dad stood up, pulled him to his feet, and walked him into the room.
It was somehow empty and full at the same time. There was a small sofa and an armchair, and the walls were adorned with signs and posters and shelves. It felt somewhere between a bedroom and an office, and Adam couldn’t figure out how he felt about it.
Philip sat on the couch, so Adam followed. The woman who led them sat in the chair and folded her hands in her lap. Adam felt his heartbeat speed up, and he almost laughed because he thought therapy was supposed to do the opposite.
“Adam,” she said calmly, voice soft and even, “my name is Doctor Rose. It’s nice to meet you.”
Adam nodded.
“What brings you here today?”
Adam shrugged, keeping his mouth shut like it was glued. He heard his dad sigh next to him before he answered for him.
“He’s shy,” Philip told the woman. “Very shy. My other son and my wife think it’s an issue.”
“What do you think about it?”
“I think that my wife let him get away with being shy for too long when he was young, and now he doesn’t know how to talk to people.”
The doctor nodded. “Adam,” she turned to the boy, “what do you think?”
He shrugged. Doctor Rose didn’t say anything, and the silence that stretched on was uncomfortable, so he eventually said, “It’s fine,” in the loudest voice he could manage, which was still barely a whisper.
She nodded. “Would it be easier for you to talk to me if your dad sat out in the lobby?”
Adam shrugged. He turned to look at his dad, who looked impatient, and gave a tiny nod. Philip stood up with a sigh and left the room loudly, muttering to himself under his breath.
Doctor Rose smiled warmly. “Could you tell me a little bit about yourself.”
Adam didn’t say anything. He looked around the room instead.
“Do you play any sports?” she prompted.
He nodded. “Hockey.”
She smiled. “Do you get nervous before games?”
“I guess.”
“Are you nervous right now?”
He nodded.
“That’s okay,” she assured him. “Most people are nervous when they start therapy—that’s what stops a lot of people from getting help in the first place. Just being here is already a great step.”
Adam stayed silent, so the woman continued questioning him, realizing that he wasn’t going to offer up any information by himself.
“What are you wanting to get out of this?”
Adam furrowed his brow slightly. He already knew his brain was messed up, he didn’t feel the need for a second opinion. He was only there to make his brother happy. He didn’t think she could fix whatever was wrong with him—not all of it, anyway—so he didn’t think it was worth trying.
“My brother said he’d clean my car if I came.”
Doctor Rose chuckled. “Do you know why your brother wanted you to come here?”
“‘Cause my head’s fucked up.” He finally looked up to meet her eyes, then quickly looked at the lamp beside her. “Messed up,” he amended, “sorry.”
“I don’t mind. I’ve heard a lot worse,” she assured him. “Do you think your head is ‘messed up’ or is that what your brother said?”
Adam shrugged, not wanting to admit that he knew Alex was right. Though, he could see in the woman’s face that she knew the answer.
“What concerns him?”
“He says…” Adam thought back to Thanksgiving, and to Christmas, and to New Years, “that it’s not normal to be scared of my family.”
“Are you scared of your family?”
Adam clenched his jaw. “Not really,” he answered. “Just… people in general.” He looked down at his hands scratching at his pants. “‘Scared’ makes it sound bad, though,” he muttered.
“When you enter a room, do you feel a similar nervousness as a hockey game?”
He considered the question for a minute, putting himself in both scenarios and trying to weigh how he felt about each one. “No,” he answered.
“What’s different about them?”
“The reasons.”
Doctor Rose kept asking questions that Adam didn’t have answers to. Eventually, his dad was brought back in, and Adam leaned back against the couch and stared up at the ceiling.
“So,” Philip sighed, sitting down next to his son, “how do we fix him? Can we just give him some Valium and call it good?”
The doctor frowned. “‘Fix him’ is not what we do. It seems Adam has a disorder, which can’t be cured like a disease. We can treat it and make his life easier to navigate and manage, but this isn’t something that goes away.” She sighed, staring at two resistant faces. “If you want to go the medication route, I can refer you to a psychiatrist, but I would highly recommend talk therapy as well.”
Philip turned to Adam, who was holding his breath. “What do you wanna do?”
“Not this,” he answered quietly. “Give me the medication.”
Adam was given a laundry list of side effects to watch out for before he started his medication. Worse, his mom wasn’t about to let him drive until she knew which ones he got. She didn’t even want him skating to school, so he was stuck taking the bus or hitching a ride with someone else for two weeks.
He started taking Xanax on Saturday, with both breakfast and lunch. It made him a little tired, but he figured it was manageable. He didn’t have to do much on weekends, and he got out of everything when he started the meds.
Clara drove him to school, which he wasn’t thrilled about, and he found the other Ducks in the hall before first period. Luis was talking about his date the previous night, and Adam leaned against the lockers as he tried to pay attention.
The next thing he remembered was being shaken awake at his desk. He jolted upright to find Fulton, Ken, and Charlie standing around him in the otherwise empty classroom.
“Morning, Banksy,” Fulton laughed. “Sleep well?”
Adam groaned as he stood up. He didn’t answer and trudged out to the hall to get to his next class.
“You okay?” Charlie asked, following after him with the other two Ducks.
“I’m fine,” Adam told him, waving off the concern. “Just didn’t sleep well, I guess.”
After taking the bus home, Adam burst angrily through the front door, ready to start complaining. He found the house empty, so he dropped his stuff by the door, turned on the TV, and collapsed into the couch. Though he felt wide awake, his eyelids continually fell shut, and his brain felt foggy.
His mom came home first, and Adam could hear the sound of her heels against the floor as she walked over to him. “How was school?” she asked, a hint of concern evident in her voice.
Adam jumped to his feet so fast he almost fell right back down—not helped by the momentary buzzing in his head and fading of his vision. “I can’t do this shit,” he growled. “I fell asleep in two classes, barely ate lunch, and someone practically had to throw me off the bus. I can’t deal with this.”
“Do you think it’s the medication?”
Adam rolled his eyes. “No, I think it’s the fucking weather—yes, it’s the medication. I don’t wanna take it anymore.”
“We can talk to the doctor about it, but I think—”
“No!” Adam yelled, fired up. “No more! I’m done with it.”
“It hasn’t even been a week!” his mom shouted back. “You can’t give up after a few days.”
“Why not? It’s already making my life worse, why should I keep taking it?”
“Things get worse before they get better.”
“Things were fine before! Let’s stop messing with them.”
Adam was near tears of frustration. He ran upstairs to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him, then flopped onto his bed and buried his face in the pillows.
Unlike the rest of the day, he couldn’t fall asleep. His mind wouldn’t stop racing, which eventually led to his breath coming in forced gasps. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to get his body under control.
He soon gave up and pulled his skates on to play hockey in the driveway while it was still empty and bright. He started skating in small circles to warm up, occasionally venturing out of the driveway to the corner and back. When he felt ready, he set up his goal against the bushes and grabbed his stick and a basket of pucks. He stepped back as far as he could and unleashed all his anger, firing puck after puck directly into the net. When he ran out of pucks, he gathered them back up and shot again, repeating until he heard a honk and saw his dad’s car pulling up. He opened the garage door and pulled his stuff back inside.
The second Philip got out of the car, Adam was yelling the same things he told his mom. The meds made him feel like shit, he barely made it through school, and he wanted to stop taking them.
Philip refused to let him stop his meds, and to say Adam was confused would be an understatement.
“You can’t just stop after three days,” he dismissed. “Maybe it takes some time to work better, did you think about that? Give it until the end of the month.” He walked through the garage and into the house, and the conversation was done.
As he predicted, the side effects didn’t go away. Adam accepted having to go through the next few weeks feeling like he was moments away from falling asleep during the day and wide awake while his mind conjured up whatever it wanted at night.
At lunch on Tuesday, just as he’d done the previous day, he sat with the team and inconspicuously slipped the pill into his mouth, washing it down with a swig of water.
“What was that?” Russ asked, raising an eyebrow.
“A mint,” Adam lied quickly, voice flat.
“Why’d you swallow it like a pill?” Adam shrugged, making Russ laugh. “You’re weird.”
Adam looked down at the table, tracing his fingers along the surface, until he heard his name and lifted his eyes to meet Charlie’s beside him.
“Can you give me a ride home today?”
Adam frowned, feeling some sort of pang in his heart that he had to ignore, and shook his head. “I’m not allowed to drive for a bit,” he said quietly, hoping there would be no follow up questions.
He wasn’t lucky.
Charlie’s eyes went wide. “What? Why? Are you in trouble or something?”
“Something like that.”
Charlie smirked, and Adam took a long drink of water to block his view. “Are you skating home then?”
Adam shook his head again. “Taking the bus.”
Charlie chuckled. “Dude, I can’t picture you riding the bus.”
“I’m not thrilled about it, either,” Adam scowled.
“I’ll ride with you today, then,” Charlie decided with a grin. “How long are you banished to the bus?”
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Until my parents trust me again.”
Adam stayed conscious throughout all his classes, though he still felt like he could fall asleep at the drop of a hat. Charlie was already at the bus stop when Adam walked up—walking felt like he was trying to run underwater, and he was slower than usual.
They boarded the bus and walked to a pair of open seats in the back. Something about the medication, Charlie’s voice close to his ear as he talked about an upcoming essay, and the way their knees were gently pressed together put Adam to sleep quickly. His head fell onto Charlie’s shoulder, and Charlie stopped talking to just stare at the other boy.
The team had all noticed that Adam had been different lately—first he was more irritable after Thanksgiving break, then he was quieter after winter break, and now he was tired all the time. They’d talked about it without him, but they hadn’t brought it up to Adam. They didn’t think he’d answer if they did—Adam didn’t like to talk about himself.
When the bus stopped near Charlie’s apartment, he didn’t get off. He looked at Adam, who was still fast asleep, and decided not to rouse him. He was worried that, even if he did wake him up, he’d fall back asleep and miss his stop, riding the bus to who-knows-where.
“Banks,” he whispered, nudging the sleeping boy slightly. Adam’s eyes opened slowly as he straightened his body, and he turned to Charlie with a confused look. “Morning.”
Adam tried to smile, but his face barely moved. “Where are we?” he groaned, looking out the window.
“Edina,” Charlie said simply. “I don’t know where you get off.”
Adam’s head whipped around. “Why are you still here?”
Charlie shrugged. “I didn’t want you to sleep through your stop.”
Adam sighed. He looked outside for a minute—long enough to identify where they were—before turning back to his friend. “We have a couple stops left.”
Charlie nodded. He expected Adam to lean over and fall back asleep. Instead, he sat rigidly straight, holding his knees together, like he was trying to take up as little space as possible.
He stayed like that until they stood up and got off the bus. Adam thought Charlie would start finding his way to his own apartment, but found him walking at his side.
Charlie met him with a smile, and when he saw the minor confusion in his friend’s face, he explained, “I’m going to your house.”
Adam’s brow furrowed more. “Alright,” he said slowly. “One of my parents can drive you home later, but it might be a while.”
Charlie shrugged. “I have my skates,” he gestured to them, hanging over his shoulder. “I can go home whenever. I just wanna make sure you get home in one piece.”
Adam averted his gaze, blushing. “I’ll be fine,” he mumbled.
Charlie raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You sure? I mean, you fell asleep on the bus… and you fell asleep in a bunch of classes yesterday… and—”
“I get it,” Adam shoved his shoulder. “I get it.”
“Are you sick or something?”
Adam shook his head.
“Drunk?”
“High, if anything,” Adam chuckled, and immediately stuck his foot in his mouth. He didn’t know why he said that. It was like the long, winding path that words usually had to take to get from his brain to his mouth had disappeared, effectively removing any filter and forethought.
Charlie’s eyes went wide. “What?”
“Don’t worry,” he said. Then, before he could stop himself, he added, “It’s prescription.”
“For what?”
“Xanax,” Adam answered. “Anxiety, I guess.”
“Since when?”
“Saturday… and I already hate it.” Adam scowled, then sighed. “But I have to take it for at least two weeks before they’ll let me stop.”
Charlie nodded slowly. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
Adam shrugged. “I didn’t want to. I don’t really want to now,” he said honestly, “but my mouth is saying more words than my brain wants to. Maybe that’s what the doctor wants, because usually I don’t say anything, even if I want to.”
“So you’ve just been suffering by yourself?”
“You make it sound so bad. There’s a lot of things I don’t tell people.” He turned to Charlie. “Can you stop asking questions? I don’t wanna tell you all my secrets… and I don’t really have control over what I say right now.”
“Secrets?” Charlie grinned. “What secrets do you have?”
“Lots.”
He chuckled. “Tell me one.”
“I really don’t want to.”
A grin spread across Charlie’s face. “What’s your middle name?”
“Steven… that’s not a secret.”
Charlie hummed. “Any girls you have a crush on?”
Adam cringed slightly. Before he could stop to think about what was about to come out of his mouth, he said, “I’m gay.” Immediately after, his eyes went wide, and he was afraid to look at Charlie’s face.
Then Charlie chuckled, and Adam wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not. Adam didn’t laugh—he didn’t make a sound—and when Charlie noticed, he turned and noticed his poorly-concealed panic.
“Are you serious?” he asked, somewhat hesitantly. He was beginning to realize that Adam had just told him something huge… and he’d laughed.
“No,” Adam tried.
“Banksy…”
“It’s a joke, Charlie,” Adam said harshly, desperately trying to keep his cool. “It’s—”
“Adam, I’m sorry.”
Adam chewed on his lip. “What if I was?” he asked quietly. “What would you do?”
He braced himself for the impact of either fists or words.
“Well,” Charlie chuckled uncomfortably, scratching my idly at the back of his neck, “I’d have to change my question.” He met Adam’s eyes and gave him a small smile. “Any guys you have a crush on?”
Adam shrugged.
“Come on,” Charlie urged, continuing as if nothing had happened. “We all tell you about everyone we like. Now I know you like boys, tell me what boys.”
Adam’s face was already getting red, but the bluntness of his friend’s words made his blush intensify. He couldn’t get words out, and part of him was scared of what could come out if he managed to speak.
“Anyone I know?” Charlie pried. Adam gave a small nod. “Anyone at school?” Adam didn’t respond, but Charlie’s smirk told him that he knew the answer.
“I’m not telling you anything,” Adam shook his head.
Charlie laughed. “I’ll get a name out of you someday.”
The next day, Charlie entered school with a grin and sidled up beside Adam as he walked in.
“So,” he raised an eyebrow, “you got any names for me?”
Adam furrowed his brow. “What?”
“You know,” Charlie elbowed him. “Names… of guys…?”
Adam squinted farther. “What?” he repeated.
“Remember yesterday?” Charlie asked, now confused.
Adam shook his head, chuckling lightly. “No, my memory’s kind of weird right now…” he trailed off, trying to decide how much to explain before he pivoted. “Apparently, I called my brother on Sunday and rambled for twenty minutes. I don’t remember any of it.”
Charlie nodded slowly. “You told me about your medication,” Charlie reminded him, voice quiet so no one else could hear, “and that you’re gay.”
Adam’s heart dropped, and he felt like his lungs were suddenly being squeezed. Charlie noticed, and immediately tried to calm him down, putting a hand on the other boy’s stiff shoulder.
“Banks, it’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”
“You’re not… you don’t…”
Charlie shook his head. “I don’t care,” he said, more firm than before. “I mean, I do—” he swore under his breath and squeezed Adam’s shoulder. When he started speaking again, his words were more deliberate. “I’m not gonna tell anyone, and I won’t be weird about it. We’re good.”
Adam nodded slowly, gradually gaining more control over his breathing, which helped unblur his vision. When he looked less winded, Charlie wrapped him in a tight hug, which knocked the wind out of him, but Adam held him back.
“Am I still allowed to make fun of you or is it a hate crime now?”
Adam laughed, which Charlie counted as a win.
When he pulled away, he had the same smirk he’d had when he first saw Adam. “So… names?”
Adam rolled his eyes. “No,” he told him decidedly.
Charlie whined, but Adam turned on his heel and walked down the hall toward his first class, ignoring Charlie running behind him. When he caught up, the topic was seemingly left behind, and Charlie started talking about a movie he’d seen.
Two weeks after starting Xanax, Adam was back at the psychiatrist’s office, begging to stop it. He explained the side effects he’d had—tiredness, insomnia, memory issues—and the doctor agreed to switch him to something else. Adam wasn’t thrilled about another new medication, but he agreed to give it the same try he gave the Xanax.
He very quickly regretted it.
The following Saturday, he took his first dose of Zoloft. Within hours, he felt like he was dying. He was curled up in bed, simultaneously shivering and sweating like he’d spontaneously developed the worst flu he’d ever experienced. His head pounded and his vision blurred. He shut his eyes, hoping to sleep it off. He couldn’t get to sleep, but he found the position comfortable enough that he could endure it. He hardly moved, until a wave of nausea got him upright and bolting to the bathroom.
He barely made it out of his room before his legs gave out and he collapsed to the floor. He tried to shout for his parents, but no sound came out. He sobbed, banging on the ground, hoping that he wasn’t about to die on the ground.
Philip stormed up the stairs, ready to start yelling and doling out a punishment when he saw his son in a heap on the ground. He rushed to his side, and Adam grabbed the sleeve of his shirt and held on as tight as he could, thinking that anchoring himself to something would keep him there.
Philip called for his wife as he scooped Adam into his arms and carried him downstairs. As they passed Clara in the living room, she shot to her feet and followed them, asking question upon question that none of them could answer.
Adam was hazily conscious in the car as his dad sped to the ER. He was still shaking when he was carried inside and quickly put in a bed with an IV in his arm and cannula in his nose. He heard words that sounded like they were far away as he fell asleep.
When he woke up, his mom was sleeping in a chair beside the bed, and his dad was nowhere to be seen. He slunk through the door just as Adam was about to let his eyes fall shut, holding a few bags of chips from a vending machine. He froze in the doorway, silently making eye contact with his son. His expression was unreadable.
He set the snacks in an empty chair and gently shook his wife by the shoulder. When she saw Adam was awake, she leapt to her feet, almost launching herself into the bed. She fussed over him until a doctor entered, bathing the room in a tense worry.
Serotonin syndrome, he explained. An extreme reaction to the medication—Adam scoffed at that. Extreme was one word for what he felt.
When the doctor left, Adam turned to his parents. “I’m done with this shit,” he grunted harshly. His mom tried to scold his language, but he didn’t stop. “I’m not taking any more fucking meds, I’m not doing more therapy, I’m done.”
“Adam,” she tried, voice pleading, “give it some more time—”
“No! I’m done.”
His dad sighed. “Wait until you’re calm. You don’t make good decisions when you’re emotional.”
Adam stared at him with a look of betrayal. “Why do you even care? You didn’t even want me to do any of this in the first place.” He leaned back until he was against the mattress and started taking deep breaths as he stabbed his fingernails into his scalp. “I’m just done,” he repeated, more resigned than before. “Take me home, I’ll be fine.”
Clara watched him, filled with worry. “You’re staying here until tomorrow, at least,” she told him. “We’ll talk more then.”
Adam argued his way back to a medication and therapy-free life. He thought he preferred it, but his anxiety felt like it was on a hair trigger. Walking into school felt like climbing a mountain, and eating lunch with his friends felt like he was in a sitcom and he didn’t remember his lines.
He was only gone from school for three days after getting out of the hospital, but he felt lost and behind, and like he was drowning. After finals, he expected a big weight to be lifted off his chest. Instead, he found himself in a hole that he’d unwittingly dug himself, too deep to crawl back out of.
His brother was home for the summer, and Adam was trying to hide everything from him. He’d gotten a semi-angry phone call when he decided to stop medication, but Alex eventually relented to let Adam be in control of his own life—he told himself he would still be there for whatever the kid needed, but he couldn’t be a dictator.
Alex knocked once on Adam’s door, opening it when he heard a groan from inside. Adam was sprawled in bed with the ceiling fan on full blast and a box fan on his desk, pointing at him and blowing his hair like a dog with its head out the window.
“I’m leaving,” the older announced, indicating that Adam would be left home alone until he or their parents came home. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Adam glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eyes. “Where are you going?”
Alex smirked. “I got a date.”
Adam rolled his eyes. “You’ve been home for a week, how do you have a date already?”
His brother laughed. “Well, I saw a hot girl, and I went up and talked to her. It’s not rocket science.” Adam rolled his eyes and huffed lightly. “You know, she has a sister your age.” Alex winked.
“No.” Adam was already tired of the teasing that had barely started.
“Come on, you should—”
“I’m gay,” Adam groaned, rubbing his hands down his face.
Alex froze mid-sentence and stared at his brother, who was covering his eyes, realizing what he’d just admitted.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Not gonna work out then.” He glanced at the watch on his wrist and muttered, “I gotta go,” as he turned, pulling the door shut behind him.
Once Adam was left alone, waves of anger and hatred washed over him. He grinded his teeth together, like breaking his jaw would prevent him from saying anything that stupid in the future. He held his breath because he could feel a sob trying to break its way through him, and that would have been the nail in the coffin.
He hated himself. He hated that he couldn’t fix anything that was wrong with him, and now people knew it. Not even drugs could fix his brain, so he’d given up even trying. He could suffer in silence—he’d done it for seventeen years already, and he’d have to do it for the rest of his life.
He’d tried for a while to find a girl he liked enough to picture falling in love. Even if he could tell that they were attractive, he wasn’t attracted to them. He didn’t feel anything that the other guys talked about, and he’d accepted that he never would. He told everyone he just had to focus on hockey and his grades, that he didn’t have time for a girlfriend. That excuse worked well enough, but it wouldn’t work forever. He knew his whole family—and probably most of his friends—expected him to settle down, get married, and have kids eventually.
The sob finally tore through Adam’s body.
He clenched his fists and jumped to his feet. He grabbed a pillow and threw it across the room, then did the same with another one. He pulled the blankets and sheets off the bed and strewed them around the ground, not caring where anything landed. He punched the mattress, fighting it like a boxer as hot, angry tears streamed down his face.
When he’d sufficiently trashed his room and worn himself out, he moved to his bathroom. He restrained himself from shattering the mirror or punching a hole in the wall, but he slammed his bedroom door so hard it was almost ripped off the hinges. He gripped the edge of the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. He hated who was looking back at him.
He caught a glimpse of orange in his peripheral vision, and his eyes locked onto his prescription bottles. Despite not taking them for months, he kept them. He stuffed them behind the garbage can, but he’d never put them in. At some point, he forgot about them.
He bent down and grabbed them. He wasn’t thinking properly. No coherent thoughts were going through his head as he popped open both bottles. Both came with enough pills for a month—he’d stopped Xanax after two weeks and Zoloft after one day. He had plenty left.
He started putting pills into his mouth and swallowing them dry. After six, they came right back up and landed in the sink. He stared at them, then turned the faucet on and washed them down the drain. He grabbed the plastic cup from the counter, filled it with water, and kept going.
He threw up twice more, but he didn’t stop until they were all gone. He needed them to be gone.
Since he was evidently in the mood for bad decisions, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Charlie. He wanted to hear his voice again before he died.
As the phone rang, it was like a switch had flipped and his brain finally caught up with his body. He’d just taken a lethal dosage of pills…
“Hello?”
“You’re not Charlie,” Adam complained, somewhat confused, like he’d forgotten Charlie didn’t have a cell phone, so anyone in his apartment could pick up.
He heard Casey chuckle on the other end. “I’ll put him on,” she told him.
Adam smiled hearing shuffling, then the other boy’s voice greeted him, and his face broke out in a broad grin.
“Charlie,” he beamed, voice high and airy—which was how he felt. “Hi Charlie.”
Charlie laughed. “Hey Banksy.”
“Hi Charlie,” Adam repeated, oddly enamored with the way the other boy’s name sounded and felt in his mouth. “Charlie…”
“You okay?” Charlie’s voice dropped, and Adam could practically hear the way his smile turned into a frown.
Adam nodded, as if he could be seen through the phone. “I wanted to hear your voice,” he explained, voice beginning to slur. “I like your voice,” he whispered.
“Adam, are you okay?” Charlie’s voice sounded cold as he pointedly enunciated each word.
Adam nodded frantically again, trying to convince himself. “I wanna tell you something, Charlie.”
“Okay,” Charlie said quickly. Adam could hear his breathing, and he closed his eyes and tried to match it himself. “What is it?”
“It’s you, Charlie,” Adam said quietly.
“What?”
“It’s you,” he repeated.
Adam’s eyes caught the empty bottles, and the reality of what he’d done set in. His mouth fell open and he started trembling, pulling the phone away from his face in the hope that Charlie couldn’t hear his panic.
“Charlie.” His voice shook. “I think… I…” He didn’t even know what to say.
“ADAM!” Charlie yelled desperately into the phone. “What’s going on?”
Charlie listened helplessly to his friend’s labored breathing.
“Goodbye, Charlie.” His voice was small, almost inaudible. “I love you.”
Charlie continued yelling Adam’s name, but the line went dead. He looked up at his mom, who had tried to listen in when she noticed the stark shift in her son’s demeanor.
“Give me the keys,” he ordered, holding a quivering hand out.
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know!” Charlie cried. “But he’s not okay, and I need to go check on him. Now.”
Casey grabbed her purse from the kitchen counter and began walking toward the front door, rifling through to find the keys. “I’m coming.”
Adam didn’t even wait for the car to be parked before he was jumping out of it and running toward the Banks’s house. He grabbed the spare key they hid in Clara’s peonies and unlocked the door, leaving it open for his mom as he rushed inside.
He ran upstairs, aiming to go to Adam’s bedroom, but the open bathroom door let him see the scene, and he pivoted. Adam was laying down in the doorway, clearly not on the ground by choice, and barely clinging to consciousness. Charlie shrieked, which made Adam’s head loll to the side to look at him. Charlie was with him in seconds, trying desperately to keep him awake and yelling both at Adam and his mom. Casey took one look at the boys and went to find a phone to call 911.
Charlie’s vision was blurred by the tears that started streaming down his face the second he found Adam. His mom regurgitated directions from the 911 operator—try to keep him awake, put him on his side, make sure he’s breathing—while Charlie desperately tried to keep him alive.
When he looked up from Adam, his eyes locked on the orange bottles lined up by the sink. Then he noticed their lack of pills, and hoped that it was unrelated.
Eventually, they heard sirens, and Charlie let out a sigh of relief as he watched his friend’s chest continue to rise and fall. When the paramedics came in, Charlie stood up and joined his mom in the doorway, watching them work. Casey tried to drag him away, but Charlie stood firm, not wanting to let Adam out of his sight.
One of the paramedics noticed the bottles and picked them up, reading the labels. “Did he take these?”
Charlie shrugged, then croaked, “I think so.” The admission was painful.
The paramedic nodded, then showed them to the others. Charlie couldn’t look away as they tied a band around his bicep and stabbed an IV into his elbow.
He fought his mom about riding in the ambulance with him, but the paramedics agreed that he should go with her instead.
When they got to the hospital, Charlie sat in the waiting room while Casey called Adam’s parents. They weren’t allowed into Adam’s room, and the receptionist couldn’t tell them anything. Charlie was sitting in an uncomfortable chair, staring blankly at the wall, trying to imagine anything that wasn’t his friend’s limp, unconscious body on the floor.
He heard a familiar phone ring, and it wasn’t until he followed the sound to his back pocket that he remembered he had grabbed Adam’s phone—which was still cradled in his hand when he found him. He answered it without thinking and brought it to his ear.
“Hey Banksy.”
Charlie could practically hear Guy’s everpresent smile, but he couldn’t muster his own. “It’s not Adam,” he told him, trying not to let his voice break. “It’s Charlie.”
“Oh, perfect. Are you two coming to play?”
Charlie felt a new tear make its way down his cheek. “No,” he said miserably. “We can’t. We’re… Adam’s in the hospital.”
The phone went quiet for a few seconds, save for quiet French that Charlie suspected to be a swear. “What happened?”
“He… He’s…” He couldn’t say it.
Guy gave him a minute before realizing that he wasn’t going to get a response. “Should we come?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” Guy agreed. “We’ll all be there.”
Adam’s parents got there first, storming into the building like it was Bastille, going straight to the front desk.
While Philip argued with the receptionist, Clara turned around and found Casey. She sat down beside her and took a deep breath, and Casey immediately pulled her into a hug, ignoring the tears wetting her shoulder.
“Thank you,” Clara whispered. Over and over, she repeated those two words, and they never lost their meaning.
Soon, Philip sat down angrily. “The nurse said Adam’s resting. They gave him a sedative,” he relayed, “and we can’t see him until after they talk to him when he wakes up.” He grunted and started filling out paperwork, writing more aggressively than Charlie’s ever seen.
The Ducks entered much louder, staying in the doorway and scanning through the waiting room until they saw Charlie. They skated over to him, becoming something of a spectacle but not caring. Their voices overlapped, all asking the same thing: what happened? Charlie didn’t want to give them an answer.
But he had to. He kept his eyes down, not wanting to look at any of them, and told them the truth. “He tried to kill himself.”
The air was sucked out of the room.
“But he didn’t, right?” Fulton piped up.
“No,” Charlie confirmed, “he didn’t.” Everyone let out relieved sighs. They found chairs around him and sat, waiting, like they were on the most somber train ride ever.
“I’m gonna call Julie,” Connie announced numbly, stepping outside.
“We should’ve known,” Fulton muttered under his breath. The rest of the team looked at him, shocked. “He likes Radiohead… and Nine Inch Nails,” he explained.
“What’s wrong with that?” Guy questioned. “I like them.”
Goldberg scoffed slightly. “You think Smashing Pumpkins is sad.”
“I’m just saying,” Fulton defended. “He relates to them. That’s sad person stuff.”
“Banks also points at clouds and says it’s how he feels,” Averman remarked. “I don’t think that’s sad person stuff.”
“Does it matter?” Charlie asked, which shut everyone up. It didn’t matter. They could make guesses, but it wouldn’t change anything. What mattered was being there for Adam… whenever the doctors let them.
When Connie came back, it was clear she’d been crying, but nobody said anything about it. She sat next to Guy and silently put her head on her shoulder.
Alex came into the hospital with his head on a swivel. He paused briefly when he saw his parents in the waiting room, then walked to them.
“Where the hell is he?” he demanded.
“Language,” Clara tried weakly. “The doctors will tell us when we can see him.”
“Well what happened? You can’t just call me, tell me Adam’s in the hospital again, and not explain why.”
Clara sighed. “He took all of his pills,” she said, quiet and measured.
Alex stared at her, every possible emotion passing through his eyes. He felt like he’d just been slapped. “Why the fuck did he still have them?” he asked. “He stopped taking them months ago, why did he still have them?”
“I don’t know,” Clara shrugged, shaking her head.
“You should’ve—”
“Alex.” Philip’s harsh voice cut through his rant. “Quiet down. Don’t cause a scene.”
Alex snapped his mouth shut and glared at his dad. Then, he turned to the group of kids watching him like he was their own personal entertainer. “Hockey team?” he asked, noticing the skates most of them were wearing.
They all nodded. “Hockey team,” Averman agreed.
Alex sighed and walked through the aisle between their rows before dropping himself in a chair next to Fulton. “Hey kids.”
“What do you mean ‘again’?” Goldberg asked, leaning his elbows on his legs to look at Alex.
“Huh?”
“You said Adam’s in the hospital again. When was he here before?”
“A few months ago. He didn’t tell you guys?” When everyone shook their heads, Alex sighed. “That fucking kid,” he muttered.
After what felt like an eternity, a nurse came into the waiting room and said that family could see Adam. The Ducks grumbled, but Alex jumped from his chair and called dibs on being first.
“All three of you can go,” she offered.
Alex shook his head vehemently. “Me first,” he insisted, turning to his parents. “Give me a few minutes alone.”
“Why would we do that?” his dad asked.
Alex shrugged. “I don’t know, but you’re going to.”
He all but raced down the hall, skimming the room numbers to find the right one. When he found it, he took a deep breath before entering the door. His brother looked abnormally small and pale in the hospital bed, like he could be blown away like a leaf in the wind.
“Hey kid,” he said calmly, sitting in a chair at Adam’s bedside.
Adam looked at him and squinted. “What’re you doing here?”
Alex chuckled. “Mom and Dad called me.”
“Are they here?”
“Of course they are, kid.” Alex offered a smile. “They’re waiting in the lobby. They’ll be here in a minute, I just wanted to talk to you first.”
“How was your date?” Adam asked, suddenly more interested in the thin sheet covering his legs than his brother.
Alex watched Adam’s fingers pick at the seam near the top of the sheet. “You know I don’t care that you’re gay, right?”
Adam shrugged.
“I don’t,” he told him firmly, leaving no room for argument. “I… I’m sorry if I made you think I didn’t.”
Adam shrugged again. “I don’t know what Mom and Dad are gonna think,” he mumbled, “but I thought that you’d at least still like me.”
“I do, kid.” Alex ruffled his brother’s hair. “Of course I do.”
“Okay,” Adam said weakly, giving a small nod.
After Adam had time with his parents, the Ducks came to the doorway, telling them it was their turn. When Philip and Clara vacated the room, the team filed in. Everybody—Adam included—looked slightly uncomfortable, not knowing what to say or do.
Ultimately, Charlie nearly threw himself at his friend, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. In seconds, the rest of the team joined.
Adam flinched and made a pained noise, and everyone jumped away from him, overlapping apologies.
“I’m fine,” Adam said quickly. He gestured to the IV tube coming out of his elbow. “It just hurt to bend.” Adam hated the way they looked at him like he was fragile.
“How’re you feeling?” Fulton asked.
He shrugged. “Fine. Been better.”
No one knew how to broach the topic of why Adam was in the hospital, so they didn’t. They started talking about hockey, and TV, people from school, and everything else they would normally talk about. They managed to forget where they were and why they were there. Occasionally, someone would ask a question about Adam, and he’d answer, and they’d go back to talking about something else.
The nurse evicted them far too soon for their liking, but their options were to either leave and see Adam again or not leave and be banned from visiting—it was an easy decision.
Charlie followed everyone else out, but paused when he heard his name called from the bed. He turned around to see Adam rubbing his hands together anxiously, and he crossed the room to return to his bedside.
“Sorry I called you,” Adam whispered.
“What?” Charlie was taken aback. “Don’t be. If you didn’t call me, I wouldn’t have… you would’ve…” He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about what would have happened—what came so close to actually happening.
“I’m sorry I scared you, I guess,” Adam amended.
Charlie gave a single nod before wrapping his friend in another hug, careful to avoid the IV. “Just don’t do it again… ever.”
Adam chuckled lightly. Charlie didn’t—he was dead serious. “I won’t.”
“Conway,” Goldberg called from the hall, “let’s go.”
“You’re hitchhiking alone if you’re not in the lobby in one minute.” Averman joked.
Charlie rolled his eyes and let go of Adam. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he promised. He turned and left, regrouping with the team in the lobby.
“Does anyone want a ride?” Casey asked, lingering just behind the group of teens. All hands went up, making her laugh.
“I can also drive so people,” Alex offered shyly.
Charlie, as well as the rest of the team, made good on his promise to visit. Adam didn’t go a single day without at least half of the Ducks invading his room at one point or another.
Two days after he was admitted, Adam was surprised when Coach Orion walked into the room not even five minutes after the Ducks had left. Adam cautiously set down the book his brother had brought him. “Hey, Coach.”
Orion smiled. “Hey, Banks. How are you?”
“Fine,” he said slowly, still confused. “What are you doing here?”
“My daughter had a physical therapy appointment. I saw the rest of the team in the hall, and they told me what happened.”
Adam nodded numbly.
“So… how are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” Adam repeated, more mumbled and unsure than the first time.
Orion sat in one of the chairs near the bed. “I’d like to think I’ve gotten to know you pretty well,” he sighed. “You don’t like to talk about yourself. That’s fine sometimes… this isn’t one of those times.”
Adam looked down, fixing his eyes on the lump of his feet under the sheet.
“Whether it’s your friends, or your parents, or a doctor, someone—”
“I tried a therapist,” Adam told him. “I didn’t like it. It didn’t do anything.”
Orion raised an eyebrow. “It didn’t do anything or you didn’t do anything?”
“What’s the difference?”
“If my daughter goes to physical therapy and just sits in her wheelchair the whole time, nothing’s gonna happen. Every time she tries to stand up and tries to walk, even if she stumbles or falls, things are happening.”
“It’s not that easy,” Adam mumbled, tongue tied.
Orion nodded. “Neither is learning to walk.”
Adam didn’t say anything. “Speaking of my daughter,” Orion checked his watch and pushed himself to his feet, “I have to go.”
Adam nodded. “Bye.”
“Think about what I told you,” Orion said over his shoulder, walking toward the door. “Have I ever steered you wrong before?”
“Hey Charlie. I’m at home now, so, um, don’t try to visit me at the hospital. That’s it. Bye.”
Adam spoke so quickly and hung up immediately after, giving Charlie no room to speak. Before he could even open his mouth, he was listening to the dial tone. It took a minute for the words to sink in, but when they did, Charlie was shooting out of his apartment.
He got to Adam’s house as fast as he could and knocked wildly against the door. He also rang the doorbell a couple times, and strongly considered using the spare key until the door opened and he saw Clara’s face.
“Hello.”
“Adam’s here?”
“Yeah,” she nodded. She opened the door wider and stepped out of the doorway, knowing that Charlie was just itching to see Adam. “He’s in his bedroom.”
“Thanks,” Charlie said quickly, taking off into the house, skipping half the steps on his way upstairs.
He ran right through Adam’s open door, and his only warning was fast footsteps before he was attacked by a hug. Adam got the wind knocked out of him, but he managed to stay on his feet. He didn’t reciprocate the embrace, instead standing stiffly. Alex was smirking behind them.
“What are you doing here?” Adam asked.
“You called me,” Charlie reminded him, letting go and taking a step backward. “You said you’re home now.”
“Yeah, so you didn’t try to see me in the hospital. You didn’t need to come here.”
Charlie chucked. “Do you ever consider that I actually want to see you?”
Adam shrugged.
Charlie looked around the room, finally noticing how much disarray it was in—which was very unusual for Adam. “What happened here?”
“I happened,” Adam grumbled. “I… had a breakdown, I guess… before… yeah…” he shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking around the room that he had just started cleaning. “I’m working on it.”
“Do you want help?”
Alex cackled. “Adam doesn’t let people touch his stuff. I’m just here for decoration.”
Adam frowned, but didn’t disagree.
“Well, can I hang out while you do? I can be decoration.”
Adam smiled slightly. “Yeah, sure.” Charlie grinned.
“Great,” Alex announced, walking to the door, “I’m gonna go anywhere else.”
Once he left, Adam turned his attention back to his friend. “Nobody trusts me to be alone anymore,” he griped. “They won’t even let me close the door without a babysitter.”
Charlie nodded along, internally agreeing with his family’s precautions. “So… how’re you doing?”
Adam shrugged. “Fine, I guess. I’m gonna try therapy again… maybe more meds, we’ll see.”
“That’s good,” Charlie nodded. He was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Can we talk?”
Adam side-eyed the door, then crossed the room to shut it, slowly and quietly. “Sure,” he whispered, doing his best to avoid eye contact.
Charlie sat on Adam’s bare mattress—the sheets were in the wash—and patted the space next to him, urging the other boy to take it. Adam kept his eyes on his feet as he crossed the room and sat down, leaving a few inches between them.
Charlie spent a minute putting together and scrapping sentences in his head. Adam glanced up and met Charlie’s eyes, then quickly averted his gaze. “I’ve… been thinking…” he began, flustered and stuttering, “a lot,” he added with a light chuckle, “about… what you said on the phone.”
“You can just forget about everything I said,” Adam mumbled, feeling his face heat up.
Charlie didn’t say anything. He slowly reached his hand out and grabbed Adam’s, carefully interlocking their fingers and resting them on the bed. Both boys were quiet for a few moments, silently staring at the hands between them.
“I like this,” Charlie said shyly.
Adam’s eyes flicked up to read Charlie’s face. He felt his heartbeat speed up seeing the smile on his face and feeling the warmth of his palm.
Adam wanted nothing more than to stay in that moment forever, but he knew it wasn’t right. It was agony to pull his hand away and put more space between him and Charlie.
“No, you don’t,” he told him, trying to keep the sadness out of his voice.
Charlie nearly flinched. “What? What do you—”
“Charlie,” Adam sighed, “you don’t—”
“I do,” Charlie fought back. “I… I like you, Adam. A lot, I think.”
Adam kept shaking his head. “No, you don’t,” he insisted. “We just… I…” he looked into Charlie’s eyes. “You’re scared,” he said, plain and firm. “I almost killed myself… you’re scared that I’m gonna do it again, so you’re just saying whatever you think is gonna make me happy.”
“That’s not true,” Charlie pleaded. “Adam, you don’t know—”
“I do, Charlie,” Adam insisted. “Even if you don’t realize it. I’m… I’m sorry I said what I said, and I’m sorry I did what I did. You don’t have to do this.”
Charlie stood up and moved to stand in front of Adam. He grabbed both his hands, holding them firmly, and stared into his eyes.
Before he could say anything, Adam tugged his hands free and wrapped his arms around his own body. “Go home, Charlie.”
“What?”
“Go home,” he repeated. “I can’t deal with this right now.” Adam stood up and started ushering Charlie toward the door. “Think about it more. Make a decision when you’re not scared I’m gonna die anymore. And, when you figure it out… don’t tell me. I already know.”
Charlie clenched his jaw and nodded. “Fine,” he agreed. “Bye, Banksy.”
“Bye, Charlie.” Adam opened the door and watched Charlie go down the hall and disappear down the stairs.
Adam was doing well with therapy and a new set of meds, so his parents let all of the Minnesota Ducks come over on the Fourth of July to watch “rich people fireworks.” They lined up in the front yard and watched all the houses on the street take turns making a show for the neighborhood. They could also see larger shows in the distance, occasionally lighting up the sky for everyone to see.
They could always count on Adam’s dad to tell them when it was time to leave. Once he was sure the whole block had exhausted their fireworks, he stood on the front porch and announced that the party was over. The team was used to him by now—and they knew that he didn’t actually dislike any of them anymore—so they laughed him off and packed up their stuff.
When Adam thought everyone had left, he went into the house. Tired, he walked straight upstairs and collapsed into his bed, not bothering to find a comfortable position.
He heard the door open slowly, and when he finally rolled over, he saw Charlie standing in the doorway, a small smile on his face.
“You need a ride home?” Adam asked, voice slightly hoarse.
Charlie shook his head. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, then walked over and stood by Adam’s bed. “I want to know if it’s been long enough for you to believe me,” he said simply.
Adam made a confused sound.
“Has it been long enough since you almost died for me to actually like you and not just be scared?”
Adam felt his breath catch in his throat and his eyes went wide. “Um…” he stumbled over his words, not sure of what to say.
Charlie sat down on the edge of the mattress, and Adam sat up to face him. Charlie reached over and grabbed his hand. Adam tensed, but let Charlie hold him, making the other boy smile.
“I really do like you, Adam,” Charlie whispered. “I was really scared when… when I found you… but I’m not just saying this to make you happy. Ever since you told me you like guys, I’ve been thinking a lot about myself, and I… I know I like girls… but I at least like you, too.”
“Charlie…” Adam’s mouth felt drier than a desert when he tried to speak. “You don’t have to—”
“I’m not doing anything,” Charlie interrupted. “I’m just… explaining what I’ve been feeling. You don’t have to say anything, or you can take back what you said on the phone and forget about this. I just… you said you like me, and I wanna try it.”
“Charlie,” he frowned, “I don’t want to be an experiment.”
“You won’t be!” Charlie protested. “Adam, I’ve dated people before. I know what it’s like to like people.”
“Then why didn’t you know before?”
Charlie sighed. “I… I like girls. I thought that was it. I never thought about guys. Then, when I did… I kept thinking about you.”
Adam was sure he’d fallen asleep and was now having the best dream imaginable. His heart sped up, along with his breathing, and he had to squeeze Charlie’s hand to try to keep himself there. “Really?”
Charlie smiled kindly and nodded.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Adam stared into his eyes, searching for some kind of sign. The only thing he saw in Charlie’s eyes was warmth.
Charlie moved his free hand up to cup Adam’s cheek. It wasn’t a new feeling—Charlie had a tendency to grab his friends’ faces if he wanted to say something important—but it sent electricity through Adam’s body that he hadn’t felt before.
Slowly, Adam leaned forward and rested his forehead on Charlie’s shoulder. He relaxed into his body when he felt the other boy’s arms wrap around him.
“You know I haven’t dated anyone before,” Adam whined into Charlie’s shoulder.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think I’ll be good at it.”
Charlie chuckled, and Adam tensed up at the feeling of his breath against his neck. He melted when he felt one of Charlie’s hands slide up and cup the back of his head, fingers idly carding through his hair.
“I like you,” Charlie whispered. “Just be you.”
Adam hummed and nodded. Part of him wanted to crawl even closer and hold on to Charlie forever. “Don’t be different,” he said against Charlie’s skin.
“What?”
Adam peeled himself away and sat straight up. “Don’t be all… different,” he reiterated.
“Different how?” Charlie raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t… I don’t know,” Adam threw his hands up dramatically, making the other boy laugh. “I don’t want us to be a soap opera or a rom-com. Just… Adam and Charlie.”
“Can we be a little bit different?” Charlie smirked. “Like, maybe…” he cupped Adam’s cheeks and pulled him closer, leaning in at the same time. Their noses touched, and Charlie looked questioningly into Adam’s wide eyes.
There was a knock at the door, and they flinched apart. When Adam’s dad came in seconds later, Charlie was surprised how quickly Adam had covered up his panic.
“I thought the team went home,” Philip said in a tone that made it clear he wanted it to be the truth.
“Charlie left his sweatshirt last time he was here,” Adam lied quickly, “so I was just finding it. I’ll drive him home in a minute.”
Philip gave a single nod of satisfaction but stayed in the doorway. Adam went into his closet and grabbed a random sweatshirt that he knew his dad wouldn’t recognize, thrust it into Charlie’s hands, and pulled him to the door.
The next morning, Charlie skated to Adam’s house and pounded on the door. Adam answered with bedhead that made Charlie’s heart skip a beat—even mundane things, like seeing the other boy with messy hair, felt like a new experience.
“Just making sure you remember yesterday,” Charlie smiled, only half joking.
Adam blushed. He looked around his house, then the street, making sure he couldn’t see anyone else. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “I remember.”
He was nervous that Charlie had changed his mind, but the wide grin that spread across his face proved the opposite. “Good,” Charlie nodded.
He held Adam’s face and stared into his eyes. Adam lifted shaking hands up to hold Charlie’s arms, and Charlie took it as his cue. He leaned forward and connected their lips, kissing the other boy with enthusiasm. Adam remained somewhat tense, but he leaned into it, so Charlie knew he hadn’t made a mistake.
When he pulled away, Adam chased him, which made them both chuckle. Adam’s eyes were blown-out, like he was starstruck.
Then, Charlie shoved him into the house. “Go get dressed, I’m taking you on a date.”
Adam almost choked. “A what?”
“Don’t look so scared,” Charlie laughed. “It’ll be fun.”