Vol. 1: Forty-Eight

+ LOVING ELIJAH MCCAY +

VOL. 1: CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

I quit. I'm a total and complete quitter.

Earlier this morning, I had woken up with an epiphany; I was done with baseball. I didn't come to this decision lightly. Not getting much sleep last night, I tossed and turned for hours before finally—I made the decision. And honestly, it was one I should've made months ago.

But with the year coming to an end, I guess I just thought that I could push through. I was very, very wrong.

Coach Witherspoon was disappointed to say the least—but he understood. After our long talk he admitted that he saw this coming. With me missing more and more practices and not really giving my all at our games, he knew that sooner or later my time as leader of the team was done.

And I've never seen anyone rejoice louder than when Austin Geller received news that he was taking over, and I would be stepping down. That little asshole always had it out for me.

But now, I was standing at my locker, watching as Rick hugged all of our friends and acquaintances goodbye. Most had brought him parting gifts as a goodbye, and other simply held him tight and set him off with parting words.

It was difficult to watch. Because I knew, I knew that soon that would be me, hugging my best friend goodbye. And I most likely wouldn't see him again for another year and a half, when both senior and junior year were over.

And that really sucked.

Rick finished off an embrace with Michelle Wheeler, who had always had a little bit of a crush on him. I watched as he gave her a suave kiss on the forehead, her cheeks flushing instantly. He leaned in, whispering a sweet nothing into her ear before she turned and walked away,

I raise an eyebrow as he walks over to my locker, and leans his head against it with a heavy sigh. He chuckles at my nonverbal question. "What was that?"

"Nothing much," he swings his backpack over his shoulder, "just letting know I'll keep in touch."

I nod, returning my gaze to the ground, a large lump being lodged into my throat. Rick sees this, an apologetic look taking over his already saddened features. "I'm sorry, G," he whispers lightly, blue eyes piercing with sadness. "I wish I didn't have to go."

"Don't be. This will be good for you and your family—"

Rick scoffs, us now making our way out of the schools crowded hallway and over to Rick's truck. "You keep saying that like it means something."

I pull open the passenger side door, sliding into the seat and buckling myself in. "It does. Maybe a fresh start is just what you and your dad need for things to go back to how they used to be."

"Is that what Miss Kimberly told you on your guys' joyride?" His words are snarky, but I know that they don't have any true malice behind them.

"No," I emphasize, "and honestly, Rick, what would you rather I had done—walked home? I was miles away from my place." This is true. It took Kimberly at least twenty-five minutes to get me back home.

He shakes his head, steering the wheel and getting us out of the schools overcrowding parking lot.

Minutes later, I'm being dropped off at my house—and it's safe to say that my fathers car is nowhere near the driveway. My heart still stings at the memory but I push it down. Not wanting to bother or bore Rick with the tiny details of my family that is currently falling apart.

Especially when he feels as though his is too.

Just when I'm about to open the car door Rick stops me a sharp call of my name. I turn to him, both eyebrows raised in slight suspicion. "What?"

"What do you mean what? Dude, we completely forgot that your birthdays coming up!" His words are said with such enthusiasm that I inwardly cringe. I've always loved my birthdays. But with everything going on, I had the sneaking suspicion that this year was going to be very, very different.

My fingers gripped onto the straps of my backpack. "Oh, come on. I really don't feel like doing anything this year. Hence me choosing to forget it's even happening."

"No, way. It's the big seventeen—we have to do something." His persistence makes me smile, but it doesn't make the bile in my stomach go away.

"One; seventeen isn't that big a deal. It's only purpose is to get to eighteen—it's a filler year. Two; by the time my birthday rolls around, you'll be gone anyway." My words are said harsher than I intended, and Rick's cheeks turn pink in surrender.

My features soften. "Oh, shit, you're right. I didn't even think about that."

Running a hand through my hair, I sigh deeply, watching as Rick's deep blue ones frown. "Look, it's just that I've had a really shitty last month or so and I would really rather not celebrate."

He nods understandingly, a hand reaching out for my shoulder and landing there. "Whatever you say, man. Just know that if you ever throw a party without me—I'll kill you and make it look like an accident."

I laugh, "oh, please. As if that'd ever happen. You know I hate parties."

"Alright, man. I'll see you tomorrow." I don't bother responding, hopping out of the passenger seat and heading inside of my house.

When I push open the front door, Toro, once again is the first to greet me. I ruffle his fur with one hand, the other balancing my backpack onto my shoulder. The house is quiet, quieter than usual. But not in a way that makes my skin crawl.

It's a comfortable silence, a comfortability that my home hasn't felt in weeks. As if on cue, my mother saunters down the staircase with two suitcases in tow. I raise a brow.

She keeps tugging the suitcases behind her as if all is right in the world and she isn't carrying tons of weight. "Mom?" I ask, stepping in closer, "what're you doing?"

My mother blows out a puff of air, obviously having trouble carrying down the two heavy bags. I try and step in to help her, but she holds out a finger—warning me not to. "I am getting rid of the last of your fathers things. They're stinking up the house."

I chuckle, stepping away from the door so she can sit the suitcases down beside it. "Is he coming for them?"

She takes a moment to respond. "Yes, but don't worry. It'll be taken care of on a day when you aren't home."

"Thanks." I whisper.

She pauses, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her heated ear. The rest is tied up into a large clip, ensuring that it doesn't interfere with her apparent heavy lifting. And as if a switch has just switch on inside of her brain, her bright green eyes flicker toward me—wide and leering.

"Oh, my gosh," she whisper-shouts. "You're birthday. It's next week! Darling, I'm so sorry I almost forgot—"

My heart sinks at another mention of my inevitable birthday. "No, mom it's okay. I really don't feel like celebrating this year—"

She gasps, a hand coming to hold her chest as though offended. "Why? Gage, you love your birthday. You have since you were just little boy. We have to celebrate."

"I know, I just really don't feel like doing anything this time. So, can we please just not think about it—"

I stop speaking when she comes in closer, crossing both arms across her chest. She peers up at me, raising both perfectly arched brows. "Gage, does this have anything to do with Abba? Is he why you don't want to celebrate?"

I can't find it in myself to lie to her. Especially not to her face. I nod slowly, not wanting to speak.

She brings both arms up to caress mine, a comforting smile planted across her lips. "This is your day, my love. I want you to be able to celebrate without the thought of your father in the back of your mind, sucking all of the fun out of it. So celebrate, have fun. You only turn seventeen once."

I nod, a tear slipping down my cheek. She pulls me into her embrace, landing a soft kiss on my forehead. "It's alright. It'll all be alright."