Adam Watson

I'd found throughout the years that alcohol was the best cure for nightmares.

However, as I sat in bed, hyperventilating, without access to alcohol, I realized that I didn't know how to cope with this.

My first instinct was to check under my bed for a rogue bottle of Jack Daniels. But the only thing I managed to find was my missing sneaker.

I left my dorm room, going outside to take in some fresh air. My chest squeezed with anticipation, and I let out a slow breath to try and counteract the hyperventilation.

"What the hell are you doing?" Terrence asked behind me.

Of course he followed me out here.

"Getting some fresh air," I answered, my voice tight.

Terrence didn't press any further, instead taking a seat on the sidewalk in front of me.

I wasn't sure how long I stood outside, simply focusing on controlling my breath and calming my mind. But I was aware that it'd grown significantly colder, and my teeth were beginning to chatter.

If I got sick now, my coach would kill me.

"I would offer you my robe, but it's the only thing covering my boxers," Terrence said, with an apologetic smile. "I've got the body to rock the boxer look, but I don't want a public indecency charge."

I ran my hands down my chilled arms, letting out a sigh. "We can just go back inside."

"You sure?"

I nodded. Standing out here wasn't going to offer me much more relief than it already had.

Terrence handed me a bottle of water once we were back inside.

"Small sips," he instructed.

I didn't ask how he knew what to do. It seemed like Terrence always knew the right answers in these types of situations.

I sat on my futon, criss-cross, taking small sips of the water as I continued to focus on regulating my breathing.

What I wouldn't give for a shot of tequila to wipe this from my memory.

"Was it about Lucas?" Terrence asked me.

It's always about Lucas. "Yeah."

Terrence was silent a few moments, studying me with an unreadable gaze.

"What?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Have you thought about, you know, maybe getting some professional help?"

A therapist.

"I've done the whole therapy thing," I reminded him. "It's not for me."

And that was an understatement. I'd hated my therapist, with a vehement passion. She assumed that she knew what I was going through, what I was struggling with. She assumed that she knew why I drank alcohol, and assumed that she'd be able to magically cure me.

I hated her self-righteous attitude. And once I was done with rehab, I vowed to never go back to see her, or any other therapist for that matter, ever again.

My dad said that I was overreacting, that one bad therapist doesn't mean they'll all be that way. And I knew that, rationally. But I wasn't willing to go through the experience again.

Doctor Holier-Than-Thou had ruined that for me.

I finished off the bottle of water, feeling a bit more relaxed. My chest was still tight, and I was still slightly sweating, but I could breathe just a little bit easier.

"Do you want some snuggles?" Terrence asked, with a smirk.

"Fuck off."

He chuckled, reaching over to turn off his bedside lamp. "Just try closing your eyes."

I climbed back up to my bed, rolling over so that I was facing the ceiling.

When we were younger, my mom used to lull us to sleep with stories from her childhood. My mom had grown up dirt poor and basically on the streets, but she'd always managed to put a positive spin on her stories.

A story where they'd been kicked out of her home? She made it into an adventure story, of where they were travelling to an unknown yet thrilling destination.

Growing up, I always envied my mom for being able to insert optimism into any situation. She never let anything keep her down.

I wanted that. I wanted to be able to look at my life, at my past and present, and find the positive spin. I just never gained that ability.

And so as I stared at the ceiling, all I could think about was Lucas and how different my life would've been if he'd survived that accident.

And there was no positive spin on that.

~*~

"Glad to see you're coming back around again," Coach Ludwig said, before slapping me on the back. "How're you feeling? Back to normal?"

What is normal these days?

But as always, I flashed him a smile, signaling that everything was fine. "Better than normal."

He praised my performance on the practice field for a few more minutes before releasing me.

It was Thanksgiving, and most of the team was celebrating tonight at Coach Ludwig's house.

Terrence and I, however, had committed to going to the Campbell's. I hadn't been too sure about the invitation, but Terrence had convinced me to accept.

I think he just wanted some separation from the team. And I had to admit that I did too.

With the playoff season coming up, there was a lot of pressure to perform. And I needed a break from that, even if it was just for a night.

"Do you need a ride for tonight, rookie?" Reece asked me.

I'd hated the nickname rookie since the team had first started calling me it, back during Spring Training. But I hadn't been able to shake it then, and with the new recruits the nickname had stuck.

"I'm actually going to a..." What was Sarah to me exactly?

"Friend's place," Terrence interjected. "We're going to a friend of Adam's house tonight."

Friend. Sure.

Somehow the word girl got thrown in there, and before I could leave the locker room, I was being harassed about my new girlfriend.

I knew this was a bad idea.

"She's not a girlfriend," I said, as they continued to poke fun at me. "Just a friend... that's a girl."

"Sure, rookie," Vlad said, with a smirk. "Just remind yourself of that when you're banging her tonight."

I rolled my eyes as the guys began to get more and more graphic with their descriptions of Sarah and me in bed.

"Goodbye!" I called out. "Happy Thanksgiving you assholes."

Pelvic thrusts and moans followed me out of the locker room.

Terrence laughed the entire way back to the dorm, causing my irritation to spike.

"I fucking hate you," I said, as I threw open the dorm room door. "Seriously, I need you to leave for at least an hour."

He just laughed harder.

"Fine, fine," Terrence said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I'll go and grab a dessert tray to bring tonight."

A dessert tray?" Why?"

He stared at me for a few seconds, his eyes narrowing. "You can't show up to a dinner empty-handed. Don't be stupid."

"I've never been to a dinner party," I said, with an eye roll. "Don't be rude."

He reached over and pinched my cheek. "You're so cute when you're angry."

"Get. Out."

He laughed his way out of our dorm, and I could hear him laughing down the hallway.

I need a hot shower and a punching bag.

~*~

"Why are you bringing an overnight bag?" I asked Terrence, as we loaded into his car.

"You never know what the situation may call for."

I didn't know I had a Boy Scout as a best friend. "I'm positive that tonight won't require us to stay the night at Campbell's place."

Terrence just shrugged, that annoying smirk back on his face. "You never know."

I gave him a hard shove, to which he just smiled. "You're aggressive today, Adam."

"I want some food and to be far away from you," I muttered. "So let's just drive."

Sarah's brother lived surprisingly close to Vanderbilt's campus. He lived in a medium-sized two-story home, and their front porch was littered with chalk drawings of turkeys and pumpkins.

Clearly we were walking into a household that contained children.

Either that or Sarah and her siblings were severely lacking in the art department.

Before I could knock, Sarah greeted us at the door. I immediately gazed over her outfit, ensuring that I was appropriately dressed.

My parents did Thanksgiving in sweats and oversized hoodies, chowing down on store-bought turkey while watching football. I'd opted against the sweatpants look for Sarah's Thanksgiving dinner though, going for a pair of jeans and a flannel button-up.

Sarah was dressed in a pair of jeans a sweater, a scarf wrapped around her neck. She offered up a bright smile, ushering us inside.

"You didn't have to bring anything," she said to Terrence, giving him a chastising shake of the head. "We have plenty of food."

I elbowed him as if to say I told you so, to which he just flipped me off beneath the dessert tray.

As I'd guessed, there were kids running around throughout the house, five of them to be exact.

I side-stepped on kid before he could barrel into my legs, and she ran off without so much of an I'm sorry.

"They're pretty hopped up on sugar," Sarah said, with an apologetic smile. "My brother's wife, Lindsey, made sugared pecans."

I didn't know what those were, but they didn't sound appealing.

There were a group of adults gathered around in the kitchen, and all eyes fell on Terrence and me as we walked in.

I immediately recognized one of the Campbell brothers, Joel. He nodded in my direction, signaling that he recognized me too.

I vaguely remembered the guy standing at the stove from the dinner I'd attended with the Campbells, but the rest of the adults looked foreign to me.

Sarah took the dessert tray from Terrence, placing it on a side table. I angled myself toward Terrence, waiting for him to say something.

He was the type to dazzle a room. And I was the type to tag along.

And he didn't disappoint.

"There are a lot of you," Terrence pointed out, with that goofy grin of his. "We don't come from big families, so how exactly do you remember each other's names?"

The tension in the room was broken by laughter, and Sarah began to introduce us to the people in the room.

The brother that I vaguely remembered was named Ryan, something I knew I'd forget again. And his wife was Meredith.

Sarah had another brother here, named Aiden. And his wife, Lindsey, was the one who'd made the sugared pecans.

I promised to try one without the intent to actually follow through, as processed sugar wasn't a part of my season diet.

And then there was Joel, the brother I was most familiar with. He seemed as uncomfortable and out-of-place as I felt, offering me a tense smile.

Before I could ask why, the door opened, and another Campbell brother came into the house.

This one I also vaguely recognized, and he was quickly introduced as Caden.

Far too many names for me to ever dream of remembering, but I nodded along and shook his hand.

"Are you writing this down?" I whispered to Terrence.

"I got this," he whispered back. "Refer to all of them as bro, you'll be fine."

Bro wasn't in my vocabulary. "Yeah, sure, that's totally natural and believable."

"You guys can have a seat," the older brother said, gesturing toward his living room. "There's beer in the cooler, wine in the fridge."

"We're good," Terrence said, before shoving me toward the living room.

"I can answer for myself," I said, shooting him a glare.

Terrence shrugged in response, which just irritated me even further.

"You're really tense today," Terrence said, plopping down on the couch.

"Your presence is annoying me."

He opened his mouth to say something, which would've undoubtedly pissed me off even more, before Sarah stepped between us.

"Hungry?" Sarah asked. "We have sugared pecans, a cheese platter, a veggie platter-"

"I'm good," I said.

Terrence stood up. "I'm starving, point me in the direction of the food."

"Exactly where you just came from," Sarah said, with a slight laugh.

I shoved my hands in my pockets, unsure as to what to do. Although Terrence annoyed the crap out of me, I felt comfortable when he was around.

"You look more pissed off than usual," Sarah said, with a laugh. "What's your deal?"

"Sarah!" one of the brothers called from the kitchen. "White wine?"

She shook her head in response. "I'm going to stick to water."

The brother shot her a quizzical look. "Uh... okay. Sure."

"You don't have to refrain from drinking for me," I said, with an eye roll. "I'm a big boy."

"I'm not doing anything for you, Watson," Sarah said, shooting me a teasing smile. "Wine gives me headaches if I start too early."

Sure it does.

"Try this," Terrence said, before shoving what I could only assume was food into my mouth.

"What the fuck is your problem?" I asked, as I tried to swallow the sugared-mess in my mouth.

"Good, right?" Terrence asked.

I shook my head, grabbing his drink to take a sip. "Not good."

Terrence immediately grabbed it back before I had the chance. "Get your own drink."

"You shoved food into my mouth, the least you could do is get me a drink."

I grabbed his drink, and before he could protest, took a long sip to drown out the taste.

The alcohol immediately hit my system, but Terrence grabbed his cup back before I could take more than a sip.

"Dammit, Adam," he said, with a sigh. "I told you to get your own drink."

I rolled my eyes in response. "I'm fine. It was just a sip."

My body, though, didn't feel the same. I could feel the blood pumping through my veins, my heart erratically racing.

"Are you going to get me a drink?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Now you not only shoved a sugared pecan into my mouth, but you also fed me alcohol. You're not doing too well."

Terrence flipped me off before heading back into the kitchen.

I folded my arms tightly across my chest, trying to concentrate on breathing in and out instead of the sudden rush to my head, the cravings intensified.

How much harm could one beer do really?

And here begins the demise of Adam Watson, the sober man we were all rooting for. How do you guys feel? What do you think it coming up next?

I promise, whatever you think is going to happen, it's not that.

Teaser: the rest of Thanksgiving in Sarah's POV...

This book will update again next week by Wednesday.

(I'm trying out this new system, let's see how long it lasts.)