24. Liam

Idon't know what those Colorado natives were talking about when they said spring is the worst season for sports. It's mid-January, and it's fifty-two degrees and sunny. Perfect lacrosse weather.

And it's not even technically spring. If it's this nice now, March should be incredible. Hopefully by then I will be, too.

Though my arm is a little weak compared to what it should be, I easily fall into the familiar motion of throwing and catching and cradling, my muscles working without conscious thought to break up the offense's play and clear the ball.

As the action moves to the other end of the field, I get a nod from the goalie, indicating he's satisfied with my defense. That's reassuring since this scrimmage will help the coaches determine the starting lineup, and he's our starting goalie.

Our offense works the ball around the perimeter of the goal, looking for an opening to drive in for a shot, but an errant pass gets intercepted by a middie who's been giving me a headache all game. He's both fast and nimble, so he's hard to defend against without doubling up, which inevitably leaves another man open. But he's on a fast break with no one to help him, so between the three defenders we should be able to contain him.

I get there first, using my long pole to poke at his chest and push him back. He's forced to regroup before charging again, but that slight interruption to his gait gives my teammate time to slide in and help me cover him. And between the two of us, we're able to stop his progress and knock the ball out of his stick.

My teammate clears the ball by passing to one of our middies who takes it back to the other end, and this time we score.

By the end of the game, we're up ten to six, and I feel confident that I've played well enough to stay in the running for a starting spot. It's feeling like a pretty good day, until I get a text from the bursar's office that there's a problem with my tuition.

I pack up my gear and head straight for the administration building, racking my brain for explanations. I paid with an electronic check, same as before, and the bill wasn't enough to overdraw my parents' account. Not even close.

It takes over thirty minutes to get called to the next available attendant, who looks up my record and declares, "Your bank disputed the tuition payment claiming it was a fraudulent charge."

The slight feeling of unease I felt walking over here morphs into outright panic, though somehow, I'm able to keep my voice level as I ask her to clarify. "The same payment was processed successfully last semester, why would it be fraudulent this time around?"

"You'd have to ask the bank about that. I don't have access to that information," she says.

"What happens in the meantime?"

"I'll make a note that you're reaching out to the bank to get this fixed, but if tuition isn't received in the next ten days your enrollment will be revoked."

I stay rooted in place, taking several deep breaths before feeling strong enough to step away from the counter without my knees buckling. Still, I collapse on the first bench I see outside as I reach for my phone to call the bank.

Fingers shaking so hard I can barely pull up the number, I hold my breath as I wait for the call to connect, gritting through an endless number of automated recordings until I can get to a live person.

"Arizona Federal," a man finally answers.

"Hi. I need to check on a payment that was recently declined. A tuition payment to Front Range University in Colorado."

"Name please."

"William Harrington." I lick my lips.

The rapid-fire click of fingers on a keyboard echoes over the line. "Well, sir. It looks like you alerted us to the fraud."

Son of a bitch.

"That's a mistake. Can you reverse that?"

After more clicking he responds, "I'm sorry. It looks like this account has been frozen pending a review of several charges. It looks like you put the hold on it yourself, do you not remember doing that?"

Fuck. Usually having the same name as my father works in my favor, but if I keep pressing they'll either realize I'm not him or they'll think he has dementia. Neither bode well for me.

"Of course, I remember. I just didn't think it would take this long to resolve. When will I have access again?"

"It could be another seven to ten days."

Shit!

"Okay, thank you." I disconnect, mentally bracing for what I need to do next. Call my father.

The last time I spoke to him was six months ago, at least. Although, I suspect it's closer to eight. He did come to my high school graduation—long enough to see me collect my diploma but he didn't stay after for pictures. I'm not even sure there are any of me in my cap and gown.

He left for a business trip that night and was gone for weeks. I knew when he came back because I'd sometimes hear him coming up the stairs as I watched TV in my room before bed, but he never knocked or made any attempt to talk to me. I remember thinking I'd have better luck getting his attention if I was a spreadsheet. Turns out, balance sheet was the more appropriate comparison.

I take a few deep breaths, searching for a calm I know deep down I won't be able to find, and push the call button.

It rings so long I start mentally cataloging my other options for tracking him down, but at the last second, I hear a confused, "William?"

"Liam," I correct.

I feel him grimace over the line—but screw him. Family names lose their meaning when you don't act like family.

"Why are you calling?"

No, hello. No, it's good to hear your voice. Just down to business. Fine.

"You claimed my tuition payment was fraud."

"Obviously. You go to Cornell, not Colorado, and your scholarship covers half your tuition, so the bill should be significantly less than what was charged."

My snort is loud and obnoxious. "Figures. Of course it'd take a confusing charge for you to remember I exist. And Cruz thinks I don't people well. At least I'm capable of calling you instead of just the bank."

"What is a people well? And who is Cruz?"

"People are other human beings that are still living despite your best efforts to pretend otherwise, and Cruz is my boyfriend. But back to the real issue here, you canceled my tuition. I used to think the worst thing you could do was treat me like I'm invisible, but actively sabotaging my future is another level. I should nominate you for Father of the Year."

"Excuse me?"

"No, I don't think I will." A few heads turn my way as my voice rises, so I try to lower my volume. "I'm tired of making excuses for you. You don't deserve it."

"I don't deserve this attitude."

"Are you sure about that? Because I'd say a father who doesn't know his kid lost a scholarship when he broke his arm, and who doesn't even know where his kid actually goes to school, and who forgot to take him to said school on the first day like he was supposed to, deserves all the attitude in the world. Kudos to you for getting the year right though. Unlike Mom, at least you know I'm in college instead of high school."

"Your mother is struggling, William. How dare you talk about her like that?"

"How would you know if she's struggling? When was the last time you were even home? You holed up in your office and shut the rest of the world out for years. You don't know shit about what's going on at home."

My dad clears his throat. "I couldn't… That house was… We all deal with grief in different ways."

"Spare me that tired old speech. You don't get to play grieving father with me. Not when you could still be a father if you wanted to."

"I don't understand where this anger is coming from. I—"

"When did you realize I was gone?" I cut him off before I totally lose my shit over the I grieve differently routine.

"I assumed you went to Cornell like we planned."

"Not what I asked, but since you're on this Cornell kick you should know that plan got fucked when I broke my arm last year." My dad scoffs indignantly at my language, but I keep going. "They rescinded the scholarship, so I had to make other plans."

"Why would a rescinded scholarship mean you go to a different school? You could always walk on, and even if you didn't play lacrosse, you could still go to Cornell. I went there."

"Maybe that's why I didn't want to," I shout, causing more than a few heads to swing my direction—again—so I clear my throat and lower my voice. "If my tuition isn't paid in the next ten days, I'll be unenrolled. If you want to ignore me, fine. Please don't sabotage my education on top of that."

"You're doing that yourself by not going to the school we picked out. I can open far more doors for you at Cornell."

"I can open my own doors."

"Don't be ridiculous. Being upset with me is no reason to jeopardize your future."

"If you wanted me to believe you were concerned for my future, you'd be better off dropping the whole Cornell thing. Colorado is where I belong."

"I won't pay for you to go to a school I don't approve of."

He won't pay. I'll have to go. I'll have to leave Cruz, and if I'm not here, what's best for him and what's best for me are going to become two different things very quickly.

My arms are suddenly so heavy I can barely hold the phone to my ear, leaving me unsure where I get the strength to say, "Well it's not like I can just transfer once the semester's started."

"That is unfortunate. I suppose you'll have to start over as a freshman next year."

"Or I could finish this year at Colorado and transfer in the fall. That way I wouldn't be a year behind." I have no intention of transferring. I'll drop out before I give in to his wishes. But if I can buy myself another semester, I've got time to figure out my next move.

"It would look better if you graduated on time," he says more to himself than to me before his volume rises, "Fine. You'll complete this semester where you are and transfer in the fall."

"You'll call the school to pay the tuition?" I confirm.

"Yes. And I'll call my contacts at Cornell to see about getting you enrolled for summer courses. You should get acclimated there as soon as possible."

"Sure." It's not like I thought you'd want to see me over the summer, anyway.

"Keep those grades up. It'll make the transfer process easier."

"Okay." I hang up without saying goodbye.

Despite their uncontrollable shaking, my fingers manage to open the calendar on my phone. The semester ends in May, leaving me roughly four months to figure out how I can stay in Colorado.

Please be worth it, Cruz.