Becoming Grey Episode 9

Chapter Nine 

September 29, 2017 | Night 

Myles pushed open the front door and stepped inside first, calling into the house before Callie had even crossed the threshold. “Mom? Dad?” 

His voice carried through the entryway and disappeared into the rooms beyond without an answer. Callie stepped in behind him and pulled the door shut against the cold September air. For another second she could still hear the aftermath of the football game outside, tires rolling along the neighborhood streets and the occasional horn sounding somewhere closer to the school, but then the latch clicked into place and most of it vanished. After the stadium, the house seemed almost unnaturally quiet. 

She glanced down at the neat row of shoes beside the wall and slipped out of her sneakers while Myles leaned toward the kitchen. 

“Hello?” he called. 

Nothing. 

He looked back at her and gave a small shrug. “I think they’re out.” 

Callie stepped onto the plush carpet in her socks. “Good detective work.” 

Myles nodded solemnly. “Thank you. I’ve been training.” 

She smiled and followed him farther inside. The living room opened off the entryway with the comfortable, slightly overstuffed appearance of a room that actually got used instead of one maintained for visitors. Plush gray carpet covered the floor, and a large reclining sofa occupied one wall with two matching recliners angled toward the television, all upholstered in the same charcoal fabric. A wooden entertainment center stood opposite them, crowded with game cases, controllers, framed family pictures, and enough cables beneath the television to suggest Myles had inherited at least some of his family’s enthusiasm for electronics. 

There were traces of Games Galore here too, although nothing as obvious as a store display. A framed poster for an old Nintendo game hung near the stairs. Several board games had been stacked beneath an end table, apparently because whatever shelf had once been responsible for containing them had surrendered. Beside one recliner sat a ceramic mug with ROLL FOR INITIATIVE printed across it. 

Callie nodded toward it. “Yours?” 

Myles glanced over while wandering toward the kitchen. “My dad’s, I think.” 

“That somehow makes it worse.” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know yet.” 

He was still considering whether that required a defense when he spotted a folded sheet of paper on the kitchen counter. “Oh.” He picked it up, skimmed the note, and nodded. “Yeah. They went out.” 

Callie had already started toward the sofa. “Where?” 

“Probably Junkyard.” 

She knew the place. Almost everyone in Ridgemont did. Junkyard Brewery occupied an old brick automotive warehouse downtown that had somehow transformed itself from an abandoned building into one of the busiest restaurants in town. The owners had committed enthusiastically to the theme. Old license plates covered portions of the walls, pieces of antique cars had become decorations, and half the burgers had names involving transmissions, carburetors, or other mechanical things Callie only vaguely understood. 

Myles held the note up between two fingers. “They went there for the game.” 

“I thought your parents would be here.” 

“They were talking about going.” He returned the note to the counter and came back toward the living room. “Junkyard closed the kitchen early and basically turned the place into one giant watch party.” 

Callie lowered herself onto one end of the reclining sofa and tucked a leg beneath her. “Dad said Grey’s was dead after like five-thirty. Everybody either went to the game or went somewhere showing it.” 

“Your parents didn’t go?” 

“They have a grocery store. Going anywhere together requires advance planning and probably congressional approval.” 

Myles laughed as he sat down several feet away. “That bad?” 

“Not bad. Just…” Callie considered it. There was probably no concise way to explain the logistics of Grey family life. “There’s always something. Somebody calls in sick, a delivery’s late, a freezer starts making a weird noise, Hannah needs something.” 

“Your sister?” 

“Unfortunately.” 

He grinned. “You like her.” 

Callie gave him a flat look. “I love her.” 

“That sounded painful.” 

“It’s complicated.” 

Myles laughed again, and Callie let herself sink a little farther into the cushions. Outside, another car passed the house, its headlights sweeping through the front windows before disappearing down the street. The room settled again beneath the warm yellow glow of the lamps. 

“We can hang out here until everything dies down,” Myles said, stretching one arm along the back of the sofa. “Traffic gets stupid after the West game.” 

“Fine with me.” 

“We could watch something.” 

Callie turned toward the television and then back to him. “That sounded suspiciously normal.” 

His brow furrowed. “What were you expecting?” 

“I don’t know. You’re Luke’s friend.” She shrugged. “I assume eventually somebody suggests jumping off something.” 

“I have standards.” 

Callie laughed. “Luke says that too.” 

“Yeah, but I actually have them.” 

“That remains to be seen.” 

Myles leaned forward and pulled open one of the drawers beneath the television. “Or,” he said, drawing the word out while rummaging around inside, “if you’re not afraid of a little competition…” 

He turned around with two controllers in his hands. 

Callie looked at them and then at him. “Oh, you really don’t know me yet.” 

“That sounded confident.” He tossed one toward her. 

She caught it against her chest and settled farther into the sofa. “That’s because it was.” 

“Okay, Grey.” Myles glanced over the stack of games near the console. “What’s your poison?” 

Callie switched on the controller. “Your house. Your funeral.” 

He considered the choices for several seconds before something changed in his expression, a tiny upward twitch at the corner of his mouth that Callie distrusted immediately. 

“What?” 

Myles pulled Madden from the stack. “In honor of Ridgemont’s heroic victory tonight…” 

“No.” 

He stopped with the case halfway to the console. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.” 

“I know that face.” 

“A little football.” 

Callie stared at the case while his smile widened. 

“Miss Football herself,” he added. 

She pointed the controller at him. “I told you I’m not a football person.” 

“You knew what was happening tonight.” 

“That is an incredibly low standard.” 

“You yelled at the ref.” 

“He deserved it.” 

Myles leaned against the entertainment center, clearly enjoying himself now. “You knew why.” 

“Everybody knew why.” 

“You explained pass interference to Maggie.” 

“She asked.” 

His grin grew a little wider with every excuse, until Callie finally narrowed her eyes at him. 

“Put the game in.” 

His eyebrows rose. “Oh?” 

“Put it in.” 

“You sure?” 

“Myles.” 

Laughing, he slid the disc into the console. “All right. Just remember you asked for this.” 

Callie leaned back against the cushions, already smiling. “Interesting.” 

“What?” 

“You’re talking a lot for someone who hasn’t lost yet.” 

Myles looked over at her. Callie answered him with her sweetest smile. 

“This is going to be fun,” he said. 

It was, at least for Myles during approximately the first ten minutes. 

He won the coin toss and celebrated as though he had personally accomplished something remarkable. “Skill,” he announced, leaning back with a satisfied grin. 

Callie stared at him. “You understand you didn’t do anything.” 

“I called heads.” 

“The game generated a random result.” 

“And I correctly predicted it.” 

She nodded gravely. “Your talents are wasted here.” 

“Thank you.” 

The first quarter belonged mostly to Myles, who scored an early touchdown and immediately became unbearable. He lifted one hand toward the screen as the score changed. “Seven-zero.” 

“I can read.” 

“Just making sure.” 

Callie kept her attention on the television. “You should enjoy this.” 

That earned a suspicious glance. “Why?” 

“Because it’s the happiest you’re going to be for the rest of the game.” 

He laughed and settled deeper into the cushions. “Okay.” 

Ten minutes later, Callie intercepted him. 

His smile vanished so completely that she sat forward with a delighted little gasp. “Oh, no.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Oh, this is unfortunate.” 

“It was one interception.” 

Callie looked over with exaggerated sympathy. “Terrible throw.” 

“It wasn’t terrible.” 

“You threw directly to me.” 

“I didn’t see him.” 

“That generally makes interceptions easier.” 

Myles gave her an annoyed sideways look. Callie grinned and turned back to the screen, feeling considerably better about the evening. 

By halftime she was ahead by ten, and Myles had become noticeably quieter. Callie noticed, of course. She glanced over without taking her hands from the controller. “You okay?” 

“I’m focused.” 

“That’s what losing people say.” 

“I’m not losing.” 

Callie pointed toward the score in the corner of the television. 

His eyes followed her finger. 

“You are literally losing.” 

“Temporarily.” 

“By seventeen now.” Callie said throwing a long pass for a touchdown immediately after halftime 

Myles nodded, as though this were a perfectly reasonable distinction. “Temporary seventeen.” 

Callie laughed and returned her attention to the game. 

From there, the room became considerably louder, though very little of that had anything to do with the television. Myles accused her of abusing the same passing route. Callie informed him that if he knew exactly what she was going to do, perhaps he should stop it. He insisted he was trying. She pointed out that, objectively speaking, he wasn’t. 

“That play is broken,” he complained after she completed it again. 

“The play is fine.” 

“It shouldn’t work this much.” 

Callie glanced toward him. “Sounds like a defense problem.” 

Myles shook his head and muttered something beneath his breath. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.” 

“That sounded like losing.” 

“I hate you.” 

“No, you hate my offensive strategy.” 

“I hate both.” 

Somewhere during all of that, without either of them apparently making a conscious decision about it, the several feet of sofa that had separated them at the beginning of the first game disappeared. Callie had started tucked against one end, with Myles sitting comfortably away from her. By the middle of the second game, they were close enough that their shoulders bumped whenever one of them moved too aggressively with a controller. 

Neither of them moved away. 

Myles scored late in the fourth quarter and threw one arm triumphantly into the air. “Yes!” 

His elbow came close enough to Callie’s head that she ducked and shoved at his shoulder. “Jesus!” 

He lowered his arm immediately. “Sorry.” 

“You almost knocked me out.” 

“I got excited.” 

Callie pointed toward the score. “You’re down fourteen.” 

“It was a really good touchdown.” 

She stared at him. “Should I give you a participation trophy?” 

Myles appeared to consider the offer seriously. “Can it say Madden champion?” 

“No.” 

“Then I don’t want it.” 

“You weren’t getting one anyway.” 

He laughed and leaned closer as he concentrated on the next play. His shoulder settled against hers, warm through the thin layers of their shirts, and Callie noticed. Of course she noticed. She also noticed that Myles didn’t seem particularly interested in moving and, apparently, neither was she. 

So she returned her attention to the television and beat him by twenty-one points. 

The second game went worse for him. By the third, Myles had reached the stage of competitive grief where mechanical failure became a plausible explanation. 

“There’s something wrong with this,” he said, turning the controller over in his hands. 

Callie glanced down at it. “Yeah.” 

He looked encouraged. “See?” 

“The person holding it.” 

Myles slowly turned his head toward her. 

Callie lasted perhaps half a second before bursting out laughing. 

“You’ve been waiting to say that.” 

“For like ten minutes.” 

“That was terrible.” 

“It was perfect.” 

“It was awful.” 

She pointed at him. “You laughed.” 

“I did not.” 

“You absolutely did.” 

He shook his head, but the smile spreading across his face ruined whatever credibility remained in the denial. 

The third game ended with Callie taking a knee instead of scoring again. Myles stared at the screen, then at her, looking genuinely offended. 

“Did you just mercy me?” 

Callie rested the controller against her thigh. “I was being respectful.” 

“That was disrespectful.” 

“I could’ve scored.” 

“You should’ve.” 

“I was trying to preserve what’s left of your dignity.” 

Myles straightened slightly. “My dignity was fine.” 

Callie deliberately shifted her gaze toward the final score. 

Myles followed it. His shoulders sank. 

“Okay,” he admitted. “My dignity has experienced some setbacks.” 

Laughing, Callie dropped the controller into her lap. Neither of them immediately reached for another game. The television menu music drifted softly through the speakers, and with nothing demanding her attention anymore, Callie became aware of the house again. The distant traffic had thinned considerably. The furnace hummed somewhere behind the walls while an occasional gust of wind brushed against the windows. 

And Myles was sitting beside her. 

Very beside her. 

Callie looked down and realized their knees were nearly touching. She wasn’t sure when that had happened either. Apparently the evening had developed a habit of rearranging the distance between them whenever she wasn’t paying attention. 

Myles leaned forward to place his controller on the coffee table. Callie did the same, and their hands reached out at almost the same moment. The backs of their fingers brushed between the two abandoned controllers. 

Both of them stopped. 

It was barely anything, just that small accidental contact, but neither of them moved immediately. Callie’s attention remained on their hands for a second before she lifted her eyes toward Myles. 

He was already looking at her. 

The room seemed quieter than it had moments ago, though Callie knew perfectly well nothing had changed. The furnace still ran. The television still played its menu music. Cars still passed occasionally outside. None of that explained why she suddenly seemed able to hear her own breathing. 

Myles gave her a small, nervous smile. “Everything’s really easy with you.” 

That was not what she had expected him to say. 

Her eyebrows lifted. “What does that mean?” 

Myles looked down toward their hands, and Callie watched the exact moment he realized how the sentence might have sounded. “Not easy like…” 

Her mouth curved upward. “Careful.” 

“I know.” He gave a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m trying.” 

“That usually goes well for you.” 

“Exactly.” 

His hand shifted slightly on the cushion between them, although he still didn’t pull it entirely away. He glanced toward the television before looking back at her. 

“I just mean hanging out with you is easy. I don’t feel like I have to come up with stuff to say all the time.” 

Callie raised one eyebrow. 

Myles caught it immediately. “Well, apparently I do come up with stuff to say all the time. Most of it terrible.” 

“That’s more accurate.” 

He laughed softly. “But you know what I mean.” 

Callie did. 

She leaned back against the sofa and looked toward the television, partly because looking directly at Myles suddenly required more effort than it had five minutes earlier. “Yeah,” she said after a moment. “I know.” 

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, and that might have been the strangest part. Normally Callie hated silence when another person was around. Silence created responsibility. Somebody eventually felt obligated to fill it, and then both people became painfully aware that neither of them knew what to say. 

This didn’t feel like that. 

It simply existed between them, quiet and strangely comfortable, until Myles glanced toward the television. 

“We could watch a movie or something.” 

Callie slowly turned her head toward him. 

His expression changed immediately. “What?” 

She smiled. 

Myles frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“A movie?” 

“Yes.” 

Callie glanced meaningfully around the empty living room before looking back at him. “While your parents are gone?” 

His eyes widened slightly. 

Her smile grew. 

“Oh my God.” Myles dropped his head against the back of the sofa. “That is not what I meant.” 

Callie fought down a laugh. “I didn’t say anything.” 

“You absolutely said something.” 

“I said, ‘A movie.’” 

“You said it weird.” 

That finished her. She laughed, watching him sink farther into the cushions. “How do you say ‘a movie’ weird?” 

“Exactly like that.” 

Myles rubbed both hands over his face. “I meant we could literally watch a movie.” 

Callie allowed him to suffer for another second before finally taking pity on him. “I know.” 

His hands lowered. 

He stared at her. 

Callie arranged her face into perfect innocence. 

“You’re messing with me.” 

“Maybe.” 

Myles shook his head. “I hate you.” 

Callie smiled. “No, you don’t.” 

The answer came out without thought, light and automatic, but once spoken it seemed to remain between them in a way the other jokes hadn’t. Callie realized what she had said at almost the same moment Myles did. 

His expression changed first. The mock annoyance faded, replaced by a slow smile. 

“No,” he said. “I really don’t.” 

Heat crept back into Callie’s cheeks, which was annoying enough without letting him see how effective the response had been. She turned toward the television before he could enjoy himself too much. 

“Pick a movie.” 

Myles was still smiling. “Any requests?” 

“Nothing terrible.” 

“That’s subjective.” 

Callie looked back at him. “Nothing you have to explain afterward.” 

He winced theatrically. “That eliminates most of my favorites.” 

“Sounds like a you problem.” 

Myles reached for the remote while Callie settled deeper into the sofa beside him. Their shoulders were still touching. 

Neither of them mentioned it. 

Neither of them moved. 

Related Images: