Into Your Arms

by Chelsea M. Cameron

“I love to hate them. It’s a weird relationship,” Tobi says, plugging in her earbuds and winking at me before she turns up the speed. I mirror her actions and set mine. Not nearly as fast as hers. When I can go at my own pace, I go slow. As long as I get my time in, it’s good enough.

  I start by walking and then up my pace. I glance over at Rhett every now and then but try not to be too obvious about it. He’s running with his shirt off. Of course. Sweat glistens on his chest, and I’m not the only one noticing him. Someone pokes my arm and I turn to find Tobi shaking her head at me.

  “Stop staring. You’ll trip and break your face.” I roll my eyes, but she’s right. I can’t lust over Rhett and run at the same time. It’s only been a short time since we fucked and let’s just say I’m missing it. A little. And I’m hormonal. And needing some hang and bang. Mentally slapping myself, I focus on my running. Ten minutes to go and then I’m free. The gym is surprisingly packed for early in the morning, but student athletes have to work out where they can, when they can. It’s a sacrifice we make, and as much as I hate it, I would rather do this than not do cheer. I can’t imagine my life without cheer.

  The next time I look over, Rhett’s treadmill is occupied by a girl who definitely isn’t him. Where did he go? I still have a few minutes and then a cool down so I can’t just look around and see if he’s hitting the weights.

  Tobi kicks my ass and finishes first, grinning at me.

  “See you later. Oh, and he’s by the bench press. Because I know you want to talk to him.” She squeezes my arm and heads off. I make it through my cool down and wipe my neck and face with a towel. I’m sweating like hell. I get off the treadmill and fix my ponytail before heading to the other side of the gym where the weight machines are. Sure enough, Rhett is there, pressing a ridiculous amount of weight. Of course. That bod just doesn’t happen without work. He’s actually gotten stronger and more chiseled since he’s been on the squad. Not that I’ve noticed.

  “How’s it going? Feeling better?” I ask once he’s finished and is wiping his face with a towel.

  “Yeah, fine. I think it was just a twenty-four-hour thing,” he says, panting a little.

  “Oh, that’s good. Would have been a shame for you to miss practice again. I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come over. Or have me come over. Or . . . you know.” I can feel my face getting red, and I look around to make sure that no one can overhear me. I don’t know why I’m suddenly being shy with him. It’s not like we haven’t fucked before.

  But now . . . I don’t know. Rhett’s seen me break down. He knows what my hair looks like in the morning. There’s a toothbrush that he’s used hanging out next to mine in my bathroom. Even though I’ve tried to keep up boundaries, he’s sunk into my life anyway. Not that I did much to stop him. I let it happen. I wanted it to happen.

  “Yeah, I’d like that,” he says, his voice low and intimate. Like we’re completely alone and not in a room full of sweating college students.

  “Yours or mine?” I ask.

  “Whichever. Doesn’t matter.” Well, one of us has to make a decision.

  “Yours. I’ll bring my stuff,” I say. I need to get out of my life for a night.

  “Sounds good. I’ll go grocery shopping.” He gives me a smile and my entire body is a riot of tingles and flutters and how can his smile do that to me? I see it all the damn time, but it still works on me. I close my eyes for a moment and take a breath.

  “Good,” I say again. “I’ll see you later.” If I don’t hurry home now, I’m going to miss my first class.

  * * *

  I dash home after practice (which is light years better than yesterday’s) and for some reason, I can’t decide what to wear. I’ve never cared what I wore in front of Rhett before. Mostly since he’s seen me in everything and nothing. So why do I want to impress him now? It’s all backward.

  Get a grip, Freya.

  I don’t stop myself before I reach into my drawer and find my cutest bra and undies set. It’s relatively new and in a dark red lace that makes me look like a sexy vampire. Or something. I know it’s ridiculous, but I end up putting it on under my T-shirt and sweatpants.

  Totally ridiculous. He’s going to notice that I’m wearing something different, and he’s going to comment on it and then I’m going to be embarrassed. Seriously, though, that’s not the worst thing that’s happening to me lately. I’ve got so much other shit going on, why does this matter?

  I think I’m losing my damn mind.

  * * *

  By the time I show up at Rhett’s, I’m fretting and stressed and he notices immediately.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I say, shaking my head and dropping my bag. “Food first. Fuck after,” I say and he raises his brows.

  “Direct.”

  “That’s me,” I say with what I hope is a convincing smile.

  “French onion soup okay?” Perfect. I definitely need some sort of comfort food. Melissa made the best French onion soup. She’d always bring it to me in the same ceramic container with blue flowers on it when I was sick. I miss that dish.

  “Yeah,” I say and go to the kitchen to help him chop a shit-ton of onions.

  * * *

  After we’ve both cried from the onions and simmered them for-freaking-ever, the soup is made and we’re on the couch.

  “Do you want to play cards or something?” he asks.

  “Um, sure,” I say. We usually just watch movies and so forth, but whatever. He gets out a deck.

  “What do you want to play?” he asks me. I shrug.

  “I don’t really know many games. Except War. Mia and I used to play that all the time.” Dammit. I didn’t mean to say her name, but he doesn’t even pick up on it. Or maybe he does and he just hides it well.

  “War it is,” he says, shuffling the cards with a flourish and then dealing them out. It’s a basic game where you both put a card down and the highest wins both cards. We decide aces are high and then flip our cards. Usually Mia and I played until one person had collected the entire deck, which could take hours. Sometimes we would go all night. Or try to.

  The only sound is of the cards sliding against each other and the swipe of our hands as we pick up the ones we’ve won.

  “You sure you’re doing okay?” I ask as we flip and he wins my card and his own back.

  “Yup,” he says, focusing entirely on the cards.

  “Okay then,” I say, sighing.

  “Are you?” Well, crap. I didn’t know he was going to do that.

  “Yup,” I say and now I’m the one who can’t take their eyes off the cards.

  “You don’t want to talk about what happened the other night by any chance, do you?” Now I look up to find him watching me. I slap down an ace. He puts down a four. I swipe the two cards.

  “No, I don’t,” I say and he wins the next hand.

  “Okay. Just checking. Because if you wanted to, you could. I might understand you better than you know.” I narrow my eyes. What is he talking about? Has he figured me out? There’s no way. I mean, I didn’t say anything about the fact that I’m adopted. But I guess, maybe, me having a breakdown when he told me that he was in the foster system might lead him to that conclusion.

  Fuck.

  I might be busted. There’s only one way to get him off the current line of inquiry. I throw my cards down and lunge at him, latching my lips to his. He pushes me away.

  “You really need to stop using sex to avoid talking about things you don’t want to talk about,” he says, his face so close to mine that his face is blurry. His hand is on my chest, and I am so tempted to shove my hand down his pants and keep trying, but that might only make things worse.

  “I’m not,” I say, sticking my tongue out and licking his lips.

  “Freya,” he says, pushing me a little more firmly.

  “What?” I say, sitting back on my heels. “I don’t like to talk about things, okay? What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with not telli
ng everyone every single bit of my personal life?” Now I’m pissed. Some of the cards scatter on the floor.

  Rhett sighs and looks at the ceiling, as if he’s begging for mercy.

  “I’m not saying you have to do that, Freya. No one is asking you to do that. I just want you trust me. To share things with me. I know you don’t share things with anyone. You’re a safe that no one knows the combination to. It’s fine to keep things to yourself, but it’s also good to share things with someone. Share your secrets so they’re not so heavy. Let someone else in.” I want to get up and storm out, but then he continues.

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this? I told you some things before, and it didn’t go well.” I feel ashamed of myself.

  “I know. And I’m sorry about that. But I’m here now. And I’m listening.” He waits for a moment, giving me one last out. I stay.

  “My story isn’t pretty, so here goes: my parents died in a car crash when I was six months old. Drunk driver. I didn’t have any relatives or anyone to take custody of me, so I was put into foster care. I’ve lost count of the number of homes I was in. When I was a teenager, I got myself into a lot of trouble and finally ended up in a group home.” I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe and I can’t move.

  “I aged out. And I had a teacher that was nice to me and helped me get into college here. Helped me with financial aid, all of it. Inspired me to do something for kids like me. So there you go. That’s my story.” He licks his lips and takes a shaky breath. I try to take one, but my chest is too tight. I try again and finally manage it.

  “Oh,” I say. Such an insufficient syllable for everything he’s just given me. I don’t know what to say. What to do.

  Rhett has handed me something precious and fragile, and I don’t deserve it. I’m so awful to him and he’s been nothing but wonderful and I really don’t deserve it. What did I do to get him to notice me and want to keep spending time with me? It can’t just be the sex, which is incredible.

  “Why?” I finally manage.

  “Because I trust you. Because I want you to know everything about me. The good stuff and the bad stuff. And because to get someone to trust you, sometimes you have to show them how. So there. You can ask me absolutely anything, and I’ll tell you. Because I trust you and I care about you, Luna.” The nickname is like a shard of ice in my chest. This is too much.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I say.

  “That’s okay. Neither do I.” He smiles and my chest starts feeling a little less tight. How can a simple smile do so much?

  “I’m a little fucked up, Rhett. I don’t know if you know that,” I admit.

  His smile widens for some reason.

  “All the best people are.”

  * * *

  After that, things are a little awkward. I want to fuck, but it seems too intimate after what he told me. So he suggests ice cream, which I take him up on.

  “What . . . what was it like?” I ask. Now that I’ve gotten over my initial shock about him (no breakdown this time!), I’m curious. Because I could have been him. I could’ve been the one tossed from foster home to foster home. I have no idea if I would have been better off. Maybe a home would have been good and they would have loved me. Maybe Mia’s family would have really adopted me and I could have been her sister and they could have been my parents. Maybe.

  Or maybe not. I don’t have a crystal ball. All I have is the life I was given and the potential for a new one.

  “What was what like?” he asks, coming back with two bowls and a tub of ice cream, whipped cream, sprinkles and maraschino cherries. He’s really gone all out. Like he was expecting this or something.

  “Growing . . . growing up in the foster system?” I can barely get the words out. I hope he doesn’t notice how shaky I am as I pick up a bowl of ice cream and the container of sprinkles.

  “It was good and bad. I had good homes and bad homes. It wasn’t a complete shit show, but it wasn’t great either. And there were so many times when I thought I’d found a family to take me, but something or another happened and it didn’t work out. That fucks a person up. I’ll probably never know how messed up I am because of it.” He laughs a little and shrugs as he sprays whipped cream on his ice cream. I’m shocked at how cavalier he’s being about it, but he seems to be cavalier about a lot of things. Defense mechanism? Probably.

  I know all about those.

  “So you never got adopted?” I can’t believe I’m talking about this. I have to keep adding stuff to my ice cream bowl so I have something to look at and something to do with my hands to distract myself from looking at him.

  “No,” he says and I look up. His smile falters for a second. “But I’m okay. I ended up having some nice teachers who helped me out, and I wouldn’t be where I am without one encouraging me to go to college. I was set to just work bum jobs for the rest of my life, but then she told me that I could do more and helped me fill out forms and everything. She was amazing.” I feel tears wanting to fall from my eyes, but I won’t let them.

  “That’s really good, Rhett,” I say, my voice thick.

  “You can ask me anything you want, Freya. I’m an open book about it. I know I haven’t been and I don’t really talk about this with anyone, but if that’s what it takes for you to trust me, then that’s what I’ll do.” I shiver and not because the ice cream is cold.

  He’s serious. When I glance up, he’s giving me one of those looks and it hits me in the chest and makes my toes want to curl but also makes me want to run at the same time. It’s the kind of look that someone gives someone if they love them.

  Rhett doesn’t love me. He can’t. But he’s looking at me like . . .

  My ice cream spoon clatters to the floor, so I hurry to grab it and run to the sink to wash it off.

  “Well, you don’t have to do that, Rhett. You don’t have to tell me all your secrets.”

  “But what if I want to?” I don’t know what to say to that.

  We both lapse into silence as we eat our ice cream.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “Yup,” I say, picking up a cherry and popping it into my mouth.

  “Okay,” he says. “Just making sure.”

  I take a breath.

  “I was adopted,” I blurt out. I can’t believe I’ve said the words to someone else. He puts down his bowl and waits, not moving.

  “I was adopted,” I say again. “I was adopted and my parents never told me. They never told me, and I didn’t find out until last year, and now everything is all fucked up.” Awesome, I’m crying again. My ice cream bowl clatters to the floor and then I’m swept up in Rhett’s arms again. This time I don’t fight it. I just let it out. There’s a weird howling sound, and I think it’s coming from me. I could not give a fuck.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay. Just let it out,” Rhett says, his voice rumbling through his chest as he pats my back and lets me go for it. I’m really a complete wreck with this guy. It’s a good thing I don’t want to have a relationship with him. I’ve definitely blown that with all of the emotions and all of the breakdowns and everything else.

  I sob on Rhett’s chest and he just lets me. He lets me and holds me, and I don’t know what to do anymore.

  15

  Rhett

  There it is. She finally let it out. Of course, as part of the catharsis, she ends up breaking down again, but I expected that. Letting out secrets that you’ve been keeping so long is emotional. She couldn’t see how much I was freaking out when I told her because it was all internal. I almost felt like I was going to throw up, but I kept a (hopefully convincing) smile on my face.

  After she cries it out, I get her some tissues and then she washes her face.

  “I’m really bad about breaking down in front of you, apparently. You bring out emotions in me. I don’t like it,” she says, but she’s laughing a little.

  “I’m sorry?”

  She shakes her head. “No worries. I’m just a fucking wreck.” She’s not, and
I wish she wouldn’t think that way, but I can only say it so many times. Freya needs to believe it herself.

  “So, I’m guessing you have questions,” she says, sighing.

  “Only if you feel like giving me answers,” I say. I hate that I already know a little of what she’s going to tell me, but I don’t think I should say anything. If she tells me, then what’s the difference? I can’t handle the idea of her not trusting me since she just told me something so huge.

  “Well, I already started, so I might as well continue.” She blows her nose again and tells me.

  “My parents always acted like I was an annoyance. Like a rock in their shoe. I was always too loud, or took up too much space. And that’s when they actually noticed me. Most of the time they chose to ignore me. I have no idea what possessed them to adopt me in the first place, honestly. Maybe someday I’ll ask them. I remember that they’d get angry if I left any of my things in the living room. They didn’t like evidence of me being there. I learned to confine all of my stuff to my room.” Jesus Christ. That sounds awful.

  She continued.

  “So, anyway, I just thought that I was going to be on my own and then . . . Then one day I was in my dad’s office because I needed my birth certificate to fill out some forms. And that’s when I found it. The folder with my original birth certificate and the adoption papers. It changed everything. I just . . . For the first time I had hope that there was someone out there who wanted me. That maybe I had a mother who really did love me. I know I had Melissa and Neil, but this was something different. I could have a family that was mine.” I could absolutely understand her. We were so similar.

  “And then a week later my parents basically told me they were going to cut me off financially if I didn’t quit doing cheer and focus on school. My grades were good, but I think they wanted a reason to wash their hands of me and that’s what they chose. Anyway, I told them I wasn’t quitting cheer and started looking for other colleges. It almost seemed like fate when I got a scholarship to MSU. What were the chances that I’d get a good financial-aid package from a school in the same state that my birth mother lived in? I couldn’t pass it up. So I packed up my car, said goodbye to Mia and her parents, and came here. So. Now you know everything.”