After Megan had left, he'd gone back inside, drained a cup of beer, then thought better of getting raging drunk. He needed to talk to Megan, and he needed to be sober, or mostly sober, to do that. He'd found Abby and argued with her for ten or fifteen minutes to convince her to take him home. Matt and Lance had just sat there watching them argue. Finally, she'd given in. Maybe Megan was somewhere else, blowing off some steam before she came home and had to confront him. He nodded to himself. Yeah. That was probably what was going on.
Chris flipped on the light in the bathroom. He needed to pee before he sat on the couch with a bottle of Gatorade to wait for her. The relief that had just settled in his chest coalesced and turned to ice, dropping low in his belly. There was too much space on the little bathroom counter. Megan's bag of makeup and the lotions she kept next to it were gone. He yanked open the door to the shower stall and noted the absence of her shampoo, conditioner, and razor.
She'd already been home and left. Going back into the bedroom, he noticed that her backpack wasn't in its usual spot and her phone charger wasn't plugged in next to the bed either. A cursory glance at the closet told him that she hadn't taken much with her, but it was clear that she wouldn't be back tonight.
Chris turned and punched the doorframe. “Fuck!”
It was obvious now that Abby had argued with him to give Megan time to get in and out of the house before he could get home. Why hadn't he seen that before? He had thought he'd worn her down with his stubbornness, but she had capitulated too easily when it came down to it.
“Motherfucker.” He kept up a steady stream of muttered curses while he grabbed the Gatorade out of the fridge, whatever buzz he'd managed to achieve at the party long since gone. This whole day had been a huge clusterfuck. And he wasn't sure how to fix any of it.
He pulled out his phone and texted Megan. Where are you? We need to talk.
He stared at it, willing her to text him back. Setting the phone on the kitchen counter so he wouldn't chuck it across the room in his frustration, he took a few deep breaths and chugged the sports drink. When he was done, he still hadn't gotten a response. He threw the empty bottle at the door to the side yard instead of his phone. It didn't help.
Abby. She had to know where Megan was. Where's Megan?
He tapped his fingers on the edge of his phone while he waited for her to answer. Surely she wouldn't just ignore him. After what felt like an eternity, but was really more like two minutes, his message showed that it had been read and the three little dots were flashing to indicate that she was typing. Final-fucking-ly. Maybe now he'd get some kind of answer.
Megan needs some space right now.
No she doesn't. She needs to talk to me.
The pause this time was longer. But Abby texted back. She saw you kissing another chick. Who was sitting on your lap. I'm not sure what there is for you to talk about.
That's not what happened. You were there, tell her what went down and then have her call me.
I was in the bathroom. All I know is what I was told. Megan saw you kissing someone else.
Fuck fuck fuck. Could he not catch a break? If Abby had witnessed what happened, then this misunderstanding would be over already. Matt or Lance had to have seen that chick climb on him and maul his face and then him toss her on the floor. That room was full of people. He had to be able to get someone to tell her what really happened, even if she wouldn't listen to him.
Is she at your place?
He was already grabbing his keys and heading out the door when her response came in.
Give her some space. You can try to talk tomorrow.
Fuck that. He was going to explain himself if he had to bust down the door. Lance would understand. Lance had to be on his side.
The drive to Lance and Abby's apartment seemed to take far longer than normal. The lights were all red, and he kept getting stuck behind the slowest people in town. He needed to talk to Megan. Now. Waiting like this was torture.
He slammed the car in park in the closest spot to their door he could find. The rain stung his bare arms. He'd left his jacket somewhere, and he couldn't even remember where.
His fist hammered the door. “Megan! We need to talk!” He pounded again.
After beating on the door yet again, it swung open and Lance filled the space. Chris tried to muscle past him, but Lance's hands on his chest pushed him back and held him outside the door. Chris pushed against him, trying to see over his shoulder into the apartment, but he couldn't see anyone inside.
“Whoa, Chris. Back up. I said back up!”
Lance shoved him, and Chris stumbled back a couple steps. Lance took advantage of the space and stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind him. Chris had been hoping that Lance had gotten softer since he wasn't playing anymore and Chris was just coming off a season full of hard workouts and harder practices. No such luck. Lance still lifted regularly from the looks of it.
He really didn't want to punch one of his best friends, but if Lance wasn't going to move out of his way soon, he just might. Why was Lance coming between him and Megan?
Chris ran a hand through his hair. “Is Megan here? I know she's gotta be here. I need to talk to her.”
Lance leaned back against the door, his arms crossed, blocking the handle, his eyes on Chris's torso, reading his movements, ready to defend the door more if necessary. Lance's eyes flicked to Chris's face for a moment. “Look, man. I know you want to talk to Megan, but I don't think now's a good time.”
“What the fuck, man? You were there, right? You saw what happened. I didn't do anything.” Chris could feel himself losing his grip on the situation. He took a step closer to Lance so that they were only inches apart. Too bad he and Lance were the same height. His chances at physical intimidation were low, but he'd pull whatever tricks he had in his arsenal, small as that may be. “You need to let me in. I need to talk to Megan, explain what happened.”
Lance's hand came up, stopping him. “Dude, you need to take a step back. I'm on your side here. I know what happened.”
Chris deflated. Someone was on his side. He took a step back and put a few more inches between him and Lance. “Good. Okay. Then let me talk to Megan.” He gestured toward the door.
Lance shook his head, and Chris had to force his hands to relax so they weren't forming fists. “I already told you. Now's not the time to talk to her.” He looked away, toward the street lamp in the parking lot, watching the rain falling outside the protective cover of the doorway, then back at Chris. “I’m sorry, man. I already tried talking to her, but she's not in a place where she's willing to listen. Give her some time to calm down. Try again tomorrow.”
Chris took another step back, turning around and threading his fingers in his own hair. “Fuck.” He said it quietly, then again, louder. “Fuck!”
“I know. I'm sorry, man. If I thought she'd see you without throwing things at your head or clawing your eyes out, I'd let you in. Let her cool down. I'll see if I can talk to her tonight and explain what happened. If I can, I'll try to get her to call you.”
Chris turned back around, and he could see the frustration written on Lance's face. He let out a breath, and nodded. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
Lance looked him up and down and shrugged. “I’ll do what I can. I'm not promising anything, though.”
Chris nodded again, feeling dejected now. Lance stood up away from the door, one hand on the handle. “Night, man.”
“Night.” Chris turned and headed back out into the rain, walking slowly to his car. He didn't even notice the rain soaking through his shirt or the goosebumps where the cold water hit his skin. Once back in the car he sat there for a moment but didn’t turn it on yet. He pounded a fist on the steering wheel. “Fuck!” He did it again. It didn't matter, though. Hitting things wouldn’t ease the ache in his chest or unfreeze the ball in his gut. The only thing that could do that was talking to Megan and getting her to understand what had happened so she’d come home and curl up in
his bed again.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Megan woke up disoriented and took a minute to come back to herself. She moved her head to look around the room and realized she wasn't home. Her fingers ran over the nubby texture of the upholstery while she lay on the couch facing the back trying to remain in her emotionless cocoon as long as possible.
They'd gotten lucky when they'd found this couch on Craigslist. It was in great shape, not too expensive, and a nice sage green. Most of the stuff in their budget had been 90s pastel clown barf colors, but they'd scored a sweet deal on this one. Megan let out a sigh, missing her old couch, missing living with Abby, missing the time before everything blew up in her face.
She rubbed the grit out of her swollen eyes, not looking forward to seeing her reflection in the mirror after having cried herself to sleep the night before. Lance and Abby's fridge had only held two beers, which she'd drained before they’d gotten home. She’d hoped to numb herself but knew it wouldn't be enough. At least she didn't have a hangover to add to her misery, much as she'd wanted to get drunk. Her current headache was all leftover from crying so much last night.
After she'd gotten to Lance and Abby's apartment she'd tossed her bag in a corner and gone straight for the fridge. They'd come home less than an hour later. Chris had texted her about the same time. She'd glanced at it and turned off her phone.
When he'd texted Abby, she'd looked at Megan. “He'll come over if someone doesn't answer him.”
Megan had just nodded and gone to the bathroom while Abby texted him back. When he'd shown up after that, Megan and Abby had gone to the bedroom and waited for Lance to deal with him and send him away. Lance had tried to talk to her, to explain what had happened, but she'd shut him down. Abby knew Megan well enough to convince him to leave her alone, give her some space, and they'd gone to their bedroom, casting glances at her as they went.
It wasn't until she was alone that Megan had let her tight rein on her emotions loose and the tears had started to fall. She'd muffled her sobs in the pillow until she'd exhausted herself and fallen asleep.
She heard doors opening and closing and the sounds of someone in the bathroom. Keeping her face to the couch, she tried to ignore the footsteps entering the living room, hoping they'd continue to the kitchen for breakfast or something and leave her alone for a little while longer. No such luck.
“Megan.” It was Lance. “Can we talk?”
She deliberated for a moment. It had to happen sooner or later. She couldn't pull the blanket over her head and stay that way forever. Might as well get it over with. She rolled over to face Lance. He sat on the coffee table wearing a pair of blue flannel lounge pants and a worn looking white t-shirt, his arms resting on his knees.
Megan twisted her mouth into something she hoped resembled a smile. “You got the short straw, huh?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Abby's still sleeping.” One corner of his mouth turned up. “She probably wouldn't want me talking to you without her, but …” He shrugged a shoulder. “You need to know what happened last night. Abby wasn't in there. But I was. And Matt was.”
Megan rubbed her hands over her face and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes for a moment before she sat up. “I don't know what you can say to make me feel any different. Chris had some chick on his lap and was kissing her. Since you were there, you obviously saw that.”
Lance nodded. “Yeah. But you didn't see what happened before that and you left before you saw what happened next. Chris was sitting on the couch with his eyes closed. I think he might've even fallen asleep. That chick climbed onto his lap and started kissing him before he could react at all. He pushed her away and told her off. In front of everyone. If you'd stuck around for another thirty seconds, you would've seen it too.”
The room started to get blurry, and Megan blinked hard a couple times and rubbed her eyes again to dispel the gathering moisture. She picked at some fuzz on the blanket, unable to meet Lance's eyes. “It doesn't really matter, Lance. She was grinding on him, and he didn't look too upset when I saw them. Even if he pushed her away after that. So he didn't take her in a room and fuck her then and there. It's just a matter of time. If not her, then it'll be someone else. I'm not going to wait around until our convenient arrangement isn't interesting enough and he starts to look elsewhere.”
She could feel Lance's eyes on her, but she still wouldn't look up. He was silent for a long moment. “Maybe you're right,” he said finally. That surprised her enough to look at him. He shook his head, a tiny motion. “I don't think you are, though. If that were the case, he would've moved on a long time ago.”
Megan waved a hand, dismissing Lance's comment. “He's been gone half the semester, and when he's home he's busy with practice and school. He hasn't had time to get bored yet. But the season's over, he'll be home all the time now. He'll get bored. It's just a matter of time. I can’t—” She bit off the words, shutting her mouth, not wanting to give too much away. Not to Lance, especially. He might be living with her best friend, but he was still tight with Chris. She didn't need whatever she said getting back to him.
Lance looked her over, his gaze more perceptive than she'd ever given him credit for. “I’ve known Chris for a while now.” She nodded. She knew they'd been friends since they were freshmen, along with Matt. “I haven't ever seen him with anyone more than once.” He caught her eyes and held her gaze. “Ever.”
Megan nodded again. That wasn't new information either, but Lance seemed to think it was significant. “All the more reason to view our … relationship as what it is. An anomaly. It can't last.”
He nodded, looking thoughtful, scratching under his jaw. “You know, some might've said the same thing about Abby and me. Chris and Matt made a similar argument over the summer.”
She let out a huff of laughter. “You can't compare Chris and me to you and Abby. It's not the same at all.”
“How so?” He wore a neutral expression, eyebrows raised, inviting elaboration.
She shook her head again. “You were in love with each other before you tried to move back to Texas. Even if neither one of you would admit it, it was plain to see for everyone else.”
Lance let out a thoughtful hum, and she wasn't sure if he was agreeing or not.
“Chris and I have … an arrangement more than a relationship. We live in the same house. It's convenient for us both. He doesn't have to go around chasing girls when there's one waiting for him. That's what I am to him. Convenient. Until he gets bored.”
“Right.” Lance's tone made it clear he didn't believe her. Not that it mattered. Maybe she didn't see Chris as a convenience, but it was painfully clear that he didn't see her as more than that.
“Whatever. At the beginning of all this I made it clear that he just needed to let me know when he wanted our arrangement to end so he could hook up with other chicks. I'm taking last night as his notice. I just don't want to listen to him fucking someone else in the next room, okay?” The last part came out a little more heated than she'd intended, but Lance didn't seem surprised or upset by her vehemence. Instead, he just nodded slowly, a knowing look on his face.
“Alright. Does that mean you're planning on moving out of the house?”
“Yeah. I can’t—” She swallowed hard. “I can't stay there anymore.”
He nodded. “Matt'll be disappointed. He hates finding roommates. But stay as long as you need. If you need help finding a new place or moving your stuff, let me know.”
He stood, and Megan watched him, not quite sure how to respond. First he was defending Chris, trying to repair their relationship. But now he seemed to have accepted that she didn't want to repair anything, regardless of the circumstances of the kiss at the party. At least he wasn't mad about her staying in his apartment.
Lance stretched, his hands almost touching the ceiling, scratched his stomach, and stepped toward the kitchen. “Hungry? We have eggs or cereal, whichever you prefer.”
Megan blinked a couple times and
stared after him. She wasn't expecting such a sudden subject change. “Uh, sure. Eggs sound good.”
* * *
For the first time since he'd been at Marycliff, Chris was glad that they had classes the first two days of Thanksgiving week. Most people skipped out early on Tuesday, but still went to class on Monday. He hoped Megan would follow that trend instead of going home and taking the whole week off.
She hadn't come back to the house all weekend, and now he stood outside the tutoring center and waited to see if she'd come for work. Matt had his usual appointment with her and he'd gone in to see if she was there. Chris lounged outside the door, the air crisp and leaves crunching under his feet, hoping to catch her on her way out.
If this didn't work, he wasn't sure what he'd do. He'd tried calling and texting her again on Sunday, but her phone had gone straight to voicemail and she’d never responded to his texts. Lance had told him to give her some space, so he was trying to, but he needed to see her, to talk to her, figure out what was going on in her mind and plead his case. The longer she went without talking to him, the more worried he became.
Chris straightened when the door opened and Matt walked out. Alone. The brief swell of hope in his chest died before it had fully formed.
Matt walked toward him, his mouth set in a grim line. “She didn't come in today.”
“Fuck.” Chris took a deep breath and forced himself to relax his clenched fists instead of punching the maple tree next to him. “Shit. I was really counting on her being here today.”
“I know. She won't answer my calls either. Have you talked to Lance or Abby since Saturday?”
Chris shook his head. “I’m trying not to act like a psycho stalker.”
Matt's mouth twisted in a half grin. “Dude, you're waiting for her outside where she works. How is that not stalking?”
Convenient Fall (Players of Marycliff University Book 2) Page 16
