Once I’d showered, changed, and made it to lunch, I finally spotted Kennedy. Except she was in her wheelchair again. I frowned, getting up and leaving Cassian, Gage, and Logan behind at our table.
“Hey,” I said carefully once I reached her. I knew there was a metric fuckton of things I should be saying to her right now. Apologizing for last night, for starters, but I needed to know she was okay before I even got into any of that.
She set her lunch down on a table and eased out of the chair, making it clear that she wasn’t just using it for show. “Hi.” I expected her voice to be full of anger, but she sounded like she was the one trying to be careful not to upset me. It made my stomach feel sick. She was way too fucking good for me.
I sat down beside her. “What’s going on?”
“I think my mom figured out I wasn’t taking all my meds. She wanted bloodwork before she left for work this morning. She warned me at dinner, so I took everything last night.”
“So, what? You’ll take them for a few days and then get back off them?”
“I don’t know, Tristan. Maybe she’s right. What if I’m just letting one of my conditions quietly get worse?”
“I could take you to a doctor. Get a second opinion.”
Kennedy shook her head. She hugged her arms to herself, staring at her unopened lunch bag. “I don’t want to go behind her back like that.”
I waited, watching her. Inside, I felt at war. She needed me to protect her, but she didn’t need me to be her boyfriend. Being her boyfriend complicated her already complex life. It turned her mom into an enemy. It made guys like Cassian see her as a target. It brought me into her life, which was probably the worst of them all. I could try to be a good guy and I could care about her all I wanted. But at the end of the day, I knew what kind of person I was. I hurt people. It was as natural as breathing. I’d hurt Kennedy before, and it was only a matter of time before I’d do it again.
Maybe what was best for her was stepping back and watching her from a distance. I could still try to keep her safe, even if she hated my guts.
“You excited for the game tonight?” she asked, smiling sweetly.
I still couldn’t believe she could just ignore what happened last night. That she could look past thinking I’d been dumb enough to overdose on drugs.
Except I knew eventually, she’d see the real me and she’d toss me aside. It wouldn’t be any different than my parents.
“Tristan?”
I looked down, feeling the resolution solidify in me. “You ever finish that video for videography class?”
“Almost. I just need to do some touch ups on the edits.”
“Good. Then I don’t need to see you anymore.”
Kennedy looked like she’d had the wind knocked out of her. I wanted to look away, but I didn’t let myself. Embrace the pain. “I had my fun with you. Have a nice life.”
I got up and walked toward the exit of the cafeteria. It felt like I left a part of me sitting back on the bench beside her. When I stupidly looked back before leaving, I saw that her head was in her hands and her shoulders were shaking.
I’d thought once about how Kennedy was like a flame. How I enjoyed being around her because I liked the way it burned. Except I couldn’t help feeling like I’d just snuffed out that fire instead of preserving it.
35
Kennedy
I knew I shouldn’t have, but I went to the football game after school. Even though it felt like my insides had been scooped out and left to dry, I went and waited to see him come out on the field.
I’d spent most of the day feeling sorry for myself, including crying in front of Logan when he came to comfort me and through all my classes. But I eventually decided there was one thing I did know. I could fight this. I didn’t know why Tristan was trying so hard to push me away, but I didn’t need to.
It went back to what Logan had said. Keep trying. If I cared enough, I would keep trying.
Except there was another voice in my mind telling me it wasn’t that simple. This wasn’t all some grand act or something deeper. It was actually blindingly simple.
Tristan saw me in my chair again. He had already been having doubts and distancing me. But seeing me in my chair today was the final straw for him. It was the last reminder that I’d always be the difficult one. The broken girl. The burden.
He was one of the four kings of Parker High, and he didn’t want to have a girl in a wheelchair anchoring him down.
So I didn’t come to the game to fight to convince him not to walk away. I just came to wallow. To watch him play, as if there’d be some secret key to understanding everything in the way he threw a ball to sweaty guys in tight pants.
Marne found me by the fence a little way into first quarter. She had a big, camouflage hoodie on despite the relative heat. “I heard the news,” she said.
“Which news? About how I got dumped? Or how pathetic I looked sobbing my way through my classes today?”
“Hey,” she said, giving me an awkward side hug. “Nobody judged you for crying about it. But I’ll admit, there were some legendary stories about how long the booger that fell out of your nose in sixth period was.”
I smiled wryly. “I appreciate that you’re trying to make me laugh, but I don’t really feel like I’m in a laughing mood.”
“Oh, I get it. The coolest guy in school was dating you, and now he’s not. You can’t even really cross your fingers that the next guy will be so hot you’ll make him jealous. Because… well, you already dated the hottest guy. It’s all downhill from here. And the worst part is his next girlfriend is either going to be in a wheelchair, or she’s not.”
I squinted up at her. “I’m not following how any of this is supposed to make me feel better?”
“You said you weren’t in a laughing mood. I thought that meant you wanted some help with the self-pity.”
That actually drew a chuckle from me. “Okay. Fine. So why would it be bad if his next girlfriend was in a wheelchair?”
“Because, if she’s in a wheelchair, it means he was just using you for the wheels. You were a fetish to him. Thinking about your round, rubber bubblies got him all hot and bothered. But he used you up and moved onto the next downhill wonder. Or. He dates a girl who isn’t in a wheelchair. In which case, you’re no competition. You know, functional legs and all.”
I angled my chair to the side and kicked Marne in the side of the leg. She nearly lost her balance, then glared at me. “What was that?”
“My functional leg.” I sighed. “You’re really bad at this.”
“Sorry. I’m not usually friends with people who date guys. My social circle is more like… Well, I guess two points make a line. You and me form my social line. Before you, it was a social point.”
I listened to Marne ramble for a few more minutes before she made some excuse about lactose intolerance and the ice cream she’d had earlier, excusing herself.
All that was left was to watch Tristan. I’d overheard some parents on the way into the game talking about how this was a big game. That scouts from some of the biggest colleges were here tonight.
But when I saw Tristan heading to the sideline after a rough first quarter, he was staggering. When he looked up in my direction with his helmet off, I thought I could tell, even from here, that he was drunk.
My stomach sank. Maybe I should’ve wanted ruin for him after he’d broken up with me, but I didn’t. I knew what this meant for him. I just wanted to go up to him and smack him on the back of the head and ask him what the hell he was thinking? Why couldn’t he let good things happen for himself? Why did he have to ruin everything?
By halftime, Tristan had been benched. He’d thrown three interceptions and the only touchdown Parker had was because Cassian ran through half the other team on a handoff.
When the team came back out after halftime, Tristan wasn’t with them. I managed to get Logan’s attention before the players took the field. “Where is he?” I asked.
Logan took a deep breath. I could tell he was hesitating—trying to decide if he wanted to tell me or not.
“Logan,” I said warningly.
“Coach blew up on him in the locker room. Said he got the results of a drug test back. Tristan tested positive for marijuana and some other shit. And he was obviously drunk. Coach kicked him off the team.”
I closed my eyes. “Where is he?”
Logan shook his head. “He stormed out. I have no idea, Kennedy. But you should take care of yourself. If you go after him, you’re just going to get hurt.”
“Thanks for the advice,” I said, pushing my chair back out toward the parking lot.
36
Tristan
I sat on the hood of my car in the school parking lot. Behind me, I could hear the distant, echoey call of the announcer over the speakers. From the sound of the roaring crowd, I guessed Gage was playing his ass off at QB and leading a comeback victory.
Yippy Fucking Doo.
I was too drunk to feel the real sting of what had happened. That was the problem with making such a habit of being blasted. My body was starting to get used to it, and I couldn’t even tell myself the lie that all the pain was gone. I knew it was waiting, like some big ass rubber band that I could pull away from myself with booze, but sobriety always brought it snapping back to me with enough force to make it sting like a bitch.
I dug through my car, hoping I’d forgotten a bottle of something in the backseat. I tossed out my bag of spare clothes for practice on the pavement, growing more irritated as I realized I didn’t have shit.
“Tristan?”
I stopped, still hunched over in the back seat.
Kennedy fucking Stills.
I straightened to my full height. Part of me had expected her to come back—to be too damn stubborn to take the breakup for what it was. It was like trying to get a puppy to leave your side for good. You couldn’t just ask it nicely to go. You had to throw a few rocks, even if it made you hate yourself.
“Fuck off,” I said. I started getting into the driver’s seat, but she pushed her chair over and stood, balancing on the door so she could reach inside the open window. She snatched the keys from the car and sat back in her chair, pushing herself back slightly. “You’re drunk. There’s no way I’m letting you drive out of here.”
“There it is,” I said, spreading my arms wide as I got out of the car. “There’s the fucking judgment. I’d been wondering how long it would take you to just say what you’d been thinking.”
“What are you talking about? I’m trying to help you.”
I curled my lip.
All I had to do was pretend she was my parents.
Picture my mom’s face or my dad’s face in that chair.
The anger boiled up all on its own. “You want to help me? How do you plan to do that from your wheelchair? You’re the one who needs help, Wheels, and I’m done babysitting your ass.”
Her face had been calm, but something in my words seemed to break her. Her lip shook and her eyes looked glassy. “You don’t mean that. I know what you’re doing, you’re just—”
“Get your crippled ass back home. I don’t need you. I never did. You were just like the rest of them—something to pass the time, but now I’m bored. So, get lost.”
Kennedy finally broke. She let out a painful sound that shot straight through me, making me feel sober in an instant. She pushed her chair back toward the football field, occasionally ripping a hand away from her wheels to wipe at her face.
In that moment, I thought there must not be a God. If there was, he’d be too disgusted with me to let me keep living. He’d open the fucking earth under my feet and let it swallow me up, because I knew I deserved it.
I slammed my fist into the hood of my car, denting it.
I was doing the right thing.
The alternative was alienating Kennedy from the only parent she had. It was choosing myself over her family. Her happiness. That’s all this was. I’d been pretending to be better for her. Pretending she had somehow managed to make me a good person when I was with her. Except even I wouldn’t be able to buy the lie if I had let things continue. I would’ve known what a selfish prick I was.
I got in my car to drive home and realized Kennedy still had my keys. I let my head rest on the steering wheel and groaned.
Goddammit.
37
Kennedy
My mom didn’t ask me any questions about why I was so upset until we got home from the game and I was preparing dinner. My throat felt raw and my eyes were like two swollen, throbbing balloons from all the crying I’d done. No matter how many times I tried to put it from my mind, I couldn’t stop hearing the things he’d said.
You want to help me?
How do you plan to do that from your wheelchair?
I’m done babysitting your ass.
Each word struck into me with a painful punch, solidifying the truth I’d been unwilling to see. Tristan was the same asshole I’d met this summer. I let myself buy into the lie that there was a good guy in there—the guy I’d seen tutoring in the library or the one who had sneakily replaced my camera and fixed my wheelchair. The one who brought me food when I was sick every day and helped me with my essay.
But all of that must’ve been a lie. It was just what he thought he needed to do to sleep with me.
The thought made me feel used and ugly. Like some kind of discarded toy.
I hated seeing myself that way, and I hated that I’d trusted him enough to let him have that kind of power over me.
At home, I decided to clean up the kitchen. With everything that happened since Tristan went to the hospital, I still hadn’t completely cleaned up the mess from our dinner with him. I scrubbed at the pots and pans I’d used, trying not to let my mind wander. I made an effort to focus intently on what I was doing, on getting every last goddamn piece of grease and remnant of food off the plates. I scrubbed so hard my hands hurt.
I reached for the glasses we’d used and started washing them. I picked one up, and then noticed there was some kind of powdery remnant at the bottom. I frowned, turning it over and studying it. Was that sugar?
I added a little water to the tiny remnant of sweet tea that was mixed with the powder, and the water didn’t make it dissolve. I stared for a few more seconds, then decided I had just left the dishes out too long and it must’ve been some sort of gross mold.
My mom called for me to hurry up because she had an early shift in the morning, so I quickly put away the rest of the dishes, including the mortar and pestle I hadn’t remembered using. It didn’t look that dirty, so I just shoved it in a cabinet before retrieving the store-bought lasagna I’d microwaved.
“I heard about your little boyfriend,” my mom said once we sat down.
I didn’t look up immediately. There were about three things irritating in the few words she’d just muttered, so I had to forcibly stop myself from responding to any of them. “What did you hear?” I asked sweetly.
“Just some rumors from a mom of a kid who goes to your school. He failed a drug test, right?”
I shrugged. Tristan didn’t deserve for me to feel protective, so I needed to stop wanting to throw something at my mom just for asking about it. “Yeah.”
“And what do you think about it?”
“He broke up with me at school today, mom,” I said, setting my fork down with a clatter. “So you can stop worrying about it. He doesn’t matter to me, anymore. He can get kicked out of school too, for all I care.”
There was a long pause, then my mom smiled. “Sometimes the things that are best for us don’t seem like good things right away. But give it time, and you might realize this is actually going to be a blessing.”
I couldn’t keep sitting there and listening to her. I knew she wasn’t, but everything she said somehow felt like gloating. Each word was making me more and more frustrated.
“I actually don’t have much of an appetite right now, mom. I’m going to go check
on my weeds.”
She sighed but cleared the annoyance from her face. “Okay, honey. Be careful. It’s dark.”
No shit. The thought surprised me. I wasn’t the type to talk back to my mom, even in my own head. I really needed to find a way to put everything behind me so I could get back to normal.
I wheeled myself outside, thinking how getting back to normal wasn’t normal at all. It would be getting back to living in a practical bubble—of letting my conditions define me.
I used to think of my mom as my protector and my caretaker. But now, when I thought about going back to how things were, it seemed more like she’d be my warden.
I flicked on the porch light so I could see my little garden. Even my weeds weren’t coming through for me. All but one was withering and almost definitely dead. I added some water to the whole bunch, anyway, just in case there was some little seed of hope in one of them left.
Before I headed back inside, I saw a dark figure walking down the road toward Tristan’s house. I squinted, then realized it was Tristan. I didn’t understand why he would be walking at first. Our school was at least five miles away. Then I felt the bulge of his car keys in my pocket.
I sighed.
He deserved worse for the things he’d said. I didn’t need to feel bad for him. Besides, he was way too drunk to drive, anyway. I decided I’d drop his keys at his doorstep tomorrow.
I watched him go, feeling strangely empty. I kept thinking he’d look my way. He had to have seen the back-porch light on. But he walked the whole way to the gate to his house and behind the trees without so much as a glance in my direction.
38
Tristan
Saturday came and went in a blur. I didn’t touch a drop of alcohol, and I wasn’t even sure why. All I did was lay in my room, sober for the first time in what felt like weeks. Completely sober.
Ruthless Love Page 16
