by Kat Kenyon
“What’s your problem?” she snaps, copping an attitude.
People are watching, but I don’t care. I deserve it. We both do whether she admits it or not. How many times did I tell her no? She knew…
I glare at her and stand. “Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me. We aren’t friends. You’re a slut, just like me. The difference is, I feel bad. Now get the fuck away from me.”
“That’s such bullshit.” Her perfectly painted face reddens as she sucks in her lips, her eyes narrowing and glancing side to side.
“You knew how I felt. I told you what I wanted, what did you do, huh?”
A moment passes as we stare at each other, her eyes glistening, and she looks at me as if I should feel guilty, and I do, but not about hurting her. The only person I have room to feel anything for is Rayne.
“You weren’t drunk in your room,” she whispers, sweeping her hands down her shirt to her mini-skirt. Smoothing it out, she straightens with all the dignity she can, glancing away again.
“My life was already fucked by then. You knew that. I didn’t want you, so what were you doing there?”
“Go to hell.” Grabbing her bag, she tries to slam my shoulder, but she can’t move me, not my shoulder or my conscience, because I’m already there.
Shay isn’t innocent. Neither is Valerie, or me, and I have to own that. But whether I’m with my girl or not, they don’t get a piece of me. They don’t get to stand near me, let alone touch me. I never want Rayne to see that. I don’t want to hurt her more than I already have.
It’s the least I can do for being so weak before.
Chapter Two
Rayne Mathews
“You gonna keep skipping cardio?”
Ethan’s big chest is sprawled over my desk with his big hands pressed against his cheeks when I walk into Advanced Biology.
He’s sat next to me all semester, talking, getting my notes, studying together for midterms, and I thought we were friends, but I’m not big on trusting the team right now. Finding out my boyfriend cheated crushed me, and I don’t believe the team didn’t know, which means they aren’t my friends. Except for a tiny few people, I’m out. And he isn’t one of them.
“Probably,” I answer. It’s not his business where I run or who with.
As I take my seat and pull out my laptop, the melodramatic asshole sighs, practically rolling over on my desk like a wounded animal. “You know the rest of us miss you? You’re our Little Sis. We care about you.”
I’m so over it.
I try to shove him off my desk, but he doesn’t budge. “Don’t give me that shit. You care about what I do for you.”
“Rayne, he’s miserable,” he says, taking up my entire space, his blue eyes serious.
He’s miserable?
The insinuation I should…no. Stupid tears start to come again, and I want to punch his stupid grinning face. “Ethan, shut up! Now…shut up, right now.”
Am I supposed to feel bad for him? Fuck him, fuck them, and fuck everyone else who knew and didn’t tell me! If I could afford to miss a class, I’d pack up my stuff and walk out. But I can’t. I can’t rely on someone else for good notes. No matter what’s going on in my life, I have a dance scholarship to maintain and a pharmacy program to focus on.
This time when I shove him, he moves and sits down, watching me like I’m going to blow. I try to focus on the professor for the next ninety minutes. Through wavy vision and a tight chest, I write notes and listen the best I can.
I don’t learn a damn thing.
Fucking Ethan!
When I get to work, my coworker Beth tells me I have the day off.
It’s the last thing I need or want. Avoiding my black hole of a room, I head to the library, attempting to get a jump on homework and keep myself moving. I’m well aware of how dangerous standing still is to my mental health, so I get lost in the back of the stacks tracking down a book I need for my writing class.
I’m lost in the words, focusing on my task, when I’m startled by fingers tracing up my arm. The light touch is whisper-soft, delicate, it’s the touch of a lover…but isn’t my love…it isn’t Ty.
“Tiny.” His lips are right by my ear. “I want you to know I’m here for you.” His voice is the whispered voice of my nightmares and all things ugly.
When I start to pull away, strong fingers clamp down, keeping me close, letting me know he has the power. My heart races like a hummingbird’s, a chill spreading across my skin. Gabriel Stevens terrifies me, and I knew he’d be back.
Lowering his head so his cheek grazes mine, he sends a puff of air across my clenched jaw. Instantaneous tears spring to my eyes, his smell and presence bringing a Pavlovian response of fear and pain. He knows it, and he loves and hates it because he whispers, “Don’t fucking do that!” He gives me a little shake. “You know I don’t like it. Why do you do that when you know—”
A heavy hand slapping against heavy wood snaps us both to the end of the aisle, to see the only other person capable of making me cry. Gabe grunts and steps away, fully aware Ty’s never allowed him to approach me, and the immediate promise of violence in Ty’s eyes causes him to release me and disappear to wherever he came from.
I don’t watch him make an escape, but the sound of his footfall retreating and the sensation of ugly disappears with him, leaving me with Ty, who watches over my head until he’s gone.
He came, just like he promised.
But it’s still over.
Ty’s light brown hair is tousled, obviously ignored, his deep red Warriors’ hoodie pulled up around his neck, his bag hanging loosely off both shoulders. Black smudges mar his perfect face, looking wrong under his gold-green, hazel eyes. The lines of his face look sharper, harder, and the change in him hits me in the chest like a hammer.
“Baby.” His voice feels like the soft stroke of his hand, a caress, and when he drops his eyes, I’m hit with the wash of his pain along with my own. He cracks open what little bit of me I’m pasting together with makeup and cute accessories. Spit and compression clothes. Fake smiles and cat memes.
“I’m not your baby,” I whisper, my voice as broken as my heart.
I wanted to be. You didn’t want me.
“I wish I could take it back, Rayne. I never, never, I just…” His normally bright eyes are dark, as his shoulders slump, chin to his chest. He looks as wrung out and as defeated as I am.
I fall against the bookshelf, the lump in my throat making words hard to come by. “Even if that’s true, you still did it.”
His eyes meet mine, and his hand snakes to his stomach, flexing and fisting so hard his fingers turn white. I feel him beg before he opens his mouth.
“Hit me. Please. Hurt me. Something, but please don’t just cut me off. I’m—”
“Stop, Ty.” I can’t do this, I wish I could, and watching his hand clutch at his chest, in the same place the hole in mine gapes open, leaves me shaking as hard as he is. “Just stop. You need more than I can give you,” I plead. The pain behind his glossy eyes matches the salty burn in mine.
I don’t want this for him or me. I can’t fix this for him. I’m not functional. I wish I could close my eyes, count to ten, and make it go away because every second of the last week has killed me. Every time I see him, I start bleeding again. And I’m bleeding out. Every. Time.
“That’s not true.” His voice is a prayer I can’t answer. He glances up to where Gabe left. “Let me take care of you.”
“It is true because something in you made a relationship with me impossible. I wasn’t enough to make you happy. Figure it out or you never will be.” As I say the last word, a tear breaks free and he tries to blink it away. He gutted me and now we’re both flayed wide open.
It’s too much. And then…I run. Down the aisle, almost dropping my bag. Through the wide tables littered with students studying, trying not to sob. Away from him, and away from the pain, the hopelessness that comes from knowing I won’t get to keep the one I want more than anythi
ng.
• • • •
Hiding in my room is what I’m left with. There’s safety here. From the danger of Gabe, who found me yet again in the library despite being told to stay away, and from the source of my heartbreak, but it’s also where I’m alone with my thoughts. Not a good idea since I was found by Dylan in the senior square out of my mind crying. Pathetic, I know, and I’m still horrified by my weakness. Collapsing like that was weak and it won’t happen again. So, I’ve tried to stay busy every minute since then.
But, I’m out of luck. I don’t have any study groups because I’ve bowed out of all of them. Every group I had, had football players, and I don’t want to see them. No work or dance practice. I can’t go to the library, because I can’t afford to get caught alone there with Gabe on the lookout, and I can’t go for a run, because my legs and feet are shot.
All of this leaves me alone thinking about nights here with Ty. Then finding him in his doorway smelling of sex. One leaves me aching, the other makes me sick.
There’s a part of me that wants to believe he’s sorry, that he won’t do it again, but I can’t let myself, because that’s Emily talking. She’s never recovered from my dad and loses her fucking mind over guys. She let loser after loser abuse her…and me. It’s the stupid in me. People told me he was cheating, and I convinced myself that he wouldn’t do that. I told myself not to question Ty because he was under too much pressure.
What kind of idiot does that? That’s right, the me kind of idiot.
I wanted to believe in Gabe too and look how that turned out.
When I first went out with Gabe, he was so understanding about what my mom was like. We talked about the pressures of our lives, how much was expected of us. He seemed to understand the situation I was in, but quickly he started asking if I could do things for him just like so because he was stressed about his mom’s illness. Then he wanted me to respond to his commands.
How did I put Ty’s pressure over mine? Tracing the bruises on my arms from my run-in with Gabe, I’m reminded that I know better. But, knowing better doesn’t make me miss Ty less, or want him to hold me any less while I try to bury my face in my pillow. And it doesn’t mean Gabe’s done. Today tells me he’s definitely following me.
How do I do this…
Tyler—No. He’s Ty, and he’s not mine.
I can’t see through the tears flooding my eyes or hear the door open, but arms and bodies surround me, fingers brushing away the rivers of water and salt from my face, rocking me on the bed.
Tate and Tegs surround me, with Tate wedging herself between me and the wall and Tegs behind me, holding us both. “It’ll be okay, Rayne. Breathe, honey,” she whispers softly. “I’m so, so sorry. You’ll be okay. I promise.”
She keeps saying that. She promises. I keep waiting. But it isn’t getting better. I still can’t breathe. I still can’t sleep. I still can’t eat. But they stay. They stay with me through the night when I can’t be alone in my thoughts, as I dry heave through tears.
I don’t sleep, but I fade. And for right now, that has to be enough.
Chapter Three
Tyler Blackman
“You ready to go?” McVey asks.
“Yeah.”
Not even close.
My bags are packed like they always are. I’m doing things like I’m supposed to. It’s all I have.
I go to class. I go to practice. I’m not required to think, feel, or be anything real. I’m required to perform. So, I do.
Like a machine. A Cyborg, isn’t that what they call me?
It’s an ugly kind of funny. I’m doing what I’ve always done, but the world is colorless. I want nothing now except for the color to come back. Without it, I couldn’t give a shit.
“Come on,” McVey says as he cuffs me on the neck and heads for the bus. Another game. Another chance to prove myself to the team. To the coaches. To Dad. And I don’t care…because I don’t think she’ll be watching.
No. She won’t be watching.
No calls.
No texts.
No tweets.
No hashtags.
I don’t want this anymore.
She couldn’t stay with me. Not after what I did. She doesn’t even know it all. Not the truth of it. The whole thing is wearing me out. I want a clean conscience. I want to be the guy she can be safe with, and I’m not him.
You aren’t good for her right now.
I’m quiet the entire flight across the country, going through every step I have to do after we land, avoiding the cackling and ramping up of my teammates.
And in the end, I prepped and worked hard, but it was pointless. It’s not just Rayne I’m failing, because I’m not enough to keep us from losing the game. My performance was good, but it made no difference, and that should mean something to me, but it doesn’t.
It feels shitty to clean up in an Ohio shower with a second mark against us, but there’s no urge to hit anyone, no desire to kiss anyone. My history says I need to fuck or fight, but all my passion is gone. I’m in a deep freeze I can’t come out of. They might as well put me in cold storage at this point.
The coaches aren’t mad as we regroup in the locker room. They talk about learning from this game, about letting it go. They tell us to focus on the next one because it’s all that matters. And I listen from outside myself. They want us out of our heads and working with our hearts, but mine doesn’t work anymore.
When the quick meeting is over, I know I need to deal with Dad when I get to my phone. In the last couple days, he’s left me dozens of voicemails letting me know I’m cut off, texts telling me I’m done, so with this loss, I’m waiting for it. I should feel some fear, but instead, there’s cold rage at myself. For letting his weak threats ruin things for me and not recognizing how pathetic the whole situation was.
There was always a way out and I let myself be intimidated. So, when my phone rings, there’s nothing but rising anger even as I quietly answer with a curt yes, trying to keep our conversation private.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Mom’s voice coming across the phone causes my head to jerk up.
She’s been putting off my texts, letting me know we’ll talk this weekend while I’ve been desperate for help and now, she says she’s here…in Ohio.
Without Dad.
The idea of Mom alone shocks me. Dad doesn’t like her going anywhere without him, and always goes with her when she travels. There’s a bit of distrust as I walk down the hall to where family and friends wait, but when I see her, the truth of his absence is clear, because she’s in jeans and a T-shirt. It’s her favorite thing to wear and the thing he prevents her from doing when they’re traveling.
Dad doesn’t do dressed down in public.
I barely hear her, and when I leave my somber team, the pressure behind my eyes feels like a jackhammer and I can feel every hit from the game. I head to her, feeling like a five-year-old again when our eyes meet across the waiting room.
Her hug is tight when I get to her.
“Oh, honey. Sorry you didn’t win this time. Next time.”
When she pulls back, her eyes are glossy and my gut clenches, making me feel like I’m going to lose what little is in my stomach. The clear stress around her eyes weighing down her body says this is a hell of a lot worse. This isn’t about my texts. My breaking up with Rayne wouldn’t make her cry or fly across the country. A lost game certainly wouldn’t. If she’s here in Ohio by herself, I know it’s bad, and I have no doubt it leads back to me.
I did this.
“Come on, Tyler. We’re gonna go eat and talk.”
Mom’s already cleared my going out to dinner with her instead of the team, and I nod and hug her, following her out of the stadium. I don’t know what’s happened, but I wish I knew how to fix this.
I hope we can fix this.
• • • •
“Talk, Ty. Tell me what happened, all of it, from start to finish,” she says, nodding at me after we get our
food.
She’s sad rather than mad, but so much stronger than I expected, so I do.
For the first time, while I shove the steak around my plate, I tell her everything about Rayne and me from August to now, finishing with the last time I saw her. She looked terrified with Gabe’s hands gripped on her like a vise, so lost and broken, refusing to let me help.
Her weight loss scares me, she’s more fragile than before. A porcelain doll with hairline fractures. If I blew on her, she’d shatter. And I’m the hammer that caused those delicate lines of damage.
Instead of judging, Mom smiles softly and asks, “What do you want, honey?”
“What do you mean?” My eyes whip up, frustrated.
I just told you!
“What do you want from life?” Mom’s eyes find mine, searching.
“I want to—I don’t understand.”
My hands flex on the table, and I notice the bruises are healing. They didn’t bother me on the field today, which is good. I can’t let my performance drop. Football’s all I have right now and while I’m not getting much joy out of it, it’s mine.
The answers to life seemed simple a few months ago. Not so much now. Football isn’t the only thing I see in my future anymore. I want so much more than I did when I stepped on the field to try out for the team. The game’s empty without teammates you can trust, and life’s joyless if you don’t have love.
“What do you want out of life, honey? Construction is a tough degree program, especially with you playing ball. It’s a lot to manage, and you say you love this girl?” She shrugs while reaching for her mojito. “What do you really want?”
“Dad said—”
Mom’s teeth set and practically snap before her voice slices through the air, cutting me off, letting me know she’s pissed. “Forget your father.”
“Why?”
I don’t trust her. I haven’t forgotten her backing down in the hotel room, letting him act like a monster, so I’m not stepping into the line of fire without knowing what’s happening. It would be great if she’d paid attention for the last eighteen years, but she hasn’t.
