by Kat Kenyon
“That’s what I want to know,” Bay says, falling over his thighs, forearms braced on knees, his hands raking through his hair. His voice is raw, and his eyes stay locked on the floor, frustration bleeding from him.
Dylan and Mike are squished onto the futon with Bay, while Hatch and Matty have their arms pulled in on the other futon, trying to make room for Tegs to keep Tate in one place. Rounding out the room, Kevin is slumped in the bean bag mirroring mine.
Everyone was waiting when I came back from the administrator’s office with word that he wasn’t getting kicked out. Kinnerk tried hard to get the dean to listen, and it didn’t work.
Everyone is surprised except me. He put me in the hospital for three days and he didn’t spend a single night in jail. Nothing happened to him at all.
Money buys your way out of everything, and his daddy does whatever he has to, to make sure Gabe Stevens never faces repercussions for anything he does.
“He argued he was attacked by Blackman.” Kinnerk slumps down into one of the wrought-iron chairs from our dining table, running his hand down his face.
His efforts didn’t make a difference, and I can see it wearing on him. He doesn’t realize I’m not up against a soccer star, I’m up against a well-known, rich father who’ll do anything to make sure his baby boy is protected no matter what. The damage to me is irrelevant because I’m nobody; a no one as far as they’re concerned. Efforts to hold Gabe accountable just piss him off.
“So he claims,” Tate hisses.
I shrug. No one told the administration anything about Ty and Gabe’s interaction. No one saw a thing.
Not even me.
No one who was in the lobby speaks about it. No one will.
“Ty didn’t put the puta in the fucking building, what’s his excuse for that, huh?” Dark chocolate eyes meet mine.
“It didn’t get that far,” I say, shaking my head at him. “It—” My sigh breaks through my thought, my energy. I’m tired. Because of Ty’s actions, Gabe got away with it again. But who knows what would have happened if he hadn’t been there?
If he hadn’t come. Again.
It didn’t go the way Gabe planned since it wasn’t me he ran into. An unstoppable force ran into an immovable object. Ty stopped the force, if only temporarily. It pisses me off he can plead for sympathy. He broke the protective order the university put on him and should’ve been kicked out of school, but instead he cried about being assaulted.
Magically, no one there saw Ty lay a hand on him. Kinnerk wasn’t there, but everyone in this room was, and not a single person, when asked if Ty touched Gabe, agreed he did.
So sorry.
Unfortunately, the accusation alone was enough to deflect the issue from the violation to an assault charge. One unsubstantiated charge versus his provable broken protective order leaves me with the latest text.
Unknown number: Only whores give a taste. Guess I get to take one too.
Awesome.
“So now what?” Bay looks tired. I’ve asked too much of him and it’s time I take steps to keep myself safe without relying on my friends.
Slumping into my huge beanbag, I drop my head back, letting myself look at the chandelier Tate and I installed at the beginning of the year. The little plastic crystals catch the light and spread rainbows in fractured arcs, sweeping across the ceiling. Just like my life, broken fragments of brightness and joy surrounded by an eerie shadow.
“Rayne, what do you want to do?” he asks again.
Exhaling, accepting the truth of the situation, I say, “Nothing.”
A wave of protest surrounds me. Their indignation drives home how this situation has become a never-ending repeat Gabe plays in my life until a sharp order cuts the noise.
“Stop.” It’s not Kinnerk who quiets them. It’s Dylan. “If there was something to be done, she’d be doing it. Kinnerk would do it, right?”
I watch my dorm advisor huff his agreement. His long fingers fold into fists even as his head drops back, his long black dreads falling to the middle of his back before he sends me a look of frustration.
“We’ll do what we can. There’s a hell of a lot more of us than there are of him,” Dylan says. The team captain and quarterback stands and walks to straddle my feet. Reaching down, his huge hand opens, a soft smile spreading. “You’re still our Little Sis.”
Meeting my palm to his, I let him pull me up. His hug’s a promise and it gives me just enough room to breathe.
“We’re all going to clear out and let you take a break. You’re tired, and you need us gone.” Kissing the top of my head, he waves to his side of the room and Kevin, who all rise and give me hugs.
The last to get to me is Bay. “You’re taking a break this week.” His cheek drops to the top of my head, voice sad but unbending.
“I need to—”
“You practice in class and with your troupe. We’re taking a break.” Pointing a finger at Tegs and Tate, he repeats it, “A break. She’s taking a fucking break.”
“Agreed.” The row on the other futon concurs.
“You can go back to trying to kill yourself next week.” As always, Bay’s sunshine and I let myself soak him up.
“Okay.”
“Okay then.” Stepping back, he heads for where Dylan is holding open the door. “I’ll see you in the morning to walk to class, m’kay?”
“Yep.”
Both of them smile at me, one surfer sunshine, one Clark Kent beauty, and they pull the door closed behind them. They’re followed quickly by Kinnerk, Hatch, and Matty. When they’re all gone, I give my roommate and her boyfriend a hug and disappear into my room to slip into uneasy rest.
• • • •
In the following days, Director Mason has me checked on every twenty minutes to make sure I’m not targeted while I’m on shift. It’s pathetic to be scared in a building full of people, but considering how badly I still hurt from the assault, I’m grateful every time the security guard walks by. I have to accept help if I’m going to survive the semester.
Sitting at Dixon’s reception desk, I’m trying to focus on my homework when my phone rings. The unfamiliar number sends a tremor through me, like the buzz of touching a live wire.
These are almost always bad. Unknown numbers are what Gabe does, so I press record as soon as I answer.
Him and his fucking burner phones.
“Hello.”
“Hey, is this Rayne?” The deep voice on the other end of the line brings tears to my eyes. Not from fear, but from old hurt and happiness.
Why the hell is he calling? I mean I’m glad but…
Holy shit.
“Yeah. Corey?” I haven’t heard my brother’s voice in a long time.
“Hey, kid.”
“Hi.”
He’s only called a few times in the last nine years. When he left, he left. He made it clear to Emily that taking care of me was a shit job, one he didn’t want.
“How are you?”
Even over the phone, I can almost see him hesitating, pulling back. As if he doesn’t want to make this call, so I’m more than a little curious about why he is.
“I’m fine. What’s up, Cor?”
There’s a breath deep enough I can hear it over the phone, followed by, “Was it you I saw on ESPN, ’cause I think I’m seeing you all over SportsCenter and the net?”
He knows it’s me.
My name and face have been plastered all over sports media. Even before the breakup, my picture was everywhere with Ty, but since his on-air apology, they can’t get enough.
Calls and messages come in almost daily, wanting a piece of him, of me, of the team. The only reason I’ve been protected from the national media is I stay on campus, and except for certain areas, they aren’t allowed. The university made it clear the press isn’t allowed to harass me here. Physically, the Athletic Department has done a better job than the school at keeping me hidden and protected, at least to the extent they’re able.
My boss
is protecting me even as the football practices get overrun by photographers trying to catch a picture of Ty. Like vultures, they want to catch an unguarded moment they can sell for the public to feed on.
I’m grateful for Director Mason protecting me physically, but even he can’t protect me from the online torrent of bullshit or the calls. Emily included, but I’m ignoring her. I let her go straight to voicemail.
Now my brother isn’t calling to tell me he loves or misses me. He hasn’t wanted anything to do with me in years…so it shouldn’t surprise me, certainly shouldn’t hurt me, but it stings.
Grunting out the answer, I stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows in front of me. “Yeah, why?”
“Rayne, why would you let them put you on TV?” Irritation laced with what sounds like exasperation sets off a roll of my neck, crackling on its way around.
“I didn’t let them.” Really? “That’s the first thing you’re gonna say to me after two years? Not congrats on your scholarship, which was in the news too? Not sorry your ex-boyfriend broke your heart and waved it around on national TV?” My hands shake as I try to keep from throwing my phone. “You call because you’re pissed I’m on ESPN? How ’bout we hang up and try this call in another couple years.”
Empty silence sits heavy for moments after I finish. The twisting pain in my chest works its way up from my heart to my throat, clogging the other words I might want to say, so even if I wanted to tell him how hurt and angry I am, I couldn’t. The knot continues sliding up behind my eyes, pressing on me from the inside. The pressure works hard to prove I’m not all cried out, even though I fight it.
I’ve never been a crier before and now it’s all I do. I hate it.
“Rayne.” I hear the apology in my name, but I’m still mad. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked how you were first.”
“Why?” Twisting pain wraps around my voice like a crawling vise, threatening to choke me, and if I could rip it out of myself I would.
“I care about you, Rayne, I do, I just…I’m an asshole. I know that, but I’m your brother. A shit one, but still your brother.” His deep breath of pain over the line sounds a lot like my own when I’m trying to reset myself. “Emily’s been calling me. She calls a couple times a day, and at first, I thought it was no big deal, so I ignored her like I always do, but it’s becoming compulsive. And that worries me. She has it in her head you’re famous now and you can do something for her.” His pause hangs for a moment. “She’s saying you owe her. Us. She’s up to something and I just…I’m scared she’ll do something. Go too far. Please be careful.”
My eyes roll. Now that I believe. Emily’s stupid and selfish, and she’d absolutely believe seeing my face on TV would mean I can float her cash, even if I can’t.
Her, I understand, and the hard edge of snark and irritation returns to my voice. My armor. Protection against the incoming barbs.
“Okay.”
“Rayne, believe it or not, I am sorry.” He’s quiet while my heart stutters. “I’m sorry I left like I did. I’m sorry I didn’t come back.” An inhaled fuck under his breath that I’m sure I wasn’t supposed to hear almost lifts the corners of my mouth, even as tears blur my vision. “I screwed up and felt like shit. Time went by and I didn’t know how to fix it, sis. I tried to figure out how and more time went by, which just made me feel worse. It never meant I didn’t love you. I was young and stupid, and I left when I shouldn’t have. I didn’t think I had a choice, but I shouldn’t have left you alone with her. She wasn’t right then, and she isn’t right now. Please be careful with her. She’s fucking nuts.”
“You left.” Long years of abandonment clog my throat.
My brother answers quietly. “I know. I am so fucking sorry. I love you.”
“If you love me, call me.”
He coughs and sounds like he’s being strangled for a moment before he replies softly, “I will. I love you, kid.”
“Later, Corey.”
Staring at the reflective glass on my phone, my fingers stay stuck to the screen as if he’s still there.
Did that just happen?
I smile. Really smile. He reached out. Apologized. It feels good he called because he cared. It makes saving his number to my contacts a hopeful act, and I tenuously hold on to the possibility he really will call.
Years without him aren’t forgotten, but I missed him. He was my everything when I was little and took care of me every day until he left. He made sure I got to school, helped with my homework, took me to dance classes, fed me. Hell, it was him who gave me baths when I was a baby.
Without Corey, I would have probably died. Emily just couldn’t be bothered, and when she would fly into rages, Corey would deflect them onto himself. No kid should have to deal with that.
Emily is unpredictable and has been pissed since I moved out. Changing my official home address and informing my paternal grandfather formally, that I wouldn’t be living with her anymore, caused Ann, his secretary, to start paying me directly the support he used to pay Emily.
She’s been taken care of by the Mathews’ patriarch since she got pregnant with me, and now the ATM is gone. Emily’s been calling me since the week I moved out, demanding I move home. The only reason she wants me there is so Grandpa Mathews will pay for the house, something he won’t do if I don’t live there. My answer is always the same, go to hell, or I just ignore her. It looks like I’ll have to keep doing it because I’m not planning on stepping foot in that house again.
She’s nothing if not crazy and I can’t trust her. She’s willing to do just about anything for her next fix, and I can’t let her into this new life of mine for a minute. My mother is willing to sell me out for anything and to anyone.
I meant what I said when I left home, about never going back. She’s dangerous. I just have to get to my birthday in December to get all my decisions out of her hands. I’m so close. One month, just one month and I can be free of her.
• • • •
The next few days are slow and fast, and they pass with increasing pain. I’m supposed to be over him already, but it isn’t happening. Time and space are draining me instead of helping, and there are few places I find solace, few times I find peace.
Today, I’m at Dixon trying to work out some of the emotional gunk clogging my throat. I’m reserving extra space at Dixon now to dance because it’s so much closer to the dorm than the dance building. Director Mason makes sure I can get on the schedule, and today is another long couple hours of practice on the piece we’re working on.
The people outside the door do little to distract me while I wait for Tegs to pick me up. Even while I try using the joy of dance to lance the infection left by our breakup, the tears still come.
Dancing used to be my safe place. Now, here is where all the shit comes out. I hold it in everywhere else, cutting out my external expressions of pain. A walking zombie, for the most part, I manage to lock it down during the day, especially during class. Because I won’t break for him, even if three weeks later I feel worse.
Tate’s promised “better” hasn’t happened. I miss him more. Still, I’m proud the tears are restricted to my bed, shower, and here, on the hardwood, as my body stretches, as my arms reach for hands that won’t touch me again. I inhale and my breath catches for the body that won’t wrap around me, the heart that won’t beat with mine.
I’m careful most of the time to only watch my body lines in the mirror, because the last time I caught my reflection, I shocked myself. Shadows under my eyes, sharper cheeks, a dead-eyed motherboard moving a stripped-down machine with concave lower abs, ribs that stick out; all the makings of a bad documentary.
I’ve lost too much weight. We both have. I try not to see him, but I do. I watch him, and he watches me. He looks as miserable as I do. I shouldn’t know, shouldn’t care. He truly looks haunted. But, no matter what anyone says, I have a hard time buying it’s really about me.
The door snicks open, causing me to spin, hands rising, and a chill
to break out across my skin. Gabe can only come to Dixon with his team now, during hours I’m not here, but I don’t trust that. Telling him to leave me alone doesn’t mean he will. He isn’t done and I’m still getting texts, so I’m ready to fight back. But, it’s Tegs’ face at the door, not the beautiful boy haunting me or the nightmare stalking me.
“You ready to go?” He’s clearly been busting his ass, his face tomato-red, a stark contrast to his normal pale tone.
“Yeah.” Dropping my eyes, I head for the wall and grab my stuff, trying to wipe away the tears so he won’t see me break.
Tegs sighs from the door. “You gonna act like you weren’t crying again?” I try to wave him away, but he keeps talking, “You always cry when you dance.”
Shrugging, I duck under his arm and into the hall. “Rough piece.”
“Bullshit.” His snort reverberates down the hall as his giant frame eats the small lead I built up to escape the conversation.
Tegs won’t let me get by with anything lately, and he’s been trying to make me talk. I just don’t see the point since it won’t change anything. Mechanical or not, zombie or not, I’m functional. That’s enough.
I don’t get far before he stops me, forcing me to look at him.
“What do you want me to say?” I sigh, trying to force a breath that’ll stop the tears.
“That you miss him,” he says, his voice quiet.
Shaking my head, I stomp down the hall like an idiot, jarring my ankles on the stone flooring, the force sending pain up through already damaged feet, ankles, knees, and hips. He’s been heading this direction for days, and it makes me want to shove him.
Ass never lets me shove him anywhere.
His tree-trunk legs outdo my much shorter ones, but he lets me shove through the glass doors of Dixon before he stops me again, his baby face determined and sad. He’s nearly glaring at me, and I aim one right back. He’s more than twice my size, so I can’t get around him. When I try, he moves.
“Say it.”
“What the fuck, Tegs! What do you want me to say?” The tears come hard before I can stop them. These never-ending shards and slivers of my broken heart flow, cutting me with their sharp edges, letting me bleed and burn from the open wounds inside and out.
