by Kat Kenyon
He’s doing his best to watch out for me, but he’s not the one I want doing it.
“I wasn’t hungry then either.” The idea of eating is nauseating.
“Rayne, you know you need to eat.”
“I am eating…when I’m hungry. Come on, let’s get you food, and if it makes you feel better, I’ll buy a pickle so you can steal it.” I cut him a mocking glare and wrap my arm around his waist. For a moment, his lips touch the top of my hair.
“I don’t steal.” The faux indignation in his voice makes me laugh. “I’m just making sure they don’t go to waste. Wasting food is a problem in this world, and I’m doing my part to make sure less is thrown out.” His eyes twinkle at me when he winks.
I roll my eyes at him. “Sure, that’s what you’re doing when you grab my shit before I’ve even sat down.”
“I’m just trying to reduce your stress and guilt by making sure you don’t have to choose between what to eat and what to leave.” Chuckling, he gives me a shake. “I’m just looking out for you.”
Coughing at him, I make sure the “bullshit” is clear.
“I’m hurt you think I have anything but your best interests at heart.”
“Mooch.”
“I resent…make that, resemble that remark.”
We both chuckle, and it doesn’t take long to get to our normal smoothie shop. It doesn’t take long for Bay to give me the look I thought I’d avoided. Shaking his head at me, I can see how worried he is, but I don’t want to argue with him, not about this.
“Let’s get going. I want to get to class since it’s our last day. I need to make sure I’m ready for finals.”
His lips press together before he takes a bite of his breakfast burrito, and I’m grateful he’s letting it go.
Swinging off the main path, we cut between the buildings, following our normal route. The sun’s out today, but without the direct sunlight, what little heat is available isn’t enough to make it anything but chilly in the narrow alley we always follow.
“How are things going with Kris?”
I haven’t spent a ton of time with his new girlfriend, but I know they’re spending a lot of time together. The one time I asked what he was so happy about, he let me know he’d left Kris in bed, naked. Naked being the reason he was so disgustingly satisfied with himself, and most mornings he’s got a dopey look on his face.
Swallowing another bite, he gives me a grin. “Shit’s good. She’s come to a couple games and seems to get how much it means to me.”
“That’s great.”
“Plus, she gets how much I have going on.”
That’s a big issue for some of the guys, and I give him a grin, understanding what a big deal it is for him to have found someone who understands.
“Even better.”
“I know, right?”
Crushing his wrapper, he shoots it over his head into one of the garbage cans along our way. He never fails in his shots, and he throws up his hands in triumph.
“And the GOAT scores yet again from the three-point line, and the crowd goes wild! Ahhhhhhhhh!”
Shoving him, I giggle. “Dork.”
“Am not. I’m the GOAT, didn’t you hear the crowd yelling?” Throwing up his hands again, he fakes the screaming crowd. “Ahhhhhhhhhh!” Turning around, he walks backward in front of me, pointing behind us, presumably at the can. “Did you not see that shot? Don’t I always make it? Because I’m the man.”
Laughing, I shove him, forcing a small stumble, only to be snatched off the ground an instant later.
“Who do you think you’re shoving, little girl?” A smack comes across my ass.
Leaning back to smack him, we both feel my backpack start to tug us back. Another smack and he drops me.
“Learn to take your punishment,” he says, eyes lit up.
Shaking my head at him, my finger jabbing in his sternum, his smile coming down at me, I let him know. “Fat chance, surfer boy.”
Less than a minute later, I turn to go into my building, and Bay grabs my arm.
“Hey, hug, goomba.”
“Yes, sir.”
I get a tight squeeze before he asks, “Want to do lunch? My classes this afternoon are over.”
I know what he really wants, which is to see me eat, and I don’t want to deal with it. “Sorry. I’m packed with class and work. Can we catch up later?”
The roll of his eyes tells me he doesn’t buy it, but he lets it go. “Depending on plans with Kris, yeah. Text me.”
• • • •
My last classes of the semester are reviews for the finals and move fast, and I have to focus, but it gets harder as each hour passes. The evaporation of the spark in Ty’s eyes weighs on my already duplicitous heart.
It wants to forgive…and yet, that’s a weakness I can’t afford.
Walking out of my last class of the day, I’m greeted by skies that match my mood. The clouds came in, blocking the sun and stealing what little warmth was in the air. Drizzling showers seem to build a strange fog on the grounds, so instead of a crisp walk to class, I’m slogging it, water seeping into my shoes, making a disgusting squish.
A flash of blond hair disappears behind the corner of a building and my body withdraws for a moment. Gabe’s been smart, staying fifty feet from me, but still watching. I caught him from across one of the quads a couple days ago.
Coming even with the corner, I send a scathing look down the path, only to see it’s not him.
Shaking my head at my nerves, I walk faster. I’m by myself and running into him now would be bad. Even if that person wasn’t him, I know the restraining order isn’t going to stop him. I feel like I’m seeing him everywhere. And he has another burner.
He’s been asking me out to coffee, for another chance, for a date, left threats. The texts are nonstop and the campus police are once again ignoring my complaints, saying I can’t prove it’s him.
Nothing I say or do seems to make them take this seriously, not enough to really investigate, and since he’s stalking from fifty feet away, they can’t do anything because he’s a student too. The administration’s made sure of that.
He’s going to get sick of me ignoring him. He’s going to get tired of watching and texting, and then he’s going to come after me.
Maybe that’s why the rain feels oppressive instead of cleansing, the black clouds hanging over my head the way the storms do. I just feel wet and cold by the time I get into Dixon’s heated interior. The blast of the heater in the lobby is welcoming, but even here, I glance around, not quite believing he’ll stick to the rule ordering him to stay away.
So, for all the reasons I have to be happy today, I have as many reasons to be scared. My birthday solves the problem of my mom, but not my fear or heartbreak. I’m grateful for what I have, but can’t seem to keep that positive energy in action anymore.
Because I know Gabe’s coming, and there’s nothing I can do.
I shake out my hair trying to get rid of the ugly thoughts and step around the students hanging out around the doors.
Their greetings pull a smile and remind me why this is one of my favorite places on campus. I feel safer here than almost anywhere, and my three-hour shift will be full of people I know.
Beth’s at the desk. She gives me a dirty look I try to ignore. Walking past her, I head back and drop my stuff in the office. She’s an odd one, always has been, and I don’t know if I’m lucky she looked at me at all, or if I should be mad. She doesn’t acknowledge me anymore.
“Hey.” I nod to her when I come out to take her place.
“Hey,” she mumbles.
The girl irritates the shit out of me, but she shouldn’t matter. My shit supervisor sucks, but my real boss is awesome and so is this job. Even if Beth is a pain in the ass.
Today is a good day.
“Anything I should know before you go?” I ask.
Her eyes drop, lips thinning.
If she’s going to act like we hate each other, the least
she could do is tell me why. I’ve got enough dumb girls doing dumb things to me.
“No, no. Everything’s fine. I’m gonna head out.” Beth bolts for the office to get her stuff. No talking, no chatting. Nothing like she did earlier in the semester, and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of a lot of things.
“Everything okay?” I ask as she nearly runs for the door.
She stops, and when she turns, for a moment, she looks like she really hates me. She seems to make a decision and says, “No, I mean, yeah, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” She pushes out the door and disappears.
A shiver runs down my spine, and I believe her as much as I believe Gabe’ll leave me alone. But, there’s nothing I can do to pull out what her problem is, and if she wants to act like that, it’s her prerogative.
Shaking off the chill of her and the rain, I settle into my station, pulling out my monster textbook and my laptop, smiling as a couple of the basketball players check in.
The athletes and I have gotten to know one another, so there’s a rhythm and I know I can use the time to get through my biology notes, even while I talk to people.
I’m working with Ethan as part of a study group again. Finals are coming and I either do well or get kicked off the pre-pharm track. This is my only study group; my others are gone.
Stop it…today’s a good day. Repeat it until you feel it.
My homework occupies me, deliveries come in, and the athletes come through for the next three hours, distracting me. Even though everyone knows me, knows I’m single, and yet, not available, they still flirt. They’re careful not to discuss Ty’s and my breakup. They avoid what became an epic that hit the school and the national airwaves. Instead, they make sure to stop and talk, fuss over me, pretending they don’t know Ty’s and my failure to move on isn’t public knowledge. When they ask if I’m okay, I tell them it’s just finals weighing me down.
I lie.
Every twenty minutes like clockwork, one of the security guards comes to check on me, reminding me why I love my boss.
Director Mason has taken the situation with my stalker seriously, constantly arguing with the dean that something needs to be done. The dean ignores him, but Director Mason makes sure to keep a close eye while I’m at work. At least once every shift, he checks on me himself to make sure that Gabe isn’t coming around.
He’s worried.
So am I.
• • • •
“What the hell was that?”
Marcus isn’t holding back. I agreed to go out tonight and I’m sitting in the local burger joint with him. The large round booth feels like a waste of space as we wait for the other dancers from our program to get here.
“What was what? I thought practice went well. I think we’ll be ready for the holiday presentation.”
I pushed hard again. Too hard. I know it, but I don’t want to talk about it. Instead, I’m focused on the vodka cranberry he bought me. The liquor is harsh, but it tastes like I feel. Burning, raw, stripped.
The glare he gives me makes me want to roll my eyes. He’s just as protective as Tegs and Bay now, and his guilt is annoying.
“What?” I mutter.
“Rayne, don’t force lifts like that! We’ve got you, okay?” His jaw grinds on the last little part. “I get it, you’re pushing everything, but don’t do that.” Leaning back, he sips on his drink, dark brows coming together, and it feels like I’m being assessed.
Fine.
“Okay, you’re right. I pushed a little harder than necessary. I’ll chill.” I watch the ice in my glass rattle as the glass empties. “I just wanted to make sure I was doing my part.”
“Jesus, Rayne.” His glass slams on the table as he leans toward me, hand running down his face.
My irritation fades to guilt. I know he’s working so hard to make this situation work with me and the Satellites. The last thing I want is to let him down.
“What?” I say, quietly, teeth digging into my lips.
“Rayne…” His sigh brings my gaze to him. I find sadness and concern, and with them, the pressure to fix it.
I would fix a lot of stuff if I knew how.
“I know you aren’t happy. I know there’s nothing I can do or say to change things, but you’re a great dancer, so please, quit acting like you aren’t. For fuck’s sake, I asked to be your partner.”
What?
I slam the last of my latest drink and drop the glass on the table, the act of tilting my head at him makes it spin a little.
“Huh?” I try to shake the blur and spin away.
His brow goes up, and he grins at me. “I wanted to dance with you.”
“Why?” I’m flattered. He’s a great dancer. “I can’t imagine why you’d risk so much.”
He shrugs and downs his drink. “I saw your performance at state last year. Then, I looked up your national presentation. So, when I found out you were coming here, I asked for you.”
His compliment makes me smile. It’s a belated birthday gift I needed.
“Ray Ray, dancing with you wasn’t a risk. You were a sure thing. So, do me a favor, quit trying to kill yourself, ’kay?”
I can already feel myself nodding. “Thanks, Marcus. You don’t know how much I needed that.”
He laughs. “You’re welcome. Now, it’s time to go. Those jackasses are late and that’s your, what second, or third?”
“Fourth, I think.”
“You’re drunk.”
A silly grin breaks out. “And whose fault is that?”
Pursing his lips, he starts to stand.
“Where we going?”
“I’m taking the little drunk freshie home, ’cause you’re right, it’s my fault.”
“But what about the others?” I ask, starting to stand, only to find the world tilting.
“Fuck ’em. They’re late.”
“But it’s my birthday.”
I hear his small chuckle as he helps me walk out the door, my balance shot. “I know, that’s why I bought you that shit. Now, it’s time to go home. You’re far beyond the tipsy I was thinking.”
He’s so, so right. I don’t drink often enough to realize how drunk I really am, until I go to stand, and I’m Bambi on ice.
He has to help me to his car, and later, up to my room. And it’s funny until we hit my door, when he asks me if I’m going to be okay.
My twisted day that included Ty’s pain, my fear, the guilt of missing lunch with Bay; the whole thing just swallows me.
“No. I’m not okay. I’m never okay. I miss him, Marcus. If I had my way, I’d take him back, but if I did, that would make me weak. I can’t be weak.” Even as I say it, said weakness surfaces and I try to fight back tears.
Marcus’s soft smile breaks my heart before he hugs me, a full embrace that makes me lean on him, hugging him back. When he releases me, his hands cup my face like I’m going to break, as he drops a kiss on my forehead.
“Oh, pretty girl, forgiving somebody isn’t weak if they deserve to be forgiven.”
Shaking my head, I turn for the door.
“Happy birthday, Rayne.”
Giving him a strained smile, I open the door then turn back to him. “Thanks for everything, Marcus.”
Stumbling inside after he waves me in, I’m greeted by a newly cleaned main room, showing that Tate was able to get to it. She’s crushed under her design class projects, but at least we had a chance to get together today for a moment.
When I get to my bedroom, the beautiful sweater she gave me is hanging on the back of my desk chair, and a small wrapped gift is sitting on my bed.
The pretty silver box keeps my attention as I shut the door and lean back, getting my bearings. It shines in the partial light, and I stare at it for a moment. It wasn’t here when I left, so Tate must have left it for me.
Flopping down, my drunken equilibrium requires a moment to refocus before I attempt to read the small tag on the box. “Be happy, Baby.”
Weeks of tamping down the hurt crash
down, tears streaming down my face. I’m not happy without him. Nothing works. I don’t function without him. Drunk, I know I don’t care what he did; I love him anyway. That’s what I can’t admit when I’m sober. So, I won’t get drunk again.
No admitting that shit again.
Chapter Fifteen
Tyler Blackman
Mom: Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. Good luck tonight!
Yeah. Good luck to me. The big game’s in ten minutes and I’m exhausted. We made it to playoffs and I’m supposed to be excited, but instead, I’m over it.
I try to get into the right headspace when we huddle in the tunnel. My teammates stomp, thump each other and themselves to amp up, and I finally feel some lift.
This is what we do. We’re the league’s superstar team. The cameras scan, then focus on each of us, broadcasting our images on the stadium screens before we run out on the field. You can always tell when our images pop up, because noise reverberates like roaring thunder.
There are only two other teams with records equal to ours this year, Ohio State and Alabama. We’re going to a bowl game. We are the stadium gods of the year.
We should win today. Should. But it isn’t done yet and we aren’t taking anything for granted. The losses we’ve suffered have been flukes that on paper shouldn’t have happened, so we’re focused.
The camera guy for ESPN walks down the line of red and gray helmets, catching the jumping and aggression of the guys as we wait. When they come to me, I just stare in the lens, my planted, trying to pull energy from the ground and my teammates. They do this every time and I don’t like it.
The Cyborg isn’t yours.
The cameraman lingers, waiting for something, but I don’t give them anything. I’m a machine now on the field and rarely give away anything to the media.
Rayne’s innocent hashtags caught fire and I trend. #CyborgLives #StadiumGod…They make the school a shit ton of money. Dad wasn’t wrong about that.
I’ve become a focus of the school’s branding team. I have a large marketing footprint, my jersey is a best seller, and the NCAA is using me as proof players are still scholars.
Everyone is making bank on my image, especially because I’m a walk-on, something no one ever fails to mention. I’m a featured player on blogs and television, and the whole fucking thing is nonstop. No one really cares how I’m doing.
