by Kat Kenyon
If he can’t handle the pressure of it, and the offensive line collapses, he’ll tank, and take me with him.
That’s for next semester.
I’ll focus on what I can affect, my classes, which right now are sitting in completed outlines on the small table in front of me. But I can’t read them anymore. I’m tapped out. Still, it’s better than going back to my room and having my dick of a roommate wind me up.
“Hey, man.”
My team captain cracks open the door, slipping through and closing it quietly behind him.
I’m sitting in sweats and a hoodie, and McVey looks like he’s going out, dark denim and a V-neck sweater pushed up his arms. Bastard looks well-rested and calm.
He has it together in a way I envy. By the number of years he’s attended California University, he’s a junior, but he’s not. I’m not sure how he did it, but he’s finishing a physical therapy and sports science degree this semester, and he did it with ease.
He’s heading to the pros and somehow, I don’t see the pressure getting to him. Dylan “Bullet” McVey is the coolest motherfucker I have ever met.
“Hey, how goes your finals?” I ask as he grabs the seat across from me.
“Almost done. You?”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got a few more to go.”
He throws a bag at me and lounges back, the front legs of the chair coming off the floor. Damn if he didn’t bring me a chicken wrap.
“I knew you forgot. Wyatt’s at your dorm and said you hadn’t been back all day. How often you forgetting to eat?” He laughs. It doesn’t sound like he thinks it’s funny.
“I just lost track of time. Thanks though. I needed this.” I take off the wrapper and start to force something down. “Why’d you track me down?”
“We have a team meeting tomorrow at two,” he says, a grin spreading across his face.
“And you couldn’t text that?”
“Rayne sent me a text.” He reaches into another bag and pops something in his mouth.
It hurts knowing she talks to him when she won’t talk to me.
I know why, but that doesn’t mean I want to hear it. It feels like he’s baiting me, something I don’t expect from him. Glaring at him, I rack my brain for a reason he’d be pushing me, but I can’t come up with one.
When I don’t respond, he shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Ty, she freaked when she saw you get hit. She sent the text while you were on the ground. She wanted to know if you were okay.”
She did? That means she was watching.
Does that mean she cares? Why didn’t she ask me?
I don’t know what that means?
“What does that mean?”
He chokes on his laugh, pissing me off.
“It means you’re a dumbfuck.”
The crushing pain hits my chest again as McVey’s chair rocks back and forth on the two legs, his hands thrown behind his head.
“It’s been two months and she still won’t look at me!”
“Yep. You. Are. A. Dumbfuck. And a lucky bastard. She’s not over you at all. You’re gonna get another chance. When you do, don’t blow it.” He slams the legs back down on the floor and stands. “See you tomorrow. And Ty, stop being a dumbfuck!”
I watch him leave, feeling like I got hit by a truck.
What the fuck just happened?
• • • •
My normally contentious meeting with Lisa Vaan is necessary for me today. There’s so much going on that I needed someone to talk to, a way to air out all the shit that’s been happening, and she just let me talk, letting me work out what everything means for me, for my future.
For the first time, I walk out of therapy calmer, and confident. Vaan asked many of her normal questions, but this time, I had something besides rage and guilt opening my mouth.
I get it now. Walk away or stay with her, I belong to her, whatever she needs. I’m going to focus on being a positive thing in her life. In front, behind, beside, my job is to see she never hurts like this again.
Don’t be a dumbfuck.
Fucking Dylan McVey.
Of course, this is me boiling down all of my sessions. I may not have felt these sessions helped initially, but sometimes just knowing you have someone to talk to, who has no interest in the outcome, helps organize all the thoughts and feelings.
I know how I feel. I don’t believe my girl still wants me like McVey implied, but I do know that if I ever get a chance, I’ll get it right. What to do and how to do it is really simple. Grow up. Be a man. Be her man.
Chapter Eighteen
Rayne Mathews
The final for Western Civilization stares at me, my pencil skimming the bubbles. I spent hours prepping for this class, so it’s no surprise that the answers come to me right away. It only takes me twenty minutes to get through the whole test. It feels like it should take longer. Glancing around the room, one-hundred-plus students are hunched over the brown desk tables, heads down.
Doubt hits me, the idea I missed the point driving me to read through the whole test again, double-checking my answers. I can’t find anything I’d change, which means I just flunked or aced the test.
It only takes a moment to drop my test on the professor’s table, getting a nod from him as he rifles through a stack of paper.
Bay gives me a mocking glare as I grab my stuff.
“Nerd,” coughs Hatch under his breath.
Glancing at the professor, I grin and pull my bag over my shoulder. “Useful nerd,” I say quietly as I pass Hatch, winking as I go.
When I push through the heavy double doors, for the first time since the beginning of the semester, the hall is clear. No tramps, suck-ups, or Blackmanions. Instead, the hall is echoing silence, sending another shot of doubt through my system.
You better have aced it.
The walk back to my dorm doesn’t take long. The normal groups of students gathered on the grass and benches have cleared out, driven away by an abnormal chill and the threat of rain.
I forgot to bring a jacket as I ran out the door this morning, so I’m grateful when I get to the entrance of my building. The blast of heat hits my face, and I shiver, even as my body starts to warm. The person on duty at the check-in table smiles and waves me through, but it isn’t until I step off the elevator and walk down my hall that the shivers stop.
I run into a maelstrom of chaos when I open my door, bags and clothes scattered all over our shared room.
“So, how’s it going?” I ask Tate.
Sitting on her knees on the floor, my roommate folds a pair of jeans and sticks it in what looks to be a suitcase loaded beyond capacity, with two more stacks waiting to be packed.
“I don’t know what I’m taking with me.”
“You know you’re coming back, right?” I laugh, stepping over her small piles to drop my bag in my bedroom.
“Yes, but I need casual, comfortable, formal, and sexy things. Do you have any idea how much room being fashionable takes? I can’t just look okay, I need to be hot and blow Tegs’ head right off his body!” she yells to me through the doorway.
“You’re already hot, and I’m pretty sure he lost his head months ago.” My bag slides to the floor and I join her back in the main room.
Shrugging, she wedges another pair of shoes into the corner of the case, then gets to her feet.
“Not good enough.” Closing the lid on the bag, she practically growls when it won’t close. “I have to do even better. It’s the holidays and I want him to feel like he should be grateful we’re together. Bastard better remember who owns him.”
She sits on top of the case, then slides the zipper closed, her weight making it possible. Barely.
“Pretty sure he’d tattoo your name on his ass if you asked him.” I chuckle, pulling hummus and veggies from our small fridge, along with a bottle of water.
Tate’s grinning, her gaze unfocused, as if her mind is wandering for a few moments, before she snaps back. “He would, wouldn’t he?”
She smirks.
“Pretty sure.”
Winking at me, she stands and pulls the suitcase onto its wheels. Taking a pass by me to steal a carrot, she pulls a smaller bag onto the futon and starts cramming in the other things on the floor.
Practically dreamy, she says, “He is pretty awesome.” A twist to her lips, her eyes sliding to the side to give me an annoyed look. “Except when he pisses me off.”
Crunching on a carrot heaped with hummus, I point the next cucumber at her. “You love when he pisses you off.”
“No, I don’t.” She drops her jaw in fake indignation.
“Really? So why do you both rush to your room the minute a ‘dispute’”—I gesture for the quotes—“is over and make noises that make me think you’re dying?”
She throws a shirt at me. “Ah!”
“Is that an admission? It certainly wasn’t a denial.”
Another shirt and sock fly at me.
“You know, if you admit it you’ll feel better?”
“Shut it.” She flips me off, and a fit of giggles accompanies the next shirt. I pull up my knee, exaggerating a defensive pose.
“Face it, you get all horny and hot when he pushes your buttons.”
“Not true.”
“So true.” I roll my eyes back and give an exaggerated grunt.
Waving her finger at me, she scuttles across the floor and grabs a cherry tomato. “Not even a little bit, I like people who are nice to me.”
“Facts, you little liar. He caters to you every chance he gets and raises your blood pressure as often as he can knowing it’ll get him what he wants.” I grab the water bottle and take a long drink.
Standing, she cocks a hip. “And what is it you think he wants?”
“You,” I say dryly, tipping the bottle at her. “That boy wants you morning and night, naked or not. He wants you where he can put those baseball mitts of his on you.”
“He is a feeler.”
“He feels you up…” I’ve seen him molest her the minute he thinks he can get by with it.
“That asshole has his hands all over everyone.”
She reaches down, grabs another stack of clothes, and throws them in one of the still open cases.
“Wrestling doesn’t count. If he’s not in practice, he only touches you.”
“Those guys are all over him!” She spins and falls on the jacket laying on the futon.
“It’s wrestling.” I stuff my mouth and her face gets pouty.
“I don’t want anyone touching him but me.” Her lip practically sticks out.
“Especially when he’s driving you nuts.” I cackle.
“Yeah,” she says dreamily again. “I kick his ass then take him to bed.”
Our eyes meet and we burst into laughter.
The next couple of hours are full of her packing and an early dinner. When five o’clock hits, two of her suitcases are already down in a taxi, the driver disappearing out the door with the other two she’s taking. Each moment her departure gets closer, she looks more and more flustered.
“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?”
“Yes, Tate.” I roll my eyes and try to blow off any girly drama.
She’s asked me at least six times since we ate, and it’s hard enough for me that she’s going. I’m going to miss her.
“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady.” She stops in the middle of our main room and looks, waving her hands at her eyes. “I don’t like leaving you here. It’s dangerous. And stupid. And a million other things.” She grabs me in a hug. “You need to come home with me. My mom would love it.”
The knot in my throat gets painful; she’s going to make me cry again, stupid, beautiful, wonderful girl.
“I’m gonna be really careful and I’m gonna use the campus security teams. They know I’m here,” I say to reassure myself as much as her. “Kinnerk’s here and he’s gonna check on me. Bay’s here. The team only gets a couple days because of the bowl game, so I’m not alone. I promise.” I squeeze her back.
Tate’s been there for me this semester. Between her and Tegs, they’ve helped keep me moving, keep me safe, sane. No one has ever been as much of a friend as Tate, and with Tegs heading home with her, I’m losing a big chunk of my people.
She asked me to join her and Tegs after Christmas, but I can’t. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to miss them over the break.
“Besides, I have work to keep me busy.” I smile at her through watery eyes. “And quit trying to make me cry, bish.” I pull back and smooth out her shirt. As usual, she looks perfect, even after her chaotic packing.
“I’ll miss you,” she says quietly.
“I’ll miss you, too.”
Hesitating, she gives me a nervous smile.
“You gonna call him?” she whispers, crossing the line of silence we’ve had since she found me practically hyperventilating on the floor. She knows things have changed since the game; that what I want has changed.
“Don’t.” I can’t think about it without breaking down, let alone talk about it.
“Okay.” She kisses my cheek. “January hugs, bish.”
Grabbing her bag, she’s out the door, taking with her the happy storm that always follows her.
Behind her, I lock the doors. Her absence makes me feel too alone. Most of the floor is already gone, only a few girls haven’t left for winter break, and they’ll be gone soon too.
As far as I know, I’m one of only two girls and a handful of football players who are staying during the break. I’m working, and the team has been held back to prep for the bowl game. They each only get two days for Christmas.
But, even with a few friends around, I know I need to be really careful. Gabe’s gone silent, but I’m not stupid. This is the longest peace he’s ever given me, and instead of making me happy, it scares me. The longer it goes on, the more it feels like he’s somewhere plotting something terrible. I put nothing past him.
I’m also screening calls daily now from Emily. I take Corey’s advice and never answer the phone. She’s demanding I get my ass home, whining to me about the bills she’s racking up now that Anne isn’t paying for the house and utilities anymore.
I should feel something about that. She’ll lose the house without me there. She can’t hold down a job with her habit, which means she’s going to find herself homeless soon. Maybe I should feel badly in the eyes of society, but I don’t. My last morning there, she told me to get out, and I made it clear I was. I wasn’t kidding when I told her I was never coming back. August was the last time I saw that house, and no matter how many tantrums she throws, I won’t be going back. She’s poison, and if I let her back in my life, she’ll destroy it along with her own.
No, I’m done.
She had no recourse either once Anne sent the paperwork. The agreement with my dad’s family was specific back in the day and includes a ton of provisions for the child support she received, and I’ve triggered the only one open to me. As an adult, I can decide where to live, and it isn’t there. I now get the support directly for my living and college expenses, and I won’t be moving back in so she can use the money to buy drugs and lure yet another abuser back into the house with a place to stay. Her messages trying to convince me to come home are ludicrous. Promise after promise that things will be different this time. Claiming she’s discovered herself and that she loves me are worse than a joke. She’s crazy if she thinks I’ll believe a damn thing she says.
No, I don’t think so.
Her cause isn’t helped by my calls with Corey. He’s started calling every Sunday and apparently, she’s stalking him too, with ideas on how to make money off me, off my breakup…Each scheme is more insane than the last.
Corey’s horrified, and I grow more bored with each idea. He’s worried that she’s losing it, but I keep telling him she lost it a long time ago.
If I get an urge to see family, Corey invited me to visit on Christmas. It almost brought tears to my eyes when he said it. I asked
him to call, wanted him to make the effort to get to know me after he apologized, and he is. He’s trying, and it eases the old pain from when he left.
Still, looking around the room, it feels empty without Tate, and the distance between me and everyone else feels vast. I’ve been by myself most of my life, but the last few months I’ve had people with me, people who genuinely care about me, and it feels good to be cared about. And lonelier when they leave.
• • • •
“Open up, Rayne!”
Pounding on the door startles me out of a sound sleep.
Above my head, my phone beeps but is drowned out by the loud-as-shit hollering of Bay and Mike at my door.
Shaking drowsiness away from a nap I didn’t know I was going to take, I stumble toward the herd of elephants trampling in the hall. I swing open the door and see three of my favorite people bumping each other. Bay, Mike, and Kevin are in sweats, with big grins as they jostle between themselves.
I’m surprised to see them because they’ve been busy the last couple of days as they get ready for the big game.
Pushing past me, they laugh and give me hugs as they go. They each dump a bag on my dinette full of my favorite wraps and snacks.
Waving at me, Bay laughs, teasing me. “My guess is you haven’t been out today?”
“No. I mean yes.” I did get out today. “Yes, I did, but when I got back, I got comfy and accidentally fell asleep.” My fingers immediately go to my hair.
“It looks like a nest, don’t bother.” Kevin scruffs me as he searches the pile of food on the table. “Really, ’Lil, it looks like a bird lives in there.” His smile is catching.
Laughing, I shove him. “Shut it.”
“Not my fault you look like you got trapped in a cage with psycho chipmunks.”
“Nah,” says Bay, handing me one of the wraps. “It was gerbils, that shit looks like they used her head for bedding.”
“You can all just leave if you’re gonna be mean.” Directing a mocking glare at them, I peel down the paper from around the top of the chicken-and-veggie goodness. I haven’t eaten all day, and my stomach needs something before it cramps.
“You seriously staying here alone?” Mike waves around the room.
