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“Sworry,” I replied, struggling to swallow around the sudden lump in my throat in an effort not to show how much his barbs could hurt.
He huffed, the sound reminiscent of a petulant child. “Remember when I asked you to take care of me like you’re my damn mother?” Colt inquired sweetly.
I furrowed my brow, lightly shaking my head and bracing for the inevitable punchline.
“Me neither.”
Okay, not as bad as it could have been.
“I can get you something different if you don’t like pizza?” I offered, even though I clearly remembered him telling me how much he loved the stuff. Although, looking down at his plate, I conceded that the half-cold, greasy cafeteria imitation probably didn’t count.
“It’s fine,” he huffed, already picking up a slice.
At that, I smiled, recognizing that familiar behavior ritual from our first month of living together. In the beginning, Colt refused to accept anything—food, clothes, a compliment—unless he complained about it first. Once he made his displeasure known and showed he was accepting under duress, then he was golden and could sit back and enjoy it. He hadn’t behaved that way for a while now, but I’d still take this as a small win.
The other thing I had learned was to not make a big deal out of his acceptance of help. So, instead, I picked up our discussion from last night—our greatest injury stories—and we fell into easy conversation, much like we did at home. I regaled him with the story of the time I broke my nose by dropping a food processor lid on it when I tried to grab it from the highest shelf at my dad’s house. His own anecdote had me laughing hard, listening to how he tried to pierce his own nose when he was thirteen and must have hit a blood vessel because it bled so much he ended up fainting.
“Okay, you win,” I chuckled. “You did yours on purpose.”
He flashed me that small grin that he seemingly reserved solely for me. “Yeah, but you have to admit it was totally worth it. It makes me look cute as fuck.” He titled his face to showcase said piercing and posed for me. I was mesmerized, and I noticed a faint blush coloring his cheeks.
“What’s your biggest secret?” I blurted out without thinking through how he’d react to a question like that. Chances were he’d clam up and shut me down.
Instead, without warning, he leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially. “I’ll deny it if you ever tell anyone, but since you asked nicely. My favorite band is Nickelback.”
Colt’s laughter erupted, infectious and impossible to resist. I couldn’t help joining in until both of us were wiping tears from our eyes.
Then, Colt surprised the shit out of me by asking me something that delved beneath our usual surface-level chats. “How did you end up living by yourself? Like, the real story, not just the one you tell people. Because I know you, and I don’t believe you don’t care that your dad didn’t give a shit about you moving out.”
Well, damn. I felt…seen. Colt may have a prickly exterior, but this was the side of him that I’d fallen in love with. He was observant, and despite his denials, he cared deeply.
“I was really excited when my dad told me he was getting remarried. June seemed so nice and stupidly part of me hoped that they might have a kid together. I’ve always hated being an only child, and I thought it would be so nice to really have that family unit, ya know?”
Colt gave a small nod, but his face told a different story, like he couldn’t imagine anything worse than having a sibling.
“But Dad was adamant that raising me had caused him enough stress and he’d be damned if he went through that hell again.” I shrugged my shoulders, but I could feel the hurt rolling off me. After all, doesn’t every son want to hear from their father that you basically ruined their fucking life?
“Anyway, June got offered a job in St. Louis right after their wedding, and Dad didn’t come right out and say it, but I could tell he didn’t want me to come with them.” That’s a bit of an understatement. As soon as he decided they were moving, not a single mention was made of me coming with them. I caught him looking at one bedroom listings and when I asked him about it, he lied and said I could just sleep on the couch if I wanted to come with them. “Which, I totally understand.” I was such a liar—I didn’t understand shit and I didn’t know why I felt the need to defend the man to Colt of all people. “Mom got pregnant with me when they were in their freshman year of college. I know they tried to do their best by me, but they were still kids themselves. I don’t feel like I can blame them for wanting to live their own lives for a bit.” The lies continued to roll off my tongue. I guess I’d told myself them often enough that my brain took them as gospel.
To my utter shock, Colt wordlessly placed his delicate hand over mine, his eyes conveying everything he couldn’t say right then—offering support in the only way he knew how. It shouldn't have surprised me that he understood what I was feeling. After all, if anyone knew the hurt of parental fuck-ups, it would be Colt.
Acknowledging the gesture, I rotated my palm so that my hand clasped his, flashing Colt a tight smile. A silent ‘thank you’. We didn’t speak after that, eating the remainder of our lunch in silence, but I never released his hand. And, by some miracle, he didn’t ask me to.
9. “Beneath Your Beautiful”
Colton
With May fast approaching and the end of school on the immediate horizon, restlessness began to seep in. Doubts formed, and I started to feel on edge questioning if I had misinterpreted Gray’s signals. Uncertain whether he was deliberately taking things slow, thinking I wasn’t interested in him, or if he had lost interest himself. Although, deep down, I didn’t truly believe that, considering the sweet, subtle touches he’d been directing my way lately.
I attempted to call his bluff by returning to my facade of indifference and snide comments. Yet, each door he opened or treat he brought disrupted my resolve, making it increasingly difficult to suppress the smile itching to break free. The more time we spent together, the clearer it became—I liked Gray. More than I ever expected to. I craved his attention, yearned for him to have eyes only for me.
On the flip side, the escalating attention from the other students irked me. Initial stares were forgivable, given their curiosity about Gray suddenly spending time with me. However, as time passed, the novelty should have worn off. Instead, it seemed people grew more invested, nosier, and more judgmental. Overhearing vapid gossip about me being Gray’s latest charity case sent my anxiety soaring.
I was determined to prove them wrong, to show that Gray was mine, even when a nagging voice whispered doubts in the back of my mind. Strangely, it triggered an embarrassing reaction in me. A few days ago, I witnessed a pretty cheerleader putting her arms around Gray after they won another home game, and in that moment, I felt an irrational surge of possessiveness. Thoughts of snapping her wrist like a twig invaded my mind. Gray was fucking mine, and I sensed an urgency to take action before anyone else entertained foolish ideas about touching him.
The only problem? I had no clue how to attain what I wanted and it made me clingy.
For the first time, as Gray met me after class, an overwhelming urge to be closer to him took over. I wanted to disregard my boundaries, throw my arms around him, press my nose into his collarbone and inhale his intoxicating and comforting scent. In our silent journey to the music room, it struck me how much I didn’t want him to leave for practice. It felt unhealthy, as never before had a person been more important to me than music.
