“I mean, he’s your brother, it's ok for you to have issues with him, but when other people do, it’s not cool.”
He breathes out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Exactly.”
“I get it. I’m the same with my sister. And Remy. And pretty much everyone I care about. I have no problem defending them to the death even if they drive me insane,” I ramble. Unfortunately, the uncontrollable word vomit isn’t done dribbling out. “But what's worse is when it’s not a person hurting them. When it’s something I can’t protect them from.”
Me and my big mouth. I’m about to slap a hand over it to shut myself up.
“It’s so much worse.”
My heart leaps into my throat. He’s looking at me with agony etched into every line of his face. The same agony I've seen reflected at me in every mirror and every window all summer. A jagged knife-wound I know all too well. It makes me do something reckless.
“If you ever need someone to talk to… when it gets too much, you can always text me.”
His lips curve into a shy smile. “I’d need your number.”
“Yeah, I guess you would,” I muse. He chuckles and hands me his phone.
His finger brushes mine— rough and warm and gone too soon. That fleeting touch is all I can focus on, my skin tingling as I add myself to his contacts and send myself a message. It takes entirely too long to get my thumbs to cooperate under the weight of his quiet attention, but eventually, I return the phone.
He studies the screen. “First vent sesh is free, huh?”
“Therapy is expensive,” I shrug.
Nodding, his brows knit. “So what’s it gonna cost me to just talk to you?”
“Hmm… a ride home from practice tomorrow might suffice.”
Laughing under his breath, he tucks the phone in his pocket. “You’ve got yourself a deal, sweetheart.”
“Me? Sweet? That’s a stretch,” I snort. “I’m more of an acquired taste.”
He slides behind the wheel, grinning. “You’re something, alright.”
Thirteen
SEBA
Steam swirlsbetween the shower curtain and the tiled walls, water pelting my scalp and sore shoulders as the remaining suds crowd the drain. I’m wasting hot water, but I’m past caring— it feels too good on my throbbing head.
As soon as I walked in the door, I tried sneaking to my room, but Mom was in the mood to play eager, attentive parent and went absolutely apeshit the second she saw blood. I placated her with a story of accidentally smacking my face on some equipment, suffered through a pointless lecture on the unnecessary dangers of football and allowed her to sanitize the wound while wolfing down a plate of leftovers. Then she marched me into the laundry room to clean my pads (they did reek) beforefinallyallowing me to drag my exhausted body upstairs for a shower.
Except the bathroom was locked.
Cade hogged it for ages. Any other time, I would’ve banged on the door, demanding he hurry the fuck up, but considering everything that went down a few hours ago… I figured it was best to give him space.
Despite it all, I’m smiling like an idiot. I can’t help it. I got Andrea’s number. More than that. She chased after me andflirtedwith me.
Shutting off the water, I step out and grab a towel. I know it’s late, but I’m itching to text her. Call her. Talk to her for hours. But I don't want to come on too strong.
One text won’t seem too eager, right?
I reach for my phone?—
A noise on the other side of the door makes me freeze.
Cade’s door.
I hold my breath. Wait. Don’t move.
