The Not-Outcast Page 11

  Okay…

  “Something’s wrong with your girl.”

  “What?” I frowned. “She sick?”

  “No, I mean, well, maybe. She was acting drunk, which was fine, but it wasn’t the right kind of drunk. Melanie was holding her up, but not at the same time. It was all off. I took them to one of the VIP rooms, and she went in a side room. She was in there by herself most of the game until suddenly, Melanie got a text from her, and they hurried out of here.”

  “She left?”

  “Yeah, but, Cut…” She moved closer, dropping her voice, and she was biting into her bottom lip. “I wasn’t getting a good feeling about her. It’s like she was on something. Drugs, maybe. And I know you’re not like that, and you’re definitely not into that with your girls.”

  “Drugs?”

  Drugs? But Chad had been quiet about her, said shit was bad with the family, and I knew she was a part of the reason he stayed with us in school for a bit. But drugs?

  But her mom had been a junkie.

  I didn’t like thinking that.

  “I’m real sorry.” She touched my hand, giving it a squeeze. Her phone was lighting up and she swiped to read a text. “That’s Melanie now. She’s offering to meet up.”

  “Without Cheyenne?”

  She nodded, chewing at her lip again.

  It was obvious she felt bad, but drugs? I don’t know. That just didn’t feel right.

  I gave her a little nod. “Go out with your girl. Have fun.”

  She grinned, easing back. “I don’t know how much fun we’ll have. I feel like I have to tell Melanie what I told you—”

  “No, you don’t. You’re looking out for a friend, but I’ll take it from here. Don’t worry about it. Just go, have fun, and do whatever you do.”

  She paused again. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure. Go.”

  She did, after another moment of hesitation, but fucking fuck. Drugs?

  Chad didn’t like her, didn’t want me around her, but… Fuck! Fuck.

  Jaw hard, I moved forward, ripping open the door a little harder than necessary. Two guys in the hallway jumped, but I stalked past them for the locker room.

  Fucking drugs.

  No fucking way.

  14

  Cheyenne

  I hadn’t been able to do it. There was no tunnel for me.

  Midway through the second period, I was jumping at every roar and cheer and buzzer, and I felt like my skin was trying to rip off of me. I called it quits, but I tried to reassure Melanie I could cab it home alone. She didn’t need to stay. And yeah, she never left my side until I was in my apartment. She still waited until the game was done, which we finished watching on television.

  By the end of the third period, I was much more sane.

  I hated using that terminology, but it was how I felt.

  There’s a reason for everything, not enough receptors or dopamine or neurotransmitters in the brain, but when a person felt the world was spinning around them, that was the general vibe of this. We were nuts. But I was home, and safe, and I knew what was happening, and that was most of the work. It allowed me to become grounded.

  Melanie took off after the game, planning on meeting Cassie at Tits, so when she left, I shot Cut a text before turning off my phone.

  Me: Feeling under the weather. Went home. I’ll call you tomorrow? So sorry. Great win!

  After that, I ran a bath, and by the time I was done with it, I felt a bit better. Almost normal. I was still rattled, the exhaustion was starting to seep in. It’d been there the whole time, but I’d been holding it at bay, which caused it to be even worse. When we got to the apartment, I didn’t let myself crash. I held on, wanting to watch the rest of the game, but now…now I was almost stumbling, needing to head to bed.

  That’s when the doorbell rang and I froze.

  Who—pound, pound!

  “It’s me, Cheyenne. Let me in.”

  I sucked in a breath. Oh, holy shitballs.

  It was Cut. How’d he—I mean, Chad had no clue where I lived.

  He spoke through the door, “Just let me in for a few minutes. I’ll leave after. Promise.”

  A few minutes.

  Pfft. Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one feeling his skin trying to jump off his bones.

  But, still. I glanced down at me. I was in a soft tank top, my sleeper shorts, and whatever. My hair was a mess, but my toes and fingernails at least looked good. That made me feel better, and with another sigh, trying to ignore all the butterflies and tickling caterpillars in my stomach, I unlocked the door and stepped back.

  I crossed my arms over me, hugging myself, warding him off, at the same time as he opened the door.

  God. He looked so good.

  He was wearing a ball cap pulled low, a t-shirt, and jeans, and the way all of that fit his body…Good Lord…six times. Six times. I was trying not to remember how he worked magic with those fingers of his as a warm-up and I stepped back, swallowing a knot.

  “Hey.” That was him.

  Gah. Seriously? He was speaking all soft-like to me.

  I wanted him to be an asshole, then this would be done with and I’d figure my shit out afterwards. But nooo. He had to be looking at me all kind-like, and sweet, and tender, and his tone sounded like soft caramel and he smelled of fresh shampoo, and I loved his fresh shampoo smell.

  “Hi.” A bullfrog had taken over my throat. It was speaking for me.

  He cracked a grin. “Can I, uh, can I come in?”

  I scurried backwards and he moved inside, his hands going into his pockets.

  That made his shoulders look even better.

  Okay.

  Here we were.

  I let out a breath.

  He heard me, frowning. “Are you okay? You said you were sick.”

  “I was. I am. I mean, it wasn’t…” Were we doing this? Already? I felt like upheaving. “We haven’t even had a first date.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I know. That was supposed to be tonight.”

  Right again.

  “No. No. You wanted to know why I left the next morning, and I said I didn’t want to lie. That was supposed to be for tonight, but you’re here, and I’m now realizing that’s a serious, serious topic, and that’s too early. We had sex, and before that you—” OH DAMN! I’d been about to tell him.

  I clamped my mouth shut.

  He inclined his head. “I what?”

  “Nothing.”

  He frowned, cocking his head to the side. “You what? You were going to say something.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “You were.”

  “Was not.”

  His head moved back, lifting, and surprise flared in his gaze. The other side of his mouth tugged up. “Are we fighting about this?”

  “We’re not fighting.”

  “We’re disagreeing. You were going to say something about me.”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  A full-out frown from him, and he edged back a step. He was reassessing me.

  Great, now he was looking at me like a mental patient, but for the totally wrong reason.

  A slight grin showed on his face. “Look, you’re right.” He scanned me from head to toe. “You seem okay now. Do you want to go somewhere for a drink?”

  More drinking.

  But, gah. I would need to go back on my meds tomorrow, and I couldn’t take them when I was drinking, and last Friday was supposed to be my last day reprieve. But this, this whole week except one day of forgetting to take them, was why we couldn’t take one-day reprieves. There was no vacation from what I suffered from, not unless it would morph and it would grow, and I would spin and I’d have a night like tonight.

  But also, who was I kidding?

  This was not going to work, and I might as well scare him away now.

  “I can’t do this.”

  He didn’t respond.

  That was fine.

  It plunged the knife harder in my chest, b
ut I had to do this. I had to do this for him.

  I had to let that idea go because that was another reason I’d been spinning tonight. Sasha had been right. He wasn’t real. Getting a boyfriend in school was supposed to make things right? But it wasn’t about getting a boyfriend, it was about someone loving me, even just liking me, because so many of them didn’t like me. My mother. Chad. My father. My stepmother. Hunter had been super chill, and thinking about him made me destress, just a bit here.

  I needed some Koala Man emailing, but back to the situation in my living room.

  Cut was standing, still looking so fucking fine, and I tried to ignore that as I went to the dining table. No way could this conversation happen when I was sitting on my nice comfy couch. If I had to bolt or even ask him to leave, I’d be fighting with my cushions to stand up, and then the whole dramatic effect would be lost.

  I sat down and Cut took a seat across from me.

  His eyes.

  So fierce, but also just knowing me. He was looking at me, like at me at me. How many people have looked at you and not really seen you? Not this guy. Straight fucking through me, and I was stalling. Big time.

  Fine. Here we go.

  “You know about my junkie mom.”

  He dipped his head down. “You mentioned her.”

  Right.

  Gah.

  Six. Times.

  And why was I scaring this dude away again?

  But I needed to, for him and for me. I couldn’t grapple with the reality that he liked me. That just didn’t make sense to me. Or even make sense to the universe.

  “My mom was a junkie. She was a junkie before she had me, while she had me, and most certainly after she had me.”

  I waited, because this was the moment when people generally got a different look. Like an, ‘oh, holy shit’ look, like ‘oh, she came from that type of background.’ I’d seen it enough and it never made sense to me because I might’ve come from that environment but that environment wasn’t me. Most people didn’t get that so they had a look.

  Cut didn’t have that look. He was watching me. He was listening to me, but I hadn’t shocked him with that revelation. Yet.

  I would.

  Just wait.

  I was just getting to the good stuff.

  I kept on, “I was homeless on and off when I was a kid. Spent time with my uncle. Had a stint at my dad’s, and I was so ‘bad’ that they shipped Chad and Hunter to live somewhere else.” He knew about that. “I didn’t even know I had a half-brother until they slipped and mentioned his name. I never did anything. I never stole. I thought the house was super chill because I could get water whenever I wanted, and they fed me. I didn’t have to feel like I was stealing from my neighbors even though I now knew they put out water, sandwiches on purpose for me to take. I had problems. Big problems. Big enough problems that I was half-checked out of reality.” I wasn’t going to list the diagnoses I’d been given. Some were right, some weren’t, and some disappeared over the years. Meds, therapy, but mostly having someone give a fuck was priceless.

  I’d already said enough, and I was studying him. Gauging his reaction.

  He didn’t look scared.

  Why didn’t he look scared?

  “Want to know what I was diagnosed with?”

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “What are you doing? Telling me all of this?”

  I leaned forward, too. “Saving you.” My eyes flicked to the door. “Leave. Run. Go away.”

  His eyes narrowed and he eased back, but he didn’t move.

  Why wasn’t he moving?

  “I saw you talking to that suit, and I hated him. You were mine.” Still a soft tone, but his nostrils flared. His eyes flashed. “I don’t know what that was, but I felt it—”

  “I thought I was in love with you in school.”

  He stopped.

  I didn’t. “I thought you knew me. I thought you liked me back. I thought we had a whole relationship, in my head. I was delusional. You didn’t have a clue who I was.” I kept going. “I was in the car. Chad came out to talk to his mom, and you were with him. You waved at me.”

  His nostrils flared again.

  “You said ‘hey’ to me in the hallway. Once.” And he didn’t remember.

  “What’s your point?”

  “My point is that there’s a reason you didn’t remember me.”

  “No, there’s not.” He laughed.

  He actually laughed.

  He added, “All I cared about was hockey back then. I woke up, hockey. I went to the bathroom, hockey. Showered, hockey. Went to school, hockey. Everything was hockey for me. I liked girls. I liked getting sex whenever I wanted it back then because it was easy for me, but hockey was my life. I didn’t remember you because I probably saw you and still only saw hockey. I don’t remember any of the girls I fucked from back then, or in my one year at college. I see you now. I want you now. Why’s that such an issue for you?” He leaned forward again. “Why are you so scared?”

  Too fast.

  Too overwhelming.

  Too much to lose.

  “I have issues.”

  “So? I have a busted elbow.”

  The room grew sweltering. “You do? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, but I’m still not understanding your whole thing here. You can’t decide for me if I should want to fuck you again or not.”

  Heat seared through me, and a whole tingly thing was starting in my body. It was starting between my legs, where I was remembering what it felt like to have him there, feel him sliding inside of me, how he gripped my hips, how he used my body—but I had to stop.

  My throat was starting to seize up.

  And he knew.

  I saw it.

  A whole smirk and cocky knowing was there, and then his eyes turned and they were starting to smolder. Stop the smoldering.

  Please.

  I couldn’t take the smolder.

  I whispered, my voice cracking, “That’s not fair.”

  “What’s not fair?”

  His voice was silk now.

  “Chad doesn’t like me.”

  “Chad doesn’t know you.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “I would like to know you.”

  But why?

  None of this made sense.

  Sex, yes. I was hella hot, but anything beyond that? No. It just didn’t happen. Who would want me?

  I started shaking my head. “I have to take meds to pay attention. To focus. If I don’t, it’s a whole chain reaction. I can’t focus because I’m noticing everything. I can’t put up walls and filter things out, but it’s not just that. I had a panic attack tonight, that’s why I bailed, and it’s embarrassing to have that. God knows what Cassie thought of me. You can’t function. You can’t read cues right. Basic things about when to laugh, when to speak quietly, when to read a room—I can’t do any of those things when I’m having an attack, or especially when I’m having an attack. I look like I’m drunk, but inside I’m dying.”

  He didn’t react to that.

  He sat there, but his eyes looked down at the table.

  I waited.

  I didn’t want to be waiting how I was, all tense-like, sitting on the edge of my seat, like I needed his approval or disapproval or his rejection, acceptance? Anything. I hated it, but it mattered. It mattered more than I wished it did and I was holding my breath.

  “That’s what happened tonight?”

  There was a balloon in my chest, filling, filling, getting tighter and tighter at his question, at how his tone was so not judging, at how, just like that, the balloon started to deflate.

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “What’s it like? What do you feel?”

  Like a herd of cattle are stampeding over me, and I can’t ask for help or raise a hand for someone to grab. But I couldn’t tell him that—wait. Why not? So, I did. I repeated every single word, and I waited again when I was done.

  This i
s one of the worst parts. When someone is asking, when you’ve made yourself vulnerable to them, opened yourself up for judgment, and you then have to wait if they’ll ‘get it’ or if they’ll dismiss it because when they dismiss your truth, they dismiss you.

  “Jesus. It’s like you’re being Kronewalled again and again and again.”

  The sympathy mixed with torture from him had me blinking back tears.

  “Yeah. I guess, but I don’t know if it’s exactly like that.” Because hello, being Kronewalled looked like it sucked. Getting hit that hard against the walls, I saw him do it and saw him get checked like that, and I was already cringing just imagining it.

  But he got it. Kinda. Or he was trying.

  That said everything.

  “I’m sorry you go through that.”

  More tears. I was just blinking nonstop right now.

  “Dude,” I whispered.

  He laughed, then grew fierce as he leaned forward, his eyes capturing and holding mine. “We’ve been over this. Don’t ever ‘dude’ me.”

  “Dude.” I laughed.

  He grinned, then his eyes grew warm again, looking me over. “You were heading to bed?”

  I nodded. “I was.”

  “Can I talk you into watching a movie? Or sports highlights? I mean, is it okay if I just hang out with you, that is, if you’re feeling up to it now?”

  More heat. More tingles, and I was beginning to throb. There was a whole blooming thing happening in my body. Like a blanket coating my insides and it was spreading, and it was delicious, and it made me feel a way that was dangerous for someone like me to feel.

  But I found myself whispering back, “Yeah. That’d be rad.”

  He snorted. “Rad.”

  So, we did. On my couch. A blanket pulled over my lap. A movie on, and he took one look at me, at my blanket, and shook his head before reaching over, hooking an arm around my waist and hoisting me over him.

  I squawked, which he laughed at as he positioned me so I was tucked in the corner of the couch. My legs and half my body were draped over him, his other arm behind my back, and he tugged me so my head fit into the corner of his arm and chest, and I burrowed in there.

  I felt every inch of him for the rest of the night.

  I had no clue what we watched.