The Not-Outcast Read online

Those same eyes darkened. “What does that mean?”

  I had to put an end to this. I sat up, swinging my feet down, and noticing my tank top, I grabbed for it. It’d been dried and was folded on a chair by the bed. My pants just underneath it. I had stripped everything off in the bathroom and tugged one of his shirts on.

  He did my laundry for me.

  Oh, man. That was really sweet of him.

  Sweet. Fuck.

  I really had to end this now. I would be doing him a favor in the long run.

  I pulled my top on, and reached for my pants. When I had one leg inside, he said from behind me, “Why am I getting a weird feeling here?”

  I almost scoffed.

  Because he was intuitive?

  I only murmured, putting my second leg in, “Because you’re smart.”

  “What does that mean?” He’d dropped his tone a whole octave lower. I heard him standing, felt the bed move. “You need to tell me. You need to talk to me.”

  I stood, pulling my pants up and zipped them up, buttoning them. Shoes?

  A strangled cough came from him, then, “They’re on the bed.”

  I looked. He’d just put them there for me, straightening and standing back. His eyes were hooded. His face was granite.

  That hurt. I knew it was me doing this, but he would thank me later.

  “You’re running? Only this time I’m awake and witnessing it.”

  He said it with such contempt, but he didn’t get it. He did not get this.

  I grabbed my sandals, letting them plop one by one on the floor as I put my feet into them. I owed him an explanation, he heard about my freak-outs, and he witnessed the beginning of one last night, but that look—I’ll never forget how utterly helpless he looked when I was in the water.

  He didn’t think I saw him, but I did. He never moved from his spot, and the longer I swam, the longer he stayed. Some might start falling in love with that, if they hadn’t been, or if they weren’t freaking out about losing their mind.

  Some.

  Not me.

  Because I was guarded.

  Because I had to be guarded.

  For him.

  Not me.

  I was doing this for him.

  And again, I was not falling in love with him, or realizing I had always been, or—nope. That wasn’t me. That wasn’t this mental case.

  “I’m not a charity case for you.”

  He actually flinched. “Who the fuck said you were?”

  “I know guys. I know sometimes they want to save the girl, and you’re looking at me. You’re seeing how messed up I am, but I’m not just temporarily messed up, this isn’t a once-a-month, hormonal thing.” I pointed to my head. “All this is because I don’t have the right neurotransmitters working up there. It’s the same as someone getting cancer or arthritis. My brain is sick, and the problem with that shit is that I’m battling my own brain every day, every minute, every second, every fucking year of my life. This doesn’t get magically fixed. They don’t know enough about it to fix it. I can’t have back surgery, and voila, I’m all good. It’s not like that. You’re thinking you’re all in now, but you aren’t. Trust me.”

  My chest was squeezing. A whole knot was sitting in my throat.

  I was getting choked up, because, my God, he’d been the idea that got me through all the bad shit with my family. But that wasn’t real. I was walking away from it. I had all these walls put in place. Those walls kept me going. They kept me enduring, and he’d been so many of the walls. Protecting me from the outside world. The idea of him had been the foundation holding those walls up, and now it was gone.

  And shortly, so would he.

  Because I knocked all of them over in one swift move.

  I felt bereft, and a whole feeling of doom was settling in my chest. Pressing in, pressing down. It was spreading through me, and I was fucked. I was so fucked.

  Grabbing my purse, checking that my phone was inside, I had to go.

  I had to go now before I changed my mind.

  I was at the door, my hand on the doorknob, when he said, “Never took you for a coward.”

  Oh. Oh no.

  I swung around. “Don’t even go there.” My head was up, eyes wide, and I was breathing in fire. “Do not even go there, to that place where you think you can goad me for what? Running away? I live with this. You just got a visitor’s pass, but trust me, you don’t want a permanent residency. You train for your job but imagine if that same amount of work was what you needed every hour of every day just to keep breathing. Don’t call me a coward, dude.”

  “Dude?!” His nostrils flared. His eyes turned smoldering, even more heated. “I hate that word from you.”

  “Yeah. Well.” I so didn’t care. “Don’t call me a coward, and no, it doesn’t compare.”

  I had to get out of there. It was imperative. I saw the fight rallying in him.

  Seriously. My mouth was going dry just looking at him. His hair was all messed up, but it was in the hot, messy, sexed-up kind of way, and I know he hadn’t done anything with it. That was all natural, and he’d pulled on some sweats. They rode low on his hips. That V on a hockey player. Damn. That V.

  But it wasn’t how he looked.

  It was how he just was.

  Because he was good, and kind, and he was humble. And he didn’t take shit from my Not-Brother. And he fought for me. And he sat by the pool for thirty minutes being terrified, but still stayed.

  He stayed, and he was still standing here. He was still staying.

  What was I doing?

  I was walking away, feeling like I was ripping myself in half here, but it was needed. It was so needed.

  “I have to go.”

  “Wait.” It took him two steps.

  I opened the door, he slammed it shut, then he was stepping up behind me. His body pressed against mine.

  It felt right.

  If this felt right why was I doing this? I’d asked myself that before and still didn’t have an answer.

  I wanted someone to love me.

  My mother never had. I had no dad, then I had a dad, but I still didn’t have a dad. I had no one, so I created him in my head. He got me through until I found Sasha, then we found Melanie and it’s been us three since. Only us three.

  But damn, I just wanted to be loved.

  And he was here.

  And he had stayed.

  But I felt the ache low in my body because whether he knew it or not, he was out of his depth. They never knew, until they knew and then they wanted to be gone.

  “Let me go, Cut.”

  He’d be just like them, but I would tear through him like a tornado and I’d only leave behind debris. I would damage him, and I couldn’t do that because if I did love him after all, if I was falling in love, or always had been—it was enough not to do that to him.

  His hand flexed against the door.

  I felt how tense he was. It was bouncing off of him in waves, sucking me in, making the room stifling, but after a second flex, he stepped back. His hand lowered, but he said, his voice almost pinning me in place, “I heard what your friend said. I don’t know what’s in your head, what you’re thinking, but whatever this is, you’re going to regret it.” He pressed up against me again, his head lowering.

  I felt every inch of him.

  And I shivered.

  He felt that.

  I couldn’t suppress it, and his head dropped.

  I felt his lips graze my shoulder.

  Another shudder.

  God.

  I wanted to let him sweep me up in his arms.

  I wanted him to carry me back to his bed. I wanted to feel him inside of me.

  But it was that look. That look.

  He would walk. They always walked.

  I wouldn’t live through it if it was him.

  My mom. My dad. I survived them, but him—he would be different. I had needed the idea of him.

  I reached for the door, tears blinding me, and I lef
t.

  But people like me never got what we wanted. We never could.

  I’d learn how to not need him. I’d have to, and if I didn’t?

  Well, then…

  20

  Cut

  WEEK ONE.

  The girl was a headcase.

  Fine.

  Fuck it.

  Fuck her.

  Maybe this was better?

  Week two.

  I didn’t miss her.

  I wasn’t thinking about her.

  She wasn’t in my head.

  I wasn’t the headcase.

  Fuck.

  I wanted to call her.

  Week three.

  She was still gone.

  I had not called.

  But I kept checking to see if she had called.

  I kept opening the phone to text her.

  Damn.

  Dammit so bad.

  I missed her.

  Week four.

  Still fucking missing her.

  Still wondering what the fuck I should do.

  Week five.

  We were loading onto the plane, heading to Seattle for a game tomorrow night. I had my headphones in, music blaring, and I didn’t want to deal with anyone right now.

  I never thought of myself as a moody bitch, but that’s what I had become. Cheyenne ran, and I’d been in a mood ever since.

  My phone buzzed.

  That wasn’t hope in my chest. No—and then a real no because I saw who sent it. My whole fucking chest deflated. It’d been five weeks and I hadn’t talked to Cheyenne, or Chad.

  I wanted to talk to Cheyenne. I didn’t want to talk to Chad.

  Chad: Can we talk? You’ve been avoiding me. Good game the other night, by the way.

  Right. The last game had gone past in a blur for me. I hit the ice and I wanted to kill. Crow was confused since he was the team’s enforcer, but I’d been wanting to fight. Itching for one. Coach called me in, talked to me, wondering what was up, too. I hadn’t said a word. We weren’t like that. I wasn’t like that, but hockey was my sanctuary. I hit that ice and that’s all I could control so I did. I controlled everything, everyone.

  I was attaching to it like it was a lifeline right now.

  Fuck.

  Maybe Cheyenne had been right?

  I was already worked up, worked up this much over her, and I’d only seen her a few times.

  She was right. I mean, I didn’t know what the hell she actually went through.

  Christ.

  Swinging into my seat, I stuffed my bag under the seat in front of me and typed back.

  Me: Let me call you when we land and I get to the hotel.

  He’d been right. I had been avoiding him, but it wasn’t hard. He never came home the next day after the whole toilet papering event, and after our home game, he was out partying. I went to the house. Woke. Went to the arena.

  We’d been traveling almost ever since. This was my life during the season. Chad knew it. It wasn’t uncommon that we went months without seeing each other. He was only saying something now because of Cheyenne.

  Me: You back with the Russian?

  Chad: She’s not a Russian.

  Me: She pretends she is.

  Chad: Lol

  Chad: You and Cheyenne?

  Me: What about us?

  Hendrix dropped into the seat next to me, and I could already hear the music blaring from his headphones. He got settled, then tugged his headphones off and nodded to my phone.

  “Your woman?”

  “Chad.”

  “Nice. I saw him at Bresko’s the other night.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Went there after one of our games with a few guys and he was there, in your box.”

  I frowned. It wasn’t really my box, but I was a silent investor, and the owners kept a VIP section for us. Chad dropped my name, a lot. It was partly his job, but not for Bresko’s. I knew he was never employed there to promote them. The club didn’t need him, but Chad needed Bresko’s. He used his connection there to build up the crowd that he could pull for other clubs.

  “Who was he with?”

  “Not as many as normal. A few people, no one I remembered.”

  I went back to my phone.

  Me: Who’d you party with at Bresko’s?

  Chad: Huh? Why?

  Me: Cuz if you’re using my name, I want to know.

  I was being a bitch. He always used my name, and he knew I knew it. This was just the first time I was saying something about it.

  There was another long pause.

  Chad: You don’t want me to use your name?

  Me: I want to know who you’re taking to the VIP area and using my name.

  Chad: WTF?

  I scowled.

  Me: Just tell me who you partied with.

  Chad: Don’t be a bitch because my sister took off on you.

  A whole whoosh sensation went through me. This fucker.

  I was scowling.

  Me: Wow, first time you actually called her that.

  Chad: What the hell is your problem?

  Fuck’s sake. I had to calm it down. He was right.

  Then my phone started ringing. Chad calling.

  I didn’t trust myself to talk civil to him. I didn’t know what I’d say to him over text either.

  I hit decline and turned it on airplane mode.

  Switching back to my music, I noticed Hendrix had been paying attention, but he didn’t say a word. He stuck his headphones back in his ears and we flew to Seattle just like that.

  21

  Cheyenne

  I was doing a bunch of self-reflection lately.

  I had my job, and I loved working at Come Our Way. I loved everything about it. The guys. The workers. The volunteers. The mission. And I had my girls. I saw them almost every day. We were family. That’s how it was, but I hadn’t thought about my love life. I hadn’t had to, to be honest.

  I was fulfilled.

  Or I thought I had been, but with my stuff, a person goes through a situation where they really question things at a deeper level. Like, would it be fair to bring someone else in on the struggle you endure every day? If you did, was it fair to bring a child into the world who had a mother with the struggles I had? On the surface, she would seem to be just a mom who’s distracted or disorganized.

  But follow down the line, and it’s a mom who’s not listening to you. It’s a mom who forgets to pick you up. It’s a mom who forgot to pay your meal plan for a year, for the second year, for a third year. It’s a mom who forgets to pick you up not once, but twice, three, four, five… The intent is there. The love is always there, but the struggles are there, and they are often greater than the whole, and they can chip away at a person, at a child, at a husband, at a wife. If something gets chipped away at enough, holes get created and those holes get bigger and bigger over the years.

  Did I want to do that? God no.

  But would I struggle at some point? Without a doubt.

  I was still young. I wasn’t a virgin. I hadn’t been waiting for Cut, but I had been at the same time.

  There were a few boyfriends, but no one serious. They never lasted long and again, never serious. These questions and self-doubts didn’t come into play because those guys weren’t my forever guy.

  Cut was.

  Cut could be.

  Or, Cut could’ve been.

  And now I was thinking myself into circles.

  Actually, I was torturing myself into circles.

  I was at work. There was a meeting going on. Dean’s voice was droning on, and I was doodling. I could do that. Sometimes it helped me channel so I could focus better, but I had to be honest with myself.

  I was hurting, and I wanted Cut. I missed Cut.

  I didn’t know what I was doing anymore, why I wasn’t calling him, texting him. Then I’d have to remind myself and here we were again, once more around the pass about how I couldn’t do to him what my mother had done to me. Not the same strug
gle, but a struggle nonetheless.

  I was trying to justify all the reasons why I ran from him.

  The reason was real. What I had, no one I loved should go through it with me. Sasha and Melanie were different. They had their own issues, and I was there for them. It was the same with me, but I also pulled back with them. They got it. They understood. I had my stuff, and I never wanted to burden anyone else with it, not too much. It’s not their problem to deal with. It’s mine.

  I tried not to watch his away games. I hadn’t lasted on that. The puck dropped and I was scrambling to turn my television on.

  My chest was burning because they were playing at home tonight, and I was trying to tell myself that I wasn’t going. But I was going. I already knew I was going. Why was I trying to lie to myself?

  “—what do you think, Cheyenne?”

  “Huh?” My pen dropped and I looked up.

  Dean, Reba, and Boomer were all waiting for my answer.

  I blinked, trying to remember. I had no clue. “What’d you say?”

  Dean frowned, his eyebrows pinching together. “You okay?”

  Reba grunted. “You get distracted at times, but you’ve been more the last few weeks.”

  Reba was our other full-time worker, the one who worked, and went home to actually Netflix and chill. She was built like a trucker (her words) with the curliest hair I’d ever seen on someone before. She had dark auburn hair, and her curls were the type that had curls within the curls themselves. Getting a comb through them with product must be a nightmare for Reba, so she let it flow. She came to work and her hair was bouncing every which way. I loved it. The freer, the better, but today she had it pulled back under a red bandana.

  I was missing the usual fray wildness. I connected with it in my core. Her hair was like all the things going on inside my own head.

  But Reba handled all of our ordinances. She was the glue in the shelter. Dean and I were almost like decorative props in the building. If we didn’t have Reba, there would be no shelter. Sturdy and tough. I loved me some Reba, and if Reba was noticing my distraction and commenting on it, then I had to handle it because it was serious. Reba noticed a lot, but she didn’t comment on anything that wasn’t worth commenting on. She was a wise soul, and she never wasted her breath on something. It was her golden rule.