The Not-Outcast Read online

Still. It was all cool.

  I’d miss looking at Cut.

  Gah.

  I loved Cut. I think I loved him all my life.

  So I went back to live with my mom.

  She was nice, like I knew she would be.

  Until she got bored, like I knew she would get.

  Then she found a new guy, like I knew would happen.

  So, the same old, same old happened.

  This time I went to the shelter, but I wasn’t there long.

  Something happened, so I stayed with Herb for a bit. Herb was cool.

  He’s got a nice dog, too.

  But somehow the cops found out where I was. I got picked up.

  I knew not to ask Natalie or Deek, so that time I went to my uncle’s.

  Things were good, until they weren’t.

  Same old, same old.

  But turns out, not this time.

  I couldn’t believe they came for me.

  I was more grounded this time. It was a whole year later. I was going into my senior year of high school, and this time I was with the normal kids. They got me meds. My uncle got me in to see a therapist who worked with me. There was a new county program where they paid for those services. There was group therapy, and yeah, okay, they sent me somewhere for a bit. But I came out, and it was like the world was shining brighter.

  I’ve never felt like this.

  People would say things, and I understood them. I responded, and they replied.

  I felt like one of them, you know?

  If you know, you know. If you don’t, that’s cool. That meant you’re blessed.

  The place said I was misdiagnosed, and my symptoms were because my mom was a junkie when I was inside of her. And I got all that. It made sense, but it was awesome. I mean, it wasn’t. The reason I was there and all of us were there wasn’t cool at all.

  Though, could I tell you a secret?

  I was relieved. And I felt bad saying that. I’d never admit that to anyone else, but I was.

  There were no more ups and downs, threats, screams, violence, the streets, shelters, cops, or fostering. From the time I lived with my dad, and the times I’ve been with my uncle, I got that I needed structure. It said a lot that a kid like me got that. Like, it said a lot.

  “Cheyenne.”

  Oh, boy. My dad. He looked wary to talk to me.

  “Hi, Deek.”

  He smiled, and he blinked a few times before he came the rest of the way to where I was waiting.

  He reached for me, and like a normal person (who can read that this is what he wanted), I moved in, and he hugged me.

  I hugged him back.

  It was all so cool.

  Then Natalie was here, and she smiled at me with all this gentleness. Who knew she could be like that? Not that she was mean mean, but she was at least slightly bitchy mean. If that made sense?

  And holy crapola I’m-gonna-crap-my-pants crap!

  There’s a little dude next to her, and he looked just like Chad. His hair even had a slight twinge of red in it.

  I thought Natalie was reaching for a hug, but no way. I dropped to my knees, smiling wide at this little guy, and I reached for him (because I can now, because I’m a normal person now—there are so many benefits to hanging in the normal, cool crowd), and he came to me!

  “Hey, buddy.” Keep it quiet, Cheyenne. Calm. Don’t scare the little dude away. “I’m your big sister.”

  “I know!”

  I always wanted a sibling.

  A little dude to love and look over.

  I was almost bowled over by his excitement.

  “Hunter,” Natalie reprimanded him.

  I didn’t know why, but he stared at her and then he must’ve remembered.

  “Oh.” He lifted his arms, wound them around my neck, and squeezed me tight. He said in a rush, “I’msorryaboutyourmomIheardshewasn’tnicebutI’mstillsorry.”

  Okay.

  I replayed it back silently, put in the spaces, and I got it.

  I eased back and held up my pinkie finger.

  He was watching me. Wide eyes. Then, grinning, he lifted his pinkie, and we locked.

  “Put it there, dude.”

  Could I tell you another secret?

  I didn’t like talking about my mom or the reason everyone was here.

  There was sadness, and I felt it, but right now I was riding the wave of meeting my little brother. Now I’ve not only met Hunter, hugged Hunter, but we pinkie-duded each other.

  Little Dude leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “Do you like koalas?”

  I leaned back, giving him the biggest and brightest smile ever. “You serious? I love koalas!”

  His whole face lit up. “Me too.”

  I looked up, but no Chad. Or Cut. (I was really hoping Cut would come.)

  As if reading my mind, Natalie coughed. “Chad’s at a hockey camp where he’s going to college next year.”

  I stood, but I had to squeeze little dude’s shoulder.

  He looked up, bumping into my leg, and I’m calling it. We’re going to be the best koala-loving friends.

  Then he moved over to his mom, and I got that, too. She seemed pretty chill this time.

  “Silvard, right?” I asked.

  Natalie’s eyes got big.

  Me. Normal. I was loving it. “You told me last year that’s where he’s going. Early acceptance?”

  “Yeah.” She blinked some more, then shook her head. “Uh. Yeah.” She regained her footing, and her smile was more genuine. “Cut got a ride there until he goes to the NHL. Chad doesn’t think he’ll make the team. He’s not as good as Cut, but he’s hoping for one last year with him.”

  I got it. I’d want one last year with Cut, too.

  Honestly, I’d take one last moment with him at this point. I still loved the guy, though I’ve realized he had no clue who I was that year and we never actually talked. Like, ever.

  I was a bit delusional that year.

  “That’s cool.” I was bobbing my head, acting just like what I said.

  It’s my new favorite word.

  Deek cleared his throat, suddenly all serious. “I’ve talked to your uncle, and he mentioned the agreement we worked out. That works with you?”

  I knew what he was talking about, and I nodded. “I’ll stay with my uncle. I’m guessing you want me to go to Silvard next year?”

  He relaxed. Dude did not want me in the house. I got it. I understood.

  His shoulders lowered, and the lines of tension in his forehead eased at my words.

  “We’re figuring since Chad will be there, you might want to get to know your brother a bit.”

  Now that I’m better…

  Now that my mother wasn’t…

  “That’d be great.” I winked at Little Dude. “But only if Koala Dude and I can hang sometimes.”

  He giggled at his name.

  Deek’s head jerked to the side. “We can talk later about that.”

  With a clearer head, it turned out that I was smart, and I might even be a little super-duper smart. I would need to work hard and work a lot, but I could probably graduate like one of those normal people.

  The agreement was that I stayed away and Deek would pay for my college.

  He was choosing Silvard.

  My uncle thought I’d be pissed about that, but I was down.

  I wasn’t like one of those girls. I didn’t have plans, dreams, or Pinterest boards about anything. I was just happy to be able to go to college, and Silvard is no slouch school. They’re D1 and pretty fancy-pants. I knew it’d be hard, but as long as I kept current with therapy and meds, I was down for the pound.

  I could get a degree, and whadda ya know? I could get a decent job at the end of all this.

  I saw my uncle approaching, and I knew what that meant. It was time to get this shindig going.

  My dad hugged me. He was still so tense. I didn’t know why.

  Natalie hugged me. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Cheyenne.” S
he smoothed my hair, her hands fell to my shoulders, and then Little Dude hugged my knees.

  I didn’t tell anyone, but my shoulders tingled after that touch from her.

  My mom used to be nice like that, but that was a long time ago.

  Like, ages ago.

  Like, I couldn’t remember now, but she must’ve been at some point.

  She had to be.

  All moms hugged their kids, right…?

  But I didn’t want to deal with that. I got my Little Dude here.

  I crouched down and held up my pinkie again. “We’re gonna hang, right?”

  He stepped forward, all serious. He wrapped his pinkie around mine and nodded. “Hell yeah, we’re gonna hang.”

  “Hunter!” his mom said.

  But he just laughed. I laughed back, and it was all good.

  1

  Cheyenne

  The present

  I was lit, weak, and horny.

  That was not a good combination for me. Usually my willpower was strong, like industrial-strength super-latexed condom strong, but not tonight. Tonight, the combination of the booze and cocktails had melded together and taken down my last holdouts of willpower. I was gonzo and then I got this text.

  Dean: Mustang party! Now! Where r u???

  Dean was my colleague, but let’s forget about why he would be texting me because we are not ‘texting’ colleagues. Kansas City Mustangs. That was the important part of that text, and it was getting all of my attention.

  Dear God. I could hear the whistle of the impending bomb right before it hit.

  That was the professional hockey team that he played on.

  Party.

  Did I mention the he that was him? He, as in the only rookie drafted for Kansas City’s newer team? He signed his contract after he had one year at Silvard.

  The he that the team’s owners were hoping could be grown into one of the NHL’s newest stars, but that’d been a three-year plan. Nope. He had different ideas because once he hit the ice in their first debut game, he scored a hat trick in the first period. First. Period. Playing against five to ten-year veterans, and that had not gone unnoticed. By everyone. After that he exploded into the NHL scene and in a big fucking way.

  They started calling him Reaper Ryder after that.

  It was the same he that I perved on during a brief stint in high school, and then again during that one year in college before he got whisked away to superstardom. Though, he didn’t know any of that 411 about my perving habits.

  The second text from Dean gave us the address where to go, and the whistle got louder, target hit…direct implosion.

  It was two blocks away.

  He was two blocks away, and there went my restraint because I’d kept away from him for the last four years when I moved to the same city he was living in—of course he didn’t know that—but this city was totally amazeballs by the way.

  I was doomed. I might as well start digging my own bunker at this rate because I was already downtown partaking in some celebratory boozetails, so here we were. Here I was, well we because I wasn’t alone. My main girl since Silvard days, Sasha, was on my right, and Melanie on my left. Melanie came after Silvard, but that didn’t matter. She was one of my girls. The three of us. We were awesomesauce, and we were walking into this building that looked like a downtown loft, one that was probably the humble abode to someone not so humble, but someone with old-money wealth who enjoyed partaking in their own boozetails as well.

  I already felt a whole kemosabe camaraderie with whoever owned this joint.

  “This place is fucking awesome.”

  That was Melanie. She enjoyed coffee, girls, and she was an amazing barista at Dino’s Beans.

  “Girl.”

  That was Sasha. She owned a strip club, told everyone she was an angry Russian, even though there wasn’t one Russian strand of DNA in her body, and she enjoyed using one word for everything. That’s not to say she didn’t speak more than one-word answers, but those were her go-to for speaking.

  “Whoa.” That was me.

  Melanie had jet-black hair. Sasha had ice-queen white hair, and me—I was the in between. My hair was usually a dusty blonde color, but today it looked a bit more lighter than dusty blonde. I still enjoyed it, and I also had super chill electric-blue eyes. The other two both had dark eyes so I figured I was still the ‘in between’ for the eyes, too.

  When we entered that party, all eyes turned to us, and not one of us was fazed. We were used to it. Where we went, we got attention. Guys loved us (sometimes), girls hated us (usually), and we didn’t care (ever). We weren’t going to tone down our awesomeness because of their insecurities.

  But we were all works in progress, or at least I was.

  I was known to have entire conversations and whole other worlds and every version of apocalypses in my head. That was just me. You’ll understand the more you get to know me, but trust me when I say that I’m a lot better than I used to be. Meds, therapy, and a dead junkie mother will do that to you.

  But enough about me.

  Melanie was the shit, and she really loved the word ‘fuck.’ A-fucking-lot.

  Then there was Sasha, she’d been my roommate from college, and here we were, three years out of graduation (well, four for me since I graduated early, and don’t ask me how that happened because it still shocked the hell out of me) and going strong. But we were on a mission.

  That mission was more boozetails.

  There were people everywhere. Stuffy people. One woman who had a tiara on her head. There were guys in suits, some in hella expensive suits, and tuxedos, too.

  Whoa.

  This wasn’t just a party party. This was like a whole shindig party.

  Fake Stanley Cups were placed all around with mucho dinero inside.

  Crap.

  I started to mentally shift through the emails—easier said than done when one was halfway to boozeopolis—that I liked to avoid and I was remembering some of the subject lines of those that I had skipped. There’d been a bunch from Dean lately, though, and one was about some ‘Celebrity PR for Come Our Way’ and I needed to double down on the crapattitude because I had a feeling we just waltzed into a fundraiser.

  “Cheyenne!”

  Dean rushed over to us, holding a boozetail in one hand, and his eyes glazed over. He was medium height with a more squat build that he easily could buff up more, but I didn’t think Dean went to the gym. He was always at work and because of that, I usually saw him with his hair all messed up. That’s how it was now, and his eyes glazed over.

  My dude coworker was lit.

  I started smiling, but then no. Not good. What corporate espionage was he up to by telling me to come here?

  “Where’s the bar, Deano?” Melanie.

  I was impressed she hadn’t used her favorite word.

  “There.” Directions from Sasha and like that, both my buds moved away.

  I settled back, knowing they’d have my back. They’d be bringing the boozetails to me—even better—so I had the time to grin at Dean. “What’s happening, hot stuff?”

  He never got my quotes. Or jokes.

  He didn’t react and he grabbed my arm. “Have you read my emails?” Then he looked at me, his head moving back an inch. “What are you wearing?”

  Nothing appropriate for a work event, that’s for sure.

  But I only upped my grin wattage. “I was going for a Daenerys theme. Felt like wanting to tame some dragons tonight.” Except I took my own liberty with the outfit. Instead of her flowing robes and dresses, I was wearing a leather, almost corset-like top, one that wrapped around my neck and hung off one of my shoulders. The bottom was more Daenerys theme, a chiffon skirt with a slit up one thigh. And high heels strapped to my feet.

  It shouldn’t work, but it did. It so totally did, and I had woven colored threads in my hair so they were swinging free, free and lit.

  He took another step back, looking me up and down again.

  “You ar
e,” a pause, “something.”

  I scowled. “Dude. Insulting.”

  He had to blink a few times because he hadn’t realized I spoke again, then he refocused. “Wait. You’re downtown. There’s no way you could’ve gotten here this fast, even if you were at the shelter, but I know you weren’t at the shelter. And your place is an hour out.”

  Case in point, my outfit.

  He was right.

  Come Our Way. The name of our kitchen had been a marketing and genius ploy, one put in place by Deano himself, because while I wrote the grant that got us five million (not a common thing to happen for a start-up) and got us going, his job was actually to work on marketing and promotions to keep the money, spotlight, and volunteers streaming to our little kitchen. I maintained our grant, and I helped with literally everything else. I was the final say-so on all executive decisions, except for matters that we needed the board to oversee. We had another full-time staff member, but she liked to Netflix and chill (and really Netflix and chill with wine, not the other Netflix and chill) on her evenings. But all three of us manned our little kitchen that fed a lot of the downtown homeless in our corner in Kansas City.

  And Dean knew I wasn’t known for one to partake in alcoholic libations, but we were here, and I was thirsty.

  It was my last day on my medication vacation. I was taking advantage of it.

  It was a thing that happened to help cut down on build-up immunity. Sometimes I enjoyed it, but it was usually a whole struggle to get back on and make sure everything was smooth running.

  But that wasn’t something I was going to think about tonight, though my brain was already starting to go there. Tomorrow I’d go back to living almost like a saint.

  Where were my girls with my drinkaloo?

  Also, I was firmly not letting myself think of the he and that took mundo restraint because he had been a big major part of my daydreams since my junior year in high school through now—especially now since I’ve been living in the city where he was hockey royalty.

  I didn’t answer Dean, but spying another Stanley Cup filled with cash, I asked instead, “What’s the funding for?”

  “Oh!” He perked up, throwing his head back and finishing his drink. A waitress walked by with a tray loaded with fully filled champagne flutes. He snagged two, for himself. “That’s why I’m here. I got the final acceptance that the Mustangs are going to dedicate an entire two days to Come Our Way. Two days, Cheyenne. Two days? Can you believe that?” He leaned in, excited, and I could smell how excited he was.