You and Everything After (12 page)

“You can’t,” she says, just like I knew she would. Her arms are folded in that I’m-older-than-you (
by one freaking minute!)
way. Her smugness pisses me off. I stand and move into the closet flipping through my clothes, picking out something for dinner tonight. The closet also puts us a few steps farther away from Rowe, and I don’t want her hearing my sister scold me.

“Yes, Paige. I can. I’ve been training…”

“You’ve been…
training
?” I hate this tone she has. She gets it from our mother. It’s almost self-righteous. I am definitely my father—easy, willing, and competitive. Paige is Mom—creative, but stubborn and always right. Problem is, Paige and Mom both tend to gang up on me. By God’s grace, my parents kept Paige out of the worst of my issues my senior year of high school. Otherwise, she’d probably serve me with nightly lectures—and she sure as hell would have more questions about, and snarky remarks for, Ty.

I take a deep breath, pausing on the dress I think I want to wear tonight. Pulling it into my hands, I shut my eyes and run my thumbs along the soft fabric, breathing in once more through my nose before I dive into my defense.

“Yes. I’ve been training. And it feels good. No…” I pause, letting the dress slide through my fingers and dangle back on its hanger. “It feels amazing. My body feels amazing. I look forward to exercising—it’s more than just part of my treatment. I have a purpose, a goal! Ty has been training me, and he pushes me, but never too far. I can take it. I am
thriving
off of it! But it’s not just my muscles, and me being competitive, Paige. I’m running hard. I forgot what working for something like this felt like—and I think I need this…my
soul
needs this!”

“Your…
soul
…needs this?” she scoffs at me, a rude laugh breaking through as she speaks. “Cass, Mom is going to worry herself sick. She’s going to nag Dad until he makes you stop, or worse—she’ll make you come home!”

“Then don’t tell them!”

And there it is. I’m asking Paige to keep a secret. This is where things between us have always been raw. Paige was the one who told the school about my diagnosis. She didn’t do it to be mean—she just wanted something to talk about with her friends. She wanted to talk about how hard life was for
her
, because everyone was doting over me. Then, when I slept with Jeff and Noah, and neither of them looked my way again once they took what they wanted, I turned to Paige, devastated and confused. To her credit, I honestly believe all she wanted to do was defend me, but she confronted them…in a crowd.

And then it was out there. Cass Owens was the girl who slept with two best friends, only weeks apart. When the boys practically formed a line—I obliged. My reputation spread fast, and for the most part, I kept up—all the way until the end.

I never said it aloud, but it always hung out there between Paige and me. This lack of trust—it runs deep. So deep, that once I ask Paige to keep this secret, this new secret, the one that is bringing me more joy than anything has in months, she doesn’t know how to answer. I can see the redness fighting to take over the whites of her eyes. I’ve hit a nerve, but Paige Owens doesn’t cry. She never shows weakness. And she doesn’t make promises she can’t keep.

Without a word, she grabs her purse and keys and walks away, careful not to slam the door in her wake—always under control, even when she wants to stab me.

It takes Rowe almost an hour to realize that Paige is gone. She finally turns her iPod off and looks around as she wraps the cord up neatly. “Paige left?” she asks.

“Yeah, she had some party or something. I think she’s dating a football player now,” I respond, quickly returning my focus to the dress in the closet and the perfect shoes to go with it. It’s not a total lie—I think Paige really is into a football player. But who the hell knows about the party. I just know she’s not coming back tonight.

That’s the weird thing with twins. You fight enough—you start to really understand the idiosyncrasies of your match. And I know Paige won’t step foot in front of me again until she can look me in the eye and tell me
I’m
the one who’s being unreasonable. And when she does, her face will almost convince me she’s right.

Chapter 12

Ty

When Kelly looks at her phone, she’s going to think I’m a crazy man. Scratch that—a
crazier
man. I’ve called¸ heard the start of a ring, and hung up a dozen times. I know it records every missed call, and I know there’s a chance Jared is probably going to see my name lighting up her phone screen about a million times. And it’s going to piss him off. But he won’t say anything. Not directly, at least. So I dial again, my finger hovering over the
END CALL
button while I force myself to hear two rings this time.

Once I make it to two, I power through, like I’ve passed some stupid barrier. Once the third ring finishes, I almost press to end the call, but Kelly’s voicemail picks up.

Hey, it’s Kelly. I can’t talk now, but I’ll be sad I missed you, so please leave a message.

And then there’s the beep.

Fuck! I’ve already let two or three dead seconds pass before I stutter into talking.

“Kel, hey,” I start. This is weird—this whole thing is weird. She had to know this would be weird. And she had to know that there was no fucking way I would be able to wait until Thanksgiving—almost two months away—to find out what’s wrong.

“I’m returning your call. You kind of, well…left me hanging there with that message. I was just worried about you. So, uhm…yeah. Give me a call when you can. I’d love to talk.”

Beeeeeep.

My heart sounds like a goddamned drum line. I’m waiting for a prompt, something that tells me I can erase and rerecord, add to my message, get more time. But nothing happens. Soon, there’s a dial tone. That’s it—I called her back. I don’t even remember what I said, and I hope like hell I didn’t sound like an asshole. I don’t think I sounded like an asshole. Returning call…worried…call me—no, I was okay. That message was okay.

The banging on the door saves me from my own head. It’s almost time for dinner with our parents, so I bet it’s Nate, and I bet he forgot his key.

“You’re running
wayyyyy
late, fucknut,” I say, pulling the door open and feeling it release from my hand as it swings fully into the opposite wall. Paige marches in, sliding past me with finesse and speed. She turns, her arms folded over her chest, her fancy purse pulled up high on her shoulder and stuffed under one arm.

“Mind shutting that?” she says, nodding to the door. She sounds pissed. What the fuck? I’m pretty sure when I left Cass, she was good—things were good. No, things were…
great
!

I shut the door and move closer to her, my eyebrows low and my eyes unable to move away from the shiny long fingernails she is tapping against her own arm. How is she making that noise on her skin? Those things sound like they’re rapping on a tabletop.

“You and me need to have a chat,” she says, popping one leg out a step so this balled-up energy she’s holding onto can seep out slowly through her tapping toe.

“Okay,” I say, literally biting my tongue to avoid saying something that will only make whatever the fuck is happening right now worse. “Can’t say I know what about, so…enlighten me?” Yeah, that probably wasn’t the right choice of words, but it’s better than the first few things that popped into my head.

“My sister,” she says, the nail tapping picking up speed against her arm.

“I’m pretty sure Cass is a big girl, and wouldn’t like whatever
this
is you think you’re doing,” I say, ready to kick her out of my damn room.

“Oh, I
know
she wouldn’t like it. And I know you’ll probably tell her I was here—even though you shouldn’t. But I don’t care,” she says.

“Allllll right,” I say, dragging the words out while I look at her for some clue where this is going.

“I don’t like you,” she says. Wo—wow! Paige has balls.

“I’m good with that. See ya later,” I say, my
hand actually on the door handle
now.

“Let me say my piece, and then I’ll leave. Just give me the respect of listening,” she says, so I drop my hand and turn to face her again.

“Kinda hard to respect someone whose opening line is ‘I don’t like you,’” I say, somehow finding myself with my arms folded just like hers. It irritates me, so I grab Nate’s ball glove that’s sitting out on his desk just to have something to hold onto.

Paige relaxes, though very little. She takes a seat on my desk chair, setting her purse on the floor and folding her hands in her lap. I suddenly feel like I’m in an interview—the part near the end, and it didn’t go well, and the interviewer is about to tell me I didn’t get the job.

“I don’t have to like you, Ty. My sister does. And she does. She likes you…a
whole
bunch,” she says, and I smile on instinct. She holds up a hand fast, though.
Don’t get too comfortable, Ty.
“My sister has a big heart. She loves easily. She’s also been through…she’s been through a lot. Soccer was everything to her, and she tells me you’ve been training her. You have to stop.”

“No way,” I say. Not a chance. I know Cass wants this. And I know what it’s like to feel that drive, to accomplish something you aren’t supposed to. I won’t back out on her on this.

“I figured you’d say that,” Paige says, her voice getting softer, but still with an edge to it. She reaches down and pulls her purse in her lap, preparing to stand. “This is a bad idea. If she fails…she won’t recover. She’ll be devastated.”

“She won’t fail,” I say, my words sure and fast.

Paige pauses to take them in, waiting for me to hedge my statement. I keep my lips pursed and hold her stare, and finally she sighs.

“Maybe not. But there’s a chance. Whether you believe there is or not, there’s always a chance things won’t work out. And if she fails—” she says, and I interrupt.

“Which she won’t,” I say, and this only brings back Paige’s fire. Fuck it—she already doesn’t like me.

“You better hope not,” she says, standing and smoothing out her shorts and shirt before she leaves. She stops abruptly, right in front of me, and leans forward, one hand on the side of my chair, her eyes piercing mine with a surprisingly heavy effect. “If she gets hurt, and it’s your fault—in
any way whatsoever
—I will ruin your existence.”

“Get in line, sister,” I say, going toe-to-toe with her, but also a little surprised at her strength.

She walks to the door and pushes it open with her hand, stopping me from closing it behind her. “It’s not that I think you’re a bad guy,” she says, forcing a gut-busting laugh out of me, and fast. “I just don’t think you’re good enough for my sister.”

Well, damn. She kind of has me there. I watch her walk away, no longer ready to slam the door in her face—caught somewhere between being impressed and feeling bad about myself.

I catch the buzzing sound on my phone and move to my desk to pick it up. One missed call.

From Kelly.

Motherfucking son of a bitch!

“Sorry I’m late. We should get dressed. Mom hates it when we make her wait for dinner,” Nate says, barreling into our room and forcing me to put my big fat pile of shit on hold.

Shaking my head, half shell-shocked from the last thirty seconds of my life, I renew focus on the dress shirt hanging from the closet doorknob, and I think of Cass. And I smile—in an instant.

She won’t fail. Kelly is okay. And Paige can go fuck herself.

Yep, I’m good.

Chapter 13

Ty

Cass flew through dinner with my parents like a champ. When my dad asked her what she was studying, and she answered, “Physical therapy, to help people with special physical needs,”—I saw my mom swallow hard. It’s a weak spot in my mother’s heart, and it’s because I am…well, how I am.

My mom isn’t just one of those parents who starts to take up a cause because her child is affected by something, though—she’s always been an advocate for people who have something to overcome. She never uses the word
disabled
, and she’s not too keen on the
handicapable
thing either. She just plain doesn’t like a label—period. She says we all have differences, and we all encounter differences throughout our life, and that’s what they are—differences. Some make some things hard, and some make some things easy.

It took me a while to see things her way. Nate, however, thinks I just bounced right back—and that’s because I wanted him to think that. I don’t want guilt to ever plague him, make him give up on something, or sacrifice his wants. I love him too much for that. But in the beginning, when I wasn’t putting on my brave face for him or my Dad, I was downright angry. And I let it show, but only to my mom. And Kelly.

I knew that my mom would hug Cass by the time dinner was over, and she did. And it is all Cass has talked about since. I’m glad she wants my parents to like her. I want them to like her. I like her.

My parents offered to drive us back, but Cass wanted to walk. I can tell she’s cold, the way she keeps hugging herself. But she won’t admit it. She’s stubborn too. And I also like that.

“You want my sweatshirt, and you know you do,” I say, pulling it over my head. She nods
no.

“No, no…I’m fffffine,” she actually shivers the word. I look at her and dare her with my eyes to say it again, but her lips are literally chattering. ”Okay, I’m not. Thank you,” she finally concedes, taking it from my hands and pulling it fast over her body. I like seeing her in my things.

“My mom loved you,” I say, sparking a renewed grin on her face, her lip tucked between her top and bottom teeth while they seesaw as she recalls our evening together. Her hair falls in front of her face when she finally turns to look at me, and she reaches around to tuck it behind her ear. I like watching her do that.

“She really did, huh?” she says, and I can tell she feels proud.

“I told you she would,” I say, and her smile only gets bigger. I have to mess with her. “I mean, I paid them forty bucks. I do feel a little ripped off though, I was promised three compliments for you, but I only heard my mom say two.”

“Oh, that’s because I caught her in the bathroom and told her that if she gave me twenty-five percent of her earnings, she could skip one,” she smirks.

“Smart,” I say, winking and finally letting my laugh break through.

The air is cold, and it’s making her face the sweetest shade of pink, like bubblegum. When we left the restaurant, she pulled the pins from her hair, and the curls have danced in the breeze during our entire trip home. If I could just reach a little higher, I would try to catch one. She’s like a firefly, so beautiful—
flashes
of light that I have to hold. “Can I draw you?” I ask, slightly surprised to hear myself ask that aloud.

“What are you, Jack from
Titanic?”
she responds.

“Are you mocking DiCaprio?” I spar back.

“Wouldn’t dare,” she says, shaking her head slowly. I hold her stare for a few minutes, admiring the curve of her lips—the way the pink almost matches the color of her cheeks.

“Good. I like Leo. He’s a man’s man. If you made fun of him, we’d have to rethink things.” She laughs at my diatribe. “I’m being serious. There are two things you don’t fuck with—baseball, and Leo.”

She crosses her heart dramatically as we get to the front of our building. “Wouldn’t
dare
mock Leo then,” she says, unable to hold her snicker in.

“You laugh now, but were you laughing when he went all rogue in
The Departed
? I think not. He was badass. And what about
Gangs of New York
?”

“Never saw it,” she says, and I grab her wrist, spinning her around to face me at the elevator bank.

“Seriously?”

“Never saw
The Departed
, either. Just
Titanic,”
she admits.

The elevator opens, and we move inside. “That’s just…well…shameful. That’s what that is. No wonder you don’t understand the full power of the Leo,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s it. When I go home for break, I’m bringing back my DVDs. We’re fixing this.”

“Whatever,” she says, skipping ahead of me when the elevator opens.

“You know what, I don’t want to draw you any more. Not if you’re going to have that attitude,” I joke, and she turns to face me, her face the most fucking adorable pout ever.

“Nope, not going to work on me. No drawing for you,” I say, and she comes closer, sliding one leg over my lap and wrapping her arms around my neck, seducing me. It’s totally working. I was only kidding to begin with.

“Nope, you’re seduction powers are useless,” I say, a breath or two before her lips dust over mine.

She whispers, “Please…”

“I don’t know, it’s going to take some convincing,” I say, taking her top lip between my teeth.

Just then, she reaches down lower in my lap, rubbing along my hard-on and completely jarring me from this little fantasy we’ve created. I am fully present in the now, and suddenly, the last thing I want to do is draw.

“Please? Draw me, Ty. Please?” she’s running kisses down my neck when we hear the elevator
ding
down the hall, and Nate and Rowe’s laughter fills the silence. Instead of getting up from my lap, Cass remains seated—her hand staying in place while she moves her other finger over my mouth, keeping me quiet while we listen if Nate and Rowe go to my room. When we hear the other door shut, I nip at the tip of her finger, and she leaves it in my mouth. So fucking sexy.

“Get inside. I’ll draw you. But then, I’m undressing you and living out all kinds of fantasies,” I say, and she hops up from my lap, opens her door and practically pulls me inside with her.

I didn’t expect her to strip. But she did. She’s actually playing out that scene from
Titanic
, lying topless on her bed, rings of her hair teasing at her nipple. I so don’t want to be drawing right now. Why is this pencil in my hand?

“If I find out you can’t really draw, and this was all some ploy, I’m going to be pissed,” she says, only half kidding.

“One, I never asked you to get naked,” I say, pausing and gawking, mouth wide open. “Sorry. Little distracted. And two, I
can
draw. So hush and don’t move so I can get this over with,” I say, pulling her spiral notebook to my lap so I can begin sketching and shading.

I’m doing my best to block my view of most of her body with the notebook so that maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to get a decent portrait of her face done before I completely lose my mind. “How long have you drawn?” she asks after a few minutes of silence.

“Shhhhh,” I say, and she whispers an apology. “I’m teasing. You can talk. I already have your lips and face. I started drawing for fun in high school. Superheroes and stuff like that. My mom is really good at this stuff. She’s an artist. I guess I picked up a few things.”

“Do you paint or do other stuff?” she asks, something tickling her nose and forcing her to crinkle it so she doesn’t move. I lean forward and run the back of my knuckle down her nose for her. “Thank you,” she says, the redness creeping up again at my nearness. I can’t believe she’s just lying there for me to take—and I’m
drawing
. What the hell?

“I paint. Not as much as I used to. But after…you know…after the accident? I painted a lot. It was sort of therapeutic,” I say.

“Why don’t you study art?” she asks.

“Oh no. That would ruin it. It’s a hobby. I never want it to be a job. And it’s really hard to make money at it. My mom, she’s one of the lucky few able to make it a career. And I like money, so…hence the business degree,” I say, caressing my thumb over the lead lines that shade Cass’s breasts. I’m touching the paper with the same reverence I use on her.

“Can I see it?” she asks, pushing herself up a little, trying to sneak a view.

I tilt the notebook quickly and throw my pencil at her. She throws it back. “No peeking. Patience, young grasshopper.”

“Grasshopper?” Nose crinkle and sour face follows.

“Do you, like, have any pop culture references? Like…at all?” I continue shading her legs, and then begin filling in her hair.

“Not from the seventies, old man,” she fires back.

“Oh, ha ha. I’m four years older than you; I’m not a senior citizen. I watched a lot of Nick at Nite, and I appreciate the classics. Plus seriously, that’s like saying you don’t know Elvis.”

“Grasshopper is nothing like Elvis,” she says with a little sigh.

“Valid point. Nevertheless, now you’re watching Kung Fu DVDs too,” I say, putting the final touches on her sketch.

“Oh…goody,” her tone completely lacks excitement.

“Just wait, you’ll like them,” I say as I move closer to her, the notebook held to my chest.

“You’re done? Lemme see!” she reaches for it, but I hold it tight, for some reason nervous to show this to her.

“Hold on. Before you look at it, remember, I did it fast, on notebook paper, and I haven’t done this in a while,” I say, but she interrupts with a
tsk
sound and yanks the pages from my hand. When her eyes hit the paper, and soften, and her bottom lip gets sucked up under her teeth, I finally breathe.

Cass

I wish I really looked like this girl in the drawing. What Ty has done on a spiral notebook in ten minutes is one of the most beautiful and heart-melting creations I have ever seen.

“Well?” he asks. His face looks nervous. It's cute that he's nervous, wants to please me.

“Ty…it’s beautiful. I mean, I don’t look anything like this, but what you drew…it’s beautiful,” I say, letting my eyes wash over the softness in pencil sketched in front of me.

“Yes, you do,” he says, pulling himself closer to me. “I really need paints to do you justice. But yes, this is what you look like—how
I
see you.”

I think I love him. I know it sounds ludicrous, and yeah, maybe I’m easy, because he just said a full string of magic words that pretty much just flushed the air from my lungs, and wrapped all of him around my heart. But I don’t care. I would risk it all to have him say something like that about me, just one more time.

“Ty,” I say…the rest of what I want to say hung on my tongue, my nerves keeping my feelings on hold, but my will fighting, wanting to push them out. Maybe it’s reason working against me. I know most of what I’m feeling right now is complete and utter swoon from the fact that this older, sexy man has just made me feel beautiful—truly beautiful. But screw reason. I want to jump in with both feet, arms in the air.

He runs the back of his hand along my cheek, grazing my arm and breast until he hits my hand, and he brings it to his lips to kiss softly. I love you, Tyson Preeter. I practice the phrase over and over in my head while he looks at me, touches me softly, and seduces me until I’m ready for anything. Then—there is a chime on my phone, and one on his.

Ignore it, Ty. Ignore it.
We’re both frozen, having a silent conversation about how whatever
that
is, can wait—it isn’t important. And then our phones chime again.

Ty breaks first. And it burns a little that he does.

“It’s Nate. He said he and Rowe—” He doesn’t finish, because I’m reading my phone now. It’s a text from Rowe. She needs to come home, to our room. She and Nate had a fight.

“We could pretend we didn’t hear—” Ty starts, his mouth twisted into a half smile full of equal parts hope and disappointment.

“We could. But we’re not assholes,” I say.

“Well,
I’m
an asshole. But…no…you’re not an asshole,” he says, taking a deep breath. “All right, you better get dressed. I’m going to go try and console my needy brother and knock some sense into him.”

“Maybe we can pick this up again…tomorrow?” I ask.

“Baby, you can count on it,” he says.

“Don’t call me
baby
,” I smirk, and he kisses me one last time, hard, whispering “
Baby
,” against my lips with his perfect, self-righteous, I-own-you smile.

When he leaves, I pull my clothes on and flip through channels on the TV. Rowe comes in soon after, and we spend the rest of the night watching bad music videos on MTV and not saying a word. That’s probably for the best, because she looks sad. And all I feel is happy. I wouldn’t be a very good friend if I had to speak tonight.

Happy. Happy. Happy.