You and Everything After (15 page)

Chapter 18

Cass

The hand of Nick Owens is fast and swift. My father’s law firm can handle most things just by flashing its name. He told me Paul Cotterman had turned in his resignation after his phone call. Just as he always does, my father makes my problems go away.

I thanked him. And of course, he told me I didn’t need to thank him. What stung is that I don’t think he actually believed me. I think he thinks that maybe, just
maybe,
I was acting inappropriately, and that I let things get out of hand. Just like last time. But he still made it disappear, because he loves me.

He loves me. He just doesn’t believe me.

Rowe is still out of town. Paige is completely moved out, thanks to Nate’s help. And I’m alone. For the first time ever, I’m completely alone. I used to wish for this. I think maybe all twins do. What I realize, though, is maybe I was confusing my craving for individuality with my desire to be alone. Individuality is liberating. Alone leads to one thing—loneliness.

I don’t know what happened, other than the fact that my incident with Paul Cotterman left me crooked…feeling dirty. And I just couldn’t shake playing the part.

Sabotage is a funny thing; self-sabotage even funnier. Ty and I—we were both at work—sabotaging left and right until there was nothing left but shreds and a shadow of our dignity.

For an hour, I’ve been staring at the picture he drew; the sad melancholy of The National is playing on random shuffle on my iPod. Even their “pop” songs are sad. The drawing is beautiful, done by his hands, days ago.

“That’s how I see you,” he said.

Not anymore.

I don’t know how the ugliness showed itself—how he saw my history without me ever telling him. But when he put it out there, so bluntly? Promiscuity comes at a high price when you’re a teenager, and it just keeps taking.
 

I got his watch. I had to. I don’t hate him. I
far
from hate him. Now that I have it, I understand why it’s so important. Or at least, I have a clue.

ALWAYS
—that’s all it says in simple engraving on the back. The letters are a little worn, but you can still read the words. Someone gave this to him, someone who meant that word to him.

Maybe they still do.

I run my finger along the small indents of the word, my mind imagining that I have the power to erase it. I could take a razor blade, scratch the lettering away from the metal right here, right now. But I would never be able to take away its power and everything it means. I know this without even asking.

My phone buzzes, and I jump, simply excited that someone from
out there
is contacting me. It’s Rowe.

Hey, we’re throwing a late-night party for Paige. Her idea, actually. She wants to thank Nate for his help with the move. Free drinks! I’ll wait for you to finish your workout. We can go together. Miss you!

Rowe misses me. While the fact that she’s enthusiastic about a party with my sister is, well, weird, I’m desperate for my friend to come home. I need someone, even if I can’t tell her the entire story. That’s another layer of Nick Owens’s agreements—they are sealed. No talking about what happened if we want to keep things nice and tidy.

I’m in. I could use a drink.

Or five. Or six.

I tuck Ty’s watch in my sock drawer and change for the gym, not really feeling the energy tonight. My body is tired from pushing so hard yesterday. And I should heed the warning and rest. But I have two hours until Rowe gets home. Idle time isn’t doing me any favors.

Hoping that will ignite my fire, I run most of the way to the gym, searching for that inner competitor that takes over when I exercise and helps me forget everything else. But my inner soldier is tired, too. I end up walking the last four hundred yards. I head right to the locker room, swap out my clothes for my swimsuit, and spend the next hour in the pool.

I
really
wanted to be in the spa. But heat isn’t great for MS, and hot baths always make my vision blurry. So even though this water is cold, I opt for it, and it still soothes my muscles. I don’t even swim; I just float. I’m surrounded by a bunch of older students, maybe faculty members, who are swaying and swishing their way through water aerobics. Bizarrely, I feel right at home—the thump of the bass from the small boom box near the pool’s edge pulsating in the water. It’s all I hear—
boom
,
boom
,
boom
,
boom
.

Rowe is waiting for me when I get back to our room, and I actually run to her, hugging her so tightly that it makes her choke a little.

“Sorry. I think I missed you,” I smile.

“I’m glad,” she says, her smile reflecting mine. “Go ahead and shower. We’ll walk over together.”

I want to ask her if
he’s
going to be there. I want to be prepared. But I don’t ask, because at this very second, I’m happy and looking forward to something. Might as well not ruin it until I have to.

I speed through my shower. My stomach is twitching with the fast beats of my heart, my nerves tangling with my exhaustion. I slip on a pair of black leggings and a giant sweatshirt, just warm enough to keep me comfortable, and I blow my hair nearly dry.

“Okay, I’m set,” I say, grabbing my wallet and keys and stuffing them inside the front pouch of my sweatshirt.

“You have to be the world-record holder for primping,” Rowe says, reaching for the elevator button while we wait in the hall. “Paige would have needed an hour.”

“Paige would have needed twenty-four hours notice,” I laugh. There’s some truth to that statement, though. “I’m lazy. I don’t want to spend time on things I’m not good at.”

I don’t know why my words make me frown, but they do. Rowe reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze. I lay my head on her shoulder for the elevator ride. “Thanks for the invite. I think I need to get out tonight,” I say, and I feel her tense under my touch. I know what that means, but I’m still not ready to pop my bubble of happiness.

“So, I’m thinking of joining the soccer team,” I throw out there as we step off the elevator. I can’t talk to my parents about this, and now that Ty’s gone, I’m not so sure I have the guts to follow through with it any longer. As desperate as it seems, I think one little boost from Rowe might keep my dream afloat.

“You play soccer?” she asks, her feet stutter-stepping with her surprise. “I mean, I knew you were in great shape and all. I just didn’t know you did anything like that? Are you…I don’t know…good?”

I smile at her question, and I reach around her arm and link us together, giving her a squeeze as I pick up our step. “Yeah,” I say, no longer doubting my dream. “I’m good.”

Ty

Free rum and Coke. I’ve had to pay for all of my therapy drinking the last two days, so when Nate offered to take care of tonight’s “medicine,” I was all over it. Plus, the two hot chicks Paige brought to tag along were a pretty welcome distraction.

Paige hasn’t hit me yet. I was, frankly, expecting to find her at my door bright and early this morning. My only guess is that Cass has kept our blowout a secret. Nate said that Rowe knew about it, because he told her. Of course, I’m the bad guy in this. At least, according to Rowe I am.

I probably
am
the bad guy in this. But I’ll be damned if I was the
only
one being an irrational asshat in that fight.

I’m not even surprised when I see her walking up with Rowe. I think I knew this was an ambush all along. But now,
I
’m
four drinks in,
and I feel rowdy. I’ve been flirting with easy girls who don’t want attachments, don’t require work, and don’t fuck with my heart and my head.

But the closer she gets, the more she comes into focus. She’s beautiful.

“Oh fuck no!” I shout. Yeah, so maybe I’m a little drunk.

Rowe scolds me fast, putting me in my place. It makes me smirk. I like that girl. She’s good for my brother. I wave her off and turn my attention back to Paige and her two girlfriends—mostly because they have the bottle of liquor.

“Fill ’er up,” I say, holding my cup out for Paige. She holds her hand over the bottle and stares at me with a sharp look. I know I’m about to get the hammer I’ve been waiting for.

“You better fix whatever
that
is,” she says, pointing to her sister with a swirling finger. “She hasn’t said a word to me, but Rowe says you two had a fight. So help me god, if I find out you did anything that warrants me cutting your dick off, don’t think I won’t.”

Here’s the thing: when chicks make threats like that, it instantly incites a chemical reaction in the brain of a dude, and we imagine whatever it is they said, and then we feel it. However juvenile it might seem, however unlikely it is that Paige will
actually
cut my dick off—I just felt it happening. And that’s enough of a threat for me.

Effective. That shit’s highly effective.

“Your sister lost my watch,” I say, somehow thinking in my state that Paige will have some clue what this means and cut me some slack. I’m sure my words must sound like gibberish though, because she just bunches her nose at me and shakes her head.

“So go get a new one,” she says with her signature eye-roll. She was made to do that. It makes me chuckle, and I tip my cup back and feel the burn of straight rum, my chest and arms tingling with the warmth. Yeah, I should cut myself off now.

Cass stays close to Rowe, and Nate keeps giving me the look—
the
look. I told him everything, and he told me I was being an idiot. He’s probably right. And I’m blowing this chance, too, blowing
right
through it with one more rum and Coke. Mmmmmmm.

There’s giggling, and Paige’s friends find me amusing. I focus on them, because they think I’m funny. Paige is a little drunk too. She must be—because
she
also finds me humorous. And she’s no longer threatening to cut my junk. So that’s good, right?

Cass isn’t laughing. She’s not having a good time. No, she’s leaving. Wait…she’s leaving? My cup is half full…or maybe it’s half empty? How does that saying go…? I’m swishing the flat Coke around in circles in my cup—no more bubbles from carbonation, only the hot burn of rum. I could tip this back and forget everything, just stay here, see how the giggling plays out. Maybe wake up in the morning to Paige busting my door down and kicking me in the groin with one of her spikey heels.

But Cass is leaving. And she looks like she’s going to cry. And…

I did that.

“I’m out of here, man. See ya later,” I say to my brother, tossing the rest of my drink in the grass and pushing myself to the dirt where my wheels can move a little more easily.

She sees me coming, and she doesn’t run. She’s not running. My head is making everything look sideways, and I’m pretty sure my speech is going to sound like shit a green alien says, but she’s not running. This is good.

“Hey,” I say, moving up alongside her on the walkway. We’re both traveling slowly, no rush
—nowhere
to go.

“Hey,” she says, and she sounds broken. So damn broken.

“So,” I start, but then my tongue suddenly feels fat. I’m fuzzy, my mind fuzzy. Everything, so…fuzzy. I’m aware enough to know that I won’t be able to do this right, but I have to slide a rock in the door, keep it open, so I can fix this shit in the morning.

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” I say, doing my best to sound serious. Her arms are folded, her mouth is in a firm line, and her eyebrow is tilted up slightly in my direction. But she’s still with me, and she’s not giving me the finger. “I’m a little drunk.”

“Statement of fact,” she laughs. She laughed. Okay, at my expense, but also a good sign.

“Correct,” I say, holding one finger up like I’m somehow accentuating her point. What am I, in a boardroom? “That is a fact. I am drunk. Another fact…I am sorry.”

This stops her. Her face is still the same, and her arms are still guarding her body. But she’s looking at me differently now. I hope I say the correct words, just enough to prop that door open until I can do this the right way.

“I’m sorry,” I say it again, and this time, somehow by the grace of god, it comes out sober—sober and honest. “I am so unbelievably sorry. Sorry for what I said, how I reacted, for being a dick.”

“Yes, you were a dick,” she’s quick to jump on that.

“I know, another statement of fact,” I say with a smirk, once again holding up a finger. I look at my finger, and it makes me laugh, then I look back at her and she looks like I’m losing her. Pull it together, Tyson—slide the rock in the door. “I have a lot of groveling to do. And I’m in—I’m ready to do it. But if you could just give me the night, just…just wait for me to get my head on straight.”

“Just let you go home, vomit, and then survive your hangover you mean?” she says, but there’s a smirk. I see it. She’s smirking.

“One,” I say, holding the finger up again. I quickly put it down. “One, I don’t vomit. I can hold my liquor, baby.”

“Ohhhhh, definitely do not call me
baby,
” she says.

“Right, okay, baby,” I laugh, but she’s not laughing, so I stop. “Right. No baby. I’m just saying wait with me, until the morning, so I can say everything that needs to be said in a way you deserve to hear it.”

I’m not smiling anymore. No, I’m pretty sure I’m begging. Her arms are still crossed, but she nods to the dorm and I follow along, holding my breath until we get to her door and she opens it wide enough to let me inside.

She reaches under her bed and pulls a bin out with a big comforter and some extra sheets, tossing everything on the floor.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she says. “And I don’t have an extra pillow. And don’t use Rowe’s. I’d be pissed if she gave my pillow to Nate.”

“Oh yeah…floor, so…I’ll just be down here,” I say, leaning forward and picking up the big comforter that suddenly looks very, very thin.

“Yep. You’ll be down there. On the floor,” she says, shutting the closet door behind her so she can change.