You and Everything After (18 page)

Chapter 22

Ty

This isn’t quite how my night was supposed to go. When Nate and Rowe left for the game, Cass and I were settled in for some time alone. Pizza, a six-pack of Pabst, and Chunky Monkey ice cream. We were celebrating her official membership on the McConnell team—because her parents
weren’t
celebrating.

I hate that for her. My parents wouldn’t miss a single moment of something big in Nate’s or my life. If I wanted to join a wheelchair knife-throwing league, my mom would ask if they had shirts for parents, and how she could get season tickets. Cass is doing her best to not act disappointed, but I can tell she is—she shows it in the quiet moments, when she’s thinking—her eyes off in the distance.

Tonight was going to be all about forgetting the assholes. That was my plan. But then my brother became an asshole, and I had to deal with it.
 

An hour after he and Rowe left, I saw Nate’s ex-girlfriend, Sadie, interviewed on television at the game. Sadie’s playing college ball over at OSU. She’s kind of big in the women’s basketball world, and the Thunder invited the OSU women’s team out for pre-game. Nate and Sadie’s breakup was swift, but ugly. She cheated, he caught her, and that’s the short of it. I knew things couldn’t be good when he texted me in the first quarter, asking me to guess who he ran into. Seems the introduction of his new girlfriend to his
old
girlfriend didn’t go well, especially for his
new
girlfriend. Needless to say, they came home early. Rowe needed Cass, and here I am, two beers in at Sally’s—Nate a beer ahead of me.

“Dude, you called her your
friend?
Rowe is just a
friend?”
Honestly, I’ve said a lot of dumb shit in front of girls—things that have earned me a slap to the face more than once, and harder than the time Cass set me right. But I’ve never really minced words, had a slip of the tongue, just plain botched my ability to speak English. Nate? He’s an idiot.

“I don’t know, man. I don’t think I can fix this.” Nate is wallowing. I have two choices: push him into a drunken stupor, or give him hope. His girl lives with my girl. I’m man enough to admit that plays into my decision.

“Of course you can fix this.” Here comes Captain Positive. I suck at this too, a symptom of my
tell-it-like-it-is
quality. But for Nate, I can spin hope. And I think it’s there. Rowe’s in love with my brother, and this won’t be more than a blip.

“Dude, I’m supposed to meet her parents this weekend. They’re coming to my tournament. She’s going to introduce me as her asshole-neighbor down the hall, who sold her out in front of his ex…because he’s too weenie to admit he’s in love with her,” he says, his own admission hitting him all at once.

And there you have it. The Preeter brothers—in love, and too big of pussies to do anything about it.

“While I agree that
yes,
she
should
introduce you that way, you know that’s not going to happen. You were an idiot, a colossal idiot. Like, bonehead idiot champion of the universe,” I say.

“Got it. Move on,” he says.

“That girl loves your ass anyway,” I say, and he sighs once, eyes staring into the half full glass of beer. “Just promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?” he asks.

“You won’t let this relationship-shit fuck up baseball.” He laughs, nods once, and tilts his glass back letting the rest of his draft slide down his throat. “I’m serious, man. You know I don’t like shit fuckin’ up baseball.”

“Oh, I know,” he says through a chuckle, standing up and tossing down twenty bucks before heading to the back for the men’s room.

“Cass would never fuck up baseball,” I think to myself, then I toast to no one and take a long chug to catch up with Nate. I drop my twenty on the table and wait for him at the door.

Things seem to have worked out for Nate. I knew they would. And he didn’t play like shit in his tournament, despite all of the
drama-rama
. Rowe did have some dude come to the game with her, pretty much hitting on her in front of my brother. That shit wasn’t cool, but Cass said I didn’t know the whole story, or whatever. All I know is if Cass brings some guy to tag along with us somewhere, I’m going to knock his teeth out—and I don’t care
what
his story is.

Cass has had a full week of practice. Her body is holding up to the pressure. I know it’s a concern for her, making sure she gets rest, stays cool. I made her take an Epsom salt bath in the physical therapy room on Friday. She hated it, but it’s good for her muscles and nerves. Overheating isn’t good for MS, and extreme cold isn’t great either. Salt seems to be good for just about anything. I’ve been researching it as much as I can, because I want to help her, to be there to push back when MS tries to knock her down.

She’s dodging calls from her parents. At first, it was really upsetting her, but now it’s almost routine the way she just clicks
END
on the phone when she sees their names pop up. Thankfully, Paige doesn’t seem to be bullying her about it. Cass says Paige is always on her mom’s side, but I don’t know. I think Paige might be in Cass’s corner more than she realizes. Paige sure as hell let me know where she stood.

Cass has been out with the girls all day—Halloween shopping. I love this holiday. When I was a kid, I liked that I got free candy. When I was a teenage boy, I liked that teenaged girls dressed up in slutty costumes. And now that I’m twenty-two…? I like that college chicks dress up in slutty costumes.

“So, do I get to see?” I ask Cass, pulling the bag on her arm, trying to get a peek at her costume. I only get a glimpse before she jerks the bag away. I can see the skirt—red and white stripes. She’s either a hot nurse or a cheerleader. I’m good with either.

“No, I want to surprise you,” she says, her cheeks a little red when she smiles. It’s cute when she’s sexy like this. “What are you wearing?”

I laugh once at her question before I answer. “Like you don’t know,” I say. Yesterday, I got a ransom note in my mailbox. It was a picture of a teddy bear—more specifically
my
teddy bear. I’ve had Cookie since as long as I can remember. Honestly, I think he means more to Mom than me, but I like that he means that much to her. So, I keep him in my box of crap that I haul around with me—he’s in there with a few trophies, yearbooks, homecoming pictures, and I think maybe my kindergarten report card.
 

Anyhow, the note with the picture said that if I ever wanted to see Cookie again, I better wear a tutu at the Halloween party. It’s not so much about Cookie as it is about someone thinking they have something on me—so yeah, I’m going to wear the tutu. I’m going to fucking
own
that tutu—and the silver sparkly Speedo-style thong I’m wearing underneath.

“What does that mean?” Cass asks, and I try to size up the look on her face. Yeah, she’s in on this. She’s totally in on this.

“You know what that means,” I say, and she rolls her eyes at me. Yeah. She’s in on it. I can’t wait for her to see the tutu.

Cass

Rowe filled me in on the Cookie thing after the boys left. I guess Ty’s been picking on Nate, so to get back at him, Rowe kidnapped his teddy bear and is holding it ransom. My boyfriend has a teddy bear…named Cookie. Yep.

The best part is that she dared him to wear a tutu to the party tonight. I wish Rowe knew Ty as well as I do. If she did, maybe she wouldn’t have taken the threat so far. I’m pretty sure everyone at the party has seen my boyfriend’s penis. There’s not a lot hiding it. There’s a goodly amount of pink fluff that tufts up in the front as he’s sitting, and then there’s a very small silver thong…that doesn’t fit well.

It’s not attractive, like, in the least, but I kind of love that Ty couldn’t give a shit. Most of the guys at this party tonight are dressed in stupid, scary masks, or with bad vampire makeup and their regular street clothes. The blend of the various colognes gave me a headache, so we’ve been hanging out outside.
 

“Okay, so again, explain this whole tutu thing to me? This is all because you tease Nate about making a
fussy fuss?
” I say, noticing a group of girls walking by, staring at Ty’s lap, giggling, and moving on. That’s right, ladies, get a good look. He’s all mine. I laugh a little to myself.

I move to his lap, a strategic maneuver to cover the tutu, which he doesn’t mind. His hand finds my knee quickly, and his fingers inch up my leg every few seconds, closer to the edge of my cheerleading skirt. I’m okay with this, too.

“When we were kids, I used to beat Nate up. You know, normal brother-wrestling kind of crap, not like bloody-nose stuff,” Ty says. “Anyhow, he was easy to pin—all thin and gangly. I was four years older, and he never stood a chance. But he’d always start crying, running to Mom and telling her I was picking on him. Well, one day, she was busy…working on one of her sculptures. She was trying to get some welding equipment to work in the driveway, and here Nate was waving his arms, whining that I pinned him on the carpet and gave him a rug burn. She told him to stop making a
fussy fuss.
”

“So it’s really your mom’s fault?” I ask.

“Ha. I guess in a way, she started it. But no, I take full blame for giving him a complex over it,” Ty says. “When she told him that the first time, it blew his mind. He couldn’t believe that she would sell him out like that, not stick up for him. He turned around and looked at me—all I could do was grin. It was like a free pass. I could pin him over and over, and Mom wouldn’t care. He was totally helpless. And the next time he started crying, I told him to stop making a fussy fuss, which only made him kick and scream more. Of course, I did it again. And then it sort of became my thing for him, whenever he would get whiny or act like a baby—fussy fuss. He hates it, and I
love
that he hates it.”

I must be making a face, because Ty’s hand stops its slow trip up my thigh and he leans back to look at me. “What?” he asks.

“I don’t know. That just…that seems kind of mean,” I say, almost feeling grateful for having a sister instead of this sick, demented, brother-relationship.
Almost.

“It’s not mean. It’s a dude thing. Trust me, he hates it…but he also loves it,” Ty says, his attention back on his hand now, which is where my focus goes immediately when I feel the hem of my skirt start to move up.

“Owens. Nice practice today,” the voice pulls me out of my intimate bubble with Ty. It’s Chandra, dressed as Wonder Woman. I’m not surprised. And her compliment is not a compliment at all. I was cramping at practice and had to leave before it was over. She’s reveling in it. I hate her.

“Well, I thought I should give you a chance to work the ball,” I say, my smile as fake as the bile in my mouth is real. She bites her lower lip, and when she slides her teeth over it, some of the cherry-red lipstick wears off, leaving a red mark on her front teeth. It makes me happy.

She’s here with a few of the other girls, and some dude on the football team. I think he’s friends with the guy Paige has been seeing. This guy seems clueless, so I give him a pass on his poor taste in women. He walks down the porch steps and the other girls follow, but Chandra stays behind. She doesn’t like me having the last word, so I wait patiently for her to put an end to our conversation—happy to have Ty’s hand on my leg, and his lips on my neck. He couldn’t care less about her.

“I meant to ask you, Cass. How’s Paul Cotterman?” The second she finishes talking she knows she has me. She smiles with her red lips pushed together tightly, bothering to give me a wink before turning and leaving me alone to bleed out from her attack.

My body is instantly covered in sweat, and the ability to breathe leaves. I feel sick, and not from drinking too much, because I’ve hardly had anything to drink at all. How does she know about Paul Cotterman?
What
does she know? And does she know about Kyle? Why would she do this…say this?

I quickly stand from Ty’s lap, and he grabs my hand, turning me to look at him.

“What was that about?” He’s not asking like he’s angry. He’s genuinely concerned, but I can’t talk about it here. I’m not sure my brain has fully wrapped itself around what just happened. All I know is that I need to leave, and I’m probably going to vomit in the grass.

“I want to go. Now, Ty. Please? We need to go,” I say, holding my hand over my mouth just long enough to make it to the lawn. I let out the little bit of alcohol I’ve had, shutting my eyes as shivers take control of my arms and legs and spine. Ty is next to me quickly, and he’s holding my purse in his lap, over his tutu. The visual makes me smile through the tears that are already starting. This man loves me. I know he does. And I can trust him. Even with my ugliest parts.

“Not here. I’ll tell you everything. But just get me home,” I say, and he puts his hand on my lower back. We begin the long trip back to our dorm building.

We go to his room first, and I wait outside. Nate took Rowe home early; she was pretty blitzed. Ty whispers to me that she’s passed out. He slips in and out quickly without waking them, his sweatpants and T-shirt in his lap when he exits. Once we get to my room, he changes, and I’m glad to have my non-tutu boyfriend back.

“Wow, I’ve never seen someone look so turned on by sweatpants,” he teases.

“I was just getting worried that I’d never get
that
out of my head,” I say, waving my hand over the pile of sparkling pink mesh on the floor.

“Yeah, you and about a hundred dudes whose day I ruined in that outfit,” he laughs, picking the tutu up and straightening it out like he actually might save it to wear again. He finally tosses it back to the floor, and I’m relieved.

He’s lying on my bed, his neck bent against my rolled pillow stuffed in the corner by the wall. He pats the space next to him, and I crawl up, folding my legs so I can sit and face him. I play with his fingers in my hand, pretending they’re keys of a piano. I wish I knew how to play the piano. I wish for a lot of things.