“I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”
“No, no, it’s not that. I was just hoping you could come home this weekend.”
“I can come after my fight. What’s going on?”
She hesitates. “That would be nice. I’d like to see you.”
“What’s wrong? Is Dad around?”
“Oh, you know your father. He’s at the office.” He’s always working. She loves him, but she’d like to see him more.
“Mom.” She’s avoiding my question, and she sounds off.
“Just come home when you can.”
In a t-shirt and sleep shorts, face washed, hair up, I’m about to dig into the fully loaded pizza I picked up on my way home from Gabriel’s when there’s a knock at my door.
I freeze. My heart races. Is it my father? Has he found me?
I take a deep breath, trying to settle my wayward thoughts. I hate how he’s always my first thought when I’m caught off guard.
After a second knock, I consider ignoring it like I usually do when I’m not expecting company. Gabriel and my mom know to call or text before showing up. Frankie never just drops in, and considering I just spent Friday night and most of today at their place, I doubt it’s them.
No one else really has the address. I don’t like company.
Creeping to the door, I grab the bat resting against the wall before daring a peek through the peephole. I really should install a security camera or one of those video doorbells. I’ve been saying that since I moved in here nearly two years ago.
Procrastination for the win.
One glance has my heart racing. I jump to unlock the door, barely giving my fear from a moment ago a second thought. “Hey.” I tip my head, trying to catch Rowdy’s eyes before her swings around, facing me full-on.
“Hey. I’m…” His words are lost when his sees the bat in my hand. “You always answer the door with a bat?” Worry riddles his eyes as he steps forward, stealing the oxygen from my lungs.
I step back, needing the space, and set Slugger, my protector, down behind the door. “Yes.” No need to elaborate. I’m sure Rowdy can figure out why. “You want to come in?”
He tips his chin and waits for me to move out of the way before he enters, closing the door behind him, locking—all three deadbolts—without my prompting.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to ask. No need to advertise my propensity for excessive locks or highlight my damage—more than the bat just did.
He stops in the living room, noting the pizza and the paused show on the TV before facing me. “Listen, I know things are off between us.” He grips his man-bun, frowning. “But do you think we could pretend everything is okay? I—”
“Yes,” I jump on the idea. “What’s wrong?”
Rowdy shakes his head. “Could we…” Burying his hands in his pockets, he assesses the room as if he might find answers hidden in my walls or sofa. “Maybe we could sit and do whatever you were doing… for a while.”
“I was getting ready to eat pizza, veg on the coach, and watch a movie. You want to—”
“Yes.” His response is too quick. I’m not even sure he cares or comprehends what I’m doing. It’s obvious something’s wrong, but he’s not ready to talk.
“Sit. I’ll grab another plate.” I disappear to the kitchen, taking a second to catch my bearings.
He’s clearly only here because he doesn’t want to be alone.
He chose you to spend time with because he thinks you are weak and vulnerable because of your issues—not because he wants to ”hang” with you. Don’t read anything into it.
“All I’ve got are soda, juice, or water,” I call out to the other room, staring at the ceiling until he answers.
“Water, please.”
Please. So well mannered. His mom should be proud.
Plate, napkins, and water in hand, I still when I turn the corner and see he’s sitting in the middle of the couch, facing the TV. I’ll have to sit next to him, or in the loveseat that’ll give me a crick in my neck after being craned left to watch the movie. I guess I’m sitting next to him. I could ask him to scoot over, but, really, why would I do that?
“What are we watching?” He plates a few slices of the fully loaded pizza, hands me my plate that I left sitting next to the pizza box.
I bite my lip, feeling silly. “Um, well… It’s… We can watch something else.” I hand him the remote, but instead of searching for a new movie, he hits play. I side-eye him, nervously waiting for the judgment.
He smirks. “G.I. Jane?” His head slowly turns toward me, his eyes taking in my drawn lips and settling on my eyes. “It’s a good choice. Demi is kick ass in this movie.”
Shocked, all I can mutter is, “Yeah.”
She’s my hero. I want to be as tough as Jordan someday. She takes no shit, but she wasn’t always that tough. She worked for it. I’m working for it too.
Before long I’ve finished three slices of pizza. Two is usually my limit, but Rowdy kept refilling my plate when he did his. I motion to the fourth slice on my plate. “I can’t.”
He eyes it, then me. “I’m sure you can manage.”
“I’m sure I don’t want to.” Plus, it’s the last slice.
He’s barely full, I’m sure. “Okay,” he takes my plate, “but next time, it’s my treat.”
Next time? I’d like that.
I settle in, full tummy, great movie, and a guy who makes me forget I’m a little broken and nobody special.
Pizza devoured, the two of us slumped down on the couch, the sides of our bodies fully touching, the credits rolling, Rowdy looks down at me. His eyes settle on mine, his lips so close.
Is he going to kiss me? God, I want that.
For a split second, I think he might.
Then the pain and uneasiness from earlier seep across his face before he says, “My mom has cancer.”
CANCER. MY MOM HAS CANCER.
Those four words knock the wind out of my sails and send me into his lap, curling around him like a python getting ready to squeeze the life out of its next meal. Except it’s Rowdy—and it’s me, the girl no one can touch without sending me into a PTSD episode.
No one except Rowdy.
The guy I’ve had a crush on since day one…
“God, Kitten.” He holds me like a lifeline, like I’m his connection to the world, only it’s him who’s my anchor. He grounds me, not to the here and now, but to him.
He is my here and now.
“I’m so sorry, Cameron. Is it bad? Is that why you didn’t want to talk about it?” His hold tightens.
With his head buried in my shoulder, I barely make out his reply, “I didn’t want to be alone. All I could think about was getting to you. I needed you.”
Air rushes from my lungs, but in a good way I’ve never felt. I’ve never been needed before. I’m the one usually doing the needing.
Growing up, my mom needed Gabriel, not me. In fact, things might have been better for her if I hadn’t been around.
Gabriel definitely didn’t—doesn’t—need me. He’s always been the protector.