Page 6

CHAPTER

FOUR

CORTLAND

I hear Mom sigh as I come into the kitchen, Tristan with his head bowed at the table, a bowl of cereal in front of him.

Nothing really seems wrong, but the tension is thick in the air. I open up a cabinet as Mom closes the fridge, a jug of juice in her hand.

“What’s wrong?” I ask quietly, pulling down my own bowl. I glance at the time. Just after sunrise on a Saturday, and Mom is going into the office because of course she is. I wanted to run at Hyde Park before I met Brinklin for a movie.

Mom pours her juice as I reach for the cereal under the cabinet, and Tristan stays silent at the table.

“Your brother has a cavity. Just told me this morning, too.”

I frown at that, shaking out the cereal, glancing at the multi-colored flakes, before I roll down the bag, close the box, and put it back under the cabinet.

“Yeah,” I say. I’m the one who took him to the dentist last week. “So? He’ll just get it filled, right?”

I turn to the fridge as Mom shoves the juice my way and I take it, meeting her eyes for half a second. Then I set it on the shelf and grab the milk, glancing at Tristan, still staring into his full bowl, but he’s not eating.

My stomach twist into knots, but I close the fridge and pour my milk.

“So he’s not to eat anything with sugar until he can learn to keep his teeth clean,” Mom says, shrugging as she sips from her own juice, leaning back against the sink.

She nods to Tristan as she lowers her glass, her manicured nails tapping against the counter at her back with her free hand.

“Isn’t that right, baby?” she asks him, her tone condescending.

I see his face flush red beneath his cloud of hair.

I tighten my jaw as I fling open the fridge, put away the milk and shut the door before I snatch a spoon from the drawer.

“It’s okay, Tristan,” I tell him, plopping my spoon in the bowl.

I wish Dad was here.

Not the first time I’ve thought that since he’s been on the road. But I let it go, coming to sit across the table from my brother. I jerk my chin toward the kitchen adjacent the dining room. “There’s a lot of fresh fruit in there ? —”

“Sugar,” my mom says in a singsong voice.

I clench my hands into fists as Tristan keeps staring down at his bowl.

He’s ten.

I glare at my mom, wanting to say exactly that, but not wanting to embarrass him further. “Then what the hell should he eat?” I snarl, leaning back in my chair and refusing to touch my own cereal.

Mom’s eyes widen as she turns and rinses out her juice cup. “Watch your language, Cort.”

“And why’s he got a bowl of fucking cereal in front of his face if you don’t want him eating sugar?”

Mom drops her cup in the sink and turns toward me, her eyes narrowed.

She takes a step closer, and I grit my teeth, staring up at her.

“He’s learning self-control ,” she snarls. “I put the bowl there so he can figure out how not to give into temptations.”

My pulse pounds in my ears and I dig my nails into my palms, wanting to run them down my skin.

“And if you don’t watch that mouth, Cort, I’ll have to teach you some self-control, too.” Then she turns from me, stalking off, snatching up her keys from the island. “If he so much as eats a single bite of that, he can fast for a week.”

She leaves, slamming the door closed behind her.

Tristan finally looks up, his eyes rimmed with tears.

There’s a lump in my throat, but I swallow it down. “Eat the cereal, buddy,” I tell him softly, finally grabbing my own spoon even though my appetite is gone. “I won’t tell her.”

I wipe my wrist over my brow, the late-summer heat getting to me as I finish my last mile at Hyde Park.

I shake out my hands by my sides, relishing in the release after a hellish morning at home. Tristan ate the cereal, but he went to his room and cried afterward, which is never fun to listen to.

The older he gets, the more Mom is on his case.

God, I hate her.

I round the corner of the park, some of the leaves already changing colors, the reds and yellows beautiful. So much like West Virginia my heart aches, thinking of it.

Mom moved us for her job.

I wish she’d have left us, instead.

And just as that thought leaves my brain, I nearly collide with someone, my hands darting to their shoulders as we both stagger a little, trying to avoid a full-on disaster.

I hear something hit the paved path, and when I look down, there’s books strewn across the walkway and a DVD case, too.

“I’m so sorry,” a girl’s voice whispers, and I snap my head up, my hands still on her shoulders.

Remi Ocean.

My pulse accelerates all over again, and it has nothing to do with my run.

For a second, her golden eyes are locked on mine, her dark blonde hair pulled back in braids.

Her hands are out in front of her, like she’s still trying to hold me back even though she’s not touching me.

Speaking of… I release her, then hastily retreat a step.

She’s in leggings and a T-shirt, her pale arms visible beneath as she squats down, stacking up her books.

I take a breath, trying to calm my heart.

Remi is a cheerleader so I’ve seen her a lot, but she never really seemed to want to talk much to me. Or anyone, save for her best friend, Sloane. She’s always got her nose in a book during free time in class, but anytime I have spoken to her, she’s been so nice.

She just doesn’t like to talk a lot, I guess.

Wish my mother abided by that shit.

I realize she’s stacking up her books that I made her drop by herself, and I quickly sink down to the ground, reaching for her DVD.

She stills, glancing up at me, and we’re close enough to touch.

I can see the flecks of chestnut in the gold of her eyes, and each one of her long, dark lashes.

I remember to breathe, and I catch her scent.

Like… coconut.

I lick my lips, swallowing the tightness in my throat down as I snatch up her DVD and offer it to her, glancing down at the cover. It has a yellow circular sticker with $5 printed inside it. She got it used, it looks like.

“You and your horror,” I say with a smile, my eyes back on hers.

She’s still squatting down beside me and she takes the movie, her fingers brushing mine for a second.

My heart flutters.

What is wrong with me?

“Yep,” she finally says. “ I Know What You Did Last Summer , that’s my favorite movie.”

I glance at the cover again as she piles it on top of the books against her chest.

“What’s yours?” she asks softly, getting to her feet.

I stand, too, looking down at her.

She’s short and she has to tilt her head back to look up at me.

I smile, shrugging. “I don’t really watch movies. I like football.”

She laughs, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, shaking her head. “Yeah,” she says quietly, “I could’ve guessed that.”

“You come here a lot?” I ask her, looking around the park. It’s quiet, just after sunrise. I usually don’t see anyone here.

She bites her lip, averting her eyes for a second. “Not a lot,” she finally says. “I stopped by Thrifty’s and it’s just up the road. I only really come here when my stepdad is away.”

“You like spending time with him? A family girl, huh?” I realize belatedly that her mom died and maybe that was not the right thing to say.

And the look she gives me confirms that.

She takes a step back as she holds my gaze. “Something like that,” she mutters under her breath.

I feel like an idiot and I rake my hand through my hair before I drop it to my side. Grasping for something to change the subject, I ask, “Where you going with all those books?”

She glances down at her stack and for the first time, I notice a pen tucked behind her ear. “To the bench,” she answers me, jerking her chin just beyond us.

I know what bench she’s talking about.

I sit on it after my runs sometimes.

“Cool,” I tell her. I want to ask if she wants company, but she never really seems to want that, and she’s taking another step back from me. Toward the bench I was going to take a breath on.

“I’ll see ya around, Cort,” she says, and I smile when she calls me that. Like she knows me.

I nod once. “See ya, Rems.”

And just before she turns her head, I see it too. Her smile.

“Brinklin, Storm, Chase.” Maya flops back on my bed, holding her phone over her head, thumbs flying along her screen.

Her chocolate brown hair is fanned out on my orange sheets.

“They’re all gonna be there,” she continues, angling her phone further away, extending her arm as she purses her lips together.

I see the screen flash across her oval face, watch her mouth pull into a smile as she posts the selfie to wherever she’s posting shit.

I don’t have social media.

After last year, I’ve done my best to stay off the internet altogether.

I run my hand through my hair, turning away from the mirror hung opposite my bed to face her. “Chase and Brinklin are?—”

“They drove up from ECU,” she says, shrugging with a smile on her face. As if this is the best news of the century. “And I already promised Storm he could watch me suck your dick if he comes.”

I stare at her. “Oh, did you?”

She laughs, tossing her phone beside her on the bed, planting her palms on my mattress and leaning back, arching her spine, spreading her thighs so I have a clear view of her thong as she hikes her dress up.

“Calm down, babe,” she says with a pout.

“You know this is just for you.” She runs one hand up her thigh, slipping her fingers beneath the hot pink of her underwear, rubbing herself with a soft moan.

My skin feels tight, watching her. Imagining Remi, bumping into her yesterday on my way to the student service’s building to make an appointment. To see a fucking therapist.

I’ve avoided going for a year now, but I can’t anymore.

There’s nothing but darkness in my head.

Morbid thought after morbid thought. Monster.

That’s how she sees me, and I’m not sure she’s wrong.

It felt a little good yesterday, touching her, just giving in to what she thinks I am.

Now I’m sure I met all of her expectations.