Page 61

CHAPTER

FORTY-FOUR

CORTLAND

Brinklin

Heard from him?

Storm

No.

Brinklin

I haven’t seen him back on campus.

Cortland

Didn’t the two of you ride back together?

Brinklin

Drove separate, left the Jeep at Mom’s.

Storm

Maybe he’s dead.

I flex my jaw, squeezing the water bottle in my mouth and wiping my wrist over my brow, breathing hard from bleacher runs.

Usually reserved for spring, one of my teammates had to mouth off at Coach for fuck-knows-what, so he wanted to punish us all for it.

Bleachers it was. Game day is five days out, so I don’t think he really cares how exhausted we are.

But practice is almost over and the only thing I can think about is taking a cold bath.

The ice bath in the convocation center isn’t really my thing but submerging myself in cold water became a habit back in high school.

Tristan used to perch on a stool and play with his cars on the ledge of the tub while I sat in my swimming trunks and listened to him imagine the cars were people. Dolls.

I grit my teeth, thinking about what Mom would do if she knew where his imagination went, and I glance at my phone again.

I haven’t heard from Chase since we left the cabin in the morning after me and Storm walked back, which has been a couple of weeks.

Even that goodbye was just a head nod as Brinklin got into his car.

Brinklin said he didn’t talk much, and after Maya threatened me, finally got her shit and got out, I didn’t speak to Chase at all before I left to find Remi.

Thinking of her now, a smile pulls at my lips.

We’ve still been keeping everything hidden from nearly everyone.

Meeting in the parking lot, my tinted windows up while we climb in the back.

I’ve fucked her there, in my house before she runs out in a hurry, not wanting Sloane or her cousin to get suspicious.

I’ve taken her to lunch off campus, wrapped her up in my arms in the shadowy corners of the library.

I can’t fucking stop. Smiling about her. Thinking about her. Usually both at once.

I can’t stay away from her, and I don’t know what to do about that.

Not knowing where Chase is unnerves me, but tomorrow morning, I’m taking her somewhere. I want more than stolen moments.

I want it all.

I met her for lunch again today, but she wanted to keep it under wraps, so we ate in my truck, parked at another dorm.

I’m not okay with that shit.

But, I get it.

Saturday night, I’m going to Dad’s, to talk about him moving.

His first house fell through, but he’s got another one now.

Another prospect of getting away from Mom, for good.

I don’t know how I feel about that either.

I came here because I thought Tristan would need me, but I’m not really doing him any good because I can’t get my head on straight.

Absentmindedly, my fingers drift to my inner forearm, scratching at my skin.

I wince as I realize what I’m doing, my heart picking up speed after it’d just slowed down from practice.

I drop my hand from my arm and stare down at my phone.

Thinking about Remi fucking me that first time in my truck, choking Storm in our house, I have to bite back a smile.

She was so fucking hot and so fucking mine.

And the way she asked for my permission before Storm.

.. My dick gets hard and I adjust myself through my pants, biting my lip.

I glance down at the time. Practice is technically over, and I’m wondering why the fuck I’d wait for morning to get Remi out of here.

I’m not waiting.

I stand, feeling a little dizzy from the heat and the drill as I do, but I need her. Being with her quiets all the bullshit, and even when we fight, it’s just her on my mind. Nothing else. And maybe it helps with the guilt, too, but so what? I like her. I like being around her. I want her.

I wave two fingers up from the sidelines, see Coach across the field laying into Derrek for showing up high to practice. Coach gestures with his clipboard toward me, dismissing me.

After I’m showered and dressed, striding out of the locker room with my gym bag over my shoulders, I pull out my phone.

Baby. I miss you.

She takes about two seconds to respond and my smile hurts my face as I read her reply.

My Baby

Come see me then.

I’ve got the truck packed with my shit, a tent, blankets, matches and graham crackers but no chocolate. Just Reese’s. Ideally, we’d do this kind of thing on the weekend, but since I’m meeting with dad and I can’t miss my game Saturday, I guess that’s not going to happen.

Practice, though? I might blow that shit off for the rest of the week.

I think about Remi cheering at West River as I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, twisting off the cap.

She was so fucking adorable in her teal and black uniform, her hair in two braids, that smile on her face.

Looking over from the sidelines to see her watching the game made me play harder every time.

And after every game, when that clock ran down, I’d catch her eye first, see her nod toward me before my team circled around me.

It was our unspoken thing.

I don’t blame her for not going now. After what we did, she probably has no interest in being anywhere near a football stadium again. Still, to see her watch me play one more game… I don’t think I could come down from that high.

“Where are you going?” Storm’s quiet voice snaps me back to the present and I nearly choke on my water.

I swallow it down, wipe the back of my hand over my mouth and twist the cap back on, fisting the bottle as Storm opens up the cabinet, grabbing a plate. My mom bought those. She pays for nearly everything in this house, but Storm has money too.

Mom would cut me off in a heartbeat if she knew where I was going tonight. Who I was with this weekend.

I don’t care.

I have that money from my grandpa in savings and I spent a few summers helping my uncle do renovations back in WV. I enjoyed getting lost in the physical labor. Transforming lackluster places to something better.

I’d do it all again here too, if I had to. When all is said and done, I have a feeling I’m not getting that fucking trust fund, and no college major really interests me. There’s construction management, but I think that’s bullshit. You don’t need a degree for that. Get out and do it.

Mom wants me to go pro. I don’t want to sell my body to the highest bidder.

At least with manual labor, I could control my own time.

My own limits. Not risk a concussion that could ruin my life before I hit thirty.

Besides, making a hobby a profession steals all the magic from it.

Your free time becomes paid time, sucking all the joy from something that you used to find freedom in.

I never wanna loathe the game.

Storm has his shirt off and his muscles flex as he pulls out a tub of spaghetti, nudging the fridge closed with his hip, then doling out the pasta on his plate. He made that.

I feel a little embarrassed that I can’t cook worth shit. Mom never did, but Dad was on top of it, preparing everything before he went on the road too.

Briefly, I wonder if Remi can cook. I never got to find out.

Maybe tonight I’ll ask her. Imagining her in my kitchen, making food for me…

Fuck.

“Out,” I tell Storm evasively, finally answering his question.

He drops his fork in the plastic container, then puts his plate in the microwave, setting the timer and turning to face me while it hums behind him, heating up his dinner. He’s got his palms behind him on the white counter, and I see the tattoos all along his chest, crawling up his neck.

I’m starving and the smell of the pasta makes my stomach growl, but I want to get food with Remi.

Storm’s baby blue eyes lock on mine, and he asks, “You going to see her?”

I grip the bottle tighter in my hand, the plastic crinkling as I fist my free hand and tap it on the island, staring at him, his expression unreadable. We haven’t spoken much about Chase. Or Maya.

“Yeah,” I tell him, “I am.” I think about Storm on the team.

He was a running back, and played well enough, but he never loved it.

I think he just did it because he could.

A homeschooled, quiet kid trying out for a small-town football team and getting a starting position?

Storm loves that kind of fuck you irony.

“You worried?” he asks me directly, cocking his head.

I shrug, not wanting to admit it, but Storm is my best friend. I know he has my back. I know the shit he does now is illegal, even though he never talks about it, never keeps drugs at the house, but if he can trust me with that, I can talk about this. “I don’t want her to get hurt.”

He nods, and the timer for the microwave goes off, bleating behind him, but neither one of us moves.

“I know it seems like it, Cort, but they don’t actually own this town,” he finally says, shrugging as he drops his hands by his sides, swinging his arms. “You ever seen a corpse?” he asks me quietly.

A perfectly normal Storm question, it still throws me off.

I frown. “No, man, I haven’t.”

“When you do,” he says, looking down, “you’ll realize we’re all just flesh and blood. No amount of money makes us immortal. No status can save us from a bullet to the head, cancer, a car crash.” He looks up at me. “A fire.” He shrugs. “We all end up dead.”

I arch a brow. “Are you saying I should kill Chase?” I’ve been thinking about just that a lot lately.

He rolls his eyes. “No, I’m saying that you shouldn’t scream about dating Remi to the world, even when you want to. And you should expect some… shit.”

I chew the inside of my cheek, hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

“And yeah, it may get a little too much, and maybe, for her sake, you’ll have to back off.

” He turns from me, pulling open the door to the microwave, taking his plate out and closing the door back, setting the plate down, shaking out his fingers like he burned himself on it.

“But don’t let flesh and blood dictate what you can and can’t do. ”

I furrow my brow, shaking my head. “I’m confused,” I tell him, my voice edged with anger. “You were the one who said this wouldn’t work. On the way to Grim Mountain. Now you’ve had a taste of her, you changed your mind?”

He turns to look at me over his shoulder. “Nothing to do with that.” He looks back at his food. “I just hadn’t seen a corpse then.”

I blink at him, but decide not to push it, letting his weird shit go. But before I can cross the kitchen to the hall, he looks over at me again.

“I saw those cuts on her arm.”

Trepidation rolls through me as I meet his gaze.

“It might be all fun and games to you,” he twirls spaghetti on his fork, bringing it up to his mouth. “But if you fuck this up, you could drive her over the edge.”

I grit my teeth before I answer him. “It’s not fun and games.”

He sets his fork down, glancing at the counter. “She’s not healed. And whether we did or we didn’t, it’s all very real in her head. Don’t push her.”

“I’m not,” I tell him. “If I did,” I shrug, “I’d jump with her.”