Page 24 of Fragile (Cedar Lakes University #2)

Chapter twenty-three

Quinn

I’m not allowed to do any cheer practice for two weeks.

The news delivered by the physio was less than ideal.

It could’ve been worse and that’s my mantra for right now.

“Get out of your head, Dawson,” Miles says, snapping me from my thoughts. Leaning against him, we do an awkward shuffle/hop dance around campus to get to my dorm room, since I refused to take the underarm crutches. And I didn’t want to draw that much attention to us by being hauled around campus by a six-foot-four football player either.

“Right,” I agree. “Out of my head.”

“Two weeks isn’t that bad. You won’t be off it the whole time either. They’re being careful.” He shifts his grip, making sure I’m steady. “Just a few more steps.”

I nod and bite back a grimace from the pain. My ankle throbs with every movement. If only I hadn't pushed myself to try that new stunt without more practice. If only I had been more focused on the risky move and not staring at the field, waiting for Miles to turn his head again.

“Okay, I know you said no carrying, but I don’t care,” Miles says before he scoops me up again and walks without breaking his stride, closing the half a meter to my dorm steps. So much for not drawing attention to us.

Once we reach my dorm, he fumbles with the key card, swiping it a couple of times before the door beeps open. Lowering me to the floor, only once he’s walked up the stairs, we step inside mine and Indie’s room, and I sigh in relief as the sight of my bed comes into view.

Miles closes the door, drops his gym bag down, as I hop over to my bed. “Stay here. I’ll get you some ice,” he says, leaving me alone.

Taking a deep breath, I hold back tears I’ve felt ever since we left the physio exam room. “It’s fine, it’s going to be fine,” I tell myself. “You have so much to do in the meantime.”

The door opens again, and Miles offers me an easy smile. He walks toward me, looking down at my ankle. “So, the hallway first aid kit doesn’t have any ice packs. I need to check the box in your hangout room. Will you be okay?”

Rolling my eyes, I say, “Yes, the clumsy cheerleader will be fine sitting on her bed, not moving.”

Reaching out to push him away, he grabs my wrist before I can connect with his stomach and slowly lifts my hand to his lips. He presses a featherlight kiss to my knuckles, all the while burning me alive with his intense brown eyes. “Need anything before I go? I won’t be long.”

The way his hand lingers in mine has what feels like a family of wild hummingbirds fluttering all over my skin, hellbent on making me break out in goosebumps for him. “I’m good,” I croak, watching the smile spread across his face.

“Your phone is here.” He picks it out of his pocket and places it on my bedside drawers. “And I’ll be fast.”

And then he’s gone, and my body is definitely a few degrees warmer.

I glance around my room, trying to distract myself from the tingling sensation he’s left on my knuckles and in my hand. I could hobble over to my laptop, get some work done for my assignment due next week in business. But I could also just lay my head for a second and rest.

Just as my head sinks into my pillow, my phone buzzes. Reaching to my bedside, I see a message from Indie.

Indie

Seb just told me you hurt yourself at practice today. Do I need to come and take care of you? Because I’m a great nurse, ask Seb.

Quinn

I’m not sure if you mean sexy nurse or actual nurse for him, but either way, I’m good. Miles has it covered.

Indie

I bet he does. I’d ask for details, but I feel like the less I know the better, especially because I’m keeping it all a secret.

Guilt rattles me as I stare at her message.

Quinn

I’m sorry, we’ll tell him soon. I’m just not quite sure how yet.

Or if I want to before we’ve had time together. It’s always been the three of us growing up, and now it’s changed. I want to be selfish for a little while. Exclusively selfish.

Indie

I don’t want you to tell him because of me. Take your time, figure out whatever it is. I’ll keep it in the vault x

I sigh in relief, because I know we should tell my brother, and we will. Soon.

Pulling open the drawer next to my bed, I search inside for a pot of Tylenol that should be there. “Come on, come on,” I mutter to myself while rooting through hair ties, claw clips, and condoms that are still in an unopened box, but better to be prepared than caught without, right? “I swear I had some.”

After one more sweep of the drawer, giving up seems inevitable. Glancing around the room, a hopeful look lands on Indie’s side; maybe she has some.

I try to put a little weight on my ankle and the pain shoots up my leg like a hot rod pressing against my skin. “Ouch, ouch.” I wince, taking a deep breath. “Okay, we can crawl. Crawling is good. Until the swelling goes down, we can crawl.”

Slowly managing to angle my leg so my ankle doesn’t touch the floor, I butt-shuffle over to Indie’s side. On route, I spot Miles’s gym bag strewn in the middle of the room, which is closer, and I know for a fact he keeps Tylenol and Aspirin in his bag. “Thank all the gods. Right, keep going. We can do this, Quinn,” I murmur, forcing my body to shift toward the bag.

Miles walks back in just as my fingers grasp the strap.

“I got the—” He stops dead in the doorway, holding something that looks like the same package as the ice pack from the stadium earlier. “What are you doing?”

Puffing my hair from my face, I look up at him, panting and awkwardly trying to keep my foot off the floor still. “Oh, y’know, trying to practice interpretive dance.”

He tilts his head, but a small smirk plays on his face. “And how’s that going for you?”

“Great, can’t you tell?” I laugh just as I lose my balance and land on my butt with a soft thud. “I tried to walk, but it hurt.”

He moves closer to me, looking down with his arms crossed. “And you couldn’t wait for me to come back and help?”

“No,” I huff. Waving him off, I slowly shift to my knees, elevating my foot behind me, the soft carpet brushing against my skin. “I’m an independent woman who can take care of herself.”

Granted, that statement would be much more convincing if I were on my two feet, hands on my hips, determined glare in my eyes, and not crawling around like a baby. But I’ll work with what I’ve got.

“Quinn, what is it you need?” he asks softly, but I also hear the amusement in his voice.

“Don’t worry, I can do it.”

“Okay, if you say so,” he says, walking away to sit on my bed behind me. “I’ll let you do your thing.”

As I sweep my hair from my face, I creep forward again, this time steadier. I sneak my hand into his bag, fingers brushing against the familiar red and white container, and I unscrew the lid without hesitation. Slowly, I turn to face him, settling onto my butt and lifting the bottle high for him to see, victory coursing through my veins. “See! I can do—”

“Quinn, no!” Miles shouts just as he lunges toward me with a speed that catches me off guard. His hand connects with mine, knocking the open pot from my hand. It hits the edge of the drawers and explodes open, tablets scattering across the ground like marbles.

“Oh my god. What was that for?” The words escape in a hiss, heart racing from the sudden reaction.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, cheeks flushing. “That, uh, that Tylenol is out of date. I don’t know why I keep it in here. I should, uh, throw it out. Yeah, I’ll do that.” He frantically gathers the tablets from the carpet while I watch, bewildered.

Does Tylenol have an expiration date? I guess it does; I just never thought about it. I watch him dart across the ground collecting the tablets when I spot one next to my leg. Picking it up, I immediately know something isn’t right. “W-what are these?” I ask, my voice uneven.

He freezes, his eyes wide and filled with something that looks like fear. I follow his gaze to the tablet in my hand. They’re small, round, and white, and they’re definitely not Tylenol. Miles schools his face and deftly plucks the tablet from my hand. “They’re just some extra vitamins. You know, for energy.”

I narrow my eyes at him, not buying it for a second. “ Vitamins ?”

“Yeah, my dad has me on all kinds of supplements,” he says, then crosses the room to sit on my bed again, placing the pot next to him. “It’s easier to keep them in one place.” I study his face, searching for any telltale signs of deceit. Miles has always been good at lying. I remember him doing it enough to get out of trouble with his dad growing up, but I know his tells. One of them being avoidance. “Come, sit down, let me ice your ankle.”

My mind races with questions, but I force myself to stay calm. “They don’t look like vitamins, Miles. You said they were out-of-date Tylenol...”

He looks away, his jaw tightening, and then he releases a heavy sigh. “Quinn, it’s nothing. Just let it go, okay?” The pleading note in his voice hits me square in my chest like a bolt of lightning, because I know something isn’t right.

“No, I won’t. You’re lying to me. What are they?”

Miles sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, but he doesn’t answer me.

“Miles?” I say tentatively, bringing myself to stand on my good foot, ignoring the throbbing pain in my ankle as I hobble over to him. I don’t get two shuffles before I’m hoisted upright, and he moves me, depositing me on my bed. His breathing is harsh and unforgiving, his chest heaving against his t-shirt. Still ignoring me, he moves my leg to rest on his lap and gently places the ice pack on my sore ankle.

The silence between us is suffocating. Laden with secrets I didn’t know he had. Ones he won’t even admit to now. “Is this what you’re doing with Levi?” I ask, knowing I’ve seen them together a few times.

When he doesn’t answer, I feel like I’ve hit a nerve with how his body language becomes rigid and clinical as he adjusts the ice on my ankle. The immediate cooling sensation travels over my skin, easing the throb slightly, but it does nothing to soothe the tension in the air. The icy chill wraps around me like an unwelcome guest, just as the awkward silence lingers, thick and heavy.

Realizing that bulldozing into the conversation might not be the best way to get something out of him, I take a deep breath. “You don’t have to tell me, but you know I will help you,” I tell him quietly. I can’t ignore the fact I’ve seen something, and I definitely can’t ignore anything about Miles.

“They’re…” He closes his eyes, swallowing slowly. “They’re amphetamines, alright?”

The word hangs in the air between us as I try to reconcile this new piece of information with the person I’ve known all my life. He opens his eyes, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something—shame, maybe, or regret. “Yeah,” he says, his voice rough. “I… I didn’t want to tell you. Didn’t want you to look at me like that.”

I don’t know what to say. My tongue feels too big for my mouth as I swallow back what feels like a golf ball. My heart races, thumping loud enough to drown out my thoughts. I feel my palms grow clammy, every muscle in my body tense, coiling like a spring ready to snap. I catch myself biting my lip, an unconscious attempt to keep the wrong words from spilling out.

Each thought collides with the next, leaving me more confused. It’s as if I’m seeing him for the first time, and the weight of that realization drops like a heavy stone in my stomach. I take a shaky breath, trying to steady myself, but I end up coughing to clear the thick feeling that feels like it’s lodged there.

“H-how long?” I manage to force out.

“A while,” he admits, looking down at his hands.

“Why?” I whisper.

“I need them.” He meets my gaze, and the tortured look clouding his eyes makes me shudder in disbelief. “To be better. To be whatever it is my dad needs me to be.”

“Your dad?” I question, my voice rising. “You can’t just take drugs because of him!”

“It’s not like that,” he snaps back. “You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand,” I challenge, my pulse pounding in my ears. “Help me understand why you’re risking your health, your future, for him.”

He lifts my leg and rests it on his pillow before standing up, pacing the small room. “I’m not risking anything. I’ve got it under control.”

“Under control?” I echo, confusion dripping from my words. “This isn’t controlled, Miles. This is doping and it’s wrong. Not to mention dangerous.”

He stops and turns to face me, his expression hardened. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know how bad I can fuck this all up? But what choice do I have? I’m drowning, Quinn. Drowning in pressure, in expectations.” His hand rushes through his hair before he looks away. “I can’t afford to fail.”

Tears sting my eyes. “And what about the risk of getting caught? What about your health? Your life? What about you, Miles?”

“I’m careful,” he says, but his voice lacks conviction. “I’m not an addict, Quinn. I just need a little help, that’s all.”

Feeling a mixture of anger and sorrow, I shake my head. “This isn’t help. This is a crutch. And it’s going to break you, Miles. It’s going to break you, and you’ll fall harder than ever. I could—” I stop myself before I tell him how scared I am to lose him before I’ve had him properly. I can’t be that girl.

He sinks onto the edge of my bed once more, his face buried in his hands. For a moment, neither of us speaks. Frustration bubbles within me, at everything he’s admitted. But then I look at him, his fingers twitching and his whole demeanor unsettled and fear for him seeps into my bones. He could so easily self-destruct, and he doesn’t see it. Or maybe he does, and he really is spiraling. Nothing I feel right now compares to the storm I think he’s harboring inside. The thought of him desperately trying to cling onto anything to stay afloat makes my heart near shatter into a million pieces.

“I can’t watch you do this to yourself,” I say as my voice cracks. I can’t handle losing him to something that I can stop.

He looks up, his eyes red. “What am I supposed to do, Quinn? I don’t know what to do.”

“You can stop.” I reach out to take his hand. Determination fires in my blood because I can help him. I know I can.

“It’s not that easy.” He pulls his hand away, and I hate the way it feels like rejection. Watching Miles in his anger is like standing too close to a wildfire. His normally calm brown eyes blaze with a ferocity I’ve yet to encounter. I can see the tension in his jaw, clenched so tightly that the muscles in his neck stand out in sharp relief. His hands are balled into fists, trembling with the effort it takes to contain his fury. Each breath he takes is abrupt and deliberate, as if he's holding back a flood of words that threaten to break free. I want him to talk to me. I want him to lean on me.

“Let me help you,” I whisper, not wanting to push his anger further.

He groans, pained. “Queenie, I—”

“I can’t watch you destroy yourself like this,” I repeat, imploring him to hear me. I feel as desperate as I must sound.

“I don’t need help. I need to be trusted that I can manage my own shit,” he snaps, then spins around like a tornado, ripping my door open as he stalks out.

The echo of the door slamming shut reverberates through the room, leaving a nauseating silence in its wake.

Panic grips my chest as I wonder how to fix this—if it can even be fixed. I can feel the sting of tears threatening to spill over, and for a moment, I fight against them, but it’s useless because they fall anyway.

What just happened ?