Page 39 of Fragile (Cedar Lakes University #2)

Chapter thirty-eight

Miles

I don’t make it a habit to drive my truck much when we’re in school. It’s mainly used for trips that need to be fast when we can’t walk, burger runs when we’re all starving after practice or, lately, when me and Quinn go to one of our various activities that are making a rainbow of my phone calendar.

Hence why, this morning, I’m outside her dorm, engine idling, waiting for my girl.

Miles

I’m here ox

Quinn

Two seconds xo

An email comes through as I’m swiping off her message, and my body immediately tenses, the buzz from the notification making my bones rattle more than I’d like.

From: Mark Cooper

Subject: Call me.

Call me. Two words I plan on ignoring for as long as possible. You know what, Dad? Since our last phone call went so swimmingly, I think I’ll pass. I don’t even have to open it to know what’s inside because I already know. Like muscle memory, my body remembers the effect he has on me, my knuckles turn white from the grip around my phone. The panic attack I had last week still so fresh and raw in my mind.

The door to my truck creaks open, breaking the silence that had settled over me like a heavy blanket. I turn, and there she is—the one person who pulled me out of that darkness when I thought there was no escape, who helps me without question or hesitation. Her red hair is pulled back with a white bow, revealing her face free of makeup, allowing every freckle to stand out in perfect clarity. The sight of her makes my heart flip-flop, a jolt that shakes loose the fear and anxiety trying to grip me. As she looks directly into my eyes, all the panic I felt moments ago melts away, replaced by the steady, calming presence she always brings.

“Hey, Queenie.”

“Hey, Miles.”

She climbs in, and I notice how she hesitates for just a moment before settling into the seat. She’s so full of sunshine that when it dims like it is right now, it’s like her entire self stops glowing.

Pulling the door shut with a soft sigh, she rests a hand on her stomach.

“You okay?” I ask, my brow furrowing. “You’re tense.”

“I’m not, I’m okay.” She waves me off, but I can tell there’s something up.

“Is it your ankle again?”

“No,” she breathes out, as I pull out of the school parking lot, trying not to be too distracted by her.

“Queenie, I’ve known you our whole lives. I can tell when something’s off. Talk to me.”

“I’m really fine.” But her voice wavers just enough to give her away.

I twist my mouth as I think of the best plan here. “Well, I’m going to keep driving until you spill. And according to my calendar, I’ve got an afternoon that’s supposed to be spent volunteering at the shelter again, so you can talk, or we can be late.”

“It really is nothing,” she mutters. “Let’s just get there.”

“Humor me,” I coax gently.

She groans, and I feel the weight leave her. “I just have…cramps, okay? I’m tired, and this morning, I cried at a car commercial I saw on social media. All I want is the worst, greasiest food I can find—preferably a burger and fries with a milkshake to dip the fries into, and I don’t want anyone telling me it’s weird because I’ll just cry again. I want to sit and watch the new Taylor Swift tour movie for the seventh time because it makes me happy, and maybe I’ll cry at that too because it reminds me I didn’t get tickets to that tour—who knows at this point.” She pauses, taking a deep breath, as if to steady herself before continuing. “But we have other things to do, so I’m dealing. We’re going. I’m being an adult, even though I really don’t want to.”

Realization dawns on me that this version of Queenie usually only happens once a month. Ahead, I spot a right turn after the stop sign and make a decision. I swing the truck into the road, and from the corner of my eye, I see Quinn grab the ‘oh shit’ handle above her head. Her eyes are wide as she turns to me. “Miles! What are you doing? We’re going to be late!”

“No.”

“No?” she repeats, incredulous. “No to what?”

“I’m calling you in sick,” I say with a determined grin, making a mental note to steal the number from her phone in a minute. I don’t think Quinn has ever let anyone down with a sick day in her life, but that ends today. “We’re going to Lakeside to get your burger, fries, and milkshake. Then, we’re heading back to my dorm, where you can watch Taylor on my big-ass TV. We can cry together, and you can dip those fries into the milkshake as many times as you damn well please.”

Jeez, now I was the one monologuing. What is she doing to me?

“You’re going to make me cry again.” She sniffs as she fights back tears. “I’m supposed to be the one helping you.”

“And sometimes, Queenie,” I say, reaching over to squeeze her hand, “I want to be the one helping you.”

My tires squeak to a halt at another stop sign, and I turn to see Quinn looking at me, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. For a moment, I wonder if she’ll argue. But then, she just nods, and my heart does a little victory dance.

A few minutes later, we pull into Lakeside Diner parking lot, the familiar neon sign glowing against the fading afternoon light. When we head inside, the mouthwatering smell of fried food hits me. I’m about to break my in-season diet plan and I couldn’t care less. Especially not if it makes the girl next to me feel better.

“Hey, man,” Brad, the owner, says as he sees me. “You want a table?”

“Nah, just takeout today.”

He nods. “Good luck in the semis next week. We’re rooting for y’all.” He smiles, and I know he means well, but a light prickle of awareness has my skin itching as we make our way down to the takeout counter. I force a smile and take Quinn’s hand in mine without a second thought of who sees us because I need her to ground me. Even after we’ve ordered, his words linger in the forefront of my mind, stirring up a restlessness I can’t quite shake. Making that pressure return to sit on my chest like an invisible barbel I can’t shift. “Hey, you know you didn’t have to do this for me. We can still go to the shelter.”

I blink, bringing my attention to her. “No, I want to do this for you. Everyone needs a break sometimes. Even you.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. I know she gets it, but she’s trying to put me first again. I’m not okay with that when she needs someone to take care of her. Today, I’m that person. The food arrives, and we take it back to my truck, driving to my dorm.

“I have a heating pad in my room if that’ll help you?” I say, as we open the door to my room. She flicks on the light and walks over to my desk, placing our food there. “I can put it in the microwave, and it smells like lavender.”

“Does it also happen to be in the shape of a sausage dog?” She chuckles quietly.

“It does. How…?”

“Mom got them for everyone last Christmas. I’m guessing you got one too. But yes, I’d love to use it, if you don’t mind.”

I lean down under my desk and pick up the long bean-filled dog. “Wanna set up food and the TV while I warm this up?”

“On it,” she says, and I disappear into the hallway.

I quickly warm the dog in the microwave, and with a couple of minutes on the clock, I’m back in my room with my girl. As soon as she sees me, her face lights up, and I feel like I'm running down the sideline with seconds left on the clock, the end zone just within reach, ball snug in my hands and I cross that line. She makes me feel like I can do pretty much anything when she looks at me like that.

“I hope you weren’t joking about letting me cry while watching Taylor and dipping French fries into my milkshake, because all of that is on the horizon, buddy.”

“Buddy, huh?” I muse, closing my door with a soft snick. “Is that what I am? Your buddy?” I can’t help the grin tugging at my lips as I move closer to the bed where she’s curled up. There’s a spark in her green eyes that makes my heart race, and before I can second-guess it, I toss the heating pad aside and dive onto the bed. She squeals as I tackle her, laughter bubbling up between us when I tickle her sides, her hands weakly swatting at me in protest.

“You’re not my—oh my god!—you’re not my buddy!” she squeals, her voice breaking with laughter as my fingertips dig into her sides, her most ticklish place.

“Oh no?” I taunt while keeping her pinned beneath me. “Then what am I?”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, it feels like someone hit the pause button in the room. Her laughter dies down, and I’m hovering above her, our faces just inches apart, the rise and fall of her chest echoing the rhythm of my own breathing. Her eyes, still shining with the traces of her laughter, meet mine, and the world seems to still for a moment.

I should say it. The words are right there, on the tip of my tongue. I can feel them, taste them even, but something stops me. Fear, maybe. The fear that once those words are out, there’s no taking them back. That everything could change. That things between us could change. Hearing Quinn tell me she loved me would make me realize I’m wholly unworthy of her. When was the last time someone told me that? Jesus, I don’t remember.

But the thing is, she gives me the strength to make me want to fight to be worthy of her because the thought of not having her now? I hate it.

Her eyes search mine, as if she’s trying to read my mind, and for a second, I’m sure she knows what I want to say. But then she smiles—a soft, almost shy smile that tugs at something deep inside me, and lifts up to rub her nose against mine. “You’re not just my buddy, Miles.” Her breath hitches slightly, and I see the faint blush that colors her cheeks. She opens her mouth, as if to say something else, but then closes it, her expression a mix of uncertainty and something that makes my heart skip a beat.

“Tell me,” I whisper, imploring for her to say something that I think she feels too. Silently begging for her to take the lead here.

“You’re…” she starts, her voice barely above a whisper as her throat works on a swallow. “You’re…everything.”

The words hit me like a ton of bricks. I’m speechless. Everything? The way she’s looking at me, like I’m the only thing that matters in the world, makes me feel like I could actually be that for her.

I feel the overwhelming urge to close the tiny gap between us, to show her just how much those words mean to me. But before I can act on it, she presses her lips to mine, cutting off any thoughts I might have had. This kiss is different—deeper, more certain. It’s as if she’s pouring all the things she can’t say into this one moment, and I can feel it in every fiber of my being.

My hand moves instinctually from her waist to cradle the side of her face, pulling her even closer. The kiss is soft and urgent, tender and fierce all at once.

When we finally break apart, her forehead rests against mine, both of us breathing heavily. My heart pounds harder, trying to sync with the chaotic rhythm of hers I feel underneath me.

“Everything, huh?” I say softly as a small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I brush a thumb over her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin under my touch.

She nods, her smile mirroring mine, and I want to make sure that I can be her everything, always because she’s my First Down: All the way girl.