Page 11

11

HAVOC

“Y ou sure you’re okay?” Kade asks, eyeing me suspiciously, their gaze stuck where Maddox had gripped my wrist.

I nod, wiping it on my pants, as if that could somehow rub off the redness on my skin. “She doesn’t like me.”

They chuckle. “No shit.” Hands find their way to the small of my back as they shepherd me to our table. “She’ll get over it.”

If Kade can work like Mad Maddox repellent this easily, I’m finding myself to be quite fond of them. But it isn’t just the way they’re able to nonchalantly disregard Maddox’s hatred or anger toward me—it’s also in the way they spent the night listening to every word out of my mouth as if they were worth listening to, in the way they didn’t judge me when the topic of my mother came up and I immediately started crying, which then forced me to go to the bathroom to numb the parts of me that could feel too much.

When I decided to come back to Slaughters, my biggest fear was coming home to nothing but hardened hatred in my friends’ hearts. To my surprise, none of them held a grudge; they were just happy to have me back. Now, here, with Kade, I’m proving I’m still capable of making new ones, something I abandoned trying long ago.

Four years in a pro league, and I don’t think I ever even got another skater’s phone number saved into my contacts. With my head swimming from the painkillers and nearly three full cocktails, I hesitate once we get to our table.

“You wanna get out of here?” Kade notices, stopping me from sitting.

“It’s probably for the best. I don’t know that I should be in her space,” I confess, feeling every kind of awkward at having invaded the place she worked, knowing she can’t stand me.

“Sounds tough for Maddox. Slaughters only has so many bars,” Kade chuckles. “I’ll go pay the tab if you want to wait outside.”

I want to argue and maybe fight for the bill, but the thought of going up to the bar and having a one-on-one with her again makes acid crawl up my throat. I’m leaning against the brick wall when it hits me just how sloshed I am.

Taking a deep breath in an attempt to clear the fog, I realize it will do me no good. I’m fucked up, and the dizziness is permanent. I don’t make a habit of drinking to the point of throwing up, but I overlooked my threshold with narcotics included.

A wave of nausea sweeps over me, and I run, leaning over the nearest planter, throwing up cheese fries and whiskey across the freshly sprouting tulips. I instantly feel better, despite the sweat running down my back and the world still spinning all around me. I wipe my mouth with the back of my sweater, returning to my place by the door when Kade comes out of the bar, sticking their arm out in a silent bid for me to take it.

We’re only two blocks from their place, and though there isn’t much in Slaughters, Kade’s house would be considered prime real estate. There’s a lot that wasn’t here when I left five years ago—a gourmet coffee shop, a pottery studio, and some other blurry things I can’t quite make out in the dark.

“Oh, I got you,” Kade says, catching me from behind as I trip over my own feet.

“Sorry.” Laughing, I cling to them a little harder as we walk back to their place, but it’s them who trips next. “You’re just as bad!”

“I never claimed to be the designated walker tonight.” They hold on to me, and it’s the biggest I’ve smiled in months, maybe years.

“What are your plans? Long term.” Kade asks.

It’s quite possibly the worst time for this kind of conversation, but I’ve fought through more difficult tasks.

“I don’t know. Get a shitty job until I can get a better job. Crash at Star’s until I get a place. Maybe not in that order.” I laugh awkwardly as we reach their door.

“Stay with me.” They gesture inside with their head, the proposition seeming more than just for the night like we’d originally agreed.

“That’s a bit forward, don’t you think?” I ask, doing what I always do best and making a joke out of what I can’t fully understand.

“I don’t want to fuck you, Vera. I want to help you. You’re cute, but you aren’t my type.” Kade winks, shutting the door behind me once I’ve committed to entering.

I’m only slightly offended at their bluntness, but also fully aware that I’ve misread dates my entire life. I am not the queen of social cues. Kade is good looking, really good looking, but the minute I held them in my arms, I knew they’d been sent to me by Asha.

Platonic love is so often overlooked when we try to force it into something more.

Platonic love is healing.

I have friends here, old friends, who I love dearly with my entire heart, but who also haven’t grasped the complexities behind all the changes I’ve gone through in the last five years.

I’m not the same Vera who left Slaughters cracked in half.

If anything, I may be a little more broken.

“Seriously. I have a spare room, and there’s no mortgage because it’s paid off. As long as you’re not a slob or a junkie, I think this will work. You can help with the utilities every now and then.” They give me a genuine smile, their teeth sparkling white. “If not, we reevaluate in a couple of weeks.”

“Oh God, I don’t know if I can handle the stress of a roommate probation review,” I try to joke again, catching a grin from Kade.

The rest of the night is easy. I spend it cuddling with Tolkien on the couch and using the giant cat as a blanket. K picks an old Transformers movie, but my eyes betray me and fight for sleep before we get to the part where Megan Fox is doing hot girl over the hood . I no longer have it in me to fight sleep.

* * *

I wake up on the couch, sober. My mouth dry and my head pounding, but I’m sober, my least favorite feeling as of late. Tolkien is still faithfully beside me, as if he can sense my need for company, but Kade has been in their own bed since the first sign of me nodding off.

The previous night was all spins, but I still remember most of it, even the terrifyingly awkward confrontation with Maddox. Kade’s offer lingers in my mind. Staying at the motel isn’t a long term option, and my next best bet will be crashing at Star’s house with her mom . I can’t drop my baggage at her doorstep like this, not when I’m knee deep in this binge. I gotta see it all the way through.

Minimal rent. A roommate I can get along with.

It’s exactly what I need.

I stretch, spreading my limbs and each of my toes, letting out a little squeal before sitting up on the couch. K comes out of their room, half their face covered by a mess of blue hair, but they muster a wave as they walk past me to the fridge.

“Good morning,” I chirp, not feeling nearly as shitty as I should before remembering I threw up at least two of those drinks last night.

“Coffee?” Kade asks, holding up the empty pot.

I think about it, humming out loud while I try to decide. “Hmm, yes. I’ll have coffee with you.”

They prep the machine, filling the filter with some well-ground coffee in a fancy black and gold bag I don’t recognize. I reach my hand out in a silent bid to pass it my way.

“Smells good.” It’s only a partial lie; my nose is fucked. Snorting this many pills isn’t sustainable, and my sinuses are starting to feel it.

I lean over the kitchen island, awkwardly fingering the veins of the marble on the counter.

“Did you think about my offer?” they ask, sitting across from me.

“I did.” I linger on the pause. “Why are you helping me?”

“Asha would have wanted me to.” They don’t hesitate to say it.

“You don’t have to do that.” I shake my head, unsure if it’s enough reason for me to do something as drastic as moving into their house.

“She’d give you a very stern talking to for trying to reject my help.” Kade smirks, walking over to the cabinet and pulling two mugs from the middle shelf.

One says I’m mad at the government and has a picture of a frog on it, and the other says Don’t talk to me until I’ve eaten this mug . I’m not sure I understand either of them, but they make me laugh, and laughing sober is a guilt-ridden reminder that happiness is not for those grieving.

“How do you take it?” they ask, pouring the fresh pot of coffee into both cups.

“Straight to the face, and I prefer it if it hurts,” I blurt out, earning an amused snort from K before I translate, “Black, a little sugar.”

“Psycho.” They grin, passing me the frog mug and then the box of raw sugar packets.

They’re grabbing oat milk out of the fridge when I decide to finally answer. “Yes.”

“Hmm?” K looks back at me, stirring the beige liquid in their mug.

“I’ll take the room.” I smile, sipping my coffee.

It’s really good—rich, bold, and smooth, with notes of chocolate that aren’t muted from roasting.

“Don’t let me twist your arm.” Their sarcasm is familiar and welcome, like it’s borrowed from my dead best friend.

“Asha and I used to do this all the time,” I say between sips, a stuttered inhale settling in my chest to prevent my voice from breaking.

“What? Drink coffee?” they ask, looking down awkwardly at their mug now.

“Yeah, but usually in the afternoon.” I stare off to the side, like my brain finds comfort in recalling the memory by focusing on the moving hands of the kitchen clock. “I’d bring some frozen p?o de queijo to bake, and we’d spend the afternoon chatting away.”

“At least if it’s going to hurt, it’s over someone worth hurting for,” Kade says, their eyes stuck on the clock as well.

“Amen or something,” I reply, raising my coffee up to cheers them.