Текст книги "Ten Tiny Breaths"

Автор книги: K. A. Tucker

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Chapter Twelve

Storm’s hands fidget with a bead bracelet as seven o’clock rolls around. It’s bizarre that she’s so nervous considering she can swing over a stage topless in front of a room full of strangers. I don’t remind her of that though. I just help her pick out a classy yellow dress that flatters her skin tone and accentuates her curves but not too much. I help her clasp her necklace and pin her hair back on one side. Mainly, I try my damndest to smile when all I want to do is curl up into a ball and hide under my covers, alone.

“Ten tiny breaths,” I murmur.

She frowns into her mirror. “What?”

“Take ten tiny breaths. Seize them. Feel them. Love them.” My mother’s voice rings in my ear as I repeat her words and fight off a choke. That stupid session today has left me bothered, my defenses wavering, my ability to bury the pain challenged.

Storm’s frown dips further.

I shrug. “I dunno. That’s what my mom always used to say. If you figure it out, let me know, okay?”

She nods slowly and then I watch as she breathes in and out slowly, and I imagine she’s counting in her head. That makes me smile. Like I’m passing on a little bit of my mother to Storm.

We hear the knock on the new front door and, a moment later, Mia’s little hands fumbling with the lock. All is quiet, and then Mia approaches, her bare feet slapping hard against the floor as she runs down the hall, yelling, “Mommy! The police officer is here to take you away!”

I snort and shove Storm toward the door. “Stop fussing. You look great.”

Officer Dan is in the living room, putting his hands into his jean pockets and pulling them out, and then putting one in, and taking it out. I can’t help but smile just a bit as I watch him. He’s as uneasy as Storm. Though when he sees her, his face brightens.

“Hi, Nora.”

Nora? His blond hair is styled in that messy, spiky way. He’s wearing a fitted black golf shirt that shows off a solid body. I catch a faint whiff of men’s cologne. Not too much. Just enough. All in all, Officer Dan cleans up really well.

She smiles back politely. “Hi, Officer Dan.”

He clears his throat. “Just Dan is fine.”

“Okay, Just Dan,” she repeats and then the room fills with awkward silence.

“Officer Dan brought you flowers, Mommy! Tigers!” Mia runs to the kitchen where Livie is arranging a beautiful bouquet of deep red Tiger Lilies in a milk jug. Mia reaches up to grab one and knocks the jug over. Water and flowers splash everywhere. “Shit!” She exclaims.

“Mia!” Storm and Livie scold at the same time through gasps.

Mia’s eyes turn big and round as she looks between the two, realizing what she’s done. “I get one. Right, Kacey?”

My hand flies to my mouth to contain my laughter as Livie’s eyes shoot daggers at me.

“They’re beautiful, Dan.” Storm rushes over and scrambles to pick them all up. I take this as my chance to wave down his attention. “She’s really nervous,” I mouth without making a sound.

Surprise flashes in his eyes. He knows what she does for a living. He’s likely made the same wrong assumption as me—that Storm is made of steel. That’s not the case though. Far from it.

He nods and gives me a wink. Clearing his throat, he says, “I’ve made reservations for seven-thirty.” Stepping forward, he offers Storm his arm. “We should head out now, Nora. The place is down by the water. It’ll take a while to get there with traffic.”

She looks up at him and smiles, all fuss over flowers vanishing.

Good. Take the lead. Smart, Dan. Two points.

“Have fun. We won’t wait up!” I catch a flash of Storm’s crimson cheeks before the door is shut and locked, bringing back my dour mood.

***

I end up working that night without Storm. I need the distraction. When last call sounds and Trent doesn’t show up or text, my disappointment is paralyzing. Why would he come, though, I remind myself. I screamed like a lunatic at him on the sidewalk and told him to stay away.

Trent doesn’t come visit me at Penny’s the next night. Or the night after that. Three days later, I think I might lose my mind. Whatever rage coursed through me the day of the grief session is overshadowed by a new void. A Trent void. It throbs like a deep ache through every fiber of my being. I crave his presence, his body, his voice, his laugh, his touch, his everything.

I need him.

I need Trent.

***

On Thursday at noon, I sit at our kitchenette in my short shorts and tank, shoveling Cheerios into my mouth and staring at my phone as if willing a text to come through. Finally, I suck back a mouths’ worth of air and force my thumbs to work out a message.

Me: Any interest in a matinee?

I sit at my table and gawk at the stupid thing, wondering if he’s already deleted my text, or if he’s even bothered to read it. I consider pressing my ear up against the wall between our apartments to see if I can catch any “crazy bitch” comments out of him. But that doesn’t sound like something Trent would say, even if it were true. Which is it.

A whole five minutes later, after sinking every last one of my Cheerios into my milk, my phone beeps. I drop everything and grab it.

Trent: What do you have in mind?

Flutters stir in my chest. Damn flutters! I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I have no idea what’s playing. I decide to be lighthearted.

Me: Depends. You okay with nudity?

This time, Trent’s response comes right away.

Trent: Define nudity.

Okay, good. He’s playing along.

Me: Well … first I take my top off …

I nibble on my fingernail, waiting to see what he comes back with. I don’t get a response. Maybe I went too far, too soon. Maybe he’s still annoyed with me. Maybe … I hear a door slam shut. A shadow passes by our window and a second later, someone is pounding on my apartment door.

It has to be Trent.

I run to the door and throw it open, struggling to conceal my eagerness. There he is, in a pair of jeans and a loose t-shirt, his hair slightly mussed, bright blue eyes spilling over my body, settling on my chest for a long moment. I’m not wearing a bra and there's no doubt he can see my nipples’ reaction to him. When that gaze lifts back to my face … whoa … it’s just the right mixture of anger, frustration, and smoldering hot to make me bite my bottom lip. And that’s all it takes to push him over the brink.

“God, Kacey,” he growls and takes two quick steps in to slam against my body, his hands quickly seizing my biceps as his mouth claims mine. Dipping my head back, he forces his tongue into my mouth, demolishing me with a depth of need I’ve never experienced before. This is the real Trent, I realize.

Unleashed.

I struggle to stay upright as my body slackens under his intensity. Leading me backward, Trent sandwiches me between himself and the back of the couch and I quickly become aware of how turned on he is.

Suddenly I’m off my feet and perched on the headrest, Trent’s hips fitting snug between my thighs. His arms fold around me. One hand clutches the back of my neck, while the other sweeps my hair to the side to expose my neck. His lips slide first to my throat, and then along my jaw line, up to my ear.

“You enjoy torturing me, sending mixed messages, don’t you, Kacey?” It comes out in a growl, pulsating through every single one of my nerves. Then his mouth is back on mine, this time even hungrier, more insistent, and it’s all I can do to get a breath in. He presses harder against me as a hand slips under the hem of my shirt and climbs to cup the swell of my breast, his thumb stroking my nipple, shooting a current through to my depths.

The sudden Trent onslaught threw me completely off my game—all my senses assaulted. But I finally catch a handle on my wits, enough to will my hands to his chest, my fingers raking along his abs to hook tight around his belt buckle. I yank him hard against me until his erection digs into me. “Is this clear enough?” I growl back. “I’m not the one who wants to take things slow.”

Trent breaks free, a wild dark look in his eyes, as if he’s shocked. He pulls me down off the couch and then, spinning on his heels, he storms out of our apartment, yelling, “don’t send any more fucking texts like that!”

I’m left standing there, shocked, speechless, and turned on as hell. He’s angry? He’s angry! He’s fucking angry! I stomp over to the table and snatch my phone.

Me: What the Hell was that?

It takes two minutes but my phone beeps with a message:

Trent: You enjoy testing my will power. Stop torturing me.

What? Me torturing him? He’s the one with this stupid, “thou shalt go slow” crap!

Me: One little text hardly qualifies as torture.

Trent: It’s not just the one text.

Me: Well then come back here.

Trent: No, I told you we’re taking this slow.

Me: I think that ship sailed with your little stare down game the other morning. According to the very wise bible, we’re an old married couple.

I smirk with my bible comment. Aunt Darla would have a coronary if she knew how I was using it to my advantage. The smile is torn clean off my face when my phone chimes again.

Trent: You need help.

I stare at those three words for a long moment, gritting my teeth. It’s not a surprise to me that he says it. He’s said it before. Somehow though, seeing it in twelve point font feels different. Official. I don’t respond.

A minute later …

Trent: You’ve been through a terrible ordeal and you’ve bottled everything up. You’re going to explode one day.

Here we go. I rub my forehead with frustration. Persistent fool.

Me: What? You want the gory details about how I lost my parents, best friend AND boyfriend, all in one night? Does that kind of thing get you off?

That fire inside me rages again, the same one from three days ago when he forced me into that therapy session. I put the phone down and inhale deeply, trying to douse it before it takes control.

I can’t stop myself from reading the next text when the phone chimes.

I want you to trust me enough to tell me about it. Or someone, at least.

Me: This isn’t about trust! I’ve told you that already! My past is my past and I need to bury it where it belongs—In. The. Past.

Trent: You’re vulnerable and I’m taking advantage of you by letting things like what just happened, happen.

I groan with exasperation.

Me: Please, take advantage of me! I’m giving you permission!

Trent doesn’t answer. I sigh, deciding to treat his concerns seriously.

Me: I’m fine, Trent. Believe me. I’m better than I’ve been in a long time.

Trent: No. You just think you are. I think you’re suffering from a serious case of P.T.S.D.

I fling the phone against the wall that adjoins our apartment, seething. Metal and plastic sails through the air as the thing shatters.

Everyone wants to be my personal fucking shrink.

***

I’m astonished when Trent show up at Penny’s that night. More so, I can’t keep my mouth from hanging agape as I watch him sit down by the bar, just like he did before, acting like we hadn’t just had a nuclear-sized fight. I raise my chin a notch. I’m not going to apologize. No damn way.

A box with a red bow magically appears in front of him. He slides it forward, his dimples forcing a smile on my face whether I like it or not. Dammit! Of course I go over and open it. Who doesn’t love presents?

Inside is a brand new iPhone.

“Wasn’t hard to figure out what that loud bang was against my wall when you didn’t answer my next text,” Trent murmurs, an amused smirk on his face.

“Oh yeah?” I slide my tongue over my teeth, acting all cool and unaffected. Inside, I’m not. I’m so not unaffected by Trent right now. “What’d the text say?”

He shrugs, now feigning indifference as well. I know he’s faking it too. That twinkle in his eye is his only tell. “I guess you’ll never know.” He exhales deeply as he holds my stare. It’s like the afternoon tension doesn’t exist anymore, and I don’t see how that’s possible because I still feel it. He’s up to something. I can’t figure out what though.

“Just think, our afternoon could have gone a completely different direction had you not smashed your phone to smithereens,” he says, sliding a straw into his mouth. His eyes blaze with intentions.

Inside, it’s all I can do to stop myself from leaping over the bar and into Trent’s lap. That’s inside. Outside, I’m cool as a November chill. “What can I say? I have anger management issues.”

His mouth twists as if in thought. “You need to find a way to deal with those issues.”

“I have. It’s called pounding on a bag of sand.”

His brow arches playfully. “Clearly it’s not working well.”

I lean forward over the bar, resting my body on my elbows. “And what would you suggest I pound on instead?”

“Jeez! Would you two just give in already?” Storm calls out with mock exasperation, a martini shaker in her hand.

I hadn’t realized how loud we were. Glancing to my other side, I see Nate’s smirk, and I instantly flush. I don’t know why, but I do. I’m always flushing lately.

Trent doesn’t answer Storm or me, taking a long sip of his soda instead, and I delude myself into thinking that maybe he’s finally given up on pushing me to deal with things long since buried. Maybe this can work.

***

Over the next few weeks, Trent holds true to his word about making me smile. Unfortunately, he also holds true to his word about taking things slow. Only this time, he actually does. After those few short and hot slip ups, the true unrestrained Trent is chained and the one who occupies my time gives nothing more than guarded kisses and hand-holding.

It’s enough to drive me insane.

Each day, I hop onto Trent’s bike, wrap my arms around his chest, and I let him whisk me off. It always starts off with the gym, likely because he doesn’t want to see me smash my phone against the wall again. I’m finding now though that I don’t have as much desire and focus to run through my drills with him around. Those take attention and determination and, let’s face it, bottled up rage. Trent has a dousing effect on my rage. We end up goofing off and play fighting until we get dirty looks and decide to leave. By that point I’m usually so hot and bothered by Trent though that I’m okay with jumping into the shower. I keep hoping he’ll lose his way and stumble in there. He never does.

The rest of the days are busy. Paint ball fighting, bike riding along the Miami boardwalk, a Dolphin’s game, restaurants, cafés, ice cream shops, a Frisbee league. It’s like Trent’s got a “Make Kacey Smile,” itinerary and it’s jam-packed. By the time I get to work each night, my face hurts from so much smiling.

“Don’t you ever work?” I ask him one day as we walk down the sidewalk.

He shrugs, squeezing my hand. “I’m between contracts.”

“Huh. Well, aren’t you worried about paying bills? You’re blowing all your money on me.”

“Nope.”

“Must be nice,” I mutter dryly, but I don’t press any further. I just walk down the sidewalk, hand in hand with Trent, letting my body absorb the sun’s warmth.

And I smile.

***

“Why don’t you stay until close?” I murmur quietly.

Trent’s hand slides across his mouth as if considering how to answer me. “Because then I’ll have to walk you home.”

I frown, slightly taken aback. “Yeah, I can see how that would be horrific.”

“No, you don’t get it.” His gaze slides to my mouth before lifting back to my eyes. “What do you think will happen when I walk you to your door?”

I shrug, catching his drift but playing dumb, just so I can see what he says. He stands up and leans in, reaching to grab an olive. When he looks at me again, his eyes have that smoldering quality to them that he can’t hide from me completely, the one that makes my knees wobble.

“At home, we don’t have Godzilla chaperoning us.” His head jerks toward Nate, who’s ever watchful of Trent’s close proximity.

I put on my best confused look. “Well Nate’s not there when you walk me to my door during the day.”

He chuckles softly. Yup, there they are. Those deep dimples that I want to run my tongue against. “You know you’re shit at playing dumb.”

I press my lips together to keep from smiling.

Trent leans further against the bar, close enough that I’m the only one who can hear him. “I have a hard enough time keeping my hands off you all day. I wouldn’t stand a chance, knowing you’re about to get undressed and climb into bed.”

I brace myself against the counter as I watch him slide an olive in his mouth, his tongue curling around it.

So he wants to play dirty …

For the next week, I scavenge Storm’s closet, picking the shortest, tightest, outfits I can find. I almost take her sequined stage outfits one night. I make a point of leaning over in front of Trent often throughout the night, swaying my hips to the music. When Ben makes a snide comment about me getting ready for my first stage performance, I nail him in the solar plexus and continue on my way, earning a deep roar of laughter from Nate.

But I can’t seem to break this new resolve Trent has. He only watches, resting on his elbows with his hands folded in front of me. Watching me move. Watching me flirt with him. Watching me turn myself into a hot mess over him.

Finally, one night, I lose it.

“Dammit, Trent!” I snap, slamming his club soda on the counter in front of him. He looks taken aback. “What the hell do I have to do to get your attention? Do I need to get up there?” I throw an arm toward the stage.

His eyes swell for just a second, in shock. He reaches forward to hold my hands, but he catches himself in time and instead folds them across his chest. “Believe me, you have my full attention.” He gives me a heated look that makes my mouth dry up instantly. “You always have my attention. It takes every ounce of my control not to show you how much attention you have.” As quickly as that look came, it slides off. “I want you to get help, Kace,” he says softly. “I’m here for you, every day. Always. I’ll stand by you the entire time, but you need to get help. No human can bury their past indefinitely. It’s only a matter of time before you crack.”

“This is sexual blackmail!” I hiss. First, he tried to force me into talking with that galactic hands free orgasm and that back-fired. Now he’s withholding completely as a means to forcing me. Bastard! I stalk away, refusing to look at him for the rest of the night.

The next shift at Penny’s, Trent is proven right.

Chapter Thirteen

Storm is doing her acrobat thing on stage and I’m watching her, stealing frequent glances at my new phone for a text from Trent. Nothing. He’s not here tonight. It’s the first night he hasn’t been here in a long time and I feel his absence like a missing limb. Maybe he’s finally given up on me. Maybe he realized I’m a lost cause and he won’t be getting laid anytime this century if he waits for me to break down and seek out therapy.

Storm’s feet touch down on the stage to a raucous round of applause. She bends down to pick up her top, covering her breasts as best she can with an arm. I’ve seen Storm topless so many times by now, I don’t bat an eye. In fact, I’m getting used to naked females all around me. I’m starting to feel like the weirdo in the trench coat in the middle of a nudist beach.

Storm’s amazing, I think for the hundredth time, as the entire place claps and hoots. Everyone except a scrawny guy in the corner. I see him there, shouting at her, waving a fist full of money. He refuses to give it to the bouncer collecting for her. I get the impression that Nate’s about to toss him out on his skinny ass.

And then I don’t know how it happens, but the guy somehow scampers past the bouncers and onto the stage, screaming, “Bitch!” A blade appears. I watch in horror as he grabs hold of Storm’s hair and yanks her head back. Even from my distant vantage point, I see his dilated dark pupils. This guy’s on something.

My jaw drops to scream, but nothing comes out. Not a sound. With a swing of my arm to clear all the glasses off the bar, I spring over and run, shoving people out of the way, kicking and kneeing and punching as I clear a path through. Blood rushes to my head and my feet pound the ground with each heartbeat and all I can think is that I’m going to lose her. Another friend, dead. Mia will grow up without her mother.

This can’t be happening again.

I reach the stage to find a cluster of tight black shirts hovering. I can’t see Storm. I can’t see anything. I push and shove and claw, but I can’t get past the wall. My hands fly to my throat, assuming the worst possible outcome hidden beneath this horde of bodies.

And I pray.

I pray to whoever decided to keep me alive that they grant the same grace for Storm, who deserves it far more than I ever did.

A giant erupts from the crowd bouncers.

Nate.

And he has the guy within his grasp.

He stalks past me with a menacing look, the guy dangling by the neck from one of his fists. I hope he squeezes too tight and crushes the man’s larynx. But that hope hasn’t calmed my nerves a bit because Storm is somewhere in there and I still don’t know if she’s alive.

“Storm!” I scream.

Finally the wall of bouncers breaks apart. Ben guides me through with a hand on my back to find Storm huddled awkwardly on the floor, her limbs folded into themselves. A pang of alarm stabs me. She looks so much like Jenny did in the car.

I dive to her side.

“Oh, Kacey!” she cries and throws herself on my shoulder. “All I could think of was Mia.”

I’m shaking. “You’re alive. You’re alive. Thank God you’re alive,” I mumble over and over as my hands grope her arms, her neck, her shoulders. No blood. No wounds.

“I’m okay, Kacey. I’m okay.” Her cheeks are red and tear-stained, her makeup smeared all over her face, but she’s smiling now.

“Yes,” I confirm, swallowing the painful ball in my throat. “You’re not going to die. You’re okay. I haven’t lost you.” I’m too close to Storm. Too close to getting hurt like I did when I lost Jenny. An avalanche of memories crushes any semblance of relief I should feel right now. Suddenly, I’m trapped in the past, with a best friend who I’d known since we were two, who shared days and nights filled with laughter and tears, anger and excitement. An acute ache blossoms in my chest as I realize they’re all the memories I hope to create with Storm too.

All the things that man just tried to steal from me.

With a hint of trepidation, Storm reaches forward and takes my hand in hers. I hadn’t breathed since I leapt over the bar. Now I let the air out of my lungs. And something snaps inside me. I don’t know how to describe it other than to say it’s like the little needle on my moral compass breaks in half.

As if a hate bomb detonates inside me.

He tried to steal my second chance from me. He needs to pay.

Fluorescent lights now shine down over the inside of Penny’s, casting an unpleasant glow over the spilled drinks, empty bottles and garbage as bouncers usher patrons out. I catch Nate’s broad shoulders as he rounds the corner toward the back exit, the guy still within his grip. My teeth crack against each other.

I’m faintly aware of Trent standing near the front entrance. He’s pointing toward the stage and arguing with a bouncer to let him pass. My attention lingers over him for a split second, but nothing really registers, driven back to the hall where that vile creature, the one who tried to rob me of my new life, left.

I’m up and running.

I’m shoving grown men out of the way as I tear down the hall after Nate. I round a corner in time to see his enormous frame pass through the back door. As I speed to catch up, my heart beat racing, blood rushing to my head, I sense my hand grab an empty glass bottle sitting on a crate. Without a distinct thought or message to my body, my hand smashes it against the wall, sending shards of glass flying.

My fist squeezes the neck tightly, imagining how sharp the broken edges must be.

How effective they must be.

When I plow through the back door, I find Storm’s attacker standing in the parking lot. Alone.

Perfect.

Without uttering a sound, I charge forward, my arm drawing behind my back as I ready my aim. The weasel turns to see me and his beady little eyes widen. Six feet, five feet, four feet … My arm is just about to catapult around to plunge the broken glass deep into his chest, to let him physically feel the level of pain I would have had to face had he been successful in his attack, when two giant trunks sweep in and lift me off the ground, securing my arms tight against me.

“No!” I scream. Now I’m kicking and screaming with everything I’m made of. My teeth clamp down on Nate’s arms and sink in, tasting copper. He grunts, but doesn’t stop, carrying me back inside the doorway. He drops me on the ground and leans forward to meet me eye to eye, his hands still securing my arms.

“Let the police take care of it, Kacey!” The rumble in his voice vibrates through me.

“Police?” I frown and peer out past him. The Weasel isn’t alone. Four cruisers with flashing lights line the parking lot and a dozen officers mill about, scratching notes down as witnesses recount the scene of events. Somehow I hadn’t seen them.

“Ohmigod.” I stumble back, vomit rising into my throat, the bottle slipping from my fingers to tumble to the floor as I clutch my middle.

“I got you before they saw what you were about to do. No one saw anything and if they did, they’ll let it go,” Nate promises, his dark gaze searing deep into my face as if looking for something. For a demon, lurking, perhaps.

“Kacey!” A breathless Trent yells as he catches up with me. I’m hyperventilating by this point, my chest heaving like I’m fighting for my last breath. The one I can never seem to catch. His attention falls to the broken bottle lying by my feet. “God, Kacey. What were you about to do?”

I’m swallowing and struggling for air and shaking my head and trembling all at the same time. “I don’t know, I don’t know. I don’t know,” I mutter over and over again. But I know. I know what I almost did.

I almost killed a man.

***

Street lights pass by all at once and not at all as Dan drives us home in his police car. I know Trent is somewhere behind us on his bike and all I can think of is the look of horror on his face. What were you about to do? he asked. And he knew. No doubt he knew.

Storm helps me out of the car as if it were me attacked, not her. How is she acting so normal?

One step forward. One step forward. One step forward.

“Kacey, I’m okay. I promise,” I vaguely hear Storm say as she leads me hand in hand toward the apartment.

I know she’s fine and I’m thankful. But I’m struggling. I’m fighting to keep myself from crumbling into pieces on the sidewalk.

I almost killed a man tonight.

Aunt Darla’s counselors were right all along … One step forward. One step forward. One step—

Fingers snap in front of my face and break my trance. I look over to see an ocean of worry in Storm’s blue eyes. “I think she’s in shock,” she says to someone else, clearly not me.

“No, good. I’m good. Good,” I mumble and suddenly I’m grasping for Storm’s biceps and squeezing, panic surging. “Don’t tell Livie. Please?” She can’t find out what I almost did.

Storm nods. I see her exchange worried looks with Trent and Dan.

“Come on.” The ground disappears as a set of strong arms scoops me up. In seconds Trent has me laying on my bed and he’s pulling the covers over me.

“No, I’m not tired,” I mumble, struggling weakly to get up.

“Just … rest. Please?” Trent says softly. His hand smooths over my cheek and I grab it, holding it tight, pressing my lips against his palm.

“Stay.” I hear the desperation in my voice.

“Of course, Kacey,” he whispers. He kicks off his shoes and climbs into bed next to me.

I close my eyes and nuzzle in his chest, reveling in the warmth of his body, the pound of his heartbeat, the smell of him. “You hate me, don’t you? You must hate me. I can’t help it. I’m broken.”

Trent squeezes me close to him. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. Give me your heart, Kacey. I’ll take everything that comes with it.”

I start to cry. Uncontrollably, for the first time in four years.

***

“Pull my finger.”

Jenny giggles hysterically. She giggles every time Billy says that.

And I roll my eyes, just like I do every time he says that. “So hot, Billy. Take me now.”

“Kacey,” my mother admonishes, overhearing me.

Billy winks and squeezes my hand tight and I squeeze back. Mom and Dad are in the front, talking about next week’s game and how I need to get my license soon so they don’t have to cart my ass around anymore. Of course I know they’re joking. They’d never miss one of my rugby games.

“Would you stop being so cheap and just buy me that damn Porsche already, Dad?”

“Language, Kacey,” my dad scolds but looks over his shoulder to throw me a smile. I know he’s beaming inside. I scored the winning try at tonight’s rugby game, after all.

Everything next happens in a fog. My body jerks violently. Something smacks into it. A weight presses down hard against my right side. I feel myself tossed and turned. And then it all just … stops.

And I’m vaguely aware that something is very wrong.

“Mom? Dad?” There’s no answer.

It’s hard to breathe. Something squeezes my ribs. My right side feels numb. And I hear a strange gurgle. I listen closely. It sounds like someone taking their last breath.

I bolt upright, my body drenched in sweat, my heart pounding against its confines, racing so fast I don’t know where one beat ends and the next begins. For a moment, I curl up into a tight ball and rock, trying to shake that dreaded knowledge that I had caused the accident. That it was me who distracted my dad with my smart ass remarks. That, if I hadn’t distracted him, he would have seen the car coming and could have avoided it. But I know I can’t change it now anyway. I can’t change anything.

I’m relieved to find Trent lying next to me, his bare chest rising and falling slowly. He hasn’t abandoned me yet. The street light outside casts a pleasant glow over his body and I sit quietly and take it in, wanting to mold myself to it. I fight against the urge to touch it, to trace my fingers along its perfectly sculpted curves.

With a sigh, I stand and walk over to my dresser on wobbly legs, wondering how long before this new life falls apart too. Before I lose Trent, and Storm, and Mia. This new life was almost dismantled tonight. Just like that. I should just walk away, I tell myself. Disappear and end all of these relationships that have been forced on me and spare everyone more heart ache. But I know that’s not possible. I’m in too deep. I’ve somehow made room for all of them in my life and my heart. That or they’ve made room for me in theirs. Either way, with each passing day, I won't survive the void that will be left when they’re gone.