“You better hope not,” she says, standing and smoothing out her shorts and shirt before she leaves. She stops abruptly, right in front of me, and leans forward, one hand on the side of my chair, her eyes piercing mine with a surprisingly heavy effect. “If she gets hurt, and it’s your fault—in any way whatsoever—I will ruin your existence.”
“Get in line, sister,” I say, going toe-to-toe with her, but also a little surprised at her strength.
She walks to the door and pushes it open with her hand, stopping me from closing it behind her. “It’s not that I think you’re a bad guy,” she says, forcing a gut-busting laugh out of me, and fast. “I just don’t think you’re good enough for my sister.”
Well, damn. She kind of has me there. I watch her walk away, no longer ready to slam the door in her face—caught somewhere between being impressed and feeling bad about myself.
I catch the buzzing sound on my phone and move to my desk to pick it up. One missed call.
From Kelly.
Motherfucking son of a bitch!
“Sorry I’m late. We should get dressed. Mom hates it when we make her wait for dinner,” Nate says, barreling into our room and forcing me to put my big fat pile of shit on hold.
Shaking my head, half shell-shocked from the last thirty seconds of my life, I renew focus on the dress shirt hanging from the closet doorknob, and I think of Cass. And I smile—in an instant.
She won’t fail. Kelly is okay. And Paige can go fuck herself.
Yep, I’m good.
Chapter 13
Ty
Cass flew through dinner with my parents like a champ. When my dad asked her what she was studying, and she answered, “Physical therapy, to help people with special physical needs,”—I saw my mom swallow hard. It’s a weak spot in my mother’s heart, and it’s because I am…well, how I am.
My mom isn’t just one of those parents who starts to take up a cause because her child is affected by something, though—she’s always been an advocate for people who have something to overcome. She never uses the word disabled, and she’s not too keen on the handicapable thing either. She just plain doesn’t like a label—period. She says we all have differences, and we all encounter differences throughout our life, and that’s what they are—differences. Some make some things hard, and some make some things easy.
It took me a while to see things her way. Nate, however, thinks I just bounced right back—and that’s because I wanted him to think that. I don’t want guilt to ever plague him, make him give up on something, or sacrifice his wants. I love him too much for that. But in the beginning, when I wasn’t putting on my brave face for him or my Dad, I was downright angry. And I let it show, but only to my mom. And Kelly.
I knew that my mom would hug Cass by the time dinner was over, and she did. And it is all Cass has talked about since. I’m glad she wants my parents to like her. I want them to like her. I like her.
My parents offered to drive us back, but Cass wanted to walk. I can tell she’s cold, the way she keeps hugging herself. But she won’t admit it. She’s stubborn too. And I also like that.
“You want my sweatshirt, and you know you do,” I say, pulling it over my head. She nods no.
“No, no…I’m fffffine,” she actually shivers the word. I look at her and dare her with my eyes to say it again, but her lips are literally chattering. ”Okay, I’m not. Thank you,” she finally concedes, taking it from my hands and pulling it fast over her body. I like seeing her in my things.
“My mom loved you,” I say, sparking a renewed grin on her face, her lip tucked between her top and bottom teeth while they seesaw as she recalls our evening together. Her hair falls in front of her face when she finally turns to look at me, and she reaches around to tuck it behind her ear. I like watching her do that.
“She really did, huh?” she says, and I can tell she feels proud.
“I told you she would,” I say, and her smile only gets bigger. I have to mess with her. “I mean, I paid them forty bucks. I do feel a little ripped off though, I was promised three compliments for you, but I only heard my mom say two.”
“Oh, that’s because I caught her in the bathroom and told her that if she gave me twenty-five percent of her earnings, she could skip one,” she smirks.
“Smart,” I say, winking and finally letting my laugh break through.
The air is cold, and it’s making her face the sweetest shade of pink, like bubblegum. When we left the restaurant, she pulled the pins from her hair, and the curls have danced in the breeze during our entire trip home. If I could just reach a little higher, I would try to catch one. She’s like a firefly, so beautiful—flashes of light that I have to hold. “Can I draw you?” I ask, slightly surprised to hear myself ask that aloud.