Under the Texas Sky

CHAPTER 1

TRENT

“Seriously? Again?”

I lift my head up from the table in front of me, breathing deeply to fight off the nausea rolling in my stomach. My heart plummets as I see Kian standing in the doorway to our tiny bedroom. His bright green eyes, normally so full of love toward me, burning darkly with disgust. I would love to say I don't know why, but I do. I know why he resents me.

And as much as I want to change it, my brain says I can’t. The annoying voice controlling me tells me that no matter what I do, it’s not enough. It never will be. It never was. I’ve never been good enough for Ki, and he’s finally coming to the same realization as everyone else.

I’m a fuck up. A product of my upbringing.

I know I’m dragging him to the depths of hell with me, but I can’t let him go. I won’t. No matter how selfish that makes me. He’s my might. My reason.

And my reason is currently staring down at me as I feel the residual drool on my face cracking when I try to get my mouth to work.

“Ki-”

“Don’t,” he cuts me off, pissed. His face lined with tension, making the crease in between his eyebrows so much more prominent. “Do not Ki me. What is wrong with you? How many times do we have to do this?”

I cringe at the hurt in his voice, the slight tilt at the end of his sentence. I don’t have an answer for him, I never do. “I’m sorry, I wish I could change–be different,” I say. And fuck, I really wish for that at times like this. Kian knows this, he knows it better than anyone.

“I need you to leave,” Kian says point blank, and my heart stops beating in my chest. The nausea that was so strong before is completely gone. The words pound in every wrinkle on my brain. Leave. He wants me to leave. It’s never been this bad between us before. The late nights, not being able to hold down a job, the constant changing patterns in our life. It’s never come to a head like this.

“What?”

“I need you to leave. I can’t be around you when you’re like this, and it’s getting worse. Nothing I do or say is helping. I don’t want to walk in here one day and find you dead because you choked on your own vomit. I can’t find you like that,” he tells me, sounding distraught at the idea. My heart aches for the pain I’m causing him. My soft, sweet Ki.

The same boy who captured my heart when we were too young to know what love was. His innocent smiles and awkward fumblings when he admitted he liked me for the first time under the bleachers of our high school. Time has changed both of us–him for the better and me for the worse.

“Okay,” I agree, feeling the bone deep exhaustion trying to take hold. I don’t let it; I can't. I need to get out of here.

Standing up, the bedroom we’ve shared for the past year swims in my vision. The photos of us lining the walls, his full length mirror filled with sticky notes that I've written to him over the years. Every one of them is a testament to our love. Of my love and devotion to him.

I’ve let him down.

My mind flashes back to what caused the spiral. This time. My boss at work being on my ass, again. Me being fired because of my “terrible attitude.” Drinking.

Drinking.

Drinking.

I’ve always told myself it could be worse. It could be worse than alcohol. It could be drugs. I could be like my step-father who used to inject that shit right into his veins and take it out on anyone and everyone when he couldn’t get his next fix. I’m not better though–not then and definitely not now.

Kian watches me, his tight ringlet curls lying across his forehead. I want to brush them back, to look at his smooth face and dimpled chin and hear those three words whispered softly from his mouth.

Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest, flexing the muscles of his arms beneath the material of the polo shirt he has to wear for work. Those are strong arms that have held me through the worst of times, and celebrated with me during the highs.

I slowly pack my overnight bag, not paying attention to what I shove in there because I don’t care. Nothing matters.

“I called Mitch. He said you can stay with him.”

Mitch, of course. Of fucking course Kian called him. I want to glare at my boyfriend, but I can’t because I know he did it with the best intentions. He wants me to stop drinking, to clean up my act, to get an actual job.

He also knows Mitch will be enough of an asshole to force me to do it. The old man is too hard headed to let anything happen to me or Kian, and it’s been that way since the first day we met.

“Okay.” Everything is okay. That’s the only word in my vocabulary right now when everything is obviously not fucking okay.

“Just… please. Please Trent.”

I lift my eyes and watch two crystal lines run down Kian’s face, and I know. I just know that if I don’t get my shit together this time, it’s over between us. He doesn’t have to say that, I can see it on his face. Written in the constellations of freckles lining his cheeks.

“I will Ki, I promise,” I tell him.

And with that, I sling my bag over my shoulder and approach him like I would a scared animal. Tentative steps across the wood floor until I’m standing in front of him. His features are dainty from my point of view, the pointed tip of his nose. His strong jawline. His green eyes are so beautifully framed by dark lashes. I want to kiss him, to press my lips against his until our problems melt away into the void.

“I’ll be back. And I’ll be worthy of you. Wait for me, okay?”

He nods, solemnly. I rest the underside of my jaw against the top of his head, inhaling his floral shampoo. Until the smell of flowers, warmth, and summer are embedded in my nose.

“Always,” he promises.

Then I walk out of the bedroom, out the door, and into the warm Texas air. Letting the heat assault my skin.

I can do this.