Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
HARLEY
I brush my hair before applying some lip gloss. Haven asked me if I’d go to a party with her at The Lookout, and even though I didn’t want to, here I am, getting ready to go because I know I’ve been in a weird mood for the past three weeks and I feel bad.
I know a lot of how I’m feeling—or not feeling—is because I’m grieving my dad. I also know there’s more to it though. Because on top of that, I miss Cane. I miss him so much that sometimes, I wish I could rip my own heart out so that I wouldn’t have to feel it aching.
I’ve kept my head down at practice. I’ve made sure to be respectful, work hard, and show up. But nothing is as exciting as it once was, and I’m terrified that it won’t be again.
So, tonight, I’m going out. I’m going out and doing something I don’t ever do. I’m going to have a few drinks with the girls and try to leave my troubles at the door.
Sliding my Nike sneakers on, I head out of my room to where the noise is coming from. When I walk into the kitchen, I find Haven hanging out with a bunch of the girls on the hockey team.
“Holy smokeshow,” Summer, a hockey player, says when she spots me, whistling.
“Damn, girl,” Haven calls out, holding two shot glasses. “You’re just in time!”
When she walks toward me, I debate on taking the drink at all. I don’t drink. In all my years, I’ve never been drunk. Yet when she hands it over, even though I know she would never pressure me, I find myself taking it instantly.
Clanking her glass to mine, she winks. “To dancing with cute boys.”
“To dancing with cute boys,” I say back, even though I have no intention of actually dancing with a dude.
I tip the glass back, and as the alcohol burns my throat, my entire face puckers into an awful expression.
“That’s gross,” I say, trying not to gag while also wondering who in their right mind would enjoy drinking that crap.
Haven refills our glasses, and we repeat the same thing. Somehow, this time, I swear it tastes even grosser.
“Now we’re ready!” she cheers, laughing as she throws her head back. “All right, ladies, let’s go make The Lookout a little prettier, shall we?”
The feeling inside my stomach—the one that usually tells me when something isn’t a good idea—is nowhere to be seen. I know I’m only acting this way to take my mind off other things, but I’m in college. It’s what I’m supposed to be doing.
Besides, it’s better than caving and calling Cane to come over and give me another spicy lesson … right?
An hour later, for the first time in my life, I must admit … I’m drunk. My head spins. Hell, the room spins. And I’m dancing like a goddamn maniac, not giving a shit who’s watching.
Haven’s hands hold on to mine, and we sway around.
“I have to pee.” She giggles, hiccuping. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’mma get another drink!” I slur, but she’s already gone by the time the words even come out. And since she isn’t around to stop me, I head for the bar.
There are people around me, yelling, dancing, smoking, and drinking, but I don’t see any of them as I reach for a random bottle of liquor and a plastic cup.
“Let me help you with that,” a deep voice coos sweetly.
When I swing my gaze to him, I have to blink a few times to stop the spinning feeling. He takes the bottle and cup from my hands, and I watch as he begins to pour.
“Thanks,” I say to whoever the hell this guy is.
Over the booming music, I can hear the sound of beeping, and I wonder what it is. I feel so out of it. And even though I don’t love this sensation, I’m enjoying the feelings and thoughts it seems to be blocking.
Just as I reach for the cup, it’s swatted away from my hand.
“Can’t you fucking see she’s had enough?” an angry voice growls lowly. “Back the fuck away from her, or I’ll lay you out right here in front of everyone, motherfucker.”
Though I know right away the voice belongs to Cane, my vision blurs out of focus on him when he stands next to me.
“Jesus Christ, Harland,” he hisses. “Your alarm is going off.” I feel his hand on my waist. “You’re low. Too fucking low.”
Suddenly, I’m swept off my feet and thrown over his shoulder, and even though I’d like to fight it, I can’t because my brain doesn’t seem to want to work.
We pass through faceless people, and I hear my name called a few times before Cane yells something out about taking me home.
Suddenly, the cold New England air hits me, and I instantly shiver.
“Why are you always trying to rescue me?” I slur each word obnoxiously as I close my eyes, and I know sober me would be so embarrassed of myself. “I’m fine on my own.”
It’s not long before he’s running up a set of stairs and pulling a door open, and we’re back in the warmth of a house. I don’t even bother opening my eyes as he stalks into his room and sets me down onto his bed.
“You’re fine?” he hisses. “Your fucking glucose monitor was screaming at a party, and you’re so fucked up that you didn’t even hear it!” He’s roaring now, and though my body feels like it’s swaying, I keep my eyes on him, wondering why he’s so mad.
He rushes to his nightstand and opens it, and I wonder what he’s pulling out, but when he brings over a small packet and my eyes see the purple wrapping, I know it’s Skittles.
“Open your mouth,” he says, only a tad gentler now.
Even in my drunken stupor, I do as told, and he pops a few Skittles at a time in my mouth. I chew and swallow them. When the room spins, I squeeze my eyes shut to make it stop.
“Let me get you into more comfortable clothes,” he murmurs before walking away.
I somehow manage to keep my body upright, waiting for him to return.
My eyes crack open when I hear his footsteps, and he tugs at the hem of my long-sleeved shirt, pulling it over my head, but he quickly replaces it with a T-shirt.
Gently, he pushes my back onto the mattress and peels my leggings off.
It’s not sexual, or maybe I’m too drunk to know if it is.
But hurriedly, he pulls a pair of sweatpants onto me, lifting them over my ass and hips.
My mind is fuzzy, and I don’t think it’s just the alcohol making me feel this way. I sit up, looking at his handsome face. Reaching up, I pinch the bill of his hat.
“You’re always taking care of me.” I reach my other hand for his abdomen, brushing it against his shirt. “I’ve missed you.”
Even with my mind feeling fuzzy, I watch him inhale sharply and swallow. He looks down at where my hand rests before slowly putting his hand over it.
I expect him to lean down and kiss me—anything that says he feels the same. Instead, he removes my hand from his shirt and wraps his arms around my upper body to lay me down in the bed before he pulls the blankets over my body.
I stare up at him, the alcohol only letting me be slightly mortified that he pushed me away.
He turns away from me before walking toward the door.
“Cane,” I practically sob out of nowhere. “Can you at least stay with me?”
The light turns off, and I wait. I wait, and I wonder if him seeing me this way—watching how far I’ve fallen from the woman I was a month ago—has changed how he sees me.
He knew me as the badass catcher. Now I’m the girl who ignores her diabetes to shake her ass at a party.
Footsteps again, and not long after, the bed shifts from his weight. His arms slide around my waist, and my back is pulled snugly against his chest.
“I’m sorry,” I sob quietly, the two words tearing through my throat pathetically. “I’m so sorry.”
I don’t know what happens next or what other words slip from my lips because the world goes dark. And I don’t try to fight it; instead, I just succumb to the spinning and the comfort of Cane’s arms.
CANE
I hold Harland against me, but it doesn’t feel the way it did a few weeks ago in the hotel room. She was hurting then, sure. But this is different. Now it feels like she’s not even in there at all.
Since she came to NEU, she’s been one of the most composed, mentally strong athletes I have ever seen play.
And though I hoped that she wouldn’t lose that when her dad died, I expected it to some degree because there’s nothing that can prepare someone for what it feels like to no longer have a dad on earth.
I want to be here for her—and I will, if she needs me. But deep down, I know me being here for her would just be putting a Band-Aid on her pain. I can’t heal her. Nobody can.
I figured she would throw up, but to my surprise, she simply passed out once her sugar came back up after some Skittles.
I reach my fingertips to my phone as it sits on my nightstand, sighing when I see that it’s after midnight now.
I haven’t been sleeping much since we got back from Montana, and my body is starting to feel it.
She’s been out for over two hours in my arms, and yet I haven’t so much as dozed off for a second of it.
I wasn’t going to go to the party tonight, but when Hendrix messaged me and said that Harland was drunk off her ass and that I should get over there, within five minutes, I was carrying her out of that house.
Pushing her away this time was almost harder than before because all I’ve done is miss her the past few weeks. But she’s drunk, and I’d never do that to her.
I look down at her, brushing some hair away from her cheeks as she sleeps. My eyes sweep over her beautiful face, and I lean down, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
She’ll be all right …
I’m just not sure when.