Sunshine and Razor Wire

Zara

Move In Day

“I’ve determined I’m going to die today,” I announce, exhausted and sweaty. My arms are screaming at me to stop, not used to this kind of physical exertion.

“Quit being dramatic, Zae.” Cass’ voice floats down from the top of the stairwell, low and annoyed in that way that means he’s actually worried. “I swear to God, if you die on the first day of college because you’re too stubborn to put the heavy shit down—”

“Fine. Not dying,” I huff, hiking the box up higher against my chest. It’s labeled BOOKS in big black sharpie. Maybe I went a little overboard. “Just suffering. Totally fine. I live for sore muscles.”

He appears at the landing above me, slightly out of breath, black hair sticking to his forehead, damp with sweat, a big-ass box balanced on one shoulder like it weighs nothing.

Showoff.

His T-shirt is plastered to his chest, the fabric clinging to the hard lines of muscles that I’ve spent four years pretending not to notice. The vein in his forearm pops as he shifts his grip, and my brain immediately betrays me.

Nope. You can’t think of him like that, Zara.

No one ever told me how hard it would be to have a hot guy as a best friend. It feels like I’m fighting not to cross any lines every time we’re together. Half the time I have to tell myself he’s my brother just to keep from drooling when he changes his shirt in front of me.

High school was hard.

Last year without him was even harder.

He narrows his eyes as I take the next step.

“You’re about to faceplant. Give it.”

“No.” I squeeze the box tighter. “These are my emotional support paperbacks. If they go down, I go down with them.”

He huffs out a laugh, but the worry doesn’t leave his face. He jogs down a couple steps toward me, closing the distance way too fast. Suddenly he’s right there in front of me, all sweaty and hot with his stupid height, which makes my lungs forget how to function for a second.

Traitors.

“Here.” He puts his box down against the wall and reaches for mine. “Switch. I’ll take yours. You take mine.”

“Is that one lighter?” I squint at the side, seeing it’s labeled Misc Crap in his messier handwriting.

“Yes,” he answers simply, already reaching for my box.

“Liar.”

His mouth curves. “You saying you don’t trust me, Sunshine?”

God, I hate how much I like it when he calls me that.

I roll my eyes to cover the tiny flip in my stomach.

“I’m saying you’re too strong to actually gauge whether something is heavy or not,” I correct, but I let him pry the box out of my hands anyway.

The relief in my shoulders is immediate and almost orgasmic. I flex my fingers, wincing as the blood rushes back.

“You’re gonna throw your back out in the first week,” he mutters, adjusting the weight easily. “Then I’m stuck carrying your ass and your shit for the rest of the semester.”

I step up and bump my hip into his.

“You say that like you don’t love taking care of me.”

He doesn’t answer, just gives me a don’t test me look and starts up the stairs again. I grab the Misc Crap box, which, okay, is like thirty percent lighter.

Maybe.

Halfway up, a familiar voice drifts from above.

“You two best not be lollygagging. I want to be able to eat dinner at a good time.”

I grin automatically. “Mama Lori!”

We come out onto the second-floor landing and there she is, propping the door open with her hip. Hair as dark as her son’s, but with eyes as light as the sky. She’s got another box at her feet and her hands on her hips, watching us like we’re her personal sitcom.

I really think we are.

She takes one look at me, sweaty and out of breath, and clucks her tongue.

“Cass, I thought I told you not to let her carry anything heavy. Did you listen?” she reprimands her son.

“Nope,” I answer at the same time that Cass grumbles, “Yes.”

She shakes her head. “Lord, give me strength.”

She abandons her box to step forward and wrap me in a hug that smells like laundry detergent. I melt into it without even thinking.

Her hugs are the best.

“You doing okay?” she murmurs into my hair.

I pull back enough to grin at her. “Aside from the attempted murder via stairs? I’m golden.”

“You’re dramatic,” Cass mutters behind me with a roll of his eyes but no heat to his voice.

“Says the guy who picks fights with inanimate objects,” I shoot back without looking.

Mama Lori snorts. “Is he still punching walls?”

I shrug. “Only when they offend him.”

She sighs, heavy and exhausted, with the stress only a mother feels over her child.

“Don’t worry. I’m always there to keep the peace.” I squeeze her shoulder, assuring her, trying to ease her worries.

She places her hand over mine and squeezes. “I know you are, sweet girl.”

“Now look who’s lollygagging,” Cass murmurs as he passes us by with a shake of his head.

“Box getting too heavy for you?” I tease, knowing he’s rushing because he hates this topic.

We all have our demons. Me included.

Cass has his anger management issues, and he hates the way it worries his mother. I seem to be the only one who can get him to calm down when he’s too riled up. Probably because he never expects me to do or say half the shit I do.

Honestly, half the time I surprise myself too.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, but there’s no anger to it.

I just laugh, following closely behind as he leads the way into my dorm.

“Which side are you claiming?” he asks.

“Window,” I answer instantly. “Obviously. I need natural lighting for my depressive episodes.”

He snorts. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious,” I counter, but my voice comes out a little thinner than I mean it to.

Like I said… demons.

He sets the box down next to my bed because he knows I love to read before falling asleep.

Four years of friendship with me constantly at his house means we know each other better than we know ourselves sometimes. It also means Mama Lori has essentially adopted me into the fold, so when I turn to face her after the last box has been brought in, it’s no surprise there’s tears in her eyes.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” she gushes, both her hands on my cheeks, squeezing. “Off to college with my boy. I couldn’t be more proud.”

“Thanks, Mama Lori.” I beam at her, because she’s essentially the only parent I have.

Emancipated minor means my family situation isn’t exactly ideal.

With a heavy breath, like she’s trying not to full-on sob in the middle of my dorm, she lets go of my face and stands straight. “Okay. Now make sure you eat right. Not just Ramen and those microwave dinners, okay? I better see you on the weekends. Cass can bring you down.” She volunteers her child.

“Of course.” I nod, because there’s no way in hell I’m not going to go see her.

She smiles again as she rubs her eyes with her thumb. Like she’s getting something out and not collecting unscheduled tears. “Good. Now I better get going, so I can eat and make it home at a decent time.” She squeezes me tight, then Cass. “Call if you need me.”

Then she’s out in a flash.

“Drive safe!” I call after her, my heart heavy with worry that she’ll be home alone now.

When Cass went off to college last year, I would make it a point to visit her after school every Monday through Thursday. Plus any weekend that Cass would come down instead of me going up. But now? Now it feels extra lonely.

My shoulders sag as I look around.

“She’s fine.” Cass breaks the silence, reading me too well.

“Yeah.” I nod, trying to convince myself. “Yeah. That’s right. She’ll be fine. We’re only an hour away anyway. That’s not that far.”

Cass throws himself down on my bed, combat boots still touching the floor. “Exactly.”

His arms stretch the length of the mattress, almost.

He looks too good like that.

His dark eyes meet mine, right eyebrow arched. He’s wondering what I’m thinking.

“So,” I start, swaying on my feet with my hands behind my back. “Wanna help me unpack too?” I smile real wide, being as cute as absolutely possible at nineteen.

“Fuck you.” He groans. But that’s just how we say I love you at this point.

“Thanks.”

He sighs as he pushes himself up, standing straight to that stupid six-one height. A whole goddamn foot taller than me.

He starts with the command hooks and picture frames, refusing to let me stand on a chair or even my bed to do it myself. He’s worried I’ll fall, but what he doesn’t understand is that short people have the best balance. We have to. We’re constantly climbing shit to get things done.

“Not that one!” I blurt too loudly as he grabs the frame I swear I threw out.

It’s the one from my seventeenth birthday—me blowing out candles, hair a mess, confetti in my lashes, Cass behind me making bunny ears over my head, half-smiling like he’s trying not to.

“Why? This one’s my favorite,” he simply replies, hanging the picture anyway.

“I look terrible in that one.”

He glances over his shoulder at me. “You’re the only one who doesn’t take ugly pictures.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.” I point to the picture. “Look at my face. I look like I just ate the whole cake in one bite.”

“You did eat the cake in one bite,” he points out.

“Fuck you.” Now it’s my turn to say it.

He chuckles, adjusting the frame and stepping back to make sure it’s straight. “It better still be on this wall when I come back tomorrow.”

“And if it’s not?” I antagonize, because I’m me and that’s just what I do.

He gets all serious, voice low enough to scrape the floor. “It. Better. Be. There.”

I roll my eyes at him, but my mouth curves the way it always does around him. “Fine. Fine. I’ll keep it up there. Geez.”

“Good.”

We’re still in the midst of unpacking when Cass’ phone, which he placed on the desk earlier, flashes with a notification.

Stacey:

Did you seriously bail on brunch with my friends for her again??

My stomach drops a little, like it always does when I remember he has a girlfriend. A real one. With lip gloss and brunch friends and a car that doesn’t smell like french fries and spilled Monster.

He reaches for the phone before I can look away, thumb brushing over the screen as he unlocks it.

“Everything okay?” I ask, pretending I didn’t just read the name.