You and Everything After (Falling #2)(59)
My head is down when he sits up fully. Soon, his hand is on my chin, tilting my face so I can look at him, into his eyes.
“It’s just a watch. I know that now. I knew that then. And I’m sorry that I…I don’t know what to call it, went apeshit? I’m sorry I went apeshit on you over a watch. And I’m sorry I was a grumpy *. And I’m sorry that you had to run into some girl from my past like that—and that I didn’t go after you. I’m sorry I called you a tart for being a good lover—because damn, Cass, you are an amazingly passionate woman, and I am a spoiled man for having had the honor to have been with you in such an intimate way.”
I blush from his attention, and as much as I’m still stuck on the watch and Kelly and everything it means to him, his words melt right through me, and I believe them as he says them. I lean into his hand, and I love the way he holds the weight of my worries.
“I had a great love, and then I had a great tragedy,” he says. “That love, it put me right again, sent me on my way to where I am now. To you. And as far as I’m concerned, from now on, there is just you…and everything after.”
There’s nothing to say to this. His face, the way he’s looking at me, his eyes moving back and forth between each of mine, his hands cradling my face, not letting go until he knows I am okay—it’s not what I was expecting today. But it’s what I wanted. What I needed.
“I’m really glad I waited for you to sober up,” I smile. Ty shakes his head, laughing as he looks down, and then he brings my lips to his, kissing me softly and gently before pulling me to his chest to hold me close.
I touch the watch on his wrist, and he pulls it off and hands it to me to look at more closely. “Do you still talk to Kelly?” I ask.
“I do,” he says, stopping short. I know there’s more, and I wait, hoping he wants to share it. “I have a lot lately…and not because of anything with you. Kelly’s having some trouble, it’s been on my mind.”
“You should help her,” I say, handing the watch back.
“I will,” he says, and again I fill the little sting of jealousy for how quickly he reacts for her. It’s not a wanted emotion, but it’s there nonetheless. I can’t pretend it isn’t.
“She’d like you,” he says, and I don’t know how I feel about that either, but I smile up at him, and wish for everything after.
Chapter 20
Ty
“Dude. How much did you drop on this tux?” My brother is taking his girlfriend to prom. Well, not really prom, but a fake prom date that he has all planned out—he got a limo and everything. Rowe was homeschooled, because she wasn’t really keen on going back to her school after the shooting. Not sure I would be able to go back either.
“No comment,” he says, fussing with his tie—untying, retying, untying.
“No comment? Uh, I’m pretty sure the lavender cummerbund is a comment. Or is that making a statement? I’m not sure—I think maybe both.” I’m having fun with this. My brother looks like a Ken doll.
“Whatever, man. You wouldn’t understand,” he says, getting frustrated with the tie once again and moving to the mirror to obsess over it even more. I could help; I’m actually good at tying ties. But watching him struggle, for just a little bit longer? Yeah, I’m going to give myself this gift.
I’ve given Nate shit for days over this whole prom thing, but I actually think it’s kind of cute. Cute. That’s a word I’ve never used before when talking about Nate. Anyway, I’ve been giving him a ton of crap, but I’m borrowing his idea to use on Cass, of course, Tyson-ized.
My gym bag is stuffed with a bunch of lame CDs I got from the record exchange, some balloons, and a desktop disco ball from Target. The sentiment is there, and really—that’s what my prom was, not that I stayed through much of it.
Nate’s phone rings, and I watch him drop both ends of the tie with a defeatist attitude.
“Oh, good. You’re downstairs then? No, that’s fine. Just wait in the car. We’ll be there soon,” he says to someone on the other end. Curious, I head into the hall and the main study room to look at the parking lot below. Sure enough—f*cker rented a limo. Damn, my brother might as well be a contestant on The Bachelor with this shit.
“Did you seriously get a limo?” I get ready for a new round of teasing as I come back into the room.
“I told you, I’m not messin’ around. Prom is serious shit, and when you throw a prom, you do it right. Now come fix my damn tie,” he says, holding both ends out for me. I take them because I don’t want him to look like a sloppy loser, and while I’m tying, I can’t help but snicker at the crappy dollar decorations and random things I’ve thrown together for my version of prom. Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think you need a limo and suit to do it right. I’m pretty sure I can make tonight memorable all on my own—me and Slow Dance Hits from the Eighties.
“How are you my brother? I mean…seriously, I’m starting to think we need to give up on all the Barbie shit in our room, because you’re making estrogen.” I’m pissing him off, and I love it. It’s like when we were kids and I used to make ghost shadows through his window with the flashlight to scare the crap out of him. I’m trying not to bust out laughing all together when I lift the leg of his pants—or dare I say, trousers—and check to see if he’s shaved.