You and Everything After (Falling #2)(66)

“Just like that? No joke or maneuver to hork my tickets, or make fun of me, or say something about how if Rowe really had good taste, she’d take you to the game instead?” he asks.

“Well, while that last part is very much a true statement, no bro. I’m just glad you’ve finally met a girl worth all of your fine Preeter qualities,” I say, turning my attention to the TV remote, switching the channel to ESPN. “And hork is a stupid word. Don’t say it anymore. It’s not even in the dictionary.” I move toward my bed and pull myself up, my back leaning against the wall. It’s Sunday Night Football, and Dallas is playing.

“That’s…it?” Nate says, standing in the way of my view. I dodge his head, trying to catch the stats on the bottom of the screen, but miss something about someone who’s injured for the Browns, probably my fantasy-team running back.

“Yes, that’s it. Move your f*cking head,” I say.

Nate laughs, then sits on his bed and pulls the tab on a soda. The noise is irritating. His sipping is irritating. He’s staring at me still, and that’s irritating.

“Dude, are you trying to make me punch you?” I ask. He grins, then pulls the soda can from his mouth. “What?” I shrug.

“You’re in love. With Cass,” he says, and my stomach cinches tight. Instead of dignifying that with the guilty face I’m making on the inside, I turn my attention back to the TV.

“Toss me a Coke?” I’m avoiding. I’m completely avoiding this. Not going to touch it.

“Sure,” he says, and I feel relief that he’s bending down to pull a soda from the mini fridge. Moving on, yes…good. We’re moving on. “Have you told her yet?” Not moving on.

This time, I don’t look away from the TV. I can hear the way my breath sounds through my nose. It’s that same sound my dad makes when Nate and I tease him and he gets fed up. But I’m not fed up. I just don’t want to talk about this, because then I have to talk about it with Cass. And if I talk about it with Cass, I have to talk about it with Kelly—because Kelly’s the only other one, and I always promised myself I would make it okay with her if there was ever another. And now her husband is a loser. And f*ck, f*ck, damn, damn. Nate is staring at me, but I keep my eyes on the ticker at the bottom of the screen. Great, it is my running back that’s hurt. Well, there goes my fantasy week.

“You have to tell her,” he says.

“Nothing to tell,” I lie.

“Liar,” he says. Yeah, he knows me too well.

“Whatever,” I say.

“You talk to Mom about it?”

I blink, and keep my focus straight ahead. Fucking Nate, no I didn’t talk to my mommy about it. He knows it’s a sore spot for me, being the mama’s boy. But he doesn’t quite understand how much Mom was there for me when I was losing my way, when I was falling to depression. Mom pushed me into art, and that—and Kelly—saved me.

“Dude, it’s a good thing…falling in love? Cass is awesome. You should let yourself have this, that’s all I’m saying,” he says.

“Got it. Good. Okay, are you done now? I’d like to hear some of the commentary,” I say. I’m being a total *. It’s what I do when I’m uncomfortable, and he knows it.

“Yeah, I’m done. Here’s your Coke, dickhead,” he tosses it on my lap so that I have to wait to open it. I’m tempted to spray it on his bed sheets. But I don’t. Instead, I pull it into my hands and spend five minutes tapping on the top until it’s safe to open.

Goddamned love. It’s ruining football.





Chapter 22





Ty


This isn’t quite how my night was supposed to go. When Nate and Rowe left for the game, Cass and I were settled in for some time alone. Pizza, a six-pack of Pabst, and Chunky Monkey ice cream. We were celebrating her official membership on the McConnell team—because her parents weren’t celebrating.

I hate that for her. My parents wouldn’t miss a single moment of something big in Nate’s or my life. If I wanted to join a wheelchair knife-throwing league, my mom would ask if they had shirts for parents, and how she could get season tickets. Cass is doing her best to not act disappointed, but I can tell she is—she shows it in the quiet moments, when she’s thinking—her eyes off in the distance.

Tonight was going to be all about forgetting the *s. That was my plan. But then my brother became an *, and I had to deal with it.

An hour after he and Rowe left, I saw Nate’s ex-girlfriend, Sadie, interviewed on television at the game. Sadie’s playing college ball over at OSU. She’s kind of big in the women’s basketball world, and the Thunder invited the OSU women’s team out for pre-game. Nate and Sadie’s breakup was swift, but ugly. She cheated, he caught her, and that’s the short of it. I knew things couldn’t be good when he texted me in the first quarter, asking me to guess who he ran into. Seems the introduction of his new girlfriend to his old girlfriend didn’t go well, especially for his new girlfriend. Needless to say, they came home early. Rowe needed Cass, and here I am, two beers in at Sally’s—Nate a beer ahead of me.

“Dude, you called her your friend? Rowe is just a friend?” Honestly, I’ve said a lot of dumb shit in front of girls—things that have earned me a slap to the face more than once, and harder than the time Cass set me right. But I’ve never really minced words, had a slip of the tongue, just plain botched my ability to speak English. Nate? He’s an idiot.