You and Everything After (Falling #2)(79)

“No, it’s fine. It’s just pizza,” I say, taking a big gulp from the soda bottle to clear my mouth. “So, where are we at today?”

“Things are looking good,” he says. I almost spit out the sip I just took, shocked. Things haven’t looked good in a while, since I gave Cotterman a bloody nose, to be honest. Good was not what I was expecting.

“Good. Wow. Really?” I say, turning to Ty and smiling. He gives me a thumbs up.

“We made an amendment to the original settlement, and Paul accepted,” my dad says. His legalese is a little vague.

“An amendment…and he…accepted?” I ask, still not sure what this means.

“Yeah, we changed the terms of the settlement. Really, there was no way he could not accept, Cass. He would have been a fool not to,” my dad says. Something about the way he says it, his phrasing, makes me itchy. So I push for more.

“Did we…pay him? Is that how we’re making this all go away?” I ask, and the silence on the other end confirms it. “Dad…did you give him more money? The man who tried to…ohhhh…oh my god.”

The thought of it all makes me sick, and I feel dirtier than I ever have before.

“You hit him, Cass,” my dad says, like that’s the only fact on the table.

“Yes, because he wanted to sexually assault me!” I bite back, tossing the rest of my uneaten pizza in the trash.

My dad’s sigh comes through loud and clear, and it makes my head hurt. “Cass, the law isn’t black and white like that,” he says.

“Like what, like, you can’t hit someone in the temple and kick them in the face so they don’t violate you? Black and white like that?” I’m pacing in a circle, walking my pattern in front of Ty until he holds my waist to stop me. My eyes burn, my head hurts, my world is spinning. I don’t understand any of this.

“Cass, the details, they’re what you say and what Paul Cotterman says,” my dad begins to explain, and I cut him off.

“You mean I could be lying, and maybe I came onto him and brought this trouble on myself. Just like I did with Kyle. That’s what you mean, isn’t it Dad?”

“Cass, I didn’t say that. Don’t put words in my mouth,” he says, defending himself. He’s f*cking defending himself.

“No, Dad. If I put words in your mouth, they could never be as hurtful as the thoughts you have about me.” I hang up before he can say another word, and I throw the phone on my bed.

I should be elated. This is what I wanted—the Cotterman issue put to bed. But somehow all I feel is worse. My phone buzzes from his call, and I silence it.

“I need to shower,” I say, unable to look at Ty. I feel embarrassed, and I think I’m going to cry. If I can just make it to the shower, I can do it under the powerful spray of the water, and it will be like it never happened.

“Go ahead,” Ty says. “I’ll wait here. As long as you need.”

I know he will. And even though I want to send him away, more of me needs him to stay, to wait…even though it could be hours.

Rowe left her small basket here, and I use it to carry my towel and pajamas, to have a place to set everything on the bench just outside of the shower stall. I see why Rowe likes to shower at night now; it’s quiet in here. The sense of being alone is both comforting and frightening. But when you feel like I do right now—ugly, angry—the dark is welcoming, like a blanket.

The water does it’s magic, washing away any sign of weakness to come from my eyes. The warmth pounds my back and my arms and my chest, working my muscles, the steam opening my lungs. After about thirty minutes, I almost feel right again.

And then my vision

slides

to

the

right.

Everything. Doubles.

My world slants, and I trail my body down the wall to sit under the water.

The water can’t erase this.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

I wait for it to stop. It’s temporary. This has to be temporary.

Everything will fix itself. It has to.

You can’t pay off MS.





Ty


I plan on answering her phone the next time it rings. I planned it the moment she said she was leaving to shower. It’s impulsive. I’m good when I’m impulsive. It’s never failed me.

I don’t even let the ring finish when I press on the call to answer. And I know her father is shocked as hell when he hears a man’s voice answer “Hello, Mr. Owens.”

“Oh, I…I’m sorry. I…this is Cassidy’s phone, right? Who…who is this?”

“It’s Tyson, sir. I’m sorry this is how I’m meeting you. I really prefer to make an in-person first impression. This feels rude, so I do apologize,” I say, letting my accent come out thick. The Southern thing—it’s helpful when you’re trying to work an angle, trying to make a point. For some reason, people let you talk just a little bit longer when you say things with a Louisiana accent.

“Tyson. While it’s nice to finally speak with you, if you don’t mind, I’d really like to talk to Cassidy,” he says. He’s a lawyer. My impulsivity might not work as well as I thought.

“I know, sir. She left. She was…upset. I’m waiting for her,” I say, leaving it vague. I want to see if he worries.