You and Everything After (Falling #2)(84)

I move to my bed and work my jeans off so I can pull on my sweatpants. It’s barely eight at night in California, but Cass likes it when I call her before bed. I haven’t been sleeping well lately, sharp nerve pains in my back and neck. I’ve spent the last two days helping Kelly box up things to put in the garage. She and Jared officially separated, but he came over for Christmas. Kelly wants to work things out, but I’m not sure Jared’s capable of that. I don’t trust him. I don’t like him. But I’ve been keeping my opinion to myself, because right now is not the time Kel needs to hear it.

Once I hit CALL on my phone, I let my eyes close for a few seconds. Tonight, I just can’t seem to keep them open.

“Hey, you’re early,” she answers. I flip my lamp off and tug the heavy comforter up to my chest.

“Yeah, I know. I’m so sorry, but I don’t think I can sit up much longer,” I say through a yawn.

“Uhhh, that’s what I get for dating an old man,” she jokes.

“Hey, don’t tell me you don’t appreciate the blue-plate specials,” I say. “You love a good buffet.”

“Yeah, the senior discounts are pretty swag,” she says. “And you can still get it up, so…I’ll stick around for a while longer.”

“You know I’m not rich, so there’s no money in this for you when I die,” I say.

“Damn. Forget it. I’m out,” she says, waiting a few seconds before she lets her laugh breakthrough. I love her. I love her. I love her.

“How are things…with Paige?” Some nights we talk about Paige a lot. Others, I can tell talking about her sister is off the table. Cass can’t seem to decide if she’s sad about her sister or angry with her.

“We actually went to the mall today. We had gift cards, from Christmas,” she says.

“Well that’s progress, right? Shopping—that’s the girl equivalent for football, breaks down all barriers, the ultimate common denominator, right?” I ask.

“Hmmmm, I think I’d rather have football, but I get your logic,” she says. “Yeah, I guess things were a little better. We talked in the car. A little.”

“It’s just going to take time,” I say.

“Says the man who has never gone a day without talking to his brother,” she says back quickly.

“I know. I’m lucky. They don’t make all siblings like Nate. But don’t you dare tell that little turd I said that,” I say, tilting my neck up to see if the hallway is still quiet. It is.

Cass giggles. “Turd is a funny word,” she says. There’s a long silence after this. Palpable. It’s not uncomfortable, but just the opposite. There’s nothing grand about this moment, nothing remarkable at all. It’s one of hundreds of phone conversations Cass and I are going to have, have had.

But something. Just. Feels. Right.

“You know I’m in love with you, right?” I put it out there. I haven’t said it. But I know she knows. And I know she loves me back. The words—they’re just like a period on the end of our very long, run-on sentence.

“I know,” she says, almost a whisper. I can’t see her, but I know she’s smiling. And blushing. And beautiful.

“Good,” I smile. I’m not as sleepy as I was a few minutes ago. Instead, now I feel warm and happy and ready to stay awake all night.

“I sorta kinda love you too,” she says, her voice meek and embarrassed. It’s sweet.

“Well don’t go crazy there and get too committed with those words. Best to hedge your bets,” I tease. I know she’s just nervous. Her laugh is muffled, probably by her pillow. “So, since I love you more, and I clearly said it first, I think that means I’m the winner, right?”

“You are sooooo not the winner,” she says, stronger now. My little ninja princess.

“I don’t know. I’m pretty sure if we called up to the booth they would rule in my favor,” I say.

“Nooooo,” she protests—always so competitive. “They would see through your sneak attack. The playing field was definitely not even. I think you’d get disqualified.”

“Only one way to know,” I say, covering the phone with my hand. “Nate! Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan—” He hates it when I use his full name, so he makes his way down the hall to my room fast, pushes open the door completely, and flips on the light.

“What?” He’s so pissed off. This will be funny.

“Cass and I need you to settle something for us,” I say, and his eyebrows rise, barely interested, so very annoyed. “I clearly said I love you first. But Cass thinks because I didn’t give her a fair warning that mine doesn’t count and she wins the I love you game.”

Nate is staring at me, doing that blinking thing he does when he’s not sure what to say; then he takes a deep breath. “This is stupid,” he finally lets out, and turns his back to walk away. “Cass is right; she wins.”

“I think the judge is biased!” I yell.

“Yeah, well…the judge thinks you’re an * for making him get up with fifteen seconds left in the game,” he hollers.

“I win! I win, I win, I win!” Cass squeals on the phone.

“I’m filing an appeal,” I say, smiling and loving her. Loving that I said it. Loving how easy it was. Loving that everything about this was so very us—that there is an us, and it’s simple to define.