The Fastest Way to Fall(62)

“Wes! Are you up? Wes! Hey!” A bang against the door, and Jon’s small voice called from the other side. “It’s morning! We can play football again!”

I sucked in a ragged breath and locked eyes with Britta, who pressed her lips together to stifle a laugh. “Okay, buddy,” I called out. “Um, give me . . . a little time.”

“Grown-ups are so slow!” Jon yelled, his feet pounding on the hardwood floors.

“Fuck,” I whispered, rolling to my back, pulling Britta with me, her head again resting on my chest.

“You kissed me.” She scratched her nails over my stomach, making me inhale sharply. When she lifted her head to meet my eyes, her cheeks were flushed.

I rubbed my thumb over the back of her neck. “I think you kissed me first.”

“This is complicated.” She slid her palm up my chest, her gaze following its path until she cupped my neck. “There are probably things we should talk about.”

This hadn’t been my plan, but it was happening, complication be damned. “Definitely complicated, but . . .” I stroked the side of her pinky finger up and down. “But worth it.” I wanted more than just that moment and more than stolen hurried kisses. I wanted to tell her I wasn’t pretending, that what I felt for her was bigger and deeper than what I’d ever felt for anyone else. When I opened my mouth to say it, my phone vibrated on the dresser where I’d tossed it the night before, making us both jump.

It buzzed again and we giggled. Britta’s lips brushed against my shoulder, and I pulled her closer. The vibration stopped, and I slid my finger along her cheek, brushing strands of hair away.

It wasn’t lost on me that it was the first time I hadn’t tensed at a call. I felt okay letting it go when I had Britta in my arms. I was okay with not being in control of things. “Sorry. Go ahead. What happens next can be anything you want, Bubs. It can be nothing at all, or . . .” I traced my fingers down her neck, enamored with getting to touch her in that warm bed with the breeze blowing in. I felt like I was where I was meant to be. “I . . . Britta, I think I’m fall—”

“Wes, wait.” Britta bit her lower lip and pulled back, meeting my gaze. “I need to tell you something before we . . . before anything else. It’s important.”

I didn’t know what her expression meant, and my mind jumped to the worst possibilities, that she didn’t want this, that she immediately regretted this. I loosened my grip, giving her plenty of room to move away, but she didn’t. “What is it?”

She slid her palm across my chest, but she didn’t pull away. “I didn’t tell you sooner because . . . well, it will ruin this,” she whispered, dragging her gaze from mine.

I let out a slow breath. “No.” I nudged her chin up. “There’s nothing you could say that would. Nothing, okay?” My phone buzzed again, the sound filling the space, but Britta had smiled, and I could block it out. “Hold on. I’ll silence it.”

I fumbled for the phone with one hand and pulled away from her to reach it. The name on the caller ID flashed, and I answered immediately.

“Hello?” My voice was thick and raspy, and I repeated myself. The voice on the other end of the line was enough to drain all the blood from my face.





39





WE WERE ALMOST to the hospital. Wes’s face contorted every now and again, as if a bad memory were playing on a loop and he was biting it back. He’d told me I didn’t need to come with him, but after the phone call, he was ashen. My unflappable coach seemed shell-shocked.

“Do you want me to order a ride to take you home?” As we exited the interstate, his voice startled me.

“I’ll stay with you.”

“I’m not sure how long this will take or what’s going on.” He glanced at me, worry etched in the lines of his face, one hand scrubbing the back of his neck.

“That’s okay.” The day before, I wouldn’t have thought twice about touching his shoulder or taking his hand, but what were the rules after that kiss?

We pulled into the parking deck, but he didn’t move, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he stared forward. “It’s just that she’s . . .” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I don’t know how she’ll be today, and she’s . . . It’s complicated.”

He swallowed, his features set in a firm line.

“Take care of your mom. I can wait. I don’t want to abandon you, okay? Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to call your sister for you?”

I touched his forearm, but he flinched away, saying only “No” before stepping out of the car.

It was ten in the morning when we walked into the building. For July, it was cool, a chilled wind blowing around us in the midmorning sun. A receptionist directed us to the sixth floor. The whoosh and whir of the elevator’s machinery filled the silence. Wes tapped his hand against the metal, making a hollow clang that reverberated.

“Did they give you any indication of what’s happened?”

“She’s . . .” He drummed his fingers against his thigh, avoiding my eyes before shoving his hands in his pockets. “She’s been an addict my whole life. Booze, oxy, heroin. She was getting clean, though. I thought she was, anyway. She hasn’t been using.”