You and Everything After (26 page)

Chapter 29

Cass

The nausea was better this round, maybe because I was expecting it and didn’t eat anything that would make things worse. After five days, my flare-up seemed to be under control. My vision was back to normal, and steroids always leave me feeling strong and full of energy, so my wobbly legs were once again dying to run.

Ty’s heading back to Louisiana today; I don’t want him to go. I’ve said all along that he’s magic. Since he’s been here, my family has never felt more like…well,
mine.
Ty was
really
interested in my car, so my dad and I took him for a spin out along highway 101 at sunset a couple of nights ago. The farther north you get, the less crowded the roadway is, and my dad gave me the nod—the one he saves for when my mom isn’t looking. I hit about one-ten before my dad put his hand on my arm, warning me to slow down.

I was back to that innocent sixteen-year-old again, the one who learned how to change her own oil from her dad the day she got the keys to Uncle Lou’s Charger. Paige got a new Mazda, and she apologized to me over and over, feeling bad that I was slighted with the
used
car. My dad and I never laughed about it in front of her, but on our own, in the garage, we’d cut loose. I’d been eyeing this car since I was five.

Ty being around somehow brought those feelings back. And I’m afraid as soon as he goes life at my house is going to go back to lectures about my health, orders to quit playing soccer, and…
the Cotterman issue.

“You know, I still haven’t seen the beach. I mean, up close,” Ty says, holding his coffee mug up to his lips, blowing the steam away. Even my mother is in his pocket now, as she runs over with two ice cubes to cool it for him. “Thank you, Mrs. Owens.”

“Diana,” she practically sings.

I shake my head at him, amazed at his skills.

“What?” he shrugs.

“You can charm the pants off anything, can’t you?” I say, regretting it immediately as I watch his smirk curl above the steam from his coffee. “Don’t even think about saying it.”

“What, me? Cassidy! Always the pervert, you are,” he says, sipping and slurping loudly just to annoy me.

“You wanna see the beach or not?” I ask, mostly to get out of his razzing.

“Let’s do it,” he says, sliding his mug on the counter and pulling his McConnell baseball hat low on his head. I love that hat on him, the way it barely shades his eyes. He’s downright sinister looking, but in the sexiest way.

“Oh, careful there, Cassidy…it looks like I might be charming the pants off—” I slap my hand over his mouth quickly, and I can feel him smile under my touch.

“We’re going to the beach! Back in time to get Ty’s things and get him to the airport,” I say.

Beaches are meant to be visited in the middle of the day on a workday. No tourists, no picnics—just the diehards. I envy the surfers, the way they seem to be able to get up early, stay up late, and live and die by the tide. There are a few still riding this morning, and I watch Ty look at them as I pull in to the parking lot.

“I always wanted to try that,” he says, his eyes squinting a little as he focuses his attention on a single surfer. It’s like he’s memorizing his movements for later, studying him as a pupil would.

“You should. It’s mostly upper body strength. I bet you’d be good,” I say, popping the trunk, and moving to the back to pull out his chair. Ty’s still watching the surfer when I pull his chair next to him, so I don’t interrupt. I lean on the side of my car and watch along with him as the stranger in the ocean zips through the water, back and forth, until a larger wave eventually pulls the board away from him.

Ty nods when he’s done, then pulls himself into his chair.

“There’s a path for most of the way,” I say, zipping my hoodie over my chest and pushing my hands deep into the pockets. The breeze is light, but there’s still a little chill in the air.

We take the path down to the guardhouse, but stop at the sand.

“You have beaches in Louisiana, right?” I ask.

He looks out over the water, almost memorizing the patterns of the waves. “Yeah, but…not like this,” he says, his mouth settling into the most content smile. “Not like this.”

We stay here, under the shade of the guardhouse for a while, people-watching and listening to the sound of the waves. I used to love taking naps here, falling asleep to the sound. I’ve paid for it with sunburns many times.

“Hey, you think I can get you in the sand?” I ask, looking at the wheels of his chair, contrasting them with the softness of the sand ahead.

“I don’t know. Maybe?” he says, looking at his wheels, and rocking them back and forth with his hands. “It’ll be tough. Are you…strong enough for that?”

“Psssshaw,” I say, hand on my hip. “Have you met my trainer? He’s a hard-ass.” This makes him laugh.

Ty pushes himself to the very edge, but before he rolls from the concrete into the sand, I stop him, holding up a finger. “I have an idea,” I say.

I reach into my bag and pull out the two large beach towels I brought and unfurl them, stepping hard on the material to compact the sand underneath. “That should get us sixteen feet at a time,” I say. Ty’s lips tug at the corner as he looks at the brightly colored path ahead.

When I grip the handles behind him, I pause. Ty doesn’t let others push him often, and it isn’t lost on me how special this is, how much trust he’s giving me. I lean forward and kiss his neck lightly, and he brings a hand up to caress my face.

“Careful, babe. We might not make it very far if you keep doing that,” he says, and I smile against his skin.

The first push comes easy, and momentum carries us a good ten feet before I feel the sand building around the tires and working against me. Ty holds up a hand and tilts the chair back slightly, nodding for me to push again; we make it the full sixteen feet. I grab the towels each time we make it to the next one—building our distance until we’re a good forty or fifty feet away from the guardhouse, almost to the smooth, wet sand.

“This is good,” he says. “You won’t have the energy to get me back if we go any farther.”

“What? I’ve got energy coming out of my ears. Haven’t you heard? This girl’s on steroids,” I say, and he smiles in response, but holds his hand over mine and pulls me to his lap to stop me anyway.

“Yeah, about that,” he starts, and I suddenly feel trapped.

“Ty, don’t. I don’t want to talk about it, not now,” I say, and he takes a deep breath.

“I know. Just hear me out, and then I promise we’ll move on to making out on that pile of sand right there.” His words make me blush. “You don’t have to do this. You’ve proven a lot, to yourself, to everyone. Just, your parents, they may have a point.”

“Don’t, Ty. Don’t you dare give up on me,” I say, my stomach fluttering with anxiety. He can’t back out on me now. I need him. I want this, and I’m only strong enough with him.

He purses his lips and breathes in long through his nose, his eyes washing over my face, my neck, down my arm…to the place where his hand grabs mine. He pulls it to his mouth and kisses my knuckles, then pushes the sleeve up on my hoodie until his watch shows. He twists it around so the face is on the inside of my wrist, and taps it twice, then lets the tip of his finger graze over the thin skin underneath.

“
Always
. I’m always on your side. I just didn’t want you to think you had to prove anything to me,” he says, and I hug him tightly and kiss him hard. When I pull back and look at his face, my champion is back. The only thing I’ll ever need in my corner. “Think you can hold my weight just long enough to get me…down there?”

I bite my lip and slide from his lap until I’m next to him, pulling his arm over my shoulder. “On the count of three,” I say, letting Ty count down when he’s ready.

His body is heavier than I expected, and I can’t support him for long. But we make it to the flat sand right in front of us, and I lay back and let him hover above me, his strong arms caging me in while the waves cascade in and out a hundred feet away. The way he looks at me, the slowness at which he bends down, bringing his lips to mine, it’s all so perfect. The boys in high school, the mistakes I’ve made, my doubts and self-loathing—it all washes away with every kiss, every pass of his nose against my cheek, the sensation of his teeth along my neck, the whispers in my ear.

“You know I love you, right?” It’s the first time he’s said that in person, and it’s just as perfect as it was in my dreams.

“I know,” I say, my smile undeniable against his lips. “You know I love you back, right?”

He pulls himself back, looking over me, his eyes moving down my body and back up again, the potency of his gaze making me sweat. “What?” I ask, unable to handle the heat of his stare.

“How’d I get so lucky?” he asks, teeth pinching the corner of his lip as he considers me, my worth—my worth of him.

I don’t have a response, and the longer he looks at me, the more I blush, and then out of nowhere, a tear slides from my eye, over my cheek and onto the sand. And I don’t even mind. I let it fall. This cry…it feels okay.

Ty

The Pacific Ocean is better than the Gulf. It just is. I’m probably biased because I spent an hour making out with a hot blonde on the sand. That’ll sway just about any location into my favor. But this morning definitely falls into my top ten favorite-moments category.

Cass’s strength is unreal. I’m not even sure Nate could have pushed through the sand like that. She took the towel to my wheels back at the car, careful to keep sand out of the grooves, and then she stowed it back in the trunk. She was still blushing when she turned the engine over, sneaking glances at me, catching me staring at her.

“So, I saw your legs…in
Newsweek
,” she says as we pull back out onto the main road.

“Yeah? What’d you think? Pretty hot and famous, huh?” I say.

“They were all right. I mean, I’ve seen better. The nerve graphic, the one they overlapped? You know, the one that made you look bionic?” she says, and I narrow my eyes, giving her my best suave Bond expression. “Yeah, that was pretty cool. But, still not quite
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit.”

“That’s only because they didn’t keep the Speedo pics in the mix,” I say, and she laughs so fast she snorts. She gets embarrassed by it; it’s cute. She keeps her focus on the road while we wait through four or five stoplights, but she seems pensive the entire time. Finally she breaks.

“I saw the pictures of you playing ball, too. In high school?” She’s being cautious. Truthfully, I forgot about those photos in the article.

“Oh yeah. I made that uniform look good, huh?” I turn the other direction quickly, watching the cars in the lane next to us, staring at drivers—anything to avoid the look I know she’s going to give me. I don’t turn when she speaks again, but I know the look is there.

“You…you were pretty good, huh? Good, like Nate?” It’s not quite pity, but it’s close. I know she doesn’t mean it that way.

“I was good,” I sigh.

The silence gets thicker before it starts to fade away the longer we drive. I keep my eyes on anything other than her…until I feel like that topic—the concept of me missing baseball—fades almost completely. It always leaves a little mark behind, and I’ll probably feel the punch of this conversation during my flight.

We get back to the house with just enough time to grab my bag and freshen up, shaking the sand from our clothes. My farewells from Cass’s parents are most definitely warmer than their greetings, but there’s still an element of trust—or resistance to fully trust—lurking. And maybe that’s just based on experience. I’m willing to put in the work, earn it over time.

Paige is another story. She treats me with the same huffiness and indifference as she always has. And that feels better. Nothing’s changed between her and me, but over the last few days, I’ve seen moments between her and her sister. I caught Paige looking at Cass differently, regretfully, perhaps. I haven’t mentioned this to Cass, and we try not to talk about Paige much. I can tell it makes her sad, so I don’t go there.

We get to the airport with little time to spare, and Cass doesn’t have time to park. Our goodbye is rushed, and I hate that. But even with my guaranteed spot on the plane, I get to the gate barely on time. I charm my way on in the middle of the final boarding group, and the male flight attendant takes quite the liking to me. I laugh to myself, and pull my phone out quickly to send Cass a text that she may have competition; then I shut the phone off and spend the next three hours learning about my flight attendant Shawn, and how I remind him of his ex. By the end of the flight, I’m honestly flattered, and I get Shawn’s number, with the promise of having drinks sometime—with his new boyfriend and my girlfriend.
    

Before I get through the gate to where Nate should be waiting for me, I pause and turn my phone back on and chuckle at Cass’s response.

CASS: Yeah, well, I finally watched The Departed. And Leo, yeah, uhm…I’m a fan. Does that sway things in my favor?

ME: I think you may have taken this Leo thing too far, it sounds like you like him not in the ‘bad-ass’ way but in the ‘hot for his bod’ way.

CASS: Your fault. You made me look.

ME: I think that’s enough Leo.

CASS: Too late, already started Gangs of New York. I’m marathoning. Gotta go.

ME:
K
I don’t like this.

“Dude, move your ass,” Nate yells the second he sees me.

“Are you seriously pretending you have any power over me?” I say, eyes back to my phone, waiting for Cass. I think she was serious, and I may have created a monster.

“I’m parked weird. That’s all, and what’s up your ass?” he says, grabbing my bag and swinging it over his shoulder.

I look up with my lips pushed into a half frown. “I think I may have pushed Cass into Leo’s arms,” I say, and Nate pinches his brow.

“Good, you and Cass can share your man crush then. Come on,” he says, leaving me behind. I push hard to catch up.