by J. Daniels
“I can't.”
“Yes, you can. You just . . . force your mouth not to do that.”
“Are we having our first fight?” CJ's head pops through his shirt. He’s grinning now, and it’s so damn beautiful I feel my own lip curling up. “We are. Fuck, I'm excited,” he says. “This is a milestone, babe. We did it. Come here.”
A laugh catches in my throat as CJ holds out his hand for me to high five.
God, I love him.
“You’re so weird,” I murmur, reaching across the bed.
He slaps my hand and winks.
My cell phone rings from the dresser. I’m still giggling when I turn around to grab it. My parents’ house number flashes on the screen.
“Hey, Mom,” I answer, knowing it has to be her. My dad still works during the day at Tennyson Construction.
“Hi, sweetheart. How are you?”
“Fineeow!” I spring up onto my toes as a sharp pain lashes across my bottom.
“Are you all right?” my mother asks with worry in her voice.
I whip my head around and watch CJ twirl up the towel I had my hair wrapped in. I suck in a breath. “You did not just do that,” I scold.
“You liked it.” He lifts his brow. “Turn around.”
My eyes go wide and my cheeks burn hot. Both sets.
I did not like it.
Okay . . . I liked it. But only a little.
“Riley?”
“Sorry, Mom.” I flip CJ off and he chuckles, tossing the towel and having a seat on the edge of the bed to put on his boot. “That was CJ. He's just super excited about us having our first fight.”
“Oh,” she says, sounding surprised. “This is the boy you’re living with?”
My parents know I'm not still living at Richard's, which was what I had them assuming since I didn't say different. Once Reed found out about my new living arrangement, I didn't feel there was a point in keeping it from anyone.
“Yes. That's him.” I dig my toes into the side of CJ’s thigh.
The corner of his mouth twitches.
“Is there something going on with you two? Are you dating?”
“Uh.” I drop my foot to the carpet and turn my head. Crap. Why does she have to ask me this? I can't say yes. My mom will totally mention it to Reed. She knows they know each other. “We're just friends, Mom,” I tell her, wincing. “I'm helping him get better. Remember, I told you about his leg?” Before my mother has a chance to answer, I gaze back at CJ.
He's hunched over still, but he isn't working at strapping on his boot anymore. His head is turned. He's looking directly at me.
No smile. Not even the hint of one. CJ looks . . . pissed. Disappointed or both.
Shit.
My stomach tightens. Mom says something in my ear but I don't pay attention.
I watch CJ subtly shake his head before looking away, like a person would do when they're almost in disbelief of something they’ve seen or heard. Then he fastens the last remaining strap on his boot, stands from the bed and stalks toward the door.
I lower my phone and cover the mouthpiece with my hand. “CJ.”
“This is why you’re not ready,” he says in a low, rough voice, turning back to look at me. His eyes are hard.
I blink and pull in a breath through my nose. My mouth opens, but he’s out the door and down the hallway before I can utter a reply.
“Shit,” I whisper, eyes pinching shut.
“Riley?” My mom’s voice is quiet, but I still hear her.
“Mom, I can’t talk right now,” I fume. I snatch my shorts off the bed and pinch the phone between my shoulder and ear. “I have class. I need to finish getting ready.”
And I need to go apologize for that.
“Okay, sweetheart. Give me a ring later.”
I say goodbye and disconnect the call. After pulling on my shorts and stepping into my Chucks, I head down the hallway, not even bothering to dry my hair or do anything with it. Finger combed waves soak the back of my shirt.
I stop just inside the living room. “Hey,” I murmur to the back of CJ’s head. He’s sitting on the couch, leaning forward. I see the flash of his cell. “Um, look, I just worried she would say something to Reed, that’s all. You know I don’t think of you as a friend.”
He has to know that.
CJ makes a noise deep in his throat, like a grunt, letting me know he hears me. He stands from the couch.
“I’m meeting up with Ben and Luke at McGill’s,” he shares, stuffing his phone into the pocket of his shorts and turning sideways to look over at me. “I’m heading over there now.”
“Oh.” I curl my fingers against my palms. My shoulders slouch. I suddenly feel smaller. Or maybe CJ just seems bigger to me. I swear he’s grown inches in his anger. “Okay, um, well, I just wanted to make sure you knew why I said that to my mom. Why I had to . . .”
“Yeah, I get it,” he bites out. He sounds impatient. “I get why you think you needed to do that, babe. It doesn’t change how I feel about it.”
“You’re mad,” I murmur.
“Getting there, yeah.”
I press my lips together. That sick feeling twists in my stomach again and knots itself deep. I don’t know what to do. I hate this. But CJ knows why I lied. What else can I say?
“You heading out now too?” he asks, tipping his chin in the direction of the door.
I want to stay here, convince CJ to skip McGill’s and talk this out, but if I don’t leave now, I’m going to be late to class. That shower sex took up all of the extra time I had.
Sighing, I nod and move to the stools pulled up to the counter, grabbing my book bag and slipping the strap over my arm. I fist my keys and turn toward the door, then shyly blink up at CJ when he takes my book bag from me.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
His smile is halfhearted. An ache burns inside my chest.
I follow behind him outside and wrap my hands around his shoulders when he stops at my car. Standing on my toes, we kiss. It’s brief and I’m more into it than he is. I tell him I’ll see him after class and CJ squeezes my waist. He presses his lips to my forehead and opens my door.
No okay, darlin’. No last minute ass grab.
I’m pouting the entire drive to school.
This fucking sucks.
When I pull into the parking lot surrounding the health building, I see Allison walking back to her car. Jaylen is behind her. They’re both classmates of mine.
“Hey. What’s up?” I ask, slowing to a stop and rolling down my window.
“Class is canceled,” Allison says. “There’s a power outage or something. Free day.” She flashes me a smile and continues walking.
Mm. Free day. We never have those.
And I know exactly what I want to do with it.
Spending time with CJ so we can talk this out is sure to stop him from becoming completely mad at me, since he’s getting there, as he put it. And spending time with CJ in front of Ben and Luke, two people I don’t necessarily need to pretend in front of, well shoot, that’s even better.
I can finally be CJ’s girlfriend in front of his friends. I feel like I’ve waited forever for that.
Foot on the gas, I pull a U-turn in the middle of the parking lot and head back in the direction I came.
When I step inside McGill’s, I spot the guys right away. They’re playing pool at one of the vacant tables near the back. Ben is lining up for a shot, while Luke stands at the opposite side to watch him. CJ is leaning his back against the wall, arms across his chest and cue in hand.
He grins and says something to Ben about his shot. I can’t hear him over the music playing overhead and the lunch crowd commotion. It’s one o’clock, so it’s fairly busy in here.
I step out of the entryway so I don’t block people coming and going and watch from the front of the room. I don’t move any closer.
CJ pushes off from the wall. It’s his turn. He bends over the table and lines up. I wish I had a different
vantage point now. One from behind, preferably. When I shuffle a little to my right to improve my view, I notice CJ’s well-worn sneakers on his feet. They aren’t the ones he had at the house. I’ve seen this pair before. He keeps them in the back of his truck.
He took off his boot? Why? Why would he do that?
CJ takes his turn and pushes Luke sideways when he says something to him. The three of them share a laugh, then CJ leans his cue against the wall and carries the empty glass pitcher they’re sharing over to the bar.
He’s walking fine. He isn’t limping like he does at the house—it’s subtle and stops the second he puts on his boot, but I notice it. But CJ isn’t doing that now. He’s putting his full weight on his foot. He’s pivoting on it. He’s crossing his right ankle over his left and leaning against the bar while Hattie fills up the pitcher. He isn’t supporting his injured leg at all.
I stand there and watch through the crowd, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.
CJ would tell me if he was healed, wouldn’t he? Why would he keep that from me? This must be . . . a mistake. My eyes playing tricks on me. He was just limping in the bedroom. I saw it. I don’t understand.
Why would he keep this from me?
CJ walks back over to the table. Still no limp. No adjustment to his swagger. This is how he moves when he isn’t injured, and although I should be happy to see him walk like this again, I’m not. I feel like someone just sucker punched me. I feel sick for a completely different reason now.
Before anyone notices I’m here, I slip back outside. I’ve seen enough.
I peel out of the parking lot and speed home, thinking about all of the times I caught CJ without his boot in the past weeks and the way he was always avoiding discussion about his leg. As if he didn’t want to talk about it because he didn’t want me to know.
Not now, he’d say. Quit worrying, babe. It’s fine.
He even cut back on his PT. He said it wasn’t doing him any good anymore and he could do the exercises at home. But now, I wonder if he just didn’t need the therapy.
When I get to the house, I don’t have a plan other than sitting around and waiting for CJ to get there. I want to hear him out. I want to believe he’d be honest with me and tell me over anyone if he was healed up enough to walk around like this. Not just because it’s the right thing to do, but because we’re together. I want to listen while CJ explains why he didn’t have his boot on today, because today is different. He’s not healed. He’ll have an excuse, something that will make total sense, and then we’ll laugh about the whole thing and spend the rest of my free day together in bed. We’ll cuddle until our touches grow urgent.
That is the only plan I have for us, so I can’t explain why I pack up my things.
It’s over two hours later before CJ returns home.
I’m sitting on the couch reading over the discussion notes my teacher posted for the class we missed when the door pushes open.
“Hey,” he greets me.
I close my laptop and set it aside, dropping my feet to the carpet. Sitting forward, I notice CJ is back to wearing his boot. And the original, newer condition sneaker he left the house with.
He knew I would be home. My class would’ve gotten out by now. That’s why he’s wearing it.
With doubt whispering in my ear, I force a smile. “Hey. Did you have fun?”
“Yeah, it was all right.” He tosses his keys on the counter. “How was class?”
“I didn’t have it.”
CJ frowns over his shoulder as he moves into the kitchen and opens the fridge. “You didn’t?”
I shake my head. “There was a power outage. It was canceled. Now we have to do all of this stuff online, which sucks. I always have to email my teacher about things I don’t understand. Hey. How’s your leg feeling?” I throw my question at him in a rush. I can’t say it fast enough.
CJ chuckles opening a bottle of Gatorade. He lifts it to his mouth.
“Any different? Better?” I continue to probe, my body hanging halfway off the couch as I twist to look at him. “Like, all of a sudden you’re seeing a huge improvement and you don’t think the boot is necessary anymore?”
“All of a sudden?” he echoes, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. His brows are lifted.
“Yes. Like today. By the time you left here and got to McGill’s. The boot was no longer necessary, so you took it off to play pool.” I stand from the couch and spin around to face him.
CJ’s mouth slowly goes tight and his brows pull together. He grips the back of his neck and looks to the floor.
“I was at McGill’s,” I explain.
“Yeah, I’m getting that.”
“Are you . . . better? Is your leg healed?”
He sighs and lifts his head, dropping his arm to his side. “I don’t know,” he answers. “It’s not like I’ve been cleared by the doctor or anything, but it doesn’t bother me. I can walk on it. I’ve run on it a few times . . .”
“What?” My eyes widen. He’s run on it?
“I wanted to see if I could do it and have that shit not bother me,” he explains. “I gotta chase after people occasionally. It’s part of the job.”
“You aren’t working right now, are you?” I ask. My voice shakes.
What else has he been lying about?
“What? No.” CJ gives me a look like I’m crazy for asking that question. He walks over to the counter and sets his Gatorade down next to the paper towel holder. “I told you. I haven’t been cleared.”
“But you’re better enough to walk around without your boot and run. You just throw your boot on in front of me, so I don’t know you’re better.”
My chest is heaving now. I can feel myself getting worked up.
CJ cocks his head. He looks mildly remorseful. “Come on. Let’s sit down and talk,” he suggests, moving down the counter.
“I don’t want to sit down.”
He stops. “All right. We’ll stand and talk.”
“I just don’t understand why you’ve been lying to me. Why wouldn’t you tell me your leg was healed up?”
“What would you have done?” he asks, bracing his hands on either side of the sink.
“What do you mean?”
“If I would’ve told you, what would you have done, Riley? Moved out? Gone to live with your brother? Your parents?”
I blink. I haven’t even thought about that, but I suppose . . .
“Well, I guess I would’ve moved in with my parents,” I answer, crossing my arms under my chest. “You wouldn’t need a nurse here . . .”
CJ slowly shakes his head.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re asking me why I didn’t tell you? That’s why,” he says. His voice is sharper now. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you stay here, Riley? Why would you leave? We’re together.”
My mouth opens, shuts, then opens again. “You would want me to live here, like, officially?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
We stare at each other across the room.
CJ’s house is spacious. The living room and kitchen are fairly large. But I suddenly feel like the walls are closing in on me.
My shoulders slouch. “I just, I figured . . . well, you asked me to move in so I could be your nurse, CJ. That was our deal.”
“Babe, that deal was up a long fucking time ago,” he states. A hint of laughter touches his voice.
I feel my forehead wrinkle. He’s laughing and I’m more confused than ever. I focus on the thing bothering me the most. “I don’t understand,” I tell him. “I just don’t understand why you lied.”
“The fact that you need a reason to stay here with me is why I didn’t tell you,” he shares. Quicker breaths begin to escape me. “I didn’t want you leaving, Riley, and I knew you would. Just now, I was hoping you’d shock the shit outta me and tell me you wouldn’t go if I was healed up, but you didn’t. `Cause you’re not there with me yet. And that sucks for me, babe, `cause I’m there. I’ve b
een there.”
I blink, feeling my nose tingle. CJ only pauses to let what he just said sink in, I think, not because he’s trying to find the words. I can tell—he already has them.
“I’m at the point where I want to live with you `cause I don’t see an end to this,” he continues, voice sure and even. “Not next week. Not next month. Fifty fucking years from now, it’s you, darlin’. In my bed. Walking around in that hoodie of mine you stole. Your clothes mixed up with mine. I want that and I know I’m never going to stop wanting that. You said this has always felt different, and you’re right, it has. `Cause we got it good, babe. The kinda good I know comes around once in a lifetime. The kinda good I’d suffer through months of ‘just friends’ bullshit for. I’ve watched my parents get it. Our friends. Your brother. They all got it. Not me. I’ve never had that until you, Riley. I want you here. But you’re still keeping this shit a secret and needing a reason to stay. And I don’t know what the fuck to say to that.”
My mouth is hanging open by the time CJ finishes speaking.
I’ve wanted to hear so many things from him, things every girl wants to hear from their guy, and he just said them. All of them.
So why do I feel like my heart is breaking?
“You,” I shake my head, trying to gather my thoughts, but it’s no use. I dig the heel of my hands into my stinging eyes. “I think I should go,” I whisper. I lower my hands to look at CJ. His brows are lifted. He heard me, but I repeat myself anyway, saying louder, “I should go,” before scurrying along the front of the couch.
“You should go,” he echoes in disbelief.
I don’t respond to him. I drag my duffle bag out from underneath the legs of the stool and set it on the round seat. The rest of my things are already in my car. This is all I have left to take out. I tug the zipper open.
“Are you kidding me? You packed?”
My head snaps up and turns. I glare at CJ. “You lied,” I hiss. I watch my accusation jar him. He blinks twice. “You’ve been lying to me. Do you have any idea how that feels? Richard lied. He kept stuff from me. Now you’re lying. You don’t tell me you’re better and I just keep doing everything for you. Laundry. Helping you in and out of the bath. How long were you going to keep this up? Until I get there with you? I’m there! God . . . why do you think I’ve been keeping this from my brother?”