Black Number Four

by Kandi Steiner

  Oh my God, please, please no.

  “Sorry, Sky, but I was turning into a raisin in there,” Kip says, opening the bathroom door as steam floats up around him. He’s relaxed and smiling, a navy blue towel wrapped around his waist.

  But the only color I see is red.

  Kip stops short when he sees my face. “What happened?” He moves toward me but I back away, shaking my head violently. “What’s going on?”

  My eyes find his computer and he follows my stare, swallowing hard when he sees the file pulled up on the screen. For a moment, he says nothing, and it feels like the entire world has stopped – like everything and everyone is waiting for what will happen next. My heart drums loud in my ears, my hands shaking, my eyes blurred from tears.

  “Skyler,” he finally says, moving toward me with his arms outstretched, palms facing up like I’m a wild animal and he knows the slightest move could scare me away. “I can explain.”

  “Don’t.” I shake my head more, the room spinning as my stomach lurches. My voice is low, too low. Scratchy. Weak. He takes another step toward me and it’s like he crossed over the force field that was holding me back. I back up to the wall, doubling over as I scream at the top of my lungs, “Don’t fucking touch me!”

  My breaths are ragged, strained under the pressure of my world collapsing. When I look back up at Kip, his jaw is clenched and his eyes laden with pain. “I wasn’t going to go through with it, I was going to tell you and call the whole thing off. Yes that’s why I came to Palm South but when I met you, I knew I could never do what my dad was asking me to.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

  He swallows. “It’s complicated.”

  “Are you serious?” I ask, incredulous. Shaking my head, I lift myself from the wall and stand straighter. “Whatever, I don’t even care. Just tell me you aren’t registered for the tournament. Tell me this was something stupid you were involved in when I was being stupid with Erin. Tell me we can put all this stupidity behind us and move on.”

  Kip doesn’t respond, his nose flaring as he presses his lips together in a hard line. I watch as the muscles over his abdomen flex with every breath. “I can’t.”

  My heart slows, the beats coming at a reduced pace but with more force than I’ve ever felt. Every thump knocks me forward a little, jerking my body with it. “What?”

  He swallows. “I am registered for the tournament.”

  “But you’re not going, right? Not anymore. Not after you promised me you wouldn’t hurt me. Not after you told me you loved me. Not after we became us. Right?” I ask the questions without breathing. Breath doesn’t exist in my body at this point. “Right?”

  Kip doesn’t move. He doesn’t swallow or blink or flinch, but one single tear rolls down the left side of his face and under his cheek.

  And I know that one tear is saying more than any words can.

  “I’m sorry, Skyler.”

  He doesn’t look away from me or hang his head. He just kills me with his baby blues, keeping me locked in their glare as he waits for my next move. And I don’t know what to do. I want to throw something at him, I want to kill him, I want to cry and scream and rip his apartment to shreds.

  But more than that, I want to run to him. I want him to hold me and make the pain tearing my chest apart disappear. I want him to fix it. To fix me.

  But he won’t.

  Because he can’t.

  Because he never loved me enough to care in the first place.

  The reality of everything crashes down on me in one large, soul-crushing wave. I start breathing faster, panic washing through me as the wave takes me under the current, pulling me down, down, down.

  I look at him one last time, memorizing the words I read in the file and relating them to his face. His beautiful smile ties into his lies, his lips into his broken promises, his eyes into the pain I feel right now in this moment. Without another word, I turn and run out of his apartment, flying across the parking lot and onto campus. He doesn’t come after me and I don’t wait to see if he will. I just run. I know I’ll have to send someone back to get my stuff tomorrow, but I couldn’t stay in that room one second longer.

  When I reach the house, my legs are burning and my feet are raw from running on the concrete. I put my hand on the doorknob but don’t turn it. Everything hits me and I fall to my knees, leaning my forehead against the door as I give in to the flood of tears escaping my eyes. I squeeze them tight, trying to will the tears to stay away, but they seep through the cracks and pull me down further into the dark hole Kip shoved me in.

  Everything was a lie.

  Helping me with poker, asking about my past, about my dreams. Kissing me, touching me, making me want him and making me think he wanted me, too. The words, the promises, every single feeling.

  This is the game changer. This is the part where everything I thought I knew about the game gets shattered into tiny pieces and I’m left reeling trying to pick them up and glue them back together, to force them to make sense to me again. I thought I had it in the bag, I thought I was sitting on Lucky Street with nothing but good days and smooth sailing ahead.

  But I’m in stormy water.

  Deep, treacherous, Kip-infested water.

  And I don’t think anyone is strong enough to survive this storm.

  Running has only ever been cardio for me. But right now, it’s so much more. It’s the distraction from life, the pain I need to feel to keep my mind off the torture that is reality. I’ve been running for at least two hours now and I know I’ll wake up in the morning and barely be able to feel my legs, but right now they’re burning and aching right along with my ribs and arms and that’s just enough to draw a little bit of the pain from my heart.

  But it won’t last for long. I know that because I ran one night when I was back home. I flew home to see my dad immediately after I got off the phone with my mom when I got back from the cruise. After the first night of being in the house with Dad, listening to him tell me things no son should have to hear his dad say, I went for a long run just like this. But it was only a temporary numbness. My mom said it so simply, she said that my father was sick, like he had a cold or the flu or a fucking headache. But the truth is so much worse – it demands so much more than that measly four letter word.

  My father has cancer.

  Stage four lung cancer, to be exact.

  And even though cancer only has two more letters and one more syllable in it than sick does, it’s so incredibly fucking different. It’s permanent, it’s crushing, it’s cold and cruel and hard. And it’s moved into my life like a bug infestation – slowly, silently, and then completely overruling all at once.

  I never knew what that meant, to have stage four lung cancer. I’ve heard of it before. I’ve watched shows about it on TV. But, I never really knew what it meant. For the past two weeks, all I’ve done is research online. I know everything about it now.

  I know that cancer at this stage is usually widespread when it’s diagnosed, which was the case for my father. Because he’s stubborn, he waited until he was coughing up blood before he finally let my mom drag him to the hospital. They found that not only did it live in his lungs, but the cancer had also spread to other areas of his body. And, as if that’s not fucking enough, he has fluid around his lungs.

  I know that they can give him chemotherapy and radiation treatment to help with the pain and possibly keep him alive longer, but my father refused both.

  And I know that whether he went through that stuff or not, stage four lung cancer is not something you survive.

  And that fact absolutely demolishes me.

  I run faster, digging my heels into the concrete each time they hit and pushing off with as much force as I can muster. Every muscle in my body cries out in protest but I grit my teeth and keep moving. Even with my music blasting and my entire being aching, I can’t stop thinking about the way he looked, the way he sounded – the way the room felt, like it knew he was dying even if w
e all tried to deny it.

  Even though it’d only been a few months since the last time I saw him, he looked like he’d aged at least ten years. My once strong, resilient dad was lying in bed with tubes and machines hooked up everywhere, his eyes hollow, his skin graying along with his hair. Because he refused chemo, he still had his hair. And he made sure to point that out to me. I think it was important to him, which makes sense. My dad has always been about appearance, about not letting anyone know if he was hurting.

  It doesn’t make sense for him to have lung cancer. He hasn’t smoked since he entered the service at eighteen, but being deployed several times over the years, the doctors assume it was due to exposure to something on a tour. They also said it could be something they’re not thinking of, something random. So basically, the doctors don’t know shit except that he’s dying.

  My dad is dying.

  My dad is fucking dy-ing.

  Push harder. Run faster. Kick. Hit. Push. Breathe. Don’t breathe. Fight.

  The reality of that statement crashes into me now just as hard as it did when I went home to see him. I tried to help my mom around the house and told her I didn’t need to go back to school. Fuck school. But my dad insisted I come back. He wants me to live my life and get my education. And even though he told me it was okay if I didn’t want to do the tournament in May, I know he just said it because he thought it was what he needed to say. But the truth is, he wants me to do this more than anything. This was his dream, and then when he couldn’t make it happen, when he gave everything up for our family – he made it mine, whether I wanted it or not. Now it’s not just a dream, but his dying wish, and I want more than anything to win this tournament in his name – for him to see it happen before he passes.

  Seeing him that frail, that broken, literally killed me. When he pulled me into his room alone with him and told me how proud he was of me, I broke down. I’ve never cried in front of my father before because it showed weakness. But this time, he cried, too. He’s proud of me, and he loves me. And I want to win this tournament to show him that I love him, too, and that his dreams are important to me. His life is important to me.

  Which is why I couldn’t tell Skyler I would drop out.

  Just thinking of her makes the hole in my chest ache as it splits me open even more. The look on her face when she found the file, the horror in her eyes when she realized who I am… what I am. A fucking monster. It was too much to bear then and it’s done nothing but double in size since she left.

  I’ve seen her a few times at the casinos in town. We’re both practicing, getting ready for the tournament. But every time she sees me, she just leaves without saying a word. Even in class, she waits until at least five minutes past and slides in, taking a seat at the very front and then bolting out again as soon as class ends. She doesn’t even look my way. But I can’t blame her, not even a little bit. She has every right to hate me.

  I wish I could make things better, but right now, I can’t. Maybe one day I’ll be able to talk to her about everything, to get her to understand. For now, my dad is what’s most important.

  I just hope I can make him proud.

  I sprint up the stairs to my apartment door and slam it behind me, falling face first onto my couch. When a soft knock raps on the door I just closed, I groan, my body still on fire from the run. Slowly, I drag myself up, trying not to flinch at the pain from the blisters on my heels. I’m still breathing hard and sweating like a whore in church when I open the door.

  It’s Ashlei.

  “You look like shit,” she says bluntly. She doesn’t smile or laugh, she just says the words and lets herself in my apartment. I shut the door and turn to follow her in. “So does your apartment,” she surveys, scanning the clutter and mess. I wish I was ashamed.

  “What do you want, Ashlei? You already got all of Skyler’s things out of here.”

  Her eyes soften a little and she sighs. “I came to check on you. I figured if you were half as bad as Skyler, you’d probably need me to force you into a shower. Which is kind of what it’s looking like right now.” She eyes me once more before shaking her head. “Kade said he never sees you anymore and you won’t talk to anyone. You can’t hole yourself up in here, Kip.”

  It’s strange, but hearing that Skyler is upset makes a pain sear through me at the same time as it relieves me. I don’t want her to hurt, but I also can’t deny that I want her to miss me, too. “I can do whatever I need to do to get through this, Ashlei. And this is part of the process.”

  She shakes her head again. “I don’t understand, what exactly happened between you two? Skyler won’t talk about it and you’re both acting like you still want to be together so why not just be together?”

  I swallow hard. “It’s complicated.”

  Ashlei rolls her eyes. “Sounds familiar. Listen, the KKB formal is on Saturday. Come with me.”

  I cock a brow. “Are you serious?”

  She sighs. “Not like that. I know Skyler wants you there but she’s not going to ask. Maybe if you come with me, you can talk to her and figure this shit out. You’re both making yourselves sick and it’s not healthy.”

  I shift, crossing my arms across my chest. “Is she going with anyone?”

  “Bear. As friends.”

  I nod, chewing on the idea. I know she won’t forgive me for everything I’ve done, and I can’t take myself out of the tournament, but maybe if I could talk to her and explain everything, I could still have her in my life – even if it’s just as a friend, or hell, as someone who doesn’t hate me. I didn’t even try to explain when she was here two weeks ago, when everything blew up the way it did. I owe it to her to explain why I have to do the tournament. And even though I know she won’t completely forgive me and understand, maybe I can at least get her to see why I have to do this.

  “It’s Saturday?”

  Ashlei nods.

  I sigh, running my fingers through my damp hair. This will either work and make everything easier to bear or it’ll blow up in my face and drag me down deeper into this shithole I’ve dug for myself. “Okay.”

  Ashlei gives a small smile. “Okay. Wear something nice, it’s formal attire. And for Pete’s sake, take a shower. You smell like complete ass.” I chuckle a little, but she’s still dead serious. “We don’t need to ride together or anything, just meet me at the venue. I’ll text you the address.”

  I nod and she moves toward the door, pausing once more when she has it open. “Skyler loves you, you know?” Her words hit me hard and I inhale a deep, harsh breath. “Whatever is happening between you two, I can see that hasn’t changed.” She stares at me for a few moments more, but when I don’t respond she closes the door behind her and I’m alone again.

  Except I’m never alone, anymore. I live with the shadow of my father’s impending death constantly looming around me. I find the couch just in time for my knees to give way and I fall into it, digging the heels of my hands into my eyes. All I want is to run to Skyler, to hold her tight in my arms while I tell her everything and lean on her to support me through all this shit. But I hurt her, and I can’t even undo the pain I’ve caused. I’m her cancer. I’ve killed the light in her eyes and I hate myself for it.

  But maybe it’s not too late to save her.

  It’s hot again in South Florida. This bowtie and tux aren’t really helping, either. Plus the fact I’m fucking nervous. So what I’m trying to say is, I’m sweating.

  The cab dropped me in front of the tall, flamingo pink hotel where Kappa Kappa Beta is hosting their formal about ten minutes ago but I’m still standing outside, trying to muster up some kind of courage to walk in. I kind of wish Ashlei would have let me ride with her now because I realize I have to walk into this place on my own. I know some of my brothers will be here, but it doesn’t bring me any comfort because the only thing that really matters is that she will be here.

  And I don’t think she’ll be happy to see me.

  Inhaling a deep, shaky breath, I make
my way up the stairs and inside. When I round the corner and follow the signs to the ballroom, my nerves amplify. Music and laughter spills out into the hallway and I’m just about to bail and go home when Ashlei walks out of the double doors.

  “There you are,” she says when she sees me. “I was just about to give up and think you flaked on me.”

  “Two seconds later and that would have been the case,” I murmur, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my slacks. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  She rolls her eyes and leads me into the ballroom. I follow her to the table where they’re all sitting, cringing a little when I see not just Erin, but Adam, too. Skyler’s Little and Jess are both there, as well. But Skyler isn’t.

  Jess’s eyes grow wide when I approach the table with Ashlei. “So, I see your date finally showed.” She gives me a once over before pursing her lips and focusing on Ashlei.

  “Yep, have something to say about it?”

  “No, but I bet I know someone who will.”

  As if on cue, I feel eyes on my back and turn to find Skyler at the bar with Clinton, the one everyone calls Bear. I met him on Spring Break and he seemed cool, but my guess is he isn’t my biggest fan now.

  Skyler’s blue eyes are shining even across the room and she’s dressed in a long, gold and glittery dress with a slit that shows off her killer legs. Her hair is curled and flowing down the front of her right shoulder and I can’t help but kick myself again for losing her. It’s painful to see her, more painful than I thought it would be.

  Apparently she feels the same, because after taking one look at me she downs the two shots in front of her. I think one of them was supposed to be Clinton’s because he laughs and catches the bartender’s attention to order again. I sit down at the table just as salads are served. When Skyler and Clinton make their way back to the table, she doesn’t waste any time.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Well, it’s not my choice of words, but at least she’s speaking to me.