You and Everything After

by Ginger Scott

  “So it’s really your mom’s fault?” I ask.

  “Ha. I guess in a way, she started it. But no, I take full blame for giving him a complex over it,” Ty says. “When she told him that the first time, it blew his mind. He couldn’t believe that she would sell him out like that, not stick up for him. He turned around and looked at me—all I could do was grin. It was like a free pass. I could pin him over and over, and Mom wouldn’t care. He was totally helpless. And the next time he started crying, I told him to stop making a fussy fuss, which only made him kick and scream more. Of course, I did it again. And then it sort of became my thing for him, whenever he would get whiny or act like a baby—fussy fuss. He hates it, and I love that he hates it.”

  I must be making a face, because Ty’s hand stops its slow trip up my thigh and he leans back to look at me. “What?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. That just…that seems kind of mean,” I say, almost feeling grateful for having a sister instead of this sick, demented, brother-relationship. Almost.

  “It’s not mean. It’s a dude thing. Trust me, he hates it…but he also loves it,” Ty says, his attention back on his hand now, which is where my focus goes immediately when I feel the hem of my skirt start to move up.

  “Owens. Nice practice today,” the voice pulls me out of my intimate bubble with Ty. It’s Chandra, dressed as Wonder Woman. I’m not surprised. And her compliment is not a compliment at all. I was cramping at practice and had to leave before it was over. She’s reveling in it. I hate her.

  “Well, I thought I should give you a chance to work the ball,” I say, my smile as fake as the bile in my mouth is real. She bites her lower lip, and when she slides her teeth over it, some of the cherry-red lipstick wears off, leaving a red mark on her front teeth. It makes me happy.

  She’s here with a few of the other girls, and some dude on the football team. I think he’s friends with the guy Paige has been seeing. This guy seems clueless, so I give him a pass on his poor taste in women. He walks down the porch steps and the other girls follow, but Chandra stays behind. She doesn’t like me having the last word, so I wait patiently for her to put an end to our conversation—happy to have Ty’s hand on my leg, and his lips on my neck. He couldn’t care less about her.

  “I meant to ask you, Cass. How’s Paul Cotterman?” The second she finishes talking she knows she has me. She smiles with her red lips pushed together tightly, bothering to give me a wink before turning and leaving me alone to bleed out from her attack.

  My body is instantly covered in sweat, and the ability to breathe leaves. I feel sick, and not from drinking too much, because I’ve hardly had anything to drink at all. How does she know about Paul Cotterman? What does she know? And does she know about Kyle? Why would she do this…say this?

  I quickly stand from Ty’s lap, and he grabs my hand, turning me to look at him.

  “What was that about?” He’s not asking like he’s angry. He’s genuinely concerned, but I can’t talk about it here. I’m not sure my brain has fully wrapped itself around what just happened. All I know is that I need to leave, and I’m probably going to vomit in the grass.

  “I want to go. Now, Ty. Please? We need to go,” I say, holding my hand over my mouth just long enough to make it to the lawn. I let out the little bit of alcohol I’ve had, shutting my eyes as shivers take control of my arms and legs and spine. Ty is next to me quickly, and he’s holding my purse in his lap, over his tutu. The visual makes me smile through the tears that are already starting. This man loves me. I know he does. And I can trust him. Even with my ugliest parts.

  “Not here. I’ll tell you everything. But just get me home,” I say, and he puts his hand on my lower back. We begin the long trip back to our dorm building.

  We go to his room first, and I wait outside. Nate took Rowe home early; she was pretty blitzed. Ty whispers to me that she’s passed out. He slips in and out quickly without waking them, his sweatpants and T-shirt in his lap when he exits. Once we get to my room, he changes, and I’m glad to have my non-tutu boyfriend back.

  “Wow, I’ve never seen someone look so turned on by sweatpants,” he teases.

  “I was just getting worried that I’d never get that out of my head,” I say, waving my hand over the pile of sparkling pink mesh on the floor.

  “Yeah, you and about a hundred dudes whose day I ruined in that outfit,” he laughs, picking the tutu up and straightening it out like he actually might save it to wear again. He finally tosses it back to the floor, and I’m relieved.

  He’s lying on my bed, his neck bent against my rolled pillow stuffed in the corner by the wall. He pats the space next to him, and I crawl up, folding my legs so I can sit and face him. I play with his fingers in my hand, pretending they’re keys of a piano. I wish I knew how to play the piano. I wish for a lot of things.

  “So…I think I should probably start with Kyle Loftman,” I say, keeping my focus on his fingers, my pretend piano. I play Mary Had a Little Lamb, or at least, what I think is that song. He lets me play, tilting his head to one side and looking up at me, my glance shifts from his fingers to his eyes and back again.

  “Is this story going to piss me off?” he asks.

  That’s a loaded question. I pause and cup his hand in both of mine, then lean forward to kiss it and press it on the side of my face while I look at him.

  “Yes. No. Maybe,” I say, through a truly pathetic smile.

  “Okay, that sounds fair. Bases are covered,” he says, wiggling his fingers again to let me play. I like that he does this, let’s me have an outlet for my nerves. Or maybe he just likes it when I rub his hands. Either way.

  “Kyle Loftman was a student teacher at my high school. He was about to graduate. Your age, really.” I can feel his fingers grow stiff, but they loosen again quickly. I keep going, keep playing my song. “I was sort of…I don’t know…one of those easy girls in high school.”

  His hand grabs mine, and he tugs for my attention. “Hey, don’t do that. Don’t ever apologize for things in your past. Not to me,” he says. I nod, and my breath comes sharp and fast. I would cry if I weren’t so nervous. I hate crying. “Go on. I won’t judge you. Not ever.”

  I spread his fingers, weaving mine in and out while I talk. “Kyle was helping out our soccer team, and one night, he found his way to one of our parties. He was young, just a little older. Liking him was dangerous, but a safe kind of dangerous. So I slipped into one of the rooms with him at the house we were at, and we made out. That was it. Nothing heavy. No sex. Some…touching,” I admit, my face feeling the burn of humiliation saying this to Ty—to anyone.

  “Don’t,” he reminds me, and I swallow hard, trying to gain courage from him.

  “The next day, there was a knock at my parent’s door. My dad answered, and it was a young woman—short, brunette…pregnant. She asked for me, so my dad called me downstairs. He stood behind me when I cracked open the door the rest of the way. He stood there while she told me to stop sleeping with her husband. She spit on the screen door, cried, and told me I should be ashamed of myself. She called me a slut…and then she walked away.”

  Ty’s hands wrap around mine, and I look at him. His face is exactly as I hoped—he’s angry, but on my side. He’s angry that I was accused, that I was spit at, that my father just stood by and watched it all happen.

  “What did your dad do?” he asks.

  “He told me I was being careless, that she could make this an issue with the school—which she did,” I say, remembering the hell that was the end of my senior year. “He kept the details from my mom and from Paige. Or at least, I thought he did. My mom brought it up the other day, so somehow, the story got out. My dad’s law firm worked with the district, kept things hushed. Kyle wasn’t punished, because I never accused him of anything. He didn’t do anything wrong, other than not let me know he was married. That…that was wrong,” I say, letting out a huge breath, the weight of everything.

  “That dick owes you an apology,�
�� Ty says, and I laugh.

  “Which one?” I say, not sure who he was referring to—Kyle or my dad.

  “Exactly,” he says, and I kiss his hand and move to lie on his arm. “So, what does this have to do with Paul whatshisname? Whatever it was that Chandra chick said.”

  This part of the story…this confession? This one is going to make him angry. Not at me…but angry for sure.

  “First of all, I need you to promise me you’ll stay…calm,” I say, mentally crossing my fingers.

  “Can’t do that,” he says back fast, and I sink into him, my stomach churning and trying to convince me to backtrack, to not tell this part of the story. “I’m sorry Cass, but I won’t make a promise I can’t keep. I have a feeling I’m going to want to punch someone, and it might even be that Chandra chick by the time you’re done.”

  “I’m okay with that,” I laugh, cringing that I’m advocating for a man hitting a woman. I don’t think it counts in this case.

  “The day of tryouts…I had that physics makeup test, remember?”

  Ty nods, his jaw flexing, his teeth grinding underneath.

  “I knew something was off. The teacher, that’s Paul Cotterman…he was…sort of flirty,” I say, testing the waters. Ty’s face hardens even more. Yeah, he’s going to react badly.

  “Go on,” he says, his eyes focused on my lips, almost zoning out.

  “He was that way with a few people in class, really. Not just me. But when I went in to take the makeup exam, the room was empty. It was just me,” I say, closing my eyes and remembering how dirty his hand felt on my thigh, how hot his breath was on my neck, how demonic his voice was at my ear.

  “I don’t like this Cass. If that dude hurt you, I swear to god I will kill him. I. Will. Fucking. Kill. Him,” Ty says, a menacing calmness to his tone.

  “You don’t have to. It’s okay. He…he…” I can’t say it, and Ty squeezes my hand to let me know it’s okay. “He touched me, first on my leg, and then he tried to grab my breast. He was holding me to him, and things could have been really bad. But, I hit him, Ty. I hit him hard—first with my elbow, then with my fist. His nose bled, like a fucking faucet. Then I kicked him in the balls to make sure he couldn’t follow me.”

  His mouth is slightly open, and he’s still looking at me, just not at my eyes—like he’s taking me in, but not completely. He’s lost in his thoughts, no doubt reconstructing this scene in his own mind. I wait while he thinks, and then finally his eyes shift to me.

  “I’ll kill him,” he says, his mouth open just enough to show the pressure of his teeth gnashing together. And I believe if Paul Cotterman were to stand in front of Tyson Preeter right now, he would die. And Ty would gladly take the punishment just to see the deed done. I lean forward and kiss his cheek, the tenseness in his muscles unrelenting.

  “As much as I would love to see Paul Cotterman run into you in some dark alley, that wouldn’t even come close to solving my problems,” I say, and his mouth relaxes a small fraction with his breath, his eyes soft on mine.

  “This is why your parents are upset, isn’t it?”

  Ty is so smart.

  “They’re referring to it as the Paul Cotterman issue,” I say, a breathy laugh punctuating the end. “I’m pretty sure they think it’s like what happened with Kyle. I don’t think they believe things happened as I say they did. There aren’t really any witnesses. My dad made sure he resigned.”

  “That’s good,” Ty says, not waiting for the rest.

  “Yeah, that was good. But it seems Cotterman is thinking of fighting it. And like I said…there really isn’t any proof. I could easily just be a student trying to get out of a bad grade.”

  “Faking an assault is a pretty steep move just to avoid getting a bad grade,” Ty says.

  “Yeah, but I hit him, Ty. I’m the assaulter!”

  “No, you’re not,” he says, his hands quick to my face to force me to look at him. “No you’re not. You’re the victim. And you had every right to fuck that asshole’s face up.”

  Without warning, my face grows weak, and the tears slide from my eyes. “Fuck,” I swear, stuffing my face into Ty’s chest, rubbing my puffy eyes against his shirt. “I hate crying.”

  “Yeah, well, I hate snot on my T-shirts, but what are you going to do,” he says, and I laugh hard and long. He squeezes me and just lets me feel. He lets me feel bad, let’s me laugh at his stupid joke, and then let’s me just sit here and think about how angry I am at everyone and everything—everything, but him.

  “That Chandra chick is a bitch,” I say, finally.

  “Yep,” he says, his chin on my forehead.

  I don’t say the next part. That’s what hurts me the most. That’s what made me cry. Someone told Chandra about Paul Cotterman—and I’m pretty sure it was Paige.

  Chapter 23

  Ty

  “Dude, you need to spend more nights with Cass. You’re a pain in the ass to sleep in the same room with lately,” Nate says. It was another night of tossing and turning, and my pain has been spiking more than normal lately. Fucking up a spinal cord does a number on the nerves, and they let me know when they’re pissed off. Mine are really pissed off. But I don’t like taking meds. Meds can sometimes lead to dependence and depression, and that shit ain’t happening to me.

  “Sorry man. Cass has had a busy couple of weeks, and finals are coming up. I’ve been putting in a lot of reading time,” I say. I’m pretty sure I just fed Nate a bunch of excuses.

  Cass has been busy working her ass off with soccer. She hasn’t talked to her parents in weeks, and she’s not really speaking to Paige either. I talked her into filing a police report on Paul Cotterman, and it took me days to convince her it was the right thing to do. She kept saying that it would ruin her dad’s plans, but I told her that her dad’s plans sound like bullshit. If this dude ends up fighting to get his job back, then there needs to be a paper trail that lays out what a douche he is.

  All of the drama has gotten in the way of easy though. I miss easy. I miss that moment—her on my lap at the Halloween party, before Chandra set off a row of dominoes that tipped over every ray of sunshine in Cass’s life, replacing it with a cloud. I don’t know how to make her sun shine through again. The power doesn’t rest with me, and the small places where it does, I just mess it up.

  “Hey, thanks for inviting Rowe to Thanksgiving by the way. That didn’t hurt Cass’s feelings or anything,” I say, throwing my rolled up dirty socks at my brother.

  “First of all, fuck you very much. Second of all, you like Rowe. She needed a place to go, and I want her with me. If it’s such a big deal, then suck it up and invite Cass,” he says, throwing my dirty laundry back in my lap.

  I’d love to invite Cass. I almost did. But Kelly’s been calling me every night lately. Jared’s been disappearing more often. He told her he’s taking a class, something for his sales position. I promised Kelly I’d get to the bottom of it for her when I come home, and having Cass there…that complicates things.

  I flop back on my bed and sigh, loudly enough for Nate to hear and chuckle at my helplessness. I’m helpless—utterly lost on the relationship roadmap; I’m off the grid.

  “Is this why Tyson Preeter doesn’t do girlfriends?” Nate jokes, absolutely loving every second of my stress. “What is it you always say? Relationships are full of…fussy fuss?”

  “Oh, ha ha ha. You just love throwing that saying back in my face. Yes, I didn’t do girlfriends. And now I do. And look—right smack dab in the middle of a pile of fussy fuss. Fussy fuss all over the goddamned place! It’s making me nuts!” I say, my arms stretched above my head, holding the invisible weight of everything.

  “Yeah…but you love it,” Nate says, and I pause, not looking at him, not willing to answer aloud, but also unable to stop the smile that takes over my face because yeah, I love it. And I love her, too. I’m screwed.

  Cass

  It really hit me when I watched Rowe pack. She’s going home with Nate for
the holiday. I’m going home to a house full of people I don’t want to talk to, and riding on the plane next to a sister I want to choke. I’ll be in California for almost a full week, but I’d so much rather stay here, in my dorm room, alone.

  “How about I just put you in my suitcase,” Rowe jokes, zipping her small bag closed.

  I pull my knees in close to my body, tucking my neck in, and trying to make myself small. “What do you think? Will I fit?” I ask, knowing I won’t. I don’t fit lots of places.

  “Hmmmm, it might be a tight squeeze. I bet if I borrowed one of Paige’s bags I could get you in,” she says. I know it’s only a joke, but it still makes my stomach roll thinking about the plane ride I’m going to have to endure.

  “Ugh, Paige,” I let out, surprising myself.

  “Trouble in twinland lately, huh?” Rowe says, sitting next to me and pulling her knees in close. We both roll back like balls. I joked with her that this was my version of Pilates once, and ever since then, it’s become our thing.

  “I’m sort of mad at Paige,” I admit, still holding my knees in to my chest, rolling to the side, knocking into Rowe. She nudges me upright with her leg, and we pull ourselves up to sitting, just to roll backward again.

  “I noticed I haven’t seen her around. I thought it was maybe just because she has a new boyfriend,” Rowe says.

  “That’s part of it. When she’s into a guy, everything else disappears. But honestly, I couldn’t care less right now. I kind of welcome the excuse not to have to talk to her,” I say, my eyes focusing on a small star sticker above my bed, left by the person who stayed in this room before me, or maybe it was left well before then. I plan on leaving it behind when I leave in the spring—someone else deserves to stare at it when they think too.