Charade (23 page)

             
“Surprise!” Chey tries to sound happy. I’m jealous of her for that. For having it in her to pretend things are okay unlike me who just gets pissed. For doing something for Mom that I should have done, but didn’t. And when she wanted it, I wouldn’t have been able to do it for her anyway.

             
“What are you doing here?” I throw at Cheyenne. She flinches and I feel like a fucking prick, but I can’t make myself take it back either.

             
“I would think that’s pretty obvious,” Chey says. I can tell she wants to say a whole lot more than that, but she’s holding off. For Mom.

             
“If you’re going to act like that, Colton, you can turn around and walk right back out of here. This isn’t Cheyenne’s fault. I wanted a tattoo and I called her. Frankly it’s none of your damn business.”

             
Mom’s words are like a slap because I want Chey to be my business and Mom always has been.

             
I step up to them and Chey walks away from the bed. I grab
M
om’s wrist and look at the swirl of letters.

             
Colton.

             
It’s simple. Plain black and not very big. It rests on her pulse point. Christ
,
it had to hurt for her to get a tattoo there.

             
But she did it. For me. She went out there were she could have gotten sick or anything could have happened. “This was stupid, Mom. Where did you go?”

             
“Nowhere,” Chey answers for her. “I wouldn’t do that. I brought someone here.”

             
I can’t make myself look at Cheyenne which makes me an even bigger asshole than I already was. I’m wearing the same clothes from yesterday. Sat my ass in jail for a baggie with a little weed while she was taking care of my mom.

             
I shouldn’t be pissed at her for that.

             
“You shouldn’t have done this,” I tell Mom. “I…” don’t want her to die. This somehow means she’s really going to fucking die.

             
“I needed to, Colt. I think it’s beautiful. I wanted to do more, but I decided simple was better.”

             
I actually want to fucking cry hearing her speak. She never calls me Colt. Never. But she is now. And she needed my name in her skin.

             
“Well, it’s my name. It has to look badass.” The words don’t feel nearly as real as I make them sound.

             
“That’s more like it,” she says. I lean down and kiss her forehead. She feels clammy.

             
“I’m going to go. It looks beautiful, Bev.” Chey walks across the room.

             
My eyes dash to Cheyenne, back to Mom and then to Cheyenne again.

             
“Maggie was about to help me clean up. Why don’t you go with Cheyenne?” Mom lies. But I do it. I grab onto that lie because I’m fucking weak.

             
“Yeah. Okay.” I look at the tattoo again. It’s red and irritated, but does look good. My name. To take me with her.

             
Anger and pain collide inside me so strong I feel like I could erupt right here.

             
“I’ll see you later.”

             
I don’t say a word to Cheyenne as we head outside. Her car is two down from mine. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it.

             
“Colt. I didn’t know what to do. She called and I couldn’t get a hold of you. But I’ll tell you right now, I don’t regret it.”

             
Is it crazy that I’m proud of her for standing up to me at the same time that I’m pissed at her? “Not now. Meet me at home.”

             
Knowing her, she won’t go. Maybe I don’t want her to. I don’t wait around to find out though. I get in the car and drive off.

             
The second I pull up I hear music blasting from inside. Just what I don’t fucking need tonight.

             
Chey pulls up behind me and slams her door. “You’re being a prick, Colt. It’s just a tattoo. You have a million of them. She’s a grown ass woman if you didn’t notice.”

             
“And she’s my mom, Chey. Mine. You should have talked to me first.”

             
“I couldn’t get a hold of you!” she screams as we stand in the dying grass. “I called you a hundred times and you didn’t answer. I didn’t—I was—don’t be pissed at me when you didn’t answer your fucking phone
!” She throws her hands in the
air as though she’s done with me.

             
And I wouldn’t blame her.

             
“Why are you so mad anyway? Is it because I’m getting too close?”

             
Christ, but she’s not close enough if you ask me and that might make me more mad. “I brought you to meet my mom, Cheyenne. That’s as close as anyone’s ever been to me.”

             
“Then what the hell is your problem!”

             
I suddenly can’t hold it in anymore. No matter how hard I want to. No matter how much I hate the words or the feeling or sharing them out loud. “What’s my problem? I spent the night in fucking
jail,
Chey. My mom asked me about the tattoo and I was too much a fucking pussy because of shit going on with us to deal with it and I took off. And then—”

             
My whole body is tense as I remember the woods. Smashing my phone. Crying. When the fuck was the last time I cried?

             
And realizing I wanted her. I really cared about this girl and then… “Yeah. Sorry if I couldn’t answer the phone. I was locked up.”

             
And this girl who means way more to me than I ever would have thought, was there for Mom when I couldn’t be.

             
I look at her dark eyes that look sad at my revelation about jail. Her plump lips, that I can only see because of the porch light behind us. Her caramel skin and remember what her skin feels like under my hands. Under my body.

             
And what I’d decided before those stupid fucking red and blue lights in my rearview.

             
That I cared about her.

Looking at her here I know it’s more than that. Fuck, how could I have fallen in love with her? With anyone?

             
“I can’t. I have—I gotta go.”

             
A voice in my head is screaming at me the whole time I’m walking away from her. Through the dying grass and opening the front door.

             
There has to be at least seventy-five people in my house, which is a whole hell of a lot, considering how small it is. I can hardly get through the crowd. The music hurts my ears. People grab and talk to me as I push my way toward the hall.

             
I don’t know what it is, but I remember that night at the party with Chey. When I found her fighting with her ex and how she freaked out and hid behind the shed.

             
Her panic. The loud music. The people.

             
“Fuck.” I turn around, hoping like hell she didn’t follow me inside. I know she’s pissed and even though my heart is slamming and I realize now I want nothing more than her with me, I hope she turned around.

             
Yeah she goes to parties often, but she always panics when she’s emotional and I was a big enough asshole to make her pretty emotional.

             
I see her stumble as she tries to make it through the crowd. Her hands are on her ears and her eyes wide.

             
Adrenaline shoots through me, fueling me as I shove people out of my way to get to her. Her little body gets squeezed between people. Nothing matters, but her.

             
“Get the fuck out of my way
,
” I say as I push people. No one can probably hear me, but it makes me feel like I’m doing something.
             

             
I get to her and put my arms around her. She might freak out and hit me, but I probably deserve it. I just need to hold her and make everything okay.

             
“It’s okay, baby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry
,
” I say in her ear. Her arms wrap around me and I let her. Chey buries her head in my chest and I push through the crowd. My room is empty like I knew it would be. That’s the one party rule. No one allowed in my room.

             
I lean against the door, fumbling to lock it and hold her at the same time. “I’m sorry. You’re okay, baby,” is all I can say over and over and over. It’s nothing. Words don’t mean shit because I obviously don’t treat her right.

             
Music still beats through the walls. Laughter and screams from the losers all through the house. I wish I could silence them all for her. Take her wherever she needs to go to come back to me.

             
“I’m going to lay you down, okay? Let’s lay down.”

             
I know she hates to be babied and hates to be seen like this. I hate that she gets like this, but…I almost feel like someone special when I help her through it.

             
With one of my hands I shove the comforter back. I lay her down, pull off her shoes, kick out of mine, and crawl in behind her. I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do or not, but I pull
the blanket over our heads. Trying to give us our own world where I don’t get pissed at stupid things, she doesn’t have anything to panic over and our moms are okay.

             
She starts to move and I’m suddenly fucking panicked she’s going to pull away from me, but she turns over and slips an arm around me. I pull her close. Wishing she could climb inside me or me her. Anything to keep her safe and be as close as we can.

             
“I’m here. I have you. Just breathe.”

             
I feel and hear her take deep breaths. Her body’s not shaking as bad as it was, but I tighten my hold on her, just to let her know I’m here and won’t let go.

             
“I hate this,” she finally says, her voice so soft I can hardly hear her. “I hate being weak.”

             
“You’re not weak. You’re so fucking strong, Cheyenne.” And not because of this. Because she just is. “You deal with shit so much better than I do.”

             
“I have panic attacks.” The words make her shake even harder again.

             
I know she needs to work through this and I know we need to talk, but right now, I just want her better. I want to ease the tension in her body and make it all go away for her.

             
“Shh. Not now. It’ll be there to talk about later.”

             
“I’m tired…so tired. I didn’t sleep last night.”

             
Guilt rips through me. Was she worried about me? Christ
,
it makes me feel like more of a prick. Too proud to use my one call. “Sleep. I got you.”

             
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

             
“Don’t be sorry. It’s not you. Shh. We’ll talk later.”

             
I kiss her head and run my hand up and down her back. “I love you,” falls from her sleepy lips. They’re so quiet, so mumbled I’m not sure if I heard her right.

             
Still, the words rock through me. Don’t make me want to run. They don’t even scare me. I don’t know what the hell I did to deserve them or even if I do, but I’m not going to walk away from them.

             
“You, too.” I don’t know if she hears me because she doesn’t reply. I’m selfish enough I mean them, though.
Which is crazy in itself. I fell for this girl and her for me.

             
Somehow, my bed and the blanket works. We’re in our own world. The music or anyone outside the room doesn’t matter. Just us.

             
I hold her while she sleeps. I don’t know how in the fuck we got here, but somehow this game is more real than anything else.

             
And I want it.

             
I fucking want it.

~CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT~

Cheyenne

             
Lips ghost across my skin. It’s dark—I think. I know there’s a blanket over me. A hard body against me and that uniquely Colt scent.

             
Colt.

The evening comes back to me. Our fight, my panic attack. Him taking care of me. Again.