The Junior (College Years 3)

“Okay. Whatever.” Eli shrugs, polishing off his beer. “I need to go find my girl. Good talk.”

“Oh yeah. Great talk,” I tell him as he walks away, flipping me the bird the entire way until he disappears back into the cabin.

I slump against the porch railing, sipping on my beer, thinking. Something, admittedly I’ve never been real big on.

I don’t think. I just do. I’m impulsive and rash and reckless. Fearless. All words that have described me since I was a little kid. I speak out of turn and can’t shut up. I’m always too daring. I broke my right arm twice and my left wrist. I never say no to a dare, no matter how scary it is and most of the time, I’m not even scared.

Some people might think I’m stupid, but I’m not. I just flat-out don’t give a shit. I never really have. I’m all about living life in the moment, doing whatever I want. Being scared is for pussies. I’m young and free—free to be me. Damn, that sounds corny as fuck, but it’s true.

So why the fuck does Gracie scare the absolute shit out of me?

Eli makes getting into a relationship sound so easy when I know it’s not. My dad always told me not to fall too young, too hard. Get out there and make something of yourself first. Live your life and have fun doing it. Don’t let anyone, including yourself, hold you back.

I’ve made it my mission to do exactly that. No fear. No qualms. Just—do it. I should be the face of Nike, swear to God.

But did my father ever guide me on what exactly I should do with my life? What sort of career I might consider? What I should major in, in college? Nope. He left that all on me, telling me often that I don’t want to end up like him. He’s a tire salesman for the love of God. He manages the only chain tire store in my hometown, working that retail grind. That is the last thing I want to do, and he knows it. He encouraged me to go to college, to get an education.

A realization hits me and I squint at the window in front of me, spotting Gracie. Maybe she isn’t one hundred percent invested in me because I have no drive. I’m aimless. Unsure. She’s two years older and about to embark on her new career. I know she’s nervous about it, and that’s half the reason I agreed to go shopping with her earlier.

Maybe in Gracie’s eyes, I’m still just a kid. A boy who’s fucking around and can’t be serious.

I see her inside, chatting with Hannah, her gaze going to the window every few seconds, as if she knows I’m out on the back porch. I stare at her, feeling sulky. Less than. Even…

Unworthy.

But then I really look at her. The expression on her pretty face. The wince. The way her forehead creases as she pauses in her talking, and how she bends over a little.

Almost as if she’s hurting.

Forgetting my beer, I dash back into the house, shoving past people to get into the living room, until I come to a skidding stop right in front of her and Hannah. I reach for Gracie, my hands on her elbows as I pull her close to me.

“What’s wrong?”

She’s frowning. It’s immediately replaced by another wince. “What are you talking about?”

“You look like you’re in pain.”

Her frown deepens. “I’m fine. I just—oh God.”

Gracie doubles over, a cry falling from her lips. A wave of panic washes over me, but I fight it.

“Where does it hurt?” I ask, my tone sharp.

Hannah watches us with wide eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Gracie,” I say firmly when she doesn’t answer me. “Where. Does. It. Hurt?”

She lifts her head, her expression full of agony. “Right here.” She clutches her side. “It’s just—cramps.”

We’ve lived together for almost two months and I’ve never heard her complain about cramps. But Gracie doesn’t complain about much of anything, so whatever is bothering her, it has to be pretty bad.

Without hesitation I gather her in my arms—she’s really freaking light—and carry her over to the nearby couch. There are people currently sitting on it, but they all scramble off when they see me glowering at them.

I lay her on the couch and then kneel beside her, touching her forehead. It’s cool yet damp with sweat. “How long?”

“How long what?”

“Have you been in pain? When did this start?” God, she’s so frustrating. But I need to be patient and get this out of her.