Cade
There wasa calmness to the snow that I relished. The stark whiteness, the bone-cold lingering touch of the air that cooled your heated skin, the pliable feeling of it as you stood over it. Even in the middle of a lacrosse game, with the havoc of two teams fighting for victory and the mayhem of the student section that sat high up on the snowy hill, it was still calming to feel the cold flurries falling on top of you. Except, I wasn’t calm. My heart was thumping violently, and my head was spinning like a car sliding too fast on black ice. Blood rushed to my flesh, and even if I lay down on this snowy field, it wouldn’t cool me down in the slightest.
Journey was back, and I was in complete disarray.
She said one single sentence to me, and that was all it took for me to need a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. Her skin was soft against my hand, and it took every ounce of self-restraint not to push her farther into the door and swallow her words. The beating muscle that I tried to ignore, nestled deep inside my chest, flipped with the parting of her lips, and her warm gasp hit me like a sucker punch to the jaw. She felt so delicate in my grasp, but she felt heavy, too. There was a fleeting glimpse of fear buried deep in her gray eyes, and it sucked every bit of worry that I could produce from me and made an atomic bomb from it.
Why is she afraid of me?
Where was the girl who chased after the bright, fiery glow of disobedience with me? Where was the girl who drank off of my rebellion to feed her own? Where was the girl that gave every inch of herself to me?
But had she?
There were questions unanswered and assumptions that had been made. Trust had been broken, and a wedge of hushed secrets formed between us, thus leading to this moment right here, with her avoiding my gaze as I stared up at her from the middle of my lacrosse game.
“What the hell are you doing, Cade?”
I ignored Coach’s gruff voice and kept my eyes on the top bleacher. His voice had pissed me off from the very beginning because it reminded me of my father, and any reminder of him was one too many. A small, scarce feeling of happiness filled me over the fact that Journey was back in her rightful spot on those bleachers with her friends. Sloane sat on one side of her, Mercedes on the other, and then Gemma to the left. If there were other groups of girls around, I hadn’t noticed. Journey stole my attention. My gaze always seemed to find her, and I’d watch with pure, rapt attention, focusing on the smallest of mannerisms. Like the way her now-hollow cheeks and tiny nose were dipped in pink from the bite of winter air. Even when Journey was gone, I still followed the ghost of her, seeing a whiz of long, sandy-colored hair behind every lurking corner of St. Mary’s, or hearing her voice late at night as I stood in the middle of the courtyard, wondering what had happened to cause her to leave.
A whistle blew, and my eyes flared when Journey’s attention came directly to me. The whirl of the ball flew over my head as I gripped my crosse with my numb fingers.
“Cade, snap the fuck out of it.”
There were cheers erupting. Everyone around Journey jumped up and clapped, all gleaming down at the field. Journey didn’t stand, nor did she clap. Instead, she stared directly at me, and I stared directly at her. What’s got you so scared, Journ?
Her head turned at the same time Brantley’s wild eyes popped up in front of my face. “Cade, Coach is about to snap you in half. You just stood here for the last twenty seconds of the game like a fucking pussy-whipped bitch.”
I grumbled, feeling a growl tear out of my chest at the fact that Journey looked away. “I’d like to see him try.”
Brantley sighed agitatedly, annoyed down to his core. “Goddamn, here we go again. Two Rebels down, two to go.” He threw his hands up in the air and stalked off the field, ripping off his gloves with frustration.
The next time I looked up at the bleachers, the girls were gone, and the disappointment was heavy. I dropped my head, evening my breath so I didn’t punch Coach in the face, which would take a great deal of control—something I’d been mastering since Journey left. Because let’s be honest, I’d like to punch just about every person I came into contact with.
I hastily turned around, the light dusting of snow that surrounded me disappearing with my heavy steps. My crosse was glued to my hand as a way to bring me back to reality, and instead of feeding Coach’s ego and allowing him to yell at me for not playing the last twenty seconds of the game, I swiftly walked right past him, keeping my eyes on St. Mary’s so I could dive into the shower to wash away the buildup of regret.
Isaiah caught up within seconds. I felt his eager questions before he even stepped in stride with me.
Isaiah had technically been set to be my boss before everything had gone down with Gemma just a month ago. Together, the Rebels and I sent our fathers to prison, but there were lingering whispers of threats from people in the business, and Isaiah was still brimming with authority. Who could blame him? We were all raised to be replicas of our fathers, and that shit went down to the fucking bone.
“Have you talked to her?”
I kept my gaze level, heading for the school so I could stand under a hot stream of water that would do nothing but burn my flesh even more. “Hardly,” I grunted out, holding my crosse even tighter in my grasp. I could see Isaiah’s head drop slightly out of the corner of my eye, and when we made it to the locker room with our teammates close behind, he quickly turned around and eyed me sternly.
“So, what are you going to do about it? Are you here to take your girl back? Or not?”
I scoffed. “It doesn’t seem like she wants me to take her back.” Spinning around, I put my back to him and calmed my erratic breathing. My eyes closed, but instead of calming down, all I could see was her in my head with bloody wrists and a faraway expression on her face.
I spun around quickly, throwing my crosse across the locker room with pent-up anger that was ready to be unleashed. “I need to just leave her be.”
Isaiah shrugged nonchalantly, placing his crosse on the bench before sitting down. “Then, leave her be.” He scanned my face closely, watching me like he was looking for a gateway to something deeper.
“You’re not going to ask why?” I asked, treading with suspicion.
“I know why.”
Our conversations were always short and to the point, but it felt like he was beating around the bush. “What is this? Are you trying to act like Ms. Glenburg? Trying to analyze me as if you are some psychologist?”
He smirked, and I rolled my eyes.