“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.
My muscles go rigid. I’m half mad at him for how he acted and half mad at myself for needing him. I shouldn’t need him or anyone…though is it okay to lean? I don’t know, especially since I don’t know how he feels.
Little flashes blip through my mind. Did I tell him I love him? I think I did. Or maybe I just said the words in my head. My pulse starts going crazy.
“Tiny Dancer…” Colt whispers in my ear. I smile at the name. His hand finds its way under my shirt as he brushes his thumb back and forth on my belly.
Smile or not, I don’t reply, hoping he’ll think I’m still asleep. Maybe I didn’t say them. We need to talk. I know it, but there’s so much going on in my head—in our lives, that I don’t even know where to start. All I know is I have questions for him, but I’m not sure I’m ready to answer any.
“Is this what guys talk about when their girl pretends to sleep because she’s not in the mood for sex? I promise, you’ll enjoy yourself.”
This makes me chuckle, which I realize was his point. Who is this man and how do I know him so well? When did it happen and how can someone be so much more than you ever thought they could be?
We’re both quiet for a minute. I hear the wheels turning in his head, matching the beat to the ones in mine. We have his mom to discuss, and jail, freak outs, and my possible half-asleep confession. Why the hell can’t it be easy?
“Sounds like the party died down,” I say, thinking it’s the safest thing to talk about. There’s no music pounding through the walls anymore.
“I’m an asshole,” is Colt’s reply. And he is…but he isn’t at the same time. His hand is still under my shirt, his lips press against my neck. I think it’s easier this way—our darkness like he said. Easier to hide and easier for us to come clean in these shadows too.
“You are…but I understand. You were just protecting your mom.”