‘Good. That’s all I want for you – nothing but fun.’ His breath catches. ‘You deserve to be happy.’
I angle my chin up to look him in the eye. ‘I am happy.’ Unlike him. He looks like he’s in pain, on the verge of crying. ‘Who was texting you?’
He shuts his eyes and shakes his head. ‘I don’t want to talk about it tonight, don’t want to make another one of your nights depressing.’
Where the heck is this coming from?
‘You don’t make any of my nights depressing. What the fuck, Kayden?’ It’s rare for me to curse, so when I do, it has a purpose. Right now, I’m panicking because he looks like a guy that’s about to break up with his girlfriend. ‘A-are you b-breaking up with me?’
His eyes snap wide in horror. ‘What? No! Why the hell would you say that?’
‘Because you look like you’re about to!’
‘I would never say that to you! Ever!’
We’re yelling over the music and I hate it. We never yell, even behind doors, only talk passionately. But this is yelling and it’s the worst feeling in the world.
As if he suddenly realizes we’re in a crowded place, he lowers his voice as he takes my hand. ‘Will you come with me? I have something …’ He exhales loudly and runs his free hand through his hair. ‘I have something I need to talk to you about.’
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nod then follow him off the dance floor, waving to Seth on my way. Seth gives me a concerned look and then puts his finger and thumb up to the side of his face like a phone. I nod, understanding he wants me to call him later. Then, I turn and focus on my steps because that’s easier than focusing on what the hell just caused Kayden and me to yell at each other for the first time.
After we collect our jackets from coat check, we step outside into the buzzing air that nips at my skin. I instantly slip my jacket on and zip it up, shivering as Kayden leads me to his car. He opens the passenger door for me without saying a word then rounds the car and gets in and turns on the engine, cranking up the heat. He stares out the window, gripping the steering wheel so firmly his hands begin to tremble.
‘I fucked up,’ he finally says, pulling his hands away from the wheel and wiping his palms on his jeans.
I’m about to ask him what he messed up with, but he rolls up the sleeve of his shirt and shows me the answer. Earlier, when he’d picked me up, I thought I’d noticed a piece of gauze sticking out of his shirt, but I’d stupidly gotten sidetracked by the rose and naked man and had completely forgotten to ask him about it.
God, I should have asked him.
‘What happened?’ I whisper, even though I sadly know the answer.
He shuts his eyes and rubs his hand down his face, releasing a weighted breath. ‘I was feeling a lot of pressure lately and instead of dealing with it, I let it eat away at me. Then some shit happened today … and I … I sort of just lost it.’ He opens his eyes, but looks ahead instead of at me. ‘That’s why I was able to pick you up today. I had to miss practice so I could go talk to my therapist.’
I know therapy is good for him, glad he does it, but still, sometimes I wish he’d talk to me, too, about stuff.
‘What was the stuff that happened today? Or do you not want to talk about it?’
He rubs his hand down his face again, this time so roughly I’m worried he’s doing it to cause himself physical pain. ‘I should have talked to you to begin with, instead of doing what I did. The therapist says it happens, though. Relapses happen.’ He squeezes his eyes closed, a tear or two slips out. I’m not sure what to do or say, if there’s anything I can do or say since I don’t know what this is about. I know enough to know his cutting comes when he doesn’t want to feel an emotional pain, but what caused him emotional pain?
I’m about to ask him, to try to get him to talk to me again, but this time he gives it to me without me asking. His eyes open and he looks at me, not bothering to hide the tears. ‘Dylan found my mother and father.’
Chapter 9
#145 Fall in Love with the Same Person Again.
Kayden
I’ve always been good at pretending. I pretended that my father wasn’t an abusive asshole for eighteen years of my life. That my mother wasn’t a sedated zombie for the same amount of time. For twelve years, I pretended that I didn’t cut myself because physical pain was easier than emotional. Pretending in front of Callie has always been hard, though. She’s not so easily persuaded to believe things she knows aren’t real just because it’s easier to deal with than the ugly truth.