You and Everything After(60)

I follow her to the door, and just before she opens it, I reach for her back pocket and tug, trying to get her close to me. Maybe also trying to add a little of her calming serum to my boiling blood.

“Ty, don’t,” she says, shrugging me off.

“Right. Got it. Wouldn’t dream of touching you, princess,” I say under my breath, moving by her to the elevator so I can be alone with her in an even more confined space. Yeah, tonight should be fun.

I’m careful to keep the conversation on her game, on her training, and her plans now that she’s been offered the spot. She seems willing to talk about this stuff. But her answers are still clipped.

We get to Sally’s, and the wait is an hour. Surprise.

“Why are you so cranky?” she asks. Seriously? She initiates a conversation for the first time all night…and this? She asks me why I’m cranky? Pokes the fucking starved-ass bear?

“I was hungry…an hour ago,” I say, every acid-laced word that comes out of my mouth making me feel bad. Why are we fighting? Why can’t I stop? Why won’t she stop?

“I gave you a snack,” she says, standing from the wooden bench she’s been sitting on for the last ten minutes while we wait. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

I don’t say a word when she leaves. I do my best to smile, my inner voice coaching me not to make things worse. Maybe this can be a reset button—when Cass comes back, we’ll just start over. Begin at normal.

She’s gone for almost ten minutes, at least, that’s how long I’m guessing she’s been gone, because I realize that she still has my watch. Which, of course, pisses me off. I make sure it’s the first thing I ask when she returns.

“Hey, where’s my watch?” I probably could have said that better. I’d feel guilty, but she’s suddenly frozen, as in not breathing. Her eyes widen—it’s the slightest difference, but I see it. I’m a great poker player, and I look for these things when I’m reading someone. Cass just showed her cards, and she doesn’t even know it.

“My…watch?” I ask again, eyebrow cocked. Her eyes fade now, her mouth dropping into an even line. She looks sick.

“Ty, I…” she starts, looking into her lap where her hands are tugging at the edges of her sleeves, pulling the fabric over her wrists, her wrists where normally my watch should be.

“You have my watch, don’t you? Cass, this isn’t funny. Tell me you have my watch,” I demand. She doesn’t’ have it. I know she doesn’t. I knew it the moment her breath stopped.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” It’s a rhetorical question, so I don’t bother to hold her eye contact to wait for her answer. My hands are in my hair, my hat tossed on my lap while I try to imagine how I’m going to be whole again.

Somewhere…somewhere deep inside…there is still a faint voice that is telling me it’s just a watch. That voice is trying to be heard, trying to tell me that this isn’t Cass’s fault, accidents happen, it’s okay…and I might love this girl. Don’t fuck it up over a watch.

I step on that voice. Then I kick it in the groin, and shove it in an alley.

“Did you lose it? I mean…do you at least know where the fuck it is?” I ask. I’m lost to the asshole now. There’s no coming back out of this gracefully.

“Ty… please. Don’t talk to me like that,” she says, and for a small second or two, my voice, the good voice, pipes in telling me she’s right. I kick it again.

“Cass,” I take a deep breath, bringing my voice down to a calm tone because that’s really the least I could do. I don’t need to make this a show for everyone else. I lean forward to her, my hands folded together while my elbows rest on my knees, my wrist bare. “When you give someone something…let them borrow something…say something that might have a certain sentimental value to it—you kind of make this verbal contract. Do you follow me?”

“Ty, I’m sorry. I left it in the classroom. I’m sure it’s there. I’ll get it,” she’s talking, but I’m not hearing. All of my senses are closed off. The asshole has moved in, and he ain’t budging.

“Go on. Go get it,” I say, like there’s any chance that could really happen. Fuck, why can’t I stop this?

“Ty, you know I can’t right now. I’ll go, first thing Monday morning. I’ll get up early,” she looks flustered. Shit. I did this.

“Fine,” I say, sulking back into my chair. I watch her open her mouth to talk at least six times, each time lying back in her seat, unable to let the words out. I’ve stunned her, and I’m such an asshole that I’m proud of it. And then it comes crashing down all at once. I’m blinded by cold hands with manicured nails and a voice behind me hell-bent on ruining any hope I might be clinging to.