Page 35 of Tiny Fractures

When we pull up to Shane’s house, Zack, Summer, and Cheyenne are already there. Steve and I get out of our respective cars and head toward the open garage where Shane is taping a large cardboard box shut.

“Man, I thought you weren’t gonna show.” Shane heads toward us, and his eyes momentarily flick to a baseball-sized bruise on my right forearm—the result of a confrontation with my mom yesterday afternoon when Steve was out with Vada and before I left for work.

“Dude, it’s ten minutes after eight,” Steve says, before Shane can ask me about what happened. “We’re not that late!”

“Whatever. Most of the stuff is packed; we just need to get it over to my apartment,” Shane instructs us, and we walk after him through the garage into the house.

As I imagined, it gets hot quickly, adding to the suffocating humidity, and I’m drenched in sweat twenty minutes later. I’m schlepping boxes from Shane’s room to my car while Steve, Shane, Zack, and Cheyenne make trips to Shane’s place to unload. I have two boxes stacked up and I’m carrying them out of Shane’s room, unable to see, when I run into someone with enough force that I stumble back and fall on my ass, hitting my head hard on the doorframe.

“Oh shoot, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you coming around the corner,” Cat says, hurrying toward me with her hand extended to help me up.

It’s the first time I’ve seen her since falling asleep next to her. Her long blonde hair is braided back today, revealing her delicate neck and flawless skin. She’s wearing tight jeans and a cropped scoop-neck shirt that slides off her left shoulder. As she moves close to me, I can see little beads of sweat running from her neck over her collarbone and down to her chest, where they disappear under her shirt.

My heart thumps stupidly in my chest and my breathing is amplified as I take in her sexy figure. She bends over toward me and her scoop-neck plunges down, giving me the perfect view of her black lacy bra and the swell of her breasts. I swallow and force myself to look up into her face before I grab her hand and feel her heat against my skin.

She grunts, trying to hoist me up, and I laugh because she has such a small frame. I help her out by pushing myself up with my other hand, and she stumbles backwards. My hands snap forward just in time, and I steady her with my fingers on her hips.

Her eyes are big, and I can’t tell if it’s because she almost fell or because of my hands on her hips. My thumbs and index fingers touch the bare skin just above the top of her jeans where her cropped shirt doesn’t reach.

“Thank you,” she says, slightly breathless.

“Thank you for helping me up,” I say, looking into her eyes, trying to figure out if they’re brown or green. A wave of heat washes through me as I take in her eyes, her full lips, her neck, her shirt that’s clinging to her damp skin, all the way down to her tight jeans that show off her long legs. God, why does she have to be so perfect?

“Are you alright?” She examines my face, concern in her eyes.

“I’m fine,” I say, rubbing the back of my head with my right hand. I’m still holding on to her with my left, unwilling to let go of her just yet.

“How about you? Did I hurt you?” I ask, scanning her face for obvious signs of injury. She shakes her head and peeks into the empty room behind me. “These are the last two boxes.” I motion toward the two boxes that were just in my arms and are now on the floor, not taking my eyes off hers.

Looking into her eyes is almost like looking into a mirror. I’ve noticed it before: despite the brightness in her eyes, there’s something dark, something hidden—a hint of defeat that’s so damn familiar to me. It stares me in the face every time I see my reflection, and it makes me wonder what happened to her. But what’s more unsettling to me is that it makes me want to protect her. From what, exactly, I’m not sure of.

“Do you want to help me get these to my car and then head over to Shane’s new place?” I ask, hoping she’ll agree to ride with me.

She hesitates for a moment, then smiles and nods her head. “Yeah, okay. I’ll text Vada that she doesn’t have to come back for me, then.”

“Great, I’ll meet you downstairs.”

I restack the last two boxes and am on my way out when she reaches for me. “Wait, let me take one of these,” she says, and I let her grab the box balanced on top of the other. Together we make our way down the stairs and to my car, where we deposit the boxes in the backseat. I stop to open the passenger door of my car for her and watch her slide into the seat before closing the door behind her and making my way around the front.

“I never thanked you for… for the other night,” Cat says the moment I start the engine.

“You don’t have to thank me,” I say. “If anything, I should thank you for passing out when you did. I’d probably be in jail otherwise,” I joke, trying to relieve the tension that has visibly seized Cat’s freckled shoulders. I don’t want her to feel tense around me.

“You’re welcome,” she giggles, making me smile. “That was totally planned,” she adds, and I laugh.

“I figured as much. Trying to keep me out of trouble?”

“Yeah, you know, just your everyday heroine,” she says with a bright smile.

I don’t exactly know why I say it, but I suddenly feel like Cat needs to know. “I didn’t sleep with her.” I glance at Cat as I drive.

She creases her brow, obviously not understanding.

“With Sophie. Saturday night,” I say. “When… When I saw you sitting by the bar, you asked me if I was already done with her and… I didn’t sleep with her.”

Cat’s eyes widen, her lips parting with comprehension. She looks ashamed.

“I just thought you should know,” I add, remembering the pained look in Cat’s eyes, the strained tone of her voice when she asked me about Sophie. It was like me disappearing into that room for a one-night stand caused Cat pain, which I never meant to do, if that’s the effect it even had on her. I don’t know.

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