Page 81 of Tiny Fractures

Two days ago, while I was on the phone with Cat, she hunted me down in my room, which she doesn’t usually invade, but it turns out she had a shit day and was looking for a fight. Well, she found the perfect fucking excuse when she went to make herself a drink and found the almost-empty bottle of Jack neatly placed in the back of the sideboard. She obviously figured I was the one sneaking drinks—and for once she came to the right conclusion—and came storming into my room. I took one look at her face and the bottle of whiskey in her hand and knew my night would end in pain. And so it did. My right side, just above my hip bone, is adorned with two bruised streaks where she hit me with the whiskey bottle seventeen times. I always count her hits. Always. I started doing it when I was maybe twelve as a way to distract myself, to withstand her terror in an effort not to show weakness.

I take my time under the shower, washing myself thoroughly, brushing my teeth. By the time I get out of the shower twenty minutes later, the small space is steamed up. I grab a towel and tie it around my waist. Just in time, too, because just as I tug the end into the towel, the door to Steve’s room flies open and Vada is standing in front of me, ogling my naked chest, grinning.

“Jesus, Vada! A little privacy?” I growl.

“Cat is going to go nuts when she sees you naked for the first time,” Vada says, grinning.

I grab the doorknob and force the door shut.

I walk into my bedroom, knowing that if Vada is here, Cat must be, too. Vada was going to drop Cat off here so she could ride with me, Shane, and Tori while Steve and Vada drive in Vada’s Ford. Cat’s mom made Cat leave her car in North Carolina when they moved to New York because she didn’t think more than one car was feasible in the city. She’s not wrong, but Cat isn’t too pleased that she has to rely on other people for rides. I rather enjoy it because it means I get to drive Cat and therefore have more time to spend with her. And knowing she’s in my house now makes me smile.

Oh crap! The smile is wiped off my stupid face when I realize that Cat being here, but not with Vada in Steve’s room or mine, must mean that Vada left Cat to fend for herself with my mother. Shit, shit, FUCK! I hastily throw on a fresh pair of pants and pull a navy shirt over my head. Yanking my bedroom door open, I hurl myself barefoot down the flight of stairs, whip around the corner to the hallway and into the kitchen, where I find Cat leaning against the kitchen counter, chatting with my dad.

She’s a sight for sore eyes, and I suddenly realize how much her fairly short absence actually wore on me.

“Hi,” she says as she turns toward me, the wide smile on her full lips, her sweet voice immediately relieving the anxiety clawing in my chest. She takes three steps toward me, and I close the distance between us to pull her into my arms, burying my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her as she wraps her arms around me. Although we talked for a little while last night after she returned home from Buffalo and while I was on break at work, it’s the first time I’ve seen her in almost a week. Contentment washes through me as I bask in her physical presence.

“Hey,” I breathe against her, relieved, forcing the breath trapped in my chest out through my mouth. “God, I’m glad you’re back,” I tell her, meaning every single word. I feel my shoulders relax and I lift my head. Her hands unravel from my neck, allowing me to take one and interlace my fingers with hers. I stare into her eyes, the gold specks pronounced in the light streaming in through the kitchen window, before turning my attention to my dad.

“I didn’t know you were coming home today,” I say to him, unable to hide my surprise.

“Just over July Fourth,” my dad says. “I’m flying to D.C. on Monday. But I’m glad I’m home and get to meet Cat.” He smiles at Cat, who’s fucking stunning in a tight white t-shirt, a pair of distressed cutoff shorts that show off her long, smooth legs, and a pair of strappy black sandals.

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” my dad says to me, smiling, clearly pleased with my relationship status.

“You’re not really home enough for me to tell you these things,” I say.

The door to the garage opens behind my dad, and my mom steps through carrying two bags filled with groceries. My dad turns around and moves toward her, taking the bags out of her hands. My mom is all smiles, relaxed and happy, as always when my dad is home. She spots Cat next to me, and her eyes narrow as she looks from me to Cat and back again, pausing on our interlaced hands.

“Mom, this is Cat. I think you met her a few weeks ago,” I say, then look at Cat. “Baby, this is my mom.”

Cat’s sweet, innocent smile tears me apart, and my heart feels like it’s in a vise as both the very best and the very worst parts of my life collide—standing, facing each other in my house. Cat extends her hand toward my mom and shakes it, introducing herself again. Perfect Southern manners.

“You and Ronan are together?” my mom asks, her voice kind. I tense, but Cat nods, smiling as she leans her head against my shoulder. “How long has this been going on? Ronan never said he was seeing anyone.”

Cat turns her head to look at me and I can see the confusion and disappointment in her eyes. She must think I’m embarrassed of her, when in reality I just want to protect her.

“Just haven’t had a chance yet, Mom,” I say through clenched teeth.

Cat, picking up on my strained tone, squints her eyes at me, trying to read me.

“Well, Rica, you aren’t the only one who didn’t know,” my dad chimes in as he unloads the grocery bags and begins putting things into the refrigerator. “But hey”—he stops and gives my mother a quick kiss on the cheek—“from what I can tell, our son has excellent taste in girls.”

At this comment, Cat’s cheeks take on my favorite rosy hue. I smile, brushing my thumb across her cheek, gaining me an approving grunt from my dad, who observes us with pride in his eyes.

“Cat was telling me you’re heading to the Hamptons for beach camping over the Fourth,” my dad says, bustling about the kitchen, putting away the last purchases while my mom busies herself brewing some fresh coffee.

“Yeah.” I’m unwilling to let go of Cat’s hand; she’s my anchor, and I feel immense calm with her by my side. “Shane and Steve are coming, too.”

“Great,” my dad says, then presses his lips together, obviously hesitant. “I know I don’t need to say this to you, Ran”—his eyes dart briefly to Cat—“but, you know, please use protection.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Dad,” I sigh, rubbing my hand across my face.

Cat blushes violently, tightening her hold on my hand, embarrassed.

“Ronan!” my mother warns me, as if she doesn’t constantly cuss at me.

“It’s okay, Rica,” my dad assuages her with a laugh, waving her off.

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