Page 69 of My Best Bet

“Not anymore, that's what the painkillers are for. Ta da.” She grinned, knowing that she won the argument.

“It’s not funny,” I said gruffly. “I’m really upset right now.”

She pushed me back down on the bed and laid back on top of me. “It’s fine. It’s healing.”

I took a deep breath, trying to settle my frustration. “How did it happen?”

“A lift went wrong, fell right on my hip.”

“Jesus.” I started gently massaging the area, wondering how the hell I should handle everything she just told me. Andy, the pills, the bruise…Fuck.

For the first time in our relationship, it felt like we weren’t on the same page, and it was because of outside forces– namely Andy and fucking figure skating.

16.Colt - Always an Angel

Around 9pm, I finally woke up. I pulled on a t-shirt then immediately walked over to Lucy’s room. After quietly creaking her door open, I breathed a sigh of relief. She was clean, tucked in bed, and peacefully sleeping, and I had Mer to thank. It was slightly embarrassing that I asked her for help, but I was just trying to survive at the time.

Walking down the stairs, I was grateful that I finally felt like I had my legs back under me.

In the living room, JP and Kappy were both fast asleep on the couches. Mer was awake and snuggled up in the corner of my couch with one of my blankets, her brown hair in a messy bun. She was watching a movie, but her eyes were threatening to close and her head kept falling. Something about seeing her so comfortable and at peace in my space filled my chest with pride.

On my last step, the stairs creaked under my weight, and she snapped her neck to look at me.

“Oh, you’re up.” She rubbed her sleepy eyes and gave me a kind smile. “Feeling any better?”

“Yeah,” I scrubbed a hand through my messy hair, trying to shake the déjà-vu. “Thank you,” I said with a sheepish grin. “Just grabbing some water.”

I went to the kitchen and felt her trailing in after me. “Hot chocolate?” I offered.

“You know I’d never say no to that,” she said with a light laugh.

I grinned. “Glad that hasn't changed.” I pulled an island stool out for her and thanked the Lord that I still kept my pantry stocked with the kind that she liked.

Back when we were about seventeen, I made hot chocolate for her at my mom’s house, not realizing it was some fancy raspberry dark chocolate blend that my mom bought and hated. Mer loved it so much that I made a note to always have it on hand for her.

Even after we broke up, I couldn’t make myself get rid of the hot chocolate; it’d just get pushed to the back of every pantry I ever used– just in case. About a year ago, Lucy found the package and begged me to make some for her– probably just because it had pink packaging. At the time, it kind of felt like a sick joke– but as I stirred the mix and the smell wafted in the air, the good memories hit me like a ton of bricks. The way her eyes would light up with excitement when she saw I bought it for her, the way she’d do a cute little dance with her eyes closed after her first sip, the way she’d carefully place the mug down so she could lay on top of me for cuddles.

Instead of pushing the memories away, I lived in them for a moment and felt immense gratitude. Because of her, I experienced young love, the kind that wraps you up and consumes you, makes you feel like you’re living in technicolor as you experience all your firsts together. I had to be grateful, because I knew with confidence that many people, my parents included, never experienced that kind of innocent love.

While pulling down a mug from the cabinet, I snuck a glance at her.

The old me would be so distracted by her presence that I’d forget everything else. I’d grab her hips and her legs would wrap around my waist, and we’d make out right here in the kitchen. My hands would smooth up her hoodie to feel her warm skin and I imagined it’d feel soright.

My eyes snagged on the hoodie she was wearing, making me do a double-take, and my brain practically malfunctioned. Because her wearingthatwas all sorts ofwrong.

“You have to take that off,” I blurted out.

She looked down at the hoodie in confusion.

“You cannot be wearing Kappy’s hoodie right now,” I said. “Thought this was a fucking dream, not a nightmare,” I muttered under my breath.

Her face was lined with worry. “Oh, you think he’ll be mad? I’m sorry, Lucy got a little throw up on my coaching jacket, and I was cold. I snagged it from the couch, and I–”

“No,I’mmad,” I blurted out, raking a hand over my hair.

“Oh?” Then it seemed to dawn on her what I meant. She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “You can’t be serious?”

I gave her a hard look that saidyou bet I am, which just made her giggle more, then I stormed into the laundry room to fish out a clean hoodie of mine.

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