Page 129 of Fair Catch

I blanch before my face contorts in a grimace. “You’re telling me they’re doing it on the couch where we all hang out? Or in the kitchen where wecook?”

My best friend shrugs, holding up his hands. “All I’m saying is Theo might’ve been quick to call me out for my semi-public sexcapades, but he should be thankful I haven’t returned the favor.”

“Jesus Christ. This place might as well be a fucking brothel,” I mutter, shaking my head.

“Believe me, Kase, you don’t know the half of it.”

Thirty-Four

Hayes

March

It’s been just over a month since Kason moved out, and I’m coping no better now than I was the first morning I woke up alone to find him, and his stuff, gone. Which merely translates to shutting down emotionally on all levels, refusing to feel a goddamn thing other than empty inside.

It’s not my best strategy, I’ll admit, but it seems to be the only way from losing it completely. So I’m pushing through the pain, shoving the heartbreak down, boxing up the haunting memories and locking them away.

School work has been the best distraction of all, throwing myself back into my studies, but now that I’ve managed to finish all the reading forallmy classes through the rest of the term, I’m not left with much else to keep my mind occupied.

So now it just wanders. At all hours, but only to one place.

Kason.

And it fucking hurts, a constant, aching weight on my chest that never seems to subside. The kind that only grows the more I try not to think about it, making its presence known at any given moment, and often, the most inopportune. Like when I realize I haven’t eaten in nearly a day, only to find fucking Reese’s Pieces in the closest vending machine to my next class.

Moments like that, I flip my brain into autopilot. Try to numb the ache as best I can, all while knowing the only way for it to truly stop hurting is to let it out.

Ineedto get it out.

Which is why on the third day in a row that I’ve refused to even leave the apartment, let alone my bed, I find myself typing out a text to Quinton.

Me: You got a minute?

Q: About thirty, actually. What’s up?

Taking it as free reign to call, I hit the FaceTime button instead of texting back, only for Quinton’s face to appear on the screen moments later, clearly in the car and looking over at Oakley in the driver’s seat.

“Where are you going?”

“Practice. You’re on speaker too, by the way, and interrupting our jam session, so this better be—” Whatever ribbing comment he has on his tongue falls short when he finally looks at his screen and sees me. “What’s going on?”

My jaw tics, and the words leave my lips in a gruff whisper. “My mom and dad tried to pay off Kason to break up with me.”

Q blinks a couple times, processing my statement that no doubt seems as far-fetched as aliens riding unicorns. After all, I can hardly believe it myself.

But then he lets out a sharp laugh and shakes his head. “What in the ever-loving fuck is wrong with our parents?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” I mutter, rubbing my forehead. “It’s some shit I’d expect from yours, not mine. No offense.”

Snorting, he replies, “None taken. I know this apple falls far,farfrom their trees.”

“How the fuck do you manage to make everything sound perverted?” asks Oakley’s disembodied voice from the driver’s side of the car.

Quinton smirks, looking at his boyfriend. “God given talent, obviously. One of the many things I excel at more than you.” Returning his attention to me, he quickly reverts to the subject at hand. “So obviously from the state of your facial hair, Kason didn’t exactly tell them to fuck off and eat shit when they made this offer.”

“No, he did,” I mutter, my head falling back against my headboard. “That’s when they threatened to cut me off instead.”

“Holy shit,” Oakley mutters and at the same time Quinton shouts, “Why is it you never tell me anything anymore!”

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