Page 167 of Did They Break You

She takes about two seconds to respond and my smile hurts my face as I read her reply.

My Baby

Come see me then.

I’ve gotthe truck packed with my shit, a tent, blankets, matches and graham crackers but no chocolate. Just Reese’s. Ideally, we’d do this kind of thing on the weekend, but since I’m meeting with dad and I can’t miss my game Saturday, I guess that’s not going to happen.

Practice, though? I might blow that shit off for the rest of the week.

I think about Remi cheering at West River as I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, twisting off the cap.

She was so fucking adorable in her teal and black uniform, her hair in two braids, that smile on her face. Looking over from the sidelines to see her watching the game made me play harder every time. And after every game, when that clock ran down, I’d catch her eye first, see her nod toward me before my team circled around me.

It was our unspokenthing.

I don’t blame her for not going now. After what we did, she probably has no interest in being anywhere near a football stadium again. Still, to see her watch me play one more game… I don’t think I could come down from that high.

“Where are you going?” Storm’s quiet voice snaps me back to the present and I nearly choke on my water.

I swallow it down, wipe the back of my hand over my mouth and twist the cap back on, fisting the bottle as Storm opens up the cabinet, grabbing a plate. My mom bought those. She pays for nearly everything in this house, but Storm has money too.

Mom would cut me off in a heartbeat if she knew where I was going tonight. Who I was with this weekend.

I don’t care.

I have that money from my grandpa in savings and I spent a few summers helping my uncle do renovations back in WV. I enjoyed getting lost in the physical labor. Transforming lackluster places to something better.

I’d do it all again here too, if I had to. When all is said and done, I have a feeling I’m not getting that fucking trust fund, and no college major really interests me. There’s construction management, but I think that’s bullshit. You don’t need a degree for that.Get out and do it.

Mom wants me to go pro. I don’t want to sell my body to the highest bidder. At least with manual labor, I could control my own time. My own limits. Not risk a concussion that could ruin my life before I hit thirty. Besides, making a hobby a profession steals all the magic from it. Your free time becomes paid time, sucking all the joy from something that you used to find freedom in.

I never wanna loathe the game.

Storm has his shirt off and his muscles flex as he pulls out a tub of spaghetti, nudging the fridge closed with his hip, then doling out the pasta on his plate.He made that.

I feel a little embarrassed that I can’t cook worth shit. Mom never did, but Dad was on top of it, preparing everything before he went on the road too.

Briefly, I wonder if Remi can cook. I never got to find out.

Maybe tonight I’ll ask her. Imagining her in my kitchen, making food for me…

Fuck.

“Out,” I tell Storm evasively, finally answering his question.

He drops his fork in the plastic container, then puts his plate in the microwave, setting the timer and turning to face me while it hums behind him, heating up his dinner. He’s got his palms behind him on the white counter, and I see the tattoos all along his chest, crawling up his neck.

I’m starving and the smell of the pasta makes my stomach growl, but I want to get food with Remi.

Storm’s baby blue eyes lock on mine, and he asks, “You going to see her?”

I grip the bottle tighter in my hand, the plastic crinkling as I fist my free hand and tap it on the island, staring at him, his expression unreadable. We haven’t spoken much about Chase. Or Maya.

“Yeah,” I tell him, “I am.” I think about Storm on the team. He was a running back, and played well enough, but he never loved it. I think he just did it because he could. A homeschooled, quiet kid trying out for a small-town football team and getting a starting position? Storm loves that kind offuck youirony.

“You worried?” he asks me directly, cocking his head.

I shrug, not wanting to admit it, but Storm is my best friend. I know he has my back. I know the shit he does now is illegal, even though he never talks about it, never keeps drugs at the house, but if he can trust me with that, I can talk about this. “I don’t want her to get hurt.”

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