Page 54 of Lost Boy

Watson pulls him into a headlock before they crash into the dresser, and I can’t help the sobs erupting from my mouth at the heartbreaking sight before me. Knowing I caused it.

My brother grabs Cade, pulling him backward. “Cut the shit, Huff,” he yells into his ear. “We’re just fucking worried!”

“Let me go!” Cade screams as he fights Hunter off.

Eventually, Hunter releases him.

Cade’s eyes sweep from Hunter to Watson to me. “You’re worried? You don’t know the fucking first thing about me tobe worried about.” He shakes his head. “I’m fucking done with hockey. And I’m done with all of you.”

As he grabs his keys from his desk and starts toward the door, I rush toward him. “Cade!” I scream, pure desperation in my voice. “Please, stop!”

He doesn’t even stop to look at me as he walks out of his room and runs down the stairs. Seconds later, we hear the door slam as he leaves.

I crumple to the floor, wailing uncontrollably as my entire body shakes.

I can’t help Cade. All I do is make things worse.

I’m in love with that broken, lost boy. And right now, he hates me. He really, really hates me.

Cade

I grip the steering wheel, unsure of what the fuck I’m even doing or where I’m going. I’m running, just like always. But running gets really fucking exhausting. And I’m tired of it.

And the worst part is, I’m running from the only thing that’s ever brought me peace. Haley could have been my saving grace. And instead, I pushed her away. I cut her off like an extra fucking limb. She’s attached herself so deeply inside of me; I know I am forever a changed man. My heart doesn’t beat the same now. It probably never will again. And that’s all because Haley Thompson woke me up and made me realize how much I had to lose. Yet, me being me, I fucked it all up.

When they all rushed in together—Haley, Watson, and Hunter—I could tell she had told them what was going on with me. And that was the worst kind of betrayal I’d ever felt in my life. I’d thought I could trust her. I guess I was wrong.

My entire life is a mess. Even if I wanted to play hockey, there’s no way I’ll be able to after Coach gets word of this. How I made it this far into the season without a drug test should make me feel fortunate enough, but it doesn’t. Because like always, I’m never satisfied. I always need more.

I know I need help, but help is not easy to accept. My parents will ship me away to rehab. And just like last time, it won’t work. My brain’s too fucked up. Nothing can magically cure me and make me who I was before I started using. This is who I am now.

An addict. That’s all I’ll ever be. An addict who chooses drugs over the girl I love and over teammates who are like brothers to me and over a dream I’ve had for most of my life.

I continue to drive around. I left my phone at home, and for that, I’m glad. There’s nothing I can say or do in a text or through a phone call to make it all better. I’ve left everything in shambles. This is my own doing.

I knew Haley wouldn’t look at me the same way when she learned the truth. Turns out, I was right.

You can’t change the past—that’s a fact. But if you can’t change the past … how the hell can you rewrite the future?

Exactly. You can’t.

15

Cade

Istuff my hands in my pockets nervously as I walk toward the arena. When Coach texted me that he needed to speak with me ASAP, I seriously considered not even coming here. I hadn’t gone to practice yesterday. Instead, I drove around all day, ignoring everyone. And when I got home late last night and finally checked my phone, seeing Coach’s message, along with countless others, I had been close to saying fuck everyone. But the thing is, Coach has done a lot for me. And I owe him an apology.

I walk inside and toward his office, finding the door half-open. Taking my hand out of my pocket, I hit my fist against the wood a few times.

“Come in,” he calls out, and I force my feet to take the few steps inside.

Pointing to the door behind me, he says, “Close the door, Huff. Come, sit.”

Doing as he said, I close the door and then take the seat across from him. He looks over his desk at me. His eyes look more sad than angry, which isn’t something I expected from Coach LaConte.

“I’m guessing Thompson and Gentry talked to you?” I mutter, resting my fingertips on the side of my head.

“Sterns too.”

---