Cole

I wanted to vomit. I wanted to bash my head against a stone wall and throw up to get rid of the wretched pains coursing through me. They were uncomfortable and oppressing and especially heavy on my left side.

I was sitting in my car, had been for the past twenty minutes. I was still on the curb of Grace’s house. There was only a single light on, in the kitchen. I could see her father moving around through the window. I didn’t feel angry anymore, not since having it out with Grace. Just exhausted and weary.

“You weren’t supposed to find out.”

That one line kept running circles through my head, like a broken record. Over and over and fucking over again.

Grace had cancer.

Grace didn’t want me to know.

Grace found out about the bet.

I tipped forward, resting my head against the steering wheel for a second. My mind was frazzled and spiraling in all sorts of directions. Who told her? What did she think of me?

Why did I care?

I opened my eyes, staring listlessly at the floor of the car, forehead still against the leather wheel. I could still see her, in my mind’s eye. Like some damn angel who had injected me with her heavenly poison. It was under my skin and no matter what I did I couldn’t get it out.

In the end we tricked each other. I couldn’t help but chuckle humorlessly, in the emptiness of my car. How about that?

I knew, as my time lingering at her house passed the thirty-minute mark, that it was time for me to go home. It sort of didn’t feel right, leaving. I couldn’t explain why, but some part of me was wholly against it.

 I promptly told that side of me to shut the hell up and floored the gas before I could change my mind.

There was something I had to do before anything else.

***

I cut the engine of my bike outside of the immaculate house before me. I was pretty sure it was around midnight, but I didn’t have a great sense of time at the moment. It was safe to say I was still reeling from recent events.

I swung my leg over the side and sauntered up the bricked path, helmet tucked under my arm. When I stopped on his porch I rang the doorbell three times, just to be sure they heard it. It was about five minutes before somebody finally opened the door.

“Jesus, who the hell is it—Cole? What are you doing on my step in the middle of the night?”

I tossed the helmet and the keys on the floor by his feet. “Take it,” I muttered. “It’s yours.”

He blinked. “But we still have another month.”

I shrugged. “Things happen, Jayden. So there, do what you want with it.”

I turned around, shoving my hands in my pockets. I made my way to leave, but Jayden stopped me. “Wait, Cole.”

I stopped on his step, indicating for him to continue.

He sighed. “What did Grace do to you?” he finally asked quietly.

“Too much,” I replied, and started on the long walk home. It might have been late and it might have been cold, but I needed some time to think.

***

When I walked into my house, it was silent and dark. I took that as a well-deserved blessing. Usually one or both of my parents could be found pacing the kitchen or locked in their office, a wedge of light spilling out into the darkness, chatting away on their expensive phones to business associates. It seemed it was a quiet night.

I slouched into the kitchen, mechanically grabbing a carton of milk before making my way into the living room. I didn’t really solve anything through the long walk home. I only succeeded in freezing my ass off.

I dropped my head in my hands, groaning. So much had just happened, all in the same day. I found out Grace had cancer. Somebody told Grace about the bet. I gave my bike away to Jayden. I probably just fucked everything up completely. Why couldn’t things just make sense and stay that way?

She lied to you.

Well, not exactly. Technically she was just withholding the truth. But didn’t that amount to the same thing? Couldn’t it be considered worse than blatantly lying? She was cancer free, according to Dr. Greene. Had been for a while. Why hide the truth?

You weren’t any better, the voice inside of me sneered. Sadly, there it was also right. I had betted over the girl. Then again, look how far that got me. Absolutely nowhere. And I was bikeless, to add to it. Just great.

I took a swig of milk. Why was I so upset? Logically, I shouldn’t have been upset. Grace was my tutor and along the way became my coach, nothing more. Except there had to be something more. We were friends? Well, emphasis on the past tense. I was sure anything that had been between us had officially been blown to smithereens. So what?

I sat back against the couch. It was dark and the moon was nowhere to be seen, hiding behind thick layers of clouds. It hit me kind of suddenly, right then. It was safe to say I hadn’t walked down the best road upon entering high school. I didn’t have to be a stereotypical jock and go through girls like a kid did candy on Halloween. I didn’t have to be a jerk and a heartbreaker. Hell, I didn’t even have to play football, though that was a stretch because I’d loved the game since I was five and my cousin pegged me in the head with one.

What was I trying to say? I wasn’t exactly sure. I didn’t understand myself most of the time. But irrelevant topics aside, Grace was in every way, shape, and form a breath of fresh air. I wasn’t used to shy girls. Timid girls. Girls uncomfortable with anything that didn’t cover their body.  Girls that weren’t throwing themselves at me looking for that cliché high school romance.

In fact, not once when I was with Grace had she ever made a pass at me. Even when I was trying to get a rise out of her, a reaction, she suppressed it with practiced ease and continued on like she was. It was intriguing, to say the least. A challenge I had unwittingly accepted. But now I was back to square one, because there was one little problem.

She had cancer.

It shouldn’t have been a problem. Lots of people had cancer. I had seen loads of commercials and heard people talk about the walks they went on to help find a cure. So why did it feel so different? Surreal? Like it really mattered? She wasn’t family, I was pretty sure she didn’t even want to be friends anymore, so what?

I growled in frustration when I was met with an empty carton and slammed it down on the table in front of me. I ran my fingers through my hair, completely flustered.

I wasn’t sure why and I wasn’t sure how but Grace mattered. Grace Loving mattered to me. She was easy to be around. I didn’t have to maintain any false pretenses.  She thought I could be something more than a jerk who played with girls’ emotions even when that was what I had been trying to do to her. Granted she hadn’t known then, but still.

“Cole?”

I stiffened at my father’s voice from the doorway. I didn’t even hear him come down the stairs. I turned to look at him, expecting a phone in his hand or his suitcase on a late-night jaunt to the office, but he had neither. He wore lounge pants and a t-shirt, and I hated how similar we looked when I stared at his face.

He took a step into the living room. I had a flashback, then. To a time when work didn’t consume my parents’ lives. When my dad would be the first parent seated on the bleachers for my peewee football games.

I clenched my teeth together, forgetting the memories. Because they were just that, and it wasn’t any use dwelling in the past. Even if it was a better place than the present.

“It’s nearly one in the morning,” my father said, his voice low and husky from sleep. “What are you doing up?”

“I can’t sleep,” I mumbled, staring at the floor.

“Well that’s evident.” He released a long breath of air as he fell onto the couch beside me. My muscles went rigid, for the reason that I wasn’t use to any show of openness from my father. Not anymore, at least. I couldn’t remember the last time we sat down and watched a football game together or just had a conversation about completely useless and meaningless crap.

“Did you have a call to take?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“Work to finish?”

“Nope.”

I frowned. “Then why are you up?”

He turned and sent me a drawl look. “Because your mother heard somebody moving around down here and thought it was a burglar trying to steal her fine china.”

I smirked. That sounded about right. “Ah.”

Silence fell over us, thankfully not entirely awkward. His eyes fell on the carton of milk and he shook it once, seeing it was empty. “You’ve been busy,” he speculated.

“Well, you know. I got thirsty.”

“For a whole carton of milk.”

“Yeah.”

“Hm.” He set it back down and folded his hands behind his head. “Your principal called.”

Excellent. “Did he?”

“Yep. He wanted to know why you decided so suddenly to drop tutoring lessons. It seemed everything with Grace was working out.”

I shrugged. “Don’t need them anymore.”

He smiled. “That sounds cocky.”

“I don’t,” I gritted out, and then mashed the heels of my palms into my eyes when the topic of conversation just brought up more thoughts of Grace. “It’s decided and final, so can we drop it?”

“Sure,” my father mumbled, sounding slightly confused.

I flopped back against the couch.

“Cole?”

I sighed. “What?”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I sneered. I couldn’t help it. I turned to him with a look of pure disbelief. “Really?”

He shrugged. “Do you?”

He looked about as uncomfortable as I felt. The Winters men weren’t meant to share feelings. It just wasn’t in our programming. “Not really,” I admitted.

He let out a breath of relief. “Good.”

I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped. Holy hell. My father and I were getting along and I wasn’t even annoyed.

“You should get to bed,” he voiced suddenly, after another lapse of silence. “It’s late and you’re not being productive.”

I rolled my eyes. That sounded more like Dad. “I’m thinking. That’s using brain power. Ergo, I’m being productive.”

“Definitely my son,” he muttered under his breath. He jumped off the couch. “Get some sleep, Cole.”

“Sure thing pops.”

He shook his head and walked to the stairs. “Oh!” he exclaimed, backtracking to the door. “This was dropped off for you.”

I caught the bag he threw at me. “Thanks,” I mumbled, brows dipping.

“No problem. Goodnight, son.”

I waved him off, reaching inside the bag. I felt familiar material and pulled out what appeared to be my practice jersey. Grace. She had borrowed it.

And every stinking thing circled back around to her.

I stared at it for a moment, pondering if what I really wanted to do would be considered odd. But then I realized nobody was in the room to judge.

I buried my nose in the jersey, taking in a deep whiff.

Yep, just like cherries.