Charade
Page 17When I hear my mom sniff, I look down and see her eyes wet. I jerk away from Cheyenne and lean down. “Hey. Are you okay? Did something happen?” It doesn’t even matter that there’s fucking panic in my voice and Cheyenne is right here.
Mom looks at me. Touches my hair. My cheek. And smiles.
“Everything’s perfect, Colton.”
No. Everything’s a fucking game.
***
We’re driving back home and I can’t get the visit out of my head. Mom and Cheyenne were all fucking chummy and laughing. She stayed up longer than she has in a long time. She even got Cheyenne’s phone number, which I have to admit, I don’t like too much.
Which makes me feel like an ass, but I am an ass so might as well embrace it.
Toward the end she looked tired—so fucking tired she fell asleep the second I helped her back into bed. She’s lost more weight, her body feels so small, like a twig that if you step on will break in half.
“Come home with me.” The words weren’t planned, but I’m glad they came out.
“Your car—”
“Fuck my car.”
Cheyenne doesn’t reply, but she goes to my place instead of the dorm. It’s actually quiet when we get there. As far as I can tell, Adrian’s not even home, which is a huge shocker. The second the door’s closed I’m on her. Kissing her, my body tight against hers as I wedge her between myself and the wall.
Cheyenne’s hand tightens in my hair and she wraps her legs around my waist. I’m so hard, I’m not sure I can wait. I want her. I need her. My mouth doesn’t come off hers as I stumble down the hall with her in my arms. I kick the door closed behind me and slip a hand under her skirt.
Yeah I like her skirts. Easy access. And from the feel of things, she wants me just as much as I want her.
I lay her on the bed and clothes are coming off. There’s no talking. No laughing. Nothing but eager hands and sad eyes.
She’s so fucking sexy, all smooth skin and feminine curves. As screwed up as it is, I try to avoid her eyes. Don’t want her to look in mine either. Just want to feel her heat wrapped around me instead of the cold pain we both feel.
I grab a condom from my pants and rip it open with my teeth. I don’t want to think about or feel anything, but Cheyenne.
She’s lying sideways on the bed. I put my hands flat on the mattress, one on either side of her head.
And we don’t move. She’s beneath me and I’m leaning over her and I want to push home, but I can’t move. Why the fuck can’t I move?
Her hand slides up, wraps around my neck and threads through my hair. That’s all I need. My eyes don’t leave hers and hers mine as I push inside. Just being inside her makes me forget everything else. She feels so fucking good. Suddenly, my eyes can’t leave hers as I move, doing what both of us need me to do.
***
“I should go…” Cheyenne’s next to me, my arm slung around her. Hell it’s hasn’t been ten minutes since we finished.
“Yeah?” I kiss her shoulder, letting her know I’m up for another round if she is.
“What about your car?” she asks.
I shrug. The piece of shit doesn’t matter anyway. “I’ll have Adrian take me to get it.”
“I can pick you up.”
“I’ll call you.”
She stands there for a second, arms crossed, eyes searching everything in my room but me.
“What is it?” I ask. She still looks nervous. “I just showed you the most painful thing in my life. I think our lines have pretty much been shot to hell, don’t you think?”
I sit up. Naked.
“They’re having a service for my mom.”
“Fuck,” I say. I knew something was up, but she played it off all day. For me. For Mom.
I reach for her, but she shakes her head.
“Can you go with me? We’re getting together at my aunt’s house after. Food. People. Gregory’s family will be there.”
I have to hold back not to say something about him, but I don’t. She was fucking incredible with my mom today and I can do this for her.
“Yeah. It’s cool. I’ll go.” I’m shocked that it bothers me she won’t let me hold her. That’s what I’m here for. To make her forget, the way she does for me. It’s all I can do.
“Thanks…I…thanks. I’ll text you the information.”
She walks out of my bedroom. I let out a breath and fall backward on the bed. I have no idea what the hell we’re doing here or even how it happened.
My door opening makes me look up. I grab a pillow to cover the goods, but it’s Cheyenne.
“You’re a good son, Colt. You…you’re incredible to her. I just wanted you to know that.”
This time, she’s gone for good, but she doesn’t leave my thoughts. And for the first time I admit to myself, I don’t want her to go.
~CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO~
Cheyenne
No one here even knew who she was. I wonder if I really did. If Aunt Lily really did. If Mom knew herself.
Do I know who I am?
But Gregory’s here. His family. Of course Lily and Mark’s best friends would be here. They stand on the other side of the black coffin. I don’t even understand having a coffin since all she is, is bones, but I know Lily wants the best for her. She always wanted more for Mom than Mom wanted for herself.
Colt is next to me wearing nice black slacks and a button-up, long-sleeved black shirt. I wonder if he went out to buy the clothes or if he had them. Not that it matters, but I know him and this isn’t the kind of thing he’s comfortable in so I’m grateful he’s doing it for me. I’m also thankful he didn’t do his hair. It still looks like it always does, sticking every which way.
His grip on my hand tightens, but I don’t squeeze back. I’m glad he’s here. Hate admitting it, but I need him here. My body is just too numb to do anything about it.
The remains of my mother’s bones are in a box as dark as the nights she spent in those woods. How much of her can even be left?
The pastor goes on and on. I don’t focus on what he says, just the feel of Colt’s rough hand holding mine. This rough boy who hates the world, curses like a sailor, but is so gentle with his mom and is here with me.
I don’t understand how we got here or why we’re in this together, but I’m not sure I could get through this day without him.
Something else I don’t like to admit.
My chest tightens again.
Calm down, Chey.
“You’re doing fucking awesome,” Colt whispers in my ear and I can’t help but smile at that. Only he would use the word ‘fuck’ at my mom’s funeral.
The service ends and they have me walk forward first to toss the rose in. Colt stays attached to my side. I feel the eyes of everyone else on me, watching me, waiting to see if I’m going to break down. Inside I have. I’m all cracked apart, pieces lying here and there throughout, but for some reason, it can’t escape. It’s like there’s a roadblock keeping it in and while I’m glad, I want to be free of it too.
Once the roses are tossed in, we turn around. I keep walking so Colt keeps walking, supporting me as we head back to the blackened car. I can’t believe they rented a car to come in. Mom didn’t give a shit about stuff like that. Though she didn’t give a shit about anything except partying and guys.
Colt leans against the car and pulls me toward him. My arms go around his neck and his around my waist. My face is in his neck and I think if I was going to cry, this would be the perfect place to do it, yet it doesn’t come.
“You’re so fucking tough,” he squeezes my waist like he always does. “I just—I see.”
It’s then the enormity of what I did hits me. I asked him to come to a funeral for my mom, while his is dying. He looks at that box and sees Bev, but he’s here and he’s holding me, this boy who I’m only sleeping with.
“I’m sorry.”
“No reason to be.” Colt shrugs. But there is.
My aunt and uncle get to the car. They’re taking the Colt thing better than I thought. Not that they’re the kind to freak out, but I’ve never mentioned him. Didn’t even tell them he was coming with me. It makes me feel bad. They would love me, if I’d let them.
Lily pulls me away from Colt and hugs me. She’s crying so much my dress gets wet, but I still can’t push them out.
My uncle mumbles something to Colt and Colt replies.
Everyone is walking to their cars now and I just want to get away. Want a minute to myself which I can’t even have because we’re sharing a car with my aunt and uncle.
Colt and I slide in the back and them in the front. They try for small talk with Colt—asking about college, how we met, how long we’ve dated and thanking him for coming. He speaks as little as possible. He’s not one of those boys who’s good with someone’s parents, or in my case, my aunt and uncle.
For some reason, the house feels like there are more people here than there were at the service. Funny how that happens. People who can’t make it to the sad part want to come in when the wine is offered freely and it’s more like a party.
“Show me your room,” comes from behind me in that husky, cocky voice I recognize as Colt’s.
Thank God.
People talk and walk paying no attention to the only daughter of the dead woman. Maybe it’s because she’s been dead for ten years and other people saw this coming even though I didn’t.
Once we’re up the stairs I keep my finger hooked with his and lead him into my room.
“Holy shit. It’s…happy in here.” I hear the laugh in his voice.
“What’s wrong with wanting happy?” I ask, looking around the room. Flowers are painted on the walls at the top. Each of the four walls a different color. Dance trophies and pictures of my dance team are everywhere. It’s perfect, like I always wanted.
Colt looks at the bed. “It’s white.” He grins.
“I guess that means you have good taste.”
He goes from one wall to the next, looking—dissecting. I can’t stop myself from wondering how it looks through his eyes. If the room feels like me or if he thinks it’s a lie.
“You must be good, huh?” He touches one of the trophies.
“Of course.”
He shakes his head. “Of course.”
And then he steps up to me. His mouth finds mine. It’s a gentle kiss, slow and smooth as his tongue slides between my lips. I let him lead and I follow because right now it’s easier than thinking about anything.
Colt doesn’t stop kissing me. Our tongues tangle and take turns, but he doesn’t take it any further. When he pulls away I’m panting. My heart races. Every time he touches me I want him more.
“You don’t cry, Tiny Dancer.” His chin rests on the top of my head as we hold each other.
“Not if I can stop it.”
“It’s okay, you know.”
“Wow. Is the hard-ass going to give me a pep talk?” I feel like a bitch the second the words come out, but he doesn’t call me on it.
“I don’t know if pep is the right word.” Then he leans closer. “Just know that you can. I won’t tell. I might not be able to do much for you, but I’ll hold your secrets.”