“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath, shoulders tensing. There goes any chance at privacy. I’m trying to sort through the tangled mess in my head, and I don’t need a goddamn audience for it.
The weekends are the only reprieve I get from seeing her, and this weekend came and went too goddamn fast.
I’m trying to amp myself up for today—Monday—and these assholes won’t leave me the hell alone.
“You’ve been moping around for weeks,” Julio says bluntly, always one to cut right to the chase. The guy doesn’t even start off with a good morning. “You’re not the only one who lives here, cabrón.” —fucker— “So, spill. Why have you been an absolute dick, lately?”
I flip my best friends off, jaw tight. I don’t care if I’m being a moody bastard right now. I think I’ve earned the right to work through this on my own terms, without either of them scrutinizing my every move.
Julio’s dark eyes flash with frustration, clearly not on the same page. “Can you at least pretend to be a functioning human long enough to welcome Deacon? The guyyouinvited to move into nuestra casita.” —our home—“He’s going to be here any minute and you need to get whatever stick you have up your ass, out.”
Shit.
I forgot he was moving in today. I scrub my hand over my face and try like hell to shove my feelings back into their box.
Deacon’s a freshman transfer from Suncrest U. We met when he helped friends of ours fork our soccer field.
A prank in retaliation for one of Julio’s fuck ups. I silently eye the fucker. Maybe I should remind him of how not so long agohe was dealing with a mess of his own, too. And what did he do when Felix and I suggested we hash it out?
He told us to back the fuck off.
And we did.
I’d love to give the asshole a reminder, but knowing Julio the way that I do, it would just make him dig deeper. He’s a stubborn bastard like that. Always wanting to peel back everyone’s fucking trauma, except for his own.
I sigh. The Deacon thing can’t be avoided. I made a bet with the guy after he helped Allie, Bibiana, and Kasey fork our field. If he scored a goal against me, we’d clean up their mess. If he missed, they were cleaning up after themselves.
Long story short, he scored. Talk about a blow to my fucking ego. But after seeing the guy’s kick, we recruited him onto our team. Who knew the cocky footballer would be a legitfútboler.
Convincing him to change sports and switch schools seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I’m not so sure. The timing is absolute shit if you ask me.
The idea of slapping on a polite smile as I make stilted small talk makes my insides twist up even more. I can’t handle this shit. Not today. Not when I have to see her in less than an hour.
Low voices drift down the hall as the front door opens. It’s Atticus—roommate number three—giving Deacon the grand tour. I should make an effort to welcome the guy. I know that. But the mere idea of exchanging pleasantries and pretending I’m not imploding on the inside feels fucking impossible right now.
Fuck.When did I become such a little bitch?
I’ve been through tough shit before. Carlos’s suicide. My parents divorce. Real shit.
So why the hell is it so goddamn hard to function now?
I stare out my bedroom window. The sun is shining. The autumn leaves have turned from green to a multitude of yellows, reds, and oranges.
By all accounts it’s a beautiful day.
And it’s a lie.
How can I act like everything’s fine when it fucking isn’t? When every word out of Cecilia’s mouth echoes endlessly inside of my head?
“And this is Gabe’s room,” Atticus tells him once they reach my door. “Hey, man,” Atticus greets me, hand raised in the air.
Breathe, I tell myself. Say hello. It’s not that hard. Only … it is.
My molars grind together, jaw locked tight.
Felix jumps to the rescue, playing the gracious host while I avoid eye contact and remain stubbornly silent.Fuck this shit.
“Hey! Atticus giving you the grand tour?” Felix asks. “Has he shown you the garage? No?”
