“See? That’s why he didn’t. Because you’re too fucking stubborn to let anyone help you.”
“I don’t need help,” I huff, just when he shoos my hands away to work on the knot.
“Everyone needs help from time to time, Micah, evenyou. And if it bothers you that much, you can pay him back after you get your signing bonus. Now hold still for fuck’s sake, and let me do this!”
I don’t protest at that—not because I agree, but because I don’t want to think about the draft right now.
A long shower later, most of my anger has vanished down the drain. I’m still mildly pissed, but I know Seb had good intentions, so I take a page out of my friends’ playbook and try to talk to him.
However, when I get back out into the empty locker room, his stuff is still there with no Seb in sight. I return to the field, but it is empty, too. Assuming that Coach might give him a final lecture, I leave the facility to walk to my car, my cracked cell phone in hand.
I have five messages from Dad that all link to long talks about a mud flood and poisonous fog. I swipe the notifications away with shaking fingers. I know it’s a ton of bullshit, but even after all this time, my heart still races when I see it.
I open my chat with Seb and type out a short ‘you okay?’, then, quickly and before I change my mind, I add,We need to talk about the car. But thank you. Really.
There’s a black cloud hanging over the Nook when I make it back home. Not a real one, of course; the weather is still all blue skies and glaring sunshine, even when the scorching temperatures have dropped to a more enjoyable level. It’s more like a proverbial thundercloud that spreads throughout the whole house.
While Sasha and Linden have made themselves scarce around the house over the past few days with polite excuses, Olli has been openly avoiding me. He leaves a room as soon as I enter it, sometimes even breaking off mid-conversation with Vince. The only explanation I can come up with for the piss-poor mood in this household is the kittens slowly leaving one after the otherfor their forever homes. Only two of them are left, the smallest of the litter, which Olli keeps insisting are still too weak to get adopted. I don’t argue with that, even when my eyes start itching again the moment I step back into the house.
I find the culprit curled up atop a basket of clean, folded laundry that someone left on our dining table. My B-Tech sweater is at the very top of the pile, now with long tabby kitten hairs clinging to the black-and-orange fabric. I gently scoop the little creature up to get my clothes out from under her, my heart squeezing when she meows softly. I immediately think of Owen.
I wonder if he’s still with the Woodrows. I planned to ask Linden about it several times, then shied away from the topic just as often, not daring to tear open the wounds of that day.
“Any plans for dinner?”
As if magically conjured by my thoughts, Linden sticks his head around the corner. His hair is wet from the shower, a few drops running over his forehead and down his nose. I smile at the image, then frown when I detect dark circles under his eyes.
Isn’t he sleeping well?
Is it from worries?
Because of his parents? His classes?
Is it stress?
I hate that, after spending so much time together, I don’t have answers to these questions.
“Hey,” I say, then break off when the kitten jumps from my arm, sending her hair flying, which triggers a whole slew of sneezes.
“Fuck, Micah, ItoldOlli not to let them run around down here. Bless you, bless you, bless—do you need a tissue? Olli?! Come get Tibia!”
I wave Linden off, looking after the kitten that darts up the stairs, scared by my sneezing and sniffling. It doesn’t take longuntil steps sound from above, and Olli appears on the landing, the kitten pressed to his chest.
“Sorry about that. She must have snuck out,” he says, more to Linden than to me. As per usual lately, he’s avoiding my gaze. I bite my tongue when annoyance rushes through me—I have no idea what the fuck I did to him that I’d deserve this treatment.
“We need to look into adoption again with them, Olli. I know you can’t keep them in your room all the time, but I’m worried Micah will develop allergic asthma,” Linden scolds him.
“It’s okay. I’ll be fine,” I interject quickly when Olli’s face immediately darkens.
“Well, that sounds like a him problem. I mean, why wouldtheyhave to leave? He can also go look for another room.”
For a moment, none of us speaks. Actually, I think I might have entirely misheard until I catch a flash of regret flitting over Olli’s features. It’s gone in the blink of an eye, replaced by a stubborn glint as he juts out his chin.Next to me, Linden stares at Olli with his mouth agape.
“Excuse me? I pay fucking rent here,” I remind him through gritted teeth.
Olli shrugs, his hand stroking over Tibia’s back. “So do I. I could pay for yours, too, and make it into Tibia’s spare bedroom. I bet she’d have fun up there in your little shoebox.”
Oh, I bet he could. He could probably afford the rent for this whole house and live in it completely alone. I’ve never met Olli’s family, and he rarely mentions them, but they must be loaded. He has a casualness about spending that I’ve only ever seen with kids who don’t have to pay for their own tuition and housing.
