Between Everything and Us Read online

  I’m not prepared for this. I didn’t come across this during research or discussions at group. They’re on their way when he comes back around. I wipe my face and try my best not to look like I’m scared shitless, even though I am.

  “Hey,” I say softly. My hands are traitors and brush back his hair, trace his cheekbones. I force on a wobbly smile.

  Beau blinks rapidly, a bit stunned, his brows squished together in confusion. “What…”

  “Here, have some water.” I hand him the canteen in my bag and tilt his head back for him to take a drink. At first he lets me help him, but then he comes more into his own and swats my hands away.

  “Don’t say anything,” he snaps after he finishes drinking. “I’m fine.”

  But he’s not fine. He’s still twitching with a bad tic, his head snapping repeatedly to the left, his eyes unable to focus.

  “You might be now, you stubborn ass, but you weren’t. You just had a seizure,” I yell back. Beau tries to sit up, and this time, I’m not afraid. I shove him back down and keep my hand against his shoulder. “You’re not moving an inch. Help is coming.”

  By some small miracle, he doesn’t fight me.

  “Why would you fucking do that? Why would you call?”

  “Because I was worried about you!” My voice is hoarse. “You scared me. If you don’t want to talk about it now, then fine. Fuck you, Beau. But you’re going to the hospital because if you don’t care about yourself, at least I do.”

  Beau turns his head, avoiding my eyes, his profile still tense. He spits out a mouthful of blood and rubs at his lips.

  “Have you had a seizure before?” I watch him study his hands, the way his fingers keep twitching. My stomach knots up when he’s quiet because I know his answer—the one he’s holding back. “Beau?”

  “No.” His voice is gruff when he finally answers, too broken to ease my worry.

  That’s all we say to each other before the EMTs come crashing through the woods. He doesn’t look me in the eye when they strap him onto the stretcher, not even right before he has another seizure and the paramedics rush him out of the woods.

  I want to believe everything is going to be okay—I do. But I can’t fight the fact that my chest and heart and lungs are so tight that it feels as though I might burst into a million tiny pieces and float away. I’m messy and undone, and I’m not certain about anything right now.

  Good days are a special kind of magic, but even they can’t fight against the bad ones that come swooping in to ruin everything.

  Beau

  The banging rattles around me in a thrumming wave, like a machine gun. I can’t dodge these bullets, even I want to.

  It wasn’t cancer the first time, but it might now. I might be dying. I might never get to do anything I wanted. I hate myself for wasting the time I did have. It’s shit luck to have the life you might not have flash before your eyes.

  I keep my eyes closed and breathe—it’s easier now that they’ve given me something to half-knock me out. I hate fucking MRIs. I hate being talked about as if I’m not in the room. I hate the worry I see in the eyes of all the doctors and nurses.

  But the worst? Having my heart ripped out because I scared Mati this morning. I didn’t want this to happen. I didn’t want to get close because what if we can’t be together?

  I could have killed her. What would have happened if I’d had a seizure with her on the back of my bike? I could have killed us both because I decided to be an ass. I knew something was wrong when I woke up, and I pretended like I was fine. She deserves better. Certainly a guy who can fucking take her on a fucking vacation without landing himself in the hospital and almost killing his girlfriend.

  I hate myself so, so much.

  I want to get out of this machine. I want to see her and tell her everything will be okay, even though I’m not sure about that either.

  And still it’s as if I’m walking Tillamook Beach in the fog. I hear the roar around me, feel the cold beneath, but I can’t see ahead. I can’t do much of anything but sit and wait.

  I want to be strong for her and everyone else in my life, but I’m scared shitless. It’s another maybe, another fall into the unpredictable.

  For once, I wish I had a plan. I wish I knew what’s going to happen. I wish I knew if this is it for me.

  Matisse

  I spend almost nine hours in the waiting room without a word, not until his parents arrive. They leave once he’s asleep to check in at a local hotel, telling me they’ll get me a room too, that I can take a cab there if I want to stay and visit with Beau.

  I tiptoe into his hospital room and settle into the stiff-looking chair by the bed. The nurses warned me that he might not wake up, that he’s been sedated so he’ll relax. I don’t really mind as long as I can be there beside him.

  The doctors found something on the MRI—a tumor, actually. That’s a scary word. They won’t know if it’s cancerous until they remove it, which luckily they can.

  He’s a stranger in that bed, and I’m miles away in this chair.

  I’m worried it’s too much, too soon. I’m worried—not about me being afraid and giving up on the idea of us, but that he won’t want me around for this part of things.

  “You have the loudest conversations in your head.” His voice is rough, the words uncoordinated.

  I hold my breath when I glance up. Beau opens his eyes, and our stares connect. Suddenly I’m the card that topples the house. One slip, and it all crashes down.

  I grip the arms of the chair and push forward, my feet sliding over the sterile tile floor. “You can be so stupid.” At least I manage to smile confessing that much.

  “I am stupid, baby.”

  One minute I have air, the next I’m drowning. I get out of the chair and toss my bag over my shoulder.

  “You’re leaving?”

  My answer gets stuck in my throat the first few times I try to speak, but finally I push it out. “No, I’m going to get you a frappé.” I can’t look away, afraid that if I do, he’ll see that I’m afraid. And I am. Completely and absolutely fucking terrified. I’ve never had anyone to lose before.

  I push down the regret rising up in my throat for the time we wasted in this foolish dance of ours. We could have had so much more than what we have now. We lost a chance because we’re young and stupid and so fucking naïve that we’ve been convinced we’re these invincible beings who will conquer anything that comes our way. That we’re infinite, unshakable to the eventualities of life.

  Except Beau is lying in a hospital bed now, his head shaved, tubes and needles stuck into him, and we both know the truth—we’re not invincible.

  “Well, shit, Mati.”

  I shrug, then smile at him until the apples of my cheeks hurt. But I need to smile, and he needs to see it. “It’ll be fine.” I keep tugging at the strap of my bag to do something, anything. I need to keep moving because I’m afraid Beau will get me stuck. “And I never lie.”

  Beau doesn’t call me out on it, but I’m not stupid enough to think he’s believed me. He reaches his hand out, and it takes a beat before I’m brave enough to walk over and give him mine.

  It feels like another unspoken promise. I’m not ready to give up on him yet. I’ll fight for us, too.

  He kisses my open palm and looks up at me with glassy eyes. And I’m scared then because he could push us into something we’re not ready for, but he says, “I’ll have chocolate, honey bee.”

  And it’s perfect.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Beau

  It’s strange to be reduced to numbers and words. My name, my dreams, my accomplishments don’t matter anymore. In an instant, my life’s been reduced to a summary.

  Brain tumor. Seizures. Multiple sclerosis. Male in his early twenties. Tests pending.

  Which can all be boiled down to: Future: unknown.

  After years of trying to make an impact in this world, that’s my contribution. I’m another patient chart, another hospita
l gown, another prescription. I’m another problem waiting for a solution. Another statistical oddity.

  My parents left this morning after I was discharged. Now I’m spending my hours staring at the ceiling, forcing the water stains into pointless objects. Like the race car in the left corner of my room or the blob that sort of looks like a broken heart above my doorway.

  Each rounded half sort of seeps out, bleeding across the popcorn ceiling until it trickles to nothing. It looks like I feel. And I feel like…nothing. I feel as if I hiked out into oblivion with Mati and never came back. I’m lost.

  And now I live between blinks and wait.

  I study the ceiling until my eyelids grow heavy and I doze off. They open again, and I do the same. Over and over, eating up slow minute after slow minute until the day grows old. I might even make it to tomorrow now. I know it’s late. I just heard Mati push through the door, stomping her boots of the Oregon rain and mud like she always does, as though she might outrun its messiness one day.

  She deserves sun and warmth, all the colors people gather when they live a full life. She deserves someone better than me. I’m only going to be a burden when she belongs out in the world living, not stuck by my side while I sink lower, fall deeper, get lost in the hellhole that’s my life.

  I roll over, keeping my back to the door when I hear her tread up to my doorway.

  “Beau?” she asks quietly.

  The door pushes open, light spilling in from the living room. I’ve always loved the way she says my name. How she says it the best out of anyone I’ve ever met. How when she speaks those four letters, I become completely hers.

  I stay quiet, pretending to be asleep.

  Her footsteps are hushed, hesitant. When she places her hand on the back of my head and brushes my hair, it’s the same questioning approach. I want to know what she’s thinking. I want to know why the hell I’m not rolling over so I can kiss her, say hello, ask about her day.

  I soak in that fire she wields at the tips of her fingers. Her hands on my body are something I never want to forget. I want her lips, I want to sink inside her, I want to be everything and anything I can be with Mati.

  It’s more than a feeling. I can’t really describe it. Somehow she’s not only managed to find a way to my heart, she’s sunk deep into my bones. She flows through my veins even now. Even when I face a giant void.

  I wanted to be better for her. I wanted so much for us. I wanted to tell her how much I love her, but now that’s only going to make this harder.

  So I stay silent.

  When she wraps her arms around me and nuzzles against my neck, I somehow stay still. I want to puke. This is ripping me apart.

  “We’re going to be fine, baby,” she whispers. I hate that her voice shakes, as though she’s saying this to reassure herself as well as me. “You’re going to be fine. I promise.”

  God, I love this girl. Love her optimism, her undying drive to make the impossible possible.

  I’m going to miss that—and her gorgeous laugh, the way her lips spread into my favorite smile. I’m going to miss the way she rubs her hand in slow circles over my back while she’s thinking, like she’s doing now. I’m going to miss her frustrated huffs, the way she tugs at the hem of her shirt when she’s nervous, the paint that covers her face and clothes after she’s been working all day. I’m going to miss watching her make plans while they fall apart and she slowly begins to realize life isn’t solely about those to-do lists.

  I only started to see that before this happened. I’ve only begun to know her.

  And I’m going to miss that. I’m going to miss everything.

  I didn’t believe her on Cannon Beach. I thought we had time.

  “I love you.” She kisses my neck, my cheek, my temple.

  Open your eyes. Kiss her. Talk to her.

  But I don’t. I stay still.

  And I let her go.

  Matisse

  Of all the places, I don’t know why I’m here. I push my hand over the intercom to Cole’s apartment, ringing it a few times. The man at the desk on the other side of the door keeps glaring at me.

  I take a few gulps of air, desperate to breathe, but everything is closing in around me. My hair is wet and tangled across my face. My fingers shake as I try to tuck it behind my ears. I’ve never felt so completely undone.

  And alone.

  Cole’s voice finally booms from the intercom. “Who is it?”

  I lean against the wall, my forehead clammy and stuck above the speaker. Everything inside me tumbles away as if I’m falling, falling deep into some place dark. “It’s me,” I choke out. “It’s Matisse.”

  There’s a long pause before he says, “I’ll be right down.”

  I sink to the ground. I bury my head in my arms, ignoring the people walking into the apartment building who ask if I’m okay. Their voices are soft, their questions pointless. I try to count in my head but end up forgetting numbers and tripping when I do because I think back to Beau—that day after he dumped his bike on OR-6. The way he wrecked his body because he thought it wasn’t worth it anymore, that he wasn’t worth it.

  “You’ve slept on my couch before, so you know I have one. You don’t need to sit on the floor,” Cole says above me.

  I peek up from between my arms. “You still hate me, right? That’s why you didn’t buzz me in?”

  He bends down in front of me wearing a LSU sweatshirt and flannel pants. “No,” he says quietly. “It just sounded like you needed to be found. Want to come up?”

  I nod. No hesitation—none—until I get into the elevator and sneak a glance at Cole. I feel dirty, as if I’m cheating, even though I’m not. It’s wrong to be here, but everything hurts inside, so much that I think I’m being crushed.

  We’re quiet until we get to his place. He opens his door and ushers me in, taking my coat because he’s so Southern sometimes my teeth hurt. He’s sweet tea.

  “You’re soaked. Want a sweatshirt or something?”

  I shake my head, pacing around the tiny living space of his stupid apartment. I see his bedroom through the small kitchen in front of me. His bed is unmade, and there are instruments everywhere. Everything else is tidy, though, not a dirty dish in his sleek modern kitchen. Everything shines, everything’s perfect.

  I wish it could be like this for me.

  I kick off my shoes, afraid to get anything dirty, then plop down onto the couch. Cole tosses me a blanket because he’s always been eerily good at figuring out what’s going on in my head. I wrap it around me and sink back into the couch cushions, watching him watch me. We’re in a stare-off of epic proportions.

  “Something tells me you’re having a bad day.”

  I laugh in spite of myself. “You think?”

  He settles onto the couch next to me, never touching me but forcing me to face him so I’m not a complete bitch for interrupting his life again. “I don’t want to get in the middle of you and Beau.”

  I sit up straighter, my heart racing at hearing his name from Cole’s lips. “It’s bad enough that I’m here. I had… I needed…” I sigh, tossing my head back to stare up at the perfectly white ceiling. “Everything is happening so fast, and I don’t know if I can handle it all.”

  “You needed a break and you came here?” He stands, then slowly treads backward into the kitchen, his attention pinned to me.

  I sit up, tossing the blanket off my lap. “I didn’t even ask. You probably have things to do or whatever. A show or something.”

  “Nope, nothing to do but put off a giant paper that’s due in a few days. You can stay as long as you need.” He opens the fridge, then pulls out a container of grape tomatoes. “I was making a late dinner. Want to help?”

  I edge closer, afraid to slip into the perfection of this reality. Everything would be easier with Cole, even if we never found that spark that blazes between me and Beau. I want so much more than mediocre, but it’d sure as hell be easier to manage. “Sure,” I say finally.

&nbs
p; I shake the thoughts from my head of any hidden meaning, tossing out the memories of sleeping on Cole’s couch after a particularly bad night because of Beau. My boyfriend is everything to me, but Cole seems to be the steadier force in my life. I hope we can be friends.

  “Being hungry shouldn’t be such a complicated decision.” He grabs a cutting board and a knife, then squeezes by me to sneak into the fridge again. “Want something to drink?” He closes the fridge door, then hands me a water. “Never mind. I’ll make that decision, too.”

  “Am I that much of a loser?”

  Cole laughs to himself, then docks his phone on some fancy speaker. Music pours out—familiar music, voices and notes that work at gradually untangling me.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened?” Cole cuts up some chicken breasts, seasoning each side, before tossing them into a heated skillet. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  He’s sort of perfect. The kind of guy everyone tells you to date. The one who’s self-sufficient and responsible, the one who can cook and who respects you. He’s the nice guy, the one who has his head on straight long before the rest of the college guys get theirs out of their asses.

  “You didn’t want me around.” I wash the tomatoes, then search the fridge for some garlic, maybe an onion. “As I rightfully deserved. But you’re okay with me here now?”

  “It might help to know why you’re back, but I’m good.” Cole searches through the cabinet next to me and pulls out a large stockpot, then fills it with water. He stands beside me, waiting for an answer. I wish I had one, other than I’m a horrible girlfriend who’s scared shitless.

  “I need a night away from the bungalow. Get some space.” I slice a few tomatoes, the red juice seeping over the wood grain of the cutting board. My thoughts spiral and soon I’m standing there in Cole’s kitchen, clutching a knife, terrified for Beau’s surgery.

  “All right.”

  I freeze up as his hand wraps around mine.

  “Beau’s sick,” I blurt out. “We were on spring break, and he started having seizures. They found a brain tumor. And he needs surgery.”