Ruin

“You okay?” Kiersten touched my shoulder. I hadn’t realized I’d zoned out. Clearly the fact that I just got handed my football jersey and was another few weeks closer to surgery was messing with me, not to mention the fact that I kind of wanted to live.

Every reason keeping my feet firmly planted on earth was living and breathing next to me, damn it.

“Stellar,” I sang. “But I still have to use the bathroom so if you could just untangle your long sexy legs from mine, I’d appreciate it. Actually, I’d appreciate it more if you just let me have my way with—”

An exasperated sigh exploded from Kiersten’s lips.

“The toilet,” I finished. “That’s all I ask.”

“Fine.” She laughed and moved fully away from me, probably the most alone and lost I’d felt in years. Irritating to think that one person had that much power over my attitude.

“Why don’t you go get ready in the other bathroom, and we’ll meet downstairs in a bit for some awesome breakfast?”

“Okay.” Kiersten slowly shuffled across the large rug that covered the hardwood floors in my room. “Wes?” She turned.

I stopped, my hand on the doorknob to my co

“Thank you.” A bright blush stained her cheeks. “For last night. For chasing the monsters away…”

“Anytime. It’s kind of my job to protect you.”

“A job sounds like you’re forced.”

“Nah,” I argued. “Saying it’s my job just means it’s my identity in a way. You know how people go, ‘Hey, I’m Rick. I’m a janitor.’” I smiled. “Now I can say, hey I’m Weston, and I kill monsters on behalf of my very sexy girlfriend so she can sleep at night.”

“Lame.” Her laugh hit me in all the right and wrong places, making the idea of using the restroom a moot point. I wanted to stay pi

“Nah, heroic.” I argued. “Now, go get ready so we can eat ci

Apparently that’s all I needed to say. Her eyes widened, and then she was ru

I closed and locked the door behind me and opened the cupboard under the sink. Fifteen bottles all with my name on them. Hell, I almost wished I was a druggy. You know, one of those guys who stole oxy and morphine to get high.

Right. I never even touched my pain pills. They numbed my senses so much that it wasn’t worth it, and it wasn’t like I was in any pain. My doc said it would help me with the anxiety.

Clearly he’d never heard of exercise. All oxy did was turn me into one of those zombies from Walking Dead, only I was pretty sure I looked more haggard and scary.

I popped the lid off of my first pill bottle, dropped the pill into my hand, and shook my head. It was a powerful little bitch. I actually nicknamed it bitch because it was so small that you’d think it wouldn’t do much damage. Wrong. The first time I took it, I was sick for a week straight. I became so dehydrated from puking I had to go to the hospital. Now I know how to take it. I had to take it with my anti-nausea pill, which worked only sixty percent of the time, and then pop my giant ass white pill — the special chemo pill that’s made specifically for me.

I had five more pills to take, but I needed to eat first. I quickly jumped in the shower, brushed my teeth, and was dressed, all within fifteen minutes.

I checked my watch. Kiersten was probably just getting ready. I didn’t want her to see me taking any pills — I didn’t feel right lying to her face when she asked me why I was taking an entire medicine cabinet full of rainbow-colored chemicals, so I stuffed them in my pocket and told myself not to forget to take them after breakfast.

If I did… well, I’d be absolutely no fun for the remainder of break, not to mention it just gave that cranky tumor one more day without a defense, meaning it would grow… and the idea that its tentacles were slowly choking parts of my heart was a mental picture I could really do without.

Chapter Thirty-Two

I would never get the mental picture out of my head — Wes was hot, his body was ridiculous, and I’d slept plastered against him all night. Oh gosh, I probably even drooled. Well here’s to hoping he still wanted to be my boyfriend after I clung to him like a twelve–year-old Justin Bieber fan. Yay.

Kiersten

I got lost twice on my way down to the kitchen. The first time I went left instead of right, the second time I was distracted by the middle of the stairway where a few family pictures hung. Wes and his brother stood side by side. They almost looked like twins. My heart clenched a bit when I thought of how awful it would be to lose your brother to something like suicide. You’d probably live to regret every single conversation, every single moment you could have said something different, possibly changed the outcome. I shuddered and went down the wrong side of the staircase leading into the master bedroom.

Crap. Finally, I made my way back up the stairway and down again to the other side, where I could smell the ci

Laughter floated from the kitchen.

Feeling like I was interrupting, I cleared my throat while I walked in. Wes was standing in the corner with Melda, both of whomm were frosting rolls and joking with each other.

The kitchen was full of food. Everywhere I looked the granite counters were covered with different boxes of things, plates, silverware, chips, dips. Crap, were we throwing a Thanksgiving party?

“Kiersten!” Wes crooked his finger. “Come here.”

Smiling, I made my way over and stopped right in front of him. He lifted his frosting covered finger to my lips and whispered, “Open.”

Well, I wasn’t really in a position to say no. My stomach clenched, it was so hungry. I opened my mouth as his finger swiped frosting across my lips and then my tongue wrapped around the frosting, sucking on his finger until it was gone.

His eyes darkened as he pulled his finger away and then touched his lips to mine. I heard someone clearing a throat but really all I cared about was the fact that Wes’s lips were pressed against mine. He tasted like coffee and sugar, and wow, what I wouldn’t give to spend every morning with that taste in my mouth.

“Ahem,” Melda said again.

We broke apart. I could feel my face erupt into flames. Wes bit down on his lower lip and looked i

“So that’s what the kids are calling it these days.” Melda’s eyebrows rose as she stirred the remaining frosting and dropped it onto the last few rolls. “Now, I only have one rule for Thanksgiving.”

“What?” I asked, reaching for a roll.

“Stay out of the kitchen.” She smiled and the wrinkles around her eyes crinkled with mischief. “Young Wes used to hide in the cupboards and scare me. Just last year Wes tried it again and I spilled turkey all over the floor.” The twinkle left her eyes as she wrung her hands together and licked her lips.

“Tragic death for that bird.” Wes shook his head and pulled Melda into his arms. “I promise we’ll be good.”

“You.” Melda poked his chest, clearly forgetting her sadness. “Stay away from this area. I’ll call you when I need you, until then, try to occupy yourself.”

Wes’s eyes turned to mine. “Hmm, I think I can find something to occupy myself.”