Heavy skies follow me through Pullman.
The smoke billowing up from the fairgrounds catches in the soft breeze that's pulling the gray clouds above closer. The storm is moving fast, and with a low warning rumble of thunder, I'm guessing we won't be out here for long before the icy rain starts to pour.
Pulling off into the crowded field just outside of town, I find a spot close to the street and cut my bike's engine. This field is where the carnival that I took Josie to was set up. It's where most of the town's outdoor events are held, and since this bonfire is technically sponsored by the USW football team, it's a hell of a lot bigger than most parties. It's a front for fundraising since the beer and food aren't free, but really, it's just an excuse to throw a big-ass party without the cops coming to shut it down.
It's a party the team always goes to — mainly because we get free beer — but the only reason I'm here right now is because Luke heard Thompson says that Olivia and her roommates were coming tonight, and I'm not about to pass up an opportunity to talk to Josie.
According to her roommates, she hasn't been home the few times I've stopped by. I've sent her twenty-nine unread texts. She's ignored all my calls. And goddamn, at this point, I'm willing to catch a fucking pigeon and tie a letter to it just for the hell of it.
Pocketing my keys, I set into a slow jog, trying to ignore the pain radiating through my entire body as I weave through the crowd. It's been almost twenty-four hours since my fight, and I still feel like I'm fucking dying. The bruises on my face aren't that bad. I have a pretty nasty looking one on my jaw, but it's covered enough by the dark scruff on my face to not really be noticed unless you're looking for it. But the bruise spanning the entire side of my abdomen is so purple it's nearly black. It aches every time I walk, sit, lay down, speak, breathe, fucking exist.
I damn near cried at practice when Luke stiff-armed me on defense. And when Coach finally dismissed us to the showers, his eyes lingered on me as I grabbed my shit and left, mumbling something about needing to help out my brother with something in Creek View just so I wouldn't have to take off my shirt.
Because a few bruises on my face can be explained without much suspicion — the fact that I was hot-headed enough to get into bar fights for the past few years has solidified that excuse for me — but I'm pretty sure my cover would have been blown if my teammates saw my abdomen. Especially since, thanks to one of the hundreds of people in the crowd that night, a video of me shattering Hayden Prince's jaw has gone fucking viral.
Viral enough that I saw people crowding around each other on campus just to watch it together. Viral enough that Jordan sent it to me and said his wrestling coach showed it to him. Viral enough that my Russian Literature professor referenced it while he was setting up for his lecture, asking if anyone knew who Caustic was since, according to the gossip, he's a USW student.
It's fucking everywhere. Spreading across the internet like wildfire. And when the tag #whoscaustic started to trend locally, I damn near threw my phone across the room. Because fighting in front of two hundred drunken frat boys is one thing. Fighting under the lens of thousands — hundreds of thousands, maybe — is something completely different.
It means my chances of being found out are a hell of a lot higher.
It means I might have just signed my name on the death certificate of my future in the NBA. In shiny, crimson blood.
Weaving through the packed field and lazy current of students as I scan the crowd for Josie. I hold back a smile when I realize that since she's so fucking short, I'm really searching for a pop of color — a ribbon tied in her long brown hair. I head closer to the middle of the field, where the big ass bonfire crackles loudly, illuminating the area in a flickering warm light. Aside from the headlights of the cars pulling in, the bonfire is the only source of bright light; everywhere else is dimly lit by the paper lanterns swaying in the wind, which seems to fit the haunted vibe they were going for.
Not spotting Josie, I jog toward the wall of kegs where most of my team is congregating. They're easy to spot, nearly a head taller than anyone around them, and as I step up beside West and nod toward Luke, who's upside down in a keg stand, I grin when he lifts a hand off the keg, folding his fingers, leaving his pinky and thumb out in a hang loose sign. Luke's hoodie falls up his stomach, exposing the tanned abs beneath when he puts his hand back on the keg handle. They flex when he readjusts his hold on the keg.
West hands me an unopened bottle of beer, his eyes already searching the fields for his conquest of the night. I bring the bottle to my mouth and pop the cap with my teeth, following his gaze out to the crowd of hundreds of USW students walking around the field, pointing at the different attractions set up — mainly to keep up the facade of this being a PG community event for the authorities. There's apple picking, pumpkin carving, a huge folding table stacked with supplies for s'mores, hard cider pong, and in the far corner bordering the dark forest beyond, a massive haystack maze stretches so far down the field I have a feeling it was constructed to be unsolvable. The sign above the maze entrance reads Cursed — enter if you dare. When a group of girls comes running out screaming, I catch the guy drenched in fake blood revving an unchained chainsaw behind them as he chases after them, stopping at the perimeter of the entrance with an amused smile. I recognize him as Landon Hayes, our senior wide receiver. He revs the chainsaw a few more times, inviting any intrepid maze adventurers forward before turning back and strolling back into the dark.
I take another long pull of beer, shoulders falling at the realization that Josie is nowhere to be seen. She's too fucking short to see in the dense crowds, even if she were a few feet away.
"Has anyone seen Josie?" I ask.
"Saw her walk in twenty minutes ago," Thompson says, his eyes locked on his phone as his thumbs drum quickly across the screen. "She was with some guy. Looked like an artsy douche."
Ben. I ignore how my chest tightens as I take another sip of beer, searching the crowd for him. He's a lot taller. A lot easier to spot.
I catch West's grin as he looks at Cooper, whose mirroring grin is just as fucking annoying. Before either one of them can say something stupid, Luke drops down from his keg stand, wiping the errand beer spilling down his lips with his thumb.
"Still no luck?" He asks, leaning against the wall of kegs beside me, accepting the water bottle Thompson tosses to him. Thompson's on designated driver duty tonight; only he's proactive enough to keep everyone hydrated to lessen the chance of someone puking in his Nissan on the way home.
"I saw her on campus today." My jaw ticks at the memory of her looking over her shoulder after I screamed across the entire fucking courtyard to grab her attention. "She looked me dead in the eyes from across the courtyard and then disappeared into the crowd. She was there one sends and gone the next."
I take another pull of my beer and try to wash away the look in her eyes. The hurt.
I hurt her somehow, and the worst part of this entire thing is that I don't even know how. The stab of guilt in my chest twists painfully at the thought that I might have physically hurt her. I was careful. I was so fucking careful with her. I went slower, softer than I usually would have, even when she begged me for more. I tempered it. For fuck's sake, by the end of the night, I fucked her so soft and slow she was practically purring in my ear with each thrust.
But she did bleed. She bled so much my cock was covered in the same sheen of crimson that stained her thighs. I figured that was because she was a virgin, but fuck, what if it wasn't? What if I really hurt her?
"Maybe she thinks you don't care," Luke offers, staring out into the crowd as he drowns half his water bottle before. His eyes are skimming the crowd, and I have a feeling he's searching for someone specific. Someone he shouldn't be searching for. "Maybe this is all because she's nervous that she's in deeper than you, and she decided to end it before you could. Before she could get hurt."
I consider that, watching a pack of rowdy guys sprint toward the maze, their red cups of beers spilling over as they go.
"She has to know." I shake my head at the ludicrous idea. She has to know how much I...she has to know. All the things I've said. All the things I've done with her. She has to know. She has to know she's the only one I'd ever —
My chest constricts, freezing my lungs in my chest. It feels like Hayden Prince just landed another shot to my ribs as I watch Josie step into a rip in the crowd. A clear shot between the gaps where I watch her take the red cup Ben's offering her, her returning smile fractured — a shattered version of what it used to be a few days ago.
I hand my beer to Luke and step away, eyes locked on the deep blue ribbon blowing softly against her neck in the steady wind.
"Are you sure —"
I don't stay long enough for Luke to talk some reason into me. I don't want to hear that I should give her space. I don't want to hear that I should let her come to me when she's ready to talk. I don't want to hear any of that. I want to hear her voice. I want to hear her reasons. And while that might be selfish as fuck, I never claimed to be a saint.
I'm only a few yards away when her eyes lift and catch on mine. The unmistakable flare of hurt pooling in her eyes hits me harder than any shot Prince landed on me last night. And when she shakes her head, eyes wide and face paling, she nearly spills her drink on Ben as she hands him the cup back and turns around, disappearing into the crowd like a ghost stepping into sunlight.
"Josie, wait up!" I call over the noise, but she doesn't stop as she hurries through the crowd. She stops at the edge of the crowd's current, and with one final look over her shoulder, I catch the desperation in her eyes before she books it toward the maze.
Fuck.
Shoving my way past a group of people trying to get in, I set into a light jog, trying to see through the smoke congesting the air from the fog machines.
"Josie?" I call out, slowing my steps into a slow stroll, trying to hear over the laughter and screams echoing from further in the maze. I don't even stop to think as I make my way through the different cavities and tunnels within the dark labyrinth, shoving past groups of people who are too scared to walk past the masked guys with bloodied props.
I turn a dark corner, and a guy with a bloody steak knife pops out of the smoke. I almost deck him in the face on instinct, but when he steps into the dim red light cast from the string lights strewn across the sides of the hay, I recognize him as another football player.
"Hey, Batra." I slap his outstretched hand, ignoring his smug ass smile at scaring the shit out of me. "You see Josie anywhere?" I realize he might not know who she is, so I try to describe her. "Short as hell, long brown hair, brown eyes."
"If you're talking about the girl who looked like she was about to piss herself as she ran past me screaming, yeah. She went left about twenty seconds before you got here." He nods toward the fork in the maze just ahead.
I bite back a laugh at the visual. "Yeah, that's her."
"That side is a dead end, though. A few twists, turns, and empty caverns, but there's nothing in there. She'll have to turn around soon."
Glancing toward the dark abyss beyond the left fork, I raise a brow. "Has anyone else gone in there recently?"
"No, I usually chase them to the right." He grins. "But you can't fault me for wanting to see her a second time."
Meeting Batra's stare in the flickering red lights, my cheek twitches as the idea flickers to life. "If I can get you courtside seats to the next few games, you think you can keep people out of there for a while? Give me some time with her?"
He considers the offer for a second, grinning as he shakes my hand, sealing the deal. "Make it quick. I'm switching spots with Dac in fifteen minutes."
I spin on my heel and start jogging, trying to keep my tread light to listen for her. The hall is long, with multiple small openings jutting out just to reveal their dead ends. A soft gasp and sniffles echo from ahead, and I slow, my steps faltering at the unmistakable sound of her crying.
There's a final turn in the maze, and I take it slowly, watching as she comes into view. She's turned away, hand braced on the wall of hay in front of her as her other hand covers her mouth, trying to silence the cries still echoing around her.
She's surrounded by the flickering red lights strung along the entire cavernous maze, catching in her hair and illuminating her skin like she's glowing from within.
"Jos," I murmur, taking slow, cautious steps toward her.
Her body stills — frozen mid-sob. Looking up at the hay, she wipes her cheeks frantically before turning toward me. Her eyes are glassy, the trails of tears still fresh on her cheeks.
"I'm so sorry." I shake my head at how hollow those words sound. They're not enough. Not nearly enough to make up for the shattered expression she's trying so hard to mask right now. "I'm so, so sorry, Josie."
She licks her bottom lip, pulling it between her teeth as she looks away. A fresh current of tears floods down her cheeks. Aside from the broken rasp of her breaths, that unwavering silence that's been following me since she left is stretching taut between us.
"Please, Jos." I take a step toward her, and like two magnets pushing against each other, she takes a stumbling step back, her eyes squeezing closed as the tears run faster down her cheeks.
"I should go." Her voice is so soft I almost don't hear it. But as she looks over my shoulder toward the exit, I know I'm about to lose this moment with her, and the last string of my restraint snaps.
"Josie, please. Please stay. We need to talk."
She hesitates, her eyes still fixed over my shoulder on the exit.
"You can't just disappear one day without an explanation and expect me not to care. If that's what this is, if that's what you're trying to do, to find out if I care, well, here's your answer — I do — way more than I ever thought possible. I care so much that this shit is eating me alive. I care so much that I don't care that I look crazy right now, following you into this creepy ass maze, begging you to just fucking talk to me. To just tell me that everything's okay. And if that's not why you've become some kind of beautiful ghost haunting me with your silence, then you have to fucking tell me!" My voice is throaty, weighted down by the emotion I'm trying desperately to shove down. "You have to fucking tell me, Josie! Because this isn't how this is going to end. This isn't how we're going to end."
I wait, breath caught in my chest, for some kind of response — for something. But as the seconds tick by and she looks away, the disappointment settles on my skin like snow, chilling me to the bone.
"I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry for everything. I'm sorry if I hurt you the other night. If I was too rough or —" She shakes her head, eyes growing slightly as if she's surprised I'd even think that. Relief floods me. I keep talking, though, because I know I'm on borrowed time here, and since she's still looking at me like a frightened doe, it's clear she might run any second. "And I'm sorry if I didn't make it clear to you that you are — you are the only one I want. You're the only one that matters to me. You're the only one who could make me feel like this. Who could drive me crazy enough to actually beg you just to look at me. Just to give me some semblance of you. Because if this is goodbye. If this is you leaving me. You — you have to tell me why, Josie."
"You don't have to be sorry." Her voice is throaty and mangled by the tears she's trying desperately to hold back. "You didn't do anything wrong, Micah. This is just —" She looks away to the lights casting flickering red shadows off the hay, up to the sky nearly eclipsed by the canopy of treetops above, and finally, to me. "You didn't do anything wrong. We made a deal to be friends." With benefits. I can hear the unspoken words like she whispered them lingering between us. "And I know I should have spoken to you about this earlier — I owed you this conversation. I just —"
"Why'd you leave?" My voice cuts between us like a serrated knife, slicing through the bullshit, the excuses, the uncertainty. We're past all of that.
"I can't —"
I cut her off. "— Yes, you can. Tell me, Josie. Why did you leave me?" I want to cringe at the crack in my voice. At the first true piece of vulnerability I've let slip — to anyone.
Her eyes widen a little at the silent confession. At the admission that behind the bravado, there's a part of me that's truly breaking right now. There's a part of me that's already shattered.
"Because I can't be your friend anymore, Micah." It's a whisper, so soft it's nearly carried away in the breeze that pulls through the dark tunnel. She steps toward me, her eyes lighting up with a kaleidoscope of emotion. "I can't do this anymore. I don't know why I ever thought I could, but now I know for certain that I can't. I can't go to twin flame readings and learn about our supposed past lives as lovers together. I can't hold your hand or kiss you until I lose my breath or fall asleep in your arms. I can't do any of that anymore because it's not —" Her words are rushing out of her mouth so fast I have to concentrate on putting them all together. "I can't be friends with you anymore because I don't want to be just friends with you, Micah. I never have. And I didn't realize how hard it would hurt to finally acknowledge that I was just a number on your list. A notch on your bedpost. I knew it was happening. I mean, I had to know. You're you. You're Micah Costa. How could I not know?" She laughs softly, but it's laced with sorrow, choked by the new wave of tears falling from her eyes. "I was the one who specified no strings — no commitments. I said that. I drew that line. I guess I just wasn't prepared to actually see you stick to it." Her chest is rising and falling quickly, trying to keep up with her clipped, heaving breathing.
"That's why you left." It finally clicks. It finally makes sense. And now that I'm watching her cheeks flush and eyes blur with the flood of tears she can't hold back, it seems so fucking clear. So fucking obvious. I want to reach into the past and throttle myself just so he can feel the same blinding pain that is searing through my chest as I think back to the few nameless lays that meant little more to me than a quick release — the drunken moments that just lost me the only girl I've actually wanted to be with. "Josie, I —"
She shakes her head, holding up a hand to silence me. "No, you don't have to say anything. Those were the terms of our agreement, and I can't be upset with you for sticking to them."
I take a step toward her, keeping her weary eyes on me. "I know telling you I'm sorry isn't going to fix that it happened. I know that. But I am. I am sorry. Because I didn't even realize — I didn't even know —" My head falls back as I try to figure out how to explain the unexplainable. Looking back at her, I suck in a shaky breath. "Before I met you, before we slept together, I was — I was — I didn't see sex the way you do. Hell, I didn't see it the way I see it now. Sex for me — sex for me never meant anything. It was a form of release. A stress reliever. A pastime. It was meaningless. It was routine. Unfeeling. It was a way to push down whatever feelings were threatening to surface. It was a way to escape. And that's not to say it was okay, because —"
"We weren't together, Micah. You don't have to explain yourself," she hiccups on a sob, closing her eyes like she's practiced saying that in the mirror over and over for the past three days.
"No, we weren't together," I agree. "But you need to know. You deserve to know that that night in the field, that was a first for me too. That was the first time I truly experienced sex like that. That was the first time it felt like more than a random release, more than a few minutes of fun only to be forgotten as soon as I zipped up my pants. And if I could go back and not — if I could force myself to just own up to the feelings I was running from, I would. Because that's the truth of it, Josie. I was running. I was running as fast as I fucking could from my feelings because I didn't — if I actually admitted that sex with random girls at parties wasn't what I wanted anymore, that sex with anyone, anyone but you, wasn't what I wanted anymore — then I'd have to face the reality that for the first time in a long time, something outside of myself had the power to hurt me. For the first time in a long time, I was vulnerable." I hesitate, shoving down the part of me that's screaming not to open myself up like this. "You make me vulnerable, Josie. You have the power to absolutely crush me; it's laying right there in the palm of your hand. Exposed. Fragile. And that — that scares the living shit out of me."
"Micah." Her eyes soften behind their glossy glow, and the soft gasp that slips through her lips sends a rush of goosebumps down my back because, for the first time in three days, it's an unguarded sound.
"But I'm not running from it anymore, Josie. That's the truth. That's the bottom line here. I don't want anyone else. I don't even see anyone else. It's you. You, with your satin ribbons, honey eyes, and sun-woven soul. You. Only you. And, yeah, maybe I am a pessimistic asshole. Maybe I do bleed black and gray. Maybe I'll never truly be able to see the world from the same hopeful lens as you. Maybe there's a part of me that never truly let myself believe I could have you because someone like you deserves so much more than a tainted soul and tarnished mind. Someone like you deserves a man who sees themselves standing outside of that burning house with you, not trapped inside. Someone like you deserves a man who sees the world — who sees themselves — in the colors you do. If I were a better man, I'd walk away and let you find that person. But the truth is, I'm not. And maybe it's because of my tarnished soul, but I have no qualms about wrapping my arms around you and never letting you go again." Taking a step closer, the tension in my chest eases when she doesn't move away — when her eyes hold mine, drawing me closer. I close the rest of the space between us, holding her gaze as I cup her face, smoothing my thumbs across her flushed cheeks. I brush my thumb across her lips, watching them part slightly at the touch before meeting her gaze again and finally — fucking finally — admitting, "If you'd let me, Josie, I'd never let you go again."
A new wave of tears is flooding down her cheeks, but I can see the shift in her eyes as her breath stutters in her throat and her fingers thread through the hair at the nape of my neck, tugging me down to kiss her.
"Please," she breathes against my lips. "Don't ever let me go."
The first raindrop hits my temple, and then, with a low rumble of thunder, the dark sky above opens up, and the icy rain falls around us. Her lips never leave mine, and while the screams and laughs from everyone in the field echo distantly, all I can really hear is the breathy sound of her gasps, the soft moans in her throat, and the ghost of her answer in my mind, replaying over and over and over. Don't ever let me go.
Her hands slide down my stomach and catch on my belt, unbuckling it as she nips on my bottom lip. When she shoves my pants down my legs and pulls back enough for me to watch the rain soak her hair and slide down her body in rivulets of red-tinted diamonds, I don't hesitate to slide my hands up her dress, rip the tiny shred of lace underwear off her body, and haul her up, pinning her against the wall of hay.
I'm fisting my cock, lining myself up with her, when the realization hits me. She senses my hesitation because she pulls back from kissing my neck, brows knitting.
"I don't have a condom."
The one time something goes right in my life, and I'm not prepared for it.
"It's okay," she murmurs, bringing her lips back to my jaw and kissing a trail to my lips. "I'm on birth control. I've been on it for a few weeks, just in case — for moments like this."
A rush of heated satisfaction trails up my spine, and I don't question it as I slide into her. I don't even register the icy rain sliding down my body, soaking into my clothes. All I can feel is her. The tight heat of her around my cock, the warmth of her lips, the rough tug of her fingers in my hair as she moans against my mouth with each hurried thrust.
"Oh, god. Oh, yes!" Her moans are breathy, growing louder as I lift her higher, changing the angle and speed until she's panting clipped, desperate breaths.
"You and I," I murmur against her lips. "From this moment on, it's you and I."
Raindrops cling to her lashes before dropping down to her cheeks and sliding down her neck, and as she nods her head fervently, her eyes glazing over as her climax rocks through her, I drag my tongue up the soft column of her throat, tasting the rain against the quick flutter of her pulse.
"You're mine, Josie. In this lifetime and the next," I whisper against the shell of her ear, feeling that familiar heat erupting at the base of my spine, pulsing through my muscles with an intoxicating haze. 'You're mine, and goddamn, I'm yours. All yours."