Page 76 of Kitty Season
“So. I’m going to tell you, but I need you to promise you’ll try not to treat me any differently. And If you can’t, just be honest and tell me.”
Quinn shifts her hand from the steering wheel and places it over Troye’s knee. Squeezing affectionately. “We promise. And just so you know, nothing would make us see you differently. Unless you like, stabbed them a hundred times or something.” She lets out a nervous laugh then stills.
“Chill, Kitty. I didn’t kill them. I may have thought about it a few times, but …” His voice trails off and for a second I think he’s changed his mind. “My parents were really young when they had me. Like eighteen or nineteen.”
“Huh, that’s the same as my parents,” Quinn says, and I see her hand tighten again.
“Yeah, well, let’s look at how your parents handled the stressors of teenage pregnancy versus mine. Yours finished college. One went on to become a pro hockey player, one a lawyer. Mine ran away and joined the fucking carnival circuit, which in itself, holds no shame. No, my issue lies with the drugs and alcohol. Addiction is a disease, I know that, but knowing that and living with its consequences as a kid are two very different things.”
“Troye, you don’t owe us any of this. You know that, right?” I ask, my hands diving into my pocket despite knowing Poppy hair ain’t there. All he does is nod, then continue.
“Apparently the first time they left me alone I was only a few weeks old. A neighbor heard me screaming my full diaper off and took me home till they returned a few days later. This happened again and again. I got taken off them twice, but sent back when my birth mom swore she was clean. The last time it happened they had left the carny life behind a few years back, but the drugs stuck. Anyway. I was seven. Filthy. Hungry. Bleeding. I went to go find this nice old lady that lived on my lot, but ended up at Delph and Fifi’s and never left.”
Everything. Every single damn thing I know about this man suddenly makes sense.
“Fuck,” I mutter eloquently, but really. What do you say to that? “I don’t know what to say?” I admit.
Wiping the tears lining her cheeks away, Quinn nods. “Me either. But I will say this. I hate your parents and am so happy that you found your moms. I know that sounds crass and callus, but?—”
“Nah, sounds pretty accurate to me.”
The rest of the fifteen minute trip passes in a blur of idle chatter and chunks of uncomfortable silence. All I can think of is my cushy life back home, and what a brat I must sound like when I complain that it’s hard to be alone and away from my family. I’m twenty-one. Troye was a fucking kid.
As we pull into our dorm’s reserved parking lot, the tension-filled silence deepens. I can’t help but think of what’s going to happen when we get upstairs, and I’d put money on Quinn and Troye wondering the same.
Since I’m the only one not in a relationship, I unclip my belt and open the door and am striding away before Quinn’s turned off the engine. Their, barely above a whisper, conversation follows me up stairs and down the empty hall, and I do my best to actively not look or listen until unlocking our front door forces my hand.
“Thanks for the ride Quinn,” I offer, crossing the threshold without looking up. “And I’m glad you’re okay, Troye. Night.” My plan is to make a dash for my room, but a hand on my shoulder stops me within a step, the accompanying low rumble setting my feet in concrete.
“Brady.” Lord, don’t say my name. “Quinny wanted to know if you wanted to sleep in my room.”
“You what?” Mouth agape. I glance at Quinn. I know what I must look like. I can feel my eyes hanging from their sockets, but still I don’t run. “You want me to sleep with Quinn in your room? Why? Where will you be?”
“In there with you, dumbass.” Quinn slaps Troye’s arm. “Sorry, old habit.” He shifts uncomfortably on his feet, then seems to be annoyed by his too big shoes. My shoes. The one’s I suggested we pick up for him before we headed to the hospital.
“Nothing’s going to happen,” Quinn says, slipping off her Bears jacket and laying it over the back of the sofa. “Troye needs his rest, but if you like,wewould like to spend the night with you … If you like.” There’s a slight tremble in her voice that breaks down the hesitation I feel.She’s just as scared.
“Ah, sure. That would be … nice.”
“Nice,” Troye snorts, rolling his eyes. Nothing else is required, his face and grunt say it all. Kicking off his shoes, he slides an arm around Quinn’s shoulder, fists my shirt in the other and leads us to bed. “Just keep those handsy-hands off me, Skip. Like Kitty said. I need my rest.”
As Quinn promised, no funny business is had. I get Troye some paracetamol from the bathroom. Quinn, the three of us some water, and wordlessly, we enter Troye’s room, remove our clothes, climb in to bed too small to fit us all. But it does, and it’s perfect and we fall asleep. There’s some awkward moments, the silent shifting of too many body parts in the tight space, but that is an insignificant price to pay.
I wakefrom the best night’s sleep I’ve had in Boston, with a soft boob on my chest and a hard dick between my cheeks. I still can’t account for Troye’s sudden defrosting towards me, but right now, I don’t seem to care.
When my eyes flutter open in the too bright light, there’s no shock at what I find. No early morning amnesia, or embarrassed regret. Just a sense of wholeness I should probably find disturbing. But don’t.
Life has been worse.
Truly.
As cozy as I am, we have an early practice, a game tomorrow, and I have a routine to follow. To do that, I need to extract myself without waking anyone, but, man. What a thing to leave.
I’m still pondering how to do it, when Quinn shifts, snuggling deeper into me, and draping her leg over mine. Her foot must clip Troye, who grunts, his warm breaths coasting over my ear, sending shivers through every nerve in my body.
“You’re still here,” he rumbles, voice achingly grouchy. “Freaking out, yet?”
“Surprisingly no. I mean, this is different.” I shove my ass back into the concave of his hips, earning another grumble. “But not unenjoyable.” He fucking laughs, a full-bodied belly one I’ve never heard, and I feel way, way too good about being the one to provoke it. “The boobs feel nice, too.”
