Page 21 of Sweet Girl
I’m not sure Cade even knows what to make of my sudden call to action, but he doesn’t protest. Instead, he reaches into his pocket for his keys and slips on his shoes.
I run down the hall and then take the stairs two at a time, grabbing my purse from my dresser before rushing into Kady’s room.
“Gotta go...not sure when we’ll be back home. I’ll call you later.”
I hear her shout my name, but I’m already down the stairs and grunting out a good-bye to my mom, who stands in the hall looking confused, and then I’m out the door and jumping into Cade’s awaiting car.
My mind is racing a million miles an hour as we drive the twenty minutes to Tempe, although it feels more like two hours. I imagine a plethora of scenarios and it only heightens my fear. I’m uncertain what we’ll find when we get there, but if Lance’s description is accurate, it could be a pretty ugly mess.
Poor Van. This can’t be a good sign that things went well yesterday. I guess I understand, even though I’m a little miffed, why he didn’t call me. I just hope that it’s not too late and I can talk him down off the ledge when we get there. He’s gotta be hurting pretty good right now.
Pulling into Cade’s parking spot in the front of his complex, we can already hear Van’s loud and agitated voice carrying from inside the apartment.
“Shit,” Cade laments, slamming his car door. “The neighbors are going to throw a shit fit. If we get the cops called again this semester, we might be thrown out on our asses.”
We make it up to the front door when we hear a loud crash from inside and then Lance’s voice shouting at the top of his lungs.
“Dude, calm the fuck down! Do I need to shoot you with my tranquilizer gun?”
Huh? Why in the world does Lance have a tranq gun? I’ll leave that question for another time.
Cade pushes open the door just as Van comes barreling into us full force. I’m knocked to the ground as Cade tackles Van right beside me. We all three groan in unison. Rolling to my side, I rub my hip that seems to have suffered the brunt of the fall, as I watch in horror as Cade flops on top of a flailing Van’s stomach.
“Get off me, man.” Van slurs, unable to move an inch.
“Not happening until I know you can be trusted to be calm.” Cade twists his butt deeper into Van’s abdominals. “Are you going to calm down?”
Van wiggles and grunts, and then finally lets out a whoosh of air, followed by a very slurred “fine”. Cade jumps to his feet, extending a hand, first to me and then to Van.
I don’t say a word as I stare up at Van. Mainly because I’m in utter disbelief of what I’m seeing. He looks awful. His T-shirt is stained with sweat, or maybe vomit, and he smells disgusting.
Cade seems to agree with me. “Dude, you reek. What the fuck is wrong with you? Go take a shower, it’ll do you some good. I’ll grab you some shorts and come back out when you’re ready. I’ll have coffee waiting.”
Van laughs. Out of all the laughter we’ve shared together, I’ve never heard such a desperate sound. If I could, I would throw my arms around him right this minute. Hold him. Tell him how much he means to me. That I’m sorry he’s so hurt. But I can’t because my brother and Lance are here. Watching our every move.
And if my brother ever found out I had a crush on Van Gerard, he’d throw a hissy fit of ginormous proportions.
Instead of doing any of those things, I reach out my hand to lightly touch his, barely skimming the top of his knuckles.
“Come on, Van. I’ll help you. Just follow me, okay?”
My brother touches my shoulder. “He’ll be fine. I’m sure he can handle it on his own. It’s not your mess to clean up, Ky.”
I wave him off, already reaching around Van’s solid waist to help move him toward Cade’s master bathroom where there’s a walk-in shower.
“I got it. It’s not a problem. I’ll yell if I need anything.”
Cade chuckles, but lets me go with no argument. “Suit yourself.” And then he gives Van a death glare. “Touch my sister and you’re dead.” I groan in embarrassment but keep on walking.
It’s not until we get into the bathroom, Van’s head bobbing back and forth like a dashboard ornament, that I realize this could end badly. I don’t know what I’m thinking trying to take this on myself. Really, how am I supposed to manage to get a six-foot-seven drunk basketball player into a shower? What if he passes out on me? Falls down on me so I can’t get up? And then there’s the teeny-tiny problem of clothes removal. And a potentially naked Van in front of me.
This sounded better in my head when I was just trying to calm him down. Although the Naked-Van sounds pretty darn good.
Taking a deep breath, I get to work. Van’s propped up against the edge of the counter, eyes closes, body swaying gently. I grab the bottom edge of his shirt and start to pull it up and over his head. Unfortunately, I hit a roadblock. Mainly, his size. I’m a fairly tall girl, but still a full foot shorter than him, and I can’t reach, even on tip-toes, past his shoulders.
“Van, you need to help with this. I can’t do it.”
His eyes are dark, gray slits – only half open. But he follows my direction and yanks the material from his body, tossing it on the ground next to our feet. My eyes are now pinned on the dark smattering of curly hair on his chest. Another time, another place, I might have had the guts to reach out and run my hands across his pecs and down his tight, smooth abs. Down the dark happy trail leading underneath his pants...to maybe find some other form of happiness. But sadly, tonight is not the night and it’s not happening now. No matter how much I want to do it.
