Page 2 of Lost Boy

A babbling, fidgeting, blushing twelve-year-old girl.

Because, yeah, he’sthathot.

Cade

After feeding the monster inside my brain, I drag the back of my hand across my nose and collapse onto my bed. It’s gotten bad. My relationship with drugs. Part of me knows that I’m getting out of control, but then the less … intelligent, more stubborn side wants to keep telling myself it’s all fine. And that this is only temporary.

I want to believe I still have control of the situation—the situation being drugs and me. But the truth is, I think I might be worse off than I was when my parents sent me to rehab the last time.

I’m spending more money. And faster too. The money I had saved from working at my dad’s garage this summer is dwindling fast. And I know it’s only a matter of time before I startusing the debit card my parents gave me for emergencies. That’s their fault though. Why would they give a recovering addict a debit card?Because I promised them I was fine—that’s why.And, goddamn, I’m good at convincing people of that.

I roll onto my side, staring out the window at the rain pelting against the glass. It’s been raining off and on for days now, bringing me back to when I was a kid. The summer before fifth grade, it rained every single day. Right up until the last threedays before school started back up. And then we were forced to cram months of fun into a few measly days. Which, obviously, was impossible.

I remember my mother looking out the window of what had to have been the third week of waking up to rain. She sighed and said that it was like it was Groundhog Day. At the time, I didn’t get it. I wasn’t sure what she even meant. Now, I do. Because these days, it’s Groundhog Day every fucking day of my life.

I guess when something bad happens that forever changes you, life has a way of putting this bubble around you, keeping you inside of it. You can only fit a little bit of happiness into the bubble, and if you have any more than that, you’ll be consumed with guilt. Because why should you be happy? You don’t deserve it.

On the outside, I look like a normal college kid, living his best life. I’m a Wolf, playing for one of the best college hockey programs in the country. I have the best of friends and the most badass teammates, and on top of it, I’m surrounded by the prettiest women, who are more than eager to climb in my bed and show me a good time.

It sounds perfect, right? Wouldn’t you trade your left nut to be me?

Yeah, I guess I wouldn’t blame you either. But the truth is, sometimes, I’d tradeeverythingto be anyone else.

I’m not naive enough to think I have the worst life of any motherfucker around. I know there’s a lot sadder shit out there than mine. And maybe it makes me a weak person because I’m stuck in the past, blaming all my bad choices on one night. Maybe I’d still be putting shit up my nose even if my best friend hadn’t died in my arms. Who knows?

One thing is clear. That little voice of reason, telling most people when something is a bad idea and to pass on it … yeah, I don’t have that. If I want to get fucked up, I’ll get fucked up.

Slowly climbing out of bed, I pull a pair of sweatpants on and head downstairs. And I’m thankful there’s no practice until this afternoon. Morning practices aren’t my friend.

“Are you just waking up, man?” Watson scowls from the couch. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

“Wasn’t feeling it.” I shrug. “Hey, can you haul your titty out and let me have a sucky-suck?”

“What?” He scowls. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Well, if you are going to act like my mother, you might as well pump out the titty milk.” I shrug, yawning. “I like mine warmed up too.” I pat my stomach. “Better on my tum-tum. Oh, and I’ll take some cookies with it too. Nothing like milk and cookies.”

“Fuck off. You’re so stupid.” He groans. “Just be careful, missing class, Huff. You know how Coach feels about that shit.”

Pretending to be sucking a titty, I eventually stop and shake my head. “Yes, Mommy,” I mutter, grabbing a bottle of water just as Hunter strolls into the kitchen.

“Yo.” I nod. “What’s crackin’, Thompson? You lifting more lately or what?” I wink. “You’re looking extra bulky, my man. I’m diggin’ it. So … muscular and manly.”

Hunter glances from Watson to me. “Look, guys, my sister’s dorm flooded. She needs a place to stay, and I told her she could crash here until they get it fixed.” He looks nervous as he completely ignores my sweet-ass compliment. “Is that cool with y’all? I guess I should have asked first.”

“Hell yes,” Watson says, nodding. “You know I don’t care.”

“Watson, maybe you’ll be able to show your candle collection to Haley. Chicks love candles.” I point to him.

“You love my mama’s candles too, Huff.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “Don’t even lie.”

“Fucking right I do, big boy. But that damn apple pie one makes me want to go to my grandmother’s every time we lightthat shit up. And that’s a problem because she lives too damn far away.”

“From the looks of you lately, I should light it more often.” Watson narrows his eyes. “You look like you’ve lost some weight. Everything all right?”

My shoulders instantly tense. But before I can say anything, Hunter intervenes because if there’s anything he hates, it’s when his friends and teammates don’t get along. Hunter is one of those guys who can’t stand for anyone around him to feel uncomfortable.

“Hales loves candles,” Hunter says. “So, you’re in luck, Gentry.”

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