Worth Any Risk

Ch. 13 Kind of Trouble

*Jordan

His words echo in my head, and I start to panic. What really happened to your father?

Oh, god. Does he know something? How could he possibly know that Amber and Reese—

I shake my head at him.

"You don't have to talk about, Jordan." He takes my face to kiss my forehead. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked such a question. I'm an idiot. You should ignore me. All the blood leaves my head for my dick, and it turns me into a moron."

"But what do you mean?" My heart races. I can see my sisters on the floor, yelling at me to get out, my father's feet and legs stretched out, twitching. They tell me to call the ambulance. I run. I can't find the phone.

"I'm sorry. I remember hearing he died, when we were still both in school. I know your sisters were a little older, but that things were hard for all of you. I couldn't remember how he died, but I never should have brought it up."

The tension unwinds in my muscles and snaking nausea in my gut loosens its grip. The room comes back into focus. Everything is all right.

"Heart attack," I manage to say. "We were at home one night, and he fell. By the time the ambulance got there, he was gone. And we were stuck with a bill we didn't know how to pay."

"Jordan, I'm so sorry. You brought up our pasts, and I thought maybe yours wouldn't be as bad as mine. Shit, I was wrong. It's even worse, and I'm an ass for asking you to talk about it."

"No. No, you aren't an ass. I came here tonight to get some things off my chest. I want to talk about it. And I want you to talk about yours. This" I motion at him and the room, "isn't made to last. We need to take advantage of every second together. Before it ends. So here's the truth. I crushed on you so hard, starting with the seventh grade."

"Are you serious?" I shake my head in embarrassment. "I don't remember noticing you until my junior year. You were a sophomore, right? One year younger?"

"Yeah. I remember you from the first day in math class. That same day, there was a school rally or something. I remember some speeches and the cheerleaders encouraging the girls to try out for the team, and I remember watching you one row over."

"But we didn't have any classes together, that's for sure."

"Wrong again." I run my fingernails up his chest, and he inhales sharply, nostrils flaring. His abs tighten and I lick my lips. "We were in pre-algebra, but only for a couple of weeks, then later in history, my sophomore year. Apparently, you kept getting into fights and not turning in any homework, so they put you in a special program....for kids with difficulties."

"Difficulties?" He chuckles wryly. "That's one way of describing things." He takes a deep breath, eyes focused on the wall. "The truth wasn't complicated. My step-dad hated me from day one, since he hooked up with my mother when I was four. And my only recourse was to make him hate me more. After years of telling me I was a useless piece of shit, he started treating me like one. Maybe I even started believing him."

"Cole..."

"It's all right. I can talk about it. But you can see that school was low on my list of things to worry about."

"I never judged you. I could see there was something else going on—I recognized my own suffering in you, if you want to know the truth. And I admired you for being able to shout out your pain instead of closing it up inside." My stomach is a cold stone as I confess these things, but his arm stays close around me, protective and warm.

"Fat good it did me. I was shooting myself in the foot over and over being a dumbshit."

"No, you were communicating the only way you knew how, the ways you were taught. As a child and then a teenager, you were reaching out to others. If you were destructive and no adults stepped in to figure out why, then that's on them. Trust me on this one. I have academic diplomas to prove I know what I'm talking about."