Intertwined

Fifteen

Cassidy

There was still no sign of Houston after he stormed out of the house and drove away. The words he told me hurt - they really did - and I wanted to be there for him. Every time I tried to support him, it always seemed like he pushed me away and there was no way of knowing what exactly he was thinking.

By the time dinner was ready and set on the table, Houston still had not returned from his abrupt leaving. A part of me wanted him to come home, but also a part of me didn't want to have to face the questions everyone I knew had. It would be easier to answer the questions without him.

Mom asked first, "So you and Houston are getting closer. Are you two dating now?"

"Me and Houston?" I questioned, bringing my dish to the sink. "He's not my boyfriend."

Liar, I was lying at that point.

Beckett asked another question, "Where were you today, then? And where was Houston all day? He left me with all the chores."

I paused for a moment, unsure of what to say or what would Houston say if he was here. If he was here, he would probably spin the question into some sort of joke, and I would hold in my laugh. Sometimes, I really needed a humorous, clever, quick-witted joke right now.

With every stare directed at me, I stuttered, "H-Houston had to go to-"

"I asked Houston to pick some stuff up from Lubbock," Gus blurted out, cutting me off from spilling our secret. "Cassidy joined for the hell of it."

Beckett asked peculiarly, "Then why didn't you go with Houston?"

Gus shrugged his shoulders, "I was busy."

The conversation was cut short and not once, but twice did Gus save me from every secret I yearned to share. This secret was harder to keep quiet, and every tingle in my body thought this was a bad idea. Houston only wanted a fling; I was nothing more to him.

He's had other girlfriends who were prettier, smarter, and more outgoing than me. Why would I ever think he would choose me?

Then, like a white knight in shining armor, Houston burst through the door and every happy, giddy feeling returned. He looked slightly buzzed and like he was in a fight - bruised knuckles and face to match. Houston took the seat next to me, making no move to greet me or glance in my direction.

Beckett was the first to ask, "What happened to your eye?"

"My eye?" Houston slurred, his blue eyes squinting at the people around him. "Someone punched me in the face."

Then, I asked completely forgetting our agreement, "Was it Dallas?"

The moment Houston glanced at me was the moment my heart ached with wanting his attention, his heart, his love, and everything in between. He paused before replying, his eyes drunkenly glancing back and forth, "No, it was Avery. We had a talk at the bar."

"Avery punched you in the face?" Beckett exclaimed, slamming his fork down on the table as Dad gave my brother a stern look. "What did you do to piss her off?"

Even with Houston being slightly drunk with a purple, swollen eye, he was smart enough not to tell Beckett the real reason. Something, only he and I knew and had agreed upon a day prior. It was Avery being the best friend I always needed.