Quinn

Seeing Dylan's face everywhere I went in my apartment was a bit weird, but I was determined to listen to Cash and leave the pictures up. It's a painful game and I'm trying to find every cheat code in the book to avoid losing. Like closing my eyes any time I need to get somewhere. My face and the walls are very well acquainted now.

I tried hiding out in Cash's house, so I didn't have to be haunted by mine, but that ass stole one of the photos of me and Dylan and stuck it up on the shelf by his front door, right next to my drawing.

And, of course, it's the one where I had a terrible haircut – it was basically a mullet because the lady next door didn't actually know how to cut hair. And I'm missing both my front teeth. Annnnd I'm swinging a rake around at my brother. I look like a full-fledged hotheaded hillbilly.

There's only three weeks left until graduation, and I am so close to breaking out of this mothersucker without a repeat of last year's mental collapse and I'll be damned if a photo ends up being my downfall. Cash was right when he said my brother deserved more from me. Doesn't make it any easier to handle, though.

Tonight, we're going to his mama's house to hang out with everyone. It's the first time Cash will see his family since he found out about his dad. I'm nervous for him. The kind of nervous where you constantly feel like you have to pee. The kind that makes you want to rip your bladder out and stomp on it.

He, on the other hand, appears completely calm and at ease with everything. Like he doesn't have a care in the world that he has to look his mama in the eye and keep a big secret from her.

He's just slumped in the passenger seat of Hot Mama while I drive us to our destination because he insisted we take my car so he can listen for anything else that might be wrong. He had to push his seat all the way back for his legs to fit but, other than that, he's just...relaxed.

It makes me want to slap some anxiety into him.

It isn't until we pull up to the house that he does this thing where he rolls his shoulders out before taking a breath and stepping out of the car. Anyone else might just think he's sore, but I've started to notice he does this as preparation to go into work mode.

I have rituals at mama's house to go into shut-down mode, and Cash has rituals to maintain the nonchalance he needs to get through an emotional night.

Mama Mel is as welcoming as ever and my face gets lost in her vast forest of cleavage as she hugs me to her chest. Never thought I'd be suffocated by boobies, but I guess nothing in life is off limits. Experiencing new things is the spice of life, after all.

I wonder how Cash will feel about the level of intimacy I've formed with his mama. She knows my vaginal care schedule and now I've been acclimated with her upper lady bits. They're comfy, if I'm being honest. Comfier than trying to use Cash's abs as a pillow.

Maybe I should switch teams. Or maybe I can find a way for him to grow boobs. Some kind of weird science experiment. A penis and boobs. The best of both worlds. Maybe one day evolution will catch up with my brilliant idea but, for now, I'll have to deal with Cash's lack of fatty tissue surrounding his useless nipples.

"Mama Mel, did you know around six percent of people have a third nipple? Can you imagine how weird that would be? Wait, do you have a third nipple? Because, if you do, I'm sure it's actually cool and... pretty. Yeah, beautiful! Your third nipple would probably put all the other nipples in the world to shame."

Warren stops in his tracks and his eyebrows reach for the sky as he stands behind her.

"Already? It's been two minutes and you're already sayin' crazy shit." He muses.

At the same time that I tell him to shut up, mama Mel backhands his chest. He grabs the spot she hit and furrows his brows.

"Mum! You struck me! Your own flesh and blood."

Instead of responding to him, she plucks her shirt away from her chest and stares down before releasing the fabric.

"Nope. Looks like I only have two. Too bad." She replies with a chuckle while Warren's face twists with disgust and terror.

After another few seconds, he snaps out of his trance and beelines toward the back deck with a beer in hand, mumbling, "You're both crazy."

Through the glass door, I don't see Cash out there. Mama Mel gathers her bottle of wine and a few glasses before following her more annoying son outside.

Peeking around the corner in the hallway, I see my bearaffe lingering there, staring up at all the family photos. He seems to be lost in a world that I can't quite reach, but I'll try anyway. Sneaking up to his side, my hand drifts to his bicep.

"Does he look happy to you?" His husky voice drills into a deep, dark place in my heart.

The picture he's focused on looks like your typical family portrait. The kind almost every friggin family has somewhere in their house. Mama, daddy, and two kids on the beach, wearing their best smiles because the person behind the camera told them to. They sure do look happy.

"Yeah." I respond with a nod that makes him squint even harder.

Leaning closer to the framed picture, his fingers run over his dad's face.

"You sure? I mean, look. Doesn't it seem like his smile is kinda...off?"

I know what he's doing. He's scouring every single photo for missed clues. Something that he thinks he should have seen before, but somehow missed. He won't find it.

"Cash-Money, don't do this to yourself. People with mental illness are usually pretty good at hiding it. You can waste time retracing every step he ever took, trying to find signs, killing yourself over the what ifs..." I cringe at my choice of words but it's too late to backtrack. "I'll let you do that if it's what you want. But I'd much rather hear about this day." I point to a picture of Cash, Warren, and their dad.

They're sitting on a boat in the middle of a body of water. Cash is holding a huge fish – a bass, I'm guessing. Warren looks pissed off and their dad is holding his belly, his head thrown back in laughter.

He tries to fight it, but a smirk starts to play at the corner of his mouth, and, in an instant, he looks like he's in the process of plotting something devious.

"I'll let Warren tell you that story."

With one more backwards glance at the wall that holds the memories of his father, Cash leads me outside to mingle with the rest of the Moretti clan. Heather is already slurring her words and mama Mel has a playful, almost guilty, smile on her face.

"Hey Warren, Quinn wants to hear the story about that nine pounder I got in the Slater River back when we were kids." Cash's tone is teasing as he leans against the siding on the house.

Warren's fists clench tightly and red starts to creep up his neck.

"You mean my largemouth bass that you stole from me?!" He counters angrily with which Cash just snorts in return.

"Oh, good lord, here we go again." Heather huffs while rolling her eyes.

Mama Mel settles in her chair like she's about to watch a movie.

"Quinn, you sure you wanna hear about how conniving this man is?" Warren asks without a hint of humor in his tone.

Naturally, I nod because if it pisses Warren off, I already love it.

"Alright. So, we were out on the boat and, bein' the awesome big brother I am, I was helpin' Cass. He got his line all tangled up in some weeds, so I had to put my pole down to try and get it out. While I'm doin' that, he decides he's gonna pick up my pole. A minute later, he's reelin' in that big ass fish. I had to listen to pops rantin' and ravin' about it the whole rest of the fishin' trip."

I stare at him with the blank expression I've learned from Cash before finally responding.

"So, you were upset because Cash caught a fish instead of you?"

"No!" He yells, throwing his hands up. "I was pissed because he stole my pole and caught my fish with my rig because he casted in the one spot I told him not to!"

"But why does the pole matter? Surely, it's all based on the skill of the person using the pole, not the pole itself. Right?"

"What? That's not how it works. I chose the lure and where to cast. That catches the fish. He just swooped in and stole it while I wasn't lookin'."

"I don't know, Warren. It just sounds like you're bitter that he out-fished you that day."

His eyes narrow in on my face and it seems like he's having some kind of internal debate on whether he wants to continue the argument or just give up.

"I don't like you, Quinn. I hope you know that." He finally scoffs.

"Yes, you do." I retort with a smug smile.

"Quinn, you want to go out with me tonight?" Heather finally cuts in, uncrossing her legs with an impatience that implies she's done with the testosterone fueled competition.

And that's how we ended up catching an Uber to some club right outside of the Redwood campus. A club I'm not too fond of from the very second we step through the door. A club where I recognize a few too many people and am silently praying they don't notice me or approach me while I'm with someone in Cash's family.

Heather is going wild, third drink in hand, bumping into almost everyone as she dances the night away. I've had the same Blue Motorcycle clutched close to my body, barely able to take a sip. Yet, somehow, I still feel buzzed. Maybe it's the nervous energy.

I've dodged Ethan, a couple of other guys I don't particularly like, and a few girls I had issues with when I first started at Redwood U that probably don't even remember who I am. But I remember them, so I keep my head down whenever they're in our orbit.

When Heather is finally drunk enough to get on my level of preferred dance moves, I start to loosen up. When she does the sprinkler with me, her fingers jab me in the eyes. It's okay though, they're still useable. For the most part. Things are just a bit blurry and watery now.

So, I guess that's why I didn't see the person she was dragging me towards until we were right on top of them. I rub my eyes until my vision becomes clear. At least I think it's clear, but I can't be sure because it's hard to process why Heather would want to talk to Skylar.

"Remember me?" Heather shouts, drawing her attention.

Shoot. Were they friends while Cash was dating her? I don't think I can handle hanging out with his ex all night, as much as I want to be a faithful sidekick to Heather.

However, Skylar looks like she just crapped her pants as soon as she sees us. Maybe friends was the wrong choice of words?