Page 34 of Catcher

“But the next mornin…” I continue, “… he didn’t remember at all.” My voice drops to barely above a whisper. “He woke up confused. He didn’t know why I was there. He was suddenly angry.”

My last comment sparks something in London. “What do you mean, angry?”

I shrug, refusing to meet her gaze. “He basically kicked me out.”

London looks as if she is about to explode, but then Promise touches her arm and shakes her head.

“What happened after you told him you had slept together?” Sadie asks.

“I didn’t tell him,” I say quickly, shame burning in my chest. “I couldn’t. I was mortified. So, I just… left. I ran out of the clubhouse and drove away.”

Promise’s breath catches. “He doesn’t know?”

I shake my head. “No. He doesn’t know we slept together. He doesn’t know any of it.”

London swears softly under their breath.

“I’ve been avoiding everyone since,” I admit. “You guys. The clubhouse. Him… I just wanted to pretend it never happened.”

Promise reaches for my knee. “That explains so much.”

Sadie crouches down in front of me and squeezes my hand. “We’re going to help you figure this out, Ruby.”

“Damn straight we are.” London crosses her arms over her chest. Her sharp tone signals that she is not happy with Catcher.

Promise wraps her arm around my shoulder. “Okay,” she says, resolve settling in. “This is a lot. But we’ve got you. All of it. Every step.”

I nod, tears slipping down my cheeks again.

Because even though everything feels terrifying and uncertain, I know my friends will be by my side.

9

CATCHER

The first thing I hear is the city breathing slowly and wet, as if it’s got lungs of its own, and it’s exhaling straight into my window.

I open my eyes to the ceiling fan spinning above me, blades cutting lazy circles through thick New Orleans air that never feels clean. The motor clicks every few turns—old, stubborn, still doing its job. Sweat sticks to my ribs under the sheet. Light leaks in through the edge of the curtains, just enough to paint the room in that muted blue that says morning is here, whether I’m ready for it or not.

I lie there for a second, staring up, listening, breathing, letting the noise outside tell me the world kept moving while I slept.

I push up with a grunt, swing my legs over, and plant my feet on the floor. It’s another day and sure to be different trouble.

I scrub a hand down my face and stand, rolling my shoulders until something in my neck pops.

I move through the morning ritual out of habit. Bathroom, some cold water on my face, and brush my teeth. My reflection in the mirror halfway through shows the same hard lines and tired eyes that don’t give much away unless you’re looking too damn close.

I finish up, rinse the sink, and head back out.

The air in the apartment is already warm. It’s that heavy Louisiana heat pressing in, even this early, making everything feel a little slower and thicker. So I knock the thermostat down a few degrees before throwing on clothes, dragging my cut over my shoulders, and lacing up my boots.

Everything feels routine and controlled, the only way it works.

In the kitchen, I pour black coffee and drink it at the counter, letting the bitterness settle.

My phone sits on the counter beside me when the screen lights up with a notification. I don’t have to pick it up to know what it is, but I do anyway.

Mom and Dad’s anniversary reminder.