All Chapters of Play Me Like You Mean It: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Cade told Jesse and me to leave it to him, that he’d handle convincing Mom about rehab.So here we were, sitting in the living room on a Saturday morning, Jesse jittering with his knee bouncing, me chewing the inside of my cheek raw, while Cade stayed shut inside our mother’s room.Every second stretched. Jesse muttered a joke about Cade probably bribing her with a black card, but even that didn’t crack my nerves.Finally, the door swung open. Cade stepped out, leaning casually against the frame. His grin was infuriatingly calm.“You two can exhale now,” he said. “She agreed.”I blinked. “She… what?”“Go see for yourself.”Skeptical, I brushed past him and walked into my mother’s room.She was still sitting on the bed, hands clasped tight, eyes lowered. But when she glanced up at me, something was different. Her shoulders didn’t look so rigid. Her face didn’t hold the usual defiance.“I’m sorry,” she whispered.The words punched the air from my chest.I froze, trying to process it. So

Sunday passed in a blur of games, laughter, Jesse’s mock outrage, and Cade’s smug victories. By the time night fell, my sides ached from laughing, and even I had to admit, spending the weekend at Cade’s turned out to be nothing but funMonday morning came quickly. After Jesse left for school, Cade sat unusually quiet, lost in thought. I let him wrestle with it, waiting. Then, finally, his eyes lifted to mine.“Can you drop me somewhere?” he asked.We showered together first, his idea, under the excuse of saving water. Which translated to him kissing my neck under the spray while I tried not to slip and break both our necks. By the time we got dressed and left the house, my skin was still warm, and every nerve felt awake.We stopped at a bakery where Cade picked out cakes, boxes of treats, and armfuls of snacks. I didn’t ask questions yet. But I knew him well enough to realize I wouldn’t have to wait long for answers.Sure enough, half an hour later, we pulled into the driveway of an o

Cade came out of his room bursting with energy, like a kid who’d just been promised a trip to Disneyland. He couldn’t sit still. One leg bounced. His phone lit up every two minutes. He checked it, pocketed it, and checked it again.I leaned back on the couch, arms crossed. “Alright. Spill. What did you do?”He smirked, maddeningly smug. “Patience, Mira.”Patience. It might as well have been a foreign language to Cade Reeve. He's the least patient man alive. I watched him practically vibrate in place, and I had to press my lips together to hide my grin.Then his phone rang. He glanced at it, nodded, and shot to his feet in one quick motion.Before I could get a word out, he scooped me up in bridal style.“Cade! What the hell are you doing?”“Room arrest.” His grin stretched wider. “No questions.”“Room arrest?” I squirmed. “I’m not a criminal…”“Shh.” He laid me on his bed like it was some dramatic movie scene, then pointed a finger at me. “You don’t come out until I come fetch you. Un

Cade’s words from the hill still echoed in me, looping quiet but insistent. I didn’t reply, not because my own feelings weren’t growing, but because grief is a fog that bends everything out of shape.It didn’t feel fair to hold him, or myself to declarations made in that haze. Some things deserved to be said twice; once in the shadow of pain, and again in the light of certainty.So I remained silent. Not out of doubt, but of care.The days after stretched long and dull. Cade was quieter than usual, slower to laugh, prone to long hours with the blinds pulled shut. He went through the motions but without the spark that usually pulled me into his orbit. It wasn’t hard to guess why. It was still the week of his parents’ anniversary, and he was caught in mourning.I let him be, giving him space, while I kept myself busy with the basics of fashion design.Online tutorials filled my nights. Simple things– identifying fabric, sketching crooked lines that refused to straighten no matter how m

Four days. That’s how long it took me to corner Cade. Four days of unanswered calls, locked doors, and clipped goodbyes that sounded more like escapes.At first, I thought maybe it was bad timing, travel, training. But after day three, when his voice sounded clipped, like he couldn’t wait to hang up, I wondered if he was avoiding me.On the fourth night, I went to his place later than usual. His car was in the drive, the living room light glowing through the curtains. I knocked, and when he opened the door, he looked at me like nothing was wrong. Like he hadn’t disappeared for nearly a week.“Hey.” The word came light, but it didn’t match the weight in his eyes.I stepped inside, but when he tried to pull me in for a hug, I moved back.He frowned. “What’s this?”“I’ll ask once. What was Kimberly doing at your game, front row, in your jersey?” My voice broke at the edges, soft where I wanted it sharp.The image of her cheering still burned behind my eyes, and I hated that it hurt befor