𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐏𝐎𝐕

"Girl, tell me I don't need one. Because right now I'm tempted to go to the pound and find me a miniature Poppy," Lana says, cradling Poppy's face in her hands. If I didn't know any better, I'd think she was going to burst into tears when she came in and saw Poppy laying in her bed.

This isn't the first time she's been here—or said this—either. Every time Lana comes to visit, she spends the first half hour asking me to convince her she doesn't need a dog, but I've never been one to lie. Everyone needs a dog in their life.

I smile, folding my arms across my chest. "As long as you adopt, not shop, then I don't see why not."

Lana reluctantly stands from the floor, her lower lip jutting out to show how disappointed she is to leave her alone. She crosses the room and leans against my couch, her shoulders slouching.

"Tell me again why I married someone who's allergic to the best creatures on the planet," she whines.

"Because love equals torture, but in the best way." I smile wide, trying to hold back my laughter at how ridiculous that sounds out loud.

She playfully swats my shoulder, snickering at my joke. Even though it really wasn't a joke to me. In my experience—which is basically nonexistent—love really is just torture. Constantly making sacrifices for another person, making memories that you simply couldn't make with anyone else, and never wanting to imagine your life with anyone else but that one person.

And I absolutely can't wait for it to be my turn.

My smile slowly turns straight at the thought that I very well could never experience that. It doesn't seem fair to the other person if I were to try dating when Cain will always hold that special place in my heart. I'm not sure I could fully give myself to anyone else after knowing him, and knowing just how pure his heart can be. I know the Cain I spent my nights with on my bedroom floor, sharing life goals and plans, is still in there somewhere.

"Uh oh," Lana drawls. "I know that look." She pats me on the shoulder while walking past me. My eyes follow her movement until she disappears into the kitchen and I'm left standing in my living room, feeling more confused than anything.

The sound of my cabinets opening and closing with glasses clanking together pulls my curiosity. By the time I can put two and two together, my feet are already moving until I reach my kitchen and find Lana with a bottle of wine in her hands and two glasses occupying my counter.

When her gaze meets mine, she flashes me a wide smile and taps a barstool. "Come on. Sit down," she requests. "Spill it."

I slide into the seat and watch her fill my glass to the brim with my favorite red wine. "Spill what? You better not mean the wine," I joke. I lift the glass to my lips and take a slow sip, savoring the taste. I haven't sat down and had a glass of wine in so long I almost forgot how relaxing it feels.

She chuckles. "No, not the wine. What's wrong? And before you tell me nothing, look in the mirror and try again."

Every time I go to open my mouth, the answer completely leaves my brain. How do I spill everything without sounding whiny? I don't have a lot to complain about, but I can admit my mind has been a little heavier recently. Just knowing that everyone around me expects me to always be positive and happy-go-lucky is enough to make me want to shrivel up and hide.

I run my fingers down the smooth glass, contemplating what I should say. It's hard to think while Lana is looking at me expectantly. As if I'm supposed to spill the contents of my guts out and share the deepest parts of me, but that's never been me. I've always been one to listen to others and bury my own worries deep enough for nobody to find.

"You know you can trust me, right?" She tilts her head, concern shining in her emerald eyes.

I nod. "I know. I promise, it's nothing huge." I give her a small smile before taking another small sip of wine.

"If it's bothering you of all people, it must be pretty big, Cass. You're not one to get upset, let alone wear it on your face. So spill it."

I blow out a slow breath before looking her way. "I don't know. I guess I'm just exhausted being what everyone wants me to be," I say with a shrug.

"Are you worried about your dinner tomorrow with your parents?" She takes a sip of her wine and places her glass down gently before turning toward me.

"I mean, I guess a little. I just know they'll bring up their disappointment that I didn't go to college and instead stayed here. They try their hardest to act like they're supportive, but they're not. They don't care about what I want."

"What do you want?" she asks. She gives me her undivided attention, and this gesture alone almost brings me to tears. I think it's been almost ten years since anyone ever asked me what it was I wanted with my life. And the last person to ask me that is so far gone themselves I don't think they realize how much it meant to me.

I bite the inside of my cheek nervously. "When I was in high school, we had this project we had to do where we came up with a business idea and had to make these silly pamphlets and share our business plans. Well, I wanted to start a nonprofit program, so I didn't get a good grade since that's not technically a 'business.' But that's what I wanted to do."

She nods. "What kind of nonprofit was it?" She asks curiously.

A smile tugs at the corners of my lips. "It was a youth center. Sort of like a YMCA but it was designated for troubled teens. There'd be a work out room for them to turn their anger into something they could control. Along with onsite confidential therapy services." I pause to take a sip from my wine, not missing the way Lana nods to show she's listening intently. "I was going to call it 'Break The Cycle."

She shakes her head before leaning in closer with a smile. "Let me guess... Cain is the reason you thought if this?"

"He actually helped me with the project," I reply, nodding. The memories of Cain and I sitting in my room with my laptop open on my bed, searching for ways on how to start a nonprofit flood my mind. The way he lit up and shared the ideas of having a weight room filled with protein packed snacks and a refrigerator filled with cold water is a memory I'll cherish forever.

Lana turns in her seat, grabbing her iPad from her purse that's slung over the back of her stool. She opens the case and lays it on the table and starts writing away with her pencil. "You said it was called 'Break The Cycle?'"

I nod, leaning over to try to see what exactly she's writing to no avail. I wait a few minutes, flicking under my fingernails nervously for her to finish.

"First things first. We need funds and a board of directors panel," she states, laying her pencil down.

I gape at her, full of confusion. "Wait, what? What do you mean?" I ask, shaking my head.

"Well, for a nonprofit, we need approximately three board members. We have two, but we can figure out the third later. We can start with a fundraiser! Maybe a bake sale, or maybe a few of the authors would be willing to do a book signing for donations?"

Her lips are moving faster than my brain can process. I haven't thought about this project in years, and just the possibility of it becoming anything more than a teenage dream fills me with false hope. There's a reason I didn't get a good grade on it. It really wasn't a good business venture. The state would have to come up with funding to keep it open and I know for a fact my parents wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole. Their entire belief system is if kids are acting out, they should be sent to a detention center or boot camp. Because it's always the kids fault and has nothing to do with who's raising them.

I hold up a hand to stop Lana before she gets too deep. "Wait, wait. It's okay, Lana. This was just something I wanted to do not something I see actually happening."

She points her pencil at me with a raised eyebrow. "It's a good idea, Cassie. Can you imagine if Cain had those resources before becoming an adult? He'd probably be a lot more bearable," she chuckles.

My eyebrows pinch together while heat creeps its way up my neck. "Hey, he's—"

"I know, I'm sorry. He's trying now, you're right. But I'm just saying, imagine if he already had that while growing up?" She tilts her head.

"So, you think it's a good idea?" I ask quietly.

She extends her hand and places it gently on my knee. "Cass, I think it's a great idea."

Tears burn my eyes, but I blink them away rapidly. It feels good to feel validated for what seems like the first time in my life. Growing up, I always felt like more of an afterthought with how much my dad was always working, and my mom would rather watch QVC than spend a speck of her time encouraging me. And because our fridge was always full, and I had anything a kid could want, my parents thought that was enough to keep a kid happy when I just wanted to know I was doing a good job. I was at the top of all my classes, and not once did I ever hear the words "I'm proud of you" leave their lips. I was every parent's wet dream, except my own.

But now I'm more determined than ever to open Break The Cycle, all thanks to Lana. I don't need them or their approval. I can do this on my own, and I will be successful.

One lost teen at a time.