The Cece & Juan Vignettes - Ch 8: Jealous
Hey, loves! We're back for the next chapter of The Cece & Juan Vignettes. Do enjoy.
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Chapter 8 - Jealous
Juan POV
16 years old ...
I'll text you later, k?
Juan read over Cece's text a third time as he entered the house. The conversation between his mother and father echoed down the hall, but he didn't pay them much attention. He was more concerned with Cece's text because that wasn't like her at all.
All right, he texted back, later.
He tried to shake off the strange feeling that settled on his shoulders, if only because he didn't even know why he felt it in the first place. It wasn't like this was the first time he'd ever texted Cece and she blew him off--even if that's not exactly what her text said or did.
"You've got practice in an hour, right?" Juan's father called as he passed the kitchen doorway.
"Yeah."
"Truck will be warm."
"Thanks."
It was kind of pointless for Juan to shower before baseball practice when he was just going to need to shower again after, but he didn't care. Using the attached bathroom in his bedroom, he jumped in the shower and made quick work of cleaning away the day. By the time he was done, he'd almost forgotten about Cece and the strange text. Gathering all his baseball gear and hauling it downstairs--he'd be happy when soccer season came back around--his father waited out in the driveway next to the truck.
Running, too.
Just like he said.
Juan, on the other hand, was looking at his phone again while he balanced his baseball bag in his other hand and didn't pay the slightest bit of attention to the driveway as he walked across it.
"What are you doing?"
"Checking something," Juan replied.
"Checking what?"
He didn't want to say Cece, because Miguel would give him that look, so Juan opted to say nothing at all. His father let him toss the baseball bag into the back of the truck, and while Miguel busied himself with getting in the vehicle, Juan took the chance to scroll down through his social media feeds. Cece didn't spend a lot of time on social media. She just didn't care, even if that was all every girl around their age seemed to care about.
Her friends, though?
They posted every minute.
Tagged her.
Photos of Cece.
Status or video stories about this, that, or another thing. All pretty typical, and sometimes that was the quicker way for him to find out where Cece was when he wanted to chat, or whatever.
Right then, though, he wasn't finding anything.
And it wasn't really his business to keep looking, he decided. It didn't matter if her text didn't sit well with him, or that he looked forward to talking to her every day that he got home from school. He didn't own Cece--they weren't a thing by his own choice, something she'd reminded him when ever she felt he needed it. Sometimes, that was more than Juan wanted to admit. If she didn't want to talk right then, she didn't want to talk. It was as simple as that.
Or it needed to be.
Juan didn't get a say.
"Come on, we're going to be fucking late!" Miguel shouted from the truck.
Juan jumped in.
And set his phone aside for the time being.
After all, Cece did say later.
So, there would be that.
*
"That batting average, son," Miguel said, tone thick with praise as he clapped a hand to the back of Juan's shoulder hard enough to make him almost choke on the water he currently chugged back like it was his only life source. After a hard practice, hydration was the only thing that kept him alive sometimes. "Keep that up, and in a year the scouts will be coming around, huh?"
Juan let out a hard breath. "Not playing for college teams."
That quieted his father.
It was a discussion they often went back and forth on with his father wanting him to further his education, and Juan pointing out Miguel never even graduated high school. Which then led his father to say things like exactly, and I want you to do and be better than me. Except his father was pretty amazing as he was--worked with one of those dangerous and successful Queen Pins who controlled a good portion of the American market.
Apparently, Juan should just not pay attention to that.
Not be curious.
Like it wasn't Cece's mother.
Like Cece wouldn't someday be her mother.
Before his father could bring up the conversation and get them going down that road again, Juan grabbed his cell phone sitting atop his bag. Miguel's attention turned back to the field where the coach was currently shouting at one of Juan's teammates to tuck in that fucking elbow before I break it off.
Yeah.
Fun times.
Juan's gaze dropped to his phone as he scrolled down through the refreshing social media feed. What he expected to see? The usual mess of teenage life and shit he sometimes engaged in with his friends when he had the time or the give a damn to do so. The thing he wasn't expecting to see?
Cece with a guy.
Juan blinked, and clicked on the picture. The dark background made the house--and party?--she was at nearly indistinguishable. What he could distinguish just fine was how closely tucked into the boy's side Cece was, the fact that the guy's hand was around her waist, and that he was kissing her smiling cheek as they lifted solo cups toward the camera.
He had a lot of thoughts then.
Feelings, too, the fucking disgusting things.
Like who the fuck was that guy?
And did he want his arm broken?
What in the hell was Cece doing?
Juan knew what that feeling was, and why it made him have the darkest urge to pick up the phone, call Cece, and let her know he was well aware that she was out with a guy.
Jealousy.
He was jealous as fuck.
But he shouldn't be.
Didn't have a right to be.
He kept saying while they were like this, her in New York and him in Cali, that they couldn't be a real thing. It wasn't fair. He doubted that was the first boy she went out with--fuck, he went out with girls sometimes, too. This was just the first time it had been so public.
"Hmm."
Juan glanced up to see his father had a perfect view of what was currently on his phone. Juan didn't even bother to try and hide it.
"Bet that's a piss off, yeah?" Miguel asked.
God.
"Just ... why's it on social, you know?"
"Because she's a fifteen-year-old girl. Because she has a life and sometimes, you're not always in it. Because she followed after you for the past three years with fucking stars in her eyes, but you had to take the high road every step of the fucking way, Juan. So, maybe it's time you follow after her for a while, hmm? Fair is fair, son."
"That doesn't sound right at all."
"Very little about love is."
Juan blinked.
Love.
He remembered the first time he told Cece he loved her - they'd been five and six. He was waving her off when she left with her ma, and he called it out after her. Because that's what his dad always told his ma whenever he left the house. It's what Cece told her ma, and Miguel, too. It felt right.
He'd been saying it ever since.
Still said it.
Just now, that love didn't feel the same.
It was different.
More.
"I don't know what to do," Juan muttered.
Except be jealous.
So fucking jealous.
"When she calls later, you ask if she had a good time. Let her know you're around, if she needs anything. Same shit you've always done, Juan, unless you want something different. And if you do, just know now might not be your time. And that's got to be okay, too."
Right, yeah.
It just sucked.
That's what he would do, though.
It's what he did.
*
“Jealousy never looked good on him,” Cece tells me.
“No?”
“Somehow, he still wore it quite well.”
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