Chapter 17
Addison
After pacing my cabin, wracking my brains, and crying my eyes out, all I want is one thing: cake. After a quick glance at the clock to ensure that it’s late enough for no one to be around, I wrap myself in an old sweater, slide on some sandals, and head out into the night.
I flick on the overhead lights to the mess hall once I walk through the doors, making my way across the large room to the kitchen. While there was a big crowd tonight, I’m sure there’s cake left over. I made more than enough. I just really hope some of that German chocolate cake is left.
I swing open the kitchen doors, and I startle just a little at the presence of someone else in the room.
“Hank!” I say, placing my hand over my heart. “You scared me.” I laugh.
“Oh, sorry about that, hun,” he calls over his shoulder. He’s loading the dishwasher in the corner while a tub of soapy water sits in the massive sink, presumably filled with dishes.
“Are you still cleaning up?” I ask, stepping closer. “It’s past midnight.”
He shrugs. “The dishwasher only washes so fast,” he says. “And we always have double the people at these fancy dinners.”
I frown, suddenly feeling a bit guilty. “You should have told me. I would have stayed and helped.”
He waves off my comment immediately. “Oh, hun, that’s not your job. Besides, I don’t mind the peace and quiet.”
I don’t respond, simply watching him for a few seconds. “Do you know if there’s any cake left?” I ask after a beat.
This gets Hank’s attention. He turns, a smile on his face.
“There certainly is. And just to be sure, I saved you a piece of all three flavors before the masses could get to ’em.
” He hurries to one of the massive fridges, pulling out a plate wrapped in plastic wrap.
He discards the wrap, grabs a clean fork, and hands it over to me.
The gesture is so sweet, I could almost cry.
As if sensing my emotions, Hank says, “I saw you rush off earlier. I hope that didn’t have anything to do with our Mr. Conley.” His eyebrows scrunch together like an overprotective father.
I shake my head. “No. It was my mom … but Cruz and I kind of got into a fight too …” I take a deep breath. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Hank,” I admit, and the act of saying it out loud causes a tear to fall. I quickly wipe it away.
“With Cruz, or …?”
“With anything,” I say. “My life’s a mess. And I feel like no matter what I do, I’m letting people down.”
The realization settles over me like a blanket.
Letting people down. That all my life, that’s what I’ve been most afraid of.
It’s why I pushed myself so hard, forced myself into situations I didn’t really want to be in at all.
Even the scars lining my lower belly, strategically placed where no one would see.
In an effort to put everyone first all of the time, the anger, the hurt, the frustration … it had to come out somewhere.
Even hiding them was an act of brushing things aside. Because telling Mom and Dad would only disappoint them further.
Ironically, Cruz might be the only person in my life I haven’t initially put first. And in doing so, maybe he’s the only one who’s ever truly seen me.
Hank nods slowly. “Are you purposefully trying to let people down?” he asks.
I shake my head, puzzled.
“You trying to hurt people?”
I shake my head again.
“Anyone gonna die based off these decisions?”
I giggle softly, still shaking my head.
“Well, then it can’t be that bad.” He chuckles. “I’m not trying to make light of your problems, whatever they are, just …” He sighs. “I can remember being young and thinking that every problem was the end of the world. I promise you, it’s almost always not.”
I stare down at my three pieces of cake, Hank’s words sinking in. “You’re probably right,” I finally say. “I still have to make a decision, though.” I chuckle softly.
“You know what I find to be the case most often?” Hank asks.
“That people know what they want, deep down. Just sometimes it’s hard to hear yourself over all the noise.
” He inclines his head toward me. “So listen to yourself, Addison. Not other people.” He moves back toward the sink, pulling on some rubber gloves and diving his hands into the tub of soapy water and grabbing a dish.
“I’ll tell you one thing though: You made the right first step. ”
I cock my head quizzically.
“Cake,” he says with a grin.
I smile, then glance down at my plate. He’s right. Cake will make it better—at least for the moment. I dig into the German chocolate, and I feel better the second the flavors hit my tongue.
I sit in the kitchen for another twenty minutes, chatting idly with Hank while I eat all three pieces of cake he’d saved for me. And on my walk back to my cabin, I take his advice.
I listen.