Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
HALSEY
I stare down at my phone and take a deep breath.
You can do this.
Holden would want you to do this.
But fuck am I nervous.
I drop my phone on my hotel bed, and for the second time in thirty seconds, I pace my hotel room.
We arrived in Vegas about an hour ago. Blakely is in training, but we don’t have to report in for training until tomorrow. If I’m ever going to do this, now is the time.
But what the hell do I say?
Hey, it’s been a long time, but it’s good to hear your voice?
Oh hey, yeah, it’s your son, the one who didn’t die?
You know, the last time I heard from you was at Holden’s funeral, pretty sad day, wasn’t it?
“Jesus,” I mutter as I rub my eyes. “Just fucking call him.”
I sit down on my bed, grab my phone again, and pull up my dad’s name in the contacts.
On a deep breath, I call him, and then put the phone on speaker.
Nausea and nerves roll through me as I stand, waiting for the phone to ring.
But it never does.
Instead, I hear, “We’re sorry, but the number you’re trying to reach is no longer in service.”
My brow creases as I hang up.
Does he not have that phone number anymore?
Just because I need to double-check, I try calling it again, and the same response plays.
I scratch the back of my head and hang up.
Maybe . . . maybe my mom would know.
My teeth roll over the corner of my lip, and I contemplate whether this is worth it.
I want to mend things with my family. I know Holden would hate that it’s gone on this long.
He’d be so mad at us. And now with Blakely in my life, I want .
. . I want this off my chest. I love her, I want to marry her, and I want to start a family.
Deep down, I know I need to make things right with my family first. They need to know that I’m okay, and I need to know they’re okay.
And maybe, if we can, perhaps we can be in each other’s lives once more.
And because of that, I find myself searching through my phone for my mom’s home number.
When I find it, I don’t even think twice and press the call button.
Once again, I feel sick with anxiety. I try to tamp it down with deep breaths.
On the third ring, the phone picks up.
“Hello?”
Jesus, I haven’t heard that voice in years.
I swallow down my nerves and say, “Hey, uh . . . Mom, it’s Halsey.”
I’m met with silence.
After a few seconds, I add, “Are you there?”
“Wh-why are you calling me?”
I squeeze my eyes shut as I answer, “Well, I tried calling Dad, but—”
“He’s dead.”
“What?” I croak out, my throat growing tight. My heart sinks to the floor, and I immediately sit down on the bed.
“He died a few months ago. Heart attack.”
“Why . . . why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Why do you think, Halsey?” she says in such a strong, menacing tone that there’s no mistaking the anger she still carries.
Why do I think? I have no idea.
I’d like to think that it would be important to relay news of my father’s death to me, but this family has fallen apart so tragically that I don’t think we know how to treat each other like decent human beings anymore.
“Mom, I know—”
“You know nothing, Halsey. You know absolutely nothing. And why are you even calling? Trying to open a wound that has barely healed?”
I press my hand to my eye as my heart races, laboring my breath as I try to wrap my head around both the disdain blistering from my mom’s mouth and my dad’s death.
A heart attack?
Was he alone?
Did the loss of Holden kill him?
“I don’t understand,” I mumble into the phone.
“What don’t you understand?” she asks.
For one, why do you hate me?
Why don’t you love me anymore?
Why has this family exploded into nothing?
Why can’t we find each other again?
Why does my mom hold such hostility toward me?
Shouldn’t she have unconditional love for me? I don’t understand why she doesn’t.
Lip trembling, I say, “Why . . . why are you so angry with me?”
“Why am I angry with you?” she asks on a sardonic laugh, the type of laugh I’ve never heard my mom use. She was a sweet, loving woman. “Are you really that dense, Halsey?”
Her words cut through me, one at a time, and I steel myself, trying to stay strong, but I can feel this dark, ominous cloud looming over me. “Maybe I am,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “We lost Holden, and we haven’t—”
“You lost Holden,” my mom says.
I pause and ask, “What?”
“You’re the one who lost Holden. You’re the one who wasn’t paying attention. You’re the one who let this happen. You’re the reason he drove home drunk. You, Halsey. You are the reason.”
I feel all the blood drain from my body as her words swirl around in my head.
She can’t possibly think that. I wasn’t even there that night. He was the one who got drunk. He was the one who decided to drive home. He was the one who drove into a tree.
That was on him. Not me.
“He made the choice to drive,” I say.
“Do not start on that with me. I asked you to watch out for him. I told you he was going to be wild. And it was your responsibility to guide him down the right road when you both left the house. You promised me and you broke that promise.” Hurt and anger pervade her every word. “You are the reason he died.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Do you know what’s not fair?” Mom asks. “That the wrong twin died.”
The air is completely knocked out of my lungs as I feel the room, the world melt into nothing around me.
Th-there’s no way she meant that.
She couldn’t possibly be that cruel.
“Mom . . .” I croak out.
“Please don’t use this phone number again. I consider you dead to me as well.” And then she hangs up, leaving me in a state of shock.
I drop my phone to the bed and curl into a ball as panic seizes me. And then I see it all again. The same horror.
The smashed, mangled car.
The bent, broken tree.
The gnarled limb that had penetrated the windshield.
The blood.
And then . . . the smells.
The dank soil.
The acrid yet sweet smell of gasoline.
The officer’s gum to hide the cigarette smell.
The blood and metal maliciously fused together.
She hates me. Not only does she place all the blame on my shoulders, but she despises me. Her son.
My stomach roils. Nausea pulses through me.
He’s dead. The wrong twin died.
“You’re the one who lost Holden. You’re the one who wasn’t paying attention. You’re the one who let this happen. You’re the reason he drove home drunk. You, Halsey. You are the reason.”
I leap toward the bathroom and barely make it to the tile before I’m throwing up all over the bathroom floor, wave after wave of nausea hitting me, creating a sheen of sweat all over my body.
Four words.
Four powerful, excruciating words.
The wrong twin died.
I feel every aspect of the life I’ve tried to build after losing Holden slip from my grasp, that dark cloud swallowing them up and leaving me in a painful state of agony where I don’t belong on this earth.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe the wrong twin did die. Isn’t that what I’ve thought all along? I am the cause? He should be alive?
Not me.
If Holden was alive, he would have been stronger.
If Holden was alive, he would have mourned but carried on my spirit.
If Holden was alive, he wouldn’t have hidden in a world of denial.
If Holden was alive, he would have kept the family together.
And he wouldn’t have let Dad die.
He would have been there for him.
He would have made sure everyone in our life was good. He would have called. He would have visited.
He wouldn’t have holed up in a summer cabin, pretending nothing was wrong and escaping into books.
And there’s the difference.
He would have lived.
He wouldn’t have let any of this happen.
Unlike me . . .
So yeah, she’s probably right. The wrong twin did die.
“Dude, what the fuck are you doing?” Eli says as he comes up to where I’m sitting at the bar, a glass of whiskey in my hand, sweat beading down my forehead, as I try to get so obliterated that I black out and forget everything.
“What does it look like?” I ask, hearing my words slur ever so slightly. Good. I’m right where I want to be.
“Fuck, Halsey.” He peels the cup out of my hand and places it on the other side of the bar. He then addresses the bartender and says, “Close his tab. Now. Do not open another.”
“Don’t listen to him,” I say, but unfortunately, the bartender does. “What the fuck, man?”
“You have a goddamn game tomorrow. You shouldn’t be drinking.”
“Fuck off,” I say, but then I’m dragged off my stool by the shoulder. “What the fuck?”
Eli doesn’t say anything. Instead, he pockets my card, signs the receipt for me, then pushes me toward the hotel elevators.
Irritated, I spin around and push him back.
Eli’s eyes sear into me. “Not fucking here,” he says as he punches the up button on the elevator.
Unlucky for me, the elevator door opens immediately, and he moves me inside.
When the door closes, he asks, “What the fuck are you doing? Blakely said she’s been trying to call you all night, and you haven’t answered.
She texted Penny, and Penny texted me. When I saw you weren’t in your room, I came downstairs to find you in the bar.
So explain to me what the hell is going on. ”
I push my hand through my hair and lean against the wall. “Nothing,” I say.
“Bullshit. You don’t drink before games. So what happened?”
“I said nothing.” The elevator door opens, and I stumble out, confused as to where to go.
Sighing, Eli pushes me toward the right.
“Stop fucking pushing me,” I yell.
“Keep your goddamn voice down unless you want people hearing that the center for the Vancouver Agitators is drunk off his ass.”
“Who fucking cares,” I mutter as I slam into a door that’s not mine.
“Jesus fuck,” Eli says as he grabs me by the shoulder and moves me forward, staying right behind me.
A door opens behind us, and we hear, “What’s going on?” I glance over my shoulder to see Silas pop his head out.
“I need help,” Eli says.
“One second,” Silas replies.
“Just leave me the fuck alone,” I say as I try to move away from Eli, but he doesn’t let me.