Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
NOW
I t’s a week until Christmas, and Mom has officially gone off the deep end with decorating the house. Annie is finally on winter break from school, so I lean into spending more and more time outside of my room to soak her in. Still, though, there are unexpected moments of grief and resentment that feel like a knife twisting inside of my chest, and it’s often a narrow escape back to the safety of my room where I can sob into my pillow.
The mix of learning about Jason being pulled to the bench before he died and the quiet rejection from Wells to process it together only catapults me back into a dangerous headspace. The influx of Christmas around me feels like a cosmic joke; aside from the warmth I feel in my sister’s smile, I can’t find a single ounce of joy to sink into.
There’s no denying that getting out of the house helps. Instead of covert escapades to the Bennetts’ ranch, Annie and I spend the afternoons walking through town. On Wednesday morning Regan calls to say she’s home from Florida State and wants to see me. I’ve gotten a number of texts from her since word about Jason’s accident got out, but I haven’t responded to any of them. What is there to say? Yes, my boyfriend is dead, and I’m fucking devastated. But after his funeral, I found out he’s been having an affair with a girl named Emma, and it’s thrown a giant wrench in our memories. Oh, and it’s possible his accident might not have been an accident, because things were going wrong with his “life plan” and he never learned how to deal with the hard shit.
Yeah, way too much drama to lay on anybody in a text message.
Still, I’m happy to hear from her. We make plans to get together at Luna’s Bakery, and the hug she gives me in the parking lot drives me right into the crying mess I’m always on the verge of. But it only makes her hug me harder.
After we manage to get ourselves inside to order a couple of mugs of tea and freshly baked gingerbread muffins, we sit in a small corner booth where I tell her everything . By the end, she looks at me like everyone’s been looking at me since I threw up on Emma’s boots at the Wild Coyote—alarmed and full of sorrow. “Wow,” she gasps, clutching her chest. “I am so sorry, Layla. I don’t even know what to say . . .”
“It’s okay.” I give her a half-hearted smile. “I’m just trying to process through all the layers, you know?”
It’s okay to be mad at him, just like it’s okay to still love him.
She nods, and I wonder if she can sense where my thoughts have turned because she asks, “Have you seen Wells?”
I force a small laugh, void of emotion. “Yeah.”
“How is he?”
I shrug. “He’s . . . he’s dealing with a lot, too.” It’s not my place to bring up any of his issues with Jason or the fight they had right before Jason died. But it’s another reminder of how much shit he has to navigate on his side of it all.
Regan shakes her head. “I honestly don’t know how you’re even here with me right now.”
“I spent a week and a half crying alone in the dark,” I admit. “At some point, the distraction of getting out felt more achievable than sobbing through another day.”
She clicks her tongue. “You poor thing.”
I think in the end it’s the pity in her eyes that gets me, and I have to excuse myself from my half-eaten muffin and our attempt at this casual hangout. “Annie’s home alone,” I lie, “and I really should be getting back.”
I stand abruptly, and Regan awkwardly follows suit. “Okay.” She nods. “Sure, whatever you need.” She reaches to hug me again, and when her arms squeeze tighter around me a tear spills out from the corner of my eye. “I’ll be home for a couple of weeks—let’s see each other again before we go back to school, okay?”
“Sure,” I mumble into the shoulder of her brown jacket, and then I pull myself away and hurry out of the bakery without another look.
On Friday, Mom and Barry head into Houston for some Christmas shopping and Annie and I decide to go to June’s Cafe for a late lunch before they get home. I can tell Annie is going stir-crazy with school being out. She texts with her friends all day long but says she’s not interested in seeing them. I think she doesn’t want me to feel abandoned, and I love her for it, but she deserves to enjoy her break. I silently hope that, by going out into town, she might run into some of them.
It’s only a twenty-minute walk. The warm winter sun gets lost behind incoming clouds along the way, and a cold breeze begins to whip between us. We duck inside the warm café, where the smell of fresh biscuits and June’s special pot roast wraps around us. June’s daughter, Olivia, greets us at the front podium and brings us to a table by the window.
“Hope this is okay,” she says, and sets down two menus. I notice the worry in her expression as she looks at me, so I give her my best attempt at a smile.
“It’s perfect,” I answer as I sit in one of the old wooden chairs. “Thanks, Olivia.”
“Anytime.” She turns to walk away, but something stops her. “You know,” she says carefully. “I just want to say I’m real sorry for everything you’re going through, Layla. You and Jason’s family have been in my heart since I heard the news, and my mom prays for you every night.”
Annie looks back and forth between us, nervous that I might be triggered into another breakdown. But right now, I feel . . . okay. “I appreciate that, thank you.”
Her mouth tips up in a bleak smile before she scuttles back to the podium. Olivia is a couple of years older than me and graduated in Jason’s class, so she knew him well enough—though I wouldn’t say she was friends with anyone in our circle. She was much more studious and focused than any of us were.
“You okay?” Annie asks over the top of her menu.
“Yeah,” I say quickly, brushing it off. “She’s just being kind.”
Annie looks up at me, considering. “Jason really messed up when he cheated on you.”
I can only stare at her, taken aback by the bluntness of her statement. “Yeah,” I finally manage. “ He did.”
“Is it hard to pretend like you miss him?” She sounds genuinely curious.
“I do miss him, Annie,” I insist. “Just because he was cheating on me doesn’t mean that the love I felt for him disappeared.”
She hums and looks back at her menu.
I fold my hands on the table. It’s important she understands. For anyone to understand it, really, besides Wells. “Look, under normal circumstances, finding out someone you love is hurting you like that would be unbearable. It takes a lot of time and healing to come to terms with the fact that the relationship isn’t what you thought it was. But in this case . . .” I look around before my gaze settles back on Annie. “Jay’s dead. He’s not here for me to yell at or to help me understand how any of this happened. And that’s pretty shitty, too. Because I’m stuck in this place of loving him and grieving him but I’m also so goddamn furious at him. It’s not that I’m pretending. I just don’t know how to deal with such an impossible situation.
“And it’s no secret that everyone in this town loved him. He was important to people . . . but he was also flawed. I guess sometimes people don’t understand that.”
Annie’s blue eyes grow sharp. “You could make them understand.”
I give her a sad smile. “I’m not sure that’d help anything. He’s not here to defend himself. And even if he did make mistakes . . . were they bad enough to try to ruin the image everyone has of him?”
She shrugs. “Honestly, I think you’re making yourself responsible for other people’s feelings. I know he’s not here to defend himself, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t wreck you. Who cares about everyone else—if you want to throw a tantrum, do it. The only feelings you should care about are your own.”
My mouth falls open as her words hit me like a freight train. “Damn, Annie,” I mutter through the shock. “Who are you and what did you do with my baby sister?”
She laughs. “I just don’t want you to be burdened by all of this forever,” she admits. “And I think it’s okay for you to be a little selfish.”
I shake my head in disbelief. I love her so damn much, but I’ve always been worried she’d grow up with my mother’s perspective on life. Hearing her now, I realize she’s a force of her own, and it thrills me. “Thanks, Annie,” I say, reaching out to touch her arm. “You have no idea how much I needed that.”
June comes by our table, her purple cat-eye glasses perched high on her nose and her curly red hair stacked atop her head. “Hey, Layla,” she greets. “Hi, Annie. Just you two today?”
Annie nods. “Yes ma’am.” June looks back at me, and I can tell by the way her eyes squint that she’s about to say something about Jason.
“Do you have any specials tonight?” I rush to ask.
Her brows arch. “Oh,” she says, tucking a strand of hair into her bun. “We actually just pulled some chicken pot pie out of the oven . . .” She trails off, her gaze locked on something outside the window next to us. I turn to see what’s caught her attention and find Georgia Moore and Emma walking toward the diner from the far end of the parking lot.
Jason’s mother, and the girl he was cheating on me with.
“Is that . . .” Annie starts to ask.
“Yep,” I say, my body already in flight mode. “Let’s go.” I pull my purse off the back of my chair as I stand. There’s a panic climbing up my throat, and I know if I don’t get out of here before they make it to the door, I’ll be trapped. “I’m so sorry, June—I?—”
“It’s all right, dear,” she says wistfully, and it’s all the permission I need to book it. Annie stays close behind me, and we make it out of the diner just as Georgia steps onto the sidewalk from the other end of the building.
“Layla?” I hear her call out, but I keep my focus trained ahead. There is no way I can handle seeing both of those women without heavy emotional preparation—especially not after what Wells shared. Is that what’s happening here, too? I think. Is Georgia with Emma to ask her what she knows about Jason’s last few days?
I’m almost insulted that she wouldn’t try to talk to me about it. It’s an entirely new punch to the gut that she might think Emma would know him better than I do.
Does she?
“Layla, you okay?” Annie asks nervously, and I’m pulled out of the thought as I realize we’ve walked right up to the entrance of a car wash.
Sighing, I lean heavily against the brick structure and try to breathe. When I look up across the road, I spot a familiar red and white truck parked in front of Gerry’s Feed Store.
Wells.
I turn to Annie. “Do you think you can walk home by yourself?”
Her face falls, and I hate it. But I need to do something, and I need to do it alone. “Are you sure?”
I try to force a smile. “I just need to talk to a friend. I’m okay though, I promise.”
There’s a reluctance in her eyes, but she relents. “Okay, but you’ll come tonight, right?”
My heart lurches at her fear that I might disappear again. “Of course.” I nod. Mom might be pissed that I’m sending her home alone, but she’s almost fourteen now—the age I was when I started babysitting her. I know she’ll be okay. “Mom and Barry will be back soon.”
“Okay,” she says, and pulls me into a hug. I squeeze her tight, watching her until she disappears down a side street.
In a stroke of luck, Wells shuffles out the door of the feed store as soon as I make it across the street. He’s carrying a bag of grain over his shoulder like it’s nothing, his standard backward hat propped up on his head. He makes it all the way to his truck before he finally spots me standing beside it, his brows lifting at the surprise of finding me here . . . waiting for him. Because I realize that’s what I’m doing.
“Layla,” he says, his movement stalled.
“Hi,” I offer. My mouth stays parted as I try to form more words.
“You need something?” he asks tentatively, eyes tracking across my face like he might be able to decipher what it might be.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he could—he always seems to know.
I look at the truck, at the rust-edged steel and fading red paint. “Take me somewhere?” I ask, looking back at him.
Dark brows dip in confusion. “Are you okay?”
“Anywhere,” I say in answer. “Please.”
He stares at me for a moment that seems to stretch time, and heat crawls up my neck at how I’m putting him in a position he specifically asked not to be in. But the truth is . . . I need him.
Annie’s right—I need to focus on my feelings if I have any chance of working through them, and I’m not sure where else to turn.
He tosses the bag into the bed of his truck and pulls his keys out of his pocket. I watch as he twists the key and unlocks the passenger-side door, pulling it open. He turns back to face me, his expression a mix of concern and understanding.
It’s all the invitation I need. I climb into the seat he’s offering, throw him a look of gratitude, and try to keep my shaky hands still in my lap.
I shift my focus to the street in front of us as he gets in, but I feel the prickling heat of his gaze on me, almost expectant. “Do you want to talk about it?” he finally asks.
I shake my head. “No.” At least not yet—I’m not even sure what to say.
I see a single, curt nod from my periphery, then he’s turning the key in the ignition and peeling away.