Chapter 27 Riley
TWENTY-SEVEN
RILEY
I'm lying on my couch in my living room while music on the record player echoes around me.
My apartment is warm and cozy, and I decided today is going to be a lazy day. Ignore all my responsibilities for one day, to clear my head, but one man won't escape my mind.
A breeze flows through the window and fills the room. My large, beat-up sweater drowns me, the sleeve falling off one shoulder. I lift one leg in the air and look at my bare leg in my cotton shorts. They're a little prickly for my liking, but I'm too lazy to do anything about it.
The music stops, and I hear the needle on the record pick itself up. I roll onto my side, and my face presses into the throw pillow. I get up from the couch and walk across the room to flip over the record.
Right before I get the chance to, the buzzer rings through the apartment. I jump. No one told me they were stopping by. Unless it's Mom. Oh god, I hope it's not my mother. That would be the cherry on top of everything I don't want to deal with.
I hesitate to push the door button on the intercom, not wanting to be bothered, but something in the back of my mind is telling me to let whoever it is inside. Footsteps thud up the stairs, two by two. It sounds urgent. When it reaches closer, I cautiously open the door to see who it is.
August stares at me. I watch his chest heave with each breath, his cheeks are red, and his glasses slip down his nose. It looks like his hair was tussling in the wind—chaotic, but still cute.
“I’m sorry. I-I didn’t know where else to go.” He licks his lips as his eyes peek over my shoulder and into my safe space before landing back on me.
Without saying a word, I open the door wider and step to the side, gesturing my hand for him to come in. He makes quick work and steps inside, murmuring his thanks.
The sound of his sneakers creaking on the wood underneath his feet. I catch him looking me up and down. I'm wearing ratty clothes, and my hair is very greasy.
I scan my clothes and look back up. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting any company today."
He shakes his head and holds up his hand. "Don't apologize. I’m sorry for showing up out of nowhere."
What the hell is happening? This is the last thing I’d expect. August has been to my place a few times when the group picked me up or dropped me off after a night out.
However, he’s never been inside.
I busy myself and go to the kitchen to grab two glasses. Turning to him, I ask, "Want something to drink?"
"If you have any liquor, that would be great."
An ice-cold bottle of tequila lies in the corner behind frozen vegetables. This is Hailey’s emergency tequila, but I’m sure she won’t mind sharing it with August.
“It’s your lucky day.” I lift the bottle in his direction, but he’s turned away from me.
When I'm done with his drink, I pour myself a glass of water and hand him his drink while he stands still in the same spot. He takes it from my hand, and in one swig, he empties the glass.
“Uh, do you want more?”
He shakes his head and hands it back to me. “Thanks.”
“Here.” I give him my glass of water. He needs it more than I do right now. I walk back to the kitchen and set his empty glass down in the sink. "Want to sit down?"
He nods and takes a seat right in the middle of the couch, leaving me to sit next to him on either side, or in my grandma's chair in the corner, soaking in the sun.
The fabric is still bright, like when I was little, with a small tear from where their cat, Kitty, would stretch out on it. I opt for her chair. I think I'll need my grandma, an adult I felt safe with as a child, for whatever brought August to my front door.
Before sitting down, I grab the quilt that hangs over it and wrap myself in it, breathing in the scent I've been able to keep on since taking it home with me.
"So, what brings you into my neck of the woods?” I say, trying anything I can to lighten up the mood and get him out of whatever it is that's caused him to come to me. “Still thinking about how lucky you were to kiss me not once, but twice?"
His large hands sit on both knees while his eyes stay on the floor. This is the first time I've seen him sit still. His fingers aren't tapping on his knees. His legs aren't bouncing. I’ve never seen him like this. Ever. He’s always moving.
"August?” Lifting myself up from the chair, still wrapped in the quilt, I amble to the couch and sit next to him. I’m afraid if I startle him, he’ll run away. And I don’t want that. I want him to talk to me.
I knock my knee into his. “August. Say something. Why did you come here?”
Straining my eyes, I look at his chest to make sure he’s still breathing. We can’t sit here forever in silence. What is he thinking? What happened? Has his dad gotten worse?
“August.” I grab his chin and force him to look at me.
His eyes—usually bright and clear—look empty and sad. They’re puffy and red. The stubble on his jaw pokes at my fingers when I let go.
“My dad.” He shakes his head.
Tossing the quilt off my body, I kneel in front of him on the floor, and the rug beneath me rubs against my skin.
“What happened?” I urge him to talk to me.
He swallows, and finally, he lifts his gaze to me. “He doesn’t want the surgery.”
The surgery. I heard something about that when Ellie and Rowan were talking about it the other day. I didn’t poke or prod more about it. What I do know is that it can help prolong his life.
August clenches his fists. “He would rather die than have this surgery.”
“Why are you saying this?” I grab his wrists, wanting him to relax. I rub the top of his hands, attempting to slip my fingers into his palms, and he lets me.
“This surgery—something that can save his life, he doesn’t want it.” He presses his lips together.
“Did your dad tell you this?” My thumb strokes over his rough knuckles.
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Ellie. She was with him at the doctor’s office.”
The heaviness I feel in my heart tries to drag me down.
“You need to talk to your dad.”
Shaking his head again, he squeezes my hand. “There isn’t anything to talk about with him. He made his choice already.”
“August.” A sharp edge sneaks into the tone of my voice. I close my eyes before I continue to talk. “You’re not being fair to yourself or your dad.”
“First, I lost you”—his voice cracks— “and now I’m going to lose my dad.”
“Hey, you didn’t lose me.” He didn’t lose me. He never did. “And you’re not losing your dad.” I push off my knees and stand. “Come on.”
“What are you doing?”
I’m asking myself the same question right now.
I hold out my hand. “We’re going to your parents' place. You’re going to talk to your dad.”
“You want to come with me?”
I swallow the massive lump in my throat. “For you and Ellie.”
August holds my hand, and it feels like the most normal thing in the world.
“Let me get dressed, and then we’ll go. Okay?”
“Thank you.”
August trudges in silence to his parents' house, and I try to even that out by strolling instead. Even though we're going to speak with his dad about something serious that he should consider, a part of me feels thankful that I'm with August.
Another part of me is still shocked that he came to me out of all the people he could have gone to. Especially his sister. Even Rowan.
Knowing that I’m the first person he thought to run to makes me feel important, needed, and special. Our friendship—situationship? It’s been rocky and off for years, but everything is clicking back into place. Like a puzzle.
Our arms swing at our sides while we walk. He's in no rush to get there, and I’m practically dragging him along. We're a block away when I see the house in the distance.
The wrap-around porch shows off plants that hang on small hooks, white wicker chairs replace the old ones August and I used to hang out on during summer nights while we talked for hours.
Our favorite nights were during summer storms. Except for that one time when the lightning struck so close that we both yelped and ran inside his house, only to fall to the ground laughing at how ridiculous we both sounded.
His hand slips into mine. I glance down at our fingers entangled together, and then toward August, who’s staring straight ahead at the house.
We stop at the front porch where the stairs are. Now that we’re here, it’s scary to think about what we might walk into. The last thing I need to give August is false hope.
We startle when the front door opens. The tulip wreath bounces off the white door when Ellie steps outside. She looks at us, blinking a few times to our interlocked hands. Untangling my hand from his, I tuck them both behind my back. I look at August, who’s looking at his sister.
“Hey, you two,” she says with a teasing undertone.
I glare at her, widening my eyes in warning. Now is not the time for jokes. Wasn’t she upset earlier? Maybe this is her way of trying to feel better. Teasing me now that she knows… everything.
She folds her arms. “Are you here to talk to Dad?”
Ellie and I peer at August, who’s gone completely non-verbal.
“Yeah,” I say. “His head is kind of everywhere. He ended up at my place and told me what happened. I’m sorry, El.”
When she unfolds her arms, she tucks them into her back pockets and shrugs. “I’m just hoping he changes his mind. Maybe August can convince him.”
“I highly doubt it,” August mumbles.
“Oh, he speaks,” Ellie says, smiling softly.
“I just want to get this conversation over with.”
“August.” Ellie sighs. “You’d better leave that attitude out here before you come inside. Dad doesn’t need any of this negativity.”
He shrugs. “I don’t have an attitude.”
“Sure.” She gestures her hand toward him in a circle. “Well, whatever this is, leave it out here.”
Ellie turns and walks back inside. I take this opportunity to give August a pep talk. Or at least try.
I place both my hands on his shoulders and look at him. “You can do this, okay? I’ll be there the whole time. Just take a couple of breaths and listen to him.”
He lifts his hand and strokes my cheek with his thumb. “Thanks again.”
I close my eyes and nod. “Everything is going to be okay.”