Chapter 15 When Threads Snap
WHEN THREADS SNAP
“That’ll be sixty-three dollars and twenty-three cents,” I tell the lady buying the boots with a smile.
She hands me sixty-five dollars in cash, and I make change quickly, dropping the boots into a bag stamped with Dad’s logo that reads, ‘Foster’s Gear’ before handing it to her with a cheerful, “Have a great day!” That she returns before leaving the shop empty aside from me and Holt.
It's a Friday, and Holt is finished work for the day. He leaves in two weeks for a hockey trip to Nashville. Why Nashville, I have no idea, but that’s where he’s jetting off to. And I’ll be here, waiting for him. Alone.
It’s okay, though, because I’ll be going to a job fair with Mom. Sure, I might have two years of school left before I leave childhood behind altogether, but Mom says two years goes by fast. I need direction. And right now, I don’t have much.
I banish the thought and slide onto the stool next to Holt.
Mom and Dad take a date night every second Friday, so I work the closing shift at least two Friday’s a month.
I don’t mind. I need the money, after all.
Being nearly sixteen, I’m saving for a car.
Something reliable, hopefully. And then there’s the money Holt and I will need to save if we want to move to the Island together when school is done.
It’s expensive there. Like, really expensive.
The kind of expensive that doesn’t say, ‘full-time student’ but rather, ‘triple jobs required to survive’.
Alas, I’m saving now.
“The guys are meeting by the lake tonight.”
“Andy texted me.”
His eyes lift from his phone. “Do you want to go?”
“Sure.”
His lips quirk, and his head bobs. “Cool.”
He shoots off a text to tell the guys we’ll meet them when I’m off work.
“I have one more box of t-shirts to stock on the table.” I nod to the unopened box. “Want to help?”
Holt slides off his stool, sliding his phone into the pocket of his jeans. “If I bought a bike, do you think your dad would be cool with you riding with me?”
I blink. “You’re getting a bike?”
Holt shrugs, but his grin tells me that he’s seriously considering it.
Holt does everything to the extreme. If there’s something he wants to do, something he wants to buy, he’s going to find a way to do it or buy it.
There’s no stopping him. I don’t even bother trying, even though the idea of him on a bike on these winding mountain roads terrifies me.
“I’m thinking about it.”
“Aren’t they, like, really expensive?”
“My dad gave me a raise.”
Holt makes good money working for his dad. Way more than he would working retail in town. It’s hard work, grunt work, but clearly, it’s worth it if he’s considering a bike.
“Oh.”
“You don’t think I should?”
“I don’t know.” I fold a shirt and place it neatly onto the pile. “I thought you were saving to move out?”
“I am. But that’s two years away.” He inches closer. “Why do I get the sense you’re upset?”
“I’m not upset.”
“Then what is it?” He flashes me a Holt grin.
I give a helpless little shrug, hating how silly I feel. “I’ll just worry about you on one of them, is all.” I force a smile when he crowds me with his body against the table. “Besides, how will you travel with all your hockey gear if you have a bike?”
“I’ll still have my truck.”
“If you want a bike, I think you should do it.”
Holt slides the tip of his nose up the length of mine. When he speaks, his voice has dropped in pitch. I suck in a sharp inhale that tastes of him.
“You’re right,” he says.
“I am?” Why do I find it so hard to think when he’s this close to me?
“The Island is expensive. I should keep saving.”
“Yeah.” I nod, sucking my lip in and biting down as I murmur, “but you’d look really hot on a bike.”
“Ahh.” He drops his head back. “You just had to go and say that.”
I giggle at the tortured groan he releases. “Sorry, but it’s true.” I hook my finger through the loops of his jeans. “I still think you should save, though.”
“But my girlfriend thinks I’d look hot on a bike.”
I tug him closer, too close. If anyone walked in right now, I’d be in trouble.
But as I lift onto my tippy toes to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, I decide I just don’t care as I say, “One day.”
It’s only July, but it feels like I’ll blink, and summer will be over. I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready to lose these moments I have with Holt. For hockey to start up again, with all the practices and games. For every weekend to belong to the ice when I’ve just gotten a taste of the heat.
“Yo, Holt! Come on, man!” Kevin shouts from down by the beach. “Could use some help, here.”
Charlie Anderson, a boy from the football team who seriously might be competing on the side in body building competitions, brackets his mouth with his hands to taunt. “Holt doesn’t play unless he’s got a stick to hide behind.”
I feel Holt tense behind me in the moment before he leans in and mutters, “That just won’t do.”
“Go show him you hide from nothing.” I give his leg a parting pat before he hops up and jogs down the beach.
Everything glows, lit up by the setting sun as I watch Holt take his place on Kevin’s team. They’re playing a rule-less game of rugby with extra tackles—because they’re boys—and I already know Holt’s team is going to lose.
I cheer for them anyway. Even though it doesn’t take me long to get bored of watching boys tackling each other into the sand in what looks like hellishly brutal attacks.
Glancing to the side, I spot a little daisy in the grass that edges the sand. My hand drifts out to pluck it from the earth, and I begin pulling white petals in a game I’ve played since I was young.
Picking daisies with Mom had been a favorite pastime of mine.
A body drops into the sand beside me, a deep voice sighing into the space. “He loves you.”
I blush at the pile of petals. “It says he doesn’t.”
“It’s wrong.”
Following Tate’s lead, I dig my hands into the sand and lean back. “Happy belated birthday.”
“Thanks.”
My eyes slide to him. Eighteen looks good on Tate. I wasn’t watching for it, so I’m a little struck by the change in him. He’s filled out in a way I wasn’t expecting. Not just his body, but his face, too. His jaw is hard and square and there’s a shadow of scruff. Scruff! On Tate.
I don’t pull my gaze away as I ask, “What did you do?”
He finally looks at me. Green eyes sweep my face in the moment before he knocks his head back an inch with a grin that looks far too old for him. “What do you think I did?”
I smirk. “Got drunk.”
His grin widens, looking a little more boyish. I think I prefer it, honestly.
“Legally, Faye. I got drunk legally.”
I snort a laugh. “Of course, you did.”
He shrugs. “If you weren’t so young, you could have been there.”
My spine straightens. “I’m going to be sixteen in a month.”
He sighs a sound that is filled with mock grievance. “So young.”
I swat at him. “Whatever. You just turned eighteen.”
“But I am eighteen. All done with school, now, too. I can drink in bars and vote and get a place of my own.”
“Oooo, you get to work every day, pay bills, and bitch about the state of your country.” I shove a finger into my mouth on a fake gag. “Can’t wait.”
His eyes study me carefully. “Not excited to grow up?”
I shrug. “I like it here. Like being—like this.”
“I think you’re the first person I’ve ever heard say they like being a kid.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not a kid. I’m nearly sixteen. But I also have it pretty good, and I don’t care for change. As soon as I’m done with school, turn eighteen, and get thrust into the ‘real world’” I give air quotes. “Everything is going to change.”
“Oh, come on, Faye. Look at the bright side of things, why don’t you?”
My brows rise. “That is?”
“You get your own space. No one telling you what to do, where you can go, and when you’ve got to be back.”
I roll my eyes. “Your parents don’t even do that now.”
“No, they don’t.” His eyes drift over my face again. “But yours do.”
There is a deepness to his voice that I can’t pick apart. Can’t decipher.
Sometimes, the way Tate looks at me makes me feel like he sees more of me than I’m showing. Not like he’s looking for what is beneath my clothes, but like he’s seeking the darkness beneath my skin. The real parts of me that might be beautiful, but also could be hideously ugly.
He looks without any worry for what he might find, as though he knows that whatever it is, it’s only human. And even the ugly flaws are beautiful in their own way.
Tearing my gaze from his, I look to Holt again. “I think I’m most afraid of him.”
“Holt?” There’s an edge of darkness to his question. Worry. “Why would you be afraid of him?”
“Not of him, I guess. More of all that he’s capable of.”
He leans forward to study me closer, elbows planted on his knees. “I’m lost, Faye.”
“He’s great, Tate.” I swing my eyes back to his. “Like, really great.”
Understanding tightens his expression. He nods. “Yeah, he is.”
“He’s going to make it big in hockey,” I tell him what I’m confident he already knows.
He nods, confirming as much. “Yeah, he is.”
I feel like I’m confessing something terrible when I whisper, “I don’t know if that’s the life I want, you know?
” He rolls his lips, but says nothing. I blabber on, “It’s his dream, and I want it for him with all that I am.
But I love him, too.” A shadow falls into the sea-glass green of his eyes.
This is Holt’s brother, I remind myself.
I’m confessing my biggest fears to the brother of the boy I love.
My hand touches my chest, fisting there as I push all my feeling into my words.
“I love him so much, Tate. I love him with all of me.” Emotion pricks at me, and I think maybe Tate flinches.
It's so small, I can’t be sure. I push on.
“I love him, and I don’t know that I’ll fit into that big life he’s rushing headfirst for.
So, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of growing up and finding out that it’s all just a dream.
I’m afraid that in the end I’ll be the one who sacrifices everything—and that one day my lack of big dreams will make Holt realize he’s made for so much more than me. ”
There’s a long pause. A deep moment of silence where he simply watches me with those seeing eyes. Finally, Tate speaks. It’s rough and gritty enough to rattle my bones. “He loves you. The only thing I’ve seen Holt love like he loves you, is hockey.”
His words are meant to make me feel better. But they crush a little bit of my soul, because I already know that. So, I force a smile and say, “I know.”
Tate doesn’t return my smile and I force myself to my feet. And that’s when it happens, the thing to snap the camel’s back, so to say. The little anklet I’ve had since forever snaps, falling into the sand. It’s amazing it didn’t happen a lot sooner, considering I’ve had it for years.
It might have only been braided threads in peach pink with beads that spelled my name, but my bestie from before I moved made it for me. The threads are totally worn.
There’s no fixing it.
And I can’t help it. I cry.
I already know the tears are because of more than the anklet. They’re for the boy I love so much—the boy I’m terrified of losing.