Chapter 8
eight
. . .
jett
It’s part of the plan. It’s part of the plan. It’s part of the plan.
The phrase repeats until I reach Hadley’s house with the little white picket fence. It looks like a house she’d live in. Quaint, cute, and bright.
It’s got sun-yellow siding with the white shutters and flower boxes hanging off the windows. Flowers line the walkway, and a little tree that looks like it was planted just a few years ago has ropes holding it in place.
It’s picturesque.
And if I hadn’t been so stupid, this could have been our house, our dreams. Those would be my pansies lining the path. My white shutters and picket fence. I’d likely have kids—be a dad.
I feel gutted.
I can’t do this. I don’t care about the plan. I’m not good enough to ever have her back.
The screen door creaks, and it’s all I can do not to break out into an all-out run.
Instead, I wave. “Hey.”
“Were you watching my house?” Hadley is halfway out of the door and staying there.
“No, I was—” Watching your house, wishing we were together, and nearly chickening out. “I was trying to decide if it was safe to knock on the door.” I mean, that was charming, right? Vivi told me to be my charming self.
“You decided you’d drop by in the middle of a school week?” She grumbles and goes back inside. A second later, she returns wearing a neon pink fluffy robe. “Well, are you just going to stand out there, or are you actually going to come in?”
Wait. What? She’s inviting me in? “Uh, yeah.” I reach for the gate—only to have a splinter lodge itself in my ring finger. Because obviously, the universe has a sense of humor.
Man, this thing hurts like crazy, but no way am I saying anything to her. She’ll likely send me home, and I want to spend time with her. Getting invited in feels like I’ve been given the keys to Club Hadley.
And man, do I want to be in this club.
I drop my hand to my side as my finger throbs. It feels like I’ve shoved an entire tree into my finger. I’m no wimp. I’ve had teeth knocked out, put back in, and knocked back out. I’ve had broken arms, legs, you name it. This splinter is a molehill demanding to be classified as a mountain.
For a second, I forget as I sweep my gaze across Hadley’s inner lair.
It’s just as cute and quaint as the outside.
She’s got palm leaf wallpaper with a soft pink accent wall.
Three fuzzy pink pillows dot a cream-colored couch with a funky coffee table separating two wild, multicolored high-back chairs.
Just quirky enough to be Hadley, but they work.
“This is great,” I say. Apparently, I’ve said it with enough reverence that when I look at her, she’s smiling.
“Thanks.” She chews her bottom lip. “Want the tour?”
“I want to see everything.” The words come out in a whisper.
Her eyes lock with mine for a second, and I feel like I’m being sucked back in time. That first date, showing up at her house. Her parents were awesome. Functional, which was like heaven for me, complete with the angel currently staring at me.
“Well, come on.”
I follow her through each room as she gives me the rundown of how each space came to be. I’m both in awe and proud of her at the same time because she’s done most of the work herself.
We reach the last room, the main bedroom—her room—and it’s incredible. All soft blues and grays, fluffy-looking bedding, and a little sitting area.
“This is amazing, Hadley.” She’s incredible. “It’s perfect.”
She’s beaming. I know it’s nothing I said, but I love it when she smiles so wide that her cheeks make her eyes look like half-moons. “Thanks.”
We stand there while the silence stretches out, growing awkward and weird.
I don’t want to ruin this, and I’m afraid that if I open my big mouth, something dumb might fall out.
She toes the ground.
I could hear pins dropping if my heart wasn’t beating so loud and fast.
“I guess the polite thing is to ask if you want something to drink.” She sighs. “Maybe we can talk about this whole fake dating thing and make a plan for Friday.”
“Okay.”
We move through the house to the little dining room off the kitchen. There’s a picture window framing an immaculate, lush green lawn that makes me want to take off my shoes and run barefoot through it.
“Your yard is incredible.” I turn to her, grinning so she knows I'm teasing. “Are you sure you’re not paying someone and taking credit for it?”
“No, I’m not paying someone.” She rolls her eyes as she pulls out a couple of glasses. “You want pop, coffee, or cranberry juice?”
Color me surprised, I’m getting offered more than tap water. “Uh, a pop would be good.”
I take a seat at the table and watch her.
There are the beginnings of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.
Not prominent or super noticeable to most people, but I see them.
I should have been here. Know every story behind each one.
I should’ve been here for all of it—the painting, the lawn, the years I missed.
Why did I do something so stupid? In the end, nothing I did saved my dad. I destroyed everything good I had, and now he’s just ashes sitting in a box waiting to be unpacked.
I force the thoughts away. The whole point of this drop-by is to get to know Hadley again. Vivi says if I want her forgiveness, I need to put in the effort. Visiting for no reason or cause is the best way to do that.
Hadley fills the glasses with ice, grabs a two-liter of pop out of the fridge, and ambles to the table. The ice clinks in the glass when she sets one in front of me before taking her seat across the table.
“How are your folks?” I ask as she begins to pour the pop into my glass.
“They’re good.” She smiles as she tops off my drink and begins filling her glass. “They bought an RV.”
My mouth falls slightly open. “Wow. I never thought they’d do that.” Her dad wasn’t big on traveling at all. He’d been born in this city, and he always claimed he’d die in it. “How’d your mom convince him to go?”
She sets the two-liter down, chewing her lip. “He had a stroke a couple of years ago, and that kind of changed things for them. Life is short, and there were so many places he hadn’t seen.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
Her head tilts. “How are your parents?”
“Mom is living on Daniel’s Island in South Carolina, and Dad passed away about a year ago.”
The whole story is sitting on the end of my tongue, but even now, I just can’t force the words out. If only she knew how truly pathetic I am. Not only did I fail her, but I failed him too.
Suddenly, I’m questioning if I want to go through with this—because pretending feels harder than walking away.