9. Hallie
HALLIE
The biography section is my kingdom of avoidance, and right now I'm ruling it with an iron fist and a cart full of books that don't deserve the aggression I'm channeling into them.
X gon' give it to ya. I hum under my breath, shoving a thick hardcover about Theodore Roosevelt into its slot with more force than necessary. Knock knock, open up the door, it's real.
"You're going to crack the spine on that one."
I freeze mid-hum, the book cart handle digging into my palms. Mrs. Patterson stands at the end of the aisle, arms crossed, her reading glasses dangling from the beaded chain around her neck.
She's worked at the library longer than I've been alive and has a sixth sense for when someone is using alphabetization as therapy.
"Just being thorough," I say, attempting a smile that probably looks more like a grimace.
"Mmhm." She peers at me over invisible spectacles. "You only hum Nineties rap when you're avoiding something. Last time it was Tupac for a week straight, and that was when your college boyfriend proposed to someone else on Facebook."
"That was different."
"Was it?" She tilts her head. "Because you look exactly the same. Like someone replaced all your coffee with decaf and told you Gilmore Girls got cancelled."
I swallow hard, gripping the cart tighter. "I'm fine."
"Sure you are, sweetheart." Mrs. Patterson pats my shoulder as she passes, heading toward the reference desk. "Just remember to come up for air occasionally. The books will still be here tomorrow."
I wait until she's gone before slumping against the cart, pressing my forehead to the cool metal handle.
Three days. It's been three days since I told Caius that sleeping together was a mistake, since I watched his face shutter closed like I'd personally slammed the door on something precious and fragile, and I haven't heard from him since.
Well, that's not entirely true. He responded to my apology text with a single thumbs-up emoji. Then nothing. Radio silence. Which is somehow worse than anger, worse than a fight, worse than anything I could have imagined.
My phone signals in my cardigan pocket.
Ryan: Need to talk. Meet me at the coffee shop across the street in 10?
Perfect. Just what I need. My brother's uncanny ability to sense when I'm hiding something, combined with his protective instincts that make a mama bear look reasonable.
I abandon the cart and grab my purse, calling out to Mrs. Patterson that I'm taking my break.
The September sun hits my face as I step outside, warm and mocking.
Everything looks too cheerful. The flower boxes overflowing with petunias, the tourists snapping photos by the gazebo, the whole Norman Rockwell painting of our small town life.
And there, across the street at the gas station attached to his shop, is Caius.
My feet stop moving. Just completely stop, like someone hit pause on my entire body while the rest of the world keeps spinning around me.
A couple of tourists have to sidestep around me on the sidewalk, muttering about people who block the whole damn walkway, but I can't make myself care.
I'm rooted to the spot, staring at him like I've been starved for the sight.
He's bent over the open hood of a minivan with out-of-state plates, his white t-shirt already smudged with grease, dark hair falling into his eyes.
A family stands nearby, the mom bouncing a toddler on her hip while the dad gestures helplessly at the engine.
Caius says something that makes them both laugh, his crooked grin flashing, and my chest physically aches.
I miss him.
Not the kissing, not the way he looked at me in my bed like I was something worth worshipping.
I miss him. The way he'd show up at the library with coffee, claiming he was just in the neighborhood.
The way he'd listen to me rant about patron complaints and act like my stories about overdue book fees were riveting entertainment.
The easy friendship we had before I ruined it by wanting more.
Caius straightens, wiping his hands on a rag, and his gaze sweeps across the street. For a heartbeat, our eyes meet. My breath catches. He freezes.
Then he turns away, ducking back under the hood, and the dismissal hits like a physical blow.
"Hallie!"
I tear my gaze away to find Ryan waving from the coffee shop patio, his quarterback build making the bistro chair look like doll furniture. I force my legs to move, crossing the street on autopilot, trying to swallow down the lump in my mouth.
"Hey." I slide into the seat across from him, grateful for the umbrella's shade. "What's up?"
Ryan's already ordered for me. An iced vanilla latte sits sweating condensation onto a napkin. He knows my order by heart, the same way he knows I reorganize my bookshelf when I'm stressed and that I ugly-cry during insurance commercials.
Which is why the look on his face right now, serious, searching, decidedly un-Ryan-like in its solemnity, makes my tummy drop like a stone tumbling down a well.
His blue eyes, so much like our mother's, study me and make me want to squirm in my seat like I'm fifteen again and he's caught me sneaking in past curfew.
"Is something going on with you and Caius?"
The question lands like a grenade. I reach for my latte, buying time with a long sip that freezes my brain and does nothing to help formulate a coherent lie.
"What? No. Why would you think that?"
"Because he's been acting weird all week.
" Ryan leans forward, elbows on the table, his expression the same one he wore when he interrogated my prom date about his intentions.
"He won't talk about the bachelor party plans, keeps zoning out during conversations, and yesterday he nearly took my head off when I asked if he'd seen you lately. "
"Maybe he's just stressed about work."
"Hallie." Ryan's voice drops into big brother territory. "I've known Caius since we were twelve. I know when something's bothering him. And I know you've been avoiding family dinners and making excuses not to hang out. So I'm going to ask again: is something going on?"
The truth sits on my lips, heavy and tempting. Yes. We kissed. We slept together. I think I've been in love with him since I was sixteen and didn't realize it until I ruined everything.
But the fear is stronger. Fear that Ryan will be angry, or worse, disappointed. Fear that saying it out loud will make it real and I'll have to face what I've done. Fear that I'm not brave enough to be the girl who goes after what she wants.
"Nothing's going on," I hear myself say at the same moment that I see Kyle sitting nearby at a table by the door with a weird look on his face. But the lie tastes like ash, and that’s all I can process at that moment. "We're fine. Just busy with wedding stuff."
Ryan studies me for a long moment, his jaw working like he's chewing over whether to believe me. Finally, he sits back, but his eyes stay sharp.
"Okay. But Hal? If something was going on, you know you could tell me, right? I mean, Caius is my best friend, but you're my sister. That comes first. Always."
The guilt hits so hard I almost confess right there. Instead, I nod and take another sip of coffee, letting the cold numb everything.
"I know. I promise, everything's fine."
He doesn't look convinced, but he lets it drop, shifting into wedding logistics talk. The rehearsal dinner tomorrow night, the bachelor party tonight, the color-coded schedule our sister has created that would make a military general weep with envy.
I nod along, making appropriate sounds, but my gaze keeps drifting across the street where Caius is closing the minivan's hood, accepting grateful handshakes from the family.
He glances toward the coffee shop once, his expression unreadable from this distance, then climbs into his truck and drives away.
By seven PM, I'm face-down on my couch, still in my work clothes, seriously considering whether it's socially acceptable to fake my own death to get out of wedding activities.
My phone sits on the coffee table, mocking me with its silence.
I've typed and deleted seventeen different messages to Caius.
Everything from I'm sorry to Can we please talk?
to I lied, it wasn't a mistake, I just don't know how to be brave enough for this.
But my thumb hovers over the send button each time, frozen by the memory of his face when I told him to leave.
The doorbell rings.
For one wild, irrational second, my heart leaps. Maybe it's Caius. Maybe he's here to yell at me or kiss me or do literally anything that involves acknowledging my existence.
I scramble off the couch, running fingers through my messy bun as I rush to the door and yank it open.
It's my sister, Madison, holding a garment bag and wearing the expression of someone on a mission.
"Oh," I say, unable to hide my disappointment. "Hey."
"Wow, don't sound so excited to see the bride." She pushes past me into the apartment, hanging the garment bag on my coat rack with the care usually reserved for newborns. "I brought your maid of honor dress for tomorrow's rehearsal. Wanted to make sure it still fits after the alterations."
"It'll fit."
"Try it on anyway. I need to see it." She turns, hands on hips, and her eyes narrow. "You look terrible."
"Thanks. That's exactly what every girl wants to hear."
"I'm serious, Hal. You've got bags under your eyes, your hair looks like you stuck your finger in an electrical socket, and I'm pretty sure that cardigan has a coffee stain on it.
" She steps closer, peering at my face with sisterly concern.
"What's going on? Is this about Kyle? Because if he's bothering you, I can still kick him out of the wedding party. Marcus would understand."
"It's not about Kyle." The truth comes out easier than I expect. "Actually, who cares about Kyle at all anymore."