Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE_
HAZARD
Decaf takes off, and as much as I tell myself not to feel guilty about what I said, I do anyway.
The thing is, if my words made him angry, I could deal with that.
I’m saying all this bullshit because I want him to get angry at me.
It’s probably my way of testing whether or not he actually is staying to have my back or if he’ll walk again the minute something gets difficult.
But he’s not getting mad. He’s agreeing with me and then walking away with his head held low in shame.
He’s right that I can’t resent him more than he hates himself because I’ve seen that self-hatred up close.
I’ve seen the way his eyes dim when it’s brought up or when he talks about my father.
Decaf isn’t the most open person there is, and he’s hard to read, but when it comes to my father? There’s no hiding his emotions.
“That was a bit harsh,” Saint says.
“I know.” My words are barely intelligible.
“Are you going to apologize?” Iris asks. “I have a whole list of different ways to apologize if you need a line. I find if you use the same sentiment over and over again, people begin to not believe you when you say you’re sorry.”
“You say that like you’re actually sorry when you apologize.” Saint kisses the top of Iris’s head. “But I do agree in the sense that you’ve both been dicks to each other. All the apologies in the world won’t fix what is actually broken between you two.”
I know they’re right. Of course they are. It’s not anything I haven’t told myself. But … “What if I forgive him and then he takes off again? I want to get to know him to feel closer to my father somehow—”
“Maybe that’s where you’re going wrong,” Iris says. “You don’t want to get to know Decaf. You’re trying to get closer to your father. You can’t bypass Decaf’s feelings to comfort your own.”
Saint frowns. “That was … profoundly insightful.”
“Thank you.” Iris smiles widely.
“I’m scared.”
I hold up my hand. “I agree with Saint. I, too, am scared.”
“Fuck both of you. I’m going to go sulk with Decaf.”
He catches up to where Decaf is still stomping away.
“At least I’m not the only one in the doghouse,” I say, like that helps at all.
“Yeah. Thanks for that.”
“It’s not my fault your fiancé was serious for a split moment in his life.”
“No, but he really can be insightful. I know that about him and shouldn’t have joked about it.”
“Eh, he’ll get over it.”
Proving my point, Iris is back a second later. “Okay, let’s get back to being productive.”
“See?”
“See what?” he asks.
“I said I shouldn’t have made a joke about how insightful you are.” Saint tries to pull Iris close to him, but Iris steps away from his hold and puts his hands on his hips.
“Only about being insightful? What about all the other jokes?”
At first, I’m all “Awkward,” but then Iris breaks into a smile.
Saint shoves him. “You’re messing with me? You’re such an asshole. I thought I actually hurt your feelings.”
Iris waves him off. “Please. You can’t hurt me when what you say is true. The fact it’s true is why it’s funny.”
Saint throws up his hands. “I can’t win with you.”
Iris hugs his fiancé. “Being married to me is going to be so much fun.”
“Yeah, for you.”
“Exactly!”
I stand back and watch them as they pretend bicker back and forth. I wish I had that with someone.
I’m young, so I have time to find that person, but …
I want it now. I want to be cared for. Owned.
In a nonproblematic way, but still. I’m ready for someone to own my heart and have my back, no matter the situation.
They’ll stick around when times are tough and fight for me. Most importantly, they won’t leave me.
Maybe there’s someone out there for me, but it’s not like I’m going to get the chance to meet them when I have a permanent babysitter following me everywhere.
Decaf wanders back to us eventually, and even though his expression is unchanging from its usual stoic self, there’s an air of something surrounding him.
Guilt, maybe? Or it’s entirely possible that’s rolling off me.
I need to learn when to shut my mouth. Actually, if I learned that, I would never open it again.
I can’t help the resentment I feel toward him, but I can help how I deal with it and how I act around him.
I know I need to apologize, but the words “I’m sorry” don’t come naturally to me. There’s a reason they’re the hardest words to say. They involve swallowing pride and being vulnerable. Two things I really don’t want to do when it comes to Decaf.
As we head back to the parking lot, no closer to choosing wedding flowers for Iris and Saint because I’m pretty sure they don’t trust me now, they both look at me and then over to Decaf, talking to me with just their eyes.
They know I need to apologize too, but it’s not like this is my only chance to do it.
He won’t leave my fucking side. They probably want me to do it here because it’ll mean I can get a ride with him instead of them. That makes sense.
Decaf heads toward his car.
Iris and Saint continue to stare at me.
“Fine,” I grumble and move toward Decaf, but not before I hear, “We didn’t say anything,” coming from behind me. That’s followed by a loud snicker from Iris.
I can do this. I can be the bigger person. “Decaf, wait up.”
“What, they kick you out of their car or something?” He stops walking so I can catch up.
“No.” Not exactly. “What I said earlier—”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. I don’t know why, but when it comes to you, the snark is right there on the tip of my tongue, and you don’t deserve it. Not that kind of snark anyway. The fun kind of snark should be shared around like candy … ooh, candy. I could really go for some Jolly Ranchers right about now.”
Decaf blinks at me.
“Right. Sorry. Apologizing. I really am sor—”
He shakes his head. “Don’t be. Like I said, it’s not anything I haven’t said to myself over the years.”
Sympathy twinges in my chest for him. “Which is exactly why you don’t need to hear it from me as well.
Continuously. I need more material. I might understand why you’ve been the way you have been with me—standoffish and trying to avoid me at all costs—but I think I just need time to process what really happened. ”
“I’ve had over twenty years, and I don’t know if I’m there yet.”
My lips twitch. “Hey, maybe when I’m forty-two and you’re sixty-two, we’ll be ready for an adult conversation. You know, if you even live that long. With how much coffee you drink, your heart is probably gonna give out before then.”
“At least it won’t be from you smothering me with a pillow.”
And then it happens. That boiling hot resentment in my gut slows to a simmer, and we find ourselves laughing.
“See, that’s the kind of snark we should work toward,” I say.
Decaf opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it. He averts his gaze, glancing over at his car, and then he holds up the key. “May as well come with me, seeing as we’re going to the same place.”
“Yeah, sounds good.” I turn my upper body to signal to Iris and Saint that I’m going with Decaf, and a billion things happen at once.
Saint’s phone goes off, but it’s not a normal text or alert. Whatever it is, it makes his face drain of all its color.
I stop walking, but Decaf keeps going.
“Stop.” Saint looks sick, but his words are so raspy, Decaf doesn’t hear them. “Burn notice.”
Decaf hits the remote start on his car. A loud blast rings in my ears, a wall of fire licks at my clothes and skin, and my feet are lifted off the ground as I’m hurled backward, landing on my side on the hard concrete ground.
The entire underground garage shakes, and while logically, my brain screams “car bomb,” my mouth shouts, “Earthquake.”
It all happens so fast, I can’t comprehend what’s going on.
Or maybe everyone is moving at regular speed, and I’m stuck in slow motion because of the pain radiating down my side from my head and neck all the way down my shoulder and arm from hitting the ground.
Part of me hopes they have CCTV in here because I swear I must have done a midair flip to land where I am.
Smoke fills my lungs, and I roll onto my back to try to be able to breathe better and get my bearings.
Someone’s yelling something, but the ringing is too damn loud for me to understand it.
I let out a groan as I force myself to sit up. The world spins, and I vomit, but as soon as I cough it all up, the fog lifts from my mind, and the view of reality is as stark as it is raw.
Saint is a few feet away, tending to Decaf, who’s a lifeless lump on the ground next to me. Iris is standing by Decaf’s burning car, talking to someone on the phone.
No one comes in or out of the parking lot, but that probably makes sense. We’re underground, and the smoke must be billowing out.
First responders will be here soon, and that’s the last thing we need. If they catch us here, they’ll ask questions, and I don’t feel like being locked away on a seventy-two-hour hold after telling them the government is out to kill us.
We need to get out of here, but first, I need to make sure Decaf is okay.
I crawl over to him and Saint. “Decaf.” I shake his shoulder.
“He’s unconscious. Probably has a broken arm. Maybe internal injuries.”
“How do you know?” I croak. I shake Decaf again.
“Have you ever seen an arm do this?” Saint lifts Decaf’s right arm, where his hand is slack and a bone protrudes from his forearm.
The urge to vomit comes up again, but I manage to swallow it down this time.
The movement must shock Decaf into consciousness because he moans, and his eyes flicker open. “I’ve … got … you.” He reaches for me. “Save … you.”
“Don’t try to move.” If I look half as bad as he does, I don’t want to see a mirror. “I’m okay. I’m fine.”
“You probably have a concussion, but considering Decaf took most of the blast, you’re in pretty good shape,” Saint says.
The confusion returns, along with the wobbly ground and feeling dizzy. “He took most of it?”
Saint’s eyes meet mine. “He jumped in between you and the car and shoved you out of the way.”
Decaf … saved my life?