Chapter 8 The Past #2
As I drove away, everything hit me at once, dragging me down into a pit of despair. A weight as immense as a freight train crashed into my mangled body, sending me tumbling into darkness.
I hit a boiling point. I was a volcano beginning to erupt, and I could feel my hatred toward Caiden growing stronger.
The next day, I found him at school, walking alone through the halls.
“Caiden, we need to talk.”
I approached him, determined.
“I don’t want to,” he said, his tone flat, as if I were an inconvenience.
“That’s too damn bad!” I snapped, stepping into his path.
“Move.” His glare was furious, but I stood my ground.
“Have you heard the news? Lillian is pregnant with your kid.”
His eyes widened for a fleeting moment before the wall he had built returned, hard and impenetrable. “I don’t care,” he stated coldly, his mouth set in a straight line, devoid of remorse.
“Well, you should, because now my mom kicked her out just because she got knocked up. She’s struggling; have some damn sympathy!” My face flushed with anger, my hands trembling at my sides.
“That’s not my problem,” he shot back, the callousness in his voice igniting my fury.
“Dammit, Caiden! Why do you have to be such a cold bastard?” I pushed against his chest, my words spilling out in a torrent of emotion.
He shrugged, irritation flashing across his features. “Look, I didn’t mean to get her pregnant, but it’s done now, and it’s not my problem. So, get out of my face.”
I watched him turn, his back a wall I couldn’t penetrate. “You’re a coward! I hope karma bites you in the ass one day,” I screamed after him, tears welling in my eyes. It was impossible to explain why I was exploding like this.
“I’ll let you know when it does,” he sarcastically grumbled, then pushed me out of the way and continued walking with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his shorts.
I watched him leave, resentment piling up. I had gotten nowhere with him, and I felt as if I let Lillian down.
The late-afternoon light slanted through the tall windows of the bookstore, dust motes drifting in the golden beams.
It was quiet, just the soft scrape of my sneakers on the hardwood floor and the distant hum of the register.
Since it was a school night, customers were few, so I lost myself in restocking: sliding worn paperbacks and glossy new hardcovers back onto their shelves, aligning their spines until they formed a perfect row.
I ran my fingertips over each title and, not for the first time, wished I could climb inside one of these stories and live an entirely different life for a while.
“Everything all right, darling?” Nina’s gentle voice broke my reverie. She leaned on the end of the shelf, her strawberry-scented perfume mingling with the musty smell of old paper.
I swallowed hard. Her concern made the ache in my chest widen as if I might start crying. “Not really,” I admitted, pressing a novel flat against my heart. “My sister’s pregnant, completely unplanned. We don’t know what to do.”
“Oh, Amelia.” Nina’s soft brown eyes filled with sympathy. “That’s always a heavy thing to bear.”
I bit my lip. “I feel so terrible for her.”
Nina gave a small, knowing smile, her hands steady as she helped me line up another row of books. “Sometimes it works out for the best,” she said, voice warm with memory.
“Why do you say that?”
“I was in my twenties when I found out I was expecting my daughter, totally unexpected.” She paused, straightening a stack of poetry volumes. “I was terrified. But fifteen years later, she’s the miracle I never knew I needed.”
I let her words settle around me. I’d never understood the depth of a mother’s love. “I guess I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
“Your sister will, too,” Nina assured me, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “The moment she holds that baby, regrets vanish. She’ll see the blessing in it.”
I shrugged, trying to believe her. “I hope you’re right. She wants to keep it, at least.”
“She should. It’ll be hard, but every challenge has its purpose.”
We traded a few more polite observations until my shift ended.
My nerves were fraying, so I texted Dante to meet me.
In our little town, gossip was a wildfire, and before long everyone would know about my sister’s condition.
Outside, a small coffee shop glowed under string lights a couple of blocks away. I found a wooden bench beneath a flickering lamppost and waited, the cool evening breeze tugging at my hair.
The comforting hiss of the café’s espresso machine leaked onto the sidewalk, and the rich aroma of roasted beans drifted around me.
Then Dante appeared. His easy smile lighting up the dusky street. My heart pounded as I stood and wrapped him in a quick hug, craving the safety of his arms.
“What’s up?” he asked, settling beside me. His jacket smelled like cedar and something familiar, something like home.
I took a steadying breath. Maybe he’d already heard. Better to rip off the bandage. “Caiden got my sister pregnant,” I blurted, voice tight. “He won’t admit it’s his responsibility, and it’s driving me crazy.”
Silence fell.
I watched the lamplight dance on his profile. He stared into the distance, brow furrowed, as if wrestling with words.
My scalp tingled. I wanted to lean in, press my lips to his cheek, bury my face in his neck.
Finally, he exhaled. “I’m so sorry, Amelia. I wish I could change him.”
I searched his face. “He won’t even listen to you?”
Dante shook his head, letting his hand hover before he placed it gently over mine. His touch was warm, tentative. “Caiden has his own demons. He trusts me enough to joke around, but when it comes to serious advice, he shuts down. I’ve tried everything.”
I clenched his hand, butterflies erupting in my chest. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I know.” He squeezed my fingers. “Just…sit with me for a while.”
We did. The street grew quieter as night deepened. We talked in fragments and let the comfortable silence slip in between us like a soft blanket.
After ten minutes, Dante spoke as he gazed at the flickering café sign. “I’ve hated watching from the sidelines.”
I looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“When Caiden bullies you,” he said, turning to meet my eyes. “All those times I just stood there.”
My throat tightened. “You did step in, sometimes. I’m grateful.”
He offered a shy, earnest smile, his dark eyes glimmering. “A woman as kind and beautiful as you doesn’t deserve that. You deserve happiness, Amelia.”
My cheeks burned. Compliments like that felt foreign, especially coming from someone like him.
I whispered, “Thank you. That means more than you know.”
He tucked a loose lock of hair behind my ear. “I care. I hate seeing you hurt.”
“I’m glad,” I breathed. Most people would have turned away. But he didn’t.
“I won’t,” he promised. “Not anymore. You can count on me.”
His words wrapped around me, steady and sure. Sitting there in the fading glow of the lamp and the scent of coffee, I felt something shift inside: a quiet hope that, in time, everything would be all right.