Chapter 13 #2
I plopped down on her bed, where she’d already laid out a set of pajamas for me. My lips released the most dramatic sigh in the history of sighs.
Eleanor looked up from her book, then closed it. I knew that didn’t seem like a huge thing to a lot of people, but for Eleanor to close her book to have human interaction was a big deal. My shy introvert of a cousin only closed her book for those she loved the most.
“What were they fighting about?” she asked, sitting up and crossing her legs to face me.
“Beats me. I just heard the yelling and turned around to leave.”
“Seems to be happening a lot more than normal lately,” she commented, and I didn’t reply because a reply wasn’t needed.
Yes, it’d been happening a lot more lately.
Yes, I hated it every single second of every single day.
“Do you think your dad is . . . ?” Eleanor’s words trailed off because she knew how sometimes words could hurt even when they weren’t intended to sting. She didn’t want to finish her thought, but I knew what she was asking: Was my father dealing again? Was he using again?
No, I prayed.
Yes, I found more likely.
“I don’t know,” I answered, speaking truthfully.
The last time my dad and I had spoken about it, he’d promised he wasn’t, but a promise from a liar was the hardest truth to believe.
Dad used to lie about everything to cover up his missteps.
It worked for such a long time, too—up until he either blacked out drunk, overdosed, or Mom caught him in his web of lies.
Once, she followed him to a house where he was dealing.
I’d sat in the back of her car.
I was ten years old.
“I hope he’s not,” Eleanor said.
I gave her a sad, tight smile because her words made my eyes water over. I was so tired of crying over the man who was supposed to be my hero.
“I just wish my family could be more like yours.” I wiggled my nose to keep the sniffles away. “You guys are perfect.”
Eleanor’s gaze shifted to the ground, and she grew somber. “We’re not perfect. We have struggles, too. Really hard struggles.”
Reality set in that I wasn’t the only teenager struggling at home. Aunt Paige had been in chemotherapy for some time now. The last I heard, she was having more bad days than good. She looked tired, too. Still beautiful, but tired.
“Oh, Ellie . . .”
“She’s not getting better,” Eleanor quietly whispered. “If anything, I think it’s worse. She blacked out in the grocery store the other day while we were shopping.”
“What?” I moved closer to her. “Why didn’t you tell me that happened?”
She shrugged as her eyes sat packed with tears. “Some things in life are too sad to say out loud. All I’m saying is, my family isn’t perfect.”
“Yeah, I get that. It’s human to struggle, but you all struggle together . . . as one.”
They all played for the same team. They all wanted the same thing in life: happiness. My family was split up into different divisions. Sure, we all wanted happiness, but we all thought it came from different avenues.
“We can talk about something else,” she offered, feeling the heaviness of the room.
“Please,” I choked out. I’d talk about anything—anything that wasn’t our families’ wounds, which deepened with each passing day.
We talked about everything under the sun until both of our eyes grew heavy.
She told me about Greyson and her. That was my favorite update. Over the summer when Aunt Paige begged me to take Eleanor to Landon’s house party so she could experience life outside of the storybooks, she met Greyson.
He then read her favorite book series, and the rest was history.
Eleanor liked Greyson so much that she’d give up time to read to be around him instead.
That made me happy. I was glad Eleanor was living life and not just reading about it.
If they ended up being together forever, it was all because Eleanor’s mom forced her to go to a high school party.
Leave it to Aunt Paige to find her daughter’s soulmate.
She was always a pretty great gift giver.
And what better gift than the love of one’s life?
“Greyson talks about Landon, too,” Eleanor mentioned. “I guess he’s not as bad as he presents himself to be.”
“He called you Brace Face once.”
“His frontal lobe isn’t formed yet. I’ll reevaluate in his late twenties,” Eleanor sassily replied. “But really. I guess he has a lot of stuff going on in his life, too. Hard stuff.”
Hearing that made me think about how I saw him fall apart after Lance’s funeral. Or how lost he looked at his house party.
“Just be careful with your heart.” Eleanor yawned before rolling onto her side to face me as she hugged her pillow. “Rumor has it that they have a way of breaking sometimes.”
“A broken heart? How would my heart get broken? It’s just a bet.”
Eleanor smiled as if she didn’t believe me.
“It’s just a stupid bet,” I repeated, this time hoping I sounded more convincing.
I wasn’t exactly sure who I was trying to convince—her or myself.
Because when Landon did compliment my acting skills, he seemed .
. . genuine. I didn’t like genuine Landon, because it made me think that he wasn’t simply a jerk.
He had layers. Landon Harrison having layers was dangerous, because the more I realized it, the more I wanted to peel each one back to reveal a little bit more of who he was.
So maybe Eleanor brought up a good point. What would happen if Landon did manage to make me fall in love with him? What would happen if he then broke my heart?
I played with those thoughts for a while before coming up with my final opinion on the subject. My lips parted slightly, and I felt the tremble of my body as I spoke my newest truth: “If he breaks my heart, I hope the cracks tell a good story.”
Eleanor was half asleep as she responded, muttering so low, “If he breaks your heart, I’ll crack his spine.”
Eleanor Gable, my savior, my hero.
She fell asleep before me, her snores low and gentle. I stayed up, thinking about everything under the moon. Aunt Paige’s health. My family drama. Landon . . . He crossed my mind more often than I’d like.
Around midnight, my phone dinged, and I opened it to see a text message from an unknown number.
Unknown: We should rehearse the kiss.
I read the words over and over again, confused. Just as I was about to put my phone down, it dinged again.
Unknown: Isn’t that a big part of this stuff? Romeo kissing Juliet.
Landon. Of course.
Me: How did you get my number?
Landon: I have ways of finding things out.
Raine.
Obviously.
Landon: So what do you say? The kiss? You skip over it every day at rehearsal, so if you want to practice on our own, I’m fine with that.
Me: I’m good, actually.
Landon: You can show me how good you are. With your tongue, your lips, your hips, your lips . . .
Me: You said lips twice.
Landon: Two different sets of lips, Chick.
My stomach flipped and turned as I repeatedly read his words. A slight tingle found its way between my thighs, and I tried my best to ignore it.
Me: You’re so vulgar.
Landon: And you’re so perfectly neat.
Me: Shouldn’t you be sleeping?
Landon: Shouldn’t you?
Touché.
Landon: I can come pick you up now if you want. We can practice at my place.
Me: Probably not a good idea.
Landon: Some of the best ideas are the bad ones. Obviously, neither of us can sleep tonight. What do you have to lose?
Me: My mind apparently.
Landon: We don’t even have to rehearse. I was only half kidding about the kissing thing, anyway, trying to get under your skin. We can talk. Or not. We could sit in the same room, not saying shit at all.
I glanced over to my sleeping cousin and swallowed hard. WWED—What Would Eleanor Do? Well, for starters, she’d tell me to go to sleep. She’d say a tired brain isn’t a good brain to make decisions with.
But wise Eleanor wasn’t available in that moment. She was sound asleep. She didn’t have the ability to tell me anything, so I listened to my heart instead of my head.
I texted him the address, and then . . .
I held my breath.