Chapter Twenty-Six #2
I hate being told what I should and shouldn’t want.
Sometimes, I hate wanting at all.
Some of my irritation fades as I look back to Wesley. The sincerity etched into every line of his face is far too genuine, and it’s almost painful to look at.
“I can’t miss Thanksgiving,” I say eventually. “It’s too important to my mom. But maybe…maybe we could ride together to Arthur’s cabin. I could pick you up on the way, and—and I could stop for breakfast.”
It’s not much, but it’s something. And judging by the way Wesley’s shoulders relax by a degree, it’s enough for now.
At the gym Monday morning, I run on the treadmill, cursing myself with each slap of my shoes on the belt.
I tend to dread any form of cardio that doesn’t involve dancing or getting naked, and today is no exception.
Unfortunately, I was cursed with a kind, caring stepdad whose only real flaw is that he insists upon a family Turkey Trot every Thanksgiving.
It’s an annual sacrifice Mona and I make at our mother’s request.
Monday isn’t one of Wesley’s usual days, and that’s partly why I’m here. Maybe I don’t want him to see how bedraggled I look as I limp my way through the last half mile of this 5K practice run.
Or maybe I need a little space after yesterday’s tense conversation.
Despite my desire not to be seen red-faced and sweaty after my painful jog, I run into Shay in the locker room. She’s already in her work clothes—fitted navy pants and a loose white sweater—though her hair is still damp from the shower. She smiles when she sees me.
“Hey. Tough one today?”
“I hate running,” I say with a groan. “But after Thursday, I’ll be free.” I open my locker and shrug into my hoodie. “Are you going anywhere fun for Thanksgiving?”
“To my aunt’s, in Springfield. Mom’s so glad she doesn’t have to cook this year.”
“Hah, I get that. Wesley told me he’s traveling up to Mass, too.” And then, because I can’t help my curiosity: “Have you met his parents before?”
Shay gives me a strange look. “His parents?”
“Yeah, he said he was visiting family, at his grandparents’? I just assumed—”
“Wes’s parents passed when he was a baby,” Shay says slowly. Her head cocks sharply to the side. “He grew up with his grandparents. You didn’t know?”
The floor falls out from under me. “No, I…I didn’t.”
How has it never come up? How have I never asked?
Shay’s looking at me like she’s wondering the same thing. As if to drive the point home, she says, “He mentioned you’ve been spending a lot of time together.”
I nod. “Working on our NEWT games, yeah.”
She doesn’t look convinced, which is fair; I don’t sound convincing, and she knows better. I try changing the subject.
“Blood Pact’s incredible, isn’t it? It sounds like it’s been a good thing for him to focus on after everything that happened.
” That’s what Afterwards has been for me, too, and I can’t help but feel like Wesley and I have bonded over that.
I’m obviously trying to inject more optimism into this horrifically awkward exchange, but Shay stays quiet as she tucks her things into her backpack.
I swallow and turn away to grab my coat.
When she speaks again, her voice is low—but in the silence of the empty locker room, she might as well be yelling.
“You have no idea how devastated he was, do you?”
In the wide mirrors, I meet her accusing stare.
“What?”
“Wesley. After Hurricane canceled his game and fired him.”
I try to clear my throat, but my mouth’s too dry. “I’m sure it shattered him.” I can only imagine; it would have crushed me.
“But he doesn’t talk about it with you, does he?
He hasn’t shown you that side of him.” She doesn’t say it like it’s a question; she’s sure.
“You didn’t see what he was like after that happened, Reagan, but the rest of us did.
This whole NEWT thing…it’s not just a chance for him to compete with you again for old times’ sake.
It’s not a distraction or a one-off passion project like it is for you. ”
Her assumption hits way too close to home. I wonder how she could know me so well, but then I realize, of course: Mona.
Hurt and regret twist my stomach into knots. I haven’t given Shay nearly enough credit. She’s not just my sister’s girlfriend; she’s Wesley’s closest friend. And she cares about him.
“Wesley needs this win a lot more than you do,” she says flatly. “This is his lifeline. It keeps him going.”
Silence stretches between us, heavy and thick. Both of us flinch at the sound of a shower turning on, and Shay flushes a gentle pink. She’s probably wondering how much of a scene we’re making. I can’t bring myself to care.
Despite the way it guts me, I know a fair critique when I hear it.
Shay sighs and scrubs a hand through her hair. Quietly, she says, “You care about Mona, right?”
“Of course I do.”
“I’m doing my very best to do right by her,” she says evenly. “And the way you care about Mona is how I care about Wesley. He’s like a brother to me, and he’s been through a lot. Just—take some more care with him, okay? He’s not as tough as he pretends.”
She turns to leave, then snaps over her shoulder, “And don’t tell him we talked about this.”
“I won’t.” As she walks away, I add, “I’m sorry,” without knowing exactly which part I’m apologizing for.
After all, it’s a long list—and I have no idea where to start.