Chapter 17 #2
But tonight, something bizarre tugs at me as I study the wall, something I’ve never noticed before. There are no photos of Hayes’s parents before he was born.
No wedding pictures. No engagement shots. No childhood photos. No extended family. Not even a glimpse of their own parents.
Nothing.
It’s as if they didn’t exist until Hayes did. Like they just… materialized from somewhere else, fully formed, the day he was born.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, snapping me out of my thoughts. My heart leaps as I check the screen, certain it’s finally Hayes texting me back. But it’s just Amber sending a GIF of a cat blowing out birthday candles and asking when I’ll be home to open presents.
Apparently, my sister actually got me a birthday gift.
I’m weirdly touched.
Of course, I’m still annoyed with her for the way she acted at the Heaven & Hell party, and for constantly hovering around Hayes, always trying to pull him away. And then there’s the whole Hercules play thing. I should probably be over that by now, but I’m not.
Still, her text chips away at my irritation just a little. It makes me feel kind of guilty, too, because I didn’t get her anything for her birthday. She turned seventeen just forty-eight hours before me.
It’s always been strange, how close in age we are. Barely a year apart. Technically possible, but still… weird.
Thankfully, the joint birthday parties Mom used to force on us stopped once Amber hit high school and decided I was suddenly beneath her.
Now we do our own thing.
She’s got big plans this weekend, going out with her friends, ordering sushi and sake bombs with their fake IDs.
Unlike my sister, I don’t have a group of girlfriends to party with, but that’s okay.
I’d rather spend my birthday with Hayes and Argy anyway.
Just the three of us and our movie marathon.
I’m not always a completely horrible older sister, though. I usually do get Amber a present for her birthday. I even thought about picking up something pink or sparkly—her two favorite things—but after everything that’s happened lately, I didn’t think she deserved it.
Now, I almost feel bad.
If her gift turns out to be even halfway decent, I’ll have to return the favor. Maybe Hayes can help me pick something out this weekend.
I call him again. The phone just rings and rings.
Still no answer.
I blow out a breath, irritated and anxious all at once. It’s already past eight. Hayes is never exactly punctual, but this is ridiculous. Practice ended over an hour ago.
I trudge back into the movie room, restart the movie, and drop into the recliner with a heavy sigh.
“What do you think, boy?” I ask Argyros, scratching behind his ears. “We’ll give him a little longer, but if his inconsiderate ass doesn’t show in the next thirty minutes, he’s going to be in serious trouble.”
Argyros yawns loudly, as if uninterested in my drama. Then he flops his head across my feet and promptly starts snoring like a chainsaw. I laugh, cuddling into him, and stack pillows around us like a mini fort.
I only meant to rest my eyes for a second, but the next thing I know, the film credits are rolling. I blink at the darkened screen, disoriented. Somehow, I managed to fall asleep even through all the blood-curdling screams and teens being butchered.
I grab my phone, a fresh spike of irritation rising as I check the call log.
Are you fucking kidding me?
It’s almost eleven and still no Hayes. Not a single call. Not even a text.
I sit there, stunned, disbelief twisting into something sharper. Angrier.
I can’t believe this. My best friend stood me up. On my birthday. On the anniversary of the worst thing that’s ever happened to my family.
Fury rises, sharp and fast in my chest. I know the smart move would be to go home, sleep it off, and call Hayes in the morning after I’ve had a chance to cool down. But I’ve never been all that smart when it comes to Hayes.
I stab at his name on the screen and hit call. As the phone rings, I rehearse the lecture in my head that I’ll give him once he inevitably starts groveling, begging for my forgiveness.
Well—after I scream and curse him out, obviously. Then comes the lecture. A good one, too.
I’ll tell him how disappointed I am. How he ruined my eighteenth birthday. That I might never forgive him.
Of course I will—eventually.
But he doesn’t need to know that.
I want him to sweat and squirm and feel really shitty for a while before I even think about letting him off the hook. He needs to understand how badly he screwed up.
Finally, on the fifth try, he answers.
“Jesus, Alysander!” His voice is sharp. Unfamiliar. Cold. “What is it?”
I freeze.
Did he seriously just snap at me, like I’m the one in the wrong?
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I’m too blindsided to even form words.
“Well? Are you going to say something or not?” he barks.
“Are you serious?” I finally manage, voice cracking. “You’re mad at me?”
This isn’t how this was supposed to go.
I thought maybe something came up. Football practice ran late. A school meeting. An emergency. Anything reasonable. But this version of him—angry, clipped, distant—I don’t understand it.
“I’m not mad at you,” he says tightly. “I just—I have to go. I don’t have time for this right now.”
I stare at the screen, my heart slamming against my ribs.
“You don’t have time?” I explode. “I’ve been waiting for you for hours, Hayes. Where the hell are you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“We had plans!” Rage floods through me like hot lava. “Movie night. Your house. Halloween. You told me to come over.”
There’s a pause. Then, a scoff.
“I missed a movie, Alysander. It’s not the end of the world.”
That’s it.
That’s the moment the knife slips between my ribs and twists, cleaving my heart from my chest. Something inside me dies because I know, suddenly and with awful clarity, that whatever’s been happening between us is worse than I thought. Maybe past the point of fixing.
He didn’t just blow me off.
He forgot about me entirely.
“Not just a movie…” I whisper.
There’s another pause as static crackles through the line. And then I hear it, the shift, like something clicking into place.
“Oh, shit. Your birthday,” he mutters. “Al, listen—”
“Let me guess,” I cut in. “Another frat party? Or wait—are you out with my sister again?”
“It’s not like that—”
“You forgot,” I say, the pain crashing through me, deep and merciless as tears burn behind my eyes. “You knew I needed you tonight, Hay. And you didn’t show.”
My hurt is laced through every syllable. I don’t even bother hiding it anymore. I’m too tired. Too raw. Because it’s not just tonight. This has been building for weeks, slow and quiet, like rot.
I can’t pretend any longer. I have to face the truth.
Hayes doesn’t care about me.
At least not the way he used to.
“I gotta go,” I say, barely getting the words out. “Mom and Amber are waiting for me. They have… presents… and cake—”
“Al,” he interrupts. “I’m in Athens.”
I blink.
“You’re… where?”
“I left last night.”
“To Greece?” I ask, stupidly. “Is everything okay?”
The only logical explanation I can think of is that something’s happened with his father’s business, that something went wrong. Why else would Hayes board a transatlantic flight overnight, at the last minute, without telling anyone?
The silence on the line stretches, heavy and unbroken. A strange, tight panic slowly claws up my spine, scraping against my ribs.
Then his voice comes through at last, low and fractured.
“It’s my father.”
There’s a sound on the other end of the line. Soft. Jagged. Almost swallowed by the static. It’s so unfamiliar, so alien to me, that it takes a moment for my brain to catch up.
Hayes is crying.
Hayes doesn’t cry. Not since we were kids. And even then, he usually tried to hide it.
I sit upright, ice flooding my veins.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Something inside me already knows this is one of those moments that splits a life cleanly in two. Before and after. I can feel the certainty settling deep in my gut, heavy and inevitable, like the world has tilted off its axis. Whatever comes next will change everything.
And… I’m not ready.
I want to hit pause. Stop. Rewind. Go back in time.
But I know we can’t.
“He’s dead,” Hayes says, voice splintering into a million pieces. “My father is dead.”