Chapter 24
Mallorie Jade
“Do you remember when I was seven and wanted to be a princess?” I ask, shoving my burger into my mouth.
Around any other guy, I might not be as forward about my love for food, but I’m pretty sure Hayes watched me eat a whole pizza by myself once. The look he gave me afterward was half terror and half pride. He’s seen me at my best and my worst, so I don’t bother eating pretty in front of him.
We are sitting at his desk—him in his chair, leaning back to recline, and me on his desk with my legs tucked in. When I climbed up here and started pulling food out of the bag, Hayes rolled his eyes but said nothing. He’s put up with my antics for half his life. Nothing fazes him by now—well, except for when I attack him with a tire iron. I’m pretty sure that did.
Hayes covers his mouth to keep from spitting out the fries he had just shoved in his mouth when he laughs. “How could I forget? You convinced me that you needed a pathway of rose petals to walk down so you could have a grand entrance. I helped you pick some of your mom’s prized roses and peel the petals off because you told me she wouldn’t get mad. You were trouble even then.”
I laugh, letting the sound wrap around me. For the first time in a really long time, I don’t feel guilt strangling me. It’s not gone, but it’s lighter.
“I know you were Langston’s friend first, but I always thought of you as mine, too. That’s been the hardest part over the past six years—losing your friendship when I’d already lost my brother,” I say, carefully folding my trash and putting it back in the bag. “I’ve missed that—I’ve missed you.”
That last part comes out as a whisper, as if the confession may be the part that reveals to him that friendship will never be enough for me. The mask I’ve carefully constructed is made of glass, and if I’m not careful, he’s going to look straight through it.
He studies me, letting his eyes roam from the top of my head to the tip of my toes before he brings them back up to mine. Brushing the salt from his hands, he leans forward. From where I’m sitting on the desk, I’m taller than he is, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He lifts his chin, staring up at me as he reaches out and palms my face. I lean into it, letting the weight of my head settle into his hand.
“I’ve missed you too. I—” He stops, his eyes bouncing between mine, and I wait for him to continue you. Those steel irises are so dark, I’m afraid I might get lost. He licks his lips, trying to decide if he wants to continue, and I track the movement, not caring if he does. If he were to lean in and kiss me right now, I would probably let him because that’s my downfall—Hayes is my downfall. I give in to him every time because my lines for him are always drawn in sand, and the friendship line I drew earlier—well—I’m almost convinced to let him wipe it away so that he’ll put his lips on mine. But just when I think he’ll give in, he leans back and clears his throat. His hand slips from my face, and even though it is only the warmth of his hand on my skin, my whole body feels cold. “I’m glad you’re back, even if you did break my nose.”
I laugh because I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do. There’s a familiarity that comes with knowing someone since four years old. You learn their tells—when they are lying and telling the truth or just holding back. For Hayes, it’s the way his eyes cut to the side when he speaks. There’s more he’s not saying, but I can read those unspoken words in his eyes. If I were brave like my brother thought I was, I would demand he say the things he’s holding back—but my courage died with Langston.
So I let it go.
“Langston would be proud of that swing, and you know it,” I say, nudging his ribs with my elbow and letting the conversation settle to something less dangerous.
“Yeah, he would have been.” His voice is serious, and I know he’s talking about more than just how I defended myself. I swallow hard against the tears that threaten to fall. He must see that I’m right on the edge of losing it because he chucks me lightly in the shoulder and says, “I’m proud of you too—that was a heck of a swing.”
I nod. “It hit almost as hard as Tanner’s mood swings.”
This topic isn’t necessarily safer, but I would much rather talk about this than us—whatever kind of us there is.
Hayes blows out a breath and runs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, that was—a lot.”
“Do you think the problem is his parents?”
“They certainly don’t help,” Hayes says, sitting back in his chair. “Not that I’d expect anything else from Eric. But he’s the stepdad, so it makes me wonder where his dad is. Maybe his absence has something to do with Tanner’s mood swings.”
“Maybe,” I say, chewing on the inside of my jaw. “I just—this all feels too familiar to me.”
My voice breaks, and I dip my head to hide the tears forming on my eyelashes.
Hayes doesn’t buy it. His knuckle curls beneath my chin, pushing it up.
“Hey,” he urges. “Look at me.”
Tears still sting my eyes. I try to blink them away, but one slips down my cheek. Hayes notices, and his hand leaves my chin, his thumb tracing the trail of my tear. “Maybe it’s the same in that Tanner is heading down a dangerous path like Langston was, but we won’t fail him, Mallorie Jade—not this time. We’re older and wiser.”
My throat aches.
“I won’t survive it a third time,” I say, dropping my gaze. I can’t look at him because those gray eyes that have always fascinated me see right through me.
“Survive what a third time, MJ?”
“Losing someone I care about.”
I didn’t mean to let it slip, but now it’s out there. It’s the closest I’ve been to telling anyone why I came home.
But it should come as no surprise because Hayes has always been the one I wanted to tell all my secrets to.
______________________
I didn’t end up spilling all of my secrets to Hayes. He was called out, and a part of me was relieved. I haven’t talked about the night that brought me back here with anyone, but I relive it in my nightmares often enough.
It was almost ten o’clock when Hayes left to chase a cow on the road, and even though I should have gone home and gone to bed since I have to be up early tomorrow, I was too wound up.
So, instead, I came back home and started packing up my room.
If I can get furniture, I could move into my new house in two weeks.
My relationship with my mom is starting to heal, and I want to keep it that way—by giving each other space. As far as my dad goes—nothing has changed. Just like before I left, he’s never home.
There’s not a lot for me to pack up in my childhood bedroom. I’ve kept most of my stuff in boxes because I knew I would move again when I found a place.
I’m shoving a book into a random box when there’s a knock on my door frame. I don’t bother looking to see who it is when I call, “Come in.”
A man clears his throat, and I jump, not expecting it. I figured it would be my mom, but when I spin, knocking my elbow on my bookshelf, I find my dad standing in my room. I don’t know which fact I’m more surprised by—one, that he knows where my room is. Two, he’s actually here in the first place, or three, that he’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt. I’ve never seen the man dressed so casually. I think the last one is the one that gets me. My entire life, he was either wearing scrubs or a suit, and when he wasn’t, it was slacks and a button-up. Now he’s standing in my room, with his hands tucked into his pockets, looking uncomfortable. And that’s another thing: he’s always been the picture of confidence, but now he seems unsure, like even he’s not sure what he’s doing here.
“Did you need something?” I ask. It comes out sharp, and he flinches. I wince because I didn’t mean for it to come off like that. It’s just—I’m not sure what to do here either.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m—I just—” I stutter. Blowing my hair out of my face, I continue, “Is there something I can help you with?”
He shuffles his feet, sliding his hands deeper into his pockets and taking in my room.
When his eyes land on the box I’m packing, he asks, “Are you going somewhere?”
I shrug. “Not far. I found a house to rent.”
His eyes find mine when he says, “You don’t have to go anywhere, you know.”
“I know,” I say, my brows dipping together because I don’t understand what this is. “You guys have been great for letting me stay here, but I’m a grown woman. I can’t live at home with my parents forever.”
He nods, not commenting on it further. With a book still in hand, I plop down on my bed, waiting for him to get to the real reason he’s standing here in my room.
“I just—” he starts, then stops. Taking a deep breath, he exhales and continues, “Why did you become a nurse? Before you left, you were adamant about not being in the medical field. It’s not even what you started to go to school for. Then, after Langston—you took the year off, and the next thing your mother and I know, you are calling us and saying you’ve started nursing school. So I guess I’m just curious—what made you become a nurse?”
Of all the conversations we need to have, this is the one he is choosing?
Anger burns deep in my soul.
“If you’re asking if it had anything to do with you, the answer is no. My decision to become a nurse had nothing to do with following in your footsteps.” The words are cruel. I regret them once they are out, but there’s no taking them back. The damage is done. I can see it in the way his shoulders stiffen, and his posture straightens.
His words are wooden when he finally speaks. “Thanks for clearing that up. I’ll leave you to your packing.”
He turns and walks out of my room without another word. I should call him back and explain to him the real reason I became a nurse, but that would mean admitting more to him than I’m willing to give. So, I stay silent and let that relationship crack a little further.