Chapter 26
Hayes
19 years old
“Come on, man, we are going to be late.”
Langston and I are back in Benton Falls for Thanksgiving break. My mom and dad went out of town to visit family, but I couldn’t go because we have to be back for practices right after the holiday. We are going to the championship, and there’s no way Coach will tolerate any of us missing those practices. So I hung back, and Langston invited me to spend the holiday with his family.
I agreed. But it also means I have to face MJ for the first time since our fight a month ago. We haven’t spoken since then, but I figure this is as good of an opportunity as any since she can’t rip my head off with other people around.
“HAYES,” Langston yells from the living room. “You know how my mom feels about people who are late. Let’s go.”
He’s right, I’m stalling, and Abigail Harrison will have my head for it.
Grabbing my phone and wallet off my dresser, I shove them in my pocket and walk out of my room. Langston is in the living room, and when I walk in, I find him sitting on the couch, flipping through highlight reels of this season.
The guy never quits. He doesn’t know what it’s like to sit and relax, but at least his eyes are clear today.
I’ve been worried about him.
At first, when the partying started, I thought it was a way of spreading his wings—a little defiance. But lately, his eyes have been glazed more often than not. He’s showing up to practices hungover, and sooner or later, it’s going to catch up to him.
“Let’s go,” I say, smacking him on the back of the head and walking to the door.
With a grunt, he shoves himself off the couch and follows me to my truck.
The drive to his house is silent. I imagine he has his own worries about this dinner, and the silence gives me time to think about what I will say to MJ.
Despite the silence, I’m still no closer to knowing by the time I reach the Harrison mansion.
As I cut the engine to my truck, my stomach roils in protest. Langston must notice because his brows crease.
“Are you alright? You look a little green.”
“Fine,” I say, shoving open my door and slamming it behind me.
I’m not, though.
With each step I take closer to the front door, my stomach tightens.
Langston walks beside me, his face becoming more morose until we both stand on the front porch, looking at each other. His lips quirk up in a half smile, and I wonder when he truly smiled last—not for a while.
“It’s not too late to leave and order pizza at your house.” The smile stays on his lips, but his eyes tell me he’s serious.
And if MJ weren’t standing somewhere on the other side of this door, I’d take him up on the offer—get him out of his own personal nightmare—but if I don’t fix things with MJ now, I never will, so I shake my head and raise my hand to knock against the wood.
Sure, Langston could walk right in. It’s his family home, but this way, it gives him time to get himself together. Besides, more than likely, one of the many Harrison employees will be the one to answer. But as I bring my hand down, it meets air. The door is slung open to reveal MJ standing there. Her red hair is in a messy bun. Her hands are braced on her hips, and there’s a look of annoyance on her face when she glances over her shoulder to make sure no one’s behind her.
“You’re late. Mom’s having a conniption fit.”
Langston pushes past me, dropping a kiss on his little sister’s head as he walks by. “Probably because of that outfit you’re wearing.”
She smacks him away, and he laughs, dodging it.
I watch the interaction while I’m still standing on the porch, my hands shoved in the pockets of my slacks.
Thanksgiving with Abigail Harrison is no casual affair, and Langston’s right—their mom is probably going crazy over Mallorie Jade’s choice of attire.
Me, on the other hand—she could wear that outfit every day for the rest of our lives, and I still wouldn’t be tired of it.
Black leggings hug her toned legs from years of dance class. An oversized t-shirt hangs off one shoulder, hiding the rest of her body. My eyes zero in on the wording on the front, and I snort when I read it.
“Zero Plucks Given?” I raise a brow in question, and she shrugs, avoiding eye contact.
Great start.
I step over the threshold, stopping in front of her but leaving enough space so she doesn’t feel crowded.
Dipping my head so I’m closer to her level, I ask the question that I’ve been wanting to ask since she walked off campus, leaving me behind. “Can we talk?”
She looks over her shoulder again.
Even though we aren’t touching, I’m being reckless. We are standing close enough to each other that someone might have questions if they walk in—specifically her brother—but I don’t back away.
This is as close as I’ve been to her in months. Dr. Harrison himself could walk in right now, and I still don’t think I would back away. She’s in my system, running through my veins, making me an addict, and I’ve been experiencing withdrawals every day since she walked away.
Her eyes find mine when she turns back to me, and I nearly fall onto my knees and beg. Those blue irises are like a frozen tundra, with none of the usual heat and life in sight. She’s cool and aloof as she crosses her arms across her chest.
“I think we said all we had to say. No need in beating a dead horse.”
She’s an army all on her own, and I’m the enemy in the direct line of her wrath—only for MJ, her wrath means a cold shoulder. I would rather she yell because at least she shows signs of life when she yells.
This version scares me.
So, I step closer without thinking about the danger I’m putting myself in. We are inches away—close enough that she could reach out and strangle me if she wanted. A flame flickers in her gaze, and I can see her debating doing just that. But I take her hands in mine before she can. The size of mine dwarfs hers, and if Langston were to walk in right this minute, there would be no hiding how I feel about his sister.
My sanity is gone—thrown out the window the day I forced myself to watch as she walked away.
“I still have more to say.”
“Then I guess you should have said it when you had the chance.”
I smile, and it’s half-crazed—but I’ve been that way since the day I met her.
Half-crazed.
Half in love.
From everything I can tell about love, they’re one and the same.
I lean down—so close. So close to the girl that never leaves my mind, yet she can’t be further out of my reach.
“You’re the most frustrating woman I have ever met.”
A signature eye roll and my hands are in fists. My nerves are fried. Every part of my body is screaming at me to reach out and kiss her until she can’t remember her name, let alone the sass she clings to like a shield, but I stay still, hardly breathing and hoping she comes to me.
“Join the club—most people feel that way.”
“Maybe. But what I didn’t say is that you’re also the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
Another eye roll. I’m afraid she’s going to strain those things one day from the amount of times she rolls them.
“Suck up.”
I flash her a smile, one that shows all my teeth. I can feel her ice melting, but I don’t want to push too hard because the second I do, she’ll pull away.
Footsteps resound in the other room. I’m pushing my luck, but I can’t bring myself to care.
Leaning forward, I let my beard scrape across her jaw, placing a kiss on her cheek. She sucks in a breath, holding it while I linger near her. “Let’s go eat, Little Harrison. But make no mistake, we will be having this conversation.”
When I pull back, her mouth is hanging slack. I drop my smile to a smirk, then leave her standing there before I do something stupid.
______________________
Dinner was a somber affair.
No one spoke beyond the questions Dr. Harrison kept drilling Langston and me with about the upcoming game and the barbs that Abigail kept throwing MJ about her outfit.
I’ve always known that the Harrison household was not like my own. My parents showered me with love. They didn’t smother me with their expectations. It makes me sad for both Langston and MJ, and it helps me understand what Langston is going through a little more.
Heck, I’d be drinking, too, if my dad made it all but clear I would be a screw-up if I lost our upcoming game.
Langston’s dealing—not healthily—but he’s dealing.
We’ll figure it out after the season—when things calm down and I can get things settled with MJ. Once we are on the same team again, we can tackle this mounting problem together.
Dishes were cleared from the table an hour ago, yet Langston and I are still here, his dad going over every play we had this year. MJ bailed as soon as dinner was over, and I thought about it too. But the more his dad spoke, the lower Langston’s shoulders sank. I wasn’t leaving him here to fend for himself.
“You missed the man that was wide open? Right there. Did you see it?” Dr Harrison has pulled up one of our first games from the season on his phone.
One more hour of this, and I might pull my hair out.
“But he completed the pass, Dr. H.”
The older man’s attention slices to mine, making it clear I’m not welcome in this conversation.
“Yes, but if he’d hit this open man, your team would have scored a touchdown.”
I open my mouth to tell him we did just that on the next play, but Langston shakes his head. I clamp my mouth back shut, grinding my teeth.
After five more minutes, I make up a reason to leave.
“Hey, L. I just remembered I told my parents I would visit our neighbors today since they are elderly and their kids are out of town. Your truck’s at my place. Are you ready to go?”
The look he throws me is full of gratitude.
“Yeah. Let me go tell Mom bye.”
I nod.
“I’ll meet you outside.”
He turns toward the kitchen, his dad following him, and I wait until they are gone before I sprint to find MJ.
I should have known she wouldn’t make it easy on me, though, because after searching every inch of this monstrosity of a house, I realize she isn’t here.
She must have left right after dinner.
The little sneak.
Langston is waiting for me in the foyer.
“Where have you been?”
“I had to run to the restroom. Look, I know I said that back there to help you get out of any more football talk with your dad, but I really do have some errands to run. Are you okay if I drop you off at my house for a little bit?”
He shrugs, “Sure.”
The darkness is back in his eyes, and I make a mental note to make sure Dad doesn’t have any beer in the refrigerator before I leave.
We walk out, neither of us looking back at the Harrison house as we go.
The drive back to my house is similar to the one on the way here, and once we reach my house, Langston jumps out of my truck without a word.
I follow him, needing to grab something from my room and check the refrigerator before I’m back in my truck, ready to go.
MJ may have disappeared in the hopes that she could avoid this conversation, but Benton Falls is a small town. She can’t hide forever, and she takes my obsession with her for granted.
I’ve given her space because she deserved it, but my patience has run out. I’ll drive all night if it means finding her.
Throwing my truck in reverse, I start to roam the streets of Benton Falls, praying I can win back my girl.
But thirty minutes later, with no sign of MJ, I’m starting to wonder if she left town just to get away from me. The town is fairly small, so I assumed this would be an easy find. Apparently, if she doesn’t want to be found, though, the woman isn’t going to be found.
Picking up my phone, I dial her number only for it to go to voicemail.
I slam my hand against the steering wheel, frustration rippling through me.
“Where are you, MJ?”
Two streets later, I get my answer.
Her car is parked along the curb in front of a house that needs some serious renovations, and when I look closely, she is sitting on the porch, trying to duck out of view.
I honk my horn as I pull up to the curb, letting her know she’s been caught.
With a quick flick of my wrist, I’m out of the truck and racing her way.
She can’t run from me this time.
When I reach the stairs, I slow my gait, letting my steps become slow and even—controlled, even if that control seeping out of my fingers like quicksand.
On the porch, I lean my shoulder against a post, crossing my arms, and look down at MJ, where she’s sitting with her back against the house. She looks up at me, her blue eyes filled with sadness, and I sigh, running my hands through my hair.
I don’t want to make her sad, and if being here does that, I’ll walk away. I don’t want to be another person in her life who hurts her.
“Do you want me to go?” The question is like gravel in my throat, scratchy and uncomfortable.
She shakes her head.
“Do you want me to stay?”
A nod this time, and I lean harder against the post.
“Do you want to talk?”
This time, she hesitates before shaking her head—not denial, but not acceptance either—so I keep quiet until she’s ready, taking in the house behind her.
The foundation is good, but every other part of it is falling apart. Shutters hang on their side, and boards on the porch are rotting. The white paint on the siding is chipping, but underneath all the neglect, there’s potential.
MJ watches me take it all in.
“Who owns this house?”
She stands, dusting off her pants and keeping her eyes on the house, away from me.
“I don’t know. Me someday.” She says it with a shrug, like the idea of her owning this house is a pipe-dream. “And when I do, I’ll fill it with so much laughter and love on the holidays, the people who visit will never want to leave. It won’t be awkward and stilted. We’ll wear whatever we want to, and my kids will be loved. I’ll have enough love for all of them. It’ll be home.”
“MJ—” My voice breaks. I want to reach out and hold her—to tell her she is loved—but I don’t think she would be receptive to it.
She shakes her head. “No, Hayes. It’s okay. I’ve accepted where I stand with my family, but when I’m older, I’ll change things. I’ll make my own family, and I won’t accept anything less than love.” She sighs, then finally looks at me. “You wanted to talk, so let’s get this over with.”
It’s a concession I haven’t earned, one she’s giving in a moment of weakness.
“We don’t have to. I was selfish to ask—to demand.”
Weariness settles into her shoulders. “I’m tired, Hayes—tired of feeling like I have no one on my side. I want someone on my side.”
My boots are loud against the porch as I step toward her, going slow in case she wants to escape. She doesn’t move—doesn’t breathe—until I’m standing in front of her, and her back is pressed against the house. I lift my hand, tucking her hair behind her ear and letting my fingers linger on the strands. “Baby, I’ll be your whole team if you’ll let me. I know I let you down before, and I’m so sorry for that. You’ll never know how sorry I am, but I’m here now—let me be here.”
Her eyes flick between mine, and I see the answer before she gives it. My chest aches like someone took a sledgehammer to it. “I—I can’t.”
My hands fall from her hair, and I shove them in my pockets. I school my face, trying to hide my disappointment. It’s not her fault I screwed up. She must read it anyway because she says, “Maybe we can be friends?”
I can’t sit still. I might explode if I do, so I pull one hand out, shoving it through my hair. “Yeah, MJ. We can be friends.”
Even if it’s the last thing I want to be.