Chapter 43
Mallorie Jade
“Kota, come back here.”
Hayes whistles through his teeth, and the dog comes bounding back, jumping on him and barking.
“Get down, you mutt,” Hayes laughs.
It’s Wednesday after school. Hayes felt bad that Kota has been cooped up a lot lately due to his schedule, so he invited me to walk one of the trails close to the waterfall.
We’ve been here for ten minutes, and Kota is a ball of energy.
“Don’t you call him that. He’s the most precious boy,” I say, rubbing Kota’s head.
The dog nuzzles my hands, and Hayes rolls his eyes. “Of course, he’s good for you. You spoil him.”
I give him a cheeky grin, “Maybe you should try it.”
He pinches my side. “I think he gets it enough from you. He’d be worthless if I joined in, too.”
I wave him away, and he scoops up my hand in his. We walk in comfortable silence, swinging our hands between us while Kota runs up the trail and back to us.
It’s the first time things have felt settled since Hayes freaked out after reading Langston’s journal. He was weird for a while, and I get it. It was hard to read that—to have to face all the decisions we made in a different light—but I don’t want to keep reliving that day anymore. It was hard enough to live the first time.
Hayes lifts our hands and kisses my knuckles. “I have something to ask you.”
“Well, that sounds ominous.”
He shrugs. “Maybe. It doesn’t have to be, though.”
“Why does that not make me feel better?”
Turning his head to me, he winks. “Because you know me too well.”
I grin back at him, but then his face turns serious. My stomach starts to turn, and I sigh. “Okay, go ahead. Ask away.”
His thumb rubs the edge of my finger, offering me a little bit of comfort before he asks, “Why haven’t you come to any of the football games? You’ve been at practices, and you love Tanner. So why haven’t you been to watch him play? I think it would mean a lot to him.”
“A lot to him, or a lot to you?” I ask, looking off into a wooded area off the trail and avoiding his stare.
“Me too. You know it would mean a lot, but I’m not asking for me. I’m asking for you. Why haven’t you been to a game?”
“You know why, Hayes. Can we change the topic?”
“Hey,” he says, stopping and pulling on my hand. “No. We can’t change the topic. I think we need to have this conversation. I’ve seen you start to heal since your first day back. You aren’t slinging tire irons at my nose anymore. You’re getting along with your mom. I think you enjoy your job. So why not a game? What makes it so different?”
I don’t want to have this conversation. It makes me want to hide in a corner and pretend there aren’t still things I’m avoiding. But healing requires looking at the hard things and facing them head-on.
So, I square my shoulders and look Hayes in the eye. “Because it’s the last step.”
His brows narrow. “The last step to what?”
“To letting Langston go. I’ve clung to his memory and the guilt like a shield, and if I sit in those stands and face the game that killed him, what will I have left? How will I protect myself then?”
He squeezes my hand. “Protect yourself from what?”
“From moving on. I don’t want to move on. I don’t want to leave him behind. He doesn’t deserve it.”
Silent tears slip down my face, and Hayes lets go of my hand, pulling me into his arms. I let my head fall to his shoulder, soaking his shirt with my tears. His hand holds the back of my head, giving me all his strength.
“You’ll never leave him behind, MJ. He’s your brother. You’re the reason his memory will stay alive, but maybe taking this last step means moving on from the bad so you can soak in the good. Be the reason the good parts of his memory live on.”
“And what if I can’t?” I ask into his shirt, muffling my words. “What if people only ever remember the bad because of me?”
“And what if you can? We can play this what-if game all day, but the truth is you will never really know until you try. And honestly, I think you’re the best one to make sure that the good parts of his memory live on because you saw the good parts in him—the parts no one else bothered to look at. Come to the game—not for me, not for Tanner, but for yourself.”
“And what if I’m scared?”
Hayes chuckles. “You took on a six-foot man with a tire iron. What do you have to be scared of after that?”
Laughing into his shirt, I say, “You’re not half as scary as you think.”
“You’re killing my ego, baby.” His hand strokes over my hair. “Look at me.”
I lift my head just enough to meet his eyes.
“Sometimes the best things for us are the scariest, but you’ll never know until you try.”
My hands are clenching his shirt, so I poke my fingers into his chest. “When did you get so wise?”
His answering smile is beautiful. “I’ve always been. You just have never listened before. But the question is, are you going to listen now?”
“I guess I’ll listen, just this once, but if you’re wrong, I’m never letting you hear the end of it.”
And when he laughs, I want to memorize the sound and play it again and again as my favorite memory. “I would expect nothing less, MJ.”
______________________
“Stop fidgeting. You’re acting like a toddler.”
“I can’t help it. I’m nervous.”
My mom and I are headed to the football game. Hayes was right. I do need to face this. I’ve faced a lot of hard things this past year, and if I can survive those, then I can survive this.
I invited my mom along for two reasons. One, because I want to continue to heal our relationship, which means spending time with her—even in my most vulnerable moments, and two, I think she needs to do this, too. Langston was her son, and if I’m going to remember the good parts of my brother’s memory, I want it to be with her.
She places her hand on top of my, which is resting on my gear shift. I glance over at her. There’s a vulnerable set to her shoulders. “I’m nervous, too.”
Surprise drops my mouth. “You are? Nothing rattles you, and when I asked you to come, you didn’t even blink an eye. I was a blubbering mess when Hayes asked me.”
Her fingers tighten around my hand. “I’ve just gotten good at hiding it over the years, Mallorie Jade. My world required it growing up. I was taught to feel in silence. I never realized that feelings could be so loud until I raised you.”
I scoff. “Yup, that’s me—loud.”
“Well, yes, honey, you are quite loud, but that’s not what I mean. You aren’t afraid to show your emotions. You let them out, even if they make others uncomfortable. I wish I could be more like you. I’m learning, though.”
My eyebrows raise. “You want to be like me?”
She nods her head. “In every way it counts.”
Tears sting my eyes. For so long, I’ve felt like I could never live up to her expectations, but those words feel like she sees the real me and isn’t ashamed of the woman I’ve become.
“Now,” she says, clearing her throat, “Let’s discuss the matter of Hayes. Did you kiss him again like I suggested?”
The conversation switch is so abrupt that I have to laugh. “Yeah, Mom. I did.”
“Anndddd?” she prods.
I shrug. “You were right. Sometimes, you need a second chance to right the wrongs.”
“And have you righted all the wrongs?”
I think about the game we are about to attend and then what Silas said about God. All the pieces of my life are not in the puzzle yet, but a picture is slowly starting to form.
“I’m working on it.”
“Then I’m proud of you.”
Those words are like a shot to my heart in all the best ways. I never dreamed I would ever hear them from her. It’s healing to the pieces of me that I didn’t realize were still broken.
“I’m proud of you, too, you know.”
She shakes her head. “What could you possibly be proud of me for, honey?”
I take my eyes off the road long enough to say, “For being willing to change and grow. And for showing me it’s also okay for me to.”
Tears line her lashes, and she dashes them away with her fingertips. “Oh—look what you made me do. I’ll ruin my makeup.”
I have to laugh—it’s good to know that, in some ways, she’ll never change.
By the time we reach the school parking lot, it’s full, so we have to park a little way down the road.
When I pull to a stop and cut the engine, I unbuckle my seat belt and turn in my seat toward my mom. “Are you ready for this?”
She stares back at me and answers honestly. “I’m not sure. My heart is racing a mile a minute for some reason.”
Reaching out, I take her hand in mine and squeeze. “If this gets too hard for you at any point, tell me, and we can leave. But, Mom—we can do hard things—we’ve already lived through the hardest.”