Chapter 8 #2
“He’s different now.”
“Is he? Or are you just hoping he is because it’s easier than being alone?”
That one lands. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” She sighs. “Look, I’m not trying to be a bitch. I’m trying to be your friend. The friend who had to watch you piece yourself back together after he shattered you. The friend who’s terrified you’re about to hand him the hammer again. Men like him don’t change.”
I watch another mile marker fly by. “He’s Bruiser’s dad,” I say quietly.
“And that’s the only reason he should be in your life. To talk calendars and scheduled visits. Better yet, let the lawyers do it. Anything that doesn’t involve you fucking him.”
I wince even though this is what I always loved about Ximena—she doesn’t sugarcoat shit.
“We’re not—we’re just dating. Trying to see if—”
“If what? If this time he won’t lie to you? Won’t keep secrets? Won’t spiral and take everyone down with him?”
“People can change.”
“Some people. Maybe. Others have to walk a longer road, and some people never fucking change. And who do they hurt in the meantime?” She pauses.
“My tío was an addict. Alcohol. He got sober three different times. Relapsed three different times. The last time, he wrapped his car around a tree with my cousin in the passenger seat.”
“I’m sorry, Ximena. I didn’t know—”
“I’m not telling you to make you feel bad.
I’m telling you because I know what it looks like when someone’s about to forgive the unforgivable because they want to believe in second chances.
” Her voice softens. “And I’m scared for you, Harper.
For that amazing kid of yours. Hell, I’m scared for me, because if he fucks up again and you go down with him, I don’t know if I can watch that twice. ”
The silence stretches between us.
“I’m not going to let him hurt me again,” I finally say.
“You already are. You’re lying to him about where you are right now.”
My blood goes cold. “What?”
She makes a scoffing noise in the back of her throat. “Please. I work in a shop. There’s no tattoo expo in Corpus this time of year. And because you can’t lie to me for shit.”
Fuck. That’s true. There are two people in this world who could always read me like a book, and one of them is Ximena. “How did you—”
“Because I know you.” She pauses. “Where are you really going?”
Another sign for Dallas flashes by. My hands start sweating on the wheel.
“Harper?”
“Helen’s ten-year memorial,” I say quietly. I swallow and add, “in Dallas.”
The silence on the other end is deafening.
“You’re going to Dallas.” Ximena’s voice is flat. “For a reunion with that other guy you thought might be the baby daddy?”
“It’s a memorial service, not a reunion.”
“Did you tell Z?”
“No.”
“Does he know you’re not actually in Corpus?”
“No.”
“Jesus Christ, Harper.” She sounds exhausted. “You’re lying to the man you’re supposedly trying to make it work with so you can go see your ex-stepbrother who you were in love with ten years ago.”
“I’m going to pay my respects to Helen. That’s it.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s not—”
“If it was just about Helen, you would’ve told Z. You would’ve said ‘Hey, I’m going to Dallas for a memorial, I’ll be back Sunday.’ But you didn’t. You made up a whole fake conference because you know exactly what you’re doing.”
I exhale hard. “I just didn’t want to deal with his feelings about it.”
“His feelings? Harper, you’re the one who’s about to see the guy you—” She stops. “The guy who mattered. You think I don’t remember that night you got drunk off your ass and spilled everything?”
My throat is tight. “It was ten years ago. We were kids.”
“You loved him.”
“I thought I did. It was just a teenage thing. Like a childhood crush that got out of hand.”
“Is that what you’re telling yourself?” Ximena asks quietly. “Or is that what you need it to be?”
I can’t answer that.
“Look,” she continues, “I’m not going to tell you what to do. As if I could. You’re a grown-ass woman. But if you’re really trying to make it work with Z, lying to him about where you are so you can go see Caleb is a pretty shitty way to start.”
“I know.”
“And if you’re not actually trying to make it work with Z, then stop wasting everyone’s time. His, yours, Bruiser’s. Mine.”
“I am trying. I’m committed to—”
“You can’t be committed to Z while you’re lying to him about going to see another man. That’s not how commitment works.”
“It’s not like that with Caleb. It’s been a decade. I’m not going to be affected by seeing him after all this time.”
“Harper.” Ximena’s voice goes soft. “You’re lying to your boyfriend about where you are so you can go to a memorial where you might see the boy you thought was your once-in-a-lifetime love. If that doesn’t affect you, then you’re not human.”
My fingers clutch tighter on the steering wheel.
“I have to know,” I finally whisper the truth I’m not sure I’ve even been willing to admit to myself. “If I’m really gonna make this work with Z, I have to say goodbye once and for all.”
I’ve heard people talk about their gut my whole life, but I don’t think I really understood what it meant until Silas told me about the memorial on my last visit to see him in prison.
Seeing him ten years into that sentence for a crime he didn’t commit, every early parole hearing denied has been a gut punch.
And then to hear that Caleb had written to him about Helen’s memorial…
I wasn’t sure of Silas’s motives for telling me, but at the time, I was too busy experiencing this strange inner knowing that I had to go.
I’m not sure if it’s because part of me has always needed the goodbye I never got. People talk about closure because everyone recognizes when something is unfinished.
And this has always felt unfinished.
That's what it feels like inside me—like there’s something open that won't close until I go back and face him…
“Jesus,” Ximena says, and I can practically hear her shaking her head. “Just... be careful. You’ve worked too hard to put yourself back together. Don’t let any man break you again.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise me. Promise me if things get messy, you’ll call me. Even if you think I’m pissed at you, even if you think I don’t want to hear it—you’ll call.”
“I promise.”
“Okay.” She lets out a long breath. “I love you, you know. Even when you’re being a fucking idiot.”
“I love you, too.”
“Good. Call me when you get there. Let me know you made it safe.”
“I will.”
After we hang up, I drive in silence, watching the miles tick down to Dallas. To Helen’s memorial. To Caleb.
To whatever the hell I might be walking into.
It’s time to say goodbye for real.