Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Hailey
I should just lie. I should say yes, I’m going to go live with my parents. But honestly, the thought of moving back into that house feels like willingly deciding to suffocate.
Since I can’t bring myself to lie, I choose not to answer, merely sighing instead of saying anything.
I don’t have to, though. Jason knows.
“So, that’s not a real option.”
“It’s better than being homeless,” I mutter. That’s what I tell myself, at least. And it’s true. I know it. But living with my parents again would still be terrible.
And I’m confident they’d make me come work for them, doing grunt work for Mom’s accounting business, which would cut into my teaching and practicing time dramatically.
I’d probably have to give up my studio space in town, too.
Because how would I get from Poynette to Sun Prairie several times a week to teach?
They’d let me use their car to get to rehearsal. Since it’s a paying orchestra, even if it doesn’t pay a lot, and rehearsals wouldn’t interfere with normal work hours, they’d let me keep that. Music is a nice hobby, after all. That’s what they’ve always told me.
And they’re not wrong.
It’s just … it was supposed to be my career. My life. My ticket out.
And instead, I’m stuck here. The only way out is through Jason.
“I thought we were going to talk about something else,” I say, not wanting to dwell on the shitshow my life has become.
He smiles. “You’re right. You asked for time. I said you could have as much as you need, and I meant it. What would you like to talk about?”
I consider that for a long moment, chewing another bite of dinner.
“Tell me stories about Hunter,” I ask at last. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to talk about him with anyone.
” Spending time with Jason has brought back memories I’d nearly forgotten.
And it’s awakened a hunger in me for more.
To reconnect with the brother that I lost. I know I can’t do it with my parents. But with Jason, I think I can.
His fork screeches against his plate as he startles at my question, but he recovers quickly, setting down his fork and reaching for his glass of water. “Uh … what do you want to know?”
“Anything. Everything. Do you remember when you met?”
A smile spreads across his face. “It was the first day of Kindergarten.” His focus goes a little soft as he remembers.
“The teacher sat us next to each other. I didn’t want my mom to leave, and I was really sad when she gave me a hug and said goodbye.
Hunter immediately asked me to build something with him—the teacher had set out those magnetic tiles on our table—and after that, we were best friends. ”
I have to blink away the moisture that immediately springs to my eyes. I asked for the story. I don’t want me getting weepy to put him off sharing more. “That’s”—I pause to clear my throat—“I hadn’t heard that story before.”
He shrugs. “You were just a baby, then. No reason you would’ve. It’s not much as far as stories go.”
“Still, though.” I shake my head. “That’s Hunter. He was always like that, looking out for his friends and teammates. Me too, though it wasn’t quite the same since I was the annoying little sister.”
Jason’s smile is soft. “He loved you, though. Yeah, sure, he got annoyed when you were constantly trying to join in on whatever we were doing. But could you blame him? When you were eight, we were already teenagers. He played with you a ton, but it was never enough for you. So sometimes he got annoyed when you wouldn’t take no for an answer. ”
Wrinkling my nose, I shake my head again.
“I guess I never really thought about it from his perspective. He did play with me a lot, didn’t he?
” Flashes of tea parties and board games and puzzles and video games over the years flip through my mind as I think back.
“He was a good big brother. The best.” The last words come out as little more than a whisper.
Clearing my throat, I look up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly to keep my tears from falling.
“He was,” Jason confirms. “He wanted me to fill that role since he wouldn’t be around anymore. I’m sorry that I failed you so badly.”
“God, Jason.” I let out a choked laugh, meeting his eyes. “You have to quit beating yourself up. You aren’t my big brother. And while you might’ve spent a ton of time at my house when we were kids, it’s unreasonable for anyone to expect you to basically become Hunter. Including you.”
“Still, though …” he starts, and when I shake my head, he presses his lips closed.
It’s a good thing he’s not my brother. And I’ve never really thought of him as a brother.
He’s Jason. Hunter’s friend, who started making my insides feel a little squirmy when I was a preteen.
I always loved it when he paid attention to me.
And when I got old enough to recognize it as a crush, I also knew it wouldn’t come to anything.
Even now, he’s doing his best to look out for me.
But he doesn’t see me as a woman. As an independent adult.
As someone he’d want to marry for real. “Besides,” I continue, “if you were my brother, your whole proposal wouldn’t work at all. ”
That makes him laugh, which successfully dispels the heaviness that’s settled over us. “True.”
Cocking my head to the side, I study him through narrowed eyes. “What do you think Hunter would have to say about that?”
He rocks back in his chair, crossing his arms. Then he shakes his head. “You know? I really don’t know.”
I splutter out a laugh. “Seriously? I figured if anyone would, it’d be you. You obviously had a clearer picture of him than I ever did.”
His shoulder lifts and falls again. “You were a kid. It’s normal for you to be self-focused at that age.”
“And at seventeen, you were such an adult?”
“Compared to a twelve-year-old? A hundred percent, yes. No question. Weren’t you more of an adult at seventeen than at twelve?”
“Well, yeah.” I shrug. “I’d been basically in charge of myself for five years at that point.
I had a lot more freedom and also responsibility than my friends did at that age.
” Wrinkling my nose, I reconsider that statement.
“Well, maybe not as much by seventeen, though their parents still checked on them more than mine checked on me.”
The muscle in Jason’s jaw starts flexing rhythmically, and I know I need to change the subject. Every time I talk about growing up after Hunter died, he gets pissed, and then he apologizes. And if I have to hear him apologize for going off and living his life one more time …
Clearing my throat, I shake my head. “Anyway, point taken. Kids are selfish little shits, and I was no better.”
He laughs. “That’s not what I meant.”
Grinning, I shrug again. “If you say so.”
The waitress comes by again, clearing our plates. “Oh, you two are so adorable,” she gushes. “I’ll be right back with the champagne and dessert.”
Jason watches me squirm in my seat as she leaves. “I can correct her,” he offers. “Let her know we aren’t engaged.”
From the look on his face, I can tell he doesn’t really like that idea.
And the fact he’s offering to do it anyway just to ease my discomfort makes me like him even more.
Not that I didn’t like him already. But that’s part of why agreeing to his hare-brained scheme is difficult.
I don’t want to take advantage of him. And I don’t want to be a pity project.
Although … I’m not sure I can afford to turn him down, pity project or no.
I am pitiful. And at this point, even if I were ready to give up and try for a standard job, I wouldn’t be able to do it.
I don’t have a car, and that’s a necessity around here.
There’s nothing in walking distance, and with fall around the corner, a bike isn’t realistic either.
I can still ask my parents for help, though … And as much as I’d rather not—largely because I genuinely don’t know how they’ll react—I want to exhaust all my options before taking Jason up on his offer. Plus, I have questions about logistics. And I have gigs booked. What about those?
And I’ll need to give Whitney notice that I’m leaving …
I’m sure he wouldn’t have a problem with just throwing money at all of those issues, but …
It’s a lot. The money. The logistics. The whole concept.
Even if he has plenty of money—and I know that he does, intellectually—it’s hard for that to feel real.
He’s Jason, after all. The guy who lived a few blocks over in a house just like ours.
Who went to our school, and while his parents have a nicer house now, it’s still just the nicer end of normal.
Not a palace or anything. So the idea that he has access to literal millions of dollars and wants to spend it to help me feels insane.
Our waitress returns with champagne and the dessert, setting a plate in the middle of the table with two forks.
“Congratulations,” she murmurs, and I guess I should at least be glad that she didn’t bang a fork on a glass and get the attention of the entire restaurant at any point, though we were getting looks and smiles from the tables closest to us when she started gushing at the beginning of dinner.
Picking up the fork, I freeze with it dangling over the torte, looking at Jason with wide eyes. “Wait. If I eat this, does that count as accepting your proposal?”
His eyes crinkle as he grins, cutting a large bite with his fork and stuffing it in his mouth. He chews and swallows before answering, which is both nice that he doesn’t talk with his mouth full, but also annoying because I’m left hanging. “Do you want it to mean that?”
When I narrow my eyes, he laughs and shakes his head. “No. It just means you’re a normal human who wants a delicious dessert.”
“But I feel like I’m accepting it under false pretenses,” I whisper.
He chuckles, getting another bite. “You could just say yes. Then you wouldn’t have a guilty conscience.”
My eyes narrow again. “I thought you were giving me time.”
Eyes wide, he holds up his hands in surrender.
“I am. I’m just making a suggestion for how to deal with your guilt.
What you do is entirely your call. You have three choices at this point—eat the dessert without agreeing and deal with your guilt over accepting it under false pretenses, don’t eat it”—he points at it with his fork—“and it’s fucking delicious so you’d really be missing out, or say yes and then there’s no false pretenses to worry about. ”
I’m about to open my mouth and tell him that being a smug bastard doesn’t win him any points when he leans in and lowers his voice, “For what it’s worth, I vote you should eat it. We’ll figure out the rest later. I promise.”
Studying him, I note the sincerity in his face despite the fact that he’s still grinning like this is a hilarious joke. I guess I am being a little ridiculous.
Sighing, I take a bite, and his grin grows wider, though he doesn’t say anything. Not until he picks up his flute of champagne, holding it aloft in the universal gesture of a toast.
Arching an eyebrow, I hold up my glass too, wondering what in the world he’s going to say. “To us,” he says, “and the universe making our paths cross at the perfect time.”
I can’t help pressing my lips together, not quite sure what to make of that toast. It could easily be construed as something romantic, though he assured me that even if I did marry him, it wouldn’t be a romantic relationship. Which is good. Right? That’s what I would want … isn’t it?
When I don’t make any immediate response, he dings his glass against mine and takes a sip. Left without much other option, I take a sip as well.
And I guess that’s what galls me about the whole situation. I feel like I’ve been left without any options.
So much of my life, I’ve felt like I didn’t have many options. College was supposed to change all that—and for a while, it seemed like it had—but now I’ve ended up right back where I started. And if push comes to shove, that might literally come true.
I don’t like feeling backed into a corner.
And I guess that sums up my misgivings about his toast. The universe is the bitch that put me here. Why should she get any credit?