by Olivia Chase
Ten minutes before the ceremony, I make my way to the front of the altar to stand beside Smith on the groom’s side. Jax is there on my other side, his usual characteristic coolness gone. He seems a little pale, chewing on a fingernail.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
He gives a distracted nod.
“Don’t puke on her dress. She’ll kill you.”
That makes him chuckle. “Fucker. I’m not going to puke.”
“Sure you’re not,” I drawl. “And don’t say ‘fucker’ in church, heathen.”
The crowd from the lobby fill in the pews. No Mom in sight. Maybe she decided to not come after all. I’m both relieved and feeling something akin to disappointment. I should have known I couldn’t depend on her. That when it came to the big things, she wouldn’t be there. She wasn’t there for any of my big moments in life so far, so why would this be different?
I’m pretty sure Whitney isn’t here, but I glance around just to confirm. I should be relieved to not see her, even though my bones have this deep ache when I think about her.
Which is all the fucking time.
The piano music changes, and everyone straightens up. Brooklyn comes walking down the aisle with her dad, and her satiny white dress is beautiful—it cups her belly, not trying to disguise her pregnancy, and flows down to right above her feet. She’s glowing, her eyes fixed on Jax.
He hasn’t stopped staring at her since the door opened.
My chest is tight as the ceremony begins. The vows are exchanged after I hand the ring box over. They slip rings on and are declared man and wife.
When they kiss, Brooklyn gives this happy sigh and cups Jax’s face. The crowd claps their approval.
I can’t stop thinking about how Whitney would smile at me that way, how her mouth tasted. Fuck. Why does she haunt me? It’s even worse than the first time I ran off to go to school and didn’t talk to her. Because back then, I didn’t fully know what I was missing.
I do now.
We proceed to the hall for the reception. The photographer runs around and takes candid photos of people. Romantic music is playing. I kind of want to kill myself—I’d give anything to get the fuck out of here.
Being surrounded by couples in love is making me face how much I really miss Whitney. How my body throbs for her. How I haven’t felt the same since we broke up.
No, since I dumped her.
It was the right thing to do, I remind myself. But it feels like freeing her cost me a piece of my soul.
We eat dinner, which is good—there’s chicken, salmon, and steak tenderloin, and I help myself to all of them. Then Jax and Brooklyn cut the cake, and Jax smears it on her upper chest and nibbles it off. She gasps in shock and laughs, squirming, and the crowd goes wild for his antics. My brother, the ham.
I sit at the table and watch them share their first dance as husband and wife. He rests a hand on her belly, the other on her lower back, and draws her near. Jealousy stabs me hard, right in the chest, and I have to look away.
Fuck me. I’m a disaster.
My phone vibrates. I dig it out of my pocket, grateful for a distraction. I don’t recognize the local number calling me. I’m about to shove my phone back in my pocket when Smith comes walking over to me, his face ashen.
“What’s wrong?” I say, standing up.
“Mom is in the hospital.” He rakes a hand through his hair, messing it up. “She got in a car accident on the way here. She just called me from her room, but I didn’t hear my phone in time to talk to her.”
My stomach drops. I glance down at my phone, and then it dings with a voicemail notification. It has to be her calling me.
I’m surprised to see my hand shake as I listen to the voicemail.
“Um, Asher. Hi. It’s…well, it’s your mom. I…” There’s a pause as she sucks in a shaky breath. “I got in an accident. I tried to call Smith, but he didn’t answer. I didn’t want you guys to think I missed the wedding on purpose. I’ll call Jax later tonight—please don’t tell him yet so he doesn’t worry. Thank you.”
Smith sucks in a breath. “We should go see her.”
“You stay here,” I’m surprised to find myself saying. “At least for now. She doesn’t want Jax to know yet, and if you’re gone, he’ll be suspicious. He already thinks I’m an idiot, so he won’t be as pissed if I vanish.”
“Are you sure?” He looks uneasy. “We know how you feel about her. And she doesn’t need to deal with your negativity right now.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to yell at him, but I stop myself. We’re at my brother’s wedding reception. This isn’t the place to fight. I pull the emotions back in, keep my voice controlled. “I’m not going to be a dick to her. I’ll go and find out what happened, and I’ll report back to you.”
Smith nods. “Fine. Call me as soon as you know something.”
I head out the door and go to my car. The snow is coming down stronger, and I clench the steering wheel as I navigate my way to the local hospital. I pull into the visitor parking lot. At the front desk, a nice elderly lady tells me which room my mom is in.
My heart thrums as I take the elevator to the fourth floor, then turn right toward her room. I’m not sure what I’m expecting to see. She didn’t sound terrible—and the fact that she was able to call means she isn’t unconscious or seriously damaged. But if she’s in the hospital, there has to be some problems.
I get to her door and suck in a steadying breath. Knock, then press it open and step inside. The beeping of monitors greets me. My mom is on the bed on the far side of the room, staring out the window. She turns to look at me, and she blinks in surprise.
“Asher. I…didn’t expect you to be here.” There’s a bandage on her brow, and her left arm is wrapped in a splint, along with her left leg. Bruises mar her face and arms. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” She gives a weak laugh. “They have me on good painkillers. I should have told you boys not to worry about coming by.”
I stiffly move to the chair beside her bed and sit down. My lungs are the size of grapes. “It’s fine.”
“How was the wedding?” Her eyes get sad, and she stares down at her lap. “I really wanted to see them.”
“It was good.” I dig into my phone and pull out a couple of shots I took of the happy couple. Then I thrust it toward her.
Mom bites her lower lip and tentatively takes the phone with her uninjured hand, scrolling through the pictures to the end. “Oh, she looks beautiful,” she breathes. “And Jax is so happy. That smile…he looks just like your father there.” Tears fill her eyes and streak down her face. She hands me back the phone. “Thank you.”
I swallow, nod. Watching her emotions, the way she seems to really care about Jax, makes my heart shred a little. “Um. What happened?” I nod at her injuries.
She sighs and leans back onto her pillow. “I hit a patch of ice and went flying. The car I bought is crappy, and the brakes don’t work so well. I hit a pole.” She closes her eyes. “The bill for this is going to suck. I don’t know how I’m going to pay for it.”
“Don’t worry about that right now.” Seeing her so frail is surprisingly difficult. I’m finding it hard to speak. All the emotions I’ve been bottling up are whirling in my stomach.
“Asher, I’m sorry I took you away from the reception,” she murmurs quietly without opening her eyes. “Thank you for coming down here though. Please let your brothers know I’m fine. But if you’d wait until later to tell Jax, I’d appreciate it.”
“Mom,” I tell her, my voice catching on the word.
She opens her eyes and looks at me, her gaze pained. “Honey, I wronged you in how I handled things. I thought letting you boys go was the best way to protect you from my mistake. It was so stupid. I should have told you where I was and let you make the decision on how to handle it, rather than take the choice away from you. I can’t fix the past, and I’m sorry. I don’t blame you for being upset with me. Not wanting to be around me.”
&n
bsp; “As I was growing up, there were so many times I wished I had a mother.” The confession feels torn from my ribcage. “Jax and Smith remember your voice, things you did together. I had nothing.”
Her eyes well up, and she blinks. “I know.” She bites her lower lip. “I failed you most of all. I don’t think I can ever forgive myself for it.”
The reality of the situation hits me hard. Mom came back to us, and I’ve pushed her away. She could have died in the car accident. And she would have died thinking I hate her. I missed months of getting to know her because of my stubbornness, my fear, my anger.
Fuck. What the hell is wrong with me? Why did I let this happen? No wonder Smith and Jax are so pissed at me. I’ve been a total asshole.
I reach over and take her other hand in mine. Her breath catches, and she stills. “I…know we can’t go back and change anything—your actions or mine,” I say. “But maybe we can start fresh, right now.”
A small sob ripples from her chest, and she squeezes my hand. “I’d like that. There are so many things I want to know about you.”
“Like what?”
“Like…everything.” She gives a sniffly laugh. “What’s your favorite breakfast food?”
That makes me blink in surprise. “Um. Eggs?”
She grins. “I should have guessed. When you were a baby, you loved eating the eggs off my plate.”
“Really?” I never heard that before.
“Yup. And you loved hot sauce. I covered my eggs in it, and boy, you’d gobble them up, and your little face would pinch up but you’d breathe through it and reach for more. Your brothers didn’t even like to smell it. Not you—you were brave, wanting to try anything.” Her face softens as she remembers.
Watching the affection she has for me knocks the air from my lungs. My mother. Right here, in front of me. Clinging to whatever memories she has of me, the few that they are.
“I still love hot sauce,” I tell her. “Smith says I shouldn’t put it on everything, but it’s like ketchup to me.”
We sit in companionable silence for a minute. Mom relaxes back into her pillow. I vow to myself to help her as best as I can. She made a mistake, but she’s trying to fix it.
It hits me then. Her staying away from me and my brothers, out of love for us, is the same thing I’m doing to Whitney.
Fuck. I love Whitney. I love her and I let her go because I thought that was the best way to care for her. That I was a mess and she deserved better. How am I any different than my mom, who did the same?
God, I’m an idiot. I walked away from the woman who offered me her heart.
“You okay?” Mom asks.
I draw in a slow breath in an attempt to ease my racing heart. “I think I messed something up. Something important.”
“With that girl you were seeing?” At my surprise, she says, “Your brothers told me about her and that you two broke up. I’m sorry to hear it.”
“I’m a mess,” I confess to her. “I feel out of control. I don’t know how to handle anything anymore. I feel so…lost.” Saying the words aloud to someone, admitting my vulnerabilities, frees something inside me.
Mom’s eyes soften. She squeezes my hand tighter. “Oh, baby. I know. You’re so much like me. You bottle everything up and try to put on a brave face, but inside, you’re eaten alive with the intensity of what you feel. Trust me, that’s not the way to handle it.” She sighs. “I know you think you can’t fix it, but you can. Nothing you’ve done is as bad as what I did, but I’m making strides and doing the best I can. I believe in you.”
The gentle words are a balm on my heart. I didn’t know how badly I needed to hear that until she said it. I give a short nod.
I can fix it. Or I can at least try.
Whitney’s worth the effort. She doesn’t know how I feel, but I’ll make sure it’s loud and clear. And let her know I’ll never do this to her again.
It may take a long time for her to trust me. But Mom is here, willing to invest in me long-term. If she can do it, so can I.
“I’m glad I came by,” I tell her.
The smile she gives me makes me feel light. Good. Her eyes slip closed. “I’m growing tired,” she murmurs.
I stand up. Brush a strand of hair from her face. “I’m gonna go. But I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Get some sleep, Mom.”
She gives a sleepy nod. “Bye, Asher.”
I fire off a quick text to Smith to let him know Mom’s status, then walk out of the hospital and back to my car, my steps full of purpose. My life is what I make of it. It’s time for me to really take control and go after what I want. To stop feeding myself excuses, to stop numbing the pain, to stop running. To make a plan and follow through.
I deserve better. My mom deserves better.
Whitney deserves better.
Whitney
I smooth the comforter on my dorm room bed and sit on the side, looking up at the ceiling. Soft blue light seeps in through the blinds on the window. It’s only seven-thirty, but I’m wide awake and ready for my first class. Despite the emotional upheaval of the last several weeks, today I’m excited. Excited and proud of myself.
I have achieved my goal.
My roommate is snoring softly. Megan is nice and friendly, and she’s an older freshman too, which helps me feel less like I stand out. I’m glad we were paired together.
Being as quiet as possible, I stuff my psychology textbook and a notebook in my backpack. Freshman psych, my first course of my first day of college. I put, like, five pens in my bag, just in case I need them.
I laugh at how nervous I feel, my heart fluttering like wild.
Then I exit the dorm room and step into the hall. A few students are milling about already, most of them wearing pajamas and heading to the bathrooms.
My phone buzzes. I dig it out of my pocket. It’s a text from my dad. Good luck!
I text back, You too! Dad’s new job starts today—he’s working for an environmental law firm, and he’s excited about the prospect of making change, doing something positive.
Mom said he’s stayed clean and sober too, which makes me feel better about where he’s going and what he’s doing. Dad really was ready to fix himself.
I step outside and suck in a cold blast of air. January in Michigan is balls cold. I laugh at the shock to my skin. Even a morning as frigid as this can’t dim my excitement.
I head toward the Social Sciences department—yesterday, I walked through campus with Megan and found all my classes. The ground, stiff with frost and lingering clumps of frozen snow, crunches under my booted feet.
I walk into the building, sighing in relief at the heater, and find my classroom. A couple of students are already in there. I head to a seat on the far end of the room by the windows. Situate myself, hanging my coat on the back of my seat. Then I grab my book and notebook and flip to the table of contents, pouring over what we’ll be discussing this semester.
The room begins to fill. I’m too nervous to make eye contact with anyone, so I keep my gaze fixed on my book. People take the seats in front of me, behind me. Then the one beside me.
“I hope this class isn’t too hard,” a voice murmurs from beside me. It sounds so much like Asher that I jerk my head up.
And there he is, in the flesh, sitting right beside me. He has a psych book on his desk.
I’m so shocked I can’t move, can’t breathe. I just stare and blink.
He presses his lips together, and I see a flutter of a pulse at the base of his throat. He’s nervous.
“What are you doing here?” I finally manage to ask. What is going on? Is this a joke?
“I enrolled in the school,” he says. He seems different. Something about him has changed. I can’t quite figure it out.
Then it hits me. His eyes. They’re open to me. He’s letting me see every emotion on his face. Not just hiding it.
Then the pain punches me in the chest again, the pain of everything that went wrong with us. I swallow and look down at my not
ebook. “That’s good.”
“I talked to my mom,” he says.
My heart gives a funny kick. “I’m…glad to hear it.” I can’t let him hurt me again. Just because he’s here doesn’t mean I’m going to suddenly give him access to my heart. But my stupid body is aching for him to touch me. To reach over and smooth a hand across my cheek. To tell me how sorry he is.
What would a sorry mean, anyway? He ran away from me twice. Words are meaningless. He taught me that.
“While you were gone, I realized a lot of things about myself.” Asher’s voice is solemn, resonant with his emotion. “You don’t have to trust me—I know that’ll take time. I hurt you. I’m not going anywhere though. And you’ll see that. I’ll prove it to you.”
The professor, an older man with a brown jacket, walks to the front of the room and begins writing on the chalk board. I try my best to ignore Asher, but that’s like asking someone not to feel the presence of the sun. Just being beside him makes me warm.
Damn him.
Our prof hands out the syllabus, and we spend the next fifty minutes reviewing it and discussing his expectations of us the whole semester. I write notes and I pretend like Asher being beside me doesn’t impact me one way or another.
Class ends. We gather our things, and I put on my coat without looking at Asher. Toss my backpack over my shoulder and move to the exit.
Asher walks quietly beside me.
“How did you know I was here?” I find myself asking him against my will. I wasn’t going to say anything to him, even though I have a million questions.
He chuckles as we weave through traffic. “The Beckett charm never fails to work.”
“Megan told you,” I say with a sigh.
“She’s nice. She’ll be a good roommate for you.”
I move to the side of the hallway and stop. Finally look at him. Soak in the sight of his beautiful face and will myself to stop feeling anything for him. “I’m…” I clear my throat and try to keep my voice even. “I’m glad about you and your mom. You seem happier.”
