by Piper Lennox
I also know, if I tell him the full truth now...he’ll never trust me again.
Tucking myself against his chest, I ignore the guilt. This is how it has to be.
I was hiding it for my own protection, before. Now, I know I have to hide it for his. He deserves to trust someone again. Even if I don’t deserve to be trusted.
My text alert sounds just before I’m fully asleep. I look up; Theo’s out cold, arm deadweight over my shoulder.
Gently, I untangle myself from him and the blankets, scoot to the foot of the bed, and fish my phone out of my bag. It takes me a minute to decode the message; it’s full of typos.
Callum: Don’t forget what he did to you, ok?
I stare at it until the backlight singes my eyes.
Then I turn and look at Theo, who’s sleeping so peacefully next to the space where I belong.
Ignoring the message is best, but I don’t want to risk Callum calling if he doesn’t get an answer. I send a thumbs-up, filled with sarcasm I know he wouldn’t catch even if he were clean and sober.
I haven’t forgotten, I would text him—if he were actually my friend, instead of some landmine-riddled chapter of my past I want backspaced.
I remember it perfectly.
But Theo’s changed.
As I drop the phone back in and slowly reclaim my place in Theo’s arms, I feel that relief come back.
I’ve changed, too.
I may not deserve his trust right now, but I’ve got it. And I’m going to guard it with everything I have, from now on.
30
“You can’t leave yet!”
The twins say this in unison as I shut our luggage in the back of the Jeep and give Wes a slap-hug combo in the driveway.
I turn to tell them sorry, it’s just how it is, when I realize they weren’t talking to me. They’re hugging Ruby goodbye.
Wes calls to Clara to get back inside before she freezes; she’s sporting Toms in four inches of fresh snow. To me, he says, “Looks like your girlfriend earned the official Hurley stamp of approval. They love her.”
I smile to myself. It’s a weird kind of flattery, everyone liking the first and only real girlfriend I’ve brought around.
Our drive through the snow is nerve-wracking, but we keep the mood light, joking about all the ways we can stay warm if we get stranded in the Jeep. I love this feeling we’ve got, right now: like everything’s okay. Our talk last night really helped.
What doesn’t help it is the string of texts she gets, the second we’re at the base of the mountain.
“Callum?” I ask, because I’m too stupid for my own fucking good.
I feel her stare on the side of my face. “Yeah. I’m blocking him later, don’t worry.”
In addition to explosive anger, Durhams are also notorious for our smart mouths. It’s an interesting trait to have, considering the nosedive our intelligence takes when we’re mad.
“Why put it off?”
Ruby bristles at my tone. “Like I’ve said before,” she answers measuredly, “he’s got a lot of problems. Blocking him right now, out of the blue, is going to end badly. I know that for a fact.”
“Uh-huh. And waiting until after dinner will magically avoid that?”
“Wow. Are you going to be this much of a dick the entire drive?”
The rage burns through me again. I bite it back. I don’t like being called a dick, but I’m fully aware that’s what I’m being.
“Look,” she sighs, wedging her knees against the dash, “I just need to contact a few people, first. Friends of his, who can keep an eye on him if—no, actually, when—he does something dumb, after I tell him.”
“You think he deserves to be warned, or get an explanation?”
“Probably not. But I’m still going to give him one, whether you like it or not.”
Her comeback crackles in the silence. It pisses me off, but also shuts me up, because I can’t think of anything to counter it. I’m kind of grateful.
She sighs and leans against her door, watching flurries of snow scatter around us. “Theo…you know how your mom leaving, and your friends talking shit about you, made you wonder who you could trust? You’re not the only one who’s felt like that.”
I feel her look at me, but I stare ahead to the strips of salt on the road.
“Something happened to me once that...that made me not trust anyone, either. And Callum was there for me. When I couldn’t feel safe around anyone else...I felt safe around him.”
She looks away. “I know he’s not the same anymore. And being there for me back then doesn’t justify anything he’s done lately. Just because he was a good friend once, doesn’t mean he’s one now.
“But he used to be. So giving him an explanation, it’s for my sake. So I can feel at peace about ending my friendship with him. Not who he is now…but who he was.”
She ends her speech with a hard jab to the radio, turning Christmas music up until we can’t hear each other breathe.
“I’m sorry.” It took a couple hours and many silent miles, but I finally get my apology out, at the entrance to Ruby’s complex.
“For?”
“Being a dick.”
Her smile’s slow to form, but bright when it does. “You’re not. I’m sorry I called you one.”
I shrug. My smartass mouth, at least, deserved the title.
“But,” she says, clicking her tongue, “now you know the truth: you’re not the only one with a temper.”
“I’ve noticed.” My hand rests on her thigh as I pull into the lot. “I like it, though. Getting put in my place.”
She laughs, either at my joke or the way my hand starts sliding where it shouldn’t.
As soon as I park, her phone pings. The peace shatters.
“I promise, I’m telling him tonight,” she says, throwing her phone into her purse without checking the message. “It’s as good as done.”
Tight-lipped, I nod. I’m afraid if I open my mouth, something dumb will come out.
“Hey,” she says. “Look at me.”
I rub some gunk out of my eyes, then take a breath and swivel my head her way.
She pushes up on the console to kiss me. I both love and hate how easily it wipes my brain clean.
“I care about you,” she whispers, touching her forehead to mine. “I wouldn’t be with you if I didn’t.”
“This isn’t a jealousy thing.”
Her mouth lifts into a smirk. “Sure looks like it.”
“Fine, it’s a little jealousy.” Her laugh makes the confession worth it. “But it’s mostly just...not wanting anything to mess this up. You and me.” I button her coat up the rest of the way, then fix her scarf. “And I’m worried about you. He sounds dangerous.”
“Which is exactly why I need to do all this, the blocking and no-contact stuff, in a pretty specific way. I don’t like it any more than you do, but I know how he is.” She pauses. “So trust me.”
Hard as it is, I nod. That’s what all this boils down to: I have to let Ruby handle it how she thinks is best. I need to trust her.
After I carry her luggage to the porch, she kisses me and thanks me again for the trip.
“Stay safe.” I think this is the first time in my life I’ve meant that as more than some generic goodbye. Way more.
“I will.” Slowly, she draws an X across her heart.
We kiss one more time. Ruby laughs against my mouth, when I grab her around the waist to make it last as long as possible.
I pace around my bed again, the fortieth or so time by my count, and dive on my phone when it pings.
Hale: Why?
My heart sinks. I roll onto my back and scroll through the long message I just sent him, wondering how on earth he missed the point.
Ruby: Because you know he’s not going to take it well.
Hale: Of course he won’t. I’m asking, why is that my problem? Or yours?
My defenses go up, but for the first time in years I can’t explain why. My old
standby of “he’s our friend” no longer applies.
Hale: Callum is going to do what he wants. We can’t stop him.
Hale: Stop doing this to yourself, Ru.
The phone drops out of my hand and onto my chest.
“Why do you do this to yourself?”
I know Hale is right. Theo was right. My instincts are right.
Callum’s life is a mess. He’s made it that way. And the only person who can get him out is himself. It’s not my job, or Hale’s, to soften blows for him.
I pick up the phone and hold it overhead, thumbs poised to type words I don’t have. An apology, maybe, for bothering Hale with this drama yet again, when he’s got his kids and job and own life to worry about. Or a thank you, for this tough but needed reminder.
Before I can start, he sends another message.
Hale: I’ll do my best to keep you safe from him, if it comes to that. God forbid. But I can’t keep him safe from himself. Nobody can.
I stare at the screen until my eyes ache.
Ruby: I know. Thank you.
His typing icon flashes a few times, but vanishes and doesn’t reappear. There probably isn’t much else to say. That’s that.
I open my thread with Callum.
Ruby: Meet me at the rink in 10?
He doesn’t answer, but I get my winter gear back on and drive there anyway. Sure enough, he’s in the parking lot when I pull in, leaning against the hood of his Camry and spitting into a Cherry Coke bottle.
“Hey.” My knees feel like gelatin as I climb out and stand in the empty parking space between us.
“Hey.” He doesn’t look up from the pavement. “Have a nice trip?”
An excuse bubbles on my tongue, but I don’t spare the energy getting it out. Of course he found out. His crew—past and current ones—are all about connections. Info is currency.
“It was fine.” Crossing my arms, I lean against my door and study him. He’s letting his goatee get long, which I always hated. The second it’s past his chin, it gets a wispy quality to it that doesn’t suit his face.
He’s gaunt, of course. A few days can’t change that. But there’s at least some kind of clarity to his eyes, and no sway in his stance. That’s something.
“I’m in N.A.,” he says, as if reading my mind.
“Oh.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“Well...I am. No offense—I think it’s great—it’s just that I’ve never heard you admit to having.... And you hate those recovery groups.”
“Still do.” He glances at me, then admits, “It’s court-ordered.”
Ah. This makes way more sense, even if it’s disappointing.
He jerks his chin towards my car. “I left my phone charger in there. Can I…?”
“Oh…yeah, sure.” While he rifles around in the front seat, I decide I might as well comb the Camry for any random things I’ve left behind. All I find is a Starbucks receipt I crumpled up months ago, plastered to the bottom of a cupholder. Figures. I never left too much stuff in Callum’s car or various apartments, reasoning that I needed to be free to leave at a moment’s notice.
This really was a long, long time coming. So overdue.
“Still,” I offer, when we both surface from the other’s car and pace back to our own, “I’m glad. I think it’ll help you.”
“I don’t need somebody holding my fucking hand through the process. I could kick all this shit on my own if I wanted to.” With a hocking noise that turns my stomach, he gathers his spit and lets it drip into the bottle again.
“Needing help isn’t a weakness,” I tell him, “but I guess you thinking that explains why you’ve been so eager to help me with Theo. You’ve always thought I was weak.”
“You’ve never proven otherwise, babe.” He laughs, the sound like barbs tearing up my organs.
“I’m not weak. You just got me in my weakest moment. Thinking that’s all I was? That was your biggest mistake.”
Callum gets an amused smirk and sweeps his eyes over me, head to toe, like he’s looking at a kid playing dress-up. He looks at me like that a lot.
“If you don’t want my help with that asshole,” he says after a moment, drumming the bottle against his taillight, “then why are you here?”
I tighten my arms, telling myself it’s the cold making me shiver. Not him.
“To tell you it’s over.”
He laughs again. “We already covered this.”
“No. Over, over.” I put my arms down, even though my bones themselves hurt with the effort. I want him to know I mean it, this time.
“I’m blocking you.” I meet his gaze. My knees feel like they’ll buckle, but I balance my weight against the car and keep going. “No more texting. No phone calls. Don’t show up at my house anymore. Don’t drive by my work. Don’t talk to me, ever again.”
Tears gather in my throat, but for once...they aren’t for him.
They’re for me.
I’ve wasted so many years.
“We’re finished, Callum. Not just broken up as a couple, but as friends. As anything.”
I expected myself to whisper this part, or sob, but it sounds like lines I’ve rehearsed to perfection. Maybe I have.
He stares at me for a long time. The bottle keeps clunking. Our breath clouds under the street lamps peppering the lot, swept away in the wind.
Finally, he straightens and clears his throat.
“I knew this would happen.”
The only thing that confuses me more than his sentence is the way he says it: almost laughing.
“Long time coming,” I nod, because I guess that’s one thing we can agree on. None of this should blindside him.
“Not this.” Darkly, he smiles and shakes his head, stepping around his bumper so we’re face-to-face. “You,” he corrects, “falling for that piece of shit all over again.”
“That’s not what this is.” I crack my knuckles against my legs, wondering if Marcus can see us from the front desk inside the rink. I hope so. Callum getting closer to me, even with a full parking space still between us, sets off alarms in my head.
“So it’s a coincidence, then, that you went on a trip with him,” he says, “and the day you get back is when you want nothing to do with me anymore?”
“I’ve wanted nothing to do with you for a long fucking time, Call, let’s make that clear.”
“Was that revenge bullshit even true?”
Shame floods my veins. I know either answer—a lie, or the truth—won’t matter, so I nod. “Yeah,” I say quietly, “it was.”
“But it’s not now.”
My teeth brand my bottom lip until I taste copper, that faint draw of blood that makes me think of Theo on his kitchen floor. The default memory isn’t his bathroom, anymore. When I think of him, I think of how he makes me feel now. Not seven years ago.
When I think about that whole stupid plan I had, it feels like a lifetime since it last felt right.
“Did you fuck him?” He caps the bottle and pitches it blindly to the side. The wind sends it skittering all the way to the rink building. “Is he your little boyfriend now? Huh? Ruby got what she’s always wanted, so to hell with anyone else. To hell with the guy who literally picked her sorry ass up off the ground. To hell with the person who’s loved her since fucking high school.”
“You don’t love me.” Now it’s my turn for a sarcastic, poison-coated laugh. “You think the way you treat me is love? And yeah, you were there for me back then. I was grateful. That’s exactly why I didn’t do all this sooner, even though I should have: I thought I owed you.”
I motion to him, this vague sweep of my hands that can’t even begin to encompass how much he’s changed. When I realize that’s impossible, I drop them back to my sides and sigh.
“But I don’t. I never did. That’s how love works—you give whatever you can and it’s automatically enough, even when things are uneven.”
The tears that crept into my throat come back, but I
don’t wipe them away when they fall. I want him to see them. To know my broken heart isn’t over him, this time.
“I gave you everything, Call. But it wasn’t enough.” I nod at him, then down at myself. “And it wasn’t enough because—this? Us?” My chest deflates, the final words pushed out of me by sheer exhaustion. “It’s not love. It never was.”
The smirk leaves his lips.
I watch the darkness in his face fade, and the flash of heartbreak in his eyes.
For that one second, I see who he used to be.
No: who I wanted him to be. Who he could have been, and, one of these days, might still become.
But it won’t be with me.
“Bye, Callum.” I grab the handle behind me and pivot fast, climbing in.
Past behavior makes me think he might stop me—yank open the door as I put on my seatbelt; stand behind my bumper when I try to back out—but he stays where he is, and watches me go.
31
“That’s it? ‘Okay?’”
I adjust my Bluetooth and grab the last deck chair in both hands, taking care not to twist my back as I lift it, like I did with the others. As I heft it down the concrete steps from the deck to the storage area, I tell Dad, “What do you want me to say?”
His words catch on themselves. “I don’t know, it’s just...you usually have a lot more to say. Loudly. And with cursing.”
“You want me to yell at you for not texting your grown son on Thanksgiving?” This is actually a jab at myself, because I still hate that it bothered me. “It sucks and all, but it sounds pretty stupid when I put it in context.”
“Theo....” My name fades into a sigh. I hear him scratch his beard. “Your age doesn’t make it okay for me to do that. And, you know, let’s be honest: I’ve been doing it way before you were an adult.”
