“I shut you out? You’ve barely spoken to me in two weeks.”
“Because you hurt me!”
“How?” I hissed, and then reminded myself to rein it in. She was in shock. The news had ambushed her. Nothing she said was going to make sense.
Her voice turned icy. “Why don’t you ask Lindsay? She seems to be who you love to run to with all your secrets and some of mine, too.”
My girl had officially turned crazy. “I didn’t tell Lindsay anything.”
“Yet she knew about you meeting my dad. She knows something happened to you sophomore year. Something I know nothing about. Why didn’t you tell me?”
The muscles in my body jerked. Even from the grave, Fatty James wouldn’t stop tormenting me. I rubbed my hands down my face. “You can’t have it both ways, Skylar. You can’t beg me for normal and then get mad when I pretend everything is fine.”
“So, it’s my fault? I suppose it’s also my fault that my dad quit chemo. That I’m such a diva I have to be coddled every second.”
“That’s not what I said.”
She angled away from me. “Just leave me alone.”
“Skylar.” I moved closer, tried to wrap her in my arms, to take the frustration we both had down a notch, but she pushed me off. I pulled at her again, forcing her to look at me. “You’re angry and you’re hurting. I get that. But don’t push me away.”
She stubbornly lifted my hand off her arm. “I told you about my dad being sick. I brought you to my house. I’ve done nothing but let you in. And I’m finished being the only one who’s trying.”
“You’re not the only one. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Just don’t give up on us.”
“You really don’t get it?” Her expression was dead. “I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about sophomore year or the suspension or Lindsay. None of it matters now. My dad is dying. His face is going to be plastered on every magazine from here to Timbuktu. And, once again, I trusted the wrong person.”
Principal Rayburn appeared in front of us, flanked by two men I didn’t recognize. “Ms. Da Lange, it’s time to go.”
I hung back, knowing from the principal’s glare that he wasn’t too pleased to find me with her in the corner.
The tallest man, wearing a pinstriped suit, wrapped her in a hug. She clung to his jacket while they disappeared from sight.
Principal Rayburn pointed down the hall, and I knew my options were gone. “Go to class, Mr. James, or it’s two hours in detention.”
SKYLAR
I stormed in the house and immediately found my father and Aunt Josephine at the kitchen table.
“Is it true?” My chest hurt and my pulse pounded in my ears.
Aunt Josephine watched my father. She knew the truth. Everyone knew the truth. Everyone but me.
My dad stood slowly. “Sweetheart, you need to calm down. You’ve had a terrible morning, and we all need to sit and talk about what happens next.”
His calm and rational tone infuriated me more. “Calm down? Do you have any idea what just happened to me at school?” I turned accusing eyes to my aunt. “This was your idea. Wasn’t it? You convinced him to quit.”
“Skylar. That’s enough.” My dad’s warning didn’t stop me.
I continued to stare at the object of my blame. “My mom was right. You’re just a spinster, a cold-hearted woman who doesn’t give a damn about anyone but yourself!”
“Skylar Anne!” The sheer volume of my father’s voice stopped my malicious attack.
But I wanted to say more. The rage inside bubbled and pulsed through every limb and organ. I wanted to throw my father’s glass of lemonade across the room. Wanted to take my aunt’s hair and rip it out of her meticulous French twist.
I stomped out of the room, my hands shaking, my lips trembling, my throat burning from choking back my cries. I slammed my door, but it didn’t give me enough satisfaction, so I slammed it again and again.
The fourth time was met with resistance as my father pushed through the opening. “Young lady, what is wrong with you?”
I shook my hands, jumping on the balls of my feet like a boxer getting ready for a match. Suddenly, I understood the appeal to fight. I wanted to hit something, too. Break anything, the way my heart was breaking.
“Why did you do it? Why did you give up?” I let out a huge breath to stop the onset of tears. I didn’t want to cry. I wanted the truth.
He ran a hand through his hair, and I noticed how loose his shirt was today. How had I not seen it earlier? How had I been so blind?
“The test showed no progress, and the chemo was killing me. I don’t know how much time I have with you, but I refuse to spend it puking my guts out, missing the last few moments we may have together.” There was no hesitation in his voice. No wavering. He’d made his decision without me.
I stared at the ceiling and blinked, praying the tears would stay back. Praying the adrenaline would continue, so I didn’t have to feel the pain ripping at my insides.
“I’m just so angry.” The words came as the first tear dropped. A flood that seemed endless started down my face.
“I know, sweetheart.”
“No, you don’t! You can’t possibly understand.” I met his eyes through the blurry lenses of my own. “I want to curse God. I want to scream at him and demand why. I want to erase every note of music on Cody’s iPod. I want to pull out Lindsay’s perfectly straight blond hair and slap her tiny, innocent face. I want to take a key and scratch the heck out of Aunt Josephine’s car, and I want to smash your guitar into tiny little pieces. That’s how mad I am!”
My father stared at me like I’d lost my mind. A beat of silence and then, “Who’s Lindsay?”
The confusion in his voice combined with the lost expression on his face brought a giggle so huge and loud my stomach clenched when it came out. Sob-filled laughter overwhelmed me. I dropped on the bed, hunching my shoulders and covering my face, all while trying to control my conflicting emotions.
I heard my father cross the room. Then music filled the air. It wasn’t a symphony or even a guitar. No, it was the tinging tick of my music box. The music box my mother had given me on my ninth birthday. The music box that played in my room every night, calming me into peaceful sleep. Beethoven’s “Für Elise” floated like a leaf twirling in the wind and began to heal the sting of my scorching heart.
The bed dipped, my father’s arm reached around my shoulder and pulled me into his solid embrace.
The tears fell heavier.
“I know this is hard. I wish so much I could take away all your pain.” The crack in his voice made me wonder if he was crying too.
I looked up, moved a matted piece of hair from my face and saw his tears matched my own. “I don’t want to be alone.” My whispered cry tore the last of my heart in two. My rock, my mountain, my strength was withering away in front of me. Soon, I’d only have a song or a memory. It was too much.
“You will mourn. You will cry. And I know you will hurt. But Skylar, I promise you, you will never be alone. God will be your father, your best friend and your comforter. He will heal your heart again.”
My sobs came louder, drowning out the slowing music until the knob turned its last click. My father cradled me and replaced the music box with the soft, raspy song he’d written just for me.
And I grieved.
For the first time since hearing the word “Cancer,” I accepted my father was going to die.
CODY
Skylar’s phone didn’t even ring twice before her voicemail picked up. She had either turned it off or was screening her calls. Either way, her message was clear.
Like the other ten times I heard the beep that meant I wouldn’t talk to her, I ended the call and shoved my phone into my gym locker. Two hours of practice, then I could leave this miserable school. Figure out how to fix this mess.
The media was relentless. Tributes to her father, along with speculation on his condition, headlined on every news channel a
nd social media site. The worst image, though, was the video of Blake holding Skylar as he pushed their way into school this morning. That one stayed on repeat in my mind. A minute-by-minute reminder that I’d failed her.
Blake sauntered over to my locker in his gym clothes, a smug smile on his face. “So, you’re bangin’ a rock star’s daughter. My, my, you never stop climbing that ladder do you?”
I clenched my hand but stopped there. I wouldn’t do it. One more fight, and I was off the team. My stupidity lost me the Super 32 and Skylar. I wouldn’t let it take away my chance to get her back.
I kept my gaze fixed on the locker in front of me, my voice calm and controlled. “Talk about Skylar like that again, and I’ll call the cops on Chugger’s next kegger.” Not an idle threat and he knew it.
His mild laugh twisted everything inside me, but I still didn’t move. “Face it. You lost. The team thinks you’re a joke. Lindsay’s a walking zombie, and Skylar dumped you. And after Zoe calls and comforts her and sings all my wonderful praises, she’ll come to me. Beg me to give her another chance. And I’ll be ready and waiting.”
Over my dead, rotting body. I met Blake’s soulless eyes. “Keep dreaming. Skylar sees right through you. She has since day one.”
“That so?” He stepped away, pulled out his phone, and pressed a number on speed dial. A second later, his face lit up. “Hey, beautiful. Just wanted to see if you got home safely.” He walked backward toward the gym, smiling like he did after winning a match. “Of course. I’m more concerned…” His voice disappeared behind the locker room door.
I grabbed my keys out my bag. They slipped through my fingers and landed on the floor. I cursed. My hands shook as I snatched the keys back off the tile. I cursed again when my vision went blurry.
Screw practice. I’d storm the gate if I had to. She was going to talk to me.
*
The line of cars that stretched to Skylar’s gated neighborhood was literally a quarter-mile long. I’d been inching up for forty-five minutes, wondering, hoping they’d let me in. The media, perched like vultures, surrounded her neighborhood. Fans lined the strips of grass along the fence, laying flowers and get-well signs as a tribute to their idol. If they really wanted to honor Donnie Wyld, they would back off and let his family deal with his illness.
Another round of anxiety rolled through my stomach. She wanted honesty. I was about to drown her in it.
There was only one car in front of me now, arguing with the guard who checked his list and shook his head. The car lunged forward and squealed around the U-turn. My hopes plummeted. There was no way Skylar marked me as an approved visitor.
Inching my truck to the guard, I noted he looked stressed, tired, agitated and was probably thinking he didn’t get paid enough to deal with the circus surrounding the gatehouse.
“Cody James. I’m here to see Skylar Wyld.”
He recognized me. He’d worked here the night I met her father. Even gave me a pep talk when I rambled on about it.
“Go ahead,” he said without even consulting his clipboard.
I wanted to get out and hug him but focused on getting to the girl I knew was hurting.
The driveway held two black Town cars, a shiny Lexus and her Mustang, which was parked haphazardly at an angle. A sure sign she’d barely made it in before storming the house. The last memory I had of her face flashed before me. The unshed tears, the tight lips, the shredded way her eyes bore into me.
The edgy, disheartened feeling escalated as I knocked on Skylar’s front door. I should be cold, freezing even, since it was forty degrees, and I was in workout clothes, but my body was a furnace.
The door swung open to a father’s scowl.
I stood straighter. “Hi, Mr. Wyld. I wanted to see if I could talk to Skylar.”
Donnie Wyld laid his forearm against the doorframe and assessed me from head to toe, much like he did the night I came to dinner. “I’ve got a pretty upset little girl in there. You here to make it better or worse?”
“Better.” I hoped.
He raked a hand though his hair, his face etched with stress and frustration. “I’ll give you ten minutes because I’m desperate.” He stepped out of my path. “But if I get a hint that you’re upsetting her more, you’re done.”
“Yes, sir.” I stepped into the grand foyer and immediately heard the buzz of news from a television in the other room. He gestured for me to follow and I did, keeping my eyes peeled for red hair.
The two security men from school were in the kitchen, and a tall skinny guy was standing in the living room watching the headlines scroll across the flat screen on the wall. He turned when we walked in.
“This is bad, Donnie. She told them just enough to give them a story, but not enough to press charges. Speculation alone is going to kill you. I think it’s time to make a statement.”
Donnie stared at the ceiling for two beats, ignoring the advice. “Cody, why don’t you wait out back? I’ll get Skylar.” He pointed around the corner and left without an introduction.
The skinny guy turned back to the TV.
The tension in the house was so suffocating it was like pushing through thick, wet sludge as I made my way to the backyard. I felt Skylar’s loss. The ease that was there before had been completely sucked away.
I thought about sitting, but the pulse in my veins was too intense, so I walked. The mulch around the shrubs was bright red with a lingering smell of fertilizer. I touched a leaf, hoping in some way it would connect me to the girl who painstakingly planted it.
“What are you doing here?”
Skylar’s voice made the hair on my neck stand straight. It was still harsh and distant. I turned around to see her standing just outside the door. Her arms wrapped around her torso and her eyes red and puffy.
I approached slowly. “I came to check on you.”
“I’m fine. You can leave now.”
“Okay, I came to talk to you.”
“There’s nothing left to talk about.” Her expression was blank except for the creases at the corners of her eyes, as if looking at me was painful.
It certainly hurt to look at her. “There’s everything to talk about.” I hoped the desperation wasn’t as obvious to her as it was to me. “I want to explain.”
She faltered for only a second before her stare went back to its indifference. “I told you, I don’t care anymore.”
“Yes, you do.” I reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. Frustrated, I gripped the back of my neck. Wished the sickness in my stomach would stop for just one moment. “I need you to understand why. Why Lindsay’s fight became mine.”
She stared down at her hands, turning them over as if to check for scratches or bruises. Seeing her cold expression was bad, but not seeing it was worse. I’d have to do this blind. Confess my worst nightmare without knowing if she was even listening.
“I used to be fat and shy and socially awkward. It didn’t make much difference in junior high. Kids just ignored me. But at Madison, it changed.” I shoved both hands into my pockets and kicked at some stray rocks. “Freshman year was bad. Teasing, some roughing up behind the school, papers missing. But nothing like sophomore year. Tom Baker had it out for me.”
“Tom Baker?”
I closed my eyes. She was listening, even if she still wouldn’t look at me. “The king of Madison two years ago.”
“What did he do?”
My chest burned with pressure and every breath felt like a victory. “Fatty James. That’s what he used to call me. Every day. Every time he passed me in the halls.” Finally, she met my eyes. There was recognition.
Heat engulfed me. “You heard this before?”
“No. Lindsay said something about Tom Baker and pictures.”
Sweat trickled along my forehead and stung my eyes. I prayed for calm. I had to do this if we had any chance. “Tom’s girlfriend was like Lindsay. Shy, timid, kind. But he was cruel to her on a regular basis. I saw her crying outside and gave her a tissue.
We didn’t even speak, but that one act of mercy sealed my fate.”
“What happened?” Her voice was soft, barely over a whisper. I clung to it, immersed in the fact that the bitterness was gone.
I rubbed my palms across my eyes, feeling sucked back into my horror. The bullied kid, the outcast, the crushed boy who fought to forget. “He broke me.”
Seconds passed. I’d spent years pushing away the memory, fighting to forget the agony of that day and yet keeping it a secret. One that rotted inside me like a decaying body. Telling her was like opening an infected wound and pouring alcohol on it.
Skylar would know the ugliness. The broken parts of me that couldn’t be fixed.
“One day in the boys’ locker room, Tom and five other guys stripped me down, beat me, drew on me and then took pictures. Those pictures were posted on a private webpage usually seen by juniors and seniors. Lindsay knew about the pictures because Blake had access our sophomore year. I didn’t even know the website existed until Lindsay showed me.”
Her eyes shimmered.
“I didn’t choose Lindsay over you. She already knew.”
I dared to move forward. To touch her cheek. She didn’t turn away. “You said I didn’t trust you. You’re wrong. I didn’t trust myself. I’m broken. They broke me. And I’ve spent two years putting together the pieces, doing everything I could to make sure they never shattered again. I’ve made terrible mistakes. Compromised my values. Tried to heal by fitting in with the very group that laughed at me.
“But never once have I felt whole since that day. And I didn’t really even notice it until I met you. Then suddenly I was aware of every crack and splinter. Protecting Lindsay made me feel like I was fixing it. Made me believe that I could be happy again. Made me think I could be a man worthy of someone like you. When I see them attack her, it’s like I’m getting punched all over again.”
She didn’t say anything and I waited, giving us both time to process everything I’d just admitted to her.
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