by Kelley York
The silence lingers until we’re twenty minutes from the airport, when Rachael bombshells me with, “You’re not planning on going to college with me, are you?”
Given that I’m on the freeway, I can’t exactly turn to look at her. A brief glance tells me she’s staring straight ahead, hands in her lap. Is now really the time to talk about this?
“Rach…”
“Because if you’re not even going to apply, I’d rather you tell me now than continue to put me off with empty promises.”
“They weren’t empty promises.” I can’t help the defensiveness creeping into my tone. What would she know about my promises? “I never told you I would for sure. Just that I was thinking about it.”
“You’ve had your time to think, Hunter. Months of it. How long do you want me to wait? At this rate, I’ll be out of college before you’ve made up your mind.”
I could tell her to stop pushing me, but in reality, she has every right to be unhappy. I’m always asking for time to think, and although she’s hinted and nagged more times than I care to count, she still gave me that time. I haven’t given her anything in return. I never filled out the applications for her college near Miami, yet I looked into places in Maine and other campuses along the East Coast. I even put off having sex with her. For that alone, plenty of guys would tell me I’m out of my mind.
I’ve put her off like I’ve put off everything. Like I’ve avoided looking at any colleges outside of Maine. Outside of Dad’s city.
Because I wanted to be…
No, no, no. Don’t think it. Don’t even…
Honesty. It’s now or never.
“I can’t promise I’m going to apply to college in Florida. I want to stay with my dad. Go to a community college or something.”
Rachael is so still that if I couldn’t see her from the corner of my eye, I would think I was alone in the car. She finally says, “This isn’t working, is it?” Her voice cracks, so I know she must be crying. I wish I could pull over to the side of the road, but knowing my luck, we’d be late for her flight, and we’d be stuck together for the long drive home—and however long it took them to get her on another plane.
Out of reflex, I want to gather her up and apologize again and again, tell her how sorry I am and to let me think a little bit longer…
I really am the world’s shittiest boyfriend. Holding onto something normal for the sake of having it, for nothing other than to keep what is familiar and safe close to me because the alternative is so fucking terrifying I can’t begin to wrap my head around it. It has nothing to do with it being another guy and everything to do with it being Chance, and Chance has the ability to shatter me into the minuscule fragments and base elements of the star I supposedly came from.
Who walks willingly into something like that?
I have no words to make this better. None that I can back up with my actions, at least. The only thing I can say and mean—and I do mean it, every syllable, more than I’ve meant anything I’ve ever said to her—is, “I’m sorry.”
Rachael stares out the window. “Sorry you’re breaking up with me, or sorry you’re too much of a coward to admit the real reason why?”
Tension snakes up into my shoulders, coiling around my spine. I keep my mouth shut. Which only earns me a bitter smile from Rachael after a moment.
“And you’re too scared to say anything to that, even. God, Hunter. Do you think I’m stupid? This has nothing to do with your dad. You want to stay in Maine because you want to be near Chance.”
“Don’t bring him into this,” I say quietly, drawing the car up to the airport terminal, the only one it has, and lingering there. Not so sure she wants me going inside to walk her to her gate at this point. “It has nothing to do—”
“Yes, it does!” Rachael whips around in her seat to face me. “I see the way you two look at each other. Like everything you say and do is to get each other’s attention. You don’t want to do anything that might upset him, and he barely put up with me—not because he liked me, but out of respect for you. I see how different you are with him.”
“Maybe it’s you I’m different with. Did you think of that?” Resentment and frustration bubble in the back of my mind, and I fight them off, aware I’m feeling defensive because I know she’s right. “It’s over and done with. I’m sorry. I’m an ass. Why can’t we leave it at that?”
“You’re always like that,” Rachael huffs. “It’s done, so why are we still talking about it? We’ll talk about it as long as I want to, Hunter Jackson, because I’m the one who was wronged here. I’ve spent my whole trip competing with Chance—”
“You have not!”
“—and I, for one, am relieved I don’t have to do it anymore.” Rachael shoves open the door and gets out. Groaning, I put the car into park, slipping out and circling around to help get her bags from the trunk. She shoves my arm away and does it herself. At least she lets me close the trunk while she hauls her bags onto the curb.
“Rachael…”
Stopping, Rachael takes a deep breath and finally turns to face me. Much of the anger has ebbed away, but in its place is a resigned sort of hurt, which is far worse. Her dark eyes are red from crying. Now would be a great moment for me to get some sort of grand epiphany about how she’s the one I’m meant to be with, and of course I’ll go to Florida because I love her.
I do care about her.
But that’s all it is. Caring. A sort of affection that isn’t all that different from what I’ve felt for any girl I’ve ever been friends with. A simple emotion with zero passion behind it. It’s a safe and familiar love that has never made me crazy or broken my heart or put it back together again.
There is no grand realization, and when Rachael also comes to the conclusion one isn’t coming, she takes a deep breath and brushes at her eyes. “I sincerely hope when you go home today, you put some long, hard thought into what it is you want out of life.” She presses a brief kiss to my cheek. “Before you break anyone else’s heart.”
Ashlin
Still no response from Chance to my texts. Funny, given he’s usually pretty quick to text back. I figure he must be busy, or forgot to charge his phone, or went out somewhere with his parents. All things that strike me as extremely un-Chance-like.
Isobel drops by with a bag of fresh produce, and while she’s there she unloads the dishwasher and puts on a pot of coffee because Hunter forgot to do it before leaving for the airport. She moves around the kitchen like she lives here, and Dad watches her like he wishes she did.
It makes me smile.
You’d think I’d have issues with Dad being interested in another woman besides my mom. But those sorts of things never mattered to me. Our family situation was a bit weird, but it worked out all right. Dad loves us. He doesn’t love our moms. There’s nothing wrong with that, and I’d like to see him happy with someone.
Isobel is younger than my mom or Hunter’s. She’s plainer, a bit on the curvy side, with mousy brown hair but a very sweet smile. She gets the coffee going and gives me one of those smiles. “Did you want breakfast, Ash?”
“Yeah, please.” I take a seat at the dining table, content to let myself be catered to for a while. Dad arches an eyebrow.
“She’s a guest. Shouldn’t you be making her breakfast?”
Isobel laughs. “I don’t mind it, Lou. Leave her alone.”
I stick my tongue out at Dad. He rolls his eyes. “Your brother sure scooted out of here early this morning. Would’ve thought he’d be dragging things out, taking Rachael back to the airport.”
I pretend to be busy doing something on my phone so I don’t have to look at him. “Sure. I guess so.”
“You guess so?”
“I don’t know, Dad.” I sigh. “You’d…have to ask Hunter.”
Out of my peripheral, I catch him and Isobel exchanging worried looks.
Isobel murmurs, “Trouble in paradise, maybe?”
“Whatever it is,” Dad says, “I’m sure t
hey’ll be all right.”
Yeah, I’d like to hope so. All these dreams and pretty images in my head of Hunt and Rachael getting married, me getting to be a bridesmaid, them living this perfect life… Well, all that’s gone down the drain, hasn’t it? God, reality sucks.
But then there’s Chance, and how sad and tired he’d looked. If things with Rach don’t work out, will he and Hunter…?
I’m still not sure I’m ready to think about it.
Hours later, while replying to e-mails from friends back home, I’m still thinking of ways to bring up the subject with Hunter. He is such a boy sometimes. If I don’t handle it delicately, he’ll get all defensive and cranky, and neither of us will leave the conversation feeling any better.
Isobel and Dad have gone out for the afternoon, which leaves me with some coveted alone time in the house. Hunter’s entrance is a quiet one. I don’t even hear the front door open and close, only his footsteps in the hall, passing by my room. Either he thinks no one is home, or he’s trying to go unnoticed, and that is a really bad sign something is wrong.
I close my laptop and wander out into the hall. Hunter’s door is ajar, so I take that as an open invitation to push it open and step inside without knocking. “Hunt?”
Except it’s Chance standing near Hunter’s bedroom window, not Hunter. He startles visibly, straightens up, and turns to face me.
The left side of his face is a mottled patchwork of black and blue.
Bruises line his jaw, creeping onto his cheek and around his eye. It’s all I can do to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from expressing the mixture of shock and horror that has made my blood run cold.
Someone hurt him. Someone hurt our Chance.
“Oh my God… Chance…”
He blinks once, then grins. Standing there looking like someone smacked him with a two-by-four, and he’s grinning. “What, this?” He gestures to his face. “It’s no big deal. I fell.”
“You fell,” I repeat dubiously, closing the gap between us and lifting my hand. Not touching, because I can’t even imagine how much his face must hurt, but—hell—what do you do for something like that? Ice? Heat? Does he need to see a doctor? “How do you fall and get that kind of bruising?”
“My front porch.” Chance shies away from my fingers. “Slipped on a patch of ice and went down good and hard. Pretty impressive, isn’t it?”
“A pretty impressive lie.” Because while it could be true, given Chance’s track record, I don’t think so.
Chance’s expression is unchanging. “I’m not lying.”
“You are. You’re always lying, Chance!” I throw my hands in the air and whirl away, straining for any noises outside that might be Hunter coming home. Feeling like I need to get this situation under control right now before he comes back. “Look, just tell me the truth. Your dad, right?”
“Ash—”
“It doesn’t need to be like this! I don’t know what’s going on in that house, but you’re eighteen now and you don’t have to put up with it. Get the hell out of there. Come stay here. You know Dad would let you in a heartbeat!”
“Mr. J would also send his hounds after my folks if he got wind something was going on.” Chance’s smile tightens but doesn’t waver. “And since they haven’t done anything wrong, I hardly see the reason to leave home and get them in trouble. I fell. Got it? Nothing more, nothing less. I’m a victim of my own clumsiness.”
Chance’s bruised face turns blurry in my vision. I want to believe him because it’s easier, less painful than thinking anyone could do this to him. Why is he always— Why can’t he just— Have Hunt and I proved to be such horrible friends he can’t rely on us? Or is he really so deluded into thinking there’s nothing wrong? Has he told the same stories for so long he’s become a believer of his own lies?
I sink onto the edge of Hunter’s mattress, shaking my head, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes and trying not to sob. A million thoughts are flying through my head. Every bruise I’ve ever seen on Chance. Every instance where he said he wasn’t going swimming or wouldn’t take off his shirt. Was it to hide something from us? The summer he broke his arm—he said the same thing he’s saying now: I fell off the front porch.
How do I pick the truths from the lies? And what do I do once I’ve sorted it all out?
Chance kneels on the floor in front of me, elbows coming to rest on my knees, and his voice is surprisingly gentle.
“Hey. Hey, come on… Don’t do that. I’m totally fine, all right? Don’t get all crybaby on me.”
“You’re an asshole,” I manage in a voice choked with sobs. But I pull my hands from my face to look down at him. The sight of the bruises makes me want to cry harder. “Why won’t you let us help?”
Chance brushes a few tears from my cheeks. “Because no one will believe anything I say. I’m a high school dropout known for getting in trouble.”
“You didn’t finish school?”
“What was the point? Dad would never drive me, and getting all the way into town every day on foot for school or work was too much. At any rate, it’s my word against theirs. I need evidence. Proof.”
A dropout. Something else we didn’t know, though I can’t say he ever lied about it. He never told us he graduated, we just…assumed. His sudden honesty renders me momentarily speechless. I stare into his eyes and at the smile that looks more sad than anything else. “The proof is on your face, Chance. Literally.”
He shrugs. “No. Again, my word against theirs. They’ll say I fell.”
“Not if you tell Dad’s old friends on the force. You know they would—”
“I’m not telling anyone anything.” He shakes his head then buries it against my stomach with a sigh. “I’m doing what I can. Just…trust me. Nobody ever does.”
I do trust him. I do. Maybe not to tell me the truth, but I trust him to always be there if I need him. I trust him with my life. But with everything else? How can I? I don’t know what to say, so I rest my hands atop his head and slide my fingers through his messy hair. “Hunter is going to go absolutely postal. I hope you know that.”
Chance sighs wearily. “Yeah, I guess he will. Which means I should get out of here.”
I bite my lip. “You’re not going home again, are you?”
He shrugs. “Don’t see why not. Where else would I go? I’m lacking in the friends department.”
“Then stay here. In my room if you have to. I’ll talk to Hunter first and…” I trail off, because and what? What will I tell him? But I think Hunter’s reaction to all this comes secondary to Chance’s safety.
He gets to his feet, tugging at his hair and turning away. “No. I need to go. Running away never does any good. One of these days, he’s going to catch me. Maybe… Maybe I could get him before he gets me. Anyway, I’m not sure why I came here to begin with.”
“Because it’s safe,” I press. The tears are coming again. I don’t want to think about Chance getting into it with his dad. How could he even entertain the thought? Either he’s going to hurt someone or he’s going to hurt himself. I grab his hand tight, trying to convey to him the fear and worry that is so overwhelming to me, and the confusion that Chance can act like this is no big deal. “Stay. Please.”
Chance gives my palm a squeeze, pulling me to standing. His free hand cups the back of my neck, and his mouth, chilled, kisses my forehead. “Everything will be okay, Ash. Trust me.”
…
Dad calls to tell me he and Isobel are catching dinner and a movie, so Hunt and I are on our own for the evening. Normally, this would be a night where Chance, Hunt, and I pig out on junk food, turn off all the lights, close the shutters, and play hide-and-seek. Which is totally not as uncool as it sounds. Getting older means getting bigger, which means it requires a lot more creativity to find hiding places. Last time we played, Chance crawled on top of the fridge and huddled there. In the darkness, it took us forever to find him.
Now, though… Hunter arrives home an hour after Ch
ance makes his escape, no matter how much I tried to talk him into staying. Tonight will not be a fun night. Tonight, I’ll be struggling with my own conscience on what to do, what to say, how much to tell Hunter and whether or not I should take this whole thing to Dad.
A few years ago, we might’ve been able to do more. Chance was a minor. It would’ve classified as child abuse. Now that he’s eighteen, what does that mean? Dad would know. But I get the impression it’s only Chance’s dad hurting him. Chance might be staying for his mom, or because he feels too ashamed to come stay with us. I don’t know.
I don’t know anything.
But…I think I need to talk to someone about it or it’s going to drive me crazy. Hunter is the only one I can talk to at this point. Although the downtrodden look on his face when he comes into the living room and plops down on the couch next to me is a sign I shouldn’t mention anything right now.
“I thought you’d gotten lost,” I say. He places a bag of fast food in my lap. Burgers. Yum. “What’s wrong?”
Hunter shakes his head, running his hands over his face. “Nothing.”
“Liar.” I pull a burger out of the bag and dig into it. I skipped out on lunch because sandwiches didn’t sound appetizing. Being stranded at home without a car kind of sucks. “Once more, this time with honesty, please.”
He grunts, eyes locked onto the gloomy glow of the television. I’m halfway done with my food before he says, “Rachael and I broke up.”
I pause mid-chew and process that. Finish chewing. Swallow. Still processing. Nope, not surprised. Sad, disappointed, but not surprised. “What happened?”
“Same old crap. She wants me in Florida. I want to stay here. Obviously, it wasn’t going to work.”
“God, you both have such short-term visions.” I take a second to polish off my greasy excuse for a burger. “It’s not like you’ll be in college forever. Plenty of couples go to different colleges and move in together after they graduate.”
