It’s my mother.
I sit up, never shifting my eyes off of her. She looks tired, dressed in jeans and a navy sweater, her brown boots pulled up to mid-calf. The house was quiet when Sam dropped me off near dawn, and only my dad’s car was in the garage, so I’m not sure when she got home. From the metallic, cold-weather smell she brings into my room, I’m guessing probably not too long ago.
Mom sits on the edge of my bed. Her eyes drift over my room, over swim trophies and honor roll certificates and pictures of Kat and me thumbtacked to my bulletin board. Over the one framed picture of our family I couldn’t bring myself to put away—the three of us smiling and laughing at the Kite Festival two years ago.
She looks down at her hands, her thumb circling over her bare left ring finger.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” The question slips from my throat, but I don’t even feel like I need to ask it. She certainly doesn’t need to answer. The fact is like a living thing pushing in between us and taking up all the space in the room.
She presses both hands to her mouth and exhales slowly. “I’m sorry about last night. I should’ve left a note or called you, but I was upset and tired and I . . . I need a break, Hadley. I need some time.”
Her words crack something inside me. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. We’re supposed to deal with this—Mom and me together. Crying together. Getting mad together. Anything together. “Why doesn’t he leave? This is his fault. You shouldn’t have to leave.”
“He offered. I need to go, Hadley. I need out of this house for a while, away from . . .”
“From me,” I fill in for her. It doesn’t even matter if that’s not what she was going to say. That’s what it feels like. I want to beg her to stay. Beg her not to leave me alone, but she’s already gone. She’s been gone for six months.
“No. Honey, no. You’ve done nothing wrong. I know I’m not handling this the right way, but I . . . I don’t know what else to do at this point.” She turns toward me, ducking her head so she snags my eyes with hers. “Your father and I love you. Nothing can change that, okay? Ever.”
I nod, feeling more like a complication to their problems than loved.
“I’ll be at a hotel nearby.” She gets up, stretching out a hand to smooth over my hair, but from where she’s standing, she can’t quite reach, and her arm falls back to her side. At the door, she turns back. “I’ll call you soon.” Then she clicks the door closed behind her. I listen to her footsteps recede down the hall, clomp down the stairs, thump over the hardwood in the kitchen, and fade away.
I’m still balled up in my blankets when my phone pings on my nightstand. I clench my teeth as I reach for it. It’s probably Kat. Our little spat last night seems like forever ago, but I’m still not sure I’m ready to talk to her yet.
But it’s not Kat.
It’s Sam.
Hey. I’m here if you need me.
That’s all it says. I stare at his message and my chest tightens up even more.
If you need me.
Oh, God. A wave of panic washes over me and I lie back down. I press the heels of my palms into my eyes, remembering the way he kissed me, how his fingertips studied me like I was an intricate piece of art. Last night was the first time in so long that I’ve felt comfortable in my own skin. I wasn’t worried or scared or angry. I was just . . . me. But now my mother is gone, really gone, and something old and dark and ugly is creeping up on me again, and I want to talk to Sam so badly my teeth ache.
And that scares the crap out of me.
Sitting up, my fingers scramble over my phone. Ready or not, I tap Kat’s name. She answers and I start talking before she can stop me. I pretend that the last ten minutes of our previous conversation never happened and fill her in on everything about Mom.
“Wow, Hadley. I had no idea things had gotten that bad. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I pick at a loose thread on my comforter. “I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Do you want me to come over?”
“Thanks, but I’m fine.”
“Sure.” Several short intakes of breath buzz in my ear, evidence Kat is trying to figure out how to say something awkward.
“What? Just say it.”
“Okay. Sorry. It’s just . . . is she, like, leaving leaving? For good?”
I flop back onto the bed. A thin layer of dust is coating the ceiling fan. “I don’t know, Kat.”
“What can I do?”
“Just talk to me for a while.”
“About what?”
“Anything.”
“Okay. How’s your dad handling—”
“Except that.”
“All right, fine. Well . . .” She drawls the word into about three syllables and I can tell her lips are curling into a shy smile. “Ajay drove me home last night.”
“Yes, this I know. And?”
“And we sat in his car and talked until almost two in the morning.”
“Really. You like him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. But, God, he’s completely delicious.”
I laugh, even though it feels almost like swearing in church on a day like today. “Now that deserves a meow.”
“Please don’t.”
“What’s up with that Sara girl?”
“Oh. Her. They just broke up and she’s not happy about it. At all.”
“You don’t say.”
“I’m serious,” Kat says, oblivious to my sarcasm. “He hinted that it’s all pretty recent and he’s still sort of recovering, but has no interest in getting back with her.”
“What about Rob?”
She sighs. “I don’t know. Rob is still Rob, but he seems even more unattainable after talking to Ajay. I’m not sure the real Rob could measure up with the guy in my head.”
“I could’ve told you that two years ago.”
Kat laughs. “Anyway, Ajay asked for my number.”
“Of course he did.”
“Although I doubt he’ll use it.”
“I’m sure he will.”
“He just seems like an entirely different breed of boy and I’m just . . . I don’t know. Me.”
“Obviously he likes you enough to get your number, Kat. But Sam did mention that Ajay has an unusual style of courting.” Last night, Sam and I talked about everything from my disastrous experimentation with the violin when I was seven to Sam’s weird phobia of horses, including our best friends’ clear interest in each other.
Kat snorts a laugh. “Courting?”
“That’s the word Sam used.”
“Huh. I sort of like the sound of that.”
She babbles on happily, but I’m distracted, my mind drifting back to Mom’s empty left ring finger. When did she stop wearing her wedding band? Did Dad notice? Is he still wearing his?
“Anyway, Ajay said Sam’s family has been through a hard time,” Kat says. “You know anything about that?”
The question rips my thoughts off the diamond and sapphire band I used to covet as a little girl. “Um, yeah, actually. His mom . . .” I pause, chewing on my lower lip as Sam’s story floats back to me.
“His mom what?” Kat asks.
“Well . . . his mom sort of cheated on his dad.”
“Really? Huh.”
“Huh what?”
“Well, that’s weird, isn’t it? Both of your parents had affairs.”
“Lots of people have affairs,” I say, but it’s a whisper. Lots of people do have affairs. But it doesn’t feel like that when it happens to your family. You feel like the only one. Alone in this weird reality that no one can really understand.
“When did he tell you all this?” Kat asks.
“We hung out last night.”
“What? When?”
Before I can answer, Dad calls my name from downstairs.
“I need to go,” I say, my stomach knotting up.
“Wait, why were you out with Sam?”
I blow out a breath, unsure if I want to talk about Sam ye
t. But I know Kat. She’ll literally haunt my every step until I give her details. So I tell her everything about last night.
When I’m done, there’s a long pause. Too long for Kat. “Hadley, he’s a nice guy,” she finally says. Her voice is all wrong. She sounds . . . mad.
“I know that.”
“I thought you were sort of friends with him.”
I frown, totally confused. “I am.”
“But you made out with him. Which you and I both know pretty much means you’ll never talk to him again.”
“Why would I never talk to him again? I like—”
“Do you talk to Josh? Or Henry? Or whoever else I may not even know about?”
“Kat, what the hell?”
But she keeps going, sounding close to tears. “I just don’t get this, Had. Why do you have to do this with every guy you meet? You’re acting like a—”
She cuts herself off with a huge sigh, but we both know what she was about to say. I knew Kat took major issue with some of the stuff I’ve done with guys, but I never believed she really looked down on me for it.
“I need to go,” I say, and then I end the call before she can respond.
My hands shake and my heart thunders as I get out of bed and throw on jeans and a sweater. I don’t even bother to brush my hair. I find Dad in the kitchen, sipping coffee at the table and leafing through the paper as if it’s any other Saturday. A light green box sits next to him, a sticker with a dark-green-lidded eye on it sealing it closed.
“Hi, honey,” he says a little too brightly. He nods toward the box. “I didn’t know if you’d eaten breakfast yet, but I got your favorite cupcakes. I thought you might—”
“Cupcakes?”
He lifts his mug but doesn’t drink, eyeing me over the rim. His wedding ring catches the recessed lights, briefly glowing white.
“They’re just cupcakes, Hadley.”
My throat aches and I swallow what feels like a hundred unsatisfying gulps of air. They are not just cupcakes. Yesterday maybe they were just cupcakes. Six months ago, just cupcakes. Today they’re a placation. A desperate scramble at anything to cover up the fact that he screwed up and Mom is gone.
“You think that’s all it takes?” I ask. “Some chocolate and I’ll just nod and say okay and sit down and dig in and smile like nothing happened?”
“Of course not.” He releases a sigh, squeezing his fingers into his eyes. “Jesus Christ. This is hard enough, Hadley. I don’t need this right now.”
Anger at Kat bubbles up to join my anger at this man standing in front of me, and it all boils over. “And I do? This is all your fault. You know that, right?”
“Hadley. Stop.”
“No. I’ve spent months stopping, trying to forget what you did. What you did to us and her and me. I’m so tired of it. I’m tired of you pretending like this is fixable!”
“You won’t even try. Neither of you will. At least I’m trying.” His voice has that dangerous, quiet quality it used to get when I got in trouble as a kid. And that’s all this is to him—me being a brat. Surely I’ll snap out of it one day and come back to him.
“Mom wouldn’t have left if it weren’t for you. None of this would’ve happened if you had just kept it in your goddamn pants.”
His mouth drops open. Before he can say anything else, I turn my back on him and head outside, pacing in circles in the driveway. The day is cool and crisp, the leaves beautifully dying in bright reds and yellows. I take out my phone and look at Sam’s text again, choking down tears and doubts in one gulp. I tap the message box and start typing.
Can I see you later today?
I hit Send. I tell myself that I don’t need him.
But he’s the only person I want right now.
Chapter Twenty-one
Sam
I wait for her on the tiny merry-go-round at the park across the street from my house. The air smells metallic, all cold weather and rusty swing chains. I lie down, my back pressed on top of the freezing, dingy red metal while my feet pull me in a lazy circle.
My stomach rolls right along with the rest of me, but it’s got nothing to do with the merry-go-round. Livy tried to get me to eat something before I left, but I couldn’t even choke down a swallow of water. I keep running through last night in my head, scrounging for that precise moment I should’ve stopped everything and taken Hadley home. But I can’t find it, and honestly, I don’t look all that hard. Now with every cell in my body anticipating seeing Hadley again, I’m an effing mess of excitement and terror.
A soft sound brushes over the bits of recycled rubber that make up the floor of the playground. I stop my revolution and sit up too quickly. My vision blackens for a split second and then clears, revealing Hadley in a thick cream-colored cardigan over a black T-shirt and perfectly tight jeans. Her hair is loose and long and all but screaming at me to run my fingers through it.
She stops a few feet from me, her hands shoved in the pockets of her sweater. She looks down at her boots and pink splashes over her cheekbones. My gut stutters as I stand up.
“Hi,” she says, so quietly I almost don’t hear her.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” she says again through a deep breath.
I smile in response, relieved to see she’s as uncertain as I am. Not upset or angry or regretful. Just a good old-fashioned ball of nerves. But then we stand there for what feels like hours in silence, and doubts creep in again.
I should tell her it was all a mistake.
Because it was.
Wasn’t it?
“Wanna swing?” I ask.
She looks up and tilts her head at me, studying me through narrowed eyes. Impulsively—maybe insanely—I reach out and take her hand from her pocket, sliding my fingers over her palm to lace with hers. “It’s just swinging, not an invitation to elope.”
She laughs softly and lets me pull her to the green plastic seats swaying in the breeze. Soon we’re airborne, climbing higher and higher into the sky and grinning at each other stupidly as the altitude seems to scrape away all the tension.
“Okay,” I say, pumping my legs to gain more speed. “You ready for this?”
“For what?”
“On three, we jump off and see who lands the farthest away from the swings.”
“No way!” She laughs as she soars backwards, her hair creating a dark curtain over her flushed features. “You’re taller. You’ll automatically win.”
“Yeah, but you’re lighter. You’ll fly farther.”
“All the more reason I’d rather not risk breaking my kneecaps.”
“Just bend your knees a little when you land.”
“I haven’t jumped off a swing since I was, like, eight.”
“That’s sort of the point.”
“No.”
“Come on, Hadley. Let go a little.” Rather than push her any more, I launch myself out of my swing and land with a thwunk on the crumbled rubber. My legs buckle and I go down, my body piling up in a heap of elbows and knees.
“Are you okay?” Hadley yells, still in motion.
I let out an exaggerated groan and shoot her a thumbs-up. “Your turn.”
“No, Sam.”
I roll myself up to sitting and prop my elbows on my knees. “You’re really just going to let me win? I’m a privileged white male in America. Don’t you think I have enough advantages already? Come on, St. Clair. Kick my ass.”
She arches forward and then pushes back again. I watch her, totally mesmerized. The effect is weirdly hot as she gains more and more height. Then she’s flying, her body a graceful line, arms in the air like a bird on the wind before she lands on all fours.
She’s a least a couple feet farther away from the swings than I am.
“Atta girl,” I say.
She laughs and flops onto her back, her chest rising and falling steadily.
“I haven’t done this in forever,” she says, staring at the sky.
I lie down and roll my body in her dire
ction. It takes me three rotations to reach her. “What? Been to a park?”
“Played.”
I stretch myself out next to her and realize I haven’t either. I can’t remember the last time I did something fun for the hell of it. Felt the wind in my hair and laughed at nothing and acted like a dumb shit just because I could.
I prop myself up on one elbow and look at her. The coppery sun ignites her brown eyes so they almost glow, her lashes a black fringe around them. She smiles and blinks heavily, her pulse rapid in the hollow of her throat, matching my own. I reach out and tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. I try to slide my fingers down the long strand, but her hair is all tangly from the swing ride. I pull, but her damn hair has suddenly morphed into a thousand tentacles.
“Ow.” She grimaces and I feel my ears burn red, but of course she’s grimacing. A complete imbecile is glued in her hair right now.
“Sorry . . .” I tug gently and she inhales sharply. “Okay, I’m seriously stuck.”
“Here, let me.” She pushes my other hand away and locates the knot around my finger. She unravels the snarl of hair, obviously trying not to laugh.
Finally free of me, she pulls her hair over one shoulder and then tucks her hands under her head. She looks at me and gnaws at her lower lip, still biting off a laugh.
Uh-uh.
I lift my brows, smirking, and she releases a single giggle.
I lean toward her again.
Really. Slowly.
The closer I get, the more her lips curve upward. I stop an inch from her mouth and hear her breath hitch. I don’t move any closer. I don’t move farther away, either.
“Seriously?” She twists her mouth into a cute little knot.
“What?” I slide my thumb over her flushed cheek, and she shivers. “Did you want me to do something other than hover over you awkwardly?”
Her hand sneaks under my jacket and bunches around the hem of my T-shirt. Her cool fingers tease my hip.
“Hey.” My body arches away from her a little. “That tickles.”
“Two can play at this game, Mr. Bennett.”
Her sweet breath fans across my mouth and I almost lose it right there. I slide the hand near her face down to her throat and around the back of her neck. Her eyes flutter closed briefly, but then she slips her hand even farther under my shirt, letting it trail up my back.
Suffer Love Page 15
