The Choices We Make (Relentless Book 4)

by Barbara C. Doyle

  My breath is cut off by the comparison. The punch of her words landed right in the center of my chest, causing my heart to stop and body to shudder. She knows how much I despised that man, probably more than she does. Her heart was pure enough to love him despite his faults, but I hated his guts for putting his family through Hell.

  “I just wanted you to live out your dream,” I finally manage to croak.

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “You walked away from my dream. Did you ever stop to think that going with you might have been exactly what I wanted? What I needed?”

  I stand up, but she holds her hand up to stop me. “Don’t. Dammit, Sebastian. I was over this whole thing. Over you! I made my peace with what happened and moved on. You shouldn’t have come back. This isn’t your home anymore.”

  That’s where she’s wrong. “This was always my home, Opal. Anywhere that you are is my home.”

  Her body goes completely still and second tick by. I use this time to walk over to her, every step calculated. I don’t reach out for her because I know it’s not what she wants. But what I want—what I need—is to be near her.

  Taking a deep breath, I lock eyes with her. “I don’t blame you for being angry at me, Opal. I’d be pissed at me too if I were in your shoes. Hell, I am pissed at me. Because what I thought you needed killed me. Knowing that I made a deal with the band while having a promise to you tore me up. But you always wanted to go to school before you settled down. I thought going on tour then would be the perfect timing since you’d be in school. This, how it all unraveled, was never supposed to happen. If there’s one thing you should know, it’s that—”

  “Don’t!” she blurts, eyes wider than they’d ever been before. “Don’t you dare tell me what I’m afraid you’re going to say. I won’t be able to stay sane then. You’re never allowed to tell me how you feel after all this time. I won’t believe you, because there are plenty of ways you could have shown me after you left. You could have called, written, something. But you never did! You got everything you ever wanted while I was stuck here being—”

  Her abrupt stop alerts me, and her clamped lips tells me that there’s definitely a reason. When she won’t meet my eyes, my heart tightens in my chest.

  “Opal,” I press. “Tell me why you didn’t go to college. That was your ticket out of here. I saw the acceptance letters, you had your choice of schools.”

  “No, I didn’t!” she blasts, pushing against my chest. I stumble back, wide-eyed over her reaction. Not once had Opal ever been physical. Hell, she’d never been angry.

  Tears well in her eyes and her bottom lip trembles. “Do you see what you do to me?” she cries out, wrapping her arms around her body for comfort. “I’m turning into my father, and I can’t risk that.”

  “Hey,” I whisper, stepping forward. “You’re nothing like him, and you never will be. Everyone knows that you’ve got a good heart. I may have been gone a long time, but I see it hasn’t changed. If anything, it’s bigger than ever.”

  As tears stream down her cheeks, I force myself not to wipe them away. Touching her wouldn’t help the situation, no matter how badly I wanted to.

  “Why, Bash?” she whispers. “Why weren’t you there for me? Why didn’t you write like you promised? Call? You weren’t—” She hiccups. “—at his funeral when I needed you.”

  A rush of emotion begins to drown me, and the prickles of guilt eat at my body from the inside. Because no amount of words could explain how much I wanted to be there for her.

  “I …” My voice is hoarse, so I clear it. “I did write. Every day for the first few months, then off and on over the first year. But we were always traveling, and I didn’t have the address to your campus mailbox. I mean, I guess you didn’t have one, so it wouldn’t have mattered. But I did write. The guys were getting sick of it I think, but I spent at least an hour explaining how my day was. Telling you everything that happened. You were always so supportive of us, so I wanted to give you every detail.”

  She finally moves to swipe her damp cheeks with the back of her hand. “You knew where I lived,” she points out. “You had my number.”

  There was no way I could justify my actions to her without hurting her more. I really believed that I was doing the right thing by giving her space.

  She tugs at her hair, pulling it away from where it stuck to her cheeks. She sniffs back tears and ties her thick hair into a ponytail.

  “I did come to his funeral,” I admit adamantly. It causes her to finally look up at me, and there’s doubt edged into her hues that I want to brush away.

  She never used to doubt me.

  “I didn’t see you.”

  I press my lips together, nodding. “I stood in the back by a patch of maple trees. You were holding your mom as she cried, but you never shed one tear. Like always, you made sure everyone else was taken care of before you let yourself feel.”

  She closes her eyes, stray tears falling from her thick lashes. “Don’t analyze me. You don’t know me anymore.”

  “You’re right,” I agree. “I don’t know you anymore. What I do know is that you’ve always been mature for your age—taking care of your mom when she couldn’t take care of herself or you. What I can’t understand is why you unwrapped yourself from her as soon as his coffin was lowered into the ground and walked away from the service with no emotion on your face. No sadness or grief. Not even relief that the bastard couldn’t hurt you anymore. You held your mother the entire time Pastor Middleton read the eulogy and offered his condolences.”

  I can tell she’s retreating behind her steel barriers, ready to deny everything I say. Her eyes are glazed over like she doesn’t want to hear me. “I had my reasons. My mother and I hadn’t spoken in a long time before then, and that day was only an exception. I was there because I felt I had to be, and when it was over, so was my obligation.”

  She hasn’t spoken to her mother?

  Raking a hand through my hair, I try connecting the pieces. She told me that everything changed when I left, but I never thought of how extensive it would be.

  “I missed out on a lot, huh?” I finally murmur, shoving my hands in my pockets. Craning my head down to look at the ground for a few seconds, I expel a defeated breath. The statement seemed like the understatement of the year, and who was to blame for it? Me. Always me.

  “You have no idea,” she finally whispers.

  Looking at her, I want to ask if she’ll enlighten me, help me understand what it is that she came here for. But I can tell that there’s too much pain.

  “Just tell me one thing,” I bargain, voice cracked. “You came here for a reason, and I want to know what it is. But if it’s too much for you then lets just build up to it. Six years, Opal. I missed so fucking much and I want to catch up. Help me do that.”

  She blinks once, twice, a third time. Silence fills the thick air, and I wonder if she’s considering it or too surprised to come up with a response.

  “One thing?” she repeats hesitantly.

  I nod.

  She straightens her shoulders and takes a deep breath, slowly letting it out as our eyes lock. “Once upon a time I loved you with everything I had,” she admits brokenly. “And as much as I hate it, I still find myself wondering what it would have been like if you’d never ended things. Because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that we could have been the happiest couple—a family—just like you always promised.”

  I want to argue with her, but she won’t let me get a word in. Her hands tighten into shaky fists by her sides. “But we’ll never be a family, Sebastian. Not all of us get the happily ever after we think we deserve.”

  Age 14

  Sweat drips down my forehead after an intense afternoon of basketball tryouts, and it reminds me how much I truly hate the sport. It’s not like basketball isn’t fun, but I only agreed to come to tryouts because a few of my classmates told me it would make or break my high school career.

  High school isn’t anyth
ing like I expected it to be. It’s just a new building with the same classmates and harder homework. Only there’s more pressure to fit in because the cliques that formed in middle school are part of some popularity hierarchy now.

  It’s not that I’m worried about fitting in, but rather about Opal. She’s even more reclusive now than she was in middle school. Besides me, she doesn’t hang out with anyone and being a loner doesn’t seem to go over well with others.

  After cleaning up and changing, I throw my backpack over my shoulder and head outside. Since the walk home isn’t far, I opt to avoid waiting for the late bus. On the way down the sidewalk, I notice Opal with her back against the court yard tree and face buried in a book.

  The image makes me smile, so I change direction and plop down next to her. Hooking her in a tight one-armed hug, she squeals into my side, dropping her book into the grass. I laugh when she playfully shoves me as soon as I let her go.

  My eyes travel to the paperback copy of Fahrenheit 451. Picking it up, my face scrunches up. “You’re actually reading the assignment?”

  She goes to grab it, but I pull it just out of her reach. “Of course I am. We have to read the first fifty pages!”

  I eye her skeptically. “It’s not due until Monday, Opal. You’ll have all weekend to do it. Why don’t you spend your time finding something else to do?”

  She frowns. “Like what?”

  Her genuine confusion causes a little wrinkle to form in between her eyebrows. It’s cute. “Join a club. Do something that you love.”

  She thinks about it, nose twitching. “I don’t know what I love,” she admits quietly.

  My thumb glosses over the book cover. “I think the library has a book club you can join. The English department runs it. You devour the novels in class, so imagine what you’d read for the club.”

  Her eyes light up for a single second before quickly dimming. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  She finally takes her book back, sighing. “I don’t think I’m allowed to. Dad mentioned helping me with his campaign. He said it’d take a lot of time.”

  Her father has been talking about running for mayor for years, but now he’s actually doing it. His chances at winning are high considering he’s the sheriff in town, but that doesn’t mean that everyone likes the guy.

  “He should encourage you to join extracurricular activities,” I reply, brushing my shoulder with hers. We both sit in silence for a second, her staring at the book and me staring at her.

  “Maybe we can talk to hi—”

  “No!” she says quickly, eyes wide. Her panic dissipates instantly. “I mean it’s not necessary to talk to him. Or anyone. Plus, maybe it’ll be fun to work with him on the campaign. He says that it would look good on a college application, especially if I go into business like he suggested.”

  Opal studying business?

  “But is that what you want?” I doubt, knowing anything he suggests is more like a command.

  She shrugs.

  “Hey.” I tug on the book in her hand. “You should do what makes you happy. Wouldn’t your parents want that for you?”

  I don’t know them very well even though I’ve been friends with Opal for three years now. We never hang out at her house because either she makes an excuse, or her mother does. I’ll see them around town occasionally, but they’re always all-business. It’s like being a family is a second job for her Dad.

  “Yeah,” she whispers, “they do.”

  I can hear the disbelief in her tone, and it causes me to frown. Saying that she deserves to be happy is an understatement. I mean, everyone does. I see Opal’s struggles, but I can’t understand them because she won’t let me in.

  I have my suspicions though.

  She stands up and brushes off her pants, stuffing the paperback in her bag. “We should probably go,” she tells me quietly.

  Standing up just a few inches taller than her, I narrow my eyes to study her. She won’t even look at me, but rather at the ground like the freshly chopped grass is more interesting.

  “Opal,” I prod, “did you wait for me?”

  Color creeps across her cheeks and it’s all the answer I need. In fact, I can’t help but let my lips tip up at her reaction. She tries hiding the blush by staring anywhere but me, but the color is too vibrant to ignore.

  “I …” She bites down on her lip. I tip her chin up to meet my eyes. Hers widen like she can’t believe I’m being so direct.

  “You what?” I press teasingly. Tweaking her chin with my fingers causes a darker crimson color to sweep her cheeks.

  “You said that you had tryouts today,” she admits sheepishly. “So, I thought maybe I’d wait for you, but I wasn’t sure how long they’d take. It isn’t that I wouldn’t have waited, but—”

  I laugh at her nervous babble. “Breathe, Opal. I think it’s cute that you wanted to wait for me. You don’t have to explain yourself.”

  Her lips part, then close. After a long moment passes between us, she squeaks out the word, “Cute?”

  My grin widens. “Yeah, cute.” I shrug. “Do you want to walk home or wait for the late bus? Would your parents mind if we walked?”

  She gulps. “Um …” She blinks. “Walking would be nice.”

  She instantly looks down as we begin moving. When our shoulders brush she freezes up and adds more distance between us. When I study her inquisitively, she quickly glances up to my eyes and then back down at her worn-out shoes.

  Playfully, I nudge her arm. “You okay?”

  She stops suddenly.

  “Opal?”

  She sneaks a peek at me. “You said that I’m cute,” she blurts. Then her whole face turns pink and her eyes widen into saucers. “Well, not that I’m cute. But that … um … well …” She blinks, shaking her head. “You said that it’s cute. Not the same thing.”

  She grips her backpack strap tightly in her hands until her knuckles are white.

  “Hey,” I comfort softly. “If I made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. We’re friends, right?”

  She frowns, and I can’t figure out why.

  “Friends,” she whispers. Clearing her throat, she nods once. “Of course we’re friends. I like being your friend, Bash.”

  She says the word “friend” like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. My brows draw in as I try to figure out what to say, but I can’t.

  We keep walking in silence, but there’s a tension between us that makes me uneasy. Every time I glance at her, she narrowly avoids my gaze by staring forward. I want to break the tension somehow but touching her would make things more awkward.

  When our houses come into view, I can’t take it any longer. I stop in front of her, causing her to halt before plowing into me.

  “Talk to me,” I plead.

  “Okay.”

  Okay? That’s all I get?

  “Are we okay?”

  She nods.

  “Words, Opal.”

  She finally meets my eyes, but hers are hooded to keep me out. “Why wouldn’t we be, Bash? We’re friends. That’s what you want, right?”

  Is this a trick question?

  I blink. “Uh … yeah?”

  Her jaw ticks as she pushes some hair behind her ear. “Well, then, we’re fine. Because our friendship is cute.”

  A laugh bubbles out of me when I realize what’s going on. But asking her about what she really wants leaves anxiety spreading through my chest.

  Is friendship all she wants?

  It’s not like I haven’t considered Opal in other ways. I’ve seen changes in her like I’m sure she’s seen in me. Both physical and not. She’s taller, leaner, and I can’t help but notice the way her breasts fill out her shirts now more than ever. We’re both growing up, and it’s hard not to notice.

  “Opal, help me out here.” I give her my best smile once she catches my eyes. “If me saying anything about you is cute upsets you, you need to say something. I can’t read your mind.”
/>
  “It didn’t upset me!” she blasts suddenly. Her shoulders slump. “Friends just shouldn’t call friends cute.”

  I nod once. “You’re right,” I agree, adjusting my backpack on my shoulder. “But what if we weren’t friends?”

  She gapes at me, lips quivering. “You don’t want to be friends anymore?”

  “What? No!” I rake my hands through my hair. Sighing, I decide that ripping off the band aid might be easier. Can’t say it’d be less painful though. “I’m saying … what if we’re more than just friends? I mean, would that be so bad? We’re already friends. We hang out with each other all the time.”

  Silence.

  My hands twitch with nervousness the longer it stretches. She just looks at me like she can’t process what I said. Maybe she didn’t.

  What if she just doesn’t want to date?

  Throat thick, I force out, “I mean it’s just a thought. We don’t have to. If you think it’s a weird idea, then you can just say so.”

  She blinks, breaking her from her stupor.

  Finally, she whispers, “You think dating me would be weird?”

  I curse under my breath. This is harder than I thought it’d be. “No, Opal. I personally don’t think it’d be a weird idea. Like I said, we’re always together anyway. Would it be so bad if we labeled things a little differently?”

  She draws her bottom lip in, suckling it. I can tell she’s thinking about it—about us. It makes me ten times more nervous over what her response will be. What it could be.

  All I can think about is what we could be like as a couple. We already see each other all the time, share secrets, and sometimes even hold hands. Hell, in my book, we are a couple.

  “You want to … to date?” she hashes out in a tiny voice, eyelashes batting in uncertainty.

  I smile. “Yeah.”

  “Me?” she clarifies, pointing to herself.

  I chuckle. “Yes, Opal. I want to date you.”

  She looks away for a moment. “But you’re fifteen,” she says like it matters. She’ll be fifteen soon enough, so why does it matter?