Promise Me Nothing (Hermosa Beach Book 1)

by Jillian Liota

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Wyatt

  It’s two whole weeks before I see her again. Ben told me to give it everything I had – getting her back – but I think some of giving everything means I have to fight against my normal response of putting myself in her space, instead choosing to respect what she wants.

  And right now, she doesn’t want to see me.

  Which is why I’m so glad that she’s here today. In a space that we’re both allowed to inhabit.

  I mean, you can’t kick someone out of a hospital, right?

  We’re meeting with Dr. Lyons today. Me, mom, Ivy, Ben, and Hannah.

  Lucas was invited, but he said he didn’t want to intrude since Ivy still doesn’t know he’s her brother, so he’s waiting in the car to take Hannah home whenever we’re done.

  I told him to let me drive her home.

  He told me to fuck off and that he’s working on his own relationship with her and I should find my own time.

  Prick.

  But I get where he’s coming from, to some degree. I wouldn’t let anyone else take away my time with Hannah if she was willing to grant even a few minutes my way.

  Right now, she won’t even look at me. She’s sitting in the corner of the waiting room, signing with Ivy. Smiling and laughing.

  Hannah has always been incredibly kind and loving to my sister. More than most people. But I can see the shift, now that she knows Ivy is her sister, too.

  There’s more love in her eyes.

  “Hello everyone,” Dr. Lyons says, my attention fracturing and heading in her direction as she approaches us.

  Then she looks at Ivy.

  Ready to come back?

  Ivy nods, though that lighthearted happiness she’d had on her face when talking with Hannah quickly dims.

  Once we’re in Dr. Lyons’ office, she closes the door and takes a seat behind her desk.

  “A full room today,” she teases, her hands moving as she speaks. Then she looks at Ivy. You have so many fans.

  Ivy giggles.

  “The big difference today is that we’ve brought Hannah with us. She’s Ivy’s biological sister and is willing to be tested for a bone marrow transplant.”

  Ivy slips her hand into Hannah’s, looking up at her with affection. When we told her about Hannah, she hadn’t cared about the logistics or the web of relationships and family. She’d been through the roof. Over the moon excited.

  My mom had been… understandably icy when she realized the girl I’d been dating was Henry’s daughter, a representative of the family that he wouldn’t leave to spend time with Ivy.

  But my mom knows how to be the plastic politician when it suits her, so we luckily haven’t faced any negative setbacks, because she’s keeping her mouth shut.

  “How wonderful,” Dr. Lyons says, a smile stretching on her face. “We can do blood tests today, if you’re up for it?”

  Hannah nods. “Absolutely.”

  Dr. Lyons then launches into a brief but detailed explanation of testing, and what they’re looking for in a match.

  “You’ll have a twenty-five percent chance of having the same HLA as both parents, which is what we’re looking for in donors for bone marrow.”

  Hannah’s brow furrows. “We don’t have the same mom. Does that impact our percentage.”

  There’s a pause from Doctor Lyons.

  “I apologize, I assumed you were a full sibling with Ivy. The current protocol for HLA matching is for identical sets only.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask, sitting forward on my seat. “You told me a blood relative would be Ivy’s best option for bone marrow. I brought you a blood relative.”

  I can feel Hannah bristling next to me, but I can’t focus on her right now.

  “Yes, but the likelihood of Hannah’s HLA matching Ivy’s is significantly lowered because they’re not full siblings. We can still do the blood work to see if she’s a match, but the likelihood has dropped from twenty-five percent to closer to five percent that she’ll be a person who can donate.”

  A long, painful breath leaves my chest and I slump back in my seat. I can feel the ripple going through the room. My mom’s back goes rigid. Ben’s looking out the window. Hannah looks on the verge of tears.

  Ivy looks around confused, seeming to have only understood part of the information.

  Don’t worry, I say. Even if Hannah isn’t a match, we’ll keep looking for one.

  Then I lock eyes with Hannah over Ivy’s head. I’m so saddened by this news, and it’s taking everything inside of me to stay calm for my sister so that I don’t flip a table or storm out.

  It feels like this means I did all of this for nothing. Hannah coming here and getting hurt, raising the hopes of my entire family… it’s all a wash.

  Hannah stands to leave and go get her blood work done, but drops in front of Ivy and squeezes her hands.

  Even if they say our bone marrow doesn’t match, I’m still so glad I get to be your sister.

  Ivy slides her hands around Hannah’s neck, and the two embrace. It’s an emotional moment. Something beautiful between the two of them that not even sickness can touch.

  Hannah leaves to get her blood drawn, Ivy going with her for her own follow up tests, and I feel like the only light left in all of this is about to get extinguished.

  “I’m sorry for the confusion,” Dr. Lyons says, speaking to my mom and I, since Ben still looks checked out as he stares out the window. “But we will hope for the best with Hannah, and continue searching for a matching donor in the meantime.”

  Dr. Lyons asks more questions that my mom and I answer, about Ivy’s energy levels, whether or not she’s caught any colds since our last visit, but it’s all a blur. And before I know it, we’ve collected Ivy from the lab and we’re headed out to the front to go home.

  “You guys go on,” I say, tucking my hands in my pockets and slowing my walk as we reach the front doors. “I don’t want to leave Hannah in there by herself.”

  Ben gives me a half-hearted smile and Ivy throws herself into a big hug. My mom barely looks at me, just shoving her car keys in Ben’s hand and heading out of the automatic doors that lead to the parking lot.

  I turn back and return to the lab, taking a seat in the little waiting area.

  There’s a part of me that wonders if the best thing I could do would be to head off to London. Just get the hell out of here and do my best to help from afar.

  Even the idea of that makes my skin crawl. The old Wyatt would have done that. Would have run off and avoided and fled. He really was a coward, trying to avoid the difficulties and emotions and hard jabs that life throws out when you least expect it.

  But the new me can’t do it.

  Funny. I didn’t even realize there was a new me.

  I’m still trying to decide if I like who I am right now.

  When the doors open and Hannah appears, she looks exhausted, and I can tell she’s been crying.

  But her walls come up the minute she sees me. Her shoulders go back and she lifts her jaw. Then she walks right past me and outside.

  I follow.

  “Go away, Wyatt. I’m only here for Ivy.”

  “I know, I just… didn’t want you to be alone in there.”

  She spins around, looking at the handful of people scattered outside the hospital.

  “Where’s Ivy?”

  “They went home.”

  She crosses her arms.

  “So you’re saying you need a ride?”

  I pause, realizing I’m obligating her to spend time with me. But ultimately, I nod.

  She huffs and storms off into the parking lot, towards where Lucas’ car is parked in the distance.

  Instead of following this time, I wait at the curb. I’ll go with them if they decide it’s okay. If not, I’ll Uber. Even if it costs two hundred bucks.

  Surprisingly, a few minutes later, Lucas pulls up next to me, and I climb into the backseat.

  “Thanks.”

  Hannah s
norts. “If it was up to me, we’d leave you here. Lucas is the one who wanted to give you a ride.”

  I can hear Lucas rolling his eyes as he says, “That’s not at all how the conversation went, but okay, we’ll go with your version.”

  And then we pull out of the parking lot and head in the direction of home.

  "Hannah can I talk to you for a minute?”

  My question is met with the back of Hannah’s head as she walks into the house.

  “She hasn’t forgiven me either,” Lucas says, tucking his sunglasses into his collar. “And I’ll be honest, I don’t know if she’ll ever forget what happened.”

  I sigh.

  The ache in my chest continues to grow.

  I should be focusing on my sister.

  On my family.

  On figuring out what else I can do to help Ivy now that our one little light has been all but extinguished.

  But the constant on my mind right now is Hannah.

  I’m in love with her and she won’t talk to me. Can barely look at me. And the worst part is that I know I completely deserve it.

  “I’d argue to give her more time, but I didn’t give her any and she at least looks at me.” He shrugs. “Maybe get in her face a little more. Make her listen to you?”

  I shake my head. “People in her life have been taking away her choices since she was a kid. I can’t do that to her now.”

  To say I’m surprised when my father shows up at the guest house garage the following morning is the understatement of the century.

  I’m punching the shit out of my kickboxing bag, trying to exhaust myself and get out all of the pent up emotions that I don’t seem to be managing well. And suddenly, Calvin Calloway comes walking around the corner, wearing that same kind of fancy ass suit and tie combo I saw him in at the yacht club.

  As much as I hate to admit it, he cares about his image just as much if not more than mom.

  I guess they’re both plastic.

  “What do you want?” I ask, gritting my jaw and refusing to break my concentration from the bag in front of me. What I’d really like to say is unless it’s an emergency, get the fuck out. But I don’t add that part, even though it’s taking everything in me to keep my mouth shut.

  “You haven’t been answering my calls,” he says, his voice like nails on a chalkboard.

  I hate how he sounds when he speaks. So many people think the patriarch of the Calloway family is charming, handsome, charitable and kind.

  If only they knew who he really was underneath that mask he likes to wear.

  “Usually when someone doesn’t answer your calls, it’s because they don’t want to talk to you.” I keep my voice flat, disinterested. It’s the only way I know how to communicate to him just how little I want him here.

  But he chuckles instead, the sound testing my nerves.

  “Whether you want to talk to me or not isn’t really a concern of mine,” he replies. “I don’t know when over the course of your entire life you’ve been led to believe that you get to pick and choose if you want to talk to me. But if that has somehow been communicated, let me help clear that up right now.”

  There’s a pause, and I know he’s building up the theatrics.

  “You. Will. Answer. When. I. Call.”

  I turn to face him, my chest heaving with the exertion of pummeling my fists into the bag. Resting my gloved hands on my hips, I glare at him.

  “Get. To. The. Point.”

  He smirks. “Such hostility, Wyatt. I thought you would have gotten that temper under control while you were off fucking your way through San Francisco.”

  “Well, clearly my horrible character flaws were nurture, not nature, then, huh?”

  At that, he laughs. Actually laughs, his hands falling by his side and his head tilting back.

  “Ah, Wyatt. You’ve always been my favorite, you know? You’re a lot like I was when I was younger. So intense. So full of emotion. Once you learn to stop letting that emotion get the best of you, you’ll be able to accomplish so much more.”

  “Yeah, well, the last thing I ever want to be is anything like you, so I’ll happily hold onto my emotions instead.”

  He licks his lips, and for a split second – a modicum of a moment – I think I’ve said something that actually hit the intended target.

  But his expression changes so quickly, I can’t tell.

  “Calloway Foundation is christening a new building that will house a local adoption organization,” he says, taking a few steps around the garage workout space, examining the different machinery and toeing the medicine ball so it rolls a little bit off to the side.

  “I couldn’t care less about what Calloway Foundation is doing,” I respond, not liking the way he peruses everything.

  “I don’t remember asking for your opinion,” he says, rounding his way back to the garage door that’s open to the street, his voice as calm as I’ve ever heard it. He tucks his hands into his pockets. “You’ll be expected to attend, give a little speech, share your own adoption experience and how much it… benefited your life.”

  “Not a chance in hell.”

  His head tilts to the side as he assesses me. “Are you telling me no?” he asks, and I do hear a hint of surprise in his voice.

  I can’t remember the last time I told him no. I might have always been the rebellious one, but I’ve always shown up where he told me to be, even if I did it gritting my teeth.

  But this time? I’m not having it.

  I have so many more important things in my life right now, so many other things going on that need my time and attention. I don’t plan on giving any of that to a man who treats our family like we’re expendable.

  “I’m telling you no.”

  And it feels good, a kind of pressure lifting off my chest that I’ve never realized was there.

  “Well, that’s not really an option for you,” he says, and I spin away, rip my gloves off my hands.

  “Just as a reminder, in case you’ve forgotten. I’m a fucking adult. You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.” Even just saying those words makes me feel like a little kid, like an immature brat screaming I don’t wanna. But I mean them exactly as they sound.

  There’s a pause, a heavy one, and I can almost hear my dad shift in that silence. His mind changes course, decides on a new route to get what he wants.

  “I’ve been hearing quite the interesting little rumors floating around town,” he says, and I feel like I’ve been doused with cold water. “Something about Ivy’s trashy father having another daughter in town.”

  I stop moving. Nearly stop breathing. Then I turn around and glare at my father, knowing that whatever is about to come out of his mouth is going to make me want to launch across this room and extract years of anger out on his worthless body.

  “Ah. Now I have your attention,” he says, crossing his arms, one lifting up to scratch at his chin, like he’s some kind of evil dictator thinking over his plans. “Tell me. Is it that blonde I’ve been seeing around town. The one working at Bennie’s and living with Lucas?”

  I feel my stomach tilt.

  He knows exactly who she is.

  My father is a fucking shark. He wouldn’t have come here and made a comment like that without having done his own research. Hell, his report on Hannah is probably more thorough than the one currently sitting in my office.

  He just shakes his head. “You know, Wyatt, this whole thing is quite a little scandal. And I’m certain that the best way to deal with it is to…” he pauses. Smiles at me. “… deal with the trash?”

  “Shut your fucking mouth,” I bite out.

  He grins at me, something insidious weaving its way through his expression.

  “Don’t tell me you actually care about her. Hannah, right? Is she the one who has been spending time in your bed recently?” He tsks at me, a repetitive little sound that echoes in the small space. “She’s not like the other girls you’ve fucked, though I’m assuming her cunt was nice a
nd tight.”

  In a flash, I’m across the room, faster than I even realize it’s happening, my fist connecting with his face.

  My father has done and said some truly horrible things throughout the years. Things that have ruined the lives of people I went to school with, that have put my mother in embarrassing positions. He’s chalked my brother up as a lost cause and barely even talks to Ivy. And that doesn’t even include the things he’s said and done to me.

  But this.

  This is the time that I can’t hold back.

  Because of Hannah.

  I’m a little surprised at my own aggression, my own baser instinct to protect her from the sinister nature in Calvin’s bones.

  He lays on the ground on his side, spits blood out onto the floor, and I shake out my hand.

  I might have wanted to deck him for decades, but I never realized it would fuck with my own fist so much.

  Assessing the situation, I know instinctively it was still worth it.

  “Don’t you ever talk about Hannah like that, you worthless piece of horseshit,” I say as I stand over him.

  He spits out another bit of blood, then raises himself back up to standing. His hand comes up to touch at the spot where I’ve split his lip.

  “Quite the punch you’ve learned to pack in that fist, son,” he says.

  “Say one more thing about Hannah, and I won’t hesitate to level you again.”

  “Oh, come on now. Don’t think for a second that your threats mean anything to me.”

  My nostrils flare.

  I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this type of rage before. Just the absolute, sheer arrogance in the way he talks. As if what he says is a decree that no one is allowed to confront.

  Well, that’s not the type of life I’ve signed up for.

  “I don’t know if you’ve picked up on this or not, but I’m done heeling at the sound of your voice. I’m not a dog you can command. I don’t need your money or your connections, and I definitely don’t plan to help you in your endless endeavor to get more.”

  My father unbuttons his jacket, slowly slides it from his shoulders, then holds it over an arm while he dusts off the bit of dirt he collected while he was on the floor, not looking at me as he continues to speak.