“Yeah.” I look at my meager lunch. “I just haven’t been superhungry….”
He meets my eye and nods just slightly. “I remember that feeling. Sucks.”
I look down at my hands. “Yeah, it does.”
“It’s easier if you try things that actually taste good.” He takes the cookie from his tray. “Here. Have this.”
“I’m not taking your cookie, Ty. That’s the only thing you have that looks halfway decent.”
He smirks. “That’s the point, Butler. Eat it. I can get another one.”
I unwrap it and take a bite. It’s chewy and chocolatey, but most notably, it doesn’t turn to ash in my mouth. “Thanks.”
He pulls at his sleeve. “How’s she doing after the surgery? Is it okay to ask?”
My stomach tightens. “She’s hanging in there.”
“And how are you?”
My body tenses.
“What, I can’t ask about you?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t have to be so tough, Hads. I’m sort of…worried about you. You seem far away. Are you talking to anybody?” He looks down at his tray. “How’s Roberts been with everything?”
“I’m fine, Ty. He’s been great.”
He gives me a look.
“You don’t think Braden could be great about this?”
“Not really.”
“Ty!”
He shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant. I just meant that you, I don’t know, you don’t seem fine. And if I’m being honest, no, I don’t really think Mr. Perfect All-American could get this.”
Reflexively, I object, “He doesn’t have a perfect life; his parents are basically never around. I’ve only met them, like, a handful of times—” Then I stop short, because his parents are just working. They aren’t gone like Tyler’s mom. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
“It’s fine.”
I exhale loudly. “Honestly, I don’t know how to talk about this with you, Ty.”
“What? Why?”
“Because,” I say meaningfully, hoping he’ll fill in the blanks.
I watch understanding cross his face. “Because I lost my mom?”
“Well, yeah. Because of course I know you’d understand how I’m feeling, probably better than anyone, but I can’t complain about my mom being sick when…”
“When…?”
“When I’m sure you’d love to have that problem.”
He takes a deep breath. “I’m not comparing your situation to mine, Hadley. I’m just trying to be here for you. We’re friends. Friends don’t keep score. Not about the things that matter anyway.”
“Well…maybe I am a shitty friend. Maybe I do keep score.”
He frowns.
I sigh. “Sorry.”
“Hadley, I would never expect you to just be okay with all this, just because something different happened to me.”
“Something harder. Worse.”
Amusement fills his eyes. “Maybe you are a shitty friend.” Then his face goes more serious. “Hads, I’m sorry. I really wasn’t trying to take a dig at your boyfriend. I just want you to know that I’m here. That I’m having seventh-grade-nurse-Trisha flashbacks.” His tone is light. “And if you want to talk to somebody who might, I don’t know, understand how this shit takes over your life, I’m here. But no pressure.”
I look at his face, earnest and kind, and suddenly feel like maybe he has a point.
“There actually is something”—I lean in—“I feel…helpless. I keep trying to do something, but everything I try either makes no difference or kind of makes it worse.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean. The other day my dad caught me trying to set up a dating profile for him, and he was…not thrilled.”
I can’t help but let out a little laugh before continuing, “She’s starting chemo this week, and not everybody loses their hair, but I think if she does, I’m going to shave mine too.”
His eyes light up. “Really?”
“It wouldn’t help anything, not really. But I feel like it would show her that she’s not alone, you know?” I pause. “Do you think that’s stupid?”
“Are you kidding? I think that’s so badass.”
For the first time in what feels like forever, my smile starts from a deeply content place in my chest—something close to pride. “Don’t tell anybody. I don’t want Becca or Braden to try to talk me out of it.”
“You think Braden would try to talk you out of it?”
“Oh, come on, Ty. No guy wants their girlfriend to shave her head.”
“But your hair is always hiding your face.”
I look at him, surprised, and we’re quiet for a moment. “Just don’t tell anybody. I might chicken out, anyway.”
“You definitely don’t have to do it. But if you did, it would be cool.”
“Becca would freak.”
“Yeah, you’d definitely have to let me be there when she saw.”
I laugh.
“Either way, Hads, whatever you do might not actually cure cancer—which, by the way, is the only thing that would directly help—but it wouldn’t go unnoticed.”
“You think my mom notices?”
“Are you kidding? Definitely.”
With him looking at me like that, I feel understood in a way that’s different from anybody else. It isn’t really what he’s saying, but that he isn’t afraid of talking about the uncomfortable details. He’s not flinching or insisting everything will be okay; he’s just here.
“Thanks, Ty.” I clear my throat. “And…maybe this is weird to say right now, but I’m sorry that you lost your mom.”
“Hadley—”
“Just let me. I haven’t really said it since seventh grade. And I’m sorry for that too. I don’t think I knew how to talk about it…how to bring it up. Other than on birthdays and anniversaries and stuff, I mean, because then I know you’re already thinking about it. But I didn’t want to upset you or make you go there if you were having a good day or something.” His light brown eyes look especially golden today. “But I do. Think about it. I never forget, even if I don’t say anything. Even if I can’t totally understand.”
The words fall so far short of what I want to say. But there really aren’t words for the ache in my stomach, knowing my friend had to hurt like that. And I am sorry, because I’ve envisioned what it would be like to live a motherless life a million times, and just the thought of it paralyzes me. He’s lived with that reality for almost four years.
“Thanks, Hads. I know, though.”
“Good. It’s important to me.” I pause. “Can I ask you a question about it?”
His brows come together. “Of course.”
“When did you…” I’m not sure how to phrase it. “When did you feel like you got through it? Like, did you have a moment when you felt like things could be normal again?”
He moves his fork around in the mashed potatoes. “I still kind of feel like I am…getting through it. It doesn’t really have a finish line, you know?”
I nod.
“Sorry. That’s probably not the answer you were looking for.”
“No, it’s the truth. That’s all I wanted.”
He shrugs. “You can ask me anything. But we don’t have to talk about all this right now. I just wanted to offer up my shoulder, or whatever.”
“It’s a good shoulder,” I answer, and he smiles. “Thank you, Tyler.”
“Anytime.” He looks up at my face. “Don’t go telling Greg or anything, but you’re kind of my best friend. Got to look out for you.”
“You can have more than one best friend. There isn’t a limit or anything.”
“Maybe.” His eyes meet mine. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask. Didn’t Great Lakes release the
portfolio theme? For the application, I mean.”
I feel another sharp pang of guilt. He really is a way better friend than I am. “Yeah, actually. It’s something like ‘Choose twenty images on a theme that has deeply impacted your life.’ ”
“Got any ideas?”
“Not yet. Thank god I have until September for the early deadline.”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something great.”
“Yeah, ’cause I’m feeling real creative lately.”
“I wouldn’t bet against you, Butler. I think sometimes the best art comes out of difficult times.”
“Yeah?”
“Definitely. Basically all my favorite music is about people going through shitty situations. Maybe because something like that reminds you what’s important. Don’t get me wrong, it just plain sucks most of the time. But occasionally…I don’t know. You get perspective. For me, loss reminds me that I need to…What’s that expression? The Latin version of YOLO?”
“Carpe diem?”
“Yeah, exactly. That kind of thing. Seize the day and all that.” He looks at me for a beat before he adds, “I guess what I mean is, look for the good. You’ll find some. Nothing is a hundred percent bad, not even the worst thing. And maybe you can use that.”
Knowing that he speaks from experience, I can’t help but take comfort in Tyler’s words. “Okay. Maybe I can.”
I wake up to my phone buzzing. Groggy, I reach for it. But it’s not my alarm.
“Braden? What time is it?” My voice is raspy, the only sound in the silent house.
“Hadley. I need your help.”
When I sit up, sleep slides right off me. “What? What’s wrong? Where are you?”
“Outside.” He hangs up before I can ask anything else.
Outside? I wonder. Like outside my house? What the hell is going on?
Heart racing, I shoot out of bed, throw a robe over my pajamas, and quickly pad down the stairs. The spring air is mild, but fear strips my skin of warmth, making me shiver—until I turn and see Braden’s car, parked crookedly across my parents’ driveway, and I go numb to everything but him.
In the moonlight, his hair and skin glow a faint blue, and he paces back and forth. His face is tense, his body hunched.
“Braden?” I whisper.
He jumps. “Hadley.”
“Are you all right? What’s going on?”
He rushes over and wraps himself tightly around me. His shirt beneath his jacket is damp. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“Have you been drinking?” There’s no denying that smell.
He takes a step backward, anger flashing across his face. “That’s what you’re worried about right now?”
“What?” I look at him incredulously. “Yeah, of course I care if you were drinking before you drove here. Something could have happened, and nobody would have even known where you—”
“Shit.” He shoves a frustrated hand through his hair. “I know. You’re right. I’m sorry. That was so stupid.”
“Braden, you’re scaring me. What happened?”
He starts to pace again. “I’m out of meds. And my shoulder is killing me. And I—I don’t know. I thought a drink might help, but it didn’t do shit. And I can’t sleep. I feel…” He turns and puts a hand on his chest, his face twisting in pain. “I don’t know.”
“When did you run out?”
He moves up and down the driveway, talking quickly. “Yesterday morning. And it was supposed to be okay. Slight discomfort, they said. And I have an appointment with a sports medicine doctor tomorrow. A specialist. But I—I don’t think I’m fine, Hadley.” He looks scared as he moves toward me. “And the only thing that made me feel like I wasn’t going to rip my skin off was being with you.” He’s looking at me like he’s desperate for my understanding. When he takes hold of my arms, his fingers are trembling. “Can I, please…can I just come inside?”
It’s basically the worst time to be sneaking him into the house. Mom did her first round of chemo this week, and she’s exhausted and scared. We all are. But face to face with the fear in Braden’s eyes, I find it hard to be reasonable.
I nod to the door. “Of course. But we have to be superquiet, okay?”
For the first time since he got here, his body relaxes. “Thank you.”
* * *
Thump.
We’re barely two steps inside before Braden trips over one of Judd’s sneakers. The shoes clunk together, and his hand knocks against the wall as he catches himself. I give him a sharp look, and he mouths Sorry.
We freeze, listening for anyone stirring.
A handful of heartbeats later, we seem to be in the clear.
I take Braden’s hand and carefully lead him into the basement. When the door clicks closed, I exhale in relief. We descend the stairs in silence.
Only half-finished and decorated with the most beat-up furniture in the house, the basement isn’t exactly the ideal place to hang out. “Didn’t want to go to your room?” Braden asks quietly, looking around.
“This is farther away from all the bedrooms, and I don’t want to wake anyone up. Plus, I thought it would be easier, when you have to leave. Remy sneaks in and out of that window every summer.”
Braden collapses into the couch, looking exhausted. “I’m so sorry, Hadley.”
“It’s all right.” I sit next to him. “But I don’t understand what happened. I know those meds were making you feel a little weird, but I guess I didn’t realize…”
He runs his hands roughly through his hair. “The second prescription was stronger. And it didn’t really happen until I ran out, and then it hit me hard.”
“What exactly is wrong?”
Braden leans forward, elbows on his knees. His voice is strained. “I feel sick. And like I can’t sit still. Like everything’s racing.”
“What can I do?” I ask, rubbing circles on his back.
He shakes his head without looking up. And then I feel his breath catch. And another hesitant, jerky inhale.
Then I realize, he’s crying. I’ve never seen him cry before.
Everything in me jumps to attention. “Oh, Brade, it’s going be okay. It’s all going to be okay.” I move my hand back and forth. “You’ll go see that doctor, and they’ll sort it out. Just tell them what happened. And I can go with you, if you want.” He said the only thing he wanted was to be with me, but I have no idea how to fix this.
He sits up and angrily rubs at his face. Then he turns to me. “I’m scared, Hadley.” Emotion catches in his throat. I know it cost him something to admit it. “Swimming…It’s the only thing I’ve ever really done. The only thing I’m any good at. And the medicine, it’s helping.”
I scoot closer. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
His brows knit together. “I thought so. But I don’t know.” He pauses, looking at his hands. “I think it might be, like, fucking me up. I don’t think it’s supposed to be so hard. Going off it.”
“They said it would be uncomfortable.”
“Yeah…” He shakes his head. “But I’m used to uncomfortable, Had. You know that. I push through every practice, every meet. None of that is a big deal. But this…this is worse.”
“Maybe it’s different for different people. Or maybe they were downplaying it? Trying not to freak you out?”
In the semidarkness, his face looks ghostly white. “Well, it didn’t work.”
I open my mouth to say something placating, but he shakes his head again and stands.
“You don’t get it.” He moves back and forth in front of the couch, tension tying him in knots. “Tonight, not having my meds…It’s not just my shoulder that hurts, it’s my whole body.” He can hardly get it out quickly enough, the words climbing on top of one another. “And I try to breathe deeply, like in the
pool, but nothing works, and I want to go fucking apeshit. But I can’t. And I can’t sit still either. And before I knew it, I was here.”
He sits back down. His throat bobs as he takes my face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs across my cheeks. “I’m supposed to be a rock for you right now.” The words stumble over his emotion. “And I’m fucking it all up.”
“Braden, no.” And that’s when I realize I might be able to help. “Look at me.” We sit up, and I wipe at his face. “You feel like that right now? The way you described?”
He nods.
“And when’s your appointment again?”
“Tomorrow.”
“So you just have to make it through tonight?”
“I know, it sounds soon. But it doesn’t feel—”
“No, I get it. I have an idea. I’ll be right back.”
As quickly and quietly as I can, I move through the house to the kitchen. When I spot the orange tube—in the corner cabinet in the kitchen, exactly where Dad left it—I snap a quick picture of the label. I unscrew the bottle and slip a single pill into my pocket. Then I think of Braden’s pale, tear-soaked face and take a couple more. A little prickle of guilt runs through me, but Mom did say she wasn’t going to take them.
Less than five minutes later, I’m safely back in the basement.
I hand him my phone. “Is this what the doctor gave you?”
“What? What is that?”
“My mom’s.”
“What? Hadley, no. I’m not taking that.”
“Well, she isn’t either. You heard her yourself the other day. She doesn’t want it.” I tell myself as much as him. “I thought maybe it was the same thing you had.”
“How did you even get that?”
“They’re literally sitting untouched.”
He gives me a questioning look and then studies the picture again. “It is the same. Hers is just a higher dose.”
“Well, do you think it would help? Just for tonight, a Band-Aid. And then you can get everything sorted out at your appointment tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I mean, it would help, but are you sure that’s okay?”
Coming Up for Air Page 16