by C. C. Hunter
She stops. “Yes, you do have that right. You have the right to know your mother, too. To be a part of her life if you choose. But don’t think he doesn’t love you.”
“He loves what’s in that bottle on his desk more,” I say.
“No. Alcohol helps him forget, but he doesn’t love it. You are the most important thing in the world to him.”
“He won’t even admit he has a problem,” I bite out.
“I know. He’s got some work to do.” She turns around and pours the steaming brew into the cups.
Thirty minutes later, I’m driving Dad to the hospital. He doesn’t say a word on the drive. I join him in the silence.
The ER is eerily quiet and empty. Not even a spirit. A nurse takes us back immediately. I drop into a chair. Dad sits on the edge of the hospital bed, staring at his folded hands. Five minutes later, waiting for the doctor to come in and without even looking up, Dad says, “I don’t need you here. I can grab an Uber.”
I look at him and remember his own words to me when I was here with Dex. “Maybe you don’t need me, but I need to be here.” I don’t say I love him, because I’m still so mad, but I do love him. And it hurts so damn much.
He looks up and doesn’t say anything, but emotion fills his gaze.
Two hours and ten stitches later, we walk back into the house. I watch him head right for his bedroom.
“You can’t keep doing this, Dad,” I say.
He opens his door but turns around and looks at me. “Maybe you’d be better off living with her.”
I didn’t know a broken heart could keep breaking, but it can.
I slept maybe an hour. I roll out of bed at three a.m. Monday morning, starving, actually craving something green. I guess the body really can’t live on carbs and sugar alone. I sneak downstairs, open a can of vegetable soup, and return to my room. Not wanting to think, I turn on the television. Moonstruck is on. I watched it with Dad years ago. Cher’s arguing with a guy, and she draws her hand back and slaps him. Not once, but twice. I laugh. She yells at him: “Snap out of it.”
The words play again and again in my head. It’s like a message from the universe. I gotta snap out of this.
Falling back on the bed, I stare at the ceiling fan. It’s like a switch is flipped. I’m turned back on. I recall Brandy saying she thinks Hayden likes me. About him not holding her hand since I came to the hospital that night. Isn’t that evidence who he really cares about? But damn, I might have overreacted a little.
Or a lot.
Then I think about Mom. Dad. And the killer who could right now be planning another murder. Burying my head in the sand can’t fix any of it.
Yup. I’m back on. Head’s out, and if I can just get the freaking sand from my eyes, I’ll come up with a plan to deal with things.
Before six, I pull up at Delicious Donuts. Semi-darkness holds the day hostage. I stare out at the building across the street. There are no lights, no visible car parked out front. No sign that says evil took place here, but I still shiver. I don’t know what I’m hoping to learn by coming here, but I’m done doing nothing.
I get out of my car. The sweet smells of donuts and coffee fill my senses the second I walk into the store. I move to the counter and order. J.T. the manager steps over. “You know, if you’re going to be up at this time, you might as well work here.”
I’m able to grin and say thank you when he hands me my order. The same table I claimed the other day—the one facing the street—is free, and I park myself there. I haven’t pulled one donut out before I see Coach Ericson’s car pulling into the drive-through. I turn away before he has a chance to see me.
Only after I’ve downed one donut do I pick up my phone. Now that I’m on, maybe it’s time I turn my phone back on, too. Nope, I haven’t even listened to or read any of my messages from the last few days.
Taking a deep breath, I hear the last thing Hayden said to me Wednesday before I raced off. Riley, let me explain.
Since the thought of never seeing him again hurts all the way down to my toenails, I’m going to hear him explain and I’m going to apologize for behaving like a twit these last few days.
I start with the first voice message. From him.
“Riley, turn around and come back right now. You’ve got it all wrong.”
This must be the message he sent right after I drove off Wednesday.
He continues, “After I met you, I only saw her twice. Once at Jacob’s party that night, and the next day I was looking for Jacob and I went to her house. I was so angry, but I can’t even remember why.”
Ouch. Did Hayden see Jacob and Brandy doing the deed?
“Please turn around! I didn’t mean to make you feel as if I was debating between you two. Even before I remembered us, I knew I cared about you. It felt crazy. Then the second time you came to see me in the hospital, when you walked in, I’d never felt so many emotions in all my life. Please come back.”
His plea sends guilt spilling into my conscience.
I swipe to hear the second voicemail. This one came in around nine Wednesday night.
“Hey… I guess you’re still not talking to me. I just… I could really use a friend. And while I don’t get the reason, my gut says I’m pissed at Jacob, so I can’t call him.”
He pauses. “My sorry-ass stepdad came over. Mom told me to stay in my room, but I couldn’t. I had it out with him. Then he and Mom got into it. It got ugly. I know you have more than enough problems. I just thought if we could talk, I could listen to your problems and you could listen to mine. I’m sorry that I made you feel bad. I really miss you.”
I grip the phone. The hurt in his voice makes me feel like crap. “I miss you, too.”
The allotted time for a recording shuts him off. The dial tone goes dead. He needed me, but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to help him.
Next is a voicemail from Brandy that came in Thursday morning.
“Please don’t tell Hayden or Jacob about anything I said.”
A question hits. Did Hayden remember why he was so mad at Jacob? Has he confronted him? Do Jacob and Brandy think I’m the one who told Hayden? They would, wouldn’t they? Oddly, I don’t know if I care what they believe.
I swipe another voicemail from Hayden, Friday night. “I called Brandy and told her we’re over. Can we talk, Riley? Call me, please.”
He broke up with her. I smile. It’s my first for the last few days.
I go through my other voice messages and texts. There’s nothing from my mom. I think I’m more relieved than disappointed. I have tons more messages and voicemails from Hayden, just asking me to call him, and an equal amount from Kelsey. I’ve really been a bitch.
I set my phone down on the table beside my coffee and look back up across the street. And what I see has my lungs drawing in a sharp breath. It’s the creepy sweatshirt guy. He’s squeezing through the gate that leads to the building where Shane had been kept. Where she was probably killed. Where her body might still be.
I recall clearly reading that murderers like to return to the scene of the crime. It gives them a rush. A dirty, filthy rush. So mad I’m shaking, I pull my phone up and take a few pictures. I keep taking them. He’s now walking down the street. “Shit.”
“Something wrong?” The manager is standing there.
“Do you know him?” I point out the glass front.
“Who?” he asks.
“Him.” I tap the corner of my phone against the glass wall. “The guy walking on the sidewalk across the street.”
He glances up. “No.” He looks back at me. “Is he the one who gave you that black eye? Should I call the police?”
“No,” I say. “You’ve never seen that guy before?”
His gaze lifts again. “Not that I remember. But down the street is a halfway house for ex-cons. He might be part of that group.”
“How far down is the halfway house? Do you know the name of it?”
“I don’t think it has a name. But it�
�s the older house. About a block down on that side. It’s painted light green with red shutters. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you.” My gut says this is important. But how am I going to get this information to the cops?
“You sure he didn’t give you that black eye? If he did—”
“I’m positive. And just so you’ll quit asking, the guy who did this is in jail, and he’s not getting out anytime soon.”
“Well, that does make me feel better.” He barely gets away from the table before my phone dings with a new text.
Hayden: Call me. Please! I got another message from Weddings For Less.
My finger is poised to call him. But suddenly the need to speak to him in person hits. I want to tell him about the guy squeezing through the gate. Then I remember Hayden’s voice message and him saying he needed a friend. I think of my dad problems and my mom problems. Oh, yes, I need a friend, too. Sure, I have Kelsey, but I need Hayden.
I look down at my phone and swipe over to see the photographs again. There’s one that actually shows sweatshirt man’s face. It’s not completely clear, but almost. Am I overreacting? Maybe. But I have the image of him coming out of that gate. Just knowing I’m probably looking at a murderer makes the donut I ate feel like extra-heavy pound cake in my stomach.
It’s six-thirty when I pull up in front of Hayden’s house. I’ll have to leave here in thirty minutes to pick up Kelsey and not be late to school. I look up at the garage and text him. Has your mom left for work?
Hayden: Yes. Why?
I explain I’m outside, grab the bag containing two donuts, and before I get to the door, it opens.
He’s wearing jeans that fit better, as if he’s getting back to his normal weight. A navy T-shirt spreads across his wide chest. His hair is a touch mussed and curls up on the ends. But mostly what I see is his face. A smile widens his mouth and tightens his eyes. He’s happy I’m here. I’m thrilled I’m here. Why the hell have I stayed away?
“Hey.”
“Hi.” I lean in completely, find my spot on his chest, hear the hypnotic thrum of his heart, and breathe in his familiar scent. He’s surprised but wastes no time wrapping his arms around me. I’m suddenly washed in a wave of sweet sensations.
“This feels so good.” His words, echoing my own thoughts, whisper against my temple.
“I know.” Slowly, I pull back. His hands brush up and down my arms as if he’s not ready to let me go.
“I only have thirty minutes,” I say.
“You could skip school.” The hope in his voice makes me consider it.
Then reality hits. “I missed so much last week that they’d probably call my dad, and then all hell would break loose.”
“But you’re coming over after school to take me to physical therapy? Not sending anyone else to do it?”
I know he’s referring to me telling Jacob to take him to his therapy session. Hayden moves inside, and I follow him. After shutting the door, he faces me. Reaching out, he runs a finger down my cheek.
“You okay?”
I hesitate and then blurt out, “My mom called.”
His soft sigh says he knows how hard it was. “You talked to her?”
“No. She left a message.”
“Are you going to call her?” He drops down on the sofa.
My chest grows heavy with unwanted emotions, and I plop down beside him. “Yeah, but… It feels crazy. I feel crazy. I was pissed she hadn’t called, and then when she did, I wasn’t sure I was ready to talk to her. I’m still not sure. Just thinking about it twists my insides.”
“Then wait until you’re ready.” He reaches for my hand and squeezes it.
“And Dad fell while drinking at the funeral home. Ms. Duarte called me to take him to get stitches. When I got there to take him, I realized they’ve been dating and he didn’t even tell me. Why is he doing this?”
The way he’s looking at me, as if he gets everything I’m feeling, has me wanting to lean against him again. Then I remember another reason I came. “Here.” I hand him the bag with two donuts.
“What’s this?”
“Forgive-me donuts.” I inhale. “Don’t get me wrong, I think I had a right to be a little upset. I care about you so much that the thought that you had to debate whether it was me or Brandy you wanted to be with, that hurt. But between my mom and Dad and Dex getting shot, I was in knots. I totally blew things out of proportion. Then I buried my head in the sand. It was wrong.”
“Yes, not to call me was wrong, but…I need to apologize, too. And I have some forgive-me Pop-Tarts if that’s what it takes.” His eyes sparkle with humor.
I chuckle.
“Seriously,” he continues. “I never meant to give you the impression that my figuring-out time was about choosing between you or Brandy. Yes, I had to figure out how to break it off, but it wasn’t about what I felt. When you pulled away after I tried to kiss you, I thought you needed time. And I swear I didn’t ever crawl in Brandy’s bed or see her naked. I wouldn’t do that… I didn’t mean to pop in on you naked. But because you could see me, it didn’t feel perverted. It felt like an accident that was really good.”
I listen and believe him. He continues, “I admit, part of the reason I hesitated about us in the very beginning was because of Jacob. I didn’t want to take his girl.” The smile lingering in his eyes vanishes. “I think I mentioned it on your voicemail, but I was mad at him and didn’t understand why. But last night I remembered. Remembered a lot of shit. And I do mean shit. I think I told you I read something in Brandy’s diary. And to clarify, this was before I met you.”
I nod.
“And I know it was wrong to read someone’s diary, but it had my name in it, and I thought it was going to be good. At that time, I’d only been in the coma a few days and I really needed to feel something positive. But it wasn’t good. She wrote she was in love with Jacob. And now that I was in a coma, she felt like she couldn’t break up with me.
“It hurt, but not that much. Even then, I knew my feelings for her weren’t…that deep, either. But that night at the lake house, the night I saw you and Jacob kiss, well, later, I saw them together. Really together, if you know what I mean.”
Yup, I’m afraid I know exactly what he means.
Before I can say anything, he continues, “That hurts. Not because of Brandy, but Jacob. And from what they said to each other, it wasn’t even the first time. Jacob was my best friend. Or I thought he was. I’m so pissed I don’t know what to say to him.”
He stops talking, but I can still hear his pain.
I try to figure out how to put this, but when I can’t think of a nice way, I just spit it out. “Brandy came to see me Wednesday afternoon when I left here.”
“Why?”
“She saw us hug the day before and—”
“Like she has a right to call me out for hugging you.”
“She wasn’t calling you or me out. She was…hoping I liked you and maybe you liked me so she wouldn’t feel guilty about breaking up with you. And she wanted to kind of use it as the reason to call things off between you two.”
“Instead of being honest about the fact that she slept with Jacob.” Anger laces his words.
“Look, she ended up telling me about her and Jacob. I mean, she thought I already knew because of something I said.”
“You knew and you didn’t tell me?” Now he sounds hurt at me.
“Maybe I should have, but I was upset with you.”
He drops back on the sofa. “You should have told me.”
“I’m sorry.” I wait until I see a hint of forgiveness in his expression before I continue. “She said the first time it happened was before you two dated. You’d met, but you two hadn’t gone out.”
His brows come together. “Now you’re defending her?”
“I’m not. I’m just repeating what she said. But I will say I don’t think this should be the end of your friendship with Jacob. I know I didn’t want to be the reason you two
stopped being friends, and I think Brandy feels the same way.”
“Well, maybe Jacob should’ve thought about that before he slept with my girlfriend.”
“Technically, the first time she wasn’t your girlfriend, and the second time you told me you didn’t consider her your girlfriend. Plus, you were seeing me, so you can’t—”
“Yeah, but we didn’t…” His eyes round. “Did we?”
“No.” I try to pull it back, but a grin peeks through.
“I thought I’d remember that.” A half smile pulls at his lips. Our eyes meet, and I feel the sizzle of attraction. I’d love to revel in it right now, but I don’t have time.
“My point is that your friendship with Jacob means more than what you had with Brandy.”
“But the second time Jacob or Brandy didn’t know we weren’t together.”
“True, but…”
“But what?” His shoulders tighten again, and he drops my hand.
“No one believed…” I swallow. “You were going to wake up. Except your mom.” That was hard to say.
“And you,” he says, not taking it badly.
“And me.” I smile.
“You’re right, but it was still wrong. Friends don’t do that.”
“I know, but…”
“And I’m so pissed.” He inhales. “Or maybe what I feel about the piece-of-shit stepdad for cheating is rubbing off on Jacob. You should have heard my stepdad. He acted like his sleeping around was my mom’s fault. Said she was more devoted to me than she was him. I wanted to hit him. God, I wanted to hit him.”
I see his anger in his posture again. “That would have only made it worse.”
“I know. It’s just so hard. And feeling this makes me… I start remembering my dad, and it’s almost as if I start grieving for him all over again.”
I reach for his hand and squeeze. “I’m sorry.”
He looks at me, and his frown lessens. “Why does just telling you about it make me feel better?”
“I don’t know, but I feel the same.”
He looks down at our hands, fingers laced, palms touching, and I remember that he stopped holding Brandy’s hand. That feels so good. “Thank you for coming here this morning.”