by Kelli Warner
Cade kneels beside me, his hand brushing my windblown hair away from my face so that he can peer into my eyes for some sort of understanding. I turn away, my hair slipping through his fingers and falling forward to shroud the view between us.
“You said a drunk driver hit your mom. There’s no way that could have been your fault. You didn’t do anything.”
I shrink in on myself as his words form tiny bullets that lodge deep in the fibers of my heart. “You’re right, I didn’t,” I say, twisting my watchband back and forth. “I didn’t do the one thing I should have done. And that’s why she died.”
“Wait. What?” His forehead creases, as if he’s trying to solve an equation without all of the information.
He doesn’t understand. Because how could anyone possibly comprehend how a daughter could be so selfish, so wrapped up in herself that she would make a decision that would cost her mother her life? If I could cry right now, I would, but the tears still refuse to come. Maybe that’s my punishment, that I will carry the burden of this white-hot guilt inside me for the rest of my life, deep in the essence of my soul, as eternal penance for my sins. It doesn’t quite seem like enough.
“C’mon.” Cade reaches for my hand, but I pull back, quickly standing and turning away. I can’t have him this close. There is comfort in his touch, and I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve to be in the arms of this incredible guy that I just seem to keep hurting. “Talk to me. Why do you blame yourself?”
The waves bash against the jetty with measured force, stabbing down onto the large, jagged rocks and mirroring the sensation churning inside me. “I’m a terrible person.”
Cade’s warm hands are on my shoulders, and he gently turns me around to face him. “No, you’re not.” Concerned eyes swallow me up, and I want to fall into him, beg him to hold me just one more time and forget everything that’s happened in the last three months. Instead, I pull back the lid on my secrets. He deserves to know the truth.
“My mom shouldn’t have been on the road so late that night. We were at our ballet studio, and she was helping me prepare for a big audition. It could have been my big break. Mom was so excited for me.” I pause, attempting to swallow the memories that feel like cotton in my mouth. “Did I tell you that my mom danced professionally for about ten years?” Cade shakes his head. “She’d loved it, and she wanted me to have that experience.” I close my eyes for longer than a blink. “I wanted it, too.”
Cade takes one of my shaking hands and holds it in both of his. This time, I let him, because this might be the last time he has any desire to touch me. And the thought of that—of losing him for good—shatters me from the inside out.
“I was under a lot of pressure,” I manage. “The ballet company that I was auditioning for rarely considers offering apprenticeships to dancers my age. The audition was just a couple of weeks away, and we’d been working so hard.” My mind catapults back, rewinding the months until I am right back in the studio that night with Mom. The room unfolds around me in vivid detail, so clearly that it draws a sharp, unsettled breath from my lungs. Mom stands in front of the mirror, showing me an eight-step combination. She is as graceful as ever, vibrant and beautiful in her movements, talent pouring from each limb. I loved to watch her dance.
I shake my head and clear my throat, releasing the memory before I’m utterly lost in it. “Mom was choreographing my audition piece, and she wanted it to be unforgettable. She was a stickler for perfection. But we’d been at it for hours, and I was so tired.”
Cade squeezes my hand.
“She wasn’t happy with the end of the dance; something was off.” I cast my gaze upward, blinking against the patchwork of cottony clouds in the bright afternoon sky. “I wanted to go home. I had a math test I needed to study for, but she said we had to get it right, that there was so much riding on this audition.” My eyes settle on the middle of Cade’s chest. “Every muscle in my body was exhausted, and I didn’t want to continue. Finally, Mom told me to go home and she’d stay and finish up on her own. There were a couple more changes she wanted to work on.”
I force my eyes to meet Cade’s, and I search them for a spark of realization. But all I find in his face is more confusion.
“I still don’t see how any of it is your fault.”
“Don’t you get it?” I cry out. “I left her! I went home, and she stayed to work on my audition piece. She stayed to make sure everything was perfect for me. I should have made her come with me. I should have told her not to worry about it, that we could work on it the next day.” My voice rises. “If I’d made her leave with me, she wouldn’t have been on the road, and she wouldn’t be—”
His arms are around me in an instant, constricting me in a fierce hug as I struggle to get free. I don’t deserve his comfort. I need him to yell at me for being a stupid, selfish girl.
“It isn’t your fault,” he breathes in my ear, but I shove his chest with my palms to force distance between us.
“It is my fault! I wasn’t thinking about her. I was only thinking of myself. If I hadn’t been so wrapped up in what I wanted—this never would have happened!” Cade takes a step toward me, but I take two steps backward.
“That’s what moms do, Paige. They do what’s best for their kids. She probably wouldn’t have gone home with you, no matter how much you begged.”
“Then I should have stayed with her. At least then she—” The harsh, unavoidable words fizzle into oblivion.
“She wouldn’t have died alone.” Cade sighs as my face crumples. Now, he knows everything, and my shame is exposed. “Is that why you don’t dance anymore?”
Nearly drowning in disgrace, I cup my elbows to hold myself together. “I can’t. Every time I walk into a dance studio, I fall apart.”
I brace myself for Cade’s reaction. I’m expecting revulsion, disgust, or at the very least disappointment. But that’s not what I get from him. Not even close.
“Come on, Paige, that’s ridiculous,” he says softly.
Surprise sprouts inside me, and at first, I’m struck dumb by his response. But it’s quickly edged out by irritation. “What do you mean, that’s ridiculous?”
“I just mean—” He hesitates, as if he’s weighing his next words. “I think that’s a cop-out. Dancing made your mom happy. She was proud of you, and you said yourself that she had dreams for you to dance professionally, and that’s what you wanted, too. Why in the world would you stop trying to make those dreams come true?”
Disbelief and dejection wrestle for control, but they’re lost somewhere inside me, among the thousands of puncture wounds from Cade’s words. This is not how this was supposed to go.
“I’m not saying you haven’t lost a lot,” he says. “You lost your mom, and that’s devastating. But as far as the rest of it goes—come on, Paige, you didn’t lose it. You gave it up.”
“Go to hell.”
“Look, I’m not trying to be a bastard. I know what it’s like to feel sorry for yourself. I’ve done it for a lot longer than you have, and you know where it got me? Nowhere. And nowhere is a really lonely place to live.”
I shake my head. “You just don’t get it.”
He throws up his hands. “Not this again. What don’t you think I get this time?”
“All of it!”
“Fine. Think what you want, but I am truly sorry you had to go through any of it. I really am, and if there were a way that I could take all of it off your shoulders so that nothing hurtful ever touched you, I would. But that’s not how things work,” he says regretfully. “And if it makes you feel better to be mad at me because of that, be mad. Be as mad at me as you want. But the truth is—Tyler is right. At some point, you have to decide to look up. Take a look around at what you have left. Because that’s what matters. I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear; I’m just being honest.”
“Oh, so now you decide to be honest with me?” I demand. “Good to know. But if I were you, I would have led with the part about
you vandalizing the school.”
My words blindside him, and he steps back, raising his hands as if to bring this conversation to a halt. “You know about that?”
“Yeah, I do. Jay told me, right after I made a fool of myself trying to defend you, trying to convince him that you’ve changed,” I say, feeling the wounds inside me rip open just a few more millimeters. “But I think you’re missing the point. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I don’t like to talk about it,” he says. “And it’s not what you think. I didn’t vandalize the school. I’m just the one who got caught and took the brunt of the blame.” Now it’s my turn to look dazed and confused. With a worn sigh, Cade turns his back to me and trains his eyes on the surf. “It happened just after I’d been kicked out of the Sloanes’ house. I was hanging out with a group of guys I’d met on the streets. They’re the ones who did the vandalism. I didn’t even know what they were up to; I was just supposed to keep an eye out. By the time I figured it out, the cops were there. The guys took off, and I got caught.”
“Is that why you served time in juvenile detention?”
He nods. “It was the last straw. And it’s the reason your dad can’t stand the sight of me.”
I pace back and forth while Cade’s eyes remain trained on me. “Is that why you wanted me to tell Jay that you and I were together? Because you were trying to get back at him? That’s what Dane said. Is he right? Are you just playing me?” I demand, barely able to stomach the sickening reality of my words.
Cade’s entire demeanor transforms. His momentary surprise takes an immediate U-turn and disintegrates, and he levels me with a look I’ve never seen before. “Since when do you believe anything that prick says about me? You know what, forget I asked. Believe whatever you want, Paige. I wasn’t trying to get back at your dad; I was trying to make amends. I thought that being honest with him about us was a good place to start, that maybe if he saw you giving me a chance, saw that I was important to you, he’d be willing to give me a second chance, too. I guess I’m the idiot here.”
“No. You’re a hypocrite.” Okay, so maybe I should feel slightly bad that a part of me considered believing Dane’s accusations, and yeah, maybe I jumped to conclusions, but I’m not ready to apologize yet. I’m not done being mad. “You want Jay to give you a second chance when you refuse to give your own father one?”
I hit a nerve. Cade’s eyes narrow, and the muscles in his jaw flex, his cheek twitching in agitation. “Don’t do this, Paige.”
“Why? Because it’s okay for you to judge me for my actions, but you, Mr. High and Mighty, are above such criticism? I don’t think so.”
“You’ve been given a second chance with your dad, Paige. He never abandoned you,” Cade says. “Yeah, he never knew about you all those years, but that’s not the same thing. He’s here now, with an entire family who wants you, but you refuse to accept them.” He rakes his fingers through his hair and huffs out a breath. “All I’m saying is that you have people who love you and want what’s best for you, and you’re shutting them out.”
My body shakes as irritation pulses through me with every word he exhales. And apparently, he’s not finished.
“You got a raw deal; I get that. But you can’t stop living your life and give up your dreams because you feel guilty. You lost your mom because of unfortunate circumstances, not because you did anything wrong. Don’t punish yourself for something you had no control over.”
I’m not sure which hurts worse—that the boy who has been on my side no longer is, or that he’s belittling my feelings, making light of the guilt that not only consumes me but is close to destroying me once and for all. Well, two can play at this game. Ignoring the small voice in my head that’s begging me to shut up, I let the words fly. “Have you ever given your father a chance to explain why he did what he did? Open the damn letters!”
“I said don’t,” he warns, his voice low and on the verge of snapping, but I wave him off.
“Maybe he had a reason for what he did, maybe he didn’t, but how will you ever know when you refuse to give him a chance? You weren’t the only one who lost someone, Cade. Did you ever think about that? He lost his wife!”
Cade turns to go, but I grab his wrist. “No! You don’t get to stand there and tell me to grow up when you refuse to do it yourself. Do you honestly think that throwing this selfish tantrum is gonna teach your dad a lesson? Guess what? It won’t! The only person you’re hurting is yourself—and your sister.”
He’s still when the last, awful sentence vomits from my mouth, and I drop my hand from his wrist, well aware that I just crossed the point of no return. Cade and I have never argued like this, and the chasm between us now is vast and bottomless. My heart aches with regret. How in the world did we get here? Maybe this was bound to happen. Maybe two messed-up souls can only coexist for so long before they begin to dig at each other’s brokenness, just to make themselves feel whole. Or maybe I’m still being a brat and he’s taken as much as he can handle.
“Macy loves you, Cade,” I say. “And this divide between you and your dad is tearing her up.”
He shakes his head. “Are you listening to yourself? Yeah, I know I’m far from perfect. I’m well aware of that, because I’m reminded of it every day of my life. But this—this is all about you. So don’t you dare tell me how to handle my crap until you’re prepared to accept and handle your own.” And with that, he turns and trudges off across the sand toward the parking lot.
And I’m alone. The wild roar of the ocean drowns out everything else around me except for one small thing—the ever-so-faint cracking of my heart.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Paige
I don’t know how long I sit crumpled in the sand, the gravity of Cade’s words heavy on my shoulders. When I finally manage to pull myself back to my feet, the sun is dipping low and beginning its slow, spectacular melt into the horizon. The magnificent wash of pinks and yellows streak across the sky, like Quinn’s photograph, as if God himself has drawn a paintbrush across it in long, swift strokes.
I gaze out across the surf, but I don’t see beauty or serenity. Two critical pieces of my world have been stripped away from me in a single day, and I am destroyed.
I don’t recall the drive home. I don’t know how I pulled myself from the car and up the staircase to my room. I don’t remember pushing open my bedroom door—but I will never forget what I see on the other side.
Connie sits ramrod straight on my bed, so still that I’m not sure she hears me come in. She stares blankly at the wall in front of her, and for a moment, I think something might be wrong. Then I see what she’s holding in her hands, and I throw my purse on the bed, shattering the silence. My wallet and phone spill out onto the comforter, and Connie shoots to her feet, an explosion of panic across her face.
In her trembling hands are my pink pointe shoes. The same shoes I’d shoved into a box deep in my closet. “Paige, you scared me, I—”
“What are you doing in here?” I demand, lunging straight for her before I even know I’m moving. I yank the slippers out of her hands so hard, Connie stumbles forward.
“I’m sorry. I was putting away your laundry.” She motions to the half-empty basket on the bed. “And I—well, I—”
“You just thought you’d paw through my belongings while you were at it?” I wave the shoes in the air as my voice grows an octave. Blood pulses behind my ears. “You have no right!”
Connie raises her hands and takes a step toward me, then abruptly stops. “You’re right, Paige. I didn’t mean to snoop, I just—I just want to help you. To try to understand you a little better.”
I shake my head. “You went through my things. How could you do that?”
“Please, listen to me. I–I know you’re angry. It’s just—” Connie stammers, trying to find her words. “You don’t talk about your mother or how you’re feeling, and I just thought—”
“You just thought you’d go through my stuff and tr
y to figure me out?” I’m seething at the betrayal, wishing at that moment that I could shoot lasers from my eyes. She would be dust by now. I’m nanoseconds away from unleashing more angry words on her when I notice Connie’s eyes are rimmed in red. Had she been crying before I came in? Over me? Over the loss of my mother? The anger inside me instantly magnifies, and my hands reflexively tighten, squeezing the silky pink fabric of the shoes. It’s nearly unbearable to me to think of this woman trying to measure my pain, to initiate some sort of feeble attempt at sympathy over my loss. She has no right to do that.
“From the moment I got here, you’ve been trying to figure me out. All of you. Just because I have to be here doesn’t mean I want to share anything with you!” Venom coats every word, and Connie bristles.
“Please, listen,” she says.
“No! You listen. You are not my mother, so stop acting like you are. I don’t need your sympathy or you telling me that you understand what I’m going through. I don’t need you hugging me to make yourself feel better about whatever it is you think I’m dealing with. You know nothing about me!” My chest heaves, and I think I might actually throw up. First Tyler, then Cade, now Connie—I don’t know how much more I can take.
Connie sucks in her bottom lip, and her eyes drop to the floor. She stands frozen for a few moments, then she turns and picks up the laundry basket from the bed. When she reaches the door, she turns, and her face is filled with pain. In a sad, strained whisper, she says, “I’m truly sorry, Paige.”
Just as she steps into the hallway, Jay appears and touches her arm. She shakes him off and moves past him.
The look Jay shoots me sends a chill down my spine. He’s angry, and I instantly know without asking that he heard every accusatory word I hurled at his wife. I don’t feel remorseful, not one bit, but I swallow hard when he steps into the room and shuts the door behind him.