“Sounds perfect.”
“Yeah.” He took another bite of ice cream, his attention flickering to the bowl as he pushed the spoon around it. “Claire,” he said, looking up. The features of his face were softer, almost sad, as he gave me a small smile. “Thank you for including me in your family stuff. It’s been a while since I’ve been in a group setting like that. It really means a lot.”
“Anytime.”
He went back to eating, but I hesitated, my mind stewing on the words. Where was the rest of his family? Was it really just him and Wanda?
“Adam,” I said, drawing his attention. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
He nodded.
“Where are your mom and dad?”
He paused and looked up from his bowl, the spoon clutched between his thumb and index finger. The green in his eyes looked less vibrant, almost wistful. He cleared his throat and set the spoon in the bowl and the bowl on the table.
“I’m not trying to pry,” I said. “You just … you said what you did about it being a while since you’ve been in a group setting like that and I—”
“You’re fine,” he answered. “We would’ve talked about it eventually. It’s not like I keep it a secret.” He sighed and raked his hands through his messy brown hair, his eyes on me. “Can I take you somewhere?”
“Yeah.”
“Then grab your coat. It’s going to be cold.”
18
Revelations
Throughout the ride, Adam didn’t say much. I didn’t know where we were going, nor did I ask. I just held his hand as he pulled off Pader’s main road and passed through a large iron gate with a sign that read PADER CEMETERY. My stomach knotted.
He slowed as we turned down a narrow road. Leaves fell from the surrounding trees, tombstones littered the ground beside us, and mausoleums were lit by moonlight.
When he stopped and put the truck in park, he looked at me. “Are you scared?” he asked.
“Should I be?”
He shook his head and pushed open his door. He grabbed a flashlight from beneath the back seat and walked to my side. Out of the truck, I rubbed my arms against the brisk November breeze and took his hand once more.
He looked at me as his flashlight penetrated the dark. “I know this isn’t what you expected,” he started. “We can leave. I won’t take it personally.”
“I’m fine,” I answered, gripping his hand tighter.
He walked ahead of me, and I followed, crossing over the neatly trimmed grass covered with leaves. We were careful to avoid the spaces where others lay. The air around us was still as we passed row after row, our footsteps crunching through the night.
When Adam finally stopped, he shone the beam on the tombstone in front of us. Thomas A. Meade became visible, along with a date and the etching Loving father, husband, son, and friend.
I stood there, staring at the name as Adam stood silent beside me. When he spoke, his words broke my heart.
“Claire, this is my dad. Dad, this is Claire.”
His voice broke, and he let out a long exhale. The idea of Adam enduring a life without his father made my heart ache. I couldn’t survive if I’d lost my dad. My whole world would be destroyed.
“And this is Avery,” he said, barely getting out the words as the beam reflected off the marble tombstone to his left. “She was my little sister.” He tore his attention away, his eyes brimming with tears.
It felt like someone had put a ten-pound weight on my chest, pressing the breath from my lungs and leaving me with no way to breathe. Tears burned down my cheeks as he continued.
“There was a storm,” he said. “It was my mom’s birthday, and the three of us went to the store to grab a cake. It was supposed to be a surprise—we were so excited to get her a surprise—but on the way back, my dad hit a wet patch in the road. The police said our car wrapped around a tree. Dad and Avery died on impact, and I barely made it out alive. I was the only one who…”
I turned and wrapped my arms around his waist, trying to do something other than stand there. I wanted to will away his sadness, to erase this horrible tragedy from his past, but I was helpless. All I could do was hug him. All I could do was be there.
“My mom had a breakdown when I was twelve,” Adam said, his voice so quiet I could barely hear. “She got involved with some stuff she shouldn’t have and was supposed to go to rehab. My grandma took over at that point. It was a temporary arrangement, until my mom got out and adjusted, but she left rehab within a couple of weeks and OD’d a week later. She’s buried up north, where her family wanted her. Grandma and I didn’t get a say.”
I nestled my head against his chest and breathed in his scent. This wasn’t fair. His parents should’ve been here, his sister should’ve been here. I buried the thought of life without Case. I wouldn’t be able to cope. Nothing could heal a loss like that.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Adam whispered, his chin coming to rest on the crown of my head. “You’re being quiet, and I’m worried. You’re never quiet.”
“I didn’t know,” I said. “I wouldn’t have asked if I had any idea.”
“You needed to know.” His thumbs swept the tears off my cheeks, the movement tender and warm. “I know what it’s like to love someone and lose them, and I know what it’s like to try and come back from that. It takes everything you have to go on, every piece of strength you can get, and it’s exactly why I don’t get attached. Why I didn’t get attached.”
“You’re afraid of losing people.”
“Yeah,” he answered, “and now I’m afraid of losing you.”
I kissed him, my hands finding the edge of his jaw, where stubble prickled my fingers. “You won’t lose me,” I said. “Figuring out the college situation will be a mess, but I want to make it work. I want you.”
“Good, because I want you, too.”
He rested his forehead against mine, and I stared into those vivid green eyes. I wanted to tell him I loved him, wanted to tell him everything, but I couldn’t. I was trapped by my secrets, trapped by Seth, and now wasn’t the time. All I wanted to think about was Adam.
I was a lucky girl. Luckier than I realized.
19
Reminders
“Are you sure you can bake?”
“I don’t know. Try a piece. If you get food poisoning, the rest of us will know not to eat it.”
Adam chuckled as I pulled a pie from the oven. I had given this pie my everything. People needed to appreciate my work of art before it lost its freshly baked gleam.
“Is it supposed to be runny?” he asked, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.
“It’s not runny,” I answered, “and if you keep messing with me, I’ll poke you in the eye with that temperature gauge. You’ll spend your day at the hospital getting operated on and eating yucky food.”
“Meh. The nurses at the hospital are hot, and most of them know me by name. It would be a happy Thanksgiving indeed.” I cocked an eyebrow at him, and he grabbed a casserole from the island. “I think now would be a good time to bring this to the table.”
“I think you’re right.”
He turned the corner, leaving me to my own devices. My mom had taken point on table decorating, and I was left to finish up the last of the food.
I was pulling an overcooked green bean casserole from the oven when Adam reentered the kitchen. He scanned the pan with interest, then looked at me.
“Pretty sure it’s not supposed to be burned,” he said, grinning.
“My mom set the timer!” I answered. He laughed as I poked the charred bits of green beans. “Maybe we could say it’s a fresh take on a classic?”
“Um, maybe.”
I marched to the pantry and retrieved the last of the onion crisps. If those couldn’t drown out the burnt taste, oh well. At least I tried.
“How’s your grandma?” I asked, opening the canister on my way back.
“She’s good. Said to wish you a happy T
hanksgiving, and to let you know she’s got everything covered.”
“She’s got everything covered?” I repeated, dumping the onions over the top. “What does that mean?”
“No idea,” Adam said, holding his hand out for some of the onions. “Figured you would know.”
“Nope. Your guess is as good as mine.”
I was finishing up the casserole when my mom rushed in, grabbing an apron from a hook near the entrance.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ve got the table set, and everyone is here except Chloe. Where are we with food? What do I need to do?”
“The sweet potato soufflé is probably cool, and I just pulled the green bean casserole out of the oven,” I answered, pulling my apron over my head. “Need me to do anything else?”
“Nope,” she replied. “Just stay within earshot so I can call you when we’re ready to eat.”
“Will do.”
I nodded at the door, and Adam followed me into the hall. On the way outside, I grabbed one of Case’s old footballs from the hall closet.
“This is more my style,” Adam said, clapping his hands together.
“Same. I get my cooking skills from my mom.”
The November air was crisp against my cheeks and threw strands of curled brown hair in my face. I stepped off the porch, closing my sweater tighter as Adam followed behind me.
“So,” he said, crossing the grass, “any way you’d be interested in making me a sign for next week’s game? It’s a big one!”
“Depends,” I answered, taking my place across from him. “What’s in it for me?”
“What’s in it for you?” he repeated, throwing me the ball. I nodded and he grinned. “I’m sure I could think of some pretty cheesy thing to do. Christmas is coming up. Who knows, I might buy you a gift?”
“Speaking of which, what do you want? Currently thinking about something football related.”
“It doesn’t matter to me.”
“Not an answer,” I said. I threw the ball back to him. “I’ll ask Tate for recommendations. I’m sure he can give me an idea or two.”
“Totally fine with me. I’ve already got Riley giving me ideas.” He threw the ball back to me, then glanced over his shoulder. Tate’s Mustang was parked at the curb. “Remind me to talk to him about next weekend’s party. It’s supposed to be Saturday, but I don’t think I’ll be there. My grandma’s up for this clinical trial thing. Pretty sure it’s the same day.”
“Will do.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I tossed the ball back to Adam before pulling it from my pocket.
Seth: Happy Thanksgiving. I know you hate me, but still hope you have a good one.
I clenched the phone harder. If this was his idea of staying relevant, he was wrong.
“Claire, Adam, dinner,” my mom said, her voice carrying from the door.
Adam jogged across the lawn, leaves crunching beneath his tennis shoes. “You good there?” he asked, motioning at my phone.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” I closed out the screen, shoved the phone in my pocket, and grabbed his hand. “But I’ll be even more fine after I eat. Burnt casseroles and runny pies, here I come.”
* * *
“Good morning, sunshine.”
“Is that bacon?”
“And waffles,” my dad replied.
I sniffed the kitchen, searching for the plate as he pointed a spatula at the counter. Dad’s waffles were a day after Thanksgiving tradition, and I was more than happy to eat my weight in syrup.
“Do me a favor,” he said. “Refill that pot of coffee. Your mom drank it all while I was mixing batter. I haven’t had time to stop between waffles, but it’s waffles for caffeine. No coffee, no waffles.”
“I got your back,” I said.
While I found the coffee pot and scooped hazelnut grounds into a filter, Case slumped through the door. He plopped onto one of the barstools, looking like a hot mess as he ran a hand across his face.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” I said.
“Bacon,” Case replied.
“Long night?” my dad asked.
“Yep,” he groaned.
I glanced at my father, who held up a finger and grabbed the knob on the nearest cabinet. He slammed the door shut.
“Could we not go around slamming doors?” Case groaned, clutching his head in his hands.
“Nope,” my dad answered, an impish look on his face. “Next time, think about this before you come home drunk.”
“It was midnight Black Friday,” Case said, sounding defensive, “and I had a DD.”
“Black Friday is for shopping,” I said, quirking a brow.
“Well, your brother decided it was for alcohol,” my dad answered. He looked at Case and shook his head. “You having a DD was very responsible. Glad you made one wise decision before you threw up all over the front porch and fell asleep on the bathroom floor.”
I turned on the coffee maker and fled the kitchen before I was stuck listening to the usual lecture Case was destined for. I reached the stairs as my dad launched into Full Father Mode.
Upstairs, my room was lit by rays of sunshine, and my dad’s voice was drowned by the quiet undertones of acoustic music. My laptop lay open on my desk, with dormitory options visible on the screen. The admissions letter sat beside the computer, with all the accompanying information behind it in a neat little stack.
I picked up the letter and scanned the words. When my phone buzzed against the lamp on my bedside table, I put the letter back and padded barefoot across the room. Adam’s name was visible on the screen.
“You’ve reached Claire Collins,” I said, placing the phone to my ear. “Please leave your name, number, and a brief message after the beep. Beep.”
“Okay,” he answered, humor in his tone. “I was going to see if you wanted to hang out tonight, but it’s fine. I’ll just call Tate and tell him I’m up for—”
“No!” I interrupted. “I’m free and I’d love to see you. What time will you be here?”
“Um, six? Maybe. Grandma asked me to bring her some stuff from home, so I’ll be up there for a while.”
“That’s fine. Call me when you get back.”
“Awesome. See you then.”
I hung up the phone and put it back on my nightstand.
“Claire!”
I shifted at Case’s voice hollering from the hall. Heavy footsteps thumped against the wooden staircase, and a heavy fist beat against my door.
“Claire!” he said again.
Concerned, I pushed myself off the bed and yanked it open. Case, pale and sickly looking, was slumped against the threshold.
“Did Dad give you Pepto?” I asked.
He nodded and pointed at the stairs. “Riley’s here. She looks like she—” He paused and covered his mouth. It sounded like he burped, but he turned and raced across the floor before I managed to get the rest of the sentence.
“Case?”
“Claire!” my dad hollered from the bottom of the stairs.
I peeled my eyes away from the bathroom and took the stairs two at a time. When I reached the landing, Riley stood in the living room with her back to me. She wore a black hoodie tugged over her head, black sweats, and tennis shoes. When she turned, curiosity became concern.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, closing the space.
“I-I think we broke up,” she said, her eyes red-rimmed. “Tate and me. I think we…”
I pulled her into a hug, glancing at my mom as she entered the room. “We’ll be up there,” I said, taking Riley by the shoulders.
We took the stairs slowly, and I closed my door as Riley stopped in the middle of the room. She sobbed a good five minutes, and I stood beside her as she wept, leftover mascara streaking down her cheeks.
“I just don’t understand,” she said. “We were fine, and then he—this isn’t right! We were supposed to stay together.”
“What happened?” I asked.
She ran the sleeve of the hoodie u
nder her eyes and walked to my bed. I took a seat at my desk and watched her try to collect herself.
“We got in a fight,” she answered. “We were supposed to go to Charlotte today, to do some early Christmas shopping.” She paused. “He just started in on how nice it will be when we’re at UNC and how close to family it is. I told him we weren’t going to UNC. I didn’t realize he verbally committed. He gave them a verbal commitment,” she repeated, looking at me. “We’ve been together since we were freshmen, Claire. We’ve talked about this, about how this is our decision. He didn’t even tell me. He just accepted the offer and expected me to go with him. What about what I want? How is this fair?”
“It isn’t fair,” I answered, my heart breaking for her.
I understood where she was coming from, how one guy and one moment could flip your world upside down and tear your heart to pieces. But I survived Seth, and Riley would survive Tate. She was stronger than she knew.
“I don’t know how to not be with him,” she sobbed.
My phone buzzed and I stood, grabbing it from the nightstand.
Adam: Please tell me you’re with Riley
Claire: I am. She’s here now
I crossed my arms and let out a shaky breath. My Auburn letter glared at me from the desk. Adam and I could end up the same way. I could be the one crying, heartbroken over a guy. Watching Riley go through this was a reminder of the pain, of how easily Adam could hurt me if he chose not to see this through. I couldn’t do that again. Not with Adam.
I hoped I wouldn’t have to.
20
Trust
Darkness fell upon Pader, bringing a cold front that stirred the trees and the people around it. Adam pulled up to my house at six, looking worse for wear than I’d seen him. He met me on the sidewalk and wrapped strong arms around me, enveloping me in a cocoon of warmth.
“How’s Wanda?” I asked, sliding into the truck.
“Feisty as ever,” he answered. He closed the door and stepped around the hood, picking up the conversation as he got in. “She spent most of the day playing electronic Scrabble. Thanks for that. She’s upped her game. Now I have zero shot at beating her.”
“You’re welcome.”
Surviving Adam Meade Page 16