Then I typed in the letters to his name, one by one, Andrew Brindon.
Relationship status, single.
Interested in, women.
Religious beliefs, Christian.
Favorite quote, Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted. – Albert Einstein
The last time he’d posted was on my birthday.
Happy birthday to the most beautiful girl in the world. I can’t wait to see you tonight.
The status came along with a photo of us one of his friends had taken on our thrift-store date. My eyes practically shone with their own light. His lips stretched into a perfect smile. The kind that made me feel like I was watching a sunrise. Even dressed like people from the fifties who couldn’t find clothes their own size, we looked cute and incredibly happy.
I swallowed, but it didn’t help. Fat tears leaked out my eyes, dripped down the sides of my face, and landed in the towel wrapped around my wet hair.
I clicked the button that said “Message Andrew.”
He hadn’t responded to my texts, but I’d try here.
Me: Andrew, I’m so sorry. I miss you.
A tiny circle with his profile picture appeared beside the message.
My heart leapt, waiting for those three dots to appear. But they didn’t.
I didn’t know how long I stared at the phone, but long enough for my eyes to blur and for sleep to take over.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
For the last several weeks, we’d woken up at eight in the morning on Saturday and gotten chili ready for the competitions. Mom and Dad still hadn’t talked to me since the week before, but on Saturday morning, I woke up at eight and went to the kitchen.
The only things there were crusted pans sitting on the stove and a sink full of dishes.
Even though it was foolish, part of me hoped they just hadn’t woken up yet. But I was too afraid to knock on their bedroom door. Maybe if both of their vehicles were there, I had a chance. So, I went out the front door and looked at the driveway. Dad’s pickup was gone.
I used to think having them yelling and screaming was bad, but this was worse. It felt like walking through a mine field or a silent movie where talking would get you killed. And I had no idea how to make things right. Since I didn’t know, I did what my mom always did. I fixed my surroundings.
Starting with the kitchen, I scrubbed every square inch of the house. And then I organized the pantry and the small shelf of DVDs and then the blanket chest. Mom only came out of her room to use the bathroom and get a glass of water, not saying a word to me.
By two o’clock, our house looked the best it ever had, and my stomach grumbled. After eating a sandwich, I went outside. I mowed the entire lawn, weeded the neglected flower beds by the house, started a sprinkler in the front yard, hosed down the driveway, and washed the windows from the outside. Anyone else would have thought I was doing chores for running away. But this was the only thing keeping me sane.
Around nine, I made supper—grilled cheeses and tomato soup. I brought some to Mom’s bedroom door and knocked.
She didn’t reply.
I knocked again.
She stayed silent.
“Mom?”
“What?” she groaned.
“I made supper.”
“Leave me alone.”
And so I ate at the table by myself and poured Mom’s half of the soup down the sink.
I was about to clean up the dishes I’d made when a knock sounded on the door. Before I could answer it, it opened, and Branch poked his head in. The absolute last person I wanted to see.
“Skye, can you come out here?” he said. “I need some help with your dad.”
My eyebrows furrowed. “What?”
Outside, I heard my dad slur, “I’m fine!”
I closed my eyes. “Okay.”
Branch led me outside, where Dad fell to his knees and started trying to crawl up the front steps.
“He’s already puked by the pickup,” Branch said. “Don’t think there’s anything left.”
I gave him an even look and nodded. This wasn’t a time for emotions—to think about the freshly cleaned driveway—I just had to do what I needed to. “Let’s get him inside.”
Branch took one of Dad’s arms, and I held the other around my shoulders. We hauled him to his feet and guided him up the porch steps, one by one.
“I said I don’t need help,” Dad slurred. “But thanks—thanks anyways.”
My heart ached with the weight of my father on my shoulders.
When we reached the door, Branch said, “Where to?”
I nodded toward the couch. No way was he sleeping with Mom tonight.
We hauled Dad to the sofa, and Branch lowered him down. Branch scratched the back of his neck and looked at me with bloodshot eyes. “He said he wanted to drive home, but…”
I sighed. Branch probably shouldn’t have been driving either. “Let me take you home. I’ll get Dad’s pickup.”
As Branch slumped in the passenger seat of his dirty old pickup, I stared at the road ahead. The stretch of gravel wasn’t anything to look at—dusty, empty, bleak. It was well past dark when we got to his house.
Without saying goodbye, I got out of his pickup and walked to Dad’s. The keys were in the ignition.
My hands shook as I held the edge and twisted. With weak fingers, I gripped the wheel and pulled onto the dirt road, away from Branch’s house. From the family he had inside.
What made me think I could handle this? Any of this? I’d given Liz everything and stuck myself in this place, tied myself to my family. And I’d lost the only person who made me feel like I could find a way out of it.
I pulled my phone out of my purse and called Andrew. After two rings, it went to voicemail. “Hello, you’ve reached Andrew Brindon. Please leave a message, and I’ll get right back to you.” The polite sound of his voice hit me harder than a brick wall.
“Andrew. I’m sorry.” A sob broke through the dam, and I choked over the tears and over my words. “I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know what I’m doing! No one ever told me how to handle life without screwing it up—they never showed me how to trust someone with my secrets, just that people let you down.” I took in a deep breath. “They always let you down. And I’m sorry I was one of those people who let you down. I’m sorry.”
Tears blurred out my vision, and I blinked. The tire of the pickup caught a ridge of sand and jerked the vehicle into the ditch. I knew not to overcorrect, but I still ended up off the road, my headlights panning over an empty field.
I was alright. At least, the pickup was.
I folded over the steering wheel and cried. Cried until there was nothing left.
And then I got back onto the road and drove home, because where else did I have to go?
At the house, I hung Dad’s keys on the hook. Usually, I’d expect to hear him snoring, but he was sleeping silently, breathing deeply.
I tiptoed through the kitchen, but the couch squeaked.
“Skye?” His voice came out rough.
I stopped but didn’t turn around. “Yeah?”
“Can you get me some water?”
I closed my eyes, further surrounding myself in blackness. “Yeah.”
Slowly, I walked to the sink and poured Dad a glass. Then I brought it to him, aware of every sound I made stepping over the floor.
He sat with his elbows on his knees, his head hanging slack with the back of his neck stretched tight. “Thanks.”
I handed him the glass, and he took it, guzzling it down in one drink.
“Is that all?” I asked and went to take the glass.
“No.” He sloppily patted the couch next to him. “Sit down.”
“Dad, I—”
“Please?”
The desperate way he said it had me sitting down next to him. His shoulder felt sweaty brushing up against mine. I needed to turn the window unit up. It had trouble keeping up this late in July, ev
en at night.
“You’re going to leave, aren’t you?” he asked.
My heart squeezed. I couldn’t bring myself to lie. “Yeah. I am.”
“We’re not good parents.”
It was a statement, not a question.
He sniffed heavily. “You know I’m shit at this kind of thing. But I love the hell out of you girls.”
I reminded myself he was drunk, that this was just gushing brought on by Mr. Daniels, but so much of me wanted to believe this was the truth he couldn’t say under any other circumstance. “I love you too, Dad.”
“But I’ll never forgive you for taking Liz away.”
He leaned back on his side of the couch, and I stood up.
“Never,” he mumbled.
With a breaking heart, I walked to my empty room and lay down. Had I made a massive mistake? My parents had been getting along, doing things with Liz and me as a family. I had a boyfriend—one who cared about me and did fun things like bribe random kids out of their bicycles or high-five me for telling off my biggest rival.
But I couldn’t go back and change anything I had done. The past was the past, and at a certain point, we had to live with the decisions we made. Even if we wanted more than anything to change them. That was the thing no one told you about growing up. You had to live with regrets deeper than missing a homework assignment or forgetting to do your chores. And sometimes, there wouldn’t be anyone to help you find your way out of the mess.
I wished Liz was here to talk to, but I wasn’t going to add any more stress to her life than she was already dealing with. Instead of texting or calling her, I opened the book of advice she gave me and flipped through page after page until it was well past midnight.
Somehow, I hadn’t found what I needed.
Chapter Thirty
Sunday morning, I woke up at eight again for a run. I’d been jogging after work, but with the night before weighing on my shoulders, I had to get out.
I walked for about five minutes as a warmup, then took off at a slow jog. Like someone-walking-really-fast-could-pass-me-up kind of slow. But I had to start somewhere.
My knee ached with each step I took. Even though I’d been doing physical labor all summer, my chest heaved with the exertion, never able to pull in enough oxygen. The back of my throat stung with tears that were always ready. My body felt like a cage.
“Come on.” I pushed myself to go faster. “Keep going.”
College volleyball—debate. Those were my only options. One of those, along with an academic scholarship, might be enough to get me out of McClellan. Maybe.
I didn’t make it the whole mile, but I was getting there. After the run, I came back into the house sweating, breathing heavily, and the only one awake. For the rest of the day, Dad slept off his hangover, Mom stayed in her room, and when I asked them who would take me to my doctor’s appointment in a week, they told me to figure it out.
Monday, I threw myself into work again. We were repairing fence—pulling out old posts, putting in new ones, splicing wire where it broke. It was backbreaking labor, but between Rhett and I, we worked well past lunch to make sure cattle wouldn’t be able to get out of any spots in the fence.
I slid down against the shady side of the pickup, using my sweaty leather glove to fan my face.
Rhett dropped down next to me and held his hand up. “Nice work, Hoffner.”
I slapped his hand. “Thanks.” I sighed.
“Ugh.” He let his head roll back.
We sat there for a little while, cooling down. But I couldn’t let my mind stay idle for that long.
“What next?” I asked.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He raised his eyebrows. “You want to do more work?”
As I nodded, my neck ached. “Yep.”
A tired smile cracked his expression. “You’re crazy.”
“You’re wussing out.”
His mouth fell open in a surprised smile, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulder. His other hand knocked off my cap, and he gave me a noogie.
“Rhett!” I screamed, trying to shove him off.
He released his hold and sat back, laughing.
I slapped his knee. “You’re a child!”
“And?”
I rolled my eyes. “So, we don’t have any more work to do?”
“Well, we have a lunch to eat, and then we only have a couple hours left in the day. What do you say we do something fun?”
“Fun? What’s that?”
“Parents still aren’t talking?”
I frowned. “It’s a long story.”
Rhett popped to his feet, then helped me up. “Come on, you can tell me all about it when we get going.”
Rhett drove us to the pasture where we checked cattle, then followed a trail down to a stream. On the way, I scarfed down my half of the food, and if there would have been more around, I would have eaten until I hated myself. We didn’t get much talking done, because it turned out seven solid hours of building fence without eating makes a person pretty hungry.
He came to a stop by a stand of trees and got out. I followed him down to the water’s edge. He plopped down in the sand, covered in little twigs and grass, and started shucking his boots.
I did the same and dunked my toes in the sand. I wiggled them so the grains touched every inch of skin on my feet. “This feels so good.”
But then he took off his shirt. He did that sometimes when we were working, and I’d gotten so used to it that it was easy to ignore his chiseled middle. But now he started unbuttoning his pants.
“What are you doing?”
A teasing grin touched his lips. “We’re not coming this close to the water not to get in.”
“Well, some of us aren’t dressed for the occasion.”
“Just wear your underwear. I bet they cover just as much as a bikini.”
Just one problem. “I wouldn’t wear a bikini, even to the pool.”
He laughed. “Come on, it’s me.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Exactly. You’ve seen plenty to compare this to.”
His hand went to the spot between his muscled pecs. “Are you saying I’m a trollop?”
“If the G-string fits.”
Laughter started at his abs and worked its way up to his full lips. “You are something else.”
I rolled my eyes. “Seriously, though. I’m wearing white underwear.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “It’s not like I’m gonna look.” He tromped into the water and went to a deep spot where the water hit his chest. “Okay, I’m closing my eyes.”
His cheeks lifted and his forehead furrowed until he looked totally ridiculous with his eyes shut tight.
I didn’t know whether it was the fact that I didn’t have anything else to lose or that it was Rhett or that I was tired, but I stripped down to my underwear and bra and dipped into the water. It swirled around my bare skin, cool and refreshing.
Like a gentleman, Rhett kept his eyes closed until I went and tapped on his shoulder.
He opened his eyes, taking in the part of me he could see in the water. “Nice.” He nodded approvingly.
I hit his shoulder. Suddenly, the water didn’t feel so cool after all, especially with the heat of my blush warming the creek.
He dipped his head under the surface, then came up and wiped the water off his eyes. “That’s better.”
My lips lifted. “Yeah?”
What now? Rhett and I stood toe to toe in the stream, but I couldn’t imagine we’d come out here just to stand around. I started treading in the shallow water, reveling the feel of working out my knee without resistance. “This feels so good.”
His smile hit his eyes first. “Good. So, what’s up?”
I dropped my feet to the silty bottom of the stream. “My parents… Mom won’t talk to me, and Branch had to bring Dad home because Dad was so drunk he couldn’t make it up the steps, and then Dad said he’d never forgive me.” Somehow, I managed to say it without crying, like I’d gone from
an open wound to a numb scar.
Rhett stared at the surface of the water. “I don’t understand how they could be so mad at you. You gave up all of your savings, your pickup, for your sister. I’m proud as hell.”
That opened me back up. My eyes stung. “Thanks.”
He put his finger under my chin and lifted my gaze. “They’ll come around.”
I searched his hazel eyes. “They better do it fast. I have a doctor’s appointment in Austin in a week, and they basically told me I’m on my own getting there.” My throat constricted. This could be the appointment. The one where I got released to play volleyball, where this whole big knee nightmare could finally become a part of my past instead of my present.
He furrowed his brow. “Let me think about that. Here.” He stuck his arms out. “Let me float you.”
I raised my eyebrows. “White bra, remember?”
He rolled his eyes. “Come on. I’m not looking.”
I believed him—for the most part. Enough that I lay back in his arms, acutely aware of the way his muscles so effortlessly wrapped around me, held me up. I dropped my head back, letting the water come to the line where my hair met my face. With my eyes closed, I could still tell the light hitting me was fractured by tree branches and clouds. The only sounds were the light disruption of the water and a muted breeze.
For the first time in a long time, I pulled in a deep breath that didn’t feel like it was ripping me in half.
I opened my eyes, and Rhett curled me to his chest, letting the water move around us.
“You know the worst part about all this?” I asked, resting my head on his shoulder.
Rhett put his forehead to mine. “What’s that?”
I bit my top lip. “I can’t stop thinking that Andrew was the last person who kissed me.” I couldn’t stop feeling the ghost of Andrew’s lips pressed to mine, and I had no idea when someone else would replace his touch. I just wanted to stop hurting every time I took a breath, and I’d do anything to cure the pain.
His eyes met mine, understanding plain in his features. Rhett Lane was going to kiss me, not for fun, or as a lover, but...as a friend, helping me ease the pain, even if he couldn’t erase the memory.
Loving Skye: Book Three (The Texas Star Series 3) Page 11