by Megan Green
Ryan allows the small gesture, though I feel him tense under my touch. I back away slowly, not wanting to call any more unwanted attention to him from Mr. Lemon. I glance over my shoulder at the old man while Ryan unlocks the door. Shit, I didn’t think about that. I just said I had dinner going, but the door is locked? I wait for Mr. Lemon to say something about my blunder, but instead he gives me a small wave and turns back to his house.
I follow Ryan into the house and close the door behind me. I stand there in silence, waiting for him to say something. Instead, he walks to the kitchen, tossing the bag on the counter and grabbing a glass out of the cupboard. He pours himself a glass of water and downs it in three long gulps. He keeps his back turned to me even after he’s finished.
The strained silence is deafening. I have absolutely no idea what to say because I have absolutely no idea what he’s thinking. My mind is racing and the thoughts become bleaker and bleaker until I finally hear him put the glass down in the sink. My head flies up. His back is still to me, his hand resting on the edge of the sink. Exhaling loudly, he shakes his head and shoves off the sink with his palms. He whirls around, finally facing me.
But this time, instead of hurt and sadness, anger fills his eyes. His top lip pulls back in a sneer and he bites out, “What are you doing here?”
His words cut me to the bone. I flinch, as if they’ve actually caused me physical pain. His expression softens momentarily, but he closes his eyes and I see his jaw clench. When he opens them again, any trace of softness is gone.
I feel the tears start to well up in my eyes and I don’t trust myself to speak. The second I open my mouth, I know it’ll be like unleashing a tidal wave. I swallow hard, trying to steel myself against his harsh tone.
When I don’t answer, he continues. “Why did you come here? I thought I made it pretty clear I didn’t want to see you.”
A punch to the gut. This time I can’t stop the stray tear that runs down my cheek. I look down at the floor, hating the way he’s making me feel. He lets out a huge sigh.
“Look, Haylee. Can you just go? I’m really not up for this right now.”
Up for this right now? Up for what? For me trying to comfort him? For wanting to be here for him when he’s going through something so hard? For wanting to even see him for five fucking minutes after he’s been gone for so long?
His words ignite a fire in me and suddenly my tears are gone. “Oh, I’m sorry. How rude of me to think you’d need some support after your best friend died. But that’s right, I forgot. You’re the hero. You don’t need saving. Too bad you couldn’t save your own fucking best friend.”
Even as the words are leaving my mouth, I want to pull them back in. It’s as if I can see them floating through the air, and I want nothing more than to run and dive in front of Ryan, blocking their blow from reaching him.
But, of course, I can’t. It’s him that’s left reeling this time, as if I’ve landed a physical blow instead of just a terrible verbal one. I rush toward him, apologies already leaving my lips.
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that. I did—”
He throws up a hand, stopping me before I reach him. He refuses to meet my gaze. “Just get out, Haylee,” he says in barely audible voice.
A million apologies rise to my lips, but before I can voice a single one, his eyes meet mine. The sadness there deflates me. This time it’s not over Chris. This time, I’m the one who caused it. The complete heartbreak that fills his expression guts me. And I do the only thing I know how to when something overwhelms me.
I turn on my heel and I leave.
Amanda is waiting for me when I walk through the door. She jumps up off the couch and rushes to my side.
“How is he? I wasn’t expecting you back so soon. I’ve been waiting for you to call or text or something. I’ve been staring at my damn phone all afternoon. I even sent Justin to voice mail so I wouldn’t risk missing your call. You know how cell phones can be weird.” She rambles on and on as she walks with me over to the couch. It’s not until I sit down that she looks closely at my face.
“Whoa. What’s wrong? You’ve been crying.”
I shake my head, too embarrassed to tell her what I said. I already know I’m the worst fucking person in the world. I can’t bear the thought of Amanda thinking that about me too.
She hugs me to her. “What happened, sweetie?”
Her kind words unleash the tidal wave I’d been holding back since Ryan first asked me why I was at his house. I pull the throw pillow next to me onto my lap and double over, burying my face into its softness. Amanda rubs my back as I sob into the pillow, recounting the afternoon in muffled words. I know she can’t understand me. That’s why I do it.
When I reach the end of my tirade and the tears cease, I lift my head and squint at her through my puffy eyes. She smirks. “You wanna run that by me one more time?”
I give a halfhearted laugh. “Not really.”
She nods. “Summarize?”
I blow out a breath. “I went to the airport. He didn’t want to see me. He left. I followed. He told me to leave.”
Confusion fills her face. “Why?”
I shrug. “Beats me. Well, there were a few more words said at his house…but that still doesn’t change the fact that he didn’t want to see me even when he first got off the plane. What did I do?”
Amanda shakes her head. “I don’t know. He didn’t say anything?”
“Not to me. He talked to Emma a little. And Chris’s parents. But he took one look at me and then walked off.”
“What’d he say to Emma?”
I close my eyes, not really wanting to rethink the whole thing again already. “He handed her a letter from Chris. Said he wished he didn’t have to give it to her. That was pretty much it.”
“Did Emma read it?”
I shake my head. “No. At least, not right then. She might have by now. I don’t know.”
“Anything else happen at the airport?”
“Nope. We stood there while they removed the coffin from the cargo area and loaded it into the hearse. Emma lost it at that point. Ryan had to hold her to keep her from crumpling to the ground. I felt terrible for her,” I add sadly, remember my friend’s meltdown at seeing the love of her life being carried in a casket.
“Jeez. Poor Ryan. His mom and his best friend in a matter of months.”
I nod. “And his dad and brother when he was younger. That’s part of why his mom died. She sort of went off the deep end after they died. Got all mixed up in drugs. He had to live with Chris’s family. Then a few months ago she overdosed and…well, you know the rest.”
Amanda’s face gets very contemplative. I watch her eyes move back and forth as she thinks. After a few moments, something seems to dawn on her.
“You said Ryan told you at the beginning he didn’t want a relationship. Why?”
“His mom. He said he’d never risk putting someone through that.”
“But he obviously changed his mind after she passed. Why?”
I have no clue where she’s going with this, but I answer anyway. “I don’t know. He said he’d never realized how much he was missing until he met me. Apparently, while he was gone, he realized how little that actually was.”
Amanda shakes her head. “Don’t you see? He was scared to start a relationship because of his mom. Now Chris dies, and he sees Emma’s heartbreak. He realizes just how much at risk he actually is. And he doesn’t want to hurt you.”
My brain is a pile of mush and I still don’t quite grasp what she’s getting at. “So he hurts me because…he doesn’t want to hurt me? That makes no freaking sense, Amanda.”
“No,” she groans. “Look, you’re obviously not getting it. He’s afraid of dying and leaving you to deal with the grief. It didn’t bode well for his mother. And after seeing Emma freak out at the airport, it probably only reinforced his opinion that you’d be better off without him. Better he end it now and just have you think he’s a dick than hurt you
by being killed and leaving you to live the rest of your life with that grief. At least in his mind.”
I shake my head. “So it’s better to live wondering what could’ve been? And shouldn’t that be my decision?”
Amanda shrugs. “I didn’t say it made sense. He’s obviously grieving. And to him, this makes sense. Helps him deal with it in some small way. Now you have to decide what you’re going to do. Are you going to let him push you away? Or are you going to push back?”
Hope fills me. What if she’s right? What if Ryan thinks he’s doing all this for my own good? I need to prove to him that I’m better off with him, no matter the risk. A plan starts to form in my brain and I’m desperate to get back to his house when I remember.
“Shit.”
“What?” Amanda asks.
“I said something bad. Really bad. And I didn’t mean it. I was just so angry.”
Amanda waves her hand. “Whatever it was, I’m sure he’ll understand.”
My lip starts to quiver. “I don’t know. You didn’t see his face.”
“Well, what was it? I’ll tell you how to fix it,” she smiles and preens a little in her confidence. If I weren’t so upset, I’d laugh at her.
“I don’t want to tell you.”
“Oh please, Haylee. I’m your best friend. Like I’m going to think anything bad about you. Just tell me.”
I bite my bottom lip. “Okay. But remember, I was so angry. He’d just told me he thought he’d made it obvious he didn’t want to see me, and I just…snapped a little.”
She gestures for me to continue. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly.
“Okay, well I’ve always joked with him that he has a hero complex. He likes to help people. Like that first night at the club when he helped me. It was sweet, how he was always watching out for everyone. But today, when he told me to leave…” I trail off. Amanda gives me an impatient look.
“When he told me to leave, I told him I was only trying to help. But that I’d forgotten he was the hero. That he didn’t need to be saved. And then told him it was too bad he couldn’t save his best friend.”
Amanda lets out a little gasp. I don’t even turn to look at her. I just keep going.
“I know. I’m an awful, awful person. I deserve to lose him now.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Calm down. I’m just shocked, is all. Yes, it was a pretty shitty thing to say. But people say shitty things when they’re mad. Or sad. Or hurt. And you were all of those things. Give him some time to cool off. I’m sure he’ll get over it.”
“If I give him time to cool off, who’s to say that won’t just solidify his determination to let me go?”
Amanda ponders this for a moment, tapping her finger against her lips. She snaps her fingers. “Got it. You’re going to give him space. But you’re going to make sure he knows you’re thinking about him. Thank God for cell phones.”
I give her a quizzical look and she sighs.
“Do I have to spell out everything? Text him. Nothing major. Just a little message every day. That way, he won’t be able to put you out of his mind, but it’ll also give him a few days to think.”
I think it over for a moment. “I don’t know. Isn’t texting him every day kind of the opposite of giving him space?”
She waves her hand at me again. “Pssh, no. I’m not saying blow up his phone with texts. Just a little ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘I miss you’ to let him know you’re not going anywhere. Just try it. See what he says. It can’t be any worse than it already is, right?”
“Right,” I agree warily, hoping that’s true. I don’t want to find out if it can get any worse.
I thank Amanda for her advice and head to my bedroom. I change into my PJs and lay down on the bed, idly flipping through the channels on my TV. It’s way too early to try to sleep, even if I am tired.
After twenty minutes of mindless channel surfing, I toss the remote to the side of my bed and pick up my phone. I scroll through until I find Ryan’s name. I desperately want to call him. To hear his voice. To hear him tell me today was all just a big misunderstanding and that he loves me and will see me tomorrow. But I know that isn’t going to happen.
Instead, I press the message button and type out, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. I miss you.” It’s more than what Amanda said to send, but it’s so much less than what I need to say to him. I read over the message a million times, memorizing each and every single letter. My fingers tremble and my breath is heavy.
Here goes nothing, I say to myself. And then I finally push send.
HAYLEE: Good morning. I miss you.
I blink at the message on my phone, the bright light from the screen blinding my sleep-filled eyes. Why is she texting me good morning in the middle of the night? I groan as I drop my phone back on the nightstand and look at the clock: 11:17 a.m.
Holy shit. I sit up, looking around the room. My eyes fall on the blackout curtains I’d hung last night. After two restless nights, finally dozing off just before dawn, only to be awakened by the damn sun beaming straight into my face, I finally cracked. I went to the store and bought the thickest, darkest curtains I could find. Hanging them with a busted hand sure was interesting. But several failed attempts and thousands of curse words later, I finally got the damn things on the wall.
And apparently they worked. Either that, or maybe the several days with practically no sleep finally caught up to me. I decide to give the credit to the curtains. After wrestling with them for hours last night, there’s no way I’m going to admit they weren’t really necessary.
I lay back on my pillow, running my good hand over my face. I rub my eyes with my thumb and forefinger, pressing so hard I see stars. When I finally open them again, my thoughts turn to Haylee.
I’ve tried so hard to keep her out of my head, but she’s making it damn near impossible. As if it weren’t hard enough to let her go, she has to go and add these damn text messages. They’re never very long. And she never asks why I don’t respond. Just a few simple words every day. But it’s enough to drive me insane.
Maybe because I’m still loopy from sleep or maybe because I’m just a masochist, I let my eyes drift shut and I think of her. I think of all the times we spent together, laughing and teasing each other. I think of the day I told her about my family and the look of compassion that filled her face. I think of our trip to the zoo and her exuberance at seeing every single animal. I think of the fury I felt when I found out what that prick had done to her. And then I think of those next few days. Days that should have been sad and miserable, but instead were some of the best days of my life. I think of her opening herself up to me, not just physically, but emotionally as well. I think of the time I spent in her bed, learning not only every curve of her body but every curve of her mind. And I think of walking away from her at the airport. And how no matter how much that hurt, the thought of never seeing her again just might kill me.
I shake the melancholy thought from my head and get out of bed. I refuse to allow myself to wallow in self-pity. I jump in the shower, careful not to get my cast wet. I’m awkwardly trying to dry off with one hand when the landline rings.
I blow out a breath, wondering who in the hell would be calling the landline. “Chris!” I shout from behind the closed door. “Can you get that?” I try to slide my jeans up my legs, leaning on the vanity as I inch them up. This is a lot harder than you’d think it’d be.
When he doesn’t respond, I shout his name again. “Chris! I’m trying to—”
All the breath rushes out of my lungs when I realize what I’ve done. All the determination I forced myself to feel when I got up seeps out of me. My shoulders slump and my body suddenly feels as if it weighs a thousand pounds. I cave in on myself, sinking down to sit on the edge of the tub. I inhale and exhale slowly, hoping the breathing exercise will calm my suddenly racing heart. It doesn’t work. My eyes feel the familiar sting of tears they’ve become so accustomed to. My heart is hammering in my chest, feeling as if i
t’s trying to break free of its prison. It’s all I can do to keep myself from curling into a ball on the floor.
I miss him so goddamn much. I’d honestly never envisioned a world without Chris in it. A life where I didn’t get to see him every day. Will is right. Chris wasn’t my friend. He was my brother. And the loss of this brother hurts even worse than the first.
I don’t know how long I sit there, lost in my thoughts. The phone rings again, but I ignore it. It’s probably just a damn telemarketer. And I’m too exhausted to even tell them to fuck off.
This time, the ringing starts again almost as soon as it ends. I force myself to my feet, knowing it must be something important if they’re calling this much. I shuffle over to the phone, praying it’s good news, not bad. I can’t take any more bad news. When I glance at the caller ID, the number is one from the base. Unsure whether to dread or anticipate this call, I tenuously press the button to answer.
“Hello?”
“Corporal Porter?”
I don’t recognize the man’s voice, but his tone of authority is clear. “Yes, sir,” I respond, my posture straightening as if he were standing before me.
“This is General Ramirez. I’d like to request a meeting with you at your earliest convenience.”
He pauses for my response but I’m too dumbstruck to speak for several seconds. What is the general calling me for? Other than at awards ceremonies, I’ve never really even spoken to the man.
He clears his throat. “Corporal?”
I stumble over my words momentarily. “Um, sure. I mean yes, sir. Of course, sir.”
He chuckles once. “Okay. How does this afternoon work for you? I have some time just before I head home. Four o’clock sound okay?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be there.”
“See you then, Corporal,” he says quickly before hanging up the phone. I glance over at the clock. It’s just after two. I’ve got about an hour to kill before I have to head in. But I can’t stay in this house any longer. I grab my keys and jog out to my car.
Sliding behind the wheel feels good. I love this car. And Chris loved it too. I think of all the hours we spent restoring it. How excited he was when we finally finished. The memory brings a smile to my face, even as I reach up to brush off a wayward tear. Chris would hate it if I was crying over him in this car. I square my shoulders, determining this will be the one place where I’ll only remember the good times. No tears or regrets here.