by McCoy, Katie
“So you’re going to let them dictate your life?” Hayley asked, crossing her arms. “You’re going to let them win?”
“I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep you safe,” I said. “And you know that means stay the fuck away.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t accept that.”
“I can’t do this to Emerson,” I said, trying a different tactic. “He’s my friend.”
“He’s my brother,” she argued. “And he’s wrong.”
“He’s not,” I said. “And you know it.”
“Stop it,” she said. “Stop letting other people make a decision about our relationship.”
“There is no relationship,” I told her.
Her face went white.
“Dante . . .” she tried, but I knew I had to end this now.
If I didn’t, I’d never be able to let go.
“There’s no future for us,” I said, keeping my voice low and flat. “This was fun, but that’s all. And now that the fun part is over, let’s not make a big deal about it, OK?”
It hurt how easy it was to play the jackass. The cruel words just rolled off my tongue. Because everyone was right—Emerson, Nicky, my foster parents—I was a troublemaker and I’d never change. Better that Hayley find that out now.
“You’re a liar,” Hayley said, her eyes filling up with tears.
“You’re a princess,” I shot back. “And not everyone wants your help. I sure as hell don’t.”
“Fuck you, Dante,” Hayley said, a tear spilling down her cheek.
It killed me that I couldn’t reach out and brush it away. Killed me that I was responsible for her tears in the first place.
“You’re a coward,” she told me, her sadness morphing into rage. “A liar and a fucking coward,” she shouted at me, her words echoing in the quiet gym.
“Get out!” I yelled back.
Her eyes flashed with pain, but she didn’t say another word. Instead, she did as her brother had done and left me, alone with a quickly blackening eye. Exactly what I deserved.
20
Hayley
I was miserable. In the past, when I’d broken up with boyfriends, I’d spend the next few days wallowing by eating lots of chocolate and watching my favorite episodes of reality TV. This time, even those usual pleasures brought no relief from the unending pain of my breakup with Dante.
So this was what heartbreak felt like.
I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. And I certainly couldn’t watch crappy TV. The world seemed empty and bleak. I wanted to crawl under my covers and stay there until everything hurt a little less.
But I couldn’t even do that. By some cruel twist of fate, I was too busy to lock myself away in my apartment. Instead, I had to drag my zombie-like ass all over Chicago for a variety of charities I was working on, as well as all the extra rehearsals Purple Sunday had now set up in preparation for our show and second audition for Austin James.
After several days of putting everyone through my lackluster performance, I finally confessed to my bandmates the reason for my lousy attitude.
“Dante and I broke up,” I told the group. “I’ll be fine by the show, but I’m just still processing right now.” I said, proud of myself for not bursting into tears in front of them. It would have been exceptionally uncool of me.
But I was surprised by the outpouring of support I got. Freddie told me that I could take as much time as I needed—that if they had to, they could practice without me. Maddie shared a story about how she had been in a band with her ex-boyfriend and she eventually had to quit because it was so hard for her.
“But I found you guys after that, so in some ways, he kind of did me a favor,” she said, her eyes bright, obviously hoping that the same thing would happen to me.
I nodded and gave her a hug, knowing that Dante breaking up with me was definitely not something I’d ever consider a favor.
“Have you ever tried writing songs?” Kara asked me. “I find that some of my best ones come out of those tough moments. Lots of good material to use.”
“What are you saying, exactly?” Dylan joked.
“Not you.” Kara pushed him away before focusing back on me. “But seriously, think about it. Writing songs can be very healing, and it’s pretty obvious you have a natural ear for music.”
I had never thought about writing songs, but out of all the suggestions that my bandmates had given me, Kara’s advice was the only one I could see actually taking. Except, at that moment, the thought of wallowing in my sorrow and using that for material felt kind of cheap. Because it wasn’t song-writing material—it was my actual heart breaking.
I tried to push my sadness aside for the sake of the band and rehearsal, but I could only manage one lackluster performance after another. If I kept this up, Purple Sunday was totally fucked.
We started packing up when a familiar figure emerged from the back of the venue. He had been hiding in the shadows watching our rehearsal. He came towards me with an apologetic smile, arms open, but he wasn’t the person I wanted to see. I crossed my arms and turned my back on my brother.
“You guys were great,” Emerson said, obviously trying very hard to make amends.
I continued to ignore him, helping the others pack up their equipment. I caught the other bandmembers giving each other confused looks—obviously unsure how to respond to someone who was a stranger to them.
“My brother,” I finally said. “He’s a giant pain in the ass, but harmless.”
Emerson climbed onto the stage and introduced himself to everyone.
“You really were awesome,” he said, trying to cozy up to the band. “The songs are really fantastic.” He turned to me. “You sounded incredible, Hayley.”
I continued to ignore him. We hadn’t spoken since the whole Dante incident, though Emerson had tried. I’d gotten phone calls and text messages from him on a daily basis, trying to find out if I was OK. Which I wasn’t.
“We’re going to head out,” Kara asked, keeping one eye on Emerson. “Are you guys OK?”
I nodded, and the band left, leaving me and Emerson alone. He stood there on the stage with me, his hands in his pockets, looking sheepish.
“Hayley, I . . .” He paused and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m really sorry.”
I didn’t say anything. Because it didn’t matter if he was sorry—the damage was done.
“I know you don’t think this now, but it’s for the best,” he continued. “I was just looking out for you.”
I lost it. Spinning on my heels, I came towards him, sticking my finger in his face as I yelled at him, all of my sadness and anger pouring out of me.
“It’s for the best?” I shouted. “How do you know what’s best for me? I was happy, Emerson, really fucking happy, and then you came and ruined everything because you were ‘looking out for me’? If that’s your idea of what’s best for me, then you need to stay the hell out of my life!”
He looked stunned and took a step back.
“I don’t need you to protect me,” I said, anger leaving me, hot tears prickling my eyes. “I just needed your support. I just wanted you to be happy for me, but instead everything is ruined. Dante broke up with me and it hurts and it’s your fault.”
Then embarrassingly, I burst into tears.
Immediately Emerson stepped forward and put his arms around me. Even though I was still mad at him—still furious—I let him hug me. He had always given the best hugs, even when we were kids, and it was hard not to feel comforted by them.
“Come on,” he said, stroking my hair and speaking soothingly. “Let me buy you some ice cream.”
It was February, but ice cream was what we had always done when we were younger and I’d had a bad day. If school had been rough, Emerson would take me to get ice cream on our way home. Our favorite place wasn’t far from my band’s rehearsal space, so we both bundled up and headed there.
We didn’t talk the whole way there, and I managed to wipe th
e last remaining tears away before we entered the cozy establishment. Emerson didn’t even ask for my order, just went straight to the counter and ordered each of us our favorites.
He sat down across from me and pushed the cup of ice cream towards me. Chocolate with rainbow sprinkles for me, rocky road for him. We ate in silence for a few moments before Emerson put his spoon down and let out a sigh.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m sorry for being so overprotective of you.”
“I’m an adult, Emerson,” I reminded him. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know,” he said, squirming a little. “But I still remember how it was when you were in high school. We’d come here and you’d tell me all about the mean older boys at school who were teasing you.” He looked down at his ice cream. “I hated that people were causing you harm, and I couldn’t just sit back and let it happen. I’ve always looked out for you, Hayley. Even then. Who do you think got those assholes to leave you alone?”
“Things change,” I told him with a sigh. “I grew up.”
“I know,” he said, looking regretful. “At least, I do now.” He reached across the table and took my hand. “I’m always going to be your big brother. I’m always going to worry about you. But I’m learning too. I’m learning that you don’t need the kind of help I gave you back in high school. Not just because you’re older, but because you’re tough. You’re a badass.” He gave a wry smile. “I mean, I would have never imagined that you’d be brave enough to get on a stage in front a bunch of strangers and sing your heart out. Because I sure as hell wouldn’t be brave enough to do that. But you are. Because you’re incredible, Hayley, and I’m really, really proud of you.”
The tears started flowing again, but this time they weren’t angry tears or sad tears. They were tears of relief. Of understanding. I loved my brother, but for years he had refused to see me as anything other than someone who needed to be taken care of. Who needed to be protected. Now, it seemed, he was finally seeing me. The person I was. The person I wanted to be.
“Thank you,” I told him. “That means a lot.”
Silence settled between the two of us.
“I’m sorry I fucked up things between you and Dante,” he finally added.
I didn’t have a response, so I just nodded. I was sorry too, but I knew it wasn’t completely Emerson’s fault. Dante and I had both known that Emerson was probably going to react badly to finding out that we were together, but it was Dante who had let Emerson’s words get into his head. Who had believed him.
That was on Dante.
“I’ll get over it,” I eventually responded, even though the pain in my heart made that seem like an impossibility. A part of me was convinced that I’d never get over it. That Dante was the one and now he was gone.
“Was it the real thing?” Emerson asked, his voice quiet.
I could tell he didn’t really want to talk about it, which made it more meaningful that he was trying. I squeezed his hand.
“Yeah,” I said. “It was the real thing. For me, at least.”
“If it was real for you, then it must have been real for him,” Emerson said firmly.
I shook my head. “If it was real for him, then he wouldn’t have been able to walk away the way he did.”
Emerson thought for a moment. “Dante is stubborn, but also skittish. He doesn’t do relationships, or commitments. Maybe it would have happened eventually.”
I knew this was his way of trying to make me feel better, but it wasn’t working.
“You don’t know him as well as I do,” I told Emerson.
He raised his eyebrows. “We’ve been friends for almost ten years.”
“But you never saw the side of him that I did,” I said.
He winced a little. “What side is that exactly?” he asked. “Or do I not want to know.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m talking about his sensitive side,” I told my brother.
“Dante has a sensitive side?” Emerson asked incredulously.
I nodded. “He’s a really good guy, Emerson. Kind and supportive. Way more sensitive than you guys give him credit for.”
Emerson paused. “Have you spoken to him? Told him how you feel? Maybe if you—”
I shook my head, and he stopped talking.
“He knows that I love him,” I said. “And he walked away anyways. That was for my own good as well. Or so he said.”
Emerson had the good sense to look ashamed at that.
“He’s stubborn,” Emerson agreed.
“It’s too late,” I said sadly. “There’s no one more stubborn than Dante.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Emerson gave me a look. “I think I know someone just as, if not more, stubborn than Dante.”
I crossed my arms. “What else can I do?” I asked. “How can I make him see what I see in him? I already chose him, already poured out my heart to him. If he wants to be with me, he has to come to that decision on his own. I can’t do that for him.”
Emerson gave me a smile. “That’s true. But if there’s anyone in the world that can show that to Dante, it’s you. I have faith in you.”
But he was wrong. I had done all I could. If Dante wanted us to be together, he had to make the next move. Or else we’d both lose the one good thing to happen to us.
21
Dante
There was nothing on this earth that would make me feel better. I was total scum—what I had done to Hayley was unforgiveable, but it was done and over with. In one fell swoop, I had lost the girl of my dreams and several of my oldest friendships. Some of the guys had reached out after what had happened with Emerson, but I had ignored them, and after a while they stopped texting, stopped calling. It was better this way. Maybe I could make a clean break—sell my part of the bar and focus on the gym. All I did was cause trouble with the group by breaking the bro code and then breaking Hayley’s heart.
I was broken up inside too, but my feelings didn’t matter. It was those stupid, pesky feelings that had gotten me into this trouble in the first place—believing that I deserved to be with someone like Hayley when in truth, I deserved nothing. I was bad news and always would be. Hayley didn’t need that kind of person in her life. None of the guys did, either.
At least I had the shell of a building that needed demoing. I was exactly in the kind of mood where I was good for one thing—breaking shit.
Bull had called me that morning and asked for help clearing the community gym lot. I had a feeling he was also trying to keep me from hiding out in my apartment as I had done for the past week, but I appreciated his method of therapy.
We’d been slowly working through the rubble of the gym ever since the fire, but before it was mostly to salvage anything that could be salvaged. Now, we were just tearing the rest of it down, making it easier for whatever was going to happen next.
Even though I had signed the contracts and the papers the day of the fire, the previous owner hadn’t filed anything so he was still the title holder for the property. He had insurance and was still willing to sell the place at a knocked-down rate, but the rebuild would fall to me and it was way out of my already-stretched budget. I had scrimped and saved enough to buy the gym and maybe make a few repairs, but a complete rebuild from the ground up? I didn’t have the capital for that. Not by a long shot.
That information, on top of everything that had happened with Hayley, meant that I was fixing for a fight, but tearing down drywall and smashing through concrete would be a pretty decent substitute for now.
When I got there, Bull was already covered in a thin layer of drywall dust, standing in the middle of a shell of a building. It hurt my heart to look at the place and the man that had shaped my life for the better. I had relied on Bull and the gym, and I had hoped that I would be able to pass that along to another generation of kids in need.
Now I had nothing but a big empty fucking hole in my heart.
“You look like shit,” Bull told me as I approache
d the wreckage.
I grunted in reply. He knew about the whole Hayley situation, though I had been loath to share my personal problems with him when his entire livelihood was crumbling and burnt beneath his feet. Still, he had noticed that I was even more short-tempered than usual and had pulled the information out of me.
As was typical Bull, he didn’t give me advice. He just shook his head when I explained that I had broken up with Hayley for her own good. For her own protection. I knew he thought I was a moron but what else was new? I was undoubtedly a moron—but for taking up with Hayley in the first place. Breaking up with her—though it hurt like a motherfucker—had been the right thing to do. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
“Here.” Bull handed me a sledgehammer.
I tested its weight in my hands, knowing that this was going to be the best way to get over every shitty thing that was happening in my life.
“What are you going to do about this place?” Bull asked after we had been working for several hours.
We had taken a break, sweating like pigs despite the cold, and were sitting on a pile of rubble, drinking a beer and examining our progress. It didn’t seem like we had gotten much done, but the work required was so massive that I knew we wouldn’t feel like we made a dent until it was all done.
“I don’t know,” I confessed to Bull, telling him everything that the owner and lawyer had told me. “The options aren’t great.”
“I have some savings,” Bull offered, but I held up my hand before he could continue.
“That is for your retirement,” I told him. “We aren’t touching that.”
“Retirement is for quitters,” he countered.
“Retirement is for old men,” I said. “And you’re an old man, whether you like it or not.”
“I can still kick your ass,” he said.
“I have no doubt.” I took another drink of beer. “But I’m still not taking your money.”