She nods, satisfied. “I’m going to make a quick dash over to Judy’s. She said I could pick some squash and tomatoes from her garden. Will you watch Spencer?”
I nod, knowing a stop to see Brian’s mom, Judy, will be anything but quick. But it’s fine. I don’t want to go anywhere tonight. I can’t lie to myself; I suppose I am excited at the idea of Kyle coming, more than I thought I would be. Has the recent turn of events tainted my feelings for Austin?
“Thanks,” she says, her typically angular face appearing softer, kinder somehow.
I watch her walk away and then I turn back to the ocean. The waves have already brought Spencer’s football back to shore, and it turns my thoughts to Austin. To his friends. I’ve always believed in second chances—like when I gave Kyle a second chance. But this?
I swallow hard. Forgiving Austin’s friends means I’m the only one left, and forgiving myself is like trying to grasp air. I take a deep breath, knowing my mom is right. My dad would forgive Austin’s friends and never look back.
But that’s him, not me.
CHAPTER 24
Austin
I remember it clearly now: July Fourth one year ago. I wanted to go out with my friends that night but my mom said no. She never said no, let alone listened to a word I said about where I was going. Yeah, I was ticked. I guess she had good reason, though. That was a week after the drugs were found in Jake’s car.
Landon, Evan, and I were all with Jake when cops pulled him over. The three of us claimed we didn’t know anything about the stash of Colombian heroin—enough to be hustling—in the trunk, and we got off easy. I was telling the truth. I convinced myself Evan and Landon were, too.
Mom freaked out, even though I told her time and time again that I had nothing to do with those drugs. Then, with a rude sting, I realized something that slashed the already thin thread holding our family of two together: My mom didn’t trust me.
She called Aunt Debbie and Uncle Mark the next morning and finalized moving arrangements by lunchtime. Never smoked, never shot up, hardly ever even drank. Football was too important. Wouldn’t let myself start on that junk. I guess it wasn’t as important to Jake though, and that’s a shame. He was a sick tight end. The guy could block anyone.
I’d never given my mom a reason to distrust me. Seriously, I couldn’t think of one. And she was sending me off just like that.
There had to be something more going on, I knew it. And then it all clicked. When she looked at me, she saw my dad. People always told me I was the spitting image of him. So the way she flipped out made me certain, once and for all, as to why my dad went to prison. Her fear ran deep, the consequence of past experience. She dreaded me turning into a crackhead like my dad, so she wanted to get me away from my friends.
Right when I was on a roll with football and everything, she ships me off. Not that she ever cared about football. Or anything I did for that matter. Seriously didn’t think she even cared about me until that moment. A phone call from Uncle Mark finally cooled me down, and I channeled all of my frustration into fueling a new goal: getting away. I couldn’t stand home anymore.
July Fourth was the last night I had to hang out with my buddies before leaving Virginia. But my mom watched me like a hawk. “Over my dead body,” she said, when I told her I was going out with Landon and Evan. She lay on the ground at the front door to block my way, imprisoning me within my own home. Kind of ironic for Independence Day.
She’s so tiny, I wanted to lift her up, slide her aside, and walk right out the door. But this was my mom here, the one who lives in her quiet little box. She’d never shown this kind of attitude. Although I didn’t let on my amusement then, I had a good laugh inside, and I agreed to the nightmare of a cookout with my stepdad instead of meeting up with friends.
I gave her a hand up from the floor and chopped peppers for the kebabs she’d seen on Rachael Ray, not thinking much of it. But now I see what my mom did for me. Landon and Evan came by, of course, like we’d planned.
“What are our families doing tonight?” Evan repeated after I asked him just that, nearly rolling his eyes.
“Yeah,” I said, “your families.”
Landon exhaled impatiently. “I don’t know. Fireworks. Pizza.”
“Well, do yourself a favor tonight and do pizza instead of weed.”
Right then I knew it. They weren’t clueless about those drugs in Jake’s car. Those were my last words before I shut the door, my last words to them before the accident that took Sienna’s dad’s life.
I turn at the green light and start down the main road. The wind is refreshing, but I doubt Landon or Evan, on their motorcycles behind me, feel any reassurance. I was the one who kept them in line. Dumped the rest of their beer in the sink while they weren’t watching, or simply tossed the whole can into the trash in front of them. Stuff like that.
If I had been with Landon and Evan that night, would the accident have happened? Maybe the three of us would have been out for ice cream instead—one of my regulars—and Sienna and her dad would have made it in time to watch fireworks with her family. And everything would be okay.
Or not.
What if I had been with them, a third motorcycle swerving into Sienna’s lane? With a tug of selfishness, I realize if anything had happened differently, there’s a good chance the past two and a half weeks wouldn’t have occurred as they have. Sienna would be nothing more than a beautiful girl I passed on River Street. She wouldn’t have needed me to catch her fall, because she wouldn’t have fainted. In fact, maybe she wouldn’t need me at all.
I pull up the gravel road and kill the engine, something heavy pressing on my chest from all angles. Hard to breathe. I glance over at Evan, finding his eyes already on mine. Behind me, Landon taps his finger on the handle bar as though the motion is either consoling or distracting. Maybe both.
“Ready?” I ask.
One of Evan’s eyebrows climbs to form a doubtful arch. Landon doesn’t reply.
Ready or not, I start toward Sienna’s beach house, feeling sick at the thought that maybe she would be better off had I never walked into her life. I’m kind of relieved when Spencer answers the door.
“Hey, Batman.”
Spencer throws open the door. “Austin! I’ll get my football.”
“Actually, I can’t stay long.”
The excitement drops from his face. “Oh. You wanna see Sienna?”
“Yeah, if that’s okay.”
“You’re lucky. My mom just left. She doesn’t like you much.”
My eyes sweep the entryway behind him. “How come?”
Spencer shrugs. “Well, she hates tattoos. And she really, really hates motorcycles. And anyway, she really likes Kyle Price.”
Just what I need to hear.
Landon shuffles his feet next to me, reminding me why we’re here.
“Do you know where Sienna is?”
Spencer points down the wraparound porch. “The beach.”
“Thanks, Spencer.”
“Hey, Austin?”
“Yeah?”
“Can we play football next time? You’re coming over again, right?”
“I hope so.”
We spot Sienna as soon as we round the corner of the house, sitting in the sand, her back toward us.
“Let’s make this quick,” Evan mumbles in a low voice.
I shoot a glare his way. Whether he said it purely because he’s a wimp or not, I don’t know, but he has a point. We’re probably the last people Sienna wants to see right now.
Sienna hears us and turns. She stands and crosses her arms, not wasting any time. “Were you drunk?”
Evan and Landon falter.
“My brother got pulled over a while back.” Landon’s voice cracks. Sienna glares. “Cops nailed him. And he had, like, maybe a drop of alcohol. That’s it. Got his license suspended, jail time, court fees he don’t got cash to pay. And he got a freaking misdemeanor. Not to mention, my dad was pissed.”
S
ienna’s face is like a sheet of ice. I shouldn’t have hoped for more. “Why should I care?” she says.
“We had one drink,” Evan replies.
“One drink, huh? Well, obviously it was enough to kill my dad.”
Landon whacks Evan on the arm. “It wasn’t the beer.”
Sienna’s expression turns from ice to fire. “Then, please, tell me what it was. Because you swerved into our lane, and the next thing I knew, we were drowning!”
“Look, we didn’t know your car went over the edge until later.”
“And that made you feel better, how? It was still a hit-and-run.”
“We didn’t hit your car.”
“Because I swerved!” Sienna yells. “I could have hit you, but instead—”
“I swerved to dodge a piece of tire tread,” Landon cuts in, and little by little the tension dispels into silence.
Sienna keeps a tight jaw. “Tire tread?”
“Right there in our lane. Look, motorcycles aren’t like cars. Hit debris at that speed and you could be roadkill.”
Sienna pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. “You’re telling me a piece of trash is responsible for that accident?”
They nod.
“Then why didn’t you tell the police that?”
“Because we’d just been drinking at a party,” Evan says. “We would have been screwed. Cops wouldn’t have bought it.”
“I swear,” Landon says, “we only had, like, one drink. If that.”
“Uh-huh.” Sienna makes a doubtful sound. “Everyone says that. Why should I believe you?”
“We left the party early, okay?” Landon mutters and looks at me. “We had one drink and split.”
Guilt latches on, cinching tighter and tighter around my neck. The thought that I had anything to do with why they left early, why they were on the highway at that exact second—
“Whole house was smashed, man—”
“And stoned,” Evan adds.
Landon sends a fleeting glance my way. “We decided not to mess with any of it. So we drove by the fireworks on our way to crash at my house and eat pizza. With my family.”
Thunder echoes in the distance, slowly dissipating. Storm clouds roll away, revealing a dark yet settled sky overhead. Landon and Evan actually took my advice. Who would’ve guessed? They probably made the best possible choice that night, yet someone died because of it.
Sienna rolls her eyes and wraps her arms around herself like she’s trying to keep herself together. The way her chin quivers and her eyes get all teary makes me step forward.
“Sienna,” I say, “I know we can’t make this right, but—”
“You’re right,” she shoots back, suddenly strong again. “You can’t make this right, Austin. He’s dead, okay? Dead!”
Every angry syllable beats the harsh truth of her words into me. Nothing can be done now. Even if Landon and Evan came forward, their guilt would be difficult—probably impossible—to prove. There’s no evidence they had alcohol in their system. They didn’t even hit Sienna’s car. She swerved. Legally, isn’t she as much at fault as they are? Worst of all, her dad can never come back.
“Where were you anyway?” Sienna draws the you out with an edge of disdain. It feels like salt water in a deep cut when I realize she’s talking to me. Suddenly, I’m one of them, the third motorcycle that could have been.
“We know we can’t change what we done,” Landon whispers, as though he senses the tension between us as his cue to leave. “I swear, we wanted to fess up long ago, but we backed out.”
“Yeah, we’re sorry,” Evan says.
“Real sorry,” Landon adds. “If there’s anything we can do—”
“You can leave me alone,” Sienna cuts him off.
Landon shoves his hands in his pockets, silenced. Evan turns and Landon soon follows, their footsteps muted by the sand as they leave.
“Sienna.”
“Don’t,” she says.
“I just want to answer your question,” I say. “And then I’ll leave.”
Slowly, her eyes shift to find mine.
“I was supposed to be with them that night, but I stayed home,” I say.
Sienna nods, silent. I want to reach out to her, but her sharp glare tells me that could be a mistake. I step back to leave like I told her I would, but I see her lips part.
“If you’d been there,” she says, raw emotion breaking through her voice, “would you have stopped, or would you have run, too?”
I feel the dull ache of disappointment, wishing she knew me better. Wishing she didn’t have to ask. “What do you think?”
Pain washes over her face. Still, she doesn’t surrender to tears. Yeah, I wish things had happened differently that night. Big time. I wish I could have been there, actually, but I wasn’t.
Sienna refuses to look me in the eye. Her silence is my answer, so I nod and walk away without a backward glance.
“You would’ve jumped in the river after me.” Her voice is barely a whisper, and I pretend I don’t hear.
CHAPTER 25
Sienna
Taking the steps two at a time, I run inside, letting the door smack shut behind me. I lock it and head for the stairs.
“It’s time for bed, Spencer,” I say, passing him in the living room.
His Xbox controller hits the ground. “No fair! It’s only nine o’clock!”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Did you get in a fight with Austin?”
“No,” I lie.
“Yes, you did. I’m not stupid.”
“Drop it, Spencer.”
“You’d better not screw things up. I like him.”
I pause. My heart twists, wrung out like a used rag. The image of Austin’s face moments ago on the beach comes back to me, his usually clear blue eyes clouded with doubt. “I have a headache. I’m going to bed. Do me a favor, Spence? Play video games in your room until Mom gets back, okay?”
I close my bedroom door, welcoming the solitude. I throw my earbuds in and flip on some music, trying to choreograph something, anything. Nothing comes. I pull the earbuds out, throw them down, and slip between the covers of my bed. My mind succumbs to sleep, but even as I doze off I fear it will be a restless night.
And I’m right.
I toss and turn, nightmares of the Fourth of July drifting in and out of my mind. Details of the accident come back with chilling clarity, details I haven’t recalled until now. The abrupt swerve of the motorcycle next to us, dodging debris in the road. The shot of adrenaline, the sick gut feeling as I overcorrected, and the splitting pain as my head hit the window and everything went dark.
I throw the covers off, feeling a bead of sweat roll down my chest. The faint glimmer of dawn illuminates my bedroom. It’s five o’clock. Feels like I’ve barely slept.
I stumble out of bed, rummage through the closet, and locate the binder in my suitcase. I pull it out, hold it in my hands. This was my tangible way of coping with death, this binder. Mom wasn’t about to admit that any of us needed counseling. Not that I would’ve wanted it.
I went through all the stages of grief listed on the Internet—shock, guilt, denial, and more. I see that now. Obsessed with finding who was to blame, I slipped into a raging roller coaster of emotions, particularly anger. Soon, the inexhaustible feeling of hopelessness began to scare me.
Depression.
It freaked me out. I wouldn’t let myself go there. So I suppressed it all, and with time I convinced myself I’d come to terms with everything.
I caress the leather and open the cover. The accident flashes back with haunting detail. Newspaper clippings, pictures of the accident, a program from the funeral, a photo Haylee took of me and Dad at the dance performance before the accident, and more. I thumb through the remnants of his life. I haven’t looked at this binder for months, and now I remember why. Even now, a cold sweat creeps to the surface of my skin.
I spent hours and even days looking at these pages, crying over
the last words I wish I could have said: I love you, a simple Thank you, but most of all I’m sorry. My heart beats like an angry mallet against my chest. I try to take a calming breath, but I can’t get enough air. Finally, any resolve I have to stop this fainting spell crumbles. Why should I even try?
And why on earth did I bring this binder to Tybee? I should be over the accident, beyond tears, moving on. The binder begins to shake in my trembling hands, and a blinding light replaces everything in front of me, whisking me away from my closet in one clean sweep.
Thunder cracks in the distance, sending a tremor through the ground. The bright light gives way, and I blink my eyes, confused. I whirl around, searching for my dad, for the garden. Sand digs into the palms of my hands. I feel a wave of shock and then excitement when I realize where I am—what moment I’ve rewound to.
Austin glances around, his dark hair tousled from gusts of wind. It worked. It really worked.
Austin smiles at me, his eyes striking a vivid blue under the darkening sky.
“Austin?” I hear the disbelief in my voice.
“I said, okay,” he laughs, his heart-stopping smile erasing painful thoughts of his friends and their motorcycles. Erasing everything but me and him.
“Okay, what?”
“Okay, I’ll remember this moment,” he says. “I promise, I won’t forget.”
Lightning splits the sky. Austin’s thumb brushes across my lips. Everything is as it was the day I made the pact with Austin, hoping I could choose the moments I rewind to. Perhaps I can select that pool of memories. Like drawing numbers from a hat. Here we are again, on the beach with a storm bearing down on us. Same storm. Same first kiss.
I smile, stunned. I can’t stay mad at Austin, even if I want to. He makes me want to live again, really live. Like the moment with my dad I rewind to, this moment will slip by in a flash. So I push astonishment aside and sink into Austin’s arms.
A sheet of rain pours down, cold and refreshing. Austin and I run for cover. I laugh, happy to relive this, hoping I relive it a million times, the moment Austin and I first kissed. He pulls me into the warmth of his arms, our lips finding each other, and for one brief minute that ends too soon, everything in my life feels right.
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