Instead of being offended by what I said, Aiden just looks at me seriously. “Having good grades is the only thing that’ll help get me out of this hellhole.”
“Oh.” I never stopped to consider Aiden’s home life. He drives a pretty expensive car, but he’s never talked about his family. Then again, neither have I.
He straightens up and grabs his bag from the floor. “I should get going. When are your parents getting back home?”
“My mom will probably be home sometime tomorrow afternoon.”
He raises an eyebrow a fraction, enough to let me know that he realizes I didn’t mention my father. He doesn’t say anything about it though. “You’re here alone tonight?”
I tuck my hair behind my ear, feeling a little vulnerable. “Yeah, I usually am.”
“That explains the baseball bat.”
“Oh yeah. I hoped you’d forgotten about that.” I blush.
“You’ll be okay here by yourself?”
“Is someone concerned?” I joke, trying not to think too hard about if that means Aiden actually cares about me.
“You said your mom’s rarely home. Where’s your dad?” he asks.
Of course he’d ask. I left a loose string when I didn’t mention my dad, and Aiden’s going to pull at each one until he unravels the secrets of my life.
I don’t know if it’s the progress we made today as friends, or his openness with me when he said he wanted to get out of this town, or maybe it’s the fact that I know he doesn’t apologize for anything, but something compelled me to tell him the truth.
“Dead.”
I guess that was one of his theories because he doesn’t look that surprised. He surprises me, however, when he replies solemnly, “My mom too.”
I figured he wouldn’t appreciate an apology, so I didn’t give him one. I’m just surprised he’s being open with me. Aiden’s the poster child for closed-off, impassive expressions, and I can’t believe he’s letting me into his life.
“When?”
“When I was ten. Cancer. You?”
“Just over a year ago. Drunk driver.” I look away.
He’s silent for a moment, then, “Did they catch the guy?”
Again, I don’t know what’s compelling me to be so open and honest with Aiden tonight, but it still doesn’t deter me from looking him straight in his intuitive gray eyes. “He was the drunk driver.”
I’ve never told anyone before. I didn’t tell any of my other friends from the other towns. I’ve always tried not to get too close to them in case I screwed up and we had to move again. Maybe I’m tired of distancing myself from people I know I could trust. Maybe I’m tired of lying for the past year. Maybe I just need someone to talk to, since I never had time to grieve properly after everything happened. Whatever it is, it makes me look Aiden straight in his eyes and say for the first time out loud the truth about my father.
He shocks me when he steps closer to me, his eyes revealing his concern. “What happened?” he asks softly, a stark contrast with his normally harsh tone.
“I was there.”
I look away, eyes watering a little as I remember that awful night.
I was at the mall and had missed my bus, the last one of the night. My mom was attending on an overnight flight to Italy, trying to stay out of the house for as long as she could. Trying to run away from her problems as usual by throwing herself into her work. Flights away from her crumbling marriage and suffocating husband—a husband who turned to alcohol instead of facing the reality of his failing marriage. My parents had been drifting apart for as long as I could remember. They never touched each other. They never ate together. There was tension when they were in the house together. Years of neglect on my dad’s part, maybe, or my mom finally realizing they married way too young—they never told me, but they didn’t have to, I knew their relationship was a mess. People should trust their kids more—they see more than they reveal.
The luminescence from the moon painted the deserted parking lot in an eerie glow as I sat on the curb waiting for my dad. It was an hour since I’d called him to come and get me, and I was growing more and more unsettled. I shifted uncomfortably, cursing myself, promising that if he showed up I wouldn’t be late for anything ever again, like I was for that damn bus. I probably could’ve walked home by the time my dad’s SUV pulled up beside the curb, but it was late, and dark, and he’d never not shown up before.
Already agitated and unsettled by my creepy surroundings, I hopped in the car without a second thought, and my dad practically took off before I even closed the door. The smell hit me immediately. Still, I clicked in my seat belt and turned to my father, noting how he was swaying slightly and squinting as if he couldn’t see straight.
I knew he was angry. He never really used to drink before he and my mom started arguing so much, so I’d never known his drunk personality. But when the fights had gotten louder and more frequent, and he’d been drinking more often than not, I’d come to learn that he was an angry drunk.
What the fuck, kid? Why’d I have to get you? Can’t you take the fucking bus like every other normal fucking kid?
Then I knew he was drunk—other than the slurring, that was the only time he ever called me kid.
He was gripping the steering wheel tightly as he let his anger fuel him, already going thirty over the speed limit.
Of course not. You fucked up the bus schedule just like you always fuck everything up!
My father wasn’t a bad guy. Never hit me, always took me out and bought me what I wanted. He just wasn’t good to be around when his life was in shambles and he was drunk.
Dad. Pull over. I gripped my seat belt, not feeling safe in the passenger seat with a drunk driver.
Don’ you tell me what to fucking do. I’m the adult here! The car accelerated even more and my father’s anger radiated off of him in waves.
I panicked. Dad! Slow down!!
I told you to stop fucking telling me what to do! I get enough of that from your mother! God, you’re just like her!
The car jerked as he forced the accelerator down again, and the scenery melted into a big blur.
Dad! I yelled
What? You don’t trust your ole man?
I started crying. You’re drunk! Just pull over! Please, Dad! I want to get out!
Of course you don’ trust me! Just like your mother! I’m perfectly able to drive, see?
The car lurched to the left suddenly as he jerked the steering wheel in that direction, and my body moved with the sudden movement. Then just as quickly, the car swung back to its proper lane with another jerk, causing me to hit my head on the window from the harsh, sudden movements.
See? I know what I’m doing!
We were still traveling at lightning speed. Tears rolled down my cheeks from being so frightened, and now my head was pounding from hitting the window so hard.
Pull over! I screeched. Let me out! Right now!
Instead of listening, he just repeated his actions, his “proof” that he knew what he was doing. He swung into the oncoming lane, then jerked back into ours. He did it again, only that time we were about to go through a dark intersection. There was a loud crunching noise as the back of the driver’s side of our SUV hit the traffic-light pole. Time stopped. Noise was cut off and replaced with white static. The car spun a few times through the intersection before we were blinded by a pair of headlights.
It was like that collision pressed play again. Time seemed to speed up as the white static was replaced with deafening noises: glass breaking, metal scraping, and a girl’s terrified screams.
Thinking back, that was probably me.
I was airborne as the car flipped over and over and over, but it all happened so quickly I didn’t even know how many times, or how long it lasted. When the car finally stopped moving, the intersection wasn’t even in sig
ht. We landed on the tires—right side up.
I was disoriented, confused. My head pounded and I felt so incredibly dizzy. There was a shooting pain in my arm, my whole body felt sore, and there was a lot of blood. My dad wasn’t in his seat; he wasn’t even in the car.
The police told me later that he hadn’t been wearing his seat belt and flew through the windshield after the collision with the other car. They said he was dead, though, even before he flew through, his neck having snapped when his head hit the steering wheel on impact.
His body had landed half a block away. When the paramedics rolled me through the street strapped on the gurney, I turned my head in time to see them covering his battered body.
I wish I hadn’t. That image will haunt me until the day I die. So will the other image I saw before I passed out: beside an upside-down, butchered car, the paramedics were placing a sheet over the now lifeless body of a six-year-old girl.
“Amelia? Are you okay?” Aiden’s soft tone brings me back to the present.
He puts his hand on my shoulder, and I can feel his heat practically burning through my thin T-shirt. I bring my hand up to my face and wipe away the traitorous tears that have escaped.
How long was I zoned out for? Aiden doesn’t seem annoyed; he looks genuinely concerned. I nod mutely, answering his question, and wipe the last few tears that stream down my cheek. I feel his thumb on my shoulder move slowly back and forth, comforting me in a way I never imagined such a small action could.
“Were you—were you hurt?”
I look back at him and nod again. “Broken arm, broken ribs, sprained wrist, concussion, some cuts and bruises. I was really lucky though. My dad—” I choke up again and look away.
It’s been so long since I actually thought about my dad—about the trauma of what I went through that night. It was always overshadowed by everything else that happened after that day. I never actually thought about the fact that I was there when my dad died. I could’ve done something, done anything differently to have prevented that. He could still be here. I could still be at home instead of constantly moving. And Sabrina . . .
“My dad.” I try again, staring at the wall. “He went through the windshield before the car rolled. They told me he died quickly, and that he was probably too drunk to feel anything.” I chuckle humorlessly. “As if that’s supposed to make me feel better.”
Aiden’s hand is clenched in a tight fist at his side, as if he’s visibly trying to restrain himself. It’s then that I also notice that his whole body is tense, and when I look back at him, his expression is hard again. Despite his whole manner suggesting his fury, the hand on my shoulder stays gentle, his thumb still caressing soothingly.
Aiden exhales from his nose, his jaw relaxing slightly. He drops the hand that was on my shoulder, that comforting hand, and looks at the wall behind me.
“My father, he wasn’t that great either. When I was nine, we found out my mom was pregnant with twins. Two little boys.
“It’s really rare for a woman with cancer to get pregnant, and she didn’t even think she would be able to have kids again,” he continues as both of his fists clench again, a thinly veiled expression of fury in his normally apathetic eyes. “My father told her that with the medical bills and other payments, she couldn’t keep them.”
I’m holding my breath, so captivated by Aiden and his words. It’s rare that he opens up to people and I don’t want to do anything to discourage him. He’s trusting me.
“She refused to get an abortion,” he continues, “and he just walked out of our lives. Haven’t seen him since.”
This time it was my turn to comfort Aiden, putting my hand on his bicep reassuringly. That’s horrible. His dad left his nine-year-old son and his wife, pregnant and with cancer, because he didn’t want to deal with the bills.
“My stepfather wasn’t any better.”
“What—” I swallow, my mouth dry, kind of already knowing what his answer will be. “What did your stepfather do?”
My words seem to remind him where he is and what he’s saying, and his eyes snap back to mine, his impassive expression back in place. “You said collision. Was anyone else hurt?”
I drop my hand. I know he’s changing the subject back to me, and I can respect that. He already opened up so much to me, and for someone who never lets anyone in, he’s told me so much.
I could’ve lied. It would’ve been easier. It would’ve been better. But I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t betray him like that after he’s been so honest, letting me see him more vulnerable than anyone ever has. Lies are expensive, and I’m already living a giant one. Some part of me just felt like I had to be honest about this, just this once.
“A little girl. Her name was Sabrina,” I confess quietly. “She was only six when she died. And it was all my fault.”
“No. Amelia! You can’t—”
“It was, Aiden!” I cut him off. “I missed my bus! I called my dad to get me. I got in the car with a drunk driver! Aiden, I killed a little girl!”
I’m crying in earnest now, letting the emotions I haven’t allowed myself to feel flow free for the first time since Sabrina’s funeral. Aiden doesn’t even hesitate. His arms wrap around me as he pulls me in close, my body fitting perfectly in his sculpted arms. I wrap my own around his back, snuggling in closer to his comforting heat while he holds me as I cry.
This one hug, this affectionate action from a guy who’s normally so impassive and callous means more to me than anything. I’ve never felt so secure before, so okay to be vulnerable, that it makes me want to stay nestled in his embrace forever.
He rests his chin easily on the top of my head, one hand rubbing my back slowly, soothingly, the other in my hair. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t shove the alcohol down his throat. You didn’t put the keys in his hands. You didn’t tell him to put his life and the life of his only daughter in jeopardy. It’s not your fault, and don’t you ever fucking forget it.”
“But Sabrina’s dead. Her father, Tony, lost everything that day. His wife had recently passed, and because of me his only daughter is dead too.”
Aiden puts his hands on either side of my face and pulls me back to look at him, holding me hostage with his intense gray eyes.
“It was not. Your. Fucking. Fault. Sabrina’s father can’t believe that it was.”
He does. I know for a fact that he does.
“You weren’t there, Aiden. I snuck into her funeral and sat in the back of the church and tortured myself with all the sad people gathered to mourn her; all the people gathered to hate me for being the person who caused her to be taken from them.”
“Stop it, Amelia!” He lets go of me and steps back in frustration, and I can’t help but immediately miss his comforting warmth. “It wasn’t your fault and that’s fucking final. Anyone says otherwise and I’ll beat the shit out of them myself.”
He might have to. He didn’t see Tony that day. He looked so broken, so unsure of what to do with his life now that his princess was gone, the last living reminder of his wife.
His eyes. They were haunted; so heavy with sorrow, so full of pain. I’ll never forget those eyes, since their transformation is the reason my life is so messed up.
Over time those eyes changed from hurt to despair.
From despair to hopelessness.
From hopelessness to anger.
From anger to revenge.
Still, I nodded, agreeing with Aiden.
I really didn’t see anything wrong with opening up to Aiden—at the time, I’d never felt so comforted before. I had some of the best sleep I’ve had since the accident.
But waking up the next morning, my panic rises. And it keeps going all weekend. My overactive mind whirls over every single reason I shouldn’t have told Aiden.
It wouldn’t be so bad if I’d just left it at “My dad was the drunk drive
r,” but the more we talked, the more I felt compelled to tell him the truth. Something about him just made me feel so comfortable, so okay with being vulnerable that I forgot to keep my guard up and stick to my script.
I’ve never opened up to anyone about any of that before, and out of nowhere I decide to spill some of my darkest secrets to the school’s biggest badass? What the hell, Amelia? Get it together!
My mom’s going be so pissed when she finds out. We’re going have to move again and then she’ll have to find another job again and every day she’ll grow to resent me even more and—no.
I stop pacing. She’s not going to find out. I won’t say anything to her because Aiden isn’t going to tell anyone. I mean, normally Aiden would probably tell the Boys, since they do everything together, but he’s not going to. Not this time. Aiden and I connected on a deeper level last night. He told me about his mom and his brothers. I wonder what happened to them?
But either way, I think he’s intuitive enough to know that I wouldn’t want anyone else to know.
I mean, he didn’t tell anyone about Chase loving Charlotte, so it’s not like the Boys share one brain; they keep their own secrets too. I’ll catch Aiden first thing and confirm that he won’t tell anyone. He won’t. I just know it. I can trust Aiden. Sure we started out hating each other, but now we’re friends. He opened up to me. He trusts me. He understands me.
I shower and fix my messy hair, putting it into a French braid down my back, attempting to hide the dark-brown roots growing in. I put on a bit more makeup than usual, masking the dark bags under my eyes.
Since I don’t have to straighten then loosely curl my hair, I finish getting ready really quickly, giving me about twenty minutes until I have to leave.
I open my closet door and pull out an old shoebox disguised among my other shoeboxes. I sit down cross-legged on my bed and pull it in front of me.
Aiden got too close to finding out the whole truth last night. Looking through this shoebox, I’m reminded of why he can’t find out anything else. Why no one can know anything, and why keeping my secret safe is important.
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