He looks at me, the pain in his eyes nearly bringing me to my knees.
“Iz, I can’t…go in there.”
I tilt my head to the side before asking gently, “Why not?”
He shrugs, focusing anywhere but on my face.
“Are you still mad at him?”
I’ve always had a great relationship with my parents, so I’m treading on uncertain ground here. I can’t imagine a world in which my parents aren’t some of the first people I turn to with both my troubles and my celebrations, so this has always been a part of our friendship that’s hard. I just don’t get what it would be like to be so mad at my parents that I not only leave town, but I never look back. Never reach out.
“Yes,” he says automatically. “And no.” He takes a deep breath in. “If you’d asked me even a month ago, I would’ve simply said yes. It was easier to hold on to the anger.”
Silence stretches between us, and even though I hate awkward pauses, I let it stay, physically sitting on my hands to restrain myself from breaking it.
Finally Jaxon lets out a sigh. “Maybe I need to talk to my therapist about this.”
I nod. “It might not be a bad idea, but until then, want to tellmewhy you haven’t gone through your dad’s room yet?”
“I guess…I’m worried what I’ll find. That it will make everything real.”
I reach for his hand. “It’s already real, Jax.”
He swallows. “Yeah, but…he reached out once or twice a year since I left. I never responded.”
After another heavy pause, he continues, “He told me it was my fault my mom died. That they didn’t catch her lupus flareup because she was pregnant with me.”
“I know, Jax. Your dad told me.”
I consider how much I should say, before deciding on the unfiltered truth. “He regretted it until the day he died.”
Jaxon shakes his head. “He didn’t want me. He would’ve rather had my mom.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple. I think he blamed himself for not realizing how sick she was, and you were a daily reminder of his failure.”
“I hated him.”
“I know,” I say. “He hated himself too.”
“The only way I could’ve made it worth having me around is if I became a farmer, but that would’ve made me feel like I let down my mom.”
I squeeze his fingers. “Do you want me to tell you what’s in there? Would that be easier than you walking in there yourself?”
Jaxon thinks about it for a while. “No. I need to do it. If not for my dad, then for my mom. For me.”
“Can I hold your hand while you go in?” I ask.
Jaxon pulls his guitar off and sets it gently on the couch next to him. “No. I just…I’m not ready. For whatever is in there. I’m sorry Andre made you come all this way to help me with something when I’m not ready to do it.”
“I’m here. Whenever you’re ready. I’ll be here.”
But what I don’t say is that the sale is in less than a week.
So whatever he’s going to do—whatever we’re going to do—we’re running out of days to do it.
Chapter forty-three
Jaxon
