I glance up quickly. “Well—no. I mean, not you guys. You guys and Cory and Hayley… you’re the only people I can really trust. But everyone else… Anyway, it’s my fault. I should know not to count on others by now.”
Alex’s brow pinches. “I’m sure he has a good reason for not doing the website, Cat. He wouldn’t just abandon it to spite you. Do you really think that’s who he is?”
I let my gaze fall to my glass. Because no, I didn’t think that’s who he was. And that’s what makes this whole thing so much worse.
I think of Mark at the store today, telling me not to come running to him—and how I told him I’d never come to him for anything again. Because I won’t, because I don’t need his help—or Myles’s help. I don’t need anyone’s help anymore.
“Oh well,” I say, giving a brittle smile. “I don’t need him—I never did. I knew better than to let him help, but he talked me into it. I’ll do it on my own, as I should have done all along.”
Geoff puts a hand on my arm. “You don’t have to do things alone, Cat. There’s nothing wrong with letting people in, with asking for and accepting help. Like when I needed you when I was upset about Daniel. We’ve been so worried about you this week. We’re here for you, and it’s not a sign of weakness to need us sometimes.”
My gaze swings to Alex and she’s nodding, her eyes shining. “I love you, hon. You’ve been there for me so much and I’m here for you. Don’t push us away.”
Don’t push us away.
Her words echo around my head, colliding with Myles’s words—words he said so often they’re permanently lodged in my brain:you’re pushing me away. I knew I was pushinghimaway, but not them. Is that really what I do—push everyone away? Because I didn’t push Dad, or Mark, or Mel—they left all on their own. But as I sit here gazing at my two kind and loving friends, I wonder if I just do it now as a reflex, as a way to protect myself.
“Maybe you should talk to Myles,” Geoff says.
I give a slow, sad shake of my head. Because even if Ididpush him away—even if a small part of me wants to talk to him—that doesn’t change the fact that he’s let me down, right when he knew I needed him the most. And out of everything, that’s one thing I don’t think I can forgive him for.
35
Iwake to the sound of someone pounding on the door, and I lift my groggy, tired body from the bed with a groan and a string of curses. When I yank the door open, Geoff sashays in brightly.
“Morning. Let’s go to breakfast.”
I push the door shut with a yawn. “Are you kidding? What time is it?”
“Nine,” he says, wandering to my room. “Were you still asleep?”
“Yes.” I trail after him. “It’s my day off.” Though I’d never normally sleep this late—I’m usually up at six or seven without an alarm. It’s just my body clock. But this past week I’ve felt more tired than ever.
I enter my room to find Geoff perched on the edge of my bed. “Well, get dressed. I’m taking you to breakfast.”
I consider him for a moment. I’m not sure I want a repeat of last night’s therapy session, and I’m certain Geoff hasn’t magically let things go since.
“My treat,” he adds. “To celebrate moving out of the store.” There’s a mischievous glimmer in his eye I don’t like the look of, but the longer he sits there, the harder it is to think of an excuse.
“Fine.” I reach for my black jeans off the floor, grab a fresh tank top and underwear, then pad to the bathroom and run the shower. Twenty minutes later, we’re heading out the door.
“So, I was thinking we could try this new place a few blocks from here.”
“Sure,” I mumble, trudging beside Geoff in a fog.
We walk in silence for a while and I drift along, thinking. Usually by this time of the morning my anger has kicked in, giving me a fresh shot of energy to face the day, and I stomp across town to the shop and put on some loud hip-hop to help me pack up the store. But today I’m not feeling that hit of adrenalin. Today, I’m just feeling… empty.
“Oh, I need to duck in here real quick.” Geoff grabs my arm, dragging me into a building before I can protest. I trail after him, blindsided and bewildered. His grip on me tightens as he pulls me past some sort of reception area into a hall filled with people sitting on—
Meditation cushions.
I glower at Geoff. “No. Way.”
“Shhh!” the instructor hisses from the front of the room. “Take a seat, please.”
“Sorry,” I say to the instructor. Rows of heads turn my way as I try to pull my arm free from Geoff. “But my friend—”
“Take a seat,please,” he repeats in a firm tone.
