It still feels like adrenaline is flooding my system, but I’m helpless, just staring back at my mom. There’s nothing for me to do here, nothing left to fight, and yet, my heart hammers against my ribs, a cold sweat sliding across my skin. Confused, my mind flashes me back to blood, terror, and screaming, but I force it away, focusing on breathing the way the counselor taught me.
Inhale. Hold. Let it go.
When it feels like I’ve beaten the chaos back, even if only temporarily, I tell Mom, “I messaged Gracie to come to Benson’s last night. I thought we could talk, and that the bar would be…I don’t know, more neutral, you know? I wasn’t surprised when she didn’t show up, but I was gutted.” My voice cracks. Mom doesn’t say a word, her fingers still gently holding the ice pack to my face. I reach up, brushing her hand aside and taking over.
“I could see it whenever I looked over at you,” she murmurs. “But you were with Nick and Ryan, and it didn’t feel like the time for your mother to step in.”
I nod, looking away. “I stood up to let Nick out of the booth,” I recall stiltedly. “And someone touched me. I thought it was Gracie. Ihopedit was Gracie. I spun around, and everything went sideways…” I drop my hand, the ice pack falling to my lap, feeling so goddamn lost. “The last time I saw Paisley, I told her to leave me alone, Mom. I told her to back off and let me make things right with Gracie. And then she just…”
“She kissed you,” Mom says slowly, the slightest waver to her voice. “And you didn’t want it.”
She’s not asking, but the loud “No” explodes out of me. I scrub a hand over my mouth, hating that the last lips on mine werehers, when they should’ve been Gracie’s.And now Gracie is gone.
“That girl,” Mom hisses out, her eyes glittering with anger. She seems to make an attempt to shake it off, pointing at my face. “What happened here?”
I reach out, sliding a finger down the swollen bridge of my nose. “Nick,” I mumble. “He saw Paisley kiss me, but he didn’t realize I was trying to get her off me.” One corner of my mouth tips up in an unamused smile. “Nick said he punched me for Gracie.”
Mom’s lips purse, her cheeks flushing a dull red. “Paisley is…” She blows out a steadying breath. “I won’t say what I’m thinking, especially with your sister eavesdropping?—”
There’s a thud, and then Annalise calls, “I get it off you!”
“Well, go read one of your books,” Mom demands, not unkindly. Analise laughs, the sound trailing off as shemoves away from us. Mom waits until she’s sure my sister is out of earshot, and then turns to me again. “I knew something was going on with that girl. And the way Esther talks about her, like she hung the moon, the stars,andthe sky? But turns out, she’s just walking around, assaulting people with hermouth.” A huff of laughter escapes me, but Mom’s expression is deadly serious. “Do you want to press charges?”
I falter, the idea not having even occurred to me. “Mom, it’s Paisley.” Her expression doesn’t change, watching me expectantly. “She’s Nick’s sister. Esther and Joseph’s daughter. There’s no taking that back.”
“You listen to me.” Mom leans in closely, her eyes intent on mine. “Her actions are her own, andthat’swhat can’t be taken back. Our ties with that family might be broken forever because of it, but that’s not on your shoulders. It’s on Paisley’s.”
“I don’t want to press charges, Mom. It was just…” I sigh heavily. “I want to erase it from my mind and forget it ever happened. I’m not okay, but it’s got nothing to do with last night and everything to do with Gracie being gone.”
Mom sits back in her seat, her eyes sliding away from mine, her expression conflicted. “Braxton…if this were just about that kiss, things might be different. But it’s not.”
I furrow my brow, but Mom’s patting my hand and standing up. I watch as she walks away from me, picking up her knife to finish cutting the ingredients for the sandwiches.
“Mom?”
She doesn’t look at me when she finally says, “Gracie wasn’t hurt because Paisley decided you were her next trophy.” There’s a long pause, the air thick with tension, before she continues, “And if you don’t understand that, there’s really nothing I can say to help you.” The knife falls to the counter with a clatter as she turns to face me again,her eyes overly bright. “I’m struggling, Brax. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel right now because I know you’re struggling, too. We all know, but you won’t let us in to help you.”
I clench my hands around the melting ice pack, watching my mother cautiously, swallowing back every word that bubbles up to my lips. It isn’t my turn to speak, and I need to let Mom get it out.
“I look at you, and I remember this little boy who would get thetiniestscratch on his knee, and he’d wail the house down. The little boy who would demand the biggest bandage for that minuscule scratch, and then he’d spend hours cuddling into my side before he decided he felt better.”
“Still had to limp, though,” I add quietly. The memories of that time are hazy, but it’s a story that’s been shared more than once over the years. “Otherwise, you’d forget.”
“Right.” Mom’s smile is wobbly, wistful. “I look at you, and that’s the boy I see. Not this man who’s fumbling through life, unable to see the forest for the trees. Not this man who’s blindly and willfully caused so much damage that I’m not sure it can ever be repaired. And I’m struggling, because how can I love one version of you so much, and be so…enragedwith the other?” Mom’s lashes lower, masking her eyes, but when she lifts them again, her eyes are red and watery.
“I didn’t?—”
“Youdid,” she interrupts. “Gracie is gone, and while seeing that picture might have been the last straw, this has been coming for a while. Tell me you don’t know that.”
I swallow thickly, dropping my eyes to my hands. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even realize how badly that accident was affecting me, and then everyone kept telling me how I must be feeling and what I should be doing and…I felt cornered, Mom. Everyone else seemed to be dealing with it fine, but I wasn’t. And I felt…”
It feels like my insides have been carved out with a rusted spoon. My chest is still too tight, the air I’m pulling in filled with sharp needles and thorns, shredding through me on the way to my lungs. After a moment, I forcefully exhale, pulling my eyes open and locking stares with my mother.
“I felt like a failure,” I confess. “I can’t tell you how much I thought about quitting these past few weeks. I feelless. If I couldn’t save that little girl…”
Mom collapses into the seat across from me, her face pale and drawn, and I hate that I’m responsible for causing her this much worry. “Why didn’t you just talk to us?” she asks. “Why didn’t you talk to Gracie?”
I moisten my lips, trying to find the words to explain. Mom doesn’t rush me, taking the warming ice pack and swapping it for a fresh one from the freezer. Before dropping back into the seat next to me and pressing it back to my nose again. She’s sitting close enough that I can see flecks of hazel in her eyes—so familiar and usually filled with warmth, but right now, she just looks sad.
