“Gross! I would never?—”
“Metaphorically. Notliterally. Obviously. But like a dog marking his territory.” He grunts, and I sigh. “I have no interest in Jenkins. He’s nice enough, of course, and we had a nice conversation—at least until you butted in—but he wasn’t trying to make a move on me, and I wasn’t flirting with him.”
He grunts again and looks away. “Okay, fine.” He stares out the windshield for a few breaths, then, “I wasn’t flirting with that woman either.”
I chew on my bottom lip. I could tell he wasn’t, so that’s not really news. “I know,” I say softly after a second. “You could, though. If you wanted to.”
The look he gives me is pure revulsion. “Why would I want to do that?”
Shrugging, I scoot as far back in my seat as I can, crossing my arms tightly across my chest. “She’s pretty. Clearly interested in you. Probably knows something about hockey.”
“Okay,” he says slowly after a long moment stretches between us, and I finally look at him again. “And?”
I shrug again. “I doubt she’s as much of a hot mess as I am,” I mutter.
He lets out a single bark of laughter, like I caught him off guard. “Well, you’re right that you’re hot,” he counters, “but I wouldn’t call you a mess.”
I gape at him. “You—what? That’s ridiculous. I have been one mess after another for over a decade. Hell, my whole life, if we’re being honest. I was never as perfect as Hunter, the golden boy,the star athlete who was taken too young. The one who shouldn’t have died.”
“No,” Jason says slowly, “Hunter shouldn’t have died. It was tragic and awful, and yes, he died too young. But you say that like there was someone who should’ve died instead.” When I just look away, looking out the passenger window, Jason reaches over and brushes his finger on my arm. “Who, Hailey? Who do you think should’ve been the one who died?”
“Well,Idon’t think so, but my parents obviously would’ve preferred if it had been me.” I choke on the last words, and they come out as barely a whisper, the tears flooding my eyes faster than I can blink them away. “I was the afterthought, the mistake. Always two steps behind—too slow, too messy, too loud, too … everything. Artistic. Flighty. Disorganized. Emotional. Too much of the wrong things and not enough of the right ones. When I cried about Hunter, I’d get told that I didn’t have the right to be as upset as they were. When I wanted to do anything—play in the youth symphony, take private lessons, audition for All State, audition for Lawrence—I was told how Hunter would’ve done better, been better, cared more about sports and athletics and less about music and books.”
Jason makes a pained noise in his throat that draws my attention, interrupting my monologue of pain and shame.
“See?” I add, uncrossing my arms so I can dash the tears from my face. “I can’t even hold together a relationship with someone whose sole purpose is to rescue me from myself. I’m beyond hope. Beyond help. Not even you can save me, Jason. And I don’t blame you for not wanting to try anymore.”
“What? What are you even talking about?”
“This!” I cry, flinging my arms out. “Us! This whole thing. It started with you wanting to save me, and to say I needed saving would be an understatement. I was drowning, and I didn’t know what to do. You tossed me a lifeline, and even then, I was stillsuspicious, wasn’t I? Taking my time to decide, arguing with you, the whole time wondering what’s in it for you? And all you’d say is you made a promise to Hunter and you felt bad for not keeping it. So, okay. Guilt. That was your motivator.”
He grunts, but it’s not a sound of disagreement.
“Wasn’t it? Am I wrong? I know I always assume the worst, but you even said that yourself.”
“No,” he says quietly after a moment. “You’re not wrong. But it wasn’t …” He rubs his hand across his chin, his stubble scraping in the quiet of the car. “It wasn’t that cut and dry, either. Yes, I felt bad that I’d left you alone for so long, barely checking in when I’d promised Hunter I’d look out for you. I should’ve been more present, I should’ve known sooner that your parents had basically abandoned you. They didn’tseemlike they were ignoring you the times I visited. In fact, I assumed the opposite. They seemed way overprotective, not wanting to leave you alone with me. It made me wonder if somehow they’d blamed me for Hunter’s death.”
I snort. “Honestly? They might’ve. Not rationally. Obviously you didn’t give him a brain tumor. But …” I spread my hands in front of me in a gesture of helplessness. “You were there. You were one of the first ones to notice when he started having trouble. You were the one who encouraged him to get checked out. You were around at the hospital. You were always there, with Hunter. And even if they didn’t actuallyblameyou, you reminded them of him. And they …” My breath hitches, and I clamp my lips together to stop the sob escaping my throat. “They shut down. After. After the funeral, they barely mentioned him. They’ve been practically pretending like he never existed ever since. They took down all the photos with him. They boxed up and got rid of all his things. I managed to save a couple of things for myself—his class ring, some of the photos, his letter jacket, nothing much. Stuff I could hide in my room, either safelyblended in with my own things or kept where they wouldn’t see it, and thus wouldn’t want to get rid of it.”
“God, Hailey.” He says, arresting the flow of my words. “Oh my god. That’s so fucking awful. That’s just—” He cuts off, his hand over his mouth like he won’t let himself give voice to whatever’s in his mind.
I lift my hands, palms up. “Yeah.” My voice breaks. “It was. Honestly, I’ve talked about Hunter more since you showed up than I have in the whole rest of my life since he died. Talking about him at home was forbidden, and so I got used to just … not mentioning him. At all. When I went to college, it was easier not to mention my dead brother.” I let out a choked laugh, even though nothing’s funny. “I mean, imagine those conversations.”
“God,” he repeats. “Just … fuck.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that pretty well sums it up.”
He draws in a shaky breath, and the nervous part of me wants to keep talking. It’s the part that always hopes that if I talk enough, explain enough, that someone will listen, will believe me, and will understand. But I clamp my lips together and brace myself for his reaction. I’ve said plenty. Now I need to let him respond.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Jason
Taking a deep breath,I look out the window, and it dawns on me that we’re sitting in the car in the parking garage. This isn’t at all where and how I wanted this conversation to go. At least, not how I wanted it to start. I had it planned out. We’d sit, either on the couch or at the table, have coffee or something, and have a rational conversation about what we both want and how we get from where we are to that.
But this …
Starting from jealousy—on both of our parts, from the looks of it—sparking an emotional conversation and Hailey dragging out all her past pain and trauma …
