After I got my own phone, he’d text me a few times a year, usually on my birthday, Christmas, and the anniversary of Hunter’s death. He still does, actually. It’s sort of a ritual. But it’s always very surface-level interactions where he says, “Happy Birthday!” or “Merry Christmas!” or “Thinking of you,” and I respond, “Thanks,” or “You too.” Because what else is there to say?
Sure, I saw him all the time when I was little, but he was five years older than me. We didn’t chat or hang out. I was the little sister. It’s not like we really knew each other.
I suppose I could’ve tried harder. Asked him how things were going with him. But … I wasn’t ever really sure why he bothered texting me at all anyway.
Climbing back into my car, I put the key in the ignition and turn it, saying a silent prayer to the gods of car engines that it’ll start without a problem, breathing out a sigh of relief when it does.
It all goes tits up when I put it in gear, though. Something grinds, and when I push on the gas pedal, the car lurches forward about a foot before coming to an abrupt halt. Pressing the gas only revs the engine, but it doesn’t go anywhere.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I plead. I have to pee, and Jason’s watching, and what am I gonna do without a car?
Even apart from food delivery, which is the only thing keeping my bank account in the black right now, I can’t get to gigs or lessons if I don’t have a car!
I put the car in park, then back in drive, and try again, but still nothing. It’s not moving. “Fuck!” I hiss, turning off the car to turn it on again.
That’s what you do with computers when they’re acting up, right? My dad works in tech, and that’s always been his go-to first step. If something’s being dumb, try turning it off and on again.
But that changes nothing, and if I didn’t know it didn’t work for electronics either, I’d say I need to be put in a bag of rice to dry out because I’m about to start crying.
I nearly jump out of my skin—and almost pee my pants—when there’s a knock at my window.
Jason’s sympathetic face is there, and he motions for me to lower the window. Instead, I turn the car off again and open the door. “Looks like you’re having some trouble,” he says. “Do you need to call a tow truck?”
My lower lip starts trembling as I realize, yes, I probably do.
“Looks like you have a little time to catch up after all.” He offers me an encouraging smile and hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “You can wait inside for the tow. And the offer to share my wings is still open.”
Sighing in defeat, I dash a rogue tear from my cheek and nod. “Thanks, Jason,” I say, my voice raspy. “I think you’re right.”
He straightens, glancing over his shoulder to make sure I’m following him as he heads for the front door.
Some night this is turning out to be. I’ve run into a few people I know delivering food, but never someone from my childhood. For it to be Jason …
I’m not even sure what to think right now. But something tells me this night will make for a good story, even if it ends up wrecking me in the process.
CHAPTER TWO
Jason
I pickup the bags of food as I walk through the front door I left propped open.
“Everything okay?” Mom asks, poking her head from around the corner of the hallway. “I heard voices, then you vanished.”
“Yup,” I reassure her, pausing to kiss her cheek as I head for the kitchen. “Just got a blast from the past when I opened the door for my wings delivery.”
“You and your wings,” Mom murmurs, shaking her head and giving me an indulgent smile.
I shrug. “What can I say? No one makes them like they do here. Those and brats. It’s hard to find a decent brat in Seattle. I gotta get my fill while I’m home!”
She peeks behind me, a curious look coming to her face. “You said the delivery brought a blast from the past?”
Glancing over my shoulder at Hailey standing uncertainly just inside the door, I nod. “Yeah. You remember Hailey MacKay? Hunter’s little sister?”
Mom’s eyes widen, and then she sniffs like she’s holding back tears, her hand going to her chest. “Hailey,” she breathes. “I haven’t seen you in …” She shakes her head slowly.
Hailey clears her throat, and if anything, she seems to be closer to the door, like she might bolt if I take my eyes off her. “Uh, yeah. It’s been … a while.”
Since Hunter’s funeral. That’s the elephant in the room we’re all avoiding. My parents were friendly with Hunter’s parents, but I think it was mostly because Hunter and I were friends. I know my mom took a casserole over a bunch of times, both during Hunter’s treatment and then after he died. But I’m pretty sure communication stopped shortly after that. Hunter’s parents sort of holed up in their house, barely emerging to work and do the bare minimum. I have a feeling they told everyone to leave them alone, too. They tried it with me, but I wouldn’t listen. I know it pissed them off, but a mix of teenage hubris and the promise I made to their son wouldn’t let me stop, even when they told me to never come back.
