Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(53)

Jonathan's eyes widened in surprise. I guess he hadn't seen that coming.

"Wow, that was kind of a messed up thing to say," I admitted with a nervous laugh.

"Yeah, a little," he said with a slight chuckle.

"I can't believe I just told you that." I shook my head in embarrassment. "You'd think that I'd be over it by now. I mean, she's in jail. But I can't seem to let it go."

"Believe me, I understand. My father's been dead for years, and he still gets to me."

Any remnants of a smile fell from my face. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not." I was taken aback by the conviction in his voice. His face was emotionless and smooth. And in that moment, I was envious. I shifted uneasily, struck with guilt for wishing she were dead for even that one second.

Jonathan exhaled audibly. "Wow, we're depressing as hell, aren't we?"

I laughed at the tension breaker. "Pretty pathetic."

"So, what are you up to today?" he asked, averting the heavy topic that threatened to devour us.

"Well, I guess I'm going to finish this run," I answered. "Then …  I don't know. And you?"

"Exercise sounds good," he acknowledged. "Maybe I'll go for a swim. Then, I guess I'll be back over."

"What are you going to do?" I asked, fearing his motives to return.

"Don't worry," he assured, "no more drama. Despite what happened, I don't freak that easy. I'm not going to break it off."



       
         
       
        

"Good." I smiled lightly, finding myself hoping my mother wouldn't continue with her liquid therapy and end up pushing him away for good.

I left him on the bench with words of seeing him later and returned to my run. I had a hard time making sense of what was happening, connecting with someone through shared misery. I didn't get it, but I wasn't ready for him to leave either.

I returned to the house cleansed with sweat, and discovered that I'd missed a call from Casey. After stripping off the layers and guzzling a glass of water, I called her back.

"Will you go to a party with me tonight?" she asked, straight to the point.

"Uh," I stumbled, not expecting the question. "I don't know."

"Please, Emma," she begged. "Jill and Sara are away, and this party is supposed to be amazing. I don't want to go by myself."

I sighed, having a feeling I was going to regret saying, "Fine, I'll go."

"Yes!" she exclaimed loudly. "I'll pick you up at nine, okay?"

"Sure," I agreed. "Where are we go―" She'd hung up. I supposed it didn't matter. They were basically all the same anyway.



"That's a cute sweater," my mother noted as she watched me concentrate on brushing my lashes with mascara. It was the first time I'd seen her. She'd stayed in her room most of the day.

"Thanks," I responded, twisting the tube back together. "It's really warm though, so I hope I don't get too hot."

"Cashmere does that. Wear a nice tank top underneath. I have a white one that would look great if you needed to take off the sweater."

"Okay, thanks," I replied, glancing at her reflection in the mirror.

She hesitated and said, "I keep fucking up, huh?" I turned to face her as she let out a disheartened sigh. "I'm sorry."

Before I could respond, she went to her room and returned holding a ribbed tank top with a sweetheart neckline.

"Thank you," I offered, not sure how to recognize her apology. I pulled off the hooded green cashmere sweater and slipped on the tank.

"Fits perfectly," she admired. "Where's the party?"

"Not sure exactly," I admitted. "Do you want me to call you?"

"No," she replied with an indifferent shrug. "You're not the troublemaker kind, too much like your father." She smiled gently and turned to walk away.

"Mom," I beckoned, "I mean, Rachel." She turned back toward me, her face worn and sad, even though she was trying to hold a semblance of a smile. "Are you okay?" 

My mother blinked away the tears that formed in her eyes. She cleared her throat and tried to laugh. "I can't believe I'm acting like this." She swiped a hand over her lids. "I'm behaving like a sixteen year old." Then she quickly spurted, "No offense."

I smiled.

"I knew he was younger. And I knew that I get attached easily," she explained. "I shouldn't be surprised that I freaked him out." She appeared distraught as she confessed with a pained voice, "I just like him so much, Emily."