“She’s okay.” Mia steps forward. “She’s, um…well, she’s with Alex, who told me that Jenna was really shaken up by your injury. She may be blaming herself. I’m not sure exactly what’s going on, but she insisted that Alex take her straight home instead of coming here.”
Silence.
None of us say anything for a long time. “But why wouldn’t she come? Why wouldn’t she want to be here for me? I’ve been there for her…through all of this.”
Mia shakes her head, and I know her well enough to know that the look on her face is her sad look. “I’m sorry, William. I just don’t know what’s going through her mind right now. But she’s safe and she’s not in any danger. I’m sure that she cares about what’s going on with you and would want you to get this test.”
“Fuck the test,” I mutter.
“I promise we’ll take you straight over to her house when we get you out of here, all right?” Adam says. I glare at him, a ball of rage starting to burn in the pit of my stomach. “You can take her the tiara…”
“Right now, I want to shove that tiara up your—”
“Boys!” Mia holds up a hand. “Adam, why don’t you go grab us some food? I think William’s feeling a bit hangry right now. I’ll keep him company, and maybe he’ll calm down.”
Adam leaves, but I don’t calm down. All I can think of is that Jenna is at home, going about her day, not even considering that I’d want her to be with me.
I put my face in my hands, aware that the headache is still there but dulling gradually.
“I’m sure she’d be here if she could.”
That sounded familiar. I’d heard that from Dad and Britt a lot when I was growing up. Almost word for word.
And I’m reminded…reminded of those times when Mother had arranged to come get me and something would come up—sometimes days in advance, sometimes at the last minute. Our plans for dinner, or the park, or the museum…
She never came through for me. Those shifts in plans, which already made me uneasy to begin with, created a wall of frustration and anger, solid as a brick barrier. It took weeks and months and years before I got over the anger and the resentment. To this day, I’m not sure I ever really have.
Disappointment sits in my stomach like a blacksmith’s anvil, weighing everything down. It makes me feel like I am the problem. I am the reason.
I am not worthy.
It’s the same thing. It’s always the same.
I’d foolishly hoped that this one moment in time, this victory, would make me deserving of admiration, of respect…
Of love.
Jenna told me she loved me, but she’s not here by my side showing me that love when I need her most. I close my eyes, trying to imagine her standing here next to me in this cold, horrible hospital instead of Mia.
But I can’t. Instead, I only burn with hurt and rage. I try to breathe through it so I can make it through these next few hours before I’m out of here.
Mia sits down and is talking, but I’m not listening. And once Adam returns, the only thing I can do is sit here and wish that Adam and Mia were Jenna instead, and that she’s sitting beside me and holding my hand. But reality is a cold harsh distance from that fantasy—as cold and harsh as this hospital room, where the only thing I have to warm me is my burning anger.
Chapter 35
Jenna
It was just past lunchtime when we got home, but instead of grabbing a bite to eat, I poured a shot of tequila left over from our drinking night escapade and chased it with some juice.
“Jenna—”
I jerked my hand up to stop Alex from whatever she was about to say.
“No, Alejandra. I don’t want to hear it.”
I grabbed the bottle of Cuervo and took it into my bedroom. Then, divorced from all emotion—and all logical thought—I calmly started packing up my stuff.
Everything went into boxes. The two suitcases would go with me, and I’d ask Alex to store a couple of boxes at her mom’s house. The rest I’d give away…to friends, to charity, whoever. As long as I could get rid of it all.
Old things just brought back old memories—and I didn’t want any of those. They hurt too much. My heartbeat raced with fear and misery with each box I packed up, so I’d take another drink and continue, my hands working as if independent of my feelings.
Fate was calling. It was time to move on. But every time I had that thought, my heart hurt like it had been scraped by a piece of glass.
I heard Papa’s voice in my head…“Budi hraba, kci.” You must be brave…
It had been chilly that April morning as he loaded me up on the refugee truck in the outskirts of Sarajevo, along with my sister and my aunt. We’d finally had the opportunity to pass safely through the warzone to Zagreb. That day he’d pressed the tiara in my hand, assuring me it would be safe inside the beautifully lacquered case. Explaining how my grandmother had worn it on her wedding day, as her mother had before her. “You’re a princess and you need to be kept safe. I’ll see you soon. Obecavam.” I promise.