“Yes.” The answer is swift.
Before the accident, I would have flopped onto her bed and messed with some breakable item in her room to get a rise out of her, not skulked near the door. I lost that right the day I waltzed into this room and took the money she needed. “I’m sorry. What’s happened to you...it’s my fault.”
All of Haley’s warnings over the past couple of months crash in my head: I act without thinking, I’m impulsive and my impulsiveness hurts not only me, but the people I love. It hurt Rachel and now it’s hurting Haley.
I recklessly wound my way into Haley’s life, reacting each time, thinking I knew more, but the truth is I’m an idiot. Haley once wondered if we were nothing more than actions to reactions—helpless against our own fate. It’s true. I react and others pay.
“I did this,” I say to Rachel. “I’m the reason why...” And my eyes snap shut with the burn.
“West.” The hurt in Rachel’s tone scrapes at the already pulsating wound. “You have to come here, because I can’t go to you.”
The impulse is to leave—to run as far as possible—but I’m done with impulses. I’m done doing what feels good. Everyone has told me my sister needed me, but I was too selfish to listen. I was too concerned about the ache.
I sink to the floor with my back against her bedside table, not because my sister needs me, but because I’m a bastard and need her. I fucking need my sister and the past two months without her have almost driven me over the edge. Rachel rests her head on a pillow and stretches out her arm. Without looking at her, I take her hand.
“It’s not your fault,” she says.
The muscles in my face pull down. “It is.”
“It’s not.”
“You can’t walk,” I snap and I feel her hand flinch in mine. “I stole your money and now you can’t walk and there is nothing I can do to fucking fix it.” I suck in a ragged breath and nausea creeps into my windpipe. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Rachel pulls on my hand and, like a house of cards, I tumble. I hurt Rachel and I’m on the verge of hurting Haley. When will I stop paying for all my past sins? How many things will I lose that I love in exchange for all the pain I’ve inflicted?
“I don’t cry,” I say. I don’t. Men don’t fucking cry, but as Rachel touches the top of my head, I fucking lose my shit.
“I know,” she answers.
Yet we stay that way until Rachel squeezes my hand and I eventually squeeze back.
Attempting to reclaim my pride, I sit up and wipe at my face. “If I could fix this, I would. If I hadn’t stolen the money...”
“If I had told you or Ethan or Mom or Dad about the trouble I was in...if Gavin never gambled...if Colleen had never had cancer...it doesn’t matter anymore. None of it does. Will you please let this go, because I can’t carry any more burdens.”
“I want you to be happy.”
“I know. I want the same for you... I’m going to walk again.”
I try to pull my hand back, but she keeps it.
“I mean it. I’m going to walk again and I want you there when I do.”
“Okay,” I say if only to appease her. One of us deserves a happy ending.
“Promise you’ll be there,” she says.
“I promise.”
She squeezes my hand again, and, after I return the gesture, we both let go.
We’re silent and I’m grateful just to have the opportunity to sit with her again. Too many horrible conversations will be had tomorrow. I’m fine with silence tonight.
“The what-ifs,” Rachel starts.
I know the what-ifs—I’ve asked them my entire life. “Yeah.”
“If Colleen had never gotten cancer, me, you and Ethan would never be alive.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s an awful thought to have. To know you’re alive because someone else died.”
“It is.” And I say what I think every day and what she needs to hear. “But I’m still happy to be here.”
Rachel glances down at me. “Me, too.”
I nod and mischief twinkles in her blue eyes. “So, why do you have my clothes? And FYI, you’d look better in the V-neck.”
God, I’ve missed my sister. “Haley needed something to change into this weekend.”
“Abby’s told me about her. So it’s true? My notorious girl-using brother has been tamed? Wait, don’t answer yet.” Rachel slides her finger frantically over her phone and pushes an app that records. “Okay—answer.”
“Yeah.” Her enthusiasm’s contagious, and I smile in spite of myself. “You would have liked her.”
“Liked?” Rachel closes the app and her smile falters. “As in past tense liked?”
I don’t want it to be liked. I want Haley and me to be forever. “Dad will give her a scholarship if I leave her.”
“No, West...”
I throw her a sharp look. “Don’t lecture me unless you’re going to say you wouldn’t do everything in your power to grant Isaiah his dreams. Dad will give Haley what I can’t. What the world won’t give.”
Rachel settles back into bed and stares at her immobile legs. “I ran away from you guys and ended up in a car accident that’s left me like this. Going to the dragway that night saved Isaiah’s life. If given the choice, I would do it all over again.”
“See.”
“No, not see. It’s not the same because Isaiah wants me and I want him. Doesn’t Haley get a vote?”
“Haley’s a little too self-sacrificing to think it through.” I want to keep Haley, but letting her go means she’ll have a future. I stand and head to the door though the pain emanating from my chest comes close to doubling me over.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Rachel says.
“Nah, not stupid.” Just heartbreaking.
Chapter 63
Haley
At school, I stand under the overhang and watch the parking lot. My fingers flip through the pages of my book like shuffling cards in a deck. The motion and the crinkling sound of the pages soothe me. I couldn’t sleep last night as I contemplated the same question over and over again. Does West know?
Adrenaline kicks into my bloodstream when West’s SUV pulls into the lot. He’s early, which is good but also weird. A fine mist hangs in the air and the droplets sparkle on his car as he parks under a streetlight. I can’t see his face past the dark windows. I can’t see inside.
I close my eyes and inhale, trying to calm the terror in my veins. What if that’s all West has been? Pretty on the outside, but hiding on the inside. No. I swallow and open my eyes. West loves me. This is going to be okay.
West steps out of his SUV and my entire body rocks back. Nausea climbs up my throat and I turn my head, expecting the dry heave. Please let this be a mistake.
He’s sickeningly gorgeous as he walks toward me. A black tie hangs from his neck and it stands out against the crisp white button-down shirt. His black dress pants fit him like they were tailor-made and his golden hair is gelled into style. He’s poised and perfect and beautiful, but he’s not my West.
I honest to God pinch myself to check if I’m dreaming. What is in front of me has to be a figment of my fears—a nightmare. The prick of pain on my arm does not compare to the slicing at my heart.
West shoves his hands in his pockets when he stops a foot away from me.
We stare at each other—me like I’ve never seen him before. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“I’m going back to Worthington. In fact, I’m going back to everything.”
Everything? “What does that mean?”
West surveys the school building, the cars, the other students who turn their heads like owls in order to observe our showdown. “I don’t belong here. I never have. It’s time I stop acting like somebody I’m not and return to my world.”
A fresh surge of anger rushes through me; I’m pissed off at myself for loving him. “Spit it out.”
“Look, the suspension made me rethink everything. When I got home last night, I expected my dad to throw me out again and he didn’t. We talked and he got me back into Worthington and he convinced me that even though I returned, I hadn’t really been home. He’s right. I need to be home. It’s time for me to be a Young again. Haley, I loved you. I did, but we’ve run our course.”
“We’ve run our course?” I snap my mouth shut. A million thoughts collide in my mind... A thousand emotions. The urge is to ask him why, to convince him to stay, to ask if he ever really did love me, but the words that slip out are the ones that cause so much ripping pain that I actually sway as I say them. “I was just another girl.”
“No. Never.” He steps toward me and my arm flies out as a warning. West rocks on his feet and I lift my chin.
“Are you tapping out on me?”
It’s possible that pain softens his blue eyes, but I don’t think it is. It has to be pity. He used me and now he’s pitying me.
“Are you tapping out on me?” My muscles tighten with every word. I welcome the anger. I crave the anger because anger is a hell of a lot better than hurt. “Are you walking away from me and the fight?”