Every Little Piece

I storm out of the Boys and Girls Club and ignore the stares from the kids, the ones I just served ice cream to, the ones I just laughed with, like everything’s okay with me. I flash a fake smile and then stride to the curb outside. I walk, my feet leading the way down the street. I’m not ready to call Justine and answer her questions. I turn left and then right. I focus on the small things, the cracks in the pavement beneath my feet, the ramshackle state of the small houses from years of living near the ocean. It’s prime property. The houses are worth millions for a few small rooms.

With each block that passes under my feet, the rage fades. The salty smell of the ocean tickles my nose and brings back not only sad memories, but everything from the past year. All the walks I’ve taken along the sea, talking to the waves and the fish and the sky as if they were my friends.

My heart whispers. The ocean is just water and salt and fish. It’s not a friend, not in the way a person needs. Justine and my family have been trying to tell me that for months, but I didn’t want to listen. People hurt one another. That’s what happens.

Tate’s on speed dial. I need a friend who won’t push me to talk or show so much sympathy I want to puke. He’s better off not dating me and he should know this. I’m broken. Continuing to date me would suck him into a vortex of pain and confusion. Because that’s what I do. I hurt the people I love.

I wait, but Tate doesn’t answer his phone.

Justine’s next. I let her know where I am. While I wait for her to respond, the breeze plays with the ends of my hair, and my fingers bump along the top of a white picket fence enclosing a yard. It’s small, but around here it might as well be a gigantic field. Grass is a precious commodity.

I keep walking.

My surroundings blur. I ignore the cries of my heart, pushing up, pressing against my soul, sending messages to my brain. I refuse to listen, but my feet seem to be telling something different. By the time I reach Shore Drive, my legs ache.

From across the street, I stare into the Seaside Inn, my home for the past year. Shadows move in front of the windows. Katie and Justine are hard at work. The dinner rush is just starting.

I’m not going home. I refuse to talk to Noah.

I walk around to the back of the restaurant, to the one-car garage. For the past year, her uncle has allowed Justine to park her ancient Chevy in there. I know where she hides the keys.

I’m not going home.

My body is like a robot, on automatic, like someone has taken it over. I reach inside the planter to the right of the garage and feel around in the dirt. For the hard piece of metal. Her keys. Last year, she said I could borrow the car anytime. Of course, she stopped offering because every time I said no. I’ve only driven once since last year. I shook so bad I didn’t drive again. My parents sold the car soon after.

Crouched down, I place my fingers under the bottom of the garage door. It lifts pretty easily with a creaking that must announce to everyone what I’m doing. I expect Justine to run out the back door and question me. I wait, my heart pounding.

But the door stays closed.

I move into the dark. My hands stay on the car, guiding me to the driver’s side. The metal is cool against my skin. My fingers stumble against the handle and then lift it. The faded cinnamon spice of her air freshener wafts out.

What am I doing?

I climb inside, even though every part of me screams to stop, to run back inside and refill all the ketchup bottles. I turn the key and the low rumble of the engine vibrates my feet.

My arms shake. I put the car in reverse and jerk out of the garage. The experience feels foreign, yet at the same time, like I just drove yesterday. Some things stay with you forever, even if you don’t want them to.

I press gently against the gas and the car creeps to where the driveway meets the road. I turn left, and within seconds, I’m driving, away from the ocean, away from everything comfortable and safe. Minutes pass and I keep going in the same direction.

I’m heading home.

That thought sends ripples of nausea through my stomach. My chest shudders and memories of that night flood through me. My vision blurs. I yank the car to the side of the road, my wheel ramming into the sidewalk and going over it. The bottom of the car scrapes the curb.

I need to get out. The car is suffocating. I fall onto my knees in the dry patches of the grass. I breathe in and out but it sounds like a wind tunnel in my ears. My throat is tight and I squeeze my eyes shut as I wait for the feeling to pass. It usually does. But then I smell the blood and see their faces.

I puke. My stomach heaves and won’t seem to stop. Later, I roll over onto my back, drained and exhausted. Everything inside of me knows to call Justine to come get me and then shred my driver’s license. But the stubborn part of me refuses. Yes, I’ve been hiding out from life. I know that. I don’t need Noah or parental lectures to tell me that news bulletin.

That’s why I left home.

I’m furious that Seth found a way to deal with his pain. That he spends some time playing basketball with some kids, and presto—he feels better. That’s not fair. Taking orders and cleaning off tables doesn’t do that for me. I’m furious he tried to fix me. Out of everyone, I thought maybe, just maybe, he’d be the one who wouldn’t try to slap a Band-Aid on my life and think it would work.

The knowledge that there’s more to Seth’s side of the story gnaws at me, like a tiny mouse nibbling on crumbs in the corner of the restaurant kitchen late at night. He left. He’s the one who ran away when his girlfriend’s life fell apart. He was the one not committed enough to stick around and deal with the tough part. But as I think back at the raw pain haunting his eyes, and the fact that at least a part of him seems to understand what I’m going through, I’m confused.

For the first time in a long time I want to know the truth. Truth is a vague concept that twinkles far off the distance. Maybe if I fight hard enough I’ll find it. I know where I need to start. I have to do this. I push up and stare at the rust spots on the Chevy.

“It’s just you and me,” I say to it.

Its sad state seems to nudge me forward. The dent in the side, the rust at the bottom whispers to me that it’s okay not to be perfect. It’s okay to carry the hurt. We all do. I take a deep breath and head toward the driver’s side.

Soon, I’m back on the road. I keep the memories at bay, refusing to let them overwhelm me again. My hands are gripped so tight around the steering wheel that my fingers cramp. But I can’t get them to loosen at all. The scenery starts to be more familiar. It’s been a year.

I drive past the pool hall. I drive past the recreation fields. I drive past the laughter, the fooling around, the jokes, the smiles, the tears. I force my face into a mask and refuse the tears. The street names are the ones I’ve passed my whole life on my way to and from school.

It’s good that Tate didn’t answer his phone and that Justine was too busy to come get me. I need this. It’s about time. I stop under a huge, drooping maple down the road from my driveway. For some reason, I can’t look at my house. I can see it in my head, the black shutters, the white paint of the Cape, the crumbling stone steps leading into the house that Mom’s wanted repaired for years.

I get out of the car, with a tremor in my legs. I walk to the sidewalk and stay in the safety of the maple. Finally, I look.

I blink again. The crumbling stairs are gone with new stone in its place. The house has been repainted and the driveway repaved. Life has gone on without me. I expected to return and for it to be the same. But it’s not. This motivates me to follow through with what I came here to do.

My parents’ cars are gone, but Tate’s truck sits in the driveway. The red Ford is recognizable anywhere. He and Noah are friends, but it’s easy to forget that outside of the relationship that Tate and I have had for the past six months.

I walk forward, my feet moving, pulling me closer, toward the truth. I might not be ready to hear what they have to say but I need this. If for no other reason than to prove to Seth that I haven’t been wasting away for the past year. I don’t want his sympathy. I don’t want him feeling bad for me or guilty for leaving. That’s in the past.

I climb the stone steps and pause at the front door. Do I enter or do I knock? The window is open and voices drift out. I shouldn’t. I should enter so they know I’m here. But a part of me is curious. I crawl along the side of the house until I’m under the window.

They’re talking about me.

At first, their voices are muffled but I hear my name between the grunts and disagreements. Their voices rise, and I hear Tate. “You know I don’t agree with this, man.”

Noah snorts. “Yes, you’ve told me multiple times, but you’ve had a crush on my sister for ages and readily agreed to everything last year.”

“You’re my friend first,” Tate states. “You’ve been my friend since fourth grade, when you beat up Dustin McClane. Remember that?”

There’s silence, and I know Noah remembers. Tate is one of his closest friends and we’ve heard that story over the years more than a few times. But what did Tate agree to? Unless I’ve blocked out my family and missed bigger things than the house being repainted and steps being fixed.

“Of course, I remember.”

“Well,” Tate says, “you gotta let go. You can’t keep blaming yourself for everything. Move on, and let Haley live her life.”

Noah’s voice rises. “And you call what she’s doing living?”

I cringe and want to run away, climb back in the car and drive back, but I don’t move. The lure of their secrets refuses to let me go.

“You call what you’re doing living?” Tate shoots back.

“This isn’t about me. It’s about Haley.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve spent the past half a year getting to know your sister. She’s stronger than you think. You need to stop messing with her life.” Tate’s voice lowers. “Leave her alone. She’ll figure it all out. I promise.”

Noah growls. “What are you trying to say? Just spit it out.”

“I’m saying, I’m done. She broke it off with me. She deserves better anyway. She deserves the truth. From you.”

“Fine. Thanks for stopping by. Let’s keep in touch,” Noah says. I hear his sarcasm, which he uses when he’s mad and hurt.

“Noah. Come on, man. Stop doing this to yourself.”

“Leave.” Noah’s voice turns to steel. Tate has no chance of reaching him now. Not today.

“Fine.” His voice cracks a little. “But you’re wrong about her.”

They stop talking, and I realize that Tate’s leaving. I scramble around the side of the house. His truck starts up moments later, and he drives away. Thankfully, he won’t recognize Justine’s car parked down the road.

I lean my head against the side of the house. Their words swim in my brain but I can’t make sense of them. Now is not the best time, but I’m not sure I can make the drive out here again.

This time I don’t knock, but nudge open the door, which Tate didn’t shut all the way. I enter and lose my breath at the wave of memories and smells that hit me, the faded scent of Mom’s favorite cinnamon candles, the air freshener. I bite my lip and push through them. I stand at the doorway to the living room. Noah sits on the couch, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He doesn’t know I’m here yet and for the first time in a long time, he’s vulnerable. He’s not hiding behind a mask of control. Maybe he doesn’t have it as together as he leads people to believe.

“What’s going on with you and Tate?” I ask softly.

He jerks his head up and shock is written all over his face. “What’re you doing here?” He glances out the window and sees the empty driveway. “How’d you get here because I know you didn’t drive.”

“That’s not important.” The secrets hidden behind their words push me to ask questions. “I overhead your conversation.”

Noah’s face pales. Several times, he tries to talk but only manages a few words. I see his guilt.

“What’s going on? What’s going on with Tate?”

“Nothing.”

I push him harder. “You must be doing something.” I take a deep breath. It’s time to say what I came for. “I’m sorry. I’ve spent so much time running this past year and avoiding you that I forgot to be your sister.”

The truth hits me harder than I expected. How selfish I’ve been. We carry our hidden truths, the painful ones, but speaking them out loud makes them so much more real.

He catches my eyes with his. The guilt that resides there punches me in the gut. The truth haunts him. I can see it plain as day. Why does he feel guilty? I close my eyes and let their conversation replay in my mind. The dots connect, one by one. I remember my kisses with Tate. The lack of spark and passion. The fact that he coincidentally appeared in my life when I had no one. The fact that he and Noah have some kind of agreement.

“Oh, my God.”

Noah stands. “Haley, I’m sorry. Let me explain.”

A rush of anger takes the place of any compassion or feelings of love I was just feeling. It’s a tidal wave that crashes against me. I tremble, the raw truth taking hold of my body and shaking me. It won’t let go. I stay in control. Barely.

“How dare you?” I spit out. It’s not a question. Because I know the answer. He’s been controlling my life now for a while. He’s always been the older protective brother but ever since the accident, it’s been worse. “I’m not your project to fix.”

Noah’s face turns from guilty to mad. His eyes twitch and his jaw clenches. “Really? You’re not?”

I don’t respond at first, but the emotion and anger builds. “I can take care of myself. Stop messing with me. I’m perfectly happy with my life and don’t need you to play therapist.”

My words hang in the air, full of contradictions, because we both know I’m speaking lies.

He scoffs. “That’s fine, then. Go play at your secret little hideaway home by the shore. Just remember you’re not the only one hurting. You’ve shut out your family and your friends. Everyone! Did you ever think we need you too?”

His words send me past my breaking point. He realizes what he’s said and reaches for me. “I’m sorry, Haley. That was stupid of me.”

“No!” I don’t let him touch me, because if he does I’ll break, one way or the other. “I’m leaving now. And you’re right. It was stupid of you because my friends are dead.” I walk to the front door. “Don’t call. Don’t visit. And don’t get another friend to be my playmate.”

I slam the door. I stay in control until I reach the sidewalk and then I’m sprinting. I reach Justine’s car and whip open the door. I pull a three-point turn and then screech off down the road, leaving behind the smell of rubber. I press the gas and speed back to what has been my home. I need to get back and into the routine I’ve established for myself. The day-to-day routines that have kept me sane for the past year.

But somehow, something’s been broken. I’m pretty sure the routines aren’t going to help. There’s only one thing that will, except I’m not ready and I don’t know if I ever will be.





I stand outside the door to my house. The cape is small but until this past year, it’s all I’ve known. Most of my memories are happy, with a family I love. Emotion squeezes my chest, and I feel a sliver of regret for leaving them out of my life for the past year.

My hand has been on the doorknob for about five minutes. If there’s one thing I’ve learned working with the kids this past year it’s that you have to forgive. I’m not their therapist. I don’t tell them to forgive some of the horrible things that happened in their lives, but I see it. I see the hatred and bitterness crawling through them, sucking the joy from their life.

It’s much harder to forgive yourself. I can’t hold others accountable—I know that now. But I can hold myself accountable and hold on to that blame so I never forget.

But Mom? I need to face this. Her. I need to forgive. Because right now, back in the area, I need my family. Because this, this part of my past, is the root of everything.

Before I can knock, the door opens. Mom stands, her brown hair is a bit longer, and there’s a spark in her eyes that wasn’t there when I left. She pulls me into a hug before I can say a word. She draws me close, and I can smell her perfume. It surrounds me.

“Hi, Mom.” I can’t meet her eyes. “Sorry I didn’t stay long when I dropped off Katie.”

She pulls away and squeezes my hand, then lets go. “You’re here now and that’s what matters. Come in, come in. I have some cookies somewhere.”

I follow her into the kitchen. She’s nervous. She bangs around in the cupboards and finally pulls out packaged cookies that are probably weeks old. She places them on the kitchen table and gestures to a chair.

“Is it working out with Katie?” I ask.

“Oh, yes. I love having her, but she’s gone a lot. Glad she could use the extra bedroom.”

“Good. I thought you two would get along.”

“Please, sit. Would you like some tea or coffee?” She twists her fingers in her other hand. “If I’d known you were coming I’d have made some homemade iced-tea that you like.” She keeps rambling on, apologizing for the state of the house and the fact that she hasn’t vacuumed. She’s patting her hair as if trying to find a spot for every loose strand.

“Mom.”

She stops fiddling.

“Sit down.”

She sits, but keeps smoothing down her hair.

“It’s okay. I didn’t come for the cookies.” My throat is dry and I swallow what little spit is left in my mouth. I tap my fingers against table. I’m the one who’s nervous now. “How’ve you been?”

While she searches for an answer, I glance around the kitchen for signs of my dad. But I don’t see his wallet, keys, or sandals by the door. That’s why there aren’t any cookies. “Dad’s not here, is he?” I ask softly.

Mom shakes her head. “We’re still working things through.”

I ask the tough question, the whole reason I’m here. “Are you still…” I can’t say it. I can’t ask if she’s still hooking up with Carly’s dad.

She shakes her head no.

This is so awkward. I stand up, desperately needing air. She stands too and follows me to the door. I turn and see the hope written on her face. Any remaining anger leaves me.

“We should get together for breakfast next week,” I say.

Mom’s eyes light up and sparkle in a way they weren’t when she answered the door. “I’d love that.”

“Great. I’ll call.”

I’m standing on the front steps and the awkward silence hangs between us. As I’m about to turn, she grabs my arm and pulls me into a fierce hug. “I’m sorry, Seth. For everything. I’m sorry this had to happen right when you were graduating. I wish I could take it back.”

I cringe, remembering how angry I was last year, the night of graduation. Blinded by anger that my parents would do this to me. “No, I’m sorry. I understand.”

And I did. Even the closest of relationships can go off track. No one wants them to, but all it takes is one word, one misunderstood conversation or one mistake. And then, something that was so wonderful gets derailed.

I give her one last hug. “I’ll call you next week.”

I climb into my car and hit the road. I feel a bit lighter, but at the same time, depression hits. My mistakes with Haley can’t be smoothed over with one short conversation. I’m not ready to go back to my grandfather’s shabby cabin, so I head to the pool hall. Yes. I have lots of memories here, but I deserve to feel rotten.

I walk in and the first thing I notice is Noah sitting at the bar. He stares in front of him but doesn’t seem focused on any one thing in particular. All I want to do is hide out in the back and shoot some pool. I’m not looking for a fight. Especially not with Noah. But when the door slams closed behind me, he looks up. Our eyes connect, and I see the mixture of grief and anger pass over his face.

The way this day is going, the universe seems to want me to face every person in my life I’ve hurt or let down. Now that we’ve both recognized each other I can’t ignore it. I walk over and slide onto the stool next to him.

He says nothing but signals for another beer. His fingers curl and uncurl into a fist while he waits. I expect him to turn any second and slug me one.

We sit in silence but it’s not awkward. He doesn’t want me here, or anywhere near Haley, but it’s different this time, because I do plan on telling her everything, just not yet. I need at least a couple days when she doesn’t completely hate me.

“Have you talked to her?” Noah breaks the silence.

“Earlier today.”

Noah grips the bottle, his knuckles turning white. “What happened?”

“Nothing really.” Haley doesn’t need her brother knowing everything, so I decide not to tell him what happened.

Noah laughs, but it comes out harsh and brittle, like an old man’s. “I doubt that. When Haley’s upset, it usually has something to do with you.”

He’s tense, but beneath all that I sense he’s scared. There’s a note of desperation behind his questions. What happened with Haley?

I steady my voice. “Where’s Haley?”

He shrugs and takes a long pull on the bottle, which I notice is just root beer.

I try a different approach. “You know that’s not the answer.”

“Don’t even bother lecturing me until you’ve made things right with my sister.”

“That’s fine. Where is she?”

Noah snorts. “Who knows.”

My pulse increases. My skin prickles with fear of the unknown. “I know you hate me. But if something’s wrong with Haley, you have to let me know.”

“Why?”

“Because I might be the only one who can reach her, who can understand,” I say. “What happened?”

He sighs. “Fine. I made a mistake and she’s mad at me. But she’ll get over it.”

The fear grips my heart. Haley might’ve been able to handle a mistake Noah made but what he doesn’t know is that I made a mistake too. I pissed her off. I reach for my phone.

Me: Hey where are you?

I slide the phone back in my pocket and pray she answers. Noah finishes off his drink and looks at me for the first time. Shadows darken his eyes, and the misery drips off him.

“Find her,” he says.

That’s all I need. I don’t wait for a text back. I grip Noah’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

I race to my car and head back to the shore. I’ll start at the restaurant and then check the ocean. Maybe Justine knows where to find her. If she’s carrying this weight on her, and I’ve made it worse by returning to town and trying to fix her the easy way, then I need to tell the truth right away.

Everything.

Even if she hates me forever once I do.

I love her too much. An ache resides in my heart, and I slam my hand against the dashboard. I want to take her pain. All of it. It was all my fault.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’ll make it right.”





I press my foot on the gas and speed through the streets. Everything I’ve known rushes past. The elementary school playground where Kama, Brin and I drank wine coolers the end of our junior year. The rec fields where we played soccer once with the guys. I stifle a sob and a laugh as I think back on that one afternoon. Seth, Carter, and Jamie, playing dirty, losing their shorts. I pass the pool hall. I can’t even begin to go through all the memories I have in that place.

I take slow deep breaths. I miss that. I crave that. I just want to go back in time, push rewind and take back the last year, because last year at this time my friends and I were hanging out. I was considering my future with Seth. All it took was one event to trigger the whole night and the disaster that happened.

What if Justine didn’t have a party? What if I hadn’t fought with Seth? What if it hadn’t been raining? What if. What if. What if. The words scream inside my head. The grief swirls inside, pushing, pressing, wanting release. It’s been bottled up for months because I’ve refused to let it out. I’ve refused to cry or scream or even utter the words that life is unfair, because I was the one who lived. I’m the one still breathing, moving, and living life. I still have my future ahead of me. If I want, I have the chance to go to college, to get married, to have kids, to play with grandkids.

If I want it.

But I don’t.

Because life isn’t fair. I should’ve died that night. I might as well have because my life ended even though my heart still beats in my chest, even though every second of every day of every month I breathe air in and I breathe it out. I move through life, an impostor, someone who shouldn’t be here.

Someone lays on the horn, and I swerve the car and press the gas at the same time. I drive right through a stop sign. My heart shoots up into my throat and the pulse roars in my ears. I suck in ragged breaths to get control. But living on the edge like this, pushing the envelope of life feels good.

I’m out of control. And I like it.

Noah and Tate’s words ring through my head. Even though I went out with Tate and pretended to have a life, it was a lie. Noah asked him to be my friend and act interested so I’d get out and live.

The rage pulses through my body. It’s not something I can define. It’s not as simple as being angry at my brother for playing a prank on me. He created a life for me that wasn’t real. He tried to sugar coat my days so I’d forget. But doesn’t he realize that that moment stays with me every second of every day? It’s always there, pulsing in the background, reminding me. Taunting me.

If minutes go by and I forget? The shame falls fast and heavy. I can’t ever forget what I did and what I left behind.

I leave the perimeter of my town, of my memories, and slam my hand against wheel. My eyes are swollen and the tears have been streaming down my cheeks even if I’ve been too caught up to recognize them. This pain is different. It’s raw and exposed. It breaks through the frozen layers of my heart. I need it. Desperately.

I careen down the road, taking corners with a screech and barely paying attention to where I’m going. I spin the wheel to turn right toward Shore Drive and I lose control. The car can’t quite make it, and I zoom forward.

I see the telephone pole and slam on the brakes, for as much as I talk about not deserving to live, I’m scared to die. Deep down I’m a coward. I ran from everything. I didn’t talk to anyone. I didn’t apologize. I just ran.

The car pushes forward on its own and I hear the crash and feel the impact as the airbag deploys and slams into me. I don’t move. The smell of burnt rubber stains the air and as hard as I push against the door, it won’t open. I turn my head to the side. It already throbs and my body pounds with pain.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. Too little too late. The tears make silent tracks and drip into my mouth and down my neck.

But then I hear the whining screech of brakes and a horn. I can’t even turn my head to see what’s coming.

I don’t scream. Not until I feel the crash and hear the twisting of metal. Pain shoots through my head and the other side of the car crunches inwards and presses against me.

I hear shouts and bangs. Someone is yelling but I can’t move. Darkness surrounds me. Blood is in the back of my throat. More banging and then the splinter of glass. A hand touches my cheek. The words are blurred and I can’t seem to get my mouth to move. Words tumble out but they are jibberish.

Metal rips with a loud shredding noise and then hands are around my shoulder and I’m being carried.

That’s the last I remember.





I jump in my car and race back toward Shore Drive. I take the streets and drive past the spots Haley might go. If she hadn’t been in town since last year, she might visit our old haunts. Maybe. I don’t want to think about the alternative. I haven’t been around her long enough to know how she’s been living. Has she been in denial this whole past year? Or living with the guilt every day? My biggest fear hovers over me, sending shivers down my back.

What if the combined efforts of her brother and me both making huge mistakes in judgment send her over the edge?

One thought taunts me. She drove. I doubt she’s barely set foot in a car this past year, never mind drive one. The urge to find her rises and it’s all I can think about. I need to see her and hold her whether she wants me to or not. I ran away last time without telling her the truth. This time, I’ll find her. I’ll tell her the whole truth so she can start living again.

Sirens wail in the distance and my heart rate spikes. I keep driving, scanning the roads. Maybe she stopped and decided to walk. Maybe she texted Justine to come pick her up. I pull over and call Justine on her phone.

“Hello,” she says.

“It’s Seth.” My voice is hoarse. I clear it and ask, “Is Haley there?”

“No. Is everything okay? Seth?”

I drop the phone on the front seat. Justine’s voice echoes but I don’t pick it up. I focus on the road and driving. Both hands on the wheel. I see the twisted hunk of metal first and I know from the horrified feeling in the pit of my stomach that it’s her. I screech to a stop and get out.

The last of interested by passers stop milling around and get back in their cars. The tow truck pulls in seconds after me.

Justine’s old Chevy is crashed into a pole, the front end crunched like a child’s toy. The other side is smashed in. It would be almost impossible to live through a crash like that. I’m walking at first and then I break into a run. Shards of glass litter the ground. My feet crunch on them. A burnt rubber smell hangs in the air, and I race to the driver’s side. My heart is in my throat, and I struggle to breathe.

I reach the side and peer through the jagged glass.

Nothing.

The window has been shattered, the door wrenched open, and whoever was inside is gone. Hopefully, whoever hit her, brought her to the hospital. I race back to my car and jump inside. Without thinking I’m on my way to the closest hospital. My hands loosen and tighten around the wheel. Pain shoots through my head until I realize my jaw is clenched tight. I try to relax but it’s impossible. Haley doesn’t have a car. She had to have been driving Justine’s.

It would be so easy to leave town. Avoid this. Go back west with Katie and pretend this never happened. This nightmare was supposed end, not get worse.

Those thoughts flicker through my mind, but that’s all they are. I’m not leaving. My love for Haley hasn’t changed one bit even though I haven’t seen her in a year. The time I’ve spent with her confirms that. We’re still tentative, but love is like that. It needs time, to heal, to forgive.

We can’t be what we were. She’ll never want to see me again. But love is sacrifice, and I love her enough that I don’t care about me. It’s only her. Her happiness. I laugh at myself but it sounds empty. It took a year for me to figure out love. Last year it was all about me and my needs and my future.

Now, it’s about hers. I don’t care about me. If she can move forward in life in peace, I’ll do anything.

I rip through the parking lot and whip into a spot. I’m pretty sure I leave my keys in the ignition in the car. Then I’m running. I weave between the cars, my feet pounding while fear does a number on me. I’m shaky and out of breath by the time I arrive in the lobby and land in front of the desk.

The lady wears bright red lipstick. That’s all I can focus on.

“May I help you?” she asks.

“Haley. What room is she in?”

“Last name, please.” She’s clicking through on her computer.

I sense the stares of the few people sitting in chairs, as if I’m bypassing their wait time. “Sparks. Haley Sparks.”

She shakes her head, her lips curved in a frown as if she already knows it’s bad news.

“She would’ve just arrived,” I say, my voice pleading. “Bad car accident.”

The lady’s face pales and she presses her mouth together as if she doesn’t then the bad news will spill out.

I reach across the desk and grab her arm. “What’s wrong?” I mean to ask nicely but my voice is loud and echoes through the lobby.

She tilts her head and smiles weakly with pity she can’t hide. “I don’t know, dear. Her name hasn’t even popped into the computer yet.”

Fear spirals inside and black spots dance in my periphery. Then it hits me. The emergency room. That’s where she would be.

“If you’ll take a seat—”

But I’m gone. I sprint across the room to the big double doors and crash through them. I bump into a nurse and her tray of food falls to the ground. People yell at me to stop but I can’t. I have to find her.

“Haley!” I scream through the hallways. A red sign blinks, indicating the emergency room. It’s a beacon calling me home like the lighthouse on a dark stormy night.

My eyes focus on the red light. I’m running again. She’ll be there. Someone can tell me she’s okay. I’m almost to the door when someone wraps their arms around my waist and drops me to the ground.

I fight and throw my arms and kick my legs. “Let me up,” I yell. Several men surround me.

Strong hands grip my wrists and ankles and I can’t move. A face appears above mine. It’s a man. His grayish blond hair is cut short and sticks up in the front. He’s a big guy. Probably played football but now he wears scrubs.

“Let me up,” I whisper. I beg.

His voice is calming. “I can’t do that while you’re struggling. You need to calm down. Whoever you’re here to see, you can’t help them like this. I get it. Someone you love might be hurt. How about when I let go, you stand up on your own. I’ll walk with you to the desk through the doors.”

I breathe deep. My chest shudders.

“That’s the only way I can help you.”

I nod. One by one, the grips on my limbs loosen and let go. I tense, wondering if I should just push past them, but he’s willing to help, so I tentatively stand. My whole body hurts.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

He nods to the other staff, who leave us alone. Then with a firm hand on my arm, he leads me through the doors of the emergency room and triage. We approach the desk, and I’m about to open my mouth and ask but my words are cut short. Doors swing open from triage and nurses rush through, pushing a bed on wheels. They’re shouting words that mean nothing to me.

I see the oxygen mask and I see the tubes and the beeping machines. I see the dark brown hair. My chest heaves and I sob.

Haley is wheeled past and I don’t know if she’s about to die or not.





The same nurse holds my arms and forces me to look into his eyes. “Son, I’m going to see you through this. The best way you can help is to stay here and wait. As soon as I know anything, I’ll come tell you myself.”

I nod and he rushes off. I stumble across the small room and fall into a chair. My body shakes. This is partly my fault again. The air from outside rushes past, sending goosebumps down my arm.

I sit and stare. At the tiled floor and the black scuff marks. At the nurse standing behind the desk. Every few minutes the right corner of her lip twitches, and then she tucks her hair behind her ears. At the clock on the wall and the second hand slowly ticking, bit by bit. When the panic rises in my chest, I count the seconds as they pass by. I’m not sure how long I can do this.

Where’s Haley’s family? In the most unselfish thing I’ve done in days, I call their house. No one answers, and I leave a message for them to come to the hospital because Haley was in a car accident. When I press End and slip the phone back into my pocket, I hang my head to hide the shame. This feels exactly like one year ago, when Haley ran from her room. The memory of her heart-rending cry when she realized Brin and Kama didn’t survive pierces my heart. When I failed her and ran like a coward.

I dig my heels into the floor. I’m not leaving this time. Her family can hate me. They should. Noah can beat the crap out of me. I deserve it. But I have to know she’s okay.

The second hand goes on ticking.

I stare at the door where she was wheeled. The nurse promised. He promised he’d come talk to me. I remember his nametag. Todd. That’s his name. He seemed like a trustworthy guy. He’ll come out. Any second the door will open and Todd will step out with a smile on his face. He’ll walk across the room and hold out his hand and help me stand. Then he’ll give me a quick guy hug and tell me she’ll be fine.

Machines beep on high alert and a doctor rushes down the hall and into Haley’s room.

I stop breathing.

Todd will come out of the room any second. He’ll explain exactly what happened so I can breathe again. I stare harder at the door, paralyzed, unable to think about anything else. A part of me wishes for Carter and Jamie and that I hadn’t cut them out of my life. I turned away from anything that reminded me of her and of that night. But I could use a friend. I could use Haley.

The second hand rounds the twelve. How many minutes have passed since the doctor rushed into her room? I don’t know.

The door opens and I suck in a breath.

The nurses and doctors leave in a slow stream, their faces downcast. A pit of terror forms in my stomach and strangles my throat. I don’t see Todd. He promised. Where’s Todd?

And then he walks out the door and heads right toward me, but there’s no smile. Only the uncomfortable grimace of a man who has bad news to share. How many times has he had to do this? Does he practice this in the mirror at home? A look that doesn’t have too much pity? Sadness rolls off him, and the lines around his eyes tell me he’s had to do this too many times.

He stops in front of me but instead of helping me up, he sits on the floor beside me. We sit in silence. I want to ask, but the words choke in my throat.

“What’s your name?”

“Seth,” I whisper, on the verge of losing it.

“Seth, I’m sorry. We tried everything but the injuries were too extensive. All her internal organs were affected. She experienced too much trauma.” He pauses and I can sense his dread and despair at this part of his job. “She passed away. Her organs shut down. There was nothing we could do.”

I stare at the clock. The second hand is at the nine and heading back up to the twelve. It keeps going and going and going. Time passes. I can’t stop it and I can’t rewind it.

“Seth?” Todd’s voice is calm and reassuring. He’s done this too many times. I can tell. “Is there someone I can call for you?”

Somehow I choke out the words. “No, I’ve got it.” Who would I call? Katie’s the only one.

“I’m really sorry. Jacqueline seemed like a wonderful girl.”

“What was her name?” I ask. My heart races and powerful shudders take over my body.

“Jacqueline Sanders. Her wallet was on her.”

His words explode inside of me. My chest heaves as the breath rushes through. I lean over, the sobs pouring out. I can’t control them. I get on my knees, trying to suck in ragged breaths.

Todd pats my back. His words slide over me and I can’t really listen. He tries to console me. Finally, I’m able to talk. “I’m looking for Haley. Haley Sparks.”

Understanding dawns on his face. He places a gentle grip on my arm and leads me to the desk. He talks to the nurse and is able to find the answers I’ve wanted since I walked through the door.

This time he turns and the lines from around his eyes are gone. Instead the lines around his mouth beam down at me. His eyes sparkle with life. This is the kind of news he likes to share. “Well, Seth. Haley Sparks was just brought up to the main hospital wing. Her family’s with her.” He claps his hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you go up to see her? I don’t know her condition, but if she’s out of the emergency room then she’s heading to recovery.”

I nod and stumble away. The shock is still reeling through my system. I shuffle back through the door and the lobby to the elevator. I veer toward the stairs because this is all too reminiscent of that night, when I came to visit Haley, and Carter and I heard the news in the elevator. I let the door to the stairwell slam behind me. The sterile white walls pass and I take the steps one at a time.

The relief and excitement pulse through me but with every step I slow. The doubts creep in. I’ve wanted to do this over again for the past year and now I have my chance. I’ll walk into her room and sit by her bed and say the words I should’ve a year ago. This time I’m not running, even though with every step, my nerves catapult through the roof and I’m shaking.

I keep moving forward. A step at a time.