I can’t fully contain the cringe. I don’t want to sit on some shrink’s sofa and spill all my darkest secrets. It just dredges up everything I’m trying so hard to forget. But that’s not what Dad needs to hear right now. “Let’s just take this one day at a time, Dad.”
His counselor comes back in. The same smile she’s had all day is pasted to her face and I wonder to myself if her cheeks are getting sore. “We’ve got you all set for dinner tonight, Bruce. I’ve got you seated with some really great people. I’m sure you’ll start feeling at home here soon.”
I stand and give him a hug. “I think that’s my cue to leave.”
“He’ll be in good hands,” she says, but when I pull away and look at Dad, he doesn’t look so sure.
“Thank you, Daddy,” I whisper, then brush his stubbled cheek with my lips. “I love you.”
God, how long has it been since either of us said that?
His eyes gleam with moisture. “I hope you know your mom and I both loved you more than anything.”
My throat closes and I can’t speak. I nod and back toward the door.
“I’ll be out of here in no time, Addie,” Dad says. “We’ll be good.”
I spin and walk out of the building, surprised by the tears I feel threatening. I could take Dad’s car back with me, but since I don’t have an actual license, I decide to leave it and head to the bus stop instead. On the ride, I think about getting off at the stop near school. I could catch the end of practice if I wanted. But then I think better of it. It’s Friday and I haven’t seen Marcus all day. If I ditch practice, it will be Monday before I see him again. Three full days without him might be enough to get my head on straight.
I climb off the bus at the stop in the center of town and walk the three blocks back to the house. When I get to my room, I pull open Mom’s laptop. I’m on page three of her manuscript when the panic sets in, but I close my eyes and breathe through it. I pull it open again, and start to read. My chest swells with emotion as I read about her characters at the castle we stayed in when we were on our European odyssey right before Mom died. I lose myself in the familiar sights and begin to feel like I’m there all over again—the happiest two weeks of my life.
I flip the screen closed at the end of the chapter, when the words begin to blur. I scrub the tears out of my eyes before they can fully form and slip the laptop back under my bed.
I hated that Mom spent more time with her books than with her family. Anytime she wasn’t writing, it seemed like we were fighting…right up until the second I killed her. My therapist said I was suffering from survivor’s guilt. I never corrected her. It’s not survivor’s guilt. It’s just guilt. And I’ll live with it forever, because I can never undo what I did.
I grab my book off the nightstand and head to my bench in the park, needing a change in scenery. But when I get there, a long body is already stretched across it. Marcus is lying on his back with his knees bent and his heels hooked on the arm of the bench. He’s got an elbow slung over his eyes. His hair is sticking out in twelve different directions, the way it does after he towels it dry from the pool. He must have just come from practice.
At first, I think he’s asleep, but then I hear him mutter, “Just pull your fucking shit together, Leon. It’s not fucking hard.”
I stand and watch him for a long moment. My eyes trail slowly over the length of him, along the veins in his arms, over the lines of his pecs, clearly visible through the thin cotton of his T-shirt. His shirt has ridden up and my eyes lock on the strip of exposed skin, following the thin trail of dark hair that leads down his abs and disappears below the waist of his jeans.
My breath gets shaky and my heart races when I recognize that what I’m hoping for is that he’ll open his eyes and see me here.
But then what?
He’s obviously struggling with something, and my guess is it’s the same thing I’m struggling with. If that’s true, the last person he’d want to see right now would be me.
Still, there’s a second I can’t make myself turn around. I know exactly how deeply I’m in this mess when my legs finally begin to move, but totally against my will carry me in the wrong direction. The closer to Marcus I get, the more I feel the pull. His eyes are still covered, and there’s something exhilarating about being this close without him knowing I’m here, like I’m seeing the real Marcus, open and vulnerable, his guard totally down.
But just as I reach out to touch him with a trembling hand, his face crumbles into a pained grimace with whatever internal battle he’s waging.
“Fuck!” he hisses.
I jerk my hand away and back toward the path. When reach it, I spin and run toward home, where I drop into a heap on the porch steps. I’m shaking and I can’t catch my breath.
I lower my head into my hands. “What am I doing?”
The answer is, I’m going crazy.
I close my eyes and imagine what would have happened if I’d touched him: his eyes snap open as he grabs my wrist, yanks me to him, kisses me. My heart pounds not only from exertion but from the image of him crushing my body to his, devouring me.
“God,” I whisper into my hands.