“Okay, kid. We’ll sort it out. Now get out of here. Don’t you have rec time with Renee?” I check the activities board over to my right to see if I’m correct.
“Yeah, I’m going. Thanks again, Lib. You’re the best.” He gives me one of his rare smiles, then leaves, unaware of the inner turmoil boiling through me.
“Damn you, Hetch.” I sigh when I’m alone and Mitch is out of sight.
“Damn you. Damn you. Damn you.”
I find myself pacing a few minutes later, repeating the words.
“Damn you. Damn you. Damn you.”
When my pacing and ranting only serves to frustrate me more, I do the only thing I know to do. I reach for my phone and with trembling fingers, I dial his number.
There is no way I’m letting Mitch get hurt in all of this.
The phone rings once, twice, three times and like every other time I’ve called him the last three weeks I’m expecting his voicemail. It doesn’t come; instead, the line clicks over and Hetch answers with my name.
“Liberty?” My heart slams against my chest, and my legs fill with lead.
I open my mouth but nothing comes out, the shock of his voice disorientating me.
“Liberty, are you okay?” This time his voice rumbles. Calm and tender, but still powerful enough to send chills through my body.
Speak, Liberty.
“It’s one thing to ignore me and walk out of my life, but don’t you dare think I’m going to let you do it to Mitch.” My voice is wobbly and unsure. My head is foggy and confused.
“Sweeth–” My irrational fear doesn’t allow him to finish the word, cutting him off before it’s too late.
“Don’t, Hetch.” It’s not the word that scares me. It’s how I know I will react to hearing it. It’s a reminder of everything he’s ever touched in my life.
“If you’re going to walk out on him, at least be a fucking man about it and tell him why you’ve stopped coming around. I’m not covering for you, Hetch. He’s hurting. Sort your shit out and either show up and be the man I know you are or tell him you’re not coming back.” Still trembling, I hang up the call and stumble to my chair before I fall down.
My cell phone rings back, Hetch’s name flashing on my screen, but before I can answer, the room falls away. Tears sting my eyes, and sobs wrack my body. For the second time in one day, I break down.
Damn you, Hetch.
Twenty-Seven
Hetch
“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back,” Mitch casually remarks while he waits for me to make my next move.
“Either show up and be the man I know you are or tell him you’re not coming back.”
“What? And miss out on a good ass kicking in chess?” I move one of my pawns, trying to figure out if he’s pissed, upset, or genuinely curious why I’ve been blowing off our sessions.
“If you’re going to walk out on him, at least be a fucking man about it and tell him why you’ve stopped coming around.”
Mitch stares at me for what feels like forever before he drops his gaze to the board to ask his next question.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Jesus, Liberty was right. He’s hurting.
“Nah, bud. You didn’t do anything wrong.” I try to fix the fucked-up mess I’ve put us in. “I’ve had some issues I’ve had to deal with the last few weeks.” Not wanting to lie to him, I give it to him straight.
“So it has nothing to do with me?” He toys with one of my chess pieces he captured earlier, rolling it between his fingers and thumb. I’ve noticed this trait of his before. Nerves. Frustration. Anger. Whenever overwhelmed by certain emotions, he starts to fidget.
You’re a real fucking asshole, Hetch.
“No, kid. In fact, you’re the only one I’ve been talking to through it all,” I reveal, telling him the truth. I haven’t talked to anyone other than Dr. Anderson in therapy and Mitch via text.
I knew our situation was tricky. I didn’t want to cut off all communication, but I wasn’t ready to come here.
“I am?” He makes his move on the chessboard and for the first time ever, I can see his play forming.
“Yeah, you’re kind of easy to talk to, kid,” I admit, moving my bishop to capture one of his knights.
“I find it easy to talk to you, too,” he admits then somehow captures my bishop.
Fuck me. I’m never going to win a game against this kid.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been around, Mitch. I have it all sorted now, and if you still want to keep kicking my ass at chess, I’ll be here.” I wait a couple of beats, thinking I’ve blown it.
Finally, he finally replies, “All good. Just don’t leave me hanging again.” It’s a gentle warning, one I take seriously.
“Got it.” I make a promise to myself not to let him down again. “So, what’s been going on around here the last couple of weeks?” I ask once we’ve gotten the awkwardness over with.
“Nothing much. Same as always.”