I didn’t want to go out there. “I should go out there.”
“Hey,” Hayes said as I started to stand up and regain my bearings. “Are you all right?”
I shrugged even though I didn’t know if he could see me. “I don’t know. One minute he was here. He was talking and breathing and living, and then someone I’ve never seen tells me he’s gone. It feels like a lie right now, like it can’t be possible.”
“Well, it’s not a lie, Kenz.” His voice was tinged with anger, but I didn’t think he was angry with me.
“I know. I’m so sorry.”
He let out a loud sigh, then said, “Come on, I’ll walk back with you.” He cracked the door and light slipped into the room, illuminating everything. I walked past him as he opened the door. His hand just barely brushed the small of my back as I passed, gently guiding me through the door. My breath halted as my lungs seized. It had been two years, almost to the hour, since I’d felt Hayes’s hands on me, and I’d forgotten their power, forgotten the way they’d lit me on fire. I’d never forgotten how guilty his hands had made me feel, but nothing could have prepared me for the shame of liking his hands on me in the wake of his brother’s death.
I hated myself in that moment.
We walked into the living room and I saw my parents and Mrs. Wallace sitting around the table in the dining room attached to the kitchen. They all had coffee mugs sitting in front of them, and used tissues were scattered on the table.
“McKenzie,” Mrs. Wallace said, standing and opening her arms to me. I let her hug me, but honestly I was afraid I’d break her. She sounded fragile and I wasn’t sure how she managed to seem so put together. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know,” I replied honestly.
“You scared us, baby,” my mom said, giving me a sad smile.
I took in a deep breath, then let it out, not sure what I was supposed to say next. I wasn’t even sure where we all went from here. I took one of the empty seats around the table. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“I don’t think any of us have really processed this yet,” my dad offered. “But it’s important that Chelsea and Hayes know we’re here for them.” He looked at Hayes, who had stopped in the kitchen and was now leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m serious, Hayes. You need anything at all, you call us. That goes for you too, Chelsea.” Hayes gave a very slight nod of his head, indicating he’d heard my dad, but giving nothing else away, while Mrs. Wallace gave the saddest weakest smile I’d ever seen. She looked terrible, exactly how I’d imagine a woman who’d just been told her husband and son were dead would look.
Her hair, which had been pulled into a tight ponytail, was now just a loose bundle of hair at the nape of her neck with half her hair hanging around her face. Her eyes were red and puffy, her nose a deep shade of pink, and her hands shook slightly as she lifted a tissue to it.
“I’m afraid to go to sleep,” she said quietly. “This was the last day they were alive.” Her voice dissolved around her words, quaking more and more. “If I go to sleep, I’ll wake up, and it will be the first day they’re both dead.” She dropped her head into her hands, crying in earnest, quiet sobs slipping from her. “I don’t want to live in the world I’ll wake up in tomorrow.”
The tears slipped down my cheeks before I realized I was crying. I hadn’t had any time to process what had happened, and suddenly it felt more real than it had before.
Cory was gone.
And he was never coming back.
I had never, not for one single day, gone without a best friend. Cory had always been there. From the beginning. And now I’d have to live the rest of my life without him. It was as though I had been reading a picture book and all the pages were in color, but now the rest of them were just dreary images in black and gray. What had once been a vivid depiction of a beautiful story, a story of a friendship so deep even the word friends couldn’t contain it, was now a dark charcoal, and each page seemed like it weighed a ton, dripping with wet concrete.
“What happened?” I asked quietly, not even positive I wanted to know the answer, but a large part of me needed to hear the words.
“Honey, we can talk about it later.” My mom took my hand, gave it a squeeze, and then shifted her eyes to Mrs. Wallace, raising her eyebrows. It occurred to me she didn’t want to talk about it in front of her.
“Lucia, she deserves to know,” Mrs. Wallace said through sobs. “I’m okay.” She was definitely not okay, but I figured she was as okay as she was going to get that night.
“McKenzie,” my father started, his deep voice always soothing, “this is a pretty terrible story, and I don’t want you getting upset again. If you need me to stop, let me know.”
I nodded, having no other response. There were no appropriate words for this situation.