“And you don’t think those are valid reasons?”
“I think they’re worth considering, sure. But . . .” He takes a step forward. “You keep saying you just want to move on, but I’m beginning to think you don’t want to move on at all.” He hesitates. “Do you still have a thing for Philips?”
“No!” My anger flares. I can’t believe he’d even suggest that.
“Well, then what is it? So it didn’t work out and he’s a huge asshole, and you got hurt. Get over it already. Everyone else has!” He purses his lips to stop from saying more. I’m glad, because I don’t think I want to hear any more hard truths from my best friend right now.
The sound of gravel crunching up the driveway cuts our conversation short. It’s Jack, on his way home after the gym. I quickly brush away the rest of my tears.
“Singer!” Jack hollers. Sweat runs down his cheek. He’s oblivious of the conversation he’s just interrupted. “Did you catch the score for the Phillies game?”
“Four-all about ten minutes ago. Did you sprint here all the way from the gym?”
He leans over, his hands resting on his knees. “Uh-huh.”
Keith shakes his head as he climbs into his car. “If I catch you drinking my beer again, I’ll have your ass charged.”
“When are you gonna take me out with you?” Jack asks, smoothly ignoring his reprimand.
“So you can see how little the police actually work? Hell, no.” Keith’s chuckle is hollow. “I’ll do a couple laps around here later, Cath.”
“Thanks.” I avert my gaze, the pain of being utterly dissected by my best friend too raw. I quietly watch his taillights as the car rolls down the driveway.
Jack frowns. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
I’m expecting him to pester me, but then he sees the red Honda in the driveway. “Whose car?”
“Misty’s.”
His eyes light up.
“No. Jack.”
“But—”
“Stick to girls your own age.”
“Yeah, yeah . . .” he mutters, climbing the stairs on my front porch.
The moment we walk in, my words are forgotten.
“Hey, Misty.” That same goofy grin on his face as earlier has appeared again.
“Hey, Jack! I’m sorry I couldn’t talk earlier.” Her eyes widen as she takes him in, and I see that spark in them that flashes when she’s assessing an attractive guy. “How did you get so huge?”
I roll my eyes, while his grin grows wider. “My coach is a hard-ass for body conditioning.”
“That’s not a bad thing.” She smiles, her playful confidence unwavering, even in her Diamonds uniform.
“Brenna’s waiting for you.” I usher him out of my living room with a push, my fingertips coming back damp. “Ugh, gross. Don’t get in her bed like that.”
“Yeah, yeah . . .” He winks at Misty, that cocky swagger of his emphasized as he disappears.
“Jeez, your brother is—”
“Nineteen.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Nineteen.”
Misty presses her lips together with frustration. Finally she mutters something that sounds like “fine,” as she climbs out of the La-Z-Boy, grabbing her keys and purse. “What happened with Keith?”
“Nothing. He’s just worried about me.” I’m not about to get into that conversation.
“He’s always worried about you.”
“He’s a good friend.”
“So am I. See you on Wednesday.” She disappears out the door, but not before hissing, “After you’ve called Brett!”
I sigh.
Brenna lies under her covers, one arm around her stuffed dog, a book in hand, a deep perplexed frown on her face. “So why did they give you a key if it doesn’t open anything?”
I push her curls off her forehead. “It’s just a symbol. It’s their way of saying that the town thanks me for saving Brett’s life.”
“Oh.” Seemingly satisfied with that answer—until she sees it again, no doubt—she curls onto her side. “Is Brett going away again?”
“I don’t know. We’ll see.” It depends on me, apparently.
“Does he live far away?”
“A couple of hours. Not so far away.” A lot closer than California.
“When will we see him again?”
“I don’t know.” Misty, Keith, Jack on his way out . . . now Brenna. Good grief, I wouldn’t be able to push thoughts of Brett aside even if I wanted to.
“Maybe if you telled him you wanted to see him again, he’d come over.”
I stifle the urge to correct her and smile instead. “Night, Brenna.”
I reach for her lamp to shut it off.
“Mommy?”
I sigh. It was a long day and my patience is wearing thin. “Yes, Brenna.”
“Who hurt you?”
So innocently, she moves from Brett to that. It takes a moment for me to recover. “What do you mean?”
“Uncle Jack said that someone hurt you a long time ago.”
“When did he tell you that?”
“When he was babysitting.” She peers up at me. “Who was it?”
Dammit, Jack. “Just someone I knew a long time ago.”
“A friend?”
“Sort of.”
“Was it a boy or a girl?”
“A boy.” A man. I was the girl.
“How did he hurt you?”
I hesitate. It’s too soon to have this conversation; she’s too young. “He made me believe things that weren’t true.”
“He lied to you?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you love him?”
“Yeah.”
“So that’s why you made Brett leave?”
“I didn’t make Brett leave.”
“Uncle Jack says you made him leave.”
I struggle to keep my tone casual. “What else did Uncle Jack say?”
She shrugs. “That you really like Brett but you’re scared. Actually, he called you a chicken.”
What an ass. “What else?”
“Hmm . . .” She looks up as if searching through her thoughts. “That you’re blind. But he didn’t mean actually blind, like you can’t see. I can’t remember what he meant.”
“That I can’t see something that’s right in front of me?”
“Yeah. That.”
I wonder if Jack realizes just how adept his niece has become at regurgitating conversations. “Anything else?” Just so I have all my facts straight before I kill him.
“I don’t think so.” She pauses, and then states with absolute certainty, “I don’t ever want to fall in love with a boy.”
I smile. “Yes, you do. Or, you will when you’re older.”
“But what if he hurts me?”
“Then you just try again.”
“But you’re not trying again.” There’s a hint of accusation in her tone. At least, that’s what I hear.
“That’s . . . different.”
“Why?”
I struggle for an answer. “It’s not something I can explain right now. Maybe when you’re older.”
“Is it because you’re scared?”
“Yeah.” Is it wrong to admit that to your child? I only remember my mother being all-powerful when I was young. She could solve every problem, she knew everything. She was never scared, as far as I was aware. Of course, she must have been. She just never admitted it.
A look of resignation flickers across Brenna’s face. “If you’re scared, then I’m going to be really scared.”
A heavy weight settles on my shoulders. “It’s okay to be scared.” I brush her mop of golden curls off her forehead. “But you won’t let that stop you, because you’ll be brave.”
She scrunches up her face in thought. “Then can’t you be brave, too?”
I tried.
It’s not worth it.