Heartbreaker (Unbreakable #1)(44)

I glanced back up at the cork wall above us. At my striped socks and his athletic ones. I thought about how we’d met at a nightclub, were brought together by Invitation Only business, then had grown closer through a sport I’d decided to pursue.

His excuse about why we had to be “just friends” popped into my head. It’s complicated.

“Do you miss your mom…think about her a lot?” The question came from nowhere, but it seemed like the right one to ask. And after being in his house, and our closeness while side by side on my bed, it felt like we’d gotten to the point where we could be random and it would be okay.

“Yeah.” His tone quieted. “I hide it. Helps to stay busy. Gotta be strong for Logan.” His voice started to crack and he cleared his throat.

I turned my head a little, watching as he stared up at the metal rafters above us. As the soulful music played, I thought about the words. About loss and love. “What’s your favorite memory?”

The tiniest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He shifted to tuck his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles, one heel still touching the wall. “Thanksgiving.”

When he was silent after that, I arced toward him, nudging his shoulder. “Tell me about it.”

He let out a slow breath, like the memory was cherished and he didn’t want to rush it. “All we could afford were turkey sandwiches. But Mom got the good deli meat, cranberry sauce to slather on, and crusty rolls from the bakery. The best part? We were together.”

After a long pause, he continued, “Was the only day of the year we got to spend the whole day just us. Logan would clang pots if we weren’t up in time for the parade. The two of us kids would make a giant mess in the kitchen with our feeble attempt at pancakes while Mom sat on the couch. She’d hold her cup of coffee and coach from the family room.”

“It sounds like a fantastic memory. Only Thanksgiving together? Not Christmas? What did your mom do?”

“She worked at a grocery store, but it was more like a convenience store. And Thanksgiving was the only day they closed for a full day. She worked weekend days, most weekdays, and took a double shift every chance she got.”

Wow. My privileged life had been nothing like his family’s struggle. “No dad?”

The song changed and heavier rock streamed from the speakers again.

He shrugged. “Not really. We have the same father, but he was a traveling salesman: never married her, home only long enough to knock her up but never long enough for me to remember him well or miss him. When I was seven, and Lo was just a baby, I realized he beat my mom.” He let out a heavy breath. “One day he left and never came back.”

“I’m so sorry, Darren. That’s a horrible home life.” On top of it all, he’d lost his mom.

“Don’t be.” He gave a headshake. “Wasn’t that bad. Lo and I came out all right.”

“At least you have each other.”

“Exactly.”

Talk of family made me remember the invitation I’d extended to his sister on the rooftop. “You and Logan able to make the barbeque tomorrow?”

He finally glanced my way. “Yeah. Logan’s looking forward to it.”

“Only Logan?” I arched a brow.

His gaze held mine. “No. Not just Logan.”

Loud music streamed through the powerful speakers behind him, but the moment seemed quiet, tense and frozen. His eyes searched mine as he inhaled a slow breath. “What about you?”

“Me?” The barbeque?

“Your favorite memory.”

“Oh.” Because, yeah. I was looking forward to the barbeque too.

I rolled my body the other way again, relaxing onto my back, staring at our socked feet pressed to the wall. “Mine is a holiday too. Christmas Eve. Is it weird that it doesn’t actually involve anyone else?”

When I glanced at him, he had partially propped onto his side and stared at me. “Depends. What are you doing?”

I relaxed my head back and closed my eyes. “I’m standing outside. If I’m lucky, it’s snowing. One winter, I think I was sixteen, it was the first snow of the season. I was standing out in our backyard and these big fat flakes floated down from a bottomless black sky. An excited hush fell over everything and everyone. I almost stopped breathing it was so beautiful: nature coating the world in pristine white; the wound-up energy underneath it all of kids going to bed, parents wrapping presents, lovers tucking a special gift into a stocking.”

The rock song ended as I thought about that moment of pure happiness. Every year I had a ritual of standing outside, thinking of the snow, hearing the hush.

Silence stretched for a beat. Then another.

Right as a new song began, he cleared his throat. “You had a lover at sixteen?”

I didn’t need to look his way to feel the weight of his stare. I knocked the back of my hand into his hip. “No. But I was a dreamer. A romantic. And I wanted to have one—imagined it happening.”

Finally, he settled again beside me. His hand brushed against the back of mine, then stayed there. “Seems like you’ve always been a glass-half-full person.”

“Ever the optimist. That’s what Cade always says about me. I get caught up in the falling snow, not how it clogs the streets. And I think about the glittering presents, not some hideous sweater bound to be waiting under the wrapping.”