Hold My Breath(77)

“You visit with Dylan. Your heart needs it,” I say, his lip quirking up at my suggestion just before he nods.

We both cross the dried-grass lawn, and I knock on the door before nerve leaves me and doubt steps in. My hands tingle at my sides, and I flex my fingers in and out, my purse feeling like a tourniquet on my arm. I can hear the footsteps on the other side of the door, and I know she lives here alone—she’s cautious.

“Tanya, it’s Maddy and Will,” I say.

The door handle unlocks and when I meet her gaze, her mouth pinched on one side, flat on the other, I get the sense that she knows why I’m here. She doesn’t hesitate to open the door wider to let us both inside.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Of course,” she follows. She steps up on the tips of her toes and hugs Will, kissing his cheek.

“Dylan’s in his room,” she says, her sightline shifting to me.

“I’m going to go say hi,” Will says, leaning toward me and planting a single kiss on top of my head before turning to head down the short hallway.

I scan around the space that was buried in organized clutter just a few days ago. Boxes are still stacked as tall as I am, but they’ve all been pushed against the far wall. Laundry piles are gone, except for one last stack of towels, and a quick glance toward the kitchen shows she’s been working hard in there, too.

“I had a little help,” she says, shrugging and quirking her lip as she sits down on the opposite end of the sofa, turning her knees toward me. “I get a cleaning lady once a month, and she helps me get back on top of it.”

She breathes out a laugh.

“It takes about thirty days for it to all fall to shit again,” she chuckles.

I smile, and we hold our eye contact for a few seconds, reflecting pleasant melancholy faces at one another.

“Is Will okay?” she finally asks.

My chest shakes with a sad, quiet laugh, and I glance down to the table in front of us, a few boxes and papers strewn on top.

“I don’t think Will’s been okay for a long time,” I say, glancing back to meet her eyes.

She tugs her mouth in on one side and nods, agreeing.

“He had a rough interview today,” I say, her brow lowering as she listens. “The reporter brought up me…Will got protective.”

Her head moves slowly up and down, her mouth still tight, but curving in recognition. Will being protective is nothing new to her.

“That man…he just wants to help. He’s protective of Dylan, too. He’d do anything for him. I’m too over my head not to accept it, and I hate that I have to because I see what it does to him. But Dylan needs a team. Hell,” she leans back, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers while she laughs. “Dylan needs Will to be his team captain. That boy is a fighter, and he needs someone to show him how to keep fighting. I kinda…”

She stops, leaning forward and turning to face me more.

“I kinda can’t think of anyone more perfect to teach someone how to fight than Will,” she says.

My eyes drop to my knees, and my cheeks push high with my smile. She’s right.

“Just when I think he can’t be more amazing,” I chuckle, twisting my head to look at her sideways. I raise my eyebrows, no need to finish my words.

“I know,” she agrees.

I look down again, considering the gaps she’s filled in—the ones I owe her. I turn as she moves closer, pulling one leg up to tuck under her body. I face her, feeling more at ease and wanting to show her respect. She props one elbow on the back of the couch, resting her cheek against her fist, and she studies me with her kind, tired eyes.

“You love him,” she says.

I smile at the mere mention of the word.

“I do,” I say. My lips pucker with my smile and my cheeks flush.

“He deserves that…so do you,” she says.

I glance up and quirk a brow.

“Thanks?” I say it like a question, a tiny nervous laugh leaking out.

She continues to stare, and my mouth starts to tingle from the effort to maintain my expression. My eyebrows pull in, and suddenly my mouth relaxes. My breath escapes and my shoulders sink.

She knows.

“How long were you with Evan?”

Tanya’s eyes lock to mine the moment she speaks. I hold her gaze, blinking when she does, speaking with my eyes. After several seconds, she looks down.

“Oh,” she says.

Her chest shakes once, and she reaches up to run her wrist under her right eye.

“I’m sorry,” she laughs nervously, barely a whisper. “I’m not sure why I’m reacting like this. It’s not…it’s not really a surprise. I knew for sure when I saw you. Evan…he had your pictures on his phone. He said you were friends, but a girl can tell.”

She rests her face on her arm along the sofa back, and she blinks away the remnants of tears.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I say, grabbing her hand in mine on instinct. We’re both sisters in this twisted, tragic circumstance.

“It’s not yours either,” she says, her gaze flitting up to me briefly. Her eyes are red, and I feel gravity pulling me down hard, guilt like a weight tied to my insides. My own eyes begin to sting. I run my thumbs under them, pausing when I look up to see Tanya doing the same. We both start to laugh, quietly.