In Her Wake (Ten Tiny Breaths 0.5)(17)

I find my parents sitting at the kitchen table, a tumbler-full of amber liquid in my dad’s hand, my mom’s face full of resignation. Whatever they were talking about has created a tension in the air so thick that I feel like I’m walking into a fog. Ten bucks says it’s about me.

“Cole?” My dad’s brow tightens in a frown. “What are you doing here?”

I look to my mom when I say, “I needed to come home.”

She nods slowly. I wonder if she expected this.

“You can’t just walk away!” My dad yelling is such a rare sound, I have to wonder if he’s graduated beyond one glass of scotch a night.

“I can’t do it.”

“You have one year left of your degree!”

Yeah, one unbearably long year. I know myself well enough to know that I’m not getting up for class tomorrow, or the next day, or the next day. “And then what? It’s a f**king piece of paper.”

“A piece of paper that we’ve paid for!” My dad slams his fist against the table.

“Carter!” My mom’s yelling now too.

I knew there was a good chance I’d be facing this and yet I can’t deal with it. I stroll out of the kitchen and head for my room, tossing my bag on the ground and flopping into my bed, the feel of my cool pillow a relief.

A few minutes later, the door opens and shuts softly, and I know it’s my mom without looking. “I just need to stay here for a while, until I can get back on my feet.”

“I understand.” A soothing hand lands on the back of my head.

“Can you throw me a few projects? Stuff I can work on from home. Alone.”

“Yes. Okay.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I pause. “What were you and Dad talking about?”

She doesn’t answer right away, and I can feel her choosing her words. “They need him in the Manhattan office. He’s going to look into a place to rent, seeing as he’s going to be there a lot.”

“I thought he said he’d never do that.” His partners have been trying to get him to move for years, but it was too big a risk to my mom’s agency, and it’s always been a rule for Carter Reynolds that he stays with his family.

I guess things have changed.

Chapter 8

Dec 31, 2008

“Hey, buddy! Glad you came.” I throw a hand up in time to catch Fitz’s friendly slap. “Beer?”

“Nah, I’m good. I can’t stay long.” My eyes survey the sea of familiar faces from high school. A lot of them I saw back in April at the funeral. That was eight months ago. They all look the same. With a full beard covering my face and at least twenty pounds less muscle, I’m sure they wouldn’t say the same about me.

I’d still be sitting in my boxer shorts and T-shirt had my mom not run into Fitz’s mom at the supermarket, who told her about the New Year’s party that Fitz was throwing. My mom guilt-tripped me into coming.

I obliged, with the plan to show my face and then bolt.

“So . . . What have you been up to? I hear you’re back in the neighborhood.” I don’t miss the way he shifts on his feet. He’s probably as uncomfortable as I am right now.

“Uh . . . you know. Just work and stuff.” It’s as though I’ve forgotten how to carry on a normal conversation. I just don’t know what to say to anyone anymore. That’s why I rarely leave home. The rec room has become my lair. I’ve even moved my bed down. It’s odd—I was always such an extrovert before, and rarely alone. But I can honestly say that I’ve come to appreciate the peace that solitude can provide. At least I can judge myself in privacy.

“All right, well . . .” Poor Fitz just wants to get away from me. “We’ve got burgers on the grill and the hockey game on in the living room. Help yourself to the stock in the fridge if you change your mind.”

Another hand slap and then Fitz is out, his steps fast and heading in the opposite direction of me.

I glance at my watch, giving myself five minutes before the front door sees my back. Five long minutes to kill. Luckily, the place is crammed with people and the music is loud. It’s easy to squeeze through the crowd with a nod and a smile without actually being forced to talk to anyone.

So, that’s what I do, weaving through room after room. It’s a big house, and Fitz’s parents have always been cool about him throwing parties here. Even in high school, they’d take off for New York City, five hours and change away, and let him do whatever he wanted, as long as the house was spotless by the time they came back the next day.

I pass through the kitchen. And smile, remembering the beer bong showdown between Sasha and me at that very table in the corner. He won, of course, but it was—

Fuck. Just f**king stop, Cole.

Stop thinking about him.

Sasha’s dead.

Gritting my teeth, I keep moving, into the living room where the Red Wings game is on.

And Madison is sitting on Henry’s lap.

She stopped texting back in October, after I ignored countless attempts to reconnect and then sent her one single message, asking her to please stop. I figured it was best to just let her wounds heal, undisturbed by me. I guess they have. The Madison I know wouldn’t be sitting on a guy’s lap unless she was really into him.

She doesn’t see me right away, giving me a chance to watch her for a moment, leaning into his chest, a cute smile touching her lips as he whispers something in her ear. Her head falls back and that boisterous laugh of hers that I always loved—way too big to fit into that tiny body—bursts out.