Come to Me Quietly(98)

I blinked, trying to make sense of the thoughts that jumbled my mind, the words that fought for release. They sat on my tongue for the longest time, before they finally broke free. “My dad used to always bring me up here.” My voice cracked, but I couldn’t stop myself from speaking. “One day a month he’d plan some father-and-son day, pack us a lunch, and take me out somewhere cool… hunting or hiking or whatever I wanted to do. This was one of my favorite places.”



Why the f*ck was I telling her this? And why did I feel compelled to bring her here? To share it? But I did.

“I remember that,” she said quietly. She released a small, wistful laugh. “I used to hate those days. Christopher and I would run up and pound on your door to ask if you could come out and play, and your mom would tell us you were with your dad.” She expelled a delicate snort. “It’s funny how we see things so differently when we’re kids.” She paused, before she admitted quietly, “It makes me really happy to know you cherished those days with him, Jared.”



My chest tightened as the wounds flared. I squeezed her closer and tried to stuff them back inside with all the other shit I’d let slip away. With the memories of what I’d ruined.

“Do you ever think of finding him? Finding your sister? Visiting them?” she asked.

With her words, the memories only thrashed and the anger surged.

“I ruined my dad’s life, Aly. He doesn’t want to see me.” Echoes from that last night flooded my mind. The circumstances had been blurred in the haze of drugs and alcohol and pain, warping and skewing his face, but there was no mistaking the disgust that had been written there. “He didn’t come to my sentencing… didn’t come to speak for me.” Not that I’d expected him to. “He stood aside and let them send me away, and there’s no going back.”



She paused, and her hands clamped down on mine. “What if you’re wrong, Jared?”



I swallowed the lump wedged deep in my throat. “I’m not.” I knew I should push her away because this girl who had managed to sink her fingers into my spirit was going to end up as just another one of them – a f*cking perfect memory to torture me through the rest of my worthless life.

Instead I clung to her, crushed her to me because I couldn’t stop myself from taking from her until the moment she was taken from me.

The next night I was antsy. I hadn’t seen Aly since early in the morning when I’d climbed from her bed to get ready for work. By the time I got back to the apartment, she’d already left for her lunch and dinner shift at the café.

Christopher lounged on the couch next to me watching TV, wearing nothing but an old ratty pair of jeans and with hair to rival any ’eighties rock band, though I doubted very much he’d put any effort into making it look that way. I sat there next to him, pretending to be doing something other than sitting there waiting for his sister to get home.

I knew I needed to start looking for my own apartment. I was beginning to feel like a loser sleeping on their couch, even though I’d been giving Christopher a third of the rent. But I’d only be lying if I chalked it up to the money. Christopher wouldn’t care one way or the other. He’d welcomed me, given freely when all I’d done was turn around and take advantage of him and his generosity, deceiving my oldest friend when I’d promised him there was nothing going on between Aly and me. But how could I admit it to him? He’d already made it clear he’d never be okay with it. I mean, f*ck, I wasn’t okay with it. It wasn’t like I could blame the guy for wanting to protect his baby sister.