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“I know,” I say. “Just like I know, that even if they do eventually believe me, it won’t make up for everything I’ve put them through over the years. What I put them through that night…what I said, what I did…” My voice trails off, and I avert my gaze, willing away the memories.
I can feel Shawn watching me expectantly, like he’s waiting for me to elaborate, to tell him what happened—why I decided to upend my life after two years of living comfortably in my denial.
It was all that kept me going.
And then it wasn’t.
Mom had asked me the morning after everything went down, on the drive to New Horizons, and all I said was, “It just hit me.”
A half-truth if there ever was one.
“It’s all kind of a blur,” I whisper now, hoping Shawn just lets me leave it at that. “One second everything was fine… manageable…and the next it just…wasn’t.”
Again, memories surge forward. Not just flashes of images, but of sensations too.
Soft lips
Soft hair.
Soft skin.
Hard jaw.
Hard chest.
Hard—
I clear my throat, and sit up a little straighter, tensing, when the seatbelt pulls tight, reminding me I’m still buckled. “And now we’re here. And we’re gonna fix shit with Waylon because he needs us. More than I think he’ll ever admit, and that is on me for not seeing it. Not trying harder.”
I unclick my belt, and turn my gaze toward Shawn. “You can care about him, you know. You should. Because he cares about you too.”
His brow furrows.
“Trust me. I’ve known him since I was a kid, and when I tell you that you’re important to him, I mean it.” I pause, ensuring he hears me when I tell him, “It’s okay to trust him, to let him in a bit. I wouldn’t tell you that if I didn’t mean it. If I didn’t trust in him completely. And I should’ve told you this the second I introduced you to him.”
His face tightens at that, and he looks down. “It wasn’t up to you to make us friends. We’re adults.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t hurt to give a little nudge. I didn’t vouch for him like I should have. Or explain why he was the way he was.”
“I know why he’s like this,” Shawn utters quietly, surprising me. “I know exactly why he’s like this.” His gaze darts between mine, dark and wary. “And that’s why I have a hard time trusting him.”
I frown.
“In case you missed it, you’re not the only one with abandonment issues here. You’re also not the only one with self-destructive tendencies.” Scowling, he shakes his head and looks away, his gaze growing far-off. “At least with you, you’re looking for someone to throw you a life preserver. But Way… he’s just looking for a happy accident.”
Eyes burning, I shake my head, frowning, not understanding.
“Will told me some shit while you were gone.”
I frown. “Will?”
He nods.
And then he proceeds to tell me about Waylon’s spiral into rock bottom a couple months ago. How he ended up at Bootlegger’s…
Heroin. He fucking shot up with heroin.
Shawn goes on to tell me about Waylon’s PTSD diagnosis. How he’s been in therapy for weeks now, before he even got the news about his dad’s parole. How he’d quit drinking, only to relapse weeks later, hours after I did.
