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Her lips pursed, but Max’s arrival saved me from yet another one of his mom’s tirades. “Mom,” he said, turning his attention to me. “Weirdo.”
He made a beeline for the refrigerator, and I flipped him off behind Sabrina’s back.
“Maximilian, I hope you’re going to refrain from using the pool as your own personal hangout today.”
“I had three friends over, Mom. Three. You need to relax a little.”
“Yes, well.” She cleared her throat as if the idea was too ridiculous to comprehend. “You left quite the mess. Mrs. Beaker was out there for hours cleaning up after you.”
“I’m sixteen, Mom. A kid, remember. It’s what we do.” He shot me a knowing smirk, and I scowled back.
‘Weirdo,’ Max mouthed.
‘Douchebag,’ I countered.
Sabrina’s head whipped around to me, her perfectly made up face barely cracking. “Did you say something, Harleigh?”
“Who me? Nope.” I grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl. “I’ll pass on breakfast. If anyone needs me, I’ll be on the roof.”
“Do us all a favor and jump,” Max called after me.
“Bite me.” I flipped him off over my shoulder, only part hoping Sabrina wasn’t watching.
Her silence suggested she wasn’t.
By the time I reached the roof terrace, exhaustion had settled heavy in my bones. Verbal sparring with Sabrina and Max usually did that to me. But no one would bother me up here.
I sat in the swinging egg chair and inhaled a deep, calming breath. It was one of the first things I’d learned in therapy. To breathe. To ground myself in the moment. To feel the steady beat of my heart as I inhaled and exhaled. Because if my heart was still beating, if I was still breathing, I was still here. Alive.
And fighting.
The fingers of my left hand ran over the wrist of my right. Circular soothing motions, feeling the jagged scar there. The permanent reminder. My ‘battle scar’ as Celeste liked to call it. But it didn’t feel like a trophy. Not to me.
A dark cloud swarmed into my head, blotting out the slither of light. Breathe, I silently demanded. Breathe, Harleigh. I sucked in a sharp breath, too fast, too greedy, and almost choked on the air caught in my throat.
Dropping my head back against the cushion lining the rattan egg, I closed my eyes. This didn’t feel much like living. I hated it here, hated it with every fiber of my being. Celeste and this roof terrace were the only good things about living in this house. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be here.
I wouldn’t be trying to keep a promise I should never have made.
