“Darren, I. . .” She was going to say no, and that damn panic hit again. He grabbed her, pushing her against the wall. She gripped his waist, and he groaned quietly. She had to stay. He meant every word of what he said. He could feel it in his core, though he couldn’t rationalize it to save his life.
He dropped his forehead to hers. He was so close to her, and it soothed him in a way he didn’t want to admit—in a way he recognized from another lifetime. “Please stay. Please.” He was almost whispering, but he could feel her head nodding even though he couldn’t see her. He relaxed for the first time in days, and he sighed. Her fingers were still gripping the sides of his waist, and he could feel their tension release as he relaxed, but she didn’t pull her hands away, and he was so infinitely glad she didn’t.
She held her place, and she let him keep her against the wall. It was far too intimate, but everything they did, even what they did in anger, seemed to feel intimate—always had. He needed to walk away, but he couldn’t. He also couldn’t give her more than this. He wanted to. He wanted to collapse against her, pull her into his arms, crumple to the floor with her in his lap, but he wasn’t lying when he said he hated her. Or maybe he was. He didn’t have a fucking clue anymore. He wanted to hate her. That much he knew. He wanted to hate her because it felt right, and it felt powerful even through the helplessness. But he was no longer sure he was capable of hating her.
He still couldn’t figure out why he needed her to stay, but the words he’d said to her were the God’s honest truth. He knew he had to deal with this if there was ever a hope for him. When he was planning on moving away, he was secure in the knowledge that she would be here in Savoy. He could find her when he needed to, when he was ready to. But her leaving, that was intolerable. She could disappear forever, and he wasn’t ready for that. It felt as though his very last chance at redemption and sanity was dissolving, and he just couldn’t handle that.
“What am I supposed to do here? My mom needs to go to Memphis, and I’m not going to ask her to stay. But I have nothing here.” Her voice cracked for a moment.
“I can’t help you with that. Your life is your own. What you do with it is too. Just don’t run away. That’s all I’m asking. I promise I won’t run, either.” She nodded. Her eyes were wide, terrified if he were guessing, and he didn’t quite know what that meant. Was she really afraid of him? Was she afraid of what would happen between them? If she was, then she wasn’t the only one. He was afraid too. There was something so incredibly tantalizing about her. To him, she’d always been the most captivating creature in the world. She still was.
“What does this mean for us?”
“Nothing.” He focused on her eyes, studying her reaction. He knew it hurt her feelings to hear him say it, but it was the truth. He didn’t know what to expect from any of this, and he certainly didn’t intend to make up and play nice with her.
“Then why should I stay?”
He leaned to her ear. He could smell her incredible scent. She smelled of subtle shower wash. Not flowery or fruity but warm and sweet like oatmeal and honey. He was guessing it was something like that. He almost stayed there too long, just inhaling against her neck. “Don’t you at least want a chance at redemption?” He pulled back from her.
“Yes.” She nodded, and he finally backed away from her.
“Well, this should be interesting, shouldn’t it?” He could feel his lips pulling up in a smirk. Then he turned and walked away, out her door, and down to his car. He sat for a moment, a bit stunned at what he’d done and infinitely relieved that he’d had the balls to do it. He was right. This promised to be interesting.
Chapter Sixteen
Three Years Before
“I was worried you wouldn’t make it. Thought you said you didn’t want to come today. Or you just didn’t want to come with your father and me?” He just looked down at Jess’ headstone as his mother spoke. “I’m worried about you, Darren.”
“Why?” His voice was cold, stubborn, unemotional. He recognized it, but he’d lost the ability to control it. “You shouldn’t worry about me. I’m going to graduate at the top of my class with honors and on time for that matter—regardless of—”
“Regardless of the fact you lost your sister three years ago?”
“Lost? Why do people always say that? Lost suggests something can be found. She’s dead, Mom. Try saying it out loud for a change.” She just watched him. She was so calm. Very little rattled the woman, likely what being a school counselor did for a person’s composure.
“Why do you try to make your academic standing sound like a badge of mental health? Do you think I believe you’re okay just because you’re going to graduate with honors? Is that what it means to be okay?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Being okay isn’t a requirement.”
“Oh, come on, Mom. You’re a school guidance counselor, not a fucking grief counselor. Save the psychobabble bullshit for someone else.”
“The fact you just said the f-word to your mom tells me I’m right on the money, hon.” She smirked. “Graduating on time and at the top of your class is only impressive to someone who doesn’t know you as well as I do. Your education has become a smokescreen for what’s really going on with you.”
“Are we really going to have this conversation in a cemetery?” He looked to his father, who shrugged his shoulders. This was his mother’s party, and he was going to let her have whatever conversation she wanted to have in the cemetery. “Fine. And what’s really going on with me, Mom?”
“You haven’t moved on. You’re clinging to your anger as though it will somehow honor your sister’s life. You’re using it to block out the pain. Would you like me to continue?” Darren’s father stood stoically by watching their interaction. He wouldn’t interrupt her, and Darren knew that.
“You’re not angry? You don’t wake up every day knowing that your child is dead in the ground? You don’t wish more than anything that you could go back and do things differently? Can you honestly tell me you don’t feel like your life has been destroyed?” She just watched him calmly with tears sitting on the lower rims of her eyes. “Well, I’m happy for you then. Because that’s how I feel every day—every . . . fucking . . . day.”
He turned and walked away. “You can’t go on like this, Dare. Jess wouldn’t want this for you.”
“Let me guess, I should forgive Bailey too. Is that what you’re going to say next? You sound like some train wreck of a reality show on TLC.” He tossed his rudeness over his shoulder without stopping or turning around.
“Since you brought it up . . . do you think hating Bailey honors Jess? Do you think it helps you in any way? Do you think it’s what your sister would want?”
He stopped, staring at the ground for a moment before rounding toward her slowly. “I think hating Bailey feels really good.”
He turned away again, but before he’d even taken one step, his mother spoke again. “Or, is hating her a good way to torture yourself?” He froze again, refusing to turn around this time. “I know you feel guilty. You shouldn’t, but I know you do. And I also know you well enough to understand that hating Bailey could never make you feel good. It is a very effective way to hurt yourself, though.” He didn’t look back or respond; he walked away, leaving her staring after him.
His drive back to Little Rock was long. Plenty long to let his mind wander and get lost. He was still on track to graduate on time. It really was a damn miracle. Actually, it wasn’t a miracle at all. He’d refused to let Jess’ death slow him down in the least. He threw himself right back into his schedule, barely taking off a full day for the funeral. He knew it was wrong. It was so wrong, but he couldn’t face it, and disappearing into his text books, into the hospital, into his long hours of training, gave him the means to pretend life was grand. And that was how he’d spent the few years since her death.