Chapter 27

“Cass?”

I lift my head to a faded orange and purple sky, realizing I must’ve cried myself to sleep. After driving aimlessly, tempted to hop off the exit to the city, I turned around and headed to the only place that feels like home anymore. But Vince wasn’t here, so I sat on his stoop, even as Gracie barked from somewhere inside. That was hours ago.

Now, I swipe at my eyes and notice he’s wearing the socks I bought him for his birthday last week. We had cake and ice cream at his mother’s house, and he hugged me when he opened the package of socks with the faces of famous people on them. He’s got George Washington on, peeking out from under his pant leg as he sets down bags of groceries. His eyes search over my body as if to make sure I’m physically unhurt, then he hoists me up off the step to embrace me. “What happened?”

“Everything,” I say into his shoulder.

He squeezes me tighter and drops quick, comforting kisses all over, the top of my head, my temple, the crook of my neck, and then he waits for me to let go. I breathe in the sterilized scent he always brings home from work that doesn’t come off until he showers and changes into the paint-stained sweats he usually puts on.

When I finally back away, he unlocks the front door and ushers me inside, one hand on the back of my neck, the other carrying all the grocery bags. We settle into our normal routine without speaking. Since I always complain how cold his house is, he bought me a ridiculous pair of sloth slippers, and I slide them on as he slinks upstairs. I put away the groceries, packs of meat, veggies, my favorite cereal, dog treats, and more of his shampoo.

I toss Gracie a treat before bringing the shampoo upstairs. I open the shower curtain without asking. “You need this?”

Normally in this situation, he’d make a lewd comment, but he only accepts the bottle with a single, “Thanks.”

Heading down the hall to the bedroom, I flop onto the unmade bed and throw the comforter over me. All the should haves, could haves, and would haves filter through my brain, and I wonder about the different possibilities of my life, if and what would be different if Ray hadn’t died. In the end, though, I think no matter what I might’ve done, I would’ve wound up here because my brother died.

Here, meaning, this fucking upside-down my life has become and not Vince’s house.

Because I never could have expected him and his quiet confessions about how long he’s waited for me in a million lifetimes.

He pads into the room with a towel wrapped around his waist, his shoulders still glistening with water droplets. The gold of the Saint Vincent medal around his neck glints at me from the nest of chest hair that’s soft under my cheek when I lay my head on it.

He lounges on the edge of the bed and snakes his hand under the comforter to find my ankle, wrapping his fingers around it. “You going into hibernation?”

“Yes.”

He frowns at me before wiping his thumb beneath my right eye. “What happened?”

“What hasn’t happened?” I say, catching myself leaning into him. The response we have to each other is automatic and effortless, and it’s so easy to be with him, it feels out of place. When the rest of my life has gone to the dogs, this hasn’t, and I don’t know how to handle it, not when I’m in the mood to smash everything.

Antagonism rises up through the cracks in the cement, where green grass and flowers had been growing. Now, they’re withered and wilted, leaving more than enough room for resentment to spread. I roll my shoulder away when Vince tries to massage it. “Don’t.”

He straightens up. “Why do you have the whole scared-cat thing going on again?”

I toss the covers away from me and, in my rush to stand up, get my legs all tangled. I kick at them. “Goddamn it.”

“Cass.”

“What?” I shoot my eyes to his after I’m standing.

“What’s wrong?” He’s patient with me, his face giving nothing away. And this is why I hate him. He knows me so well, he knows eventually I’ll give in to him, spill all my secrets, and I hate that. I really fucking hate that. And if he’s going to force me to bare my soul, I need him to put some clothes on at least.

“Can you put a shirt on or something?”

“What?” He grins, playfully flexing. “Can’t handle this?”

I roll my eyes, and he thankfully snatches a T-shirt and sweats from the bureau. I don’t watch him change. The act of him getting naked in front of me is intimate, and I don’t want to feel close to him—or anyone—right now.

Dressed, he holds his arms out at his sides. “Good? Talk to me now.”

I pull my cell phone out of my back pocket and flip it in my hand. “My parents are getting divorced.”

He cringes. “Oh god, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” I wave off his words, but he continues. “That really sucks, but it’s not unusual for parents to divorce after the death of a child.”

I huff.

“I mean… It’s not helpful to you, but I can empathize with them.”

My hands fist at my sides. He’s always so goddamn logical and agreeable. “You can empathize, huh?”

He shrugs. “People grieve differently, and when couples move to the extremes of the spectrum, it’s probably really difficult to?—”

“Could you not be so understanding right now? I’m pissed. I want you to be pissed too.”

“I’m not sure what you want me to say here,” he says then pats the place on the bed next to him for me to sit down, but I can’t. The dam has broken. He wanted me to talk, so I’m going to.

“Nothing! I don’t want you to say anything. I’m not asking for you to problem-solve right now. I want you just to be my?—”

I stop short of the word boyfriend. Any other day, I probably would have said it, but now, the idea of having a boyfriend makes me want to cry. I’ve already decided I need to leave. I can’t stay here with my brother living in a cemetery and my parents splitting up. What’s the point?

I sniffle. “I don’t need you to fix this or fix my parents or…or…or fix me. I only need you to listen to me!”

He stands up with his hands out to me, slowly closing the distance between us. “I know.”

“No, you don’t know. Your family’s perfect, your parents still flirt with each other, your brother isn’t dead.”

“I get it,” he says, reaching out to me, and I slap his hands away.

“Stop!” In my head, it sounds like I’m shrieking, but I have to get the words out louder than the swirling in my mind. “My brother is dead. His bones are in the ground. And my parents hate each other. They hate me. And you don’t get it. You can’t get it.”

I inhale a ragged breath, feeling the walls closing in on me. I’m itchy and hot and need…

I don’t know what I need, but Vince has to stop looking at me like that. Like he can fix me.

He can’t.

“Don’t touch me,” I say, backing away when he tries. His mouth forms a straight line, and underneath my bitterness, I’m remorseful, but I can’t reach it, not with the fury growing like ivy through my body. It wraps around my heart, my throat, my hands, and it’s swift, cutting me off from anyone or anything else.

“I have no job, no family, nothing. I have nothing left.”

“You have me,” he offers, his voice quiet and even.

“Oh, please,” I snap, and the wrath that had been filling my lungs sours at his suddenly pale face. I know I’m hurting him, but I have no other choice.

I have to leave.

“You have me, Cass, right here. I’ll be here for you always. I love you.”

It’s an arrow to my heart.

He can’t love me. I am unlovable. Everything in my life breaks, and I refuse to bring him down with me.

He takes a cautious step toward me, a wry curl to his lips. “What do you think we’ve been doing all this time? Playing house?”

I hold up my hand to stop him, but he keeps coming toward me until my fingers press against his stomach, and I stare at the floor, willing the tears away.

When I finally have myself under control, I make sure to look him in the eye so he understands. “There is nothing left for me here. I have no job, no house, nothing. I’m moving away.”

He grips my hands, holding them against his heart. I feel its steady beat. I think it’s so loud, I can hear it.

I know it’ll haunt me for the rest of my life.

“You can’t move away.”

“Yes, I can.” I wrench away from him and rush out of the room.

“Don’t leave.”

I ignore him and almost fall in my hasty escape down the stairs. My shoes give me trouble when I try to put them on, allowing Vince time to catch up.

“If I’m nothing to you, then what have you been doing here with me?”

That’s the thing I’ve been trying to avoid facing.

I knew I couldn’t give him what he deserves, and yet I threw reason aside because Vince made me feel good. In return, I can only offer him heartbreak. That’s all I have. That’s all I am.

“I’ve been by your side through everything, and I didn’t mind. I wanted to do it. I wanted to help you, be with you, and—look at me.”

I don’t.

“Cass, look at me.”

After I sling my purse over my shoulder, I finally meet his gaze.

“You can’t tell me it meant nothing to you. This—” he waves between the two of us “—means nothing.”

When I don’t answer, his eyes go dark and angry. I jut my chin out, refusing to give in. “I’m leaving,” I say, opening the door. “I’m not staying in this godforsaken town. I’m not going to be some pathetic mascot to be propped up for my brother, and I’m not going to watch my parents drive themselves into the ground. If they don’t care, I don’t either.”

He follows me outside. “Yeah, you don’t care, huh? Guess it means you don’t care about me. You’ve been using me.”

I gasp audibly as my hand clutches at my chest. He’s right. I’ve been using him this whole time. “I’m sorry,” I say quietly over my shoulder. “I told you, I’m no good for you.”

He pulls up short in his tracks, giving me the space I said I wanted. “Fine! Run away! That’s one thing you’re good at!”

It’s true. I’m a coward and deserve every bit of the physical ache between my ribs, but it’s better this way.