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The timing was callous.
But it was also born out of a blinding desperation to protect June at her most vulnerable. To protect her from me—from whatever the hell happened that night at the prom, because as much as we want to, we can’t possibly sweep something like that under the rug. Not now when it’s so fresh, so raw. That kiss went beyond dust and crumbs.
It’s a roaring beast that can’t be tamed, and all I could do was run.
“I’m not far,” I tell him, riffling my overgrown mop of hair. “I’ll visit. You’re in walking distance.”
He smiles, just a slight smile. “That’s what I keep telling June.”
My muscles tighten at the sound of her name.
She didn’t take the news well.
She said I was deserting her. Abandoning her.
And I get it, I do, but I wasn’t abandoning her; I was abandoning what my presence under that roof was doing to her. June was spiraling. Clinging to me so tightly, it was as if she thought my very existence could heal her broken soul, that if she could burrow far enough inside of me, she could make a new home for herself. A new life.
A reality where her brother wasn’t gone.
But I knew better.
I know better.
Swallowing, I ask softly, “How is she?”
Andrew glances at me, his sad smile still in place. “She misses you. She misses both of you,” he says gently, holding back his own anguish.
I close my eyes, inhaling a deep breath through my nose.
“She’s been waking up in the middle of the night with nightmares. Having panic attacks. Using her inhaler more often.” He looks off over my shoulder. “I found her curled up in the fetal position where your bed used to be one night.”
A strangled little sound escapes me, like I’ve been physically struck. “What?”
God.
No.
My resolve starts crumbling at my feet until I’m questioning everything.
Am I making it worse?
Is she deteriorating without me?
Holy shit…am I killing her?
Nausea swirls in my gut as I watch Andrew’s expression carefully, trying to discern the truth. Trying to figure out if my plan to protect June and help her heal is backfiring.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I don’t know better.
Maybe she needs someone to cling to, to help her over that salient pinnacle of grief. Hell, I know I did. The Baileys were my rock, my only hope of recovering from the loss of my parents, and if they had turned their backs on me, I’d be irreparably shattered.
Andrew is still zoned out, staring at a cobwebbed corner of the ceiling, so I approach him with a furiously pounding heart. “Andrew.”
He blinks, canting his head toward me.
My dry mouth tastes like cotton balls and decay. There’s a catch in my voice as I wonder aloud, “Did I make a mistake?”
The steady stream of traffic continues as we stare at each other, a heaviness wafting through the air, the silence between us thickening.
