“The money helps, I’m sure.” Jack wiggles his brows.
“One of the perks, I guess.”
With a sound somewhere between a grunt and sigh, Jack sits next to me. “I saw Ava run out of here all red in the face. I take it you two went at it.”
My smile fades; I stare at the ground. “I, uh, I said some things I shouldn’t have said.”
“I see.” Jack’s jaw pulses twice. “Listen, Ryder. I’m not being biased when I say you’ve made a good choice involving Ava. She’s extremely talented, and I’ve been waiting for her to have an opportunity away from Haven. But she’s not going to be able to pretend nothing ever happened.”
I stare at the ground, uncomfortable with meeting his gaze right now. “I know.”
“Okay then.” Jack hesitates, then gently claps my shoulder before standing. “You never lost your place with us, Ryder. I don’t know all the details, and I’ll never force anyone to give them up, but you never lost your place.”
Such a simple statement tosses me into the spiral of a thousand words that ought to be said, yet I can’t sound out a single one.
The day I drove away from Ava was the day I became displaced in the world. Never belonging, in my head, anywhere. Not really.
Jack gives me a kind smile when I’m silent. “You were a bunch of kids who had to deal with some big things. Didn’t mean we ever stopped caring.” He steps toward the door, but pauses before he leaves. “I’m looking forward to seeing the end result of this field house. I know your folks are real proud of this project. We are too.”
Jack slaps the doorframe a few times, then disappears into the corridor.
Alone, the silence swallows me. A sharp ache burns in my chest as I slide down the wall until I’m on the floor. After what happened, I always thought Jack would hate me. But he never did. He was there, a calm voice in a storm of fear and uncertainty for a couple of eighteen-year-olds once.
And I let Ava think none of it mattered.
It will always matter.
My forearms drape over the tops of my knees. From under my T-shirt sleeve, the hint of black ink peeks out. I blink and a hot swell fills my vision.
I pull up my sleeve, rubbing a thumb over the tattooed date of a birthday that never came.
Ava
“Let me drive you,”Drake says, snagging an old donut hole out of the plastic container and popping it onto his tongue. “It’s on the way.”
“I’m good.”
“Your car belongs in a junkyard.”
“Rude.” I poke him in the chest as I walk by. Where is my purse?
“I’m right. I don’t know what weird attachment you have to the thing, but it’s time to get a new one.”
“Hush. The window is open and she can hear you.” I hurry past him in the hall into the living area, lifting pillows and blankets on my sofa. Purse iswhere?
“I’m driving you.”
On my way back toward the kitchen, I notice the black strap of my purse jutting out of my small laundry room. I practically squeal when I snag it. Another weekend of nervous rearranging has left pictures and shelves, furniture and rugs, moved in new places throughout my cottage.
I need to channel my nervous energy elsewhere. If this upheaval is going to happen every time I see Ryder’s face, it’s going to be a long three months.
“D, I’m fine. Go to work,” I say.
“I don’t like you driving that thing.”
“Be honest.” I give him a pointed look as I grab an unpeeled orange from a bowl on the counter. “You want to drive me because a) you want to see him and threaten him with your eyes again, or b) you want to talk about him because you secretly want to know everything but don’t want to admit it.”
My brother glares at me. He was always better at the glare. His blue eyes darken, and he gets a deeper groove between his eyes that makes him look like a bull about to gore something.
