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It’saftertenp.m.when Azalea texts me for the second time today. I groan when I see her name, unsure if I’ll have the strength to do anything except throw myself at her feet and beg her to give me another chance. I’m back at school now. There’s only about three miles of physical distance between us, and I constantly think about how easy it would be to close that gap. So far, I’ve managed to control myself.
Then I see the message.I really need you.
And just like that, this charade is done.
I might be fucked up, she might be better off without me, but hell if I’m going to sit here and ignore her when she says those words.
I drag my ass out of bed and go to her.
Tenminuteslater,Azaleasteps out of her apartment and pulls the door closed behind her. She’s wearing a fleece pullover and black leggings. Her hair is loose and wild around her shoulders, held back from her face by a thick headband.
For a moment, my breath catches in my throat.
“What’s going on?” I ask at the same time she says, “You’re not on crutches.”
We stare, each of us waiting for the other to respond first. I’m the one who breaks. “Yeah, I’ve been off them. I’m doing physical therapy still.”
“Are you in pain?”
I rub my jaw. “Yeah,” I admit, wincing as her face flashes with guilt. “Not constant. I have meds for it. Is everything okay?”
“I—” Azalea glances over her shoulder at the closed door. “Let’s go for a walk.”
I follow her lead, my chest coiling with anxiety as I wait to hear what she has to say. We tromp down the stairs to the sidewalk and walk in silence to the courtyard in the center of the complex.
It’s small, just a couple of benches in front of a birdbath that’s dry for the winter, and thankfully deserted. Azalea sinks onto one of the benches. I hover for a moment, unsure if I should squeeze in beside her or not.
“You can sit with me, Mav.” She almost sounds offended.
“Okay. I wasn’t sure.”
I settle in. We’re hip-to-hip, which wouldn’t have been the slightest bit weird before the accident but seems like a little much now. It’s been five months since I’ve seen Azalea in person. Five months since we’ve had any kind of real conversation. I’ve fucking hated every second of it. I hate that my favorite person in the world, who once slept all night in my arms, is stiff beside me.
“I found her,” she says quietly, the words steaming the cold night air.
“You found her?” I repeat. It takes a moment for me to register what she’s talking about. “Wait. Youfoundher?”
“Yeah.”
“Your mom?”
“Yes. She’s married. Her name’s Marie Porter now. She lives in Kansas City, and she has—” Azalea’s chin trembles for just a second before she clenches her jaw to keep the emotion at bay. “She has kids.”
Oh,Jesus.She’s trying to hide it, but I can see all over Azalea’s face how hard this is for her. To know that the mother who abandoned her, who she’s spent her entire life wondering about, went on to have other kids who she deemed important enough to stick around for…
I hate this lady. I don’t know her, but I fucking hate her.
“So what now?” I ask.
Azalea takes a deep breath. “I want to go see her.” For the first time, she looks me in the eye. “I want you to drive me.”
“Tell me when.”
“Saturday?”
It’s only two days from now, but my calendar has been pretty empty aside from class and PT. “Yeah. Sure.”
She stares at me for a long moment. Then she lets out a humorless laugh and shakes her head in bemusement. The tip of her nose is turning red from the cold. “How was it that easy?”
