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He scowls. “And he didn’t have to ask my girlfriend out.”
I laugh. “He didn’t know I had a boyfriend.”
“You’re right.” He snags me around the waist and hauls me forward. “I need to get Tegan’s Girl tattooed on your forehead,” he murmurs against my lips.
“You’re ridiculous, stud,” I tell him with a giggle.
Pushing him back by the chest, I turn back to the cart and start pushing it forward. His hands land on the bar on either side of mine, caging me in as we walk.
“Why are you smiling so much?” he asks against my neck.
“No reason.”
“You’re lying.”
I turn my head and kiss his cheek. “You’re right. I am lying. But I’ll tell you the reason later. Now get.” I push back with my hips, which earns me a groan from the intimate contact. “You’re making it difficult to drive this thing, and I’m ready to go.”
He releases the bar and sidles up next to me, but still puts his hand inside the back pocket of my jean skirt. I feel like I’m in high school again.
“Did you get my gummy worms?” he inquires, looking inside the cart.
I roll my eyes. “I did.”
Ten minutes later, we’re loading up the back of his truck with our purchases when I feel a prickling on the back of my neck, like someone is watching us. I turn and look behind me, but find nothing unusual.
“What’s wrong?” Tegan asks, and I turn to look at him with a frown.
“Nothing. I just…” I trail off. “I just had the feeling like someone was watching me.” I shake my head. “I’m sure it was nothing.”
Tegan turns and scans the area, his eyes watchful and assessing. When his eyes meet mine again, they look cold, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
“You go get in the car. I’ll finish these.”
“Tegan.” I grab his arm. “I’m sure it’s nothing. You know how you get that feeling sometimes and nine times out of ten, it’s just your imagination playing tricks on you.”
“You may be right, but you also may be wrong. I’m not willing to take that chance. Now please, Willow, just get in the truck.”
I watch him for a moment more. His eyes stay on me, but I know he’s alert to what’s going on around us. I look around one more time before nodding and climbing into the truck. I haven’t heard from my brother since the phone call a week ago and he hasn’t shown his face since he came to Minnie’s house. But that doesn’t mean he’s not out there somewhere. Or he very well could be back in Texas by now. I hate this cat-and-mouse game, because we could be playing it for nothing.
Tegan gets in the truck a minute later. Although he grabs my hand and laces our fingers together, he’s quiet the entire ride home. I hate that the light mood from earlier is now gone and replaced with something somber.
I hope for Bryan’s sake that he is back in Texas and has given up his pursuit of our dad’s watch collection, because I get the feeling he won’t fare well if Tegan gets a hold of him.
I grip Tegan’s hand tightly as we make our way down the hallway to his mom’s room. I’m here because Tegan said he’d like for me to be here. When I asked him last night, he almost looked relieved I suggested it. I was so nervous about asking him, and I almost didn’t, but I’m glad I did. I now realize he’s been coming all these weeks on his own, when he should have had someone with him for moral support. He’s one of the strongest people I know, but even the toughest person needs someone to lean on sometimes. He may not carry any love for the woman who gave birth to him, but that doesn’t mean it still doesn’t hurt that she wasn’t the person she should have been, no matter how much he may not want to admit it. And what he just learned from his dad has to make it harder on him.
Last night, I also intended to tell Tegan how I felt about him, but it just didn’t seem like the right time. He was distracted and not quite himself. I know it had to do with his upcoming visit and the lingering threat of my brother. I don’t want the first time I tell him I love him to be when he’s filled with stress. I want it to be a special moment.
When we stop at a partially closed door, I look over at Tegan. His jaw is firm and there’s a tic at his temple. I want to pull his head down and lay a kiss against his lips and tell him it’s going to be okay.
Instead, I squeeze his fingers to grab his attention.
“You want a moment alone with her?” I ask quietly.
His answer is immediate and comes out a bit gruff. “No.”
He pulls in a deep breath and pushes the door open, then leads us inside. The room we enter is very stale looking. You can tell the nurses have tried to make it more homey with cheap pictures of flowers and sunsets and beaches, but the walls behind the frames are plain white. There’s a potted plant on a small table in the corner, but it’s so cheaply made, there’s no mistaking that it’s fake. There’s a small television mounted on the wall across from the bed. The antiseptic smell in the room is so strong it almost makes me gag.
We slowly walk to the bed in the middle of the room. The machine beeps steadily, giving the illusion that the person it’s hooked to is alive and healthy. However, it’s only the machines that are keeping the frail-looking woman alive. Tegan explained to me that she only has days, possibly hours left.
We stop and stare down at his mom. Her hair is a solid gray and is cut to her shoulders. She looks so tiny in the small bed that two more of her could probably fit on it and still have room to spare. Her eyes are closed and tubes are running out of her mouth and nose. Her hands are by her sides.
I watch Tegan as he looks at her. His expression is devoid of any emotion, and it breaks my heart. A son should be grieving his mother at a time like this, not silently waiting on the moment she takes her last breath. And I know that’s what he’s doing. Not only because he once told me so, but also because of the dead look in his eyes right now. I want to comfort him, but there’s nothing to comfort him for.
He drops my hand and takes another step toward the bed, until his hips bump the side. His voice is quiet when he speaks.
“This is going to be the last time I come here. You don’t deserve my visits. You don’t deserve anything from me.”
I hold my place a couple steps behind him, but it takes all my willpower to do so. I know he needs to do this on his own.
“I just want you to know that I hate you. I hate you for everything you made me do. I hate you for hurting the little boy I was. I hate you for taking me away from Dad. I hate you for hurting the man who loved you. I hate you for taking away my childhood and showing me the ugly side of the world. And I regret never telling you all this. It may make me a bad person, but I’m glad you’ll no longer be of this world. It’s people like you that don’t belong here.”
His fists clench at his sides, betraying his emotions. Tears spring to my eyes, and I step forward and grab his hand. He looks down at me, and for the first time since we stepped foot in this place, he shows me his gorgeous smile. It’s sad and not as big as his signature grin, but it’s there nonetheless.
We don’t stay after that. I think all along this visit was meant to be short and his goodbye to her. He laces our fingers together and we turn to leave. He doesn’t look back once. I ache for him because of the possibility of the future regret for not looking back one last time. I don’t tell him this because there’s no way I could ever know what he went through as a kid. This is his way of coping, and if it’s this he needs, then who am I tell talk him into doing something he doesn’t want to do?
“Mr. Zander!” someone calls. He halts and we both turn to find an older nurse rushing our way. She has something in her hand.
She’s out of breath when she stops in front of us.
