Unveiling Hope Page 3

  “I’m glad you’re figuring it out sooner than I did. I don’t regret it though. A different path might mean I never would have met Alara.” He shuddered. “And that’s a godawful thought I don’t want any part of.”

  I agreed. Over the years Alara and I had become good friends, and I couldn’t imagine my brother without her.

  Our food arrived as I started thinking about my regrets. Did I have any? Were regrets only left behind when we found something better than what we thought we’d given up? Surely Gabe had regrets, but loving Alara made them worth it. Made those sacrifices worth it.

  Having good things didn’t erase our regrets. It simply put them in a different light, allowed us to appreciate that, while we may have still wanted this or wished we’d done that, our lives were ultimately shaping up in the way that was best for us.

  Regret.

  It was a complicated concept.

  And for reasons I didn’t want to examine, the person I’d tried my hardest to forget always lingered close to my thoughts when regret was mentioned.

  So just like all the other times I counted my regrets, Derek’s face flashed in my mind.

  I’d just fought Nevada again for the third time in a month. I was pretty sure we’d become friends, although with a guy like him it was hard to tell. And he could never hang out since he worked so much to support his siblings.

  This fight I came out the winner, and as a maybe-friend I felt a bit shitty about it because I knew he needed that money. But as he genuinely congratulated me I realized he’d be far more pissed if I’d thrown it.

  The second I got back to my apartment I grabbed a beer from the fridge and walked over to the couch, all while Rory nipped at my ankles. I dropped down, leaning my head back and staring at the ceiling.

  She was trained not to bark, so her version of “welcome home” was to jump on my lap and lick my face until I affectionately shoved her away. And while I loved Rory, it seemed pretty pathetic that the only thing welcoming me home was a ball of fluff.

  What was even more pathetic? She wasn’t even my dog. She was Sam’s. It seemed I couldn’t do a single thing without thinking of her.

  “Yes! Right there, baby!”

  I cringed as the responsive grunts started.

  “Fuck! You’re so tight. Wet and tight, baby.”

  “You’re so big! The biggest I’ve ever had. Oh shit, do that again!!”

  “This?” My roommate let out some weird hybrid that was half grunt, half laugh as I stood up and moved to my bedroom.

  “YES! YES! YES! No one fucks my pussy like you—”

  I slammed my door shut, immediately waking my computer up and punching the play button on iTunes. The last of their grunts and groans disappeared beneath the sounds of Macklemore.

  Draining the rest of my beer, I saw Rory sitting on her dog bed, looking as horrified and violated as I felt.

  Sadly this was common practice for us. Bolting into my room and turning the music up so loud the walls practically shook was unavoidable when my roommate and his girlfriend were here. It sounded like they were making a bad porno.

  They weren’t loud on purpose. Several times they’d tried to “tone it down.” It was a laughable effort. They were… enthusiastic. All. The. Fucking. Time.

  Simon and Sasha were nice enough. She would cook us dinner whenever she stayed over, and he was always cleaning up the place. He paid the rent on time and grocery shopped more than I did. But I wasn’t sure the trade-off was worth it.

  I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket and dug it out. My sister’s name flashed on the screen along with a picture of her sticking her tongue out.

  Smiling, I pressed accept and brought the phone to my ear. Before I could say anything, Naomi did.

  “For fuck’s sake.” She sighed as I lowered the volume, still keeping it loud enough to drown out any other sounds beyond my door. “This is a problem, Derek.”

  “He’s not that bad.”

  “Oh really? So Simon has offered to pay for the hearing aids you’re obviously going to need from blowing out your eardrums so you don’t hear him having sex with his girlfriend?”

  I rolled my eyes. “It could be worse.”

  “Of course. But it could also be better. You don’t have to settle for what people give you. You can ask for more. You deserve more.”

  “I get the sense we’re not talking about roommates anymore?”

  “Derek—”

  “Nope.”

  “What—”

  “I’ll hang up on you. I love you, Naomi. But I don’t want to have this conversation again,” I said with an abnormally hard edge to my voice. I wasn’t stern often.

  “Fine,” she grumbled. Naomi was stubborn as hell, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew when she’d lost the battle. But that didn’t mean she was giving up on the war—she wouldn’t be the sister I knew and loved if she did.

  “Are you still coming over to Mom’s tomorrow?” She sounded uncharacteristically nervous.

  “Yeah…” I drew out the word. We had a family brunch every Sunday and she never called to confirm before. “Why, what’s up?”

  “Nothing. Mom said she has news, but she wanted to tell us together.”

  “I’ll be there at ten. Like always.”

  “Okay. Good, good.”

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah.” She let out a breath. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”

  I stayed quiet, not wanting to give a voice to her fears. It would eat at Naomi, and I didn’t want her in that kind of pain, not even for a night. “You think she relapsed?”

  “I don’t know. And that’s the shit part, isn’t it?” She sounded weary. “She’s been clean for more than a year—I shouldn’t doubt her. I wish that wasn’t the first thing I thought about.”

  “You can’t help what you feel.”

  Naomi had a tumultuous past with our mother. Obviously having a mother who was addicted to drugs was hard on both of us. But it always seemed to affect Naomi more than me. My sister got angry a lot—that was how she hid her fear and pain. I didn’t hide mine and I always tried to give our mom the benefit of the doubt.

  I knew what it was like to be a screwup. Naomi didn’t. I knew how the pressure of living up to other people’s expectations could fuck with a person’s head and make them do stupid shit.

  “Are you bringing Damien?” I asked. She didn’t always bring her fiancé. He worked two jobs so his schedule didn’t often allow it.

  “He’s working.”

  “He usually is. So ask him to switch with someone or call off.”

  “I can’t do that. He has appointments. People coming in specifically to see him.”

  Damien was a tattoo artist. He hoped to own his own shop one day, and I knew it was a hard ask. But there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for my sister.

  They’d been seeing each other for more than a year and got engaged a couple months ago. Never once during that time did I see him let her face something alone. If she asked, he’d be there. Period.

  I guessed that was why she was staying quiet.

  “I’ll be okay. I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

  We hung up and I stared down at my phone. She might be pissed at me, but Damien deserved to know. Naomi had gotten better at letting people in, at sharing her feelings. But her desire to be strong for those around her, to be “hard” to protect herself, was something I didn’t think would ever go away.

  When I called Damien and filled him in, he swore under his breath. “I wish she would tell me these things.”

  “For what it’s worth, I don’t think she relapsed. So I doubt Naomi’ll need—”

  “I don’t care,” he bit out before taking a deep breath and speaking in a calmer voice. “I mean, I care about your mother relapsing, of course. But I agree with you, I don’t think she did either. What I meant was I don’t care what your mom has to say. Whether it’s good news or bad news.
I want to celebrate with or comfort Naomi either way. Your mother said the family was supposed to be there. I’m part of the family. Ring or not, Naomi should know that by now.” He sounded especially exasperated.

  “She doesn’t want to mess up your job.”

  “Well if she had asked me, she’d know that my first three hours of appointments are with buddies of mine who would have no problem with me rescheduling.”

  After I made him promise not to be too mad at her—not like it mattered much, even when he was annoyed he still treated her like a queen—we hung up.

  I thought about what the news could be. My mom and her boyfriend, Mark, had been seeing each other for a few years. Maybe they were engaged?

  The thought sat heavy in my stomach. It seemed everyone around me was finding their place in life, and the person they were meant to experience it with. It wasn’t that I was unaware of what I wanted. In a perfect world I’d be creating music with Sam by my side. I knew what I wanted, but sometimes a person just wasn’t lucky enough to get what they desired.

  Instead I had her white fur ball of a dog as a substitute, and the only music I heard was from someone else’s hands and mouth, all to cover up the sound of a love I was embarrassingly envious of.

  I was walking up the steps to my mom and Mark’s house, a bouquet of tulips in one hand, when I heard a car pull up behind me. Pausing on the porch, I waited for Damien and Naomi to get out of the car.

  “You!” she exclaimed when she saw me, pointing a finger my way.

  “What?” I asked innocently. Truthfully I was a little scared. I’d fought people almost twice my size and none of them made me hesitate like Naomi did. I never knew how she’d react to something. She was definitely one of those girls who had a batshit-crazy mode.

  When she reached me she punched me in the arm. “I told you not to say anything.” Before I could defend myself, she wrapped her arms around my neck and whispered, “Thank you.”

  I stood frozen, completely confused, and watched Damien chuckle as he climbed the porch steps. Naomi pulled back and threaded her arm through his.

  “Uhhh… I’m confused. Are you mad at me or not?” I asked, sneaking a peek Damien’s way.

  “Both,” she answered as she moved around me and rang the doorbell. “I can love you and still be annoyed with you. I’m an excellent multitasker.”

  “So am I,” Damien cut in. “And if you keep something like this from me again because you think you’re bothering me”—he shot her a dark look before continuing—“we’ll have a repeat of last night.”

  “Is that supposed to be a threat?” she asked with a grin. “Because if last night was a punishment, I’ll gladly make that mistake again and again and…”

  “Gross,” I muttered with a cringe. They laughed, but thankfully before they could say more the door swung open.

  “Hi!” My mom’s bright smile immediately shoved everything else to the back of my mind. “Oh Damien! We’re so glad you could make it.” She hugged them both and waved them inside.

  “Hey.” I bent down and kissed her cheek. Holding out the flowers, I said, “Mark asked me to pick these up.”

  Like clockwork, Mark bought her flowers every Sunday morning. But today he called me in a panic, saying he didn’t have enough time and needed me to stop for some.

  My mom rolled her eyes as she took them from my hands. She always insisted she didn’t need them, but we all knew how much she loved them. The sun caught on her bracelet, a thin bar with the words “One day” stamped on it, a gift from Naomi.

  It reminded me how far my mother had come. When I was younger it had killed me not to be able to trust her. To constantly wonder if she was lying. I would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering why I didn’t deserve the truth. Wondering why a bottle of pills meant so much more to her than I did. Because it wasn’t the mistake that gutted me. I understood that there were times she’d be tempted, that she’d fall off the wagon. But I could tell there were times she wanted to ask for help and never did.

  Hadn’t she known my love didn’t come at a price? It didn’t come with contingencies that she be perfect. It just demanded she be there, that she care.

  But those days were behind us. If she felt tempted, she said something. She called someone. She went to support groups and anything else she could to stay healthy.

  My mom and I joined everyone in the kitchen, and Mark immediately took the flowers from her to put in a vase. “Thanks, Derek,” he said, nodding my way.

  “Any time.”

  Naomi and Damien were already sitting at the table because Mom and Mark refused help when we came over on Sundays. Any other time it was a joint effort, but Sundays were their days to treat us.

  I sat down too, frowning, as we watched Mark guide our mother to a chair. Naomi shot her worried eyes to mine. It was strange since Mom usually insisted on doing most of the cooking. Mark typically took care of the cleanup.

  Naomi was clearly tired of waiting, even though we’d only been there five minutes. “What’s your news?” she asked, trying for excited despite her guarded expression. Damien reached for her hand under the table and gave it a squeeze.

  Mom snuck a glance back at Mark and cleared her throat. “Well, it’s actually our news.” He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. She immediately covered them with her own.

  Looking over at my sister, I saw the tension leave her shoulders. The couple across from us appeared far too happy for this to be any kind of bad news.

  “Well… don’t keep us waiting,” I said with a wide smile.

  “I’m… I’m pregnant.”

  Maybe that should have been the obvious surprise, but based on Naomi and Damien’s expressions, they were as unprepared as I was. Our mom had been young when she had me, so even though she was probably teetering at the age in which it might be difficult to conceive, she was by no means too old for a child.

  “Really?” my sister finally asked, her lips wobbling into a tearful smile.

  “Yeah.” Our mom teared up too as both women were suddenly out of their chairs and hugging.

  “Congratulations,” I said to Mark while Naomi rubbed her hand over our mom’s stomach.

  “Thanks, man.” His smile was wide and bright. I honestly didn’t think there was a man out there more in love than him. And my mother deserved that.

  “How far along are you?” Naomi asked.

  “Almost three months.”

  “We wanted to say something sooner,” Mark added. “But we didn’t want to jinx it.”

  “I’ll be showing soon though, so we thought it was time,” our mom said excitedly. The oven beeped and she turned to move toward it, but Mark swooped in.

  “No, no. Sit.” He gently plopped her back down.

  “He won’t let me do anything now,” she said with a huff. I thought back to the last few weeks and realized the dynamics had changed some, we just hadn’t noticed it. “I was dusting today and he yanked the cloth out of my hand before forcing me to the couch.”

  We all laughed.

  “Damn right I did.”

  “She’s not an invalid,” Naomi said.

  He frowned as he set the last of breakfast on the table. “Of course she’s not. But she’s carrying my child.” Mark’s lips reversed into a smile. Then he reached over and ran his hand across her stomach before cupping her cheek, staring into her watery eyes.

  “I can’t do anything to help our baby grow. But I can help you. I can make sure you know, every single second of every single day, how much I love and appreciate you.”

  “You already do.” Her hand covered his.

  I smiled as they met in the middle for a soft kiss, but their love and joy were too great to be contained and they broke apart, grinning.

  MY HEART WAS POUNDING as I gripped the steering wheel. I’d been parked in front of Pick Your Poison for ten minutes, but I still didn’t have the courage to go in. I looked down at my phone buzzing in my hand.

  Gab
e: You almost here?

  I was meeting my brother and a few of his friends. I hadn’t been sure if he told Derek I was back, but when Gabe suggested the place where they both bartended, I figured he had.

  I hadn’t told anyone I was back for good, because up until I told my father I wasn’t returning to Dartmouth last week, I wasn’t sure of anything. I didn’t want to face anyone until I had answers to the questions I knew they’d ask.

  After my brother there was only one other person I wanted to see. I had friends, but most of them I met through Gabe and they were all older than me. Derek was too, but we were… different.

  I was seventeen when I first met Derek. He was twenty-four. But our seven-year age gap disappeared when we talked.

  Growing up, I’d managed to dodge the cliché of crushing on my older brother’s best friend. Or any of his friends. None of them even remotely tempted me into feeling anything other than polite indifference.

  But that all changed when Derek Donahue came into our lives. There was something about him that was just… more. He was the type of person who immediately commanded your attention. His dark brown hair that was shorter on the sides and longer on top, often styled so it extended a couple inches higher. I used to imagine running my fingers through it. Burying my fingers in his hair to bring him closer, or yanking on the strands when he was going down on me.

  Yeah, my crush was not PG-13.

  With his dark blue eyes and soft pink lips, and a perpetual five o’clock shadow, it was impossible not to fantasize about him. He was so good-looking some might have thought he was an arrogant jerk. But he was the exact opposite.

  When someone was talking to him, he gave them his full attention. He didn’t check his phone or glance around at his surroundings. Derek listened like he was doing more than just preparing a response; he listened like he actually heard you and cared about what you were saying.

  And when we each discovered how much the other loved music, it felt like something more than friendship was happening. I didn’t know about him, but it had been years since I played or sang or wrote a single piece of music. It had always been too painful. Reading and music were things my mom and I shared. Derek was the first person I felt like giving that part of myself to.