Unveiling Hope Page 8

  “No.” His jaw hardened. “Believe it or not I don’t want my sixteen-year-old sister joining me at these fights. But she follows me sometimes. She worries.”

  “She thinks she can help you?”

  Nevada grinned. “What she lacks in strength she makes up for in speed and agility. Ellen’s been learning karate since she was a kid. She’s kind of obsessed with it.”

  “And you think that means she can go up against these guys?” I asked. It was troublesome to imagine Nevada thinking that meant she was safe at the fights.

  “Fuck no.” He shot me a look like I was crazy. “But I can’t tell her that. She’d do something stupid and try to prove it.”

  I laughed as we moved farther away from the warehouse.

  I’d been coming here more and more lately. Ever since Sam and I started playing a few weeks ago. And after everything that happened today, I knew tonight would be no exception.

  “You should get out more,” I said as I stomped my cigarette out.

  “I can’t.”

  “I’m just saying, I’d like to see your ugly mug more than just when I’m kicking your ass.”

  Nevada laughed. “Oh, is that so?”

  I shrugged as we stopped at the intersection where we split directions. “You should take at least one night, hell, one hour to yourself now and then.” Before he could protest I lifted my hand. “Think about it.”

  He nodded before we each turned and made our way home. I arrived at my apartment faster than I was prepared for. I hadn’t seen Sam since this afternoon, and I wasn’t sure what to expect.

  “Hey,” I greeted her as I shut and locked the door. She nodded from her spot on the couch, petting a curled-up Rory in her lap. “How was the rest of your day?”

  “It was fine.”

  I frowned at her cold shoulder. “I was surprised you didn’t want to come out and see Rory.”

  “I saw enough.” Her eyes stayed fixed on the screen.

  “Okay…” I walked into the kitchen and started preparing a sandwich. I ignored the voice in my head that wanted to ask if she was on the rag. Like Naomi had advised, it would be a fruitless question. But Jesus, what the hell was wrong with her?

  “Sam, I—”

  “I’m tired,” she interrupted, grabbing the remote and shutting off the TV. Then, without another word or even a “good night,” she stalked to her room and shut herself and Rory inside it.

  I picked up my freshly made sandwich and took a large bite. And with it, I swallowed all the words I wanted to say. All the questions I wanted to demand answers for. All the emotions I wanted to unleash.

  TODAY ALWAYS FELT DIFFERENT, even before I consciously became aware of what day it was. My mind was foggy with sleep and my limbs were stiff from hours of disuse. Nothing was out of the ordinary except for my heart.

  My hand immediately went to my chest, trying to rub away the unexplainable yet familiar ache. As I became more alert, memories flooding my mind, the pressure intensified and stole the breath from my lungs until I was hardly human. Just a sweating, panting mass of pain.

  Then it became clear.

  The one memory I wished I could ban from my brain forever, the one moment I wished never had to come, barreled into my thoughts, demanding all my attention.

  All the pain made sense, because nothing made sense.

  I was still trying to figure out how this day was supposed to fit into my life. It shouldn’t.

  I’d try to tell myself I was luckier than most. I’d known the day was coming; I could prepare.

  I had been wrong.

  There was no preparing. Because even though I knew my mother had cancer, even though I knew it was terminal, there was always a small sliver of hope that she could pull through. She would be a miracle case.

  That was the only explanation for the shock that came on this day three years ago when I was told my mother was dead.

  Cancer. One word. Six letters.

  My world imploded, and when all was said and done, when the time for grief had passed and everyone expected me to rebuild, my world was put back together all wonky. Nothing fit and everything was fraught with tension. Nothing made sense without her.

  Even to this day, to this horrible and painful day, my world still felt misassembled.

  Derek noticed my mood right away.

  I doubt it was hard. I felt like an exposed nerve ending, raw and constantly on the brink of inviting more pain. No one had ever seen me on this day before. When I’d lived at home it was easy to escape. My dad was rarely there and Gabe had been traveling on the first anniversary. I’d almost called him, begged him to drop everything and come home. Thankfully I calmed down and decided against it. The only thing worse than being alone was being with someone who didn’t really want to be there. And while I loved my brother, and knew he loved me, he hadn’t wanted to be around me that first year. I didn’t think he wanted to be around anyone, but I imagined it was particularly hard to face me.

  Then last year I had just arrived at Dartmouth. Gabe had offered to fly out and spend the day with me, but I couldn’t do it.

  I prided myself on always being put together, on keeping my cool and showing little emotion.

  Look pretty. Stay quiet.

  But today I gave myself the freedom to feel. To bum around in my pajamas, not wear makeup, and just breathe. Because today was one of those days where breathing became a task; it didn’t happen naturally.

  I wasn’t sure how, but I’d actually forgotten about Derek. Forgotten I had a roommate at all when I walked out of my room a minute ago.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, immediately dropping his controller and walking toward me. It would have made me smile if I’d felt capable of the action. It was always hard to come between Derek and his video games. So to watch him disregard the game, his character crashing and blowing up in the process, affected me more than I was prepared for.

  Breathe.

  I took a deep breath—I couldn’t paste on a smile—and moved to the kitchen. “Nothing. I just need to grab a water.”

  “I don’t think so.” He grabbed my arm in a gentle but firm grip and turned me around. I stood tall, keeping my eyes on his chin, as I felt his gaze roam over my face. “Sam…” he whispered, his large palm settling on the side of my neck and his thumb stroking my jaw.

  I had to close my eyes against everything I was feeling. Being this vulnerable in front of someone wasn’t okay. My control was slipping, and if it broke, it would make me look weak.

  “It’s okay.”

  My eyes sprang open. Had I said something?

  “Whatever it is. It’s okay. You’re okay,” he said firmly, like he could will me to believe him. Derek didn’t ask me what was wrong again, but his eyes told me he was ready for the answer whenever I felt like giving it.

  Look pretty. Stay quiet.

  Look pretty. Stay quiet.

  Look pretty.

  Stay quiet.

  “Sam. It’s okay.” This time his words were soft and coaxing. Then he stepped toward me, sliding the hand on my neck to the back of my head. His other arm wrapped around my waist.

  I was shaking as I tried to keep it all in. My arms remained stubbornly by my side, fists clenched and shoulders stiff.

  But when he started softly singing and his hand began moving up and down my back, his fingers mimicking the motions of plucking a guitar, I lost it. My hands flew to his hips, my fingers desperately searching for something to hold on to before my legs gave out.

  As I felt myself slipping away, I waited.

  Waited to hit the ground.

  Waited to shatter.

  Neither happened.

  Derek caught me, holding me like he’d never let me go.

  His arms shifted until he scooped me up and walked me toward my bedroom.

  “Yours,” I gasped out. My room held nothing but reminders.

  Without question, he brought me to his room. Derek kept the light off and moved to set me on his bed, but I
held on. Now that I was allowing myself to break, I couldn’t afford to let go. I was afraid if I did my pieces would scatter.

  The next few minutes were awkward as he tried to lift the covers and get us underneath without letting go of me. But he didn’t complain. He just kept singing.

  When we were finally settled, we were under the covers and in the center of the bed, facing each other as he continued to hold me. My face was in his neck and his hands were on my back, his strong heartbeat beneath my palm and his beautiful words in my ears.

  My eyes fluttered open and met Derek’s. His dark, concerned gaze roamed over every inch of my face. I could tell he wanted to ask questions, but he wouldn’t. Not if he thought it would cause me more pain. That was the kind of guy Derek was.

  Ever since the awkward, and possibly PMS-related, cold shoulder I gave him two weeks ago, things had been strained between Derek and me. But now that I needed him, it was like everything else disappeared. He put aside whatever he was feeling to make sure I was okay. To help me.

  Part of the reason for my distance was because I was embarrassed. I felt stupid for how worked up I’d gotten, sitting on that couch waiting for him to come home.

  He flirted with me against the fridge. We played music together. And then he showed up at my work with my dog and her. I hadn’t even known there was a Lauren out there. I’d felt unreasonably happy when he’d confirmed he wasn’t seeing anyone when I first moved in.

  Now there was Lauren. And all those nights when he randomly disappeared suddenly made sense.

  But I had no right to these feelings, not when I had John.

  What am I doing?

  It was a vicious cycle of pain. Feeling sad about Derek, and then guilty because I should have been focusing on my mother.

  Boy problems paled in comparison.

  But then I remembered what my mom always said.

  Anything that hurts your heart is worth something. Nothing is too slight or unimportant. If it hurts you, it matters.

  Still, I should’ve been focusing on her. She mattered.

  “It’s…” I trailed off, clearing my throat. “My mom died three years ago today.”

  Understanding lit his eyes as he exhaled harshly. “Shit, Sam. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  I shrugged.

  The truth was, I wished I could’ve said something. But ever since my mom died, every time someone asked me how I was, I let lies slip out instead. Fine. Okay. Good.

  It was amazing the amount of pain a single word could hide. When all I really wanted to say was, Help me, I’m drowning.

  But I couldn’t say any of that, because that wasn’t what people wanted to hear. They wanted to hear you were doing great. That you were succeeding and everything was going your way. Very few people asked how you were with the expectation of getting an actual answer.

  “You’re allowed to hurt, Sam. You’re allowed to break.” Derek tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “I watched Naomi struggle with her feelings about our mom’s addiction for so long. Too long. She tried to block out the pain, to make herself hard and cold. And it nearly destroyed her.”

  I drew in a breath, hoping to bring in some courage with it. “She was my best friend. I know it’s kind of lame. But she was. In fact, my mom was my only real friend.”

  Derek brought his hand to the back of my head and gently rubbed my scalp. The words came a little easier with his comfort. “She was all I had for so long. My dad has always been a bit distant, a bit cold. I used to take it personally but I think that’s just how he is. The couple of times we’ve met his parents I could see why. He was brought up the same way. To him that’s normal. And for a while it looked like Gabe was headed down a similar path. So they’d be gone a lot dealing with business. That left me and Mom, which was fine. It was great, actually. Obviously I missed my brother and father, but my mom and I more than made do by ourselves.” I paused, drawing in a deep breath and squeezing Derek’s hand a bit tighter.

  “When she got cancer, Gabe slowly began to see things differently. It took our mother getting sick for him to realize he’d never really been living. And for a second I thought something positive could come from her cancer—we hadn’t known it would become terminal at that point. But then she kept getting worse and when she… when she died I still had the hope that we would grow closer. I kind of needed it too.” I paused. “I forgot one thing though.”

  “What?”

  “I look just like her.”

  We were silent for a few more minutes before he said, “You should see it as a blessing. Looking like your mom.”

  I’d told myself that before, but I could never convince myself. It seemed like an optimist’s foolish hope. “Sometimes I look in the mirror and I don’t see a person, I see a ghost. I see her.” I smoothed my hand over the sheets.

  “Six months after she died, Gabe couldn’t take it anymore and he left. It was heartbreaking to sit at my window and watch him drive away, especially knowing my father would be gone all the time too. But I know Gabe leaving had more to do with him than me, and I get why it would be hard for him—”

  “I don’t,” he bit out.

  I sighed. “I’m not mad anymore. He couldn’t breathe in that house.”

  “Neither could you, Sam. But you stayed.”

  “Technically I had to, being underaged and all.” I offered him a soft smile. “Gabe didn’t know what was going on because I pretended everything was okay for so long, and that’s on me.”

  “He had to know, Sam. I mean, what kind of girl doesn’t need her mother?”

  “What kind of son doesn’t?” I paused. “Don’t be mad at him.”

  I licked my lips, debating whether I should tell him this next part. Whether I should reveal so much. But one look into his earnest eyes and I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep it to myself.

  “No one knows this, but one time when my dad was gone for a week, I had been standing at the back door, staring outside, and all I saw was my reflection… her reflection. I grabbed a vase and threw it through the door, completely shattering it. Thankfully our neighbor was able to help me fix it before my dad got home.” I smiled sadly. “I wish I had been as easy to fix.”

  “Sam—”

  “So you see… I’m used to being alone. To solving my problems by myself. To wiping my own tears. It’s all I’ve known for so long. And even though Gabe is back in my life and we’re closer than we were, it doesn’t change the fact that I spent so long alone. It doesn’t change the fact that I had to figure out how to take care of myself. I’m… I’m scared of what will happen if I give him—or anyone—that much power again. What if they take it away? How do I fix myself then?”

  I saw Derek roughly swallow as he brushed a piece of my hair behind my ear. “I get that.”

  “You do?” It seemed so hard to believe. Derek and Naomi were very close. They had breakfast with their mother and her boyfriend every Sunday. I knew his mom struggled with addiction. She even came close to relapsing a year and a half ago. But he’d always had Naomi, hadn’t he?

  “Yeah. I’m pretty accustomed to people’s backs too,” he said sadly.

  “Will you tell me about it?” I asked tentatively.

  “There’s not much to it. My dad bailed when we were kids, and my mom—God do I love her—chose her drugs over us more times than I can count.”

  It didn’t go unnoticed that he left out Naomi. “And your sister?”

  Part of me felt guilty. Even though I wanted to know more about Derek and help take away his pain in any way I could, it was also nice not to focus on mine for a few minutes.

  “Naomi…” He sighed. “We always had different ways of seeing things. Of handling our mother. She was angry.”

  “Weren’t you?”

  “Maybe a little. But anger was hard to find under everything else—under the fear and sadness. I know most people think I was pissed at her like Naomi was. Or at least think I should have been. I mean, she stole our money, s
howed up high to birthday parties, forgot to pack us a lunch or give us money for it. Maybe I should’ve been mad. Her addiction was a disease that affected everything. Naomi and I were casualties in a war we didn’t ask to fight. But our mother didn’t ask for it either. She’s flawed and she screwed up a lot, but at the end of the day, I just loved her. I just love her.”

  Derek sighed, his grip on me tightening. “But Naomi wasn’t like that. She let her anger consume her. I tried to be the big brother she could turn to, that she could count on. But she didn’t want me. She was out all the time, with friends or her boyfriend. I guess she figured if she didn’t come home it would be easier to pretend our mother wasn’t a drug addict.”

  “It hurt?” I asked.

  He searched my eyes, looking for something I couldn’t figure out. “Yeah, Sam. It hurt a lot. I felt like I failed everyone I loved. My mom with her addiction. My sister with her fear. Even Alara when we found out about her depression. And knowing their neglect and indifference were about them and their problems didn’t take away the sting.”

  My lips dipped down, matching his. If needed, most people could take care of themselves. But that didn’t mean they should have to. Everyone should know what it felt like to have a hand run through their hair. To have soup brought to them in bed. To have someone make them tea when they were feeling sad. To know they were being thought of.

  I at least had that while my mom was still alive. He’d never had it at all, had he?

  “Who takes care of you?” I asked softly.

  He frowned. “I take care of myself. Like you.”

  Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around him. We were lying in the middle of his bed, so intertwined it was hard to tell where one of us ended and the other began.

  I didn’t think too hard about the feelings coursing through me. Or about the voice in my head that gently whispered, I’ll take care of you.

  We spent the whole day in my bed. Either watching movies or talking about Sam’s mom.

  Right now we were in a rare lull. We were both on our sides, not touching, staring at one another, when Sam’s expression changed.