Playing, p.56
Playing, page 56
Kaylee, what the fuck?
No, I know he's a liar.
You're both liars.
Like I slapped her in the face.
No, I did. I didn't just lie to Emma about this. I stomped the ground and dug my heels into it. I dug a fucking grave with my heels.
Now it's time to lie in it.
* * *
Light peeks through the dark curtains. First a deep shade of blue. Then lighter. Some mix of red, pink, and orange. Then enough to keep the stars from shining.
I give up on sleep and crawl out of bed.
All the downstairs lights are on. Brendon is on the couch in his jeans and t-shirt, his head on a pillow, his eyes closed. A bright, colorful infomercial flashes on the TV. Some sponge. It's a happy face that makes it easier to clean. So you can drag happiness over dirt until it's as grimy as everything else.
I let him sleep. Brush my teeth. Wash my face. Shower. The water is hot, but I don't feel it. The release of last night is gone. It keeps replaying through my head.
Emma is never going to forgive you.
I press my eyelids together, tilt my head back to rinse my hair. Water streams down my face, off my chin. Still it screams in my head.
Emma isn't going to forgive you. And whatever's happening with Grandma—you're going to have to get through that alone.
I know I have my parents.
But I still can't get over them keeping this from me. And I know how awful it feels—someone keeping a secret to protect you. Only I don't know the reality. I don't know how much of their words are sugar coating and how much are straight up lies.
I guess it runs in the Hart family.
After I towel dry, I finish packing. There. That's everything. Meds. Clothes. Kindle. Laptop. Toiletries. It's still hot here. But what about in New Jersey? I check the weather report, pack a few sweaters just in case.
I find my phone and text Emma for the hundredth time.
Kaylee: I'm sorry. Can we talk? Please.
Nothing.
I stare until my eyes are dry.
Nothing.
It's still early. She's probably not even up. Brendon's here. That must mean she's still at Walkers. That she's still okay.
It means more. I don't know. My head is fuzzy. Full. My thoughts are going in circles. They're fast but they're slow. I need sleep. And tea. In that order.
It's not an option.
I lug my stuff downstairs and put the kettle on.
Brendon stirs. I can't see him from here but I can hear him.
"Fuck. What time is it?" he asks.
"Early." I grab a mug from the cabinet. The one I made at that paint it yourself pottery place. With Emma. A million years ago. It has a mermaid on it. Well, it's supposed to be a mermaid. It looks more like a blur of beige, green, purple, and red on a blue background. "You can go back to sleep."
"No. We should go soon. There's always traffic."
That's true enough. I stare at the shiny silver kettle, willing it to work faster. I need comfort. Tea. And his arms around me. But when I open my lips to request it, I can't force any words out.
"I better get ready."
"Okay. You want coffee?"
"Thanks." His footsteps move closer. Closer. He steps into the kitchen, wraps his arms around me, pulls my body against his. "I'm sorry, Kay. This is my fault."
No. It's not. He said no. He said this couldn't happen. And I begged him.
Maybe it's not all my fault.
But we share the blame.
He didn't tell me to dig into my lies.
That was all me.
I shake my head.
He runs his fingers through my wet hair.
Tears well up in my eyes. It feels too good being in his arms. It reminds me of how bad everything else is. But I don't want to say any of it. I just want to soak in this comfort while I have it.
The kettle whistles.
I pour hot water over my bag of vanilla black.
"Go." I press my lips to his neck. "Get ready. I can leave as soon as I finish my tea."
"Eat something."
"I'm not hungry."
"Kay, eat something."
"It's my body. Not yours."
He steps back. Hurt flashes in his eyes. But it can't be over that comment. At least, I don't think so.
He turns and moves toward the living room.
"At least make a sandwich for the plane." He climbs up the stairs and disappears into his bedroom.
It's not the worst advice.
I fill the coffee maker with fresh grounds and filtered water and turn it on.
Slowly, the smell of java wafts over the room.
I find the bread in the fridge and focus all my energy on spreading almond butter over one side and raspberry jelly over the other.
By the time Brendon rushes downstairs all showered and fresh I have my sandwich wrapped in plastic. But my tea is still too fucking hot.
He steps into the kitchen. His eyes catch the sandwich then they meet mine. "Good?"
"Yeah." I bring my lips and take a sip. It's too hot, but it's tolerable. "Have you heard from Emma?"
"No, but Walker said he'd text as soon as she was up. She has work today. She won't skip that."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. She's a responsible kid. And she loves her discount."
I try to muster up a laugh. I'm not sure if he's joking. Emma does love her employee discount. And she's also responsible. But she also ran off last night. She's never done that before. We've fought a lot—who hasn't—but she's never run off without telling me where she was going.
Brendon brings his hand to my jaw. He tilts my head so I'm looking up at him. "It will be okay, Kay."
"How do you know?"
"I know."
I want to believe him, but I'm not sure I do.
* * *
Traffic is a crawl. It's Friday morning. Traffic is always a crawl at this time.
The sun bounces off the pavement, flowing into Brendon's sedan, making it hard to read my cell screen.
Not that there's anything to read.
Emma still hasn't texted back.
My parents' have a safe flight, can't wait to see you, let me know when you've boarded texts are the same.
The only thing changing is the time in the top bar of my cell screen.
I stare at it until the screen goes dark then I wake my cell and do it all over again.
Brendon reaches over and wraps his fingers around my wrist. "Kay, put your phone away. You're driving yourself crazy."
"I know. But—"
"Emma's not gonna text back today. You have to give her time."
I know that. I do. But my heart isn't getting the message. And when I let my thoughts float away from Emma, they go straight to Grandma. To the question mark and all the possible answers. They're too scary. I can't take that.
He rubs my wrist with his thumb. It pulls my thoughts back to the moment.
Brendon is such a loving person, but he doesn't see himself that way. No one else sees him that way.
But it's there. It's just hidden, like the stars on the ceiling.
He rubs my wrist through the last stretch of the 405. As we take the LAX exit. Even through the crawl to Departures then to my terminal.
God, this airport is a mess.
It's constantly in construction.
It will be better one day. But right now the improvement is only making things worse.
There. He pulls into the short-term parking lot and finds a space on the second level. Even though it's a bright day, it's dark in here. The sun can't get through the walls of concrete.
His hand goes back to his side. All the warmth in my body goes with it. Something changes in his posture as he turns off the car. Something that makes him harder. Further away.
Or maybe that's my imagination.
It's possible sleep deprivation is getting to me.
God, I'm actually looking forward to being on that plane. That's six hours to close my eyes and block out the world. Or six hours for the world to invade my thoughts. One of the two.
"I'll get your bag." Brendon steps out of the car. He grabs my rolling duffel from the backseat then slams the door shut.
I pull my cardigan tighter as I step into the parking lot. The air here is cool. I hug my purse to my shoulder and adjust my jeans. This is weird. I'm flying to New Jersey. That's how things are supposed to go today.
But they're supposed to be different too.
Brendon takes my hand and leads me through the parking lot. It's bright on the sidewalk. The sky is a brilliant blue. The sun is a luminous yellow. There isn't a cloud in sight.
And his hand is on mine.
His touch still feels so fucking good.
Even though something—everything—else is wrong.
The red hand at the cross walk disappears as the walk sign flashes on.
I follow Brendon across the street. Then over the loading zone. We take the escalator to departures, step into the air-conditioned terminal, and go straight to the machines against the wall.
Shit, that security line stretches on for ages. This is going to take forever. And we're no longer early.
I slide my credit card into the machine and follow the instructions. It spits out my boarding pass and a message to proceed to security.
Brendon rubs my shoulders. "You have everything you need for your flight?"
I nod. I think so.
"Load up your playlist with Linkin Park?"
I shake my head. "Joy Division."
He chuckles but his eyes stay sad. "Call me when you get in. And let me know how your grandma is doing."
"Of course." I wrap my arms around his waist. "You'll let me know what happens with Em? Whatever it is?"
"Yeah."
"Good." I rise to my tiptoes. My eyelids flutter closed as I press my lips to his. He tastes good. Like coffee and like Brendon. I don't usually like the taste of coffee, but it's another thing that makes me think of him.
I pull back with a sigh.
My eyes fix on his. They're like coffee, his eyes. Rich. Dark. Deep.
He's here with me.
Holding my hand.
Kissing me off.
He's everything.
"I don't want to say goodbye, but I guess I have to." I rise to my tiptoes and kiss him again. It's not enough. I need more of him. I need all of him.
This time, he's the one who pulls back. He runs his fingers through my hair. His voice gets soft. "Me either."
"I... I'll miss you." I lean into his touch. Words rise up in my throat. Ones I've been avoiding.
I try to swallow them down.
I kiss him one more time. Something to keep my lips occupied.
But that doesn't work.
I'm shaking when I pull back.
My eyes meet his.
And those words spill from my lips.
"Brendon, I love you."
Chapter Forty-Six
Kaylee
Shit.
My cheeks flush.
My stomach drops.
Not the right time.
Not at all.
And the look in his eyes.
That's not the right look.
"Kay..." His eyes go to the floor.
"You don't have to say it. It just came out. I, uh... I mean, I do love you. But it's okay if you're not sure yet. Or if you're not there yet."
"No." He runs a hand through his hair. Slowly, his eyes meet mine. "Kay..."
No. That's not the right tone. "What do you mean Kay...?"
"Don't worry about us. Go see your grandma."
I shake my head. "No. The way you said that... it's like there isn't an us." I stare into his eyes. I pick apart the way they turn down. It's barely anything, but it's enough. It's bad. "If there's not an us—"
"There shouldn't be."
"What?" My heart rises in my throat. There has to be an us. Otherwise, I really don't have anything.
"Em was right. I'm supposed to protect you from guys like me."
"Em said that?"
"Yeah. But that doesn't matter." His voice gets stronger. Like he's sure. "I am supposed to protect you from guys like me."
"What the fuck does that mean? You're strong and sweet and supportive—"
"I'm not the kind of guy you should love." Hurt streaks over his face. It seeps into his voice. But he stays strong. Confident.
"No, Brendon. You're exactly the kind of guy I should love."
He shakes his head. "I'm not."
"Well too fucking bad. I do love you."
"You shouldn't."
"And you should love me?"
"Kay—"
"No, you don't get to say my name like that." My fingers curl into fists. He's still standing there all strong and sure and stoic. Like he's doing this for me. But that's bullshit. This is the last thing I need. "Am I the kind of girl someone should love?"
"Kay—"
"Don't say my name like that!" My voice rises. It's too loud for the airport. People are staring. Even a security guard. I swallow hard. I force myself to be quiet. "How am I a girl you should love?"
"You're smart, strong—"
"I think about hurting myself."
"That's different."
"How?"
"It just is." He plants one hand on my shoulder. Stares back into my eyes.
His stupid gesture is calming.
I hate that it's calming.
How can he calm me when he's ripping my heart out?
I stare back at him, daring him to explain, daring him to see what an idiot he's being.
He doesn't.
"It isn't different." I try to whisper, but my voice is still too loud. "If you're no good then neither am I. My brain is broken. I think about hurting myself. I might one day."
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I know enough."
I shake my head. "Why should anyone love a girl who might swallow a bottle of sleeping pills?"
He stares back at me.
"Is that it? You don't want to be with someone like me?"
"No."
"You could at least have the courtesy to be honest when you break my heart." I take a step backward. "Don't tell me this is for me. Because it's not. I know what I want. I want you."
"Kay—"
"DON'T SAY MY NAME LIKE THAT!" I press my lips together. Fuck. I'm causing a scene. I need to get shit under control or I'm going to be escorted to some scary secret TSA room. "Tell me the truth, Brendon. Is this really because I shouldn't be with you? Or is it because you could never love someone like me?"
"No, Kay. This is because I love you."
"Bullshit." I stare into his eyes, begging him to budge.
But he doesn't.
He just stares back. Apology streaks his expression, but he stays silent.
It feels like we stare forever.
Eventually, he takes a step backward. "You're going to miss your flight."
"But... but you love me."
"It doesn't matter."
"Of course it does."
"You shouldn't be with me." His voice is dripping with hurt, but it's still confident. Sure.
"I get to decide that."
"Yeah. But I do too." He takes a step backward. "I'm sorry, Kay. Have a safe flight."
Then he turns and leaves.
And takes my heart with him.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Brendon
I sit in my car for a fucking eternity.
I check the flight notice again and again.
Boarding.
Boarded.
On its way.
I turn my car on. Plug my cell into the stereo. Blast something by The Descendants.
The parking fee is a fucking crime.
But I don't care.
I take the streets to Lincoln and I drive. I drive until the street becomes Pacific Coast Highway proper. I drive until I'm curving around Pacific Palisades then the Malibu hills.
It doesn't help my thoughts come together.
I keep seeing the hurt on Kaylee's face.
Like I ripped her heart in half.
I was sure I was right. That hurting her was a necessary evil. That she shouldn't be with me much less love me.
But the more I drive, the less sense it makes.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Kaylee
I rest my head against the window and watch the clouds roll by.
It's strange. I'm empty. But my thoughts have nowhere to go.
My head is only more of a mess.
Brendon insisting I shouldn't love him.
Emma calling me a liar.
Grandma promising she's fine.
I pull out my Kindle and try to read. The words are fuzzy. They're nothing. They're pointless.
This isn't happening.
I find my journal—the one he bought for me. And I put my purple pen to the page.
None of this makes sense.
I let my thoughts pour from my fingers.
And I don't stop until I don't feel anything anymore.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Kaylee
Mom is waiting at baggage claim.
Her eyes are puffy. Red. She's been crying.
From the way she's looking at me, I'm pretty sure mine are the same.
Fuck.
I knew things might be bad.
But not this bad.
* * *
Mom makes small talk.
And I let her.
Until we take an early exit.
She turns on an unfamiliar street.
Then down another.
The hospital comes into view.
"Mom..." I place my hands in my lap. "What... What the hell?"
She pulls into the hospital parking lot. "I can explain."
"How can you explain?" Grandma is supposed to be okay. Okay people aren't in the hospital. That's a fucking fact.
"Your Grandma had another heart attack last week." Mom pulls into an end space and turns the car off. Her hands stay glued to the steering wheel. Her gaze stays on the windshield. "We knew you were coming. We figured it would be better to wait until you were here."
