Page 88 of When Fate Breaks
She doesn’t respond, seeming frozen in place.
“Hello?” I repeat.
Evangeline’s straightens, her head slowly turning to look at me. I see her eyes are wide and glassy, her cheeks pink and teeth biting down hard on her bottom lip.
“Evangeline?”
She swallows hard. “...Blake?”
“What’s wrong? What happened?” I say, grabbing her shoulder and turning her towards me. As she faces me, I expect to see her phone in my hand, but it's nowhere to be found. I get confused when my wallet comes into view first, her clutching it with white knuckles. But realization hits me the second she is fully turned around, my stomach dropping to my feet. Her other hand comes into view. It’s not empty. I see her holding it.
Shit.
My eyes dart between it and her face, hoping it’ll magically disappear into thin air before the next time I look back at it. She has just the edge of it barely pinched between two fingers, like it’s so fragile it’ll break at any moment.
It might honestly.
It’s a decade old.
She slowly twists her hand, her wrist trembling. The colors are faded and the edges are bent from being crammed into my wallet for so long that I nearly forgot about it. The golden brown hues of her hair come into view, the cab of my old truck, me smiling in the background bigger than I ever have in any other photo.
She continues to stare at me, her mouth open but not saying anything. My ears heat the longer her gaze burns into my face. She finally tears her eyes away, looking back at the old Polaroid photo we took in the early hours of the one day in our lives where we would both be seventeen years old.
I can feel my blood pulsing and my eyes burning. I can’t do this right now. Not here. I pluck the picture from Evangeline’s hand, causing her to jump, and shove it back in my wallet.
“Let’s go,” I mutter, not looking back at her as I wordlessly pay the tab and lead the way out of the convention center and to her truck.
16
NINE YEARS AGO
Annie
I’d give anything to have you here sooner.
Blake’s words echo in my mind as my mom knocks on the Di Fazios’s front door. I let my head fall and my eyes shut, taking several deep breaths as I brace myself for what I’m about to face. There’s no possible way Blake would have wanted me here sooner if he knew this would be the cost. I know that. But, regardless, the guilt of the thought alone stings just the same.
Kyle Di Fazio is dead.
Our long-time family friend. My dad’s best friend since childhood. Blake’s father.
It doesn’t feel real. I’m not sure it ever will.
My eyes open when I feel a hand squeeze my own. I glance up to my right, meeting Steph’s green eyes. She doesn’t say anything, but her tight smile sends me everything I need through sister telepathy. I nod at her as I hear footsteps approaching behind the door.
I straighten my knee length black dress, pulling the sleeves down and fidgeting with the chiffon fabric on my shoulders. I’m ready. I need to be. I have to be strong for Blake.
We’ve barely exchanged three words since I found out the news a week ago. ByweI really meanhim. When I found out about Kyle, I sent Blake three different paragraph length text messages all saying that I was sorry and that I was here for him in various ways. When he still hadn’t responded a day later, I sent at least two more paragraphs. It’s no secret that I’m not good at this kind of thing. Feelings. Emotions. General aspects of life that I don’t have control over. When I don’t know what to say, I either say nothing or absolutely word-vomit. There’s no in-between.
On day three of radio silence from Blake, I nearly had a heart attack when my phone vibrated with a message from him. I swiped on the notification so frantically I was concerned I might scratch the screen. I stared at my phone, brows pulled together, at the two singular words I got in response.
Blake: Thank you.
I didn’t need anything else from him, but I so desperately wanted it. I’ve been so worried about him. I can’t possibly imagine what he’s feeling or what he’s been going through. Losing any member of my family would absolutely destroy me. Considering how especially close Blake and Kyle have always been, there is no way that Blake can be in a good place right now. Even though I’m not the best person for the job, I want to be there for him any way I can. For him to vent or cry or reminisce or anything else he could possibly need. His short and unfamiliar response caught me off guard, but I know he’s been busy making arrangements. I sent back another short reassurance that I was here if he needed anything and have given him space since, knowing I’d be there for him in person in just a few short days.
The front door opens and, even though my parents are blocking my view, I know it’s Blake that’s answered the door. I see his black dress pants and shoes down below and his brown curls poking over the top of my mom’s head.
“Hey,” Blake says, his voice sounding not like himself at all.
