Page 114 of How You See Me
“He makes me feel brave, too.” She blinks fast, holding back emotions that sprang to the surface too fast. “What’s been your favorite part so far?”
We’ve done some amazing things, but I don’t have to think about my answer. “Spending time with your brother.”
His eyes fall to me, and I meet them, holding the phone out so Ava can see us both. If one of her goals was to make him happy, I hope she knows she gave us both that gift.
I get back to her, but I can still feel the heat of his gaze on me. “Thank you for letting me come on your trip, Ava. It’s changed my life forever."
A yawn takes over before she asks, “Will you paint me a picture of the balloons in the sky?”
“I’d love to.”
Hayes lifts from the van, startling me, and stalks to a nearby tree. He props a hand on the bark and lets his head dip.
“Will you still date my brother when you get back?”
Can’t say I expected that question. I give myself a moment before answering, keeping Hayes in view. Whatever caused him to leave this call, one he’d been excited to make, must be something he doesn’t want Ava to see. “If I have my way, yes.”
“Why can’t you have your way?”
“Relationships are tricky. Hayes has to also want me in his life, and it’s a little early to figure that out.”
“I hope he doesn’t do something to mess it up.”
I laugh, despite the ache pressing against my ribs. This girl. No wonder she holds his heart. “I don’t think he’s capable of that.”
Another yawn overtakes her.
I check on Hayes again. He’s pacing now, head down, jaw tight. He’s hurting and trying not to show it.
“Do you want to talk to Hayes again?”
“It’s okay. Tell him I love my Sprinkles.”
“He loves you, too,” I promise. “More than anything. Goodnight, Ava. We’ll be thinking about you.”
The screen goes dark, and I set the phone beside me, drawing my knees up to my chest to wait for Hayes.
He stays unmoving with his palm pushed to the tree trunk like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. With his head down, his chest rises and falls in uneven waves, and I know what that kind of grief feels like. The quiet, breathless kind that steals all your resolve.
I don’t call out. I don’t rush him. I just wait.
When he finally walks back, his steps are imbalanced, like he’s wading against a flood. His eyes are red, jaw tight. He doesn’t speak as he lowers to sit beside me and props a foot on the bumper, arms resting on his knee.
"You okay?”
“Yeah.” He sighs. “I’m trying to be, at least.”
“You don’t have to.” I study his face, my fingers curling around his while the silence lingers. “Want to talk about it?”
His gaze drifts over the barren balloon field, but he’s somewhere else entirely. “It was the painting.”
“The one Ava asked for?” I tilt toward him. “I don’t understand.”
He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if she’ll ever see it.” His voice breaks on the last word, frustration and fear tangling together. It guts me. “I hate feeling this way. I want to believe that she’ll make it out. More than anything. But . . .”
“You’re scared,” I finish for him, my tone careful. “And that’s okay. You wouldn’t be such an amazing brother if you weren’t.”
His eyes find me, and I squeeze his hand.
