Page 15 of Redemption
“Do I, though? Because it seems to me this was more personal than that.”
“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Campbell,” I say, shrugging and grabbing another fry.
“Maybe the truth,” he says.
He lays his fork down, face turning serious. There’s no judgment in his voice, but I feel guilty anyway. I know he, of all people, is here out of concern. He’s the only person who knows what happened between MJ and me six years ago, so his visit isn’t merely to feed the grapevine. His concern is just hidden behind snide jokes and the way he keeps glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.
“Fine,” I growl, sitting on the bar stool across from him so I can look him dead in the eye. “We’ll do this girly banter and talk about our feelings if you answer one question honestly. Did you know she was coming back?”
I don’t take my eyes off him when I ask. I want to see his reaction. His shoulders tense, hands freezing mid-air, food halfway to his mouth. I have my answer but still wait for him to say it.
“I—uh—might have heard that around town somewhere,” he says, glancing down at the food in front of him. The knife of betrayal is stuck solidly in my back. My hands tighten into a fist, itching to punch something, and white-hot anger burns through my chest.
“Well, then, I guess you can find out the rest of the story around town, too. I’m going for a run. Feel free to stick around and eat the rest of the food. I won’t be back for a while,” I spit out as I stand and head for my bedroom to finish changing.
“Dude, wait. It wasn’t like that,” he calls after me.
I freeze in the doorway, trying to reign in my temper so I don’t give him a broken nose to match mine. Slowly, I gain control and turn to face him.
“Then tell me, Campbell, what was it like?”
He rubs his hand against the back of his neck, having the nerve to look sheepish, before answering, “I thought I was protecting you, man. You’ve been through a lot. We all have.”
A humorless laugh escapes me. It’s funny how this conversation mirrors one we had six years ago, except now the roles are reversed. I was the one who was protecting the people I cared about back then, and it led to the biggest regret of my life.
“Next time you think I need your protection, how about you remember what my nose looks like right now.”
It’s a low blow, and I will probably regret it later, but there’s too much tension in me right now. So, instead of apologizing, I leave the room, throw on my running gear, and head out the door to run off the anger vibrating through my body.
______________________
Air enters my lungs in short spurts as I push my body to the brink of exhaustion. It’s impossible to outrun a memory, but that hasn’t stopped me from trying the last six years. Especially now, when fragments of that night play like a slideshow in my head, each time my feet find the pavement, a memory comes with it.
Thud.
Sirens dulled against the thundering rain.
Thud.
Rivulets of rain dripped through ringlets of red hair.
Thud.
The paleness of the faces surrounding me.
Fire burns in my calf muscles, but I keep pushing myself harder each time a new image flashes through my mind. One more step, and I collapse on the grass, unable to keep going.
My chest heaves up and down as I fight to even out my breathing. It’s stupid to push myself this hard, especially when the nightmares are worse with exhaustion. But—I can’t seem to escape them during my waking hours anymore, either. A swarm of regret constantly buzzes around in my head—asleep or awake.
It’s no surprise that the memories are more persistent today after coming face to face with the star of them.
My phone vibrates in my pocket as I lie in the grass. I’m tempted to ignore it, but not many people call me. The ones who do will keep calling again and again until I answer.
I doubt it’s Campbell, at least not this soon after I called him out in my kitchen. He’ll give it a day or two before reaching out. That only leaves one other person—my mother, and since she’s already called multiple times today, I know there’s no avoiding this one. She’ll start to worry and then show up at my house with the other half of the police department standing behind her.
I pull the phone from my shorts and press it to my ear. “Hello.”
“Is that any way to greet your mother?” She scolds.
