Page 32 of Redemption
It’s not a total lie, either. Every time I visit Langston’s grave, pressure builds inside me. It’s a mixture of guilt and anger and sadness. One day, I’m pretty sure I’ll explode from it all. But it’s not the whole truth, either. The full truth is that I’m angry that we thought our secrets could stay secrets, and it cost us. It cost Langston. Then, when he was gone, we crumbled and fell apart.
And the more I think about it, the more anger bubbles up, clutching my lungs until I’m afraid I’ll suffocate from it.
“You’ve been back?” I ask, my voice dipping into a dark whisper meant only for her ears—not that there is anyone else around who will hear me, but this moment is intimate.
The only indication that she heard me is the way her shoulders tighten. Otherwise, she ignores me and continues to talk to Langston. “Ignore, Hayes. He’s grumpy because he got beat up by a girl.”
“MJ,” I growl, not in the mood for her snark right now, “answer the question. You at least owe me that.”
Surging up, she turns so we are facing one another. Our bodies are inches apart, and I try to ignore the heat I can feel radiating off of her. Her whole body trembles, and that fire I wanted to see earlier flames in her irises.
“I owe you? I. OWE. YOU,” she says with a maniacal laugh. “That’s funny, Hayes, because the way I see it, neither of us owe each other anything anymore. Consider this game of yours over, and my debt paid.”
She shoves at my chest, and I step back out of her way. Then she turns her head to Langston’s grave. “I’ll come back without the jerk.”
She shoulder-checks me as she heads back toward my truck.
My pulse ticks up as I follow behind her.
She’s back at the truck when I catch up to her.
“Running away again. Seems to be what you’re good at.”
I don’t know why I’m pushing her when I should let it go, put her in the truck, and drive her home. But the idea that she was here in town and never said one word to me slices deep.
“You seem to be rewriting history, Hayes, because I didn’t run—you pushed me,” she says, spinning so she’s facing me. “And let’s get one thing straight—that history between us is not just your secret to share, so maybe you can keep that in mind next time you go blabbing it to your girlfriend.”
My brows dip in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
She rolls her eyes, but I can see the hurt she hides behind that one movement. “You know—the leggy blond that knows all about me, apparently.”
It hits me then that she’s talking about Lily and that I’m a fool. I didn’t stay in that coffee shop longer to make MJ think Lily and I are dating. I did it because I saw her avoiding me, so I stayed there to mess with her. But now, not only does she think I’m dating Lily, but she also thinks I’d share my secrets with anyone but her.
I take a step towards her, and she steps back—another step forward, another back. We repeat this until her back hits the passenger side door.
The smirk I give her when she realizes she has nowhere else to go is bordering on crazy, but that’s what she does to me. She makes me crazy.
Taking one more step so there’s no room left between us, I place my arms on the top of my truck, bracketing her between them.
Lowering my head so my lips brush against her ear, I whisper, “Let me clear up a few things—first, I’m not dating Lily. We’re friends, nothing else, and second, you’re the only person I tell my secrets to.”
There’s a hitch in her breath, but I will myself to ignore it. I give myself two seconds to breathe in the smell of her vanilla coconut shampoo, and then I push myself off the truck and walk away, pretending that being close to her did not affect me.
By the time she opens the passenger side door, I’m already in my seat and turning the key to start the ignition.
MJ tries to hide her face behind her hair as she grabs her seat belt to buckle in, but as she turns toward me, I see the blush creeping into her cheeks. A sense of satisfaction runs through me to know that she was just as affected by our closeness as I was.
Then I chide myself for having any sense of pride in that when the smart thing for me to do is to stay far away from her.
The only noise in the truck as I pull out of the parking lot is the air conditioning on full blast and the soft hum of the radio.
Wracking my brain, I search for anything to say that will allow us to have a normal conversation so the silence doesn’t suffocate us, but I come up with nothing.
MJ is the one to finally break the silence.
“Do you think God can ever forgive us for the part we played in Langston’s death?” She asks the question into her lap, refusing to look up at me, and an overwhelming sadness overtakes me.
It was never supposed to be this way—her living a life ridden with guilt that droops her shoulders and makes her fold into herself.
