Page 78 of Redemption
“Maybe,” I say, chewing on the inside of my jaw. “I just—this all feels too familiar to me.”
My voice breaks, and I dip my head to hide the tears forming on my eyelashes.
Hayes doesn’t buy it. His knuckle curls beneath my chin, pushing it up.
“Hey,” he urges. “Look at me.”
Tears still sting my eyes. I try to blink them away, but one slips down my cheek. Hayes notices, and his hand leaves my chin, his thumb tracing the trail of my tear. “Maybe it’s the same in that Tanner is heading down a dangerous path like Langston was, but we won’t fail him, Mallorie Jade—not this time. We’re older and wiser.”
My throat aches.
“I won’t survive it a third time,” I say, dropping my gaze. I can’t look at him because those gray eyes that have always fascinated me see right through me.
“Survive what a third time, MJ?”
“Losing someone I care about.”
I didn’t mean to let it slip, but now it’s out there. It’s the closest I’ve been to telling anyone why I came home.
But it should come as no surprise because Hayes has always been the one I wanted to tell all my secrets to.
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I didn’t end up spilling all of my secrets to Hayes. He was called out, and a part of me was relieved. I haven’t talked about the night that brought me back here with anyone, but I relive it in my nightmares often enough.
It was almost ten o’clock when Hayes left to chase a cow on the road, and even though I should have gone home and gone to bed since I have to be up early tomorrow, I was too wound up.
So, instead, I came back home and started packing up my room.
If I can get furniture, I could move into my new house in two weeks.
My relationship with my mom is starting to heal, and I want to keep it that way—by giving each other space. As far as my dad goes—nothing has changed. Just like before I left, he’s never home.
There’s not a lot for me to pack up in my childhood bedroom. I’ve kept most of my stuff in boxes because I knew I would move again when I found a place.
I’m shoving a book into a random box when there’s a knock on my door frame. I don’t bother looking to see who it is when I call, “Come in.”
A man clears his throat, and I jump, not expecting it. I figured it would be my mom, but when I spin, knocking my elbow on my bookshelf, I find my dad standing in my room. I don’t know which fact I’m more surprised by—one, that he knows where my room is. Two, he’s actually here in the first place, or three, that he’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt. I’ve never seen the man dressed so casually. I think the last one is the one that gets me. My entire life, he was either wearing scrubs or a suit, and when he wasn’t, it was slacks and a button-up. Now he’s standing in my room, with his hands tucked into his pockets, looking uncomfortable. And that’s another thing: he’s always been the picture of confidence, but now he seems unsure, like even he’s not sure what he’s doing here.
“Did you need something?” I ask. It comes out sharp, and he flinches. I wince because I didn’t mean for it to come off like that. It’s just—I’m not sure what to do here either.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m—I just—” I stutter. Blowing my hair out of my face, I continue, “Is there something I can help you with?”
He shuffles his feet, sliding his hands deeper into his pockets and taking in my room.
When his eyes land on the box I’m packing, he asks, “Are you going somewhere?”
I shrug. “Not far. I found a house to rent.”
His eyes find mine when he says, “You don’t have to go anywhere, you know.”
“I know,” I say, my brows dipping together because I don’t understand what this is. “You guys have been great for letting me stay here, but I’m a grown woman. I can’t live at home with my parents forever.”
He nods, not commenting on it further. With a book still in hand, I plop down on my bed, waiting for him to get to the real reason he’s standing here in my room.
“I just—” he starts, then stops. Taking a deep breath, he exhales and continues, “Why did you become a nurse? Before you left, you were adamant about not being in the medical field. It’s not even what you started to go to school for. Then, after Langston—you took the year off, and the next thing your mother and I know, you are calling us and saying you’ve started nursing school. So I guess I’m just curious—what made you become a nurse?”
Of all the conversations we need to have, this is the one he is choosing?
