Page 92 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart
I think about Robbie, locked below deck with our father, arms crossed tight over his chest. I think about all the times I watched him get hurt in Pee-Wee football or wipe out at the skate park, how he always bounced up and made a joke before anyone could worry. But here, there is no helmet for what transpired. No pads, no trainer ready with ice packs and orange slices. What we did to him isn’t the kind of thing you walk off. The guilt gnaws at my stomach until there’s nothing left.
I squeeze Jameson’s hand harder, afraid that if I let go, I’ll drift off into the ocean.
Eventually,the shouting from below fades. There’s a long, empty pause. Then the cabin door opens, and Dad emerges alone. His expression gives nothing away, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that wasn’t there before.
“He’s okay,” he announces. “Stubborn as hell and probably going to sulk for a week, but okay.” His gaze lands on each of us in turn. “We’re heading back to the marina. This day’s over.”
Nobody argues. Damien moves to the controls, and the engine rumbles to life. The journey back takes ten times longer than the trip out, because we’re all lost in our thoughts. And at a time like this, that is a very dangerous place to be.
I keep replaying Robbie’s face when he realized we all knew. The betrayal. The hurt. The fury.
“Stop,” Jameson whispers from beside me.
“Stop what?”
“Beating yourself up. I can see it all over your face. You were trying to protect him.”
“We were trying tocontrolthe situation,” I correct. “And see how that turned out?”
The marina comes into view, a welcome sight after everything. As Damien expertly guides us into the slip, I spot Robbie through the cabin window. He’s staring at nothing.
“Give him time,” Dad says. “You boys have been through worse and come out stronger. This won’t break you.”
I want to believe him. But as we begin the awkward process of gathering our things and saying goodbye, I catch the wayRobbie won’t look at any of us. Rita’s face twists in agony when he brushes past her without a word.
Jameson stands back, his eyes fixed on me in a way that makes my chest knot and spin at the same time. He wipes a bead of water from his brow and waits, not saying a word, as if even his breathing might disrupt the fragile peace hanging over the marina.
I try to find my voice and fail, so I settle for stepping in close and grabbing his hand, fingers threading between his. I never want to let go of this boy again, not after today.
He squeezes my hand, smiling, but there’s a nervous edge there too. “You don’t have to answer now,” he whispers, almost embarrassed. “I know today’s been a lot.”
“My answer is yes. I’ll be your boyfriend, Jameson Hart.”
He lets out a breath that’s half a laugh, half relief, and pulls me in, just for a second, our foreheads bumping together. I wish we could stay here all day, but the sound of Dad barking orders snaps us out of it.
Jameson releases my hand, but not before giving my palm one last squeeze. “I’ll text you.”
We file into the van in silence—Robbie in the passenger seat and me squeezed in the middle row between Adam, Rita, and the weight of everything left unsaid.
Dad turns the key in the ignition, and we roll away. I glance over my shoulder to see Jameson waving goodbye through the rear window.
I watch him until he’s a dot on the horizon.
CHAPTER 21
when the sun goes down
Nobody has said a word since we left the marina. The silence is so intense, so exhausting, that my head is ready to explode.
Dad keeps his eyes locked on the road, his hands turning the steering wheel methodically. Rita’s hand rests on my left knee, and Adam’s hand rests on my right. They’re small anchors in this storm of intense awkwardness.
The van hits a pothole, and we all bounce slightly. Still, nobody speaks.
My phone buzzes in my pocket—probably Jameson asking if I’m okay—but I can’t bring myself to check.
We pull up to Rita’s house first. The porch light flickers on as if her mom’s been waiting for us. Rita gathers her things slowly, clearly reluctant to leave me, despite everything.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to her as she unbuckles her seatbelt. “I’m so, so?—”
