Page 63 of The Last to Let Go
I walk closer to him, trying to see his face more clearly, but he’s all in shadow. “Callie didn’t know where you were. She called Jackie to pick her up.”
“What for?” He shrugs through the words. “You’re here.”
“I wasn’t here—I texted you that I was staying at Dani’s.”
“Okay, well, I didn’t know!” he says, getting defensive.
“Where were you?” I repeat.
“I went out. Is that a crime now?” he asks, as if that’s a question I can answer. “It’s not that huge. Callie’s okay, right? You’re okay. I’m okay. So calm down, all right?”
“Brooke?” Dani says again.
“What?” I shout, turning around to see her looking at me in that way—maybe the way I was looking at Aaron that night on the roof—that makes you feel like a total worthless piece of garbage for disappointing the one person you want to love so badly.
“Brooke, Jesus,” Aaron says under his breath.
“I’m sorry, but please go, Dani. Okay?” I say.
“I’m just trying to help,” she says, her voice so small. She walks toward me cautiously, and I want to believe that she’s being careful because she’s afraid of the ice, not me. She holds my leather messenger bag out at arm’s length.
“I know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I keep repeating. I walk over and try to pull her in for a hug. “I’m sorry,” I whisper against her cheek as she pushes away from me, like I’m suffocating her this time. “I’ll explain everything. Later. Okay?Okay?”
“Okay,” she finally answers. She gets into her car, closes the door, and pulls away slowly. I wave to her, but she looks straight ahead. Everything’s left quiet in the wake of our voices.
Aaron walks up the steps, then brushes the snow off the top step before he turns and sits down. He looks out over the rooftops at the half-moon, barely visible through the thick clouds.
I follow his lead and brush the spot next to him and sit as well. The snowflakes float down around us, the muteness of winter finally setting in. In the streetlight it looks like dust, a fine white powder, a million tiny stars twinkling as they fall.
“Listen, you can’t be like that,” he finally says.
“Like what?”
He shakes his head slowly as he looks at me, disapprovingly. “She genuinely cares about you. Don’t start treating her like shit.”
“I—I’m not—I didn’t mean—”
“Yeah, I know!” he snaps at me. “Believe me, I understand. You didn’t mean to, right? You’re sorry—who does that sound like?” He reaches into his coat pocket and takes out his cigarettes. “It’s not okay to take your shit out on other people. For fuck’s sake, haven’t we learned that by now?”
“Why are you saying this? You act like I’ve done something terrible. You’re always fighting with Carmen.”
He turns his head and looks at me like he wants to yell but just doesn’t care enough to actually do it. “Yeah, that’s why you should listen—I know what I’m talking about. You and me, Brooke, we need to be careful with people. Callie, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you have to watch how you treat people. You have to watch how you let people treat you. They’re in us, both of them.” He pauses while his words sink their way into my brain slowly. Then he adds, “We split up weeks ago, by the way. Not exactly breaking news.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugs in response.
“How come?” I ask, trying to make my voice softer, gentler.
“I don’t know. No reason. A million reasons,” he mumbles through his cigarette. “Better question, why are you all freaked out and yelling at your girlfriend? And me, too, by the way? This is not exactly a catastrophe here,” he says, looking around at the sheer calmness surrounding us.
“No, but it could have been—”
“But it wasn’t,” he says, cutting me off.
