Facade (25 page)

“Hey…,” she replies. And then she flies at me. Her arms wrap around my neck the way Ashton’s did in my dream. I hold her back and she cries into my neck. “Adrian… you’re home. I can’t believe you’re home.”

“I’m sorry, Angel. So fucking sorry.”

She laughs, still hugging me. “You still have a bad mouth.”

“I can’t help it.”

And then we go inside and we sit on the couch. We talk about Ashton and our lives the past four years. We cry and I tell her everything. How I wanted to get lost. How I wanted to forget and live this façade that wasn’t real. I even tell her about Delaney and the book in my hands. Then I picture the little boy with my eyes, and I think I’m finally giving him a reason to be proud of me.

When I hear the front door opening, I run for the living room. I skid to a stop right as Maddox is closing the door. The urge to hug him bubbles inside me, but I shove it away. I missed him and I love him, but right now I’m pissed.

“What the hell, Maddy? I can’t believe you’ve been gone for two weeks!”

He flinches and I feel a small amount of guilt, but then I think of all the times he’s given me a hard time. How he punched Adrian when he spent the night and how often he’s tried to run my life.

“You disappeared recently too,” he says before he falls onto the couch. He looks tired. Bruises are fading on his face.

“For two days, not for two weeks! And not after having the kind of conversation we had before you left. Seriously!”

I’m still mad, but I sit next to him on the couch anyway. “I was worried about you.”

“I texted.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Shit.” He shakes his head, but then looks at me. “Sorry, little sister. I had something to take care of. It was important and then… I don’t fucking know. I just wasn’t ready to come back yet.”

It’s impossible to stay mad at him. I know I should, but he’s my brother and out of anyone in my life, I know I will always be able to depend on him. And I know he’s hurting. Know he’s been hurting for years. Reaching over, I hug him. “I’m not going to say it’s okay because it’s not. I’m glad you’re home, though… and don’t do that again. Things have to change with us, Maddox.”

I take in his dark, messy hair. The set of his jaw. It looks like he hasn’t shaved for a couple days, dark stubble on his face. He looks like my dad. Only with Maddox, there’s a kindness in his eyes I don’t remember with Dad.

Maddox gives me a small nod.

“You can’t keep taking responsibility for me. For Mom or Dad or anyone.”

“Neither can you,” he answers back in that rough voice of his.

“I know. I saw Mom last week. We got into it and I told her how I felt. She kicked me out and I said I wouldn’t be back. I haven’t and I won’t.” It still hurts to remember, and the urge to call her, to check in on her is there, but it’s hard giving out love to people who shove it back in your face. That’s not what love’s supposed to be about. No, it’s not perfect and people get hurt, but it’s a give and take. And it should be comfort, not pain.

Maddox takes a deep breath and I know he’s trying to calm himself. That he wants to say something about Mom but is trying not to.

“You’re growing up,” he says, which is ridiculous.

“I’m eighteen. I’ve been grown up for a while.”

“It’s different now. Good for you.” He tries to stand, but I grab his hand and keep him next to me.

“It’s time for you to do the same. None of it’s our fault, Maddy.”

He looks at me and gives me a small smile, leans forward and kisses my head. “What I should know in here”—he touches his head—“I can’t always feel in here,” then his chest.

And I know that’s the end of our conversation. Maybe I should push, but I don’t. I might not have tried to make Adrian talk, but I pushed my way into his life. It’s hard to regret it because regret would mean not knowing him, not loving him, but I regret the pain I caused. I’m trying to learn from that.

“Have you talked to him?” my brother asks.

“No… I still haven’t seen him. I don’t know where he is.” It hurts so badly and every part of me misses him, but I get it too. I lied. Things are so much worse because that little boy was his son.

“Pussy,” Maddox mumbles, shaking his head.

“Hey! That’s not fair. You don’t know everything… Ashton was his son…”

I’ve never seen my brother’s face pale the way it does. Regret flashes across his features, colors his eyes. Regret for not giving Adrian a chance? For hitting him that day? I don’t know.

“I miss him.” I curl up next to my brother and lay my head on his shoulder. He puts an arm around me and holds me. “I really do love him.”

He gives me a small squeeze, offering me his support. “I’m sorry, Laney. Sorry about it all. And… I’m sorry for him too.”

We sit there, holding each other. Supporting each other and I know we’re going to be okay.

* * *

I walk up to my apartment after begging for my job back and stop dead in my tracks. My heart slams around inside my rib cage as I run to the door as though it might disappear.

Bending over, I pick up the clear plastic container and look at the perfect caramel apple inside, and smile. My eyes dart around as though Adrian is standing there and I managed to miss him. Of course he’s not, but he was here and it makes me feel like I could fly.

Because he’s okay. That’s all I need is for him to be okay.

“Maddox!” I push the front door open. “Did you see him?”

“See who?” He’s sitting on the balcony smoking a cigarette.

“Adrian. There was a caramel apple by the door.”

“And it was automatically him?” He grins. I can tell he’s trying not to laugh.

“Yeah… it was him. How long have you been outside? Did you hear him or anything else out front?”

“Christ, Laney. I just texted you a few minutes ago to see how close to home you were. Don’t you think I would have told you if I heard from your boyfriend?”

I roll my eyes at him, knowing he’s right, but it doesn’t matter. All that does is let me know Adrian’s okay.

I look at the container again and that’s when I see it. The small piece of paper taped to the bottom. Running to my room, I slam the door behind me. My hands shake as I pull the note off.

Clutching the note to my chest, I cry.

* * *

“I’m glad you stayed,” Cheyenne tells me as we walk up to the apartment complex. I met her at the college. We had coffee before coming back home.

“I thought about leaving, but I like it here. It’s not like Maddox and I really have anything at home. He’s been training with this tattoo artist he met. He likes it. I’m hoping it will be something that sticks. I talked to him about going to school, but I don’t know if he will. I think it’s too hard for him unless he can play ball.”

She nods. We’ve been hanging out quite a bit. I’m thankful she forgave me and thankful to have her for a friend.

“Have you heard from Adrian?” she asks, even though I know she already knows the answer. It’s been two weeks since he left the apple and I haven’t heard a word from him since. Which is okay. He has a lot to work through and I want him to do it. I’d like nothing more than for us to find our way back to each other. To be able to hold him again, but what’s more important is that he finds a way to be okay. And that I make sure I’m okay on my own too.

“No. What about you?”

“Colt’s been talking to him. I have a little. It’s funny because they talk more now than they did before. I think… I think because they both lost someone they love. Maybe it helps somehow. Anyway, we haven’t seen him. He’s staying with his sister.”

My cheeks hurt my smile is so big. Moisture pools in my eyes. “Good… that’s good. I’m glad they’re close again. They deserve that.”

I open the door and Cheyenne walks into the building.

“I need to go check my mail,” Cheyenne says, so I go with her to pick up mine. There’s a big manila envelope inside my box and somehow, I know it’s from Adrian. I pull the package out, being careful not to rip it, and see his name on the front.

Adrian Westfall.

“It’s from him. I have to go,” I tell her before I’m taking the stairs two at a time to get to my apartment. Maddox isn’t home, but I still go to my room, needing privacy before I open it.

When I do, I see it’s a huge stack of paper. Hundreds and hundreds of pages.

My hands shake and my heart stutters and I’m both scared and excited to read it. Honored he would share it with me. Curling up on the bed, I start to read. It’s more than Adrian’s words on the paper; it’s his heart. As though he spilled it onto the pages. It’s raw and real and heartbreaking… and beautiful.

It takes me five hours to read it, but I don’t stop until I’ve read every word. Until I know his heart inside and out.

Tears rack my body as I get to the end. Ugly crying, tears that somehow cleanse me too. Did they do the same for him? I wonder.

I hope so. I really, really do.

* * *

It’s the end of April. Four months since I met Adrian and two months since I lost him. We’re crazy busy at work when Jamie comes up to me and grabs my hand.

“He’s here!”

“Who?” I start to ask, but that’s when I see Adrian standing by the hostess station.

My heart falls to my feet. He’s beautiful. Those dark, intense eyes entrancing me. The first thing I think of is I’m glad he hasn’t lost that intensity. Glad it’s still a part of him.

“Let me help him,” I tell Jamie. My legs are so weak I’m not sure they’ll hold me, but they do.

“Hi,” I say, trying to fight back a smile. To keep myself from reaching for him and hugging him and telling him I love him.

“Hey.” When I don’t move or say anything, he quirks a half grin. “Got any tables?”

“Oh my God. Sorry. Yeah.” I feel so flustered.

I walk over and seat him in his booth. The one he always sat in when he’d come. I try to hand him a menu, but he shakes his head. “Pancakes,” he says, and I smile at him.

I’m busy for the next hour and a half, but he doesn’t leave. I don’t get to talk to him except for doing my job, but he sits at the table, eats his food, and then waits…

Too many emotions to name war inside me: love and fear leading the attack. I manage to sneak into the back and grab what I bought him the other day.

When I finally have a spare minute, I walk back over to check on him. I don’t know what to say or how to act. Why he’s here or what he wants.

“Do you need anything else?” I ask.

Adrian shakes his head. “I just really like the pancakes here.” For the first time since I sat him, we make eye contact. Warmth spreads through me by looking at him. And then he says, “My son… he used to love pancakes. I used to make them for him. Eating them reminds me of him.”

God, I want to touch him so bad it hurts. My hand aches to reach for him, but I don’t. I have to let him do this on his own. “I wish I could have met him.”

He gives me a small nod. “He would have liked you.”

“I… I got you something.” I reach into my apron and pull out the book. Adrian takes it, looks at it and then at me.

“
The Count of Monte Cristo.
”

“It’s silly. I know you have one—or had. I don’t know if you still do, but—”

Then he stands. I want to beg him to stay, but then he reaches out and cups my cheek. “Your ghosts are still there.” He rubs a thumb under my eye.

“They’re a part of me.”

He nods. “Mine are too.”

And then he turns from me and he’s gone.

* * *

It’s only three days later when the knock comes on my door. I take my time to get there, because I’m not expecting anyone. My breath catches in my throat as I pull the door open to see Adrian standing there. He’s wearing jeans, kind of baggy, and a black shirt that hugs his muscles.

He stands outside and I’m inside and neither of us moves or speaks and everything inside me is pulling me toward him. That thread between us is tightening and tightening to bring him close to me.

“It’s good to see you,” I finally say.

“It’s good to see you too.”

I hold the door open and he comes in. Adrian sits on the couch. Not sure what to do, I sit on the arm of a chair, but then he looks at me and says, “I don’t bite,” and they’re the most incredible words I’ve ever heard.

I move next to him and smell him and feel the heat coming from him and it reinforces how much I love him.

“The book… Adrian, it was incredible.”

He looks at me. “I’ve never felt anything like it. I had this dream… fuck, it felt so real and Ash was there. I got to see him again and we played and talked and then he asked me to tell him a story. He used to like that. I’d make up stories for him and he’d laugh and ask me to repeat it over and over.”

It does something to my heart, hearing him talk about Ashton, about his son like this. He never would have been able to do it before.

“That sounds wonderful,” I tell him.

“It was. Even in my dream it was. I told him a story and then”—he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath—“and then he died in my arms. It was like he just fucking went to sleep and I was half drunk, in a shitty hotel and I felt… nothing, so I wrote. With each word, I knew it was what I was supposed to do. I knew it was what Ash would want.”

Tears are falling down my face now, a mixture of happiness and sadness.

“I’ve been with Angel ever since. We’re getting to know each other again and we talk about Ash every day and it’s so incredible to remember him, to think of him without the guilt trying to take away the good memories. In a way I’ll never forgive myself for that day, but… I’m dishonoring his memory by trying to forget.”

I cover my mouth with my hand and try to hold back the tears. I don’t want to interrupt him. I want to tell him how proud I am of him.