Page 76 of First Comes Forever

She squeezes my hand as we walk down the corridor, banking left to their private dormitories. “Adam,” Amani says softly. “Fix your face. You look pissed.”

I stretch out my jaw, easing the tension. “Sorry, I’m a little protective over my dad. As far as I know, he only asks for me and Alex. I don’t love the idea of someone sneaking in behind our—”

I stop mid-sentence when I smell it.

Simultaneously, my mouth waters and my heart stops. I’d know that smell anywhere.Roast.Mississippi Mud Roast. My dad’s favorite dinner. The smell of so many of my childhood family dinners.

I come to an abrupt halt outside of my dad’s door and Amani is jerked backward, her hand still weaved in mine. I hear the muffled voices. My dad’s excited chatter and a woman’s laughter. A laugh I haven’t heard in twenty years. But I still recognize it clear as day.

“My mom is here,” I say simply.

“Oh.” Stepping in front of me, Amani searches my eyes. “Is that good or bad?”

“Bad. Very bad. I don’t want to see her. I can’t believe she had the audacity to come here.”

“Oh, Adam,” Amani says, grabbing my other hand now, nudging me backward into the wall. “You look so upset.”

I try to steady my breaths, one by one. Outside of Liv, my mother is the last person on earth I’d want to see. How everyone else could move on so easily, I don’t understand. Alex is letting her spend time with Carson. She’s apparently cooking for my dad. Has everyone forgotten how she turned her back on her family? Or just me?

“Do you want to stay or go?” Amani asks.

“I don’t know. On one hand, I don’t want to miss a day with my dad. On the other, my mom is… I don’t know. She’s been trying to reconnect for years, but I haven’t responded. She doesn’t deserve to…” I exhale, fumbling over my words, unable to convey the medley of emotions I’m feeling. “I don’t normally talk about this stuff.”

She releases my hands and sits down on the cold tile next to my feet. Crossing her legs, she pats the space next to me.

“The floor is filthy, Amani. Get up, babe.”

“You will not catch herpes from the floor. Plus, the cold is good for my nausea. Sit down.”

Somewhat reluctantly, I slide down the wall and join her on the floor. I hike one knee up and Amani rests her elbow on it, then her chin on her arm. She stares at me with her big green eyes, decorated by those sweet freckles. I feel a bit better if I keep my gaze on hers.

“You never wear makeup these days,” I say.

“Is that a complaint?” she asks with a smirk.

“Hardly. It’s a compliment.” My smile feels weak, but I’m trying. I’m distracted again when I hear my dad’s thunderous laughter at something my mom must’ve said. Fuck. He sounds genuinely happy.

“Adam, remember the day you caught me screaming in my car and you made me open up and talk about it?” Turning my gaze forward, I nod. “Well, payback is a bitch. What’s going on?”

“I’m not screaming, though,” I protest.

She traces my jawline with the inline of her thumbnail. “They’re silent. But you’re screaming. I can tell.”

I inhale deeply, the aroma of the salty, tangy roast filling my lungs. God, it smells good. Even I have to admit, my mother was, and apparently still is, a phenomenal cook.

“Everyone seems to have moved on, except me. How come my brother and my dad aren’t as angry as I am? She left all of us.”

“I’m kind of working on this theory about myself, which maybe will help you too. May I share it?”

Dropping my knee, I wrap my arm around Amani and pull her into my lap. She curls in her legs, making herself a little ball in my embrace. I kiss the top of her head, breathing her minty-smelling shampoo. “Please. Help me.”

“I think I told you how bad the haters and trolls were getting to me on social media. Everyone goes through it on the internet. But other influencers seem to laugh it off and let it roll off their backs. I, however, let every asshole comment pierce my heart, and the culmination of years of harassment and sideline bullying sent me to the edge of anxiety and depression. Pretending like I didn’t care? That part pushed me right over.”

“Are you telling me you’re still sad?” I ask, wondering if this is turning into Amani’s plea for help.

“No, I’m trying to tell you why it affected me so much.”

“Why’s that?”

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