Page 40 of The Spider & the Storm

“God, we don’t even do anything! You’re always too afraid, or you don’t want to deal with people, or you’d rather hang out with your fucking brother and his loser girlfriend. You don’t even drive! What eighteen-year-old doesn’t fucking drive?!”

I was under attack, and I didn’t know how to fight. Shaking, heart hammering, and lungs struggling to keep up with the rapid puffs being pulled and pushed from my flared nostrils.

“Y-you know why I don’t—”

“Right. Because your parents got into a car accident years ago and you’rescared. Jesus fucking Christ, Charlie. People die every damn day. Get the hell over it.”

I couldn’t help the tears that filled my eyes at the hateful, belligerent comments she was throwing at me—and not even to my face. This girl—thiscowardI had been certain two minutes ago would be the woman I married—had to spew her hateful comments at me over the damn phone.

At least she can’t see me cry.

“I was just going to tell you I loved you,” I muttered pitifully, raking my hair back.

Amanda snorted with amusement like it meant nothing at all. Like it wasfunny. “Well, that would’ve been awkward.”

I said nothing. I could only listen to the sound of my heart beating louder and louder with every passing second, knowing that this would be the last time I ever heard her voice.

The last time I’d heard Mom’s and Dad’s voices was over the phone too.

I swallowed relentlessly at the clotting panic in my throat and waited for her to speak or hang up first. I couldn’t be the one to do it. I couldn’t be the one to break my own heart.

“Well, I hope you and your brother will be very happy together,” she said with a chill in her tone. “Do me a favor and lose my number.”

***

My eyes were swollen, and my face was sticky with the tears I had only just stopped crying. It seemed like twenty-four hours had gone by since Amanda had hung up when it’d only been about sixty minutes.

I was thirsty, and my chest hurt with another loss, and all I could think about was grabbing some water from the fridge. I missed my mom. I missed my dad. I wished I could talk to them now and ask how the hell I was supposed to continue living without her when I hadn’t yet figured out how to live without them.

I slumped my way down the stairs, not caring about being quiet. Luke was still passed out cold, and I knew a bomb would have to go off to wake him up.

Then, when I stepped into the living room, I found Melanie on the couch. I stopped in my tracks, stunned and relieved and grateful to find her there, awake and watching TV. She lifted her hand in a weak wave as she offered a little, almost-apologetic smile.

“Hey,” she whispered, and I realized she’d been crying too.

“Hi.”

“What are you still doing up?”

An odd but familiar feeling of being wrapped up tightly in a warm blanket came over me at the question, and I was struck with a revelation I probably should’ve realized months—no, years—ago.

Melanie might not have been my mom—God, of course not, and I knew nobody would ever,everreplace the woman who had loved me unconditionally, perhaps even to a fault, but she was the only female on this planet who made me feel the way Mom had. All of her meddling had simply come from a place of caring, and how could I have thought anything but?

God, I was such a fucking idiot.

“Amanda broke up with me,” I stated point-blank.

The sadness in Melanie’s eyes only deepened at the announcement. “I’m so sorry, Charlie.”

“Yeah …” I dropped my gaze to the carpet and shuffled my white sock-covered feet.

“Did she say why?”

“Oh, she had a lot of reasons,” I huffed sardonically. “Mostly that I’m too anxious and sensitive and I can’t drive.”

Melanie didn’t answer right away. She scowled, forming lines between her brows I hardly ever saw, then shook her head. But her silence remained, so I hung my head and turned to walk toward the kitchen, thinking about Amanda and how I’d never kiss her again. And what if I never got to kiss anyone again …ever? What if I never had sex with anyone else? Hell, what if I didn’twantsex with anyone else? What if I spent the rest of my life wishing for her and only ever her until the day I died?

God, forever felt like a long time in that moment, and I ached horribly for a thousand things and people I could never be with again, and no amount of wanting or wishing would ever change that.

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