Page 97 of Breakaway

“Mom…” I choke on my words, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“It’s not your fault, Roma. Please, Synok, listen to me. We’re not responsible for other people’s actions, even if they are our family. You loved your brother. Maks was your entire world, just like you were for him. My beautiful boys, always standing up for each other and being best friends, sharing the same goals and dreams. It’s unfair and absolutely gut-wrenching that he died so young, and I know you’ll never fully recover because losing him was like losing part of you. But I need you…I’m begging you, Roma, please live. Please stop exhausting yourself with this guilt. It’s not your burden to carry. It never was.”

Sitting on the shower floor, I cry. My tears are hot and bitter. I bite the inside of my cheek, pressing the phone harder to my ear. “Nevaeh said I should’ve told you about it a long time ago. She was sure you would understand.”

“She’s a good girl, Roma, and she makes you happy. I haven’t seen you so full of joy in years. You started to heal because of her. You smiled so much more, laughed and joked around whenever we talked.”

“It hurts so fucking much that she betrayed my trust.” I pause; my shoulders are shaking uncontrollably. “Why does it hurt so much, Mom?”

“Because you love her,” Mom murmurs. “And it’s not just a silly infatuation; this love is real, Roma. It can even mend the broken pieces of your soul. You need to hold her close and never let her go.”

I chew on my bottom lip. “I left her. I took my things and left her.”

“Roma!” Mom gasps loudly. I can just imagine her clutching her heart, something she always does when she’s nervous. “That was wrong. You need to learn how to forgive—yourself and others.”

“How can I forgive her if she can’t even explain why she did it? I asked her, and she pretended to be surprised. As if she had no idea what I was talking about.”

“Did you give her a chance to explain?”

“I asked her?—”

“No, I’m not asking you what you said to her. I’m asking what she told you.”

I tell Mom what happened after I came home, and how stunned Nevaeh was when I accused her of spilling my secrets. The image of her on my couch with the toy I gave her pressed to her chest won’t leave my mind. She looked so damn confused; those blue eyes full of tears were staring at me with so muchhurt. It aggravated me more than anything. Instead of admitting what she’d done or even trying to justify it somehow, she kept acting like she did nothing wrong.

“At least she didn’t say anything about Alisa, or about my talk with Maksim. Instead, she just exposed my problems with alcohol and how my father died,” I mutter. Then I instantly fall quiet. Something about what I said catches me off guard, but my mind is too fucked up to think clearly now.

“You can’t cut people out of your life just because they made a mistake. Especially not Nevaeh.”

“Because I love her?” I smirk. My voice is still hoarse.

“Yes, because you love her and because you’ll regret not giving your relationship another chance,” Mom says softly. “Some people deserve a second chance, Roma, and you deserve one more than anyone I know.”

“I’ll think about it,” I promise, meaning it with all my soul.

“Good. Now, where are you staying?” Mom asks, and I tell her how I asked Clay if I could stay at his house and how he said yes without trying to interrogate me about what happened.

Talking to my mom calms me down, and when I finally hang up, I don’t feel as hopeless as I did before. I put my phone back on the bathroom counter, get back into the shower, and turn on the hot water. Standing under the stream, I let it envelop me, warming my skin and my insides.

Tomorrow’s a new day. I hope it’s a better one.

I stare at my phone,rereading Nevaeh’s texts over and over. She says that wasn’t the article she wrote, that she knows what happened and can explain it. And my stupid heart gets full ofhope in an instant. It beats stronger, reminding me of a steady drum rhythm.

She asks me to come home, and damn if I don’t want to rush there immediately. God, I got it bad. So fucking bad, I want to laugh at myself. I’m hopeless.

Pocketing my phone in my jeans, I pull on my hoodie and glance at myself in the mirror. I ruffle my hair with my hand, trying to tame it and instantly giving up. Only a haircut will fix this mess. Grabbing my leather jacket, I leave the room and head down the stairs. The noise of something that sounds like a football game catches my attention, and I walk into the living room.

Clay sits on the couch, a controller in his hand. On his huge TV screen, there’s a football pitch, and players in Real Madrid and Barcelona kits are moving around.

“You play FIFA?”

“Going somewhere?” he asks, not even bothering to reply.

“Yeah, I need to meet someone.”

“Just out of curiosity, is this someone a blonde girl with big blue eyes and puffy lips? Petite and super hot?”

“I’d really appreciate it if you kept your eyes off of my wife,” I grit, and Clay bursts out laughing.

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