Page 89 of Nothing Like the Movies

Oh my God oh my God oh my God,I thought, having no idea how to help him.Should I shout the truth, that his dad is dead?That didn’t seem like a great idea, but he needed to snap out of this, right?

What am I supposed to do here?

“Your dad is gone,” I said in a voice so quiet, it was almost a whisper. I looked up at him, a little scared but not even sure of what, and hated having to say, “Wes. He’s gone.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head as the light from the hallway showed me the tears on his cheeks. He turned and stumbled toward the living room, saying, “I have to fix him.”

“Wes!”Dear God, how drunk was he?

And I desperately wanted this to be drunkenness, because if it wasn’t, what was this pain? I grieved my mother every day, but this was very different. I stood and went after him, and when I got to the living room, he was staring at the spot in the corner where his dad’s recliner used to sit.

Just staring into space as the Foo Fighters screamed against the walls.

Shaking like the thunder

I blinked back tears as he fell to his knees, like the reality of the moment was just too much for him to take while standing.

“Wes.”I knelt beside him and put my hand on his back, desperately needing to find a way to help, to somehow lessen whatever this pain was. Even if this was a drunken stupor, I’d never seen him—or anyone—hurt quite this much.

He looked at me through lost, tear-filled eyes, and he shook his head. “I can’t fix it.”

“I know.” I pushed back the hair on his sweaty forehead and had trouble seeing him throughmytears. “But it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” he said, and Ifeltthe anguish in his unsteady voice. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, but I suspected this had very little to do with that fact. “It’s my fault.”

“Just calm down,” I said quietly, because his chest was rising and falling too fast, like he couldn’t catch his breath.

“No, you don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head, and yeah—he wasdefinitelybreathing too hard.

As someone who’d dealt with her own panic attacks, I recognized the familiar.

“Wes Bennett, look at me.Now.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“I propose we not make plans. I propose we give this thing a chance and let it work out how it works out. So what do you say—do you wanna not make plans with me?”

—Leap Year

Wes

I couldn’t breathe again. My heart was racing, and my breath was coming too fast as it all screamed back at me. This happened sometimes after the nightmares, but this was the first time it was happening in front of somebody else.

Fucking awesome.

“Wes.”Liz’s face was suddenly all I could see as she moved closer. “Eyes on me.”

I nodded and tried to catch my breath.

“Deep breath through your nose,” she said, setting her hands on my chest. “Come on.”

Her eyes became my whole world. I inhaled, feeling her fingertips on my skin, and she nodded. “Good. Now listen to me.”

She moved her hands to my jaw, grabbing my cheeks and pulling my face closer to hers. It was dark, but I saw the shimmer oftears as she spoke loud and slow. “It wasn’t your fault.”

I stared into her eyes, desperate to believe her. Wanting so badly to just let her words manipulate reality and make it all go away.

Her fingers flexed on my skin, squeezing like she was demanding my attention. “I don’t know how you could think that, but it isn’t true.”

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