Page 93 of Just Like That

“JP . . .”

“I discovered something about your sister.” I continued on despite the nerves. “After she came here, my father paid her off. A large lump sum at first but then every year after that, he paid for her silence and she accepted it.”

“Olive?” Hazel frowned as she gently shook her head. “No ... she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.”

“She did. And, look, I’m not mad.” Sure, I was fucking furious at my father, but I understood how someone in need might be tempted by the kind of money he was willing to throw around.

My lips pressed together. “He always looks out for his own interest, but in this case, I’m sure it actually helped her ... at least, in a way that I couldn’t. But I promise you, Hazel, I didn’t know about her or Teddy.”

Her eyes bounced between mine. “How much?”

My molars clenched. “Does it matter?”

Her lips twisted. “I guess not.”

My fingertips ran over the bumps along her spine. “It was substantial, but also ... not enough?” My free hand dragged through my hair. “I don’t know. I just hate that I wasn’t even given the chance to talk with her about it.” I blew out a breath. “Though to be honest, I doubt I would have made things any better. I don’t know if I would have even believed her.”

She held her hand above my chest where my heart hammered. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. I didn’t know you then, but I like to believe that you would have found the good man that lives in here.”

I harrumphed. “And I think there’s a chance he may only exist because of you.”

Hazel snuggled closer to me, like my opening up to her made her happy.

My pulse quickened just at the thought of being close to her. The way her lush hair fanned across my pillow, the soft curve of her exposed shoulder—every detail drew me in, making it hard to think about anything but the urge to pull her into my arms and let the rest of the world fall away.

Her soft sniffle drew my attention. I slipped two fingers under her chin and lifted. “Hey ...” My fingers swiped away a rogue tear. “What’s going on?”

She sniffed again and wiped at her face. “I’m mad at her. I wish she would have talked to me about Teddy, you. All of it. It’s like there’s a whole part of her I didn’t know. So I’m mad at her, but I miss her so much.”

My arms wrapped around Hazel and I squeezed. I didn’t have words of comfort to offer her. I simply made space and stayed quiet.

“Does it ever go away?” she whispered.

“Does what go away?”

Hazel pressed the heel of her hand into her chest. “This feeling. The ache.”

My throat was thick and I swallowed. The last thing I wanted to do was tell her the truth—that no, it pretty much always hurt. My thoughts tumbled over one another when I settled on what to say. “I’d read once that grief is a lot like a stone in your pocket. It’s there. It’s something you always notice. You feel it there all the time.” My palm rubbed down her arm. “The pain never really goes away. But over time, you get stronger, and it seems to get a little lighter, but no ... it never truly goes away.”

“That’s good.” She exhaled and I looked at her in surprise. “I don’t want to forget. I don’t want Teddy to forget his mom either.”

My lips pressed into a firm line. “That won’t happen. We’ll be there to make sure he remembers her and knows how much she loved him.”

Hazel let out a watery laugh. “See ... I knew you were a big softy.”

I could have made a joke about how, whenever I was near her, there were parts of me that were definitely never soft, but I let it slide.

My voice cut through the darkness. “Can I ask you a question?”

She hummed in response.

“Do you have an urn in the skoolie?”

Even in the dim lighting, I could make out the pink splotches that moved up her cheeks. “I do. Temporarily.” Silence stretched between us. “Do you think that’s weird?”

I thought for a moment. She’d lost her sister and was practically a nomad. It made sense that she hadn’t committed to a final resting place.

I shrugged. “A little ... but notweirdso much as ... strangely understandable.”

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