Page 69 of Back to Willow

“You were at the hospital,” I say a little too loud, pointing at the kid, not giving Jake the time to answer.

His eyes widen and he nods, “With my best friend.”

“Right,” I hum. “She needed glasses?”

“Yeah…” the boy trails off, looking at me slightly suspicious.

“Em…” Jacob hesitates, glancing at the kid before looking back at me.

He places the kid down on the floor and crouches down to his height before muttering something in his ear. The boy nods and runs towards the opposite end of the aisle, right where the other sweets are located.

He finally answers, “Look, it’s complicated–”

He’s being so awkward that I chuckle. “Alright, dude. No need to panic. You know having kids is not something to be ashamed of.”

He smiles in appreciation, still looking highly uncomfortable. That’s my hint to change the subject. It’s not my place to meddle in his private life. Nor do I care enough to do it.

“Look, I wanted to ask if this time around, you’ll tell me why she left. Because after the three times I’ve met her, she’s adamant to run away from me.”

Jake sighs, lines that didn’t seem to be there before appearing on his forehead and between his eyebrows. His eyes glaze over, all emotion fleeting temporarily.

With a shake of his head, he answers, “Liam, you know it’s not my place to meddle. You both need to have a serious talk.”

I scoff, “Don’t you think I’ve tried? She keeps running away from me like a coward. At this rate, I’ll never fucking know. The least you could do is lay it out for me.”

My voice rises slightly as the anger slithers into my veins once again. But his stance doesn’t falter, not until his eyes focus on something behind me. His shoulders seem to sag, then I turn around, looking in the direction he is looking at.

A wave of nausea hits me as I watch the kid holding a bunch of different sweets and chocolates in his arms, his face moving quickly as he looks from one to the other, visibly torn. It makes me wish that was the hardest choice I had on my mind now. Life is way simpler when you’re young.

“You need to understand…” The assertiveness in Jake’s voice makes me look back at him. “That’s my baby sister you’re talking about. Would I have done things the way she did? Probably not, but I can’t know for sure because I’m not in her shoes.” He sighs, lowering his voice. “There’s one thing I can assure you, though. Out of all of us, she’s the one who’s had it the hardest. You included.”

I laugh, but he adds, “It might not be fair to ask this of you, but could you be a little more patient? If there is one person she’ll tell everything to, it’ll be you.”

For a few moments, the darkest scenarios run through my head, squeezing the strength out of my heart. For years, I’ve wondered what could have happened that justified making her leave. For a long time, I was sure it had to be something serious, otherwise, she wouldn’t just abandon me.

But as the years went by and the resentment made a home out of my heart, I stopped thinking about whatever explanation she could have, fiercely believing they could only be excuses.

But what could fucking explain all of this?

“Well, it’s hard to be patient when she refuses to talk and leaves me hanging mid-conversation.”

Jake sighs. “Just...don’t give up on her,” he asks with a sad smile. “Otherwise, there might not be hope. For any of us.”

“What do—”

“Dylan’s almost done,” he cuts me off. “I have to go. Sorry.”

“But—” I interject.

“Just talk to her, Liam,” he hollers from the other end of the aisle, picking the kid up and placing him back on his shoulders before disappearing into the crowd of shoppers.

“Fuck!” I yell to no one in particular.

A rustling sound startles me, and I turn around, coming face to face with an old lady. She’s eyeing me with one of those disapproving looks on her face with narrowed eyes, tightened lips and a negative shake of her head. Ignoring the judgement, I walk away, continuing to pick up the last needed items and heading home.

The whole time, Jake’s words reverberate through my brain, giving me a headache. In a matter of minutes, my head is throbbing the way it usually is after a fifteen-hour shift in the ER.

In times like this, there’s a slight nagging feeling, asking me—no, begging me—to make it stop. To just make it all stop.

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