Page 89 of Sincerely, Your Enemy

Here I am, whining about being a shitty guardian when he’s also been taking care of his sister.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Considering that he nearly got himself stabbed to protect me and Sierra, I think the least I can do is try and get to know him.

He nods. “Hit me.”

“What happened to your mom?”

I immediately know asking wasn’t a good call. He grows stiff at the mere mention of her, his posture shifting from relaxed to noticeably tense in a fragment of a second.

A deep sigh escapes him. “She… had to leave.”

Seconds elapse.

Then he adds, “For work.”

I don’t believe him one bit. And normally, I might let it slide, but having tact is a skill that requires energy I simply don’t have at the moment.

“That was a lie, wasn’t it?”

Our eyes lock, his reflecting how uncomfortable he is with my interrogation.

I have no idea what he’s been through, but after we buried my dad, it was impossibly hard for me to talk about him. Anyone who dared ask me what happened or how I was feeling would get a blend of half-assed answers and comforting lies.

I couldn’t let them know that I’d been crying myself to sleep every night since his death or that for a brief, fleeting moment, I’d considered taking my own life because the thought of filling his shoes fresh out of high school was too much to bear.

Whatever TJ’s hiding, he’s hiding for a reason. And seeing as I was in the exact same position once, I can’t blame him.

“It’s okay,” I croak, nuzzling my face into his shirt, inches below his bloodstained collar. We both desperately need a shower and a change of clothes. “We all have secrets.”

The look he gives me after that… You’d think I just told him I spent my days microwaving my hamster as a kid.

“That’s it? You’re not going to grill me for answers?” he asks.

“No. Not tonight.”

The confirmation seems to have a soothing effect on him because his shoulders release all tension.

He waits a few more seconds and then asks, “Doyouhave secrets?”

I separate from him and fall backward onto my bed. “Oh, yeah. For example, I hate driving in the rain. I tell people it’s a safety concern, but really, it’s because I’m convinced it killed my dad.”

The irony of me oversharing after he’s just refused to answer my question isn’t lost on me.

TJ follows my lead and lies down on his back. “What makes you say that?”

“The fact that he’d taken that route home a thousand times before.He knew it like the back of his hand. A thousand times driving down that exact road, and nothing ever happened. Except for that one night. The police said his car hydroplaned because of the storm. That’s the only difference. Therain. That’s what made him lose control of the car. That’s what killed him.”

TJ doesn’t say anything, but he shows me his support by grabbing my hand. My heart gives a jolt when he intertwines our fingers.

I let out a bitter laugh. “All because my siblings and I wanted pizza. It was hailing outside, but the restaurant was just seven minutes from our house. We didn’t think this would happen.”

TJ rolls onto his side, and I instinctively do the same. God, the look in his eyes. It knocks the breath out of me.

He looks like he genuinely feels for me—and I’m not talking about surface “aw, that sucks for you” compassion. He looks like he’s experiencing every bit of my pain along with me.

“Thanks for sharing your secret with me,” he breathes and inches closer to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

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