Page 155 of Give Me Love

“Not at all,” my best friend says. “Let’s go out.”

“Good. I’ll see you both after work.” I walk through the door, taking a bite of my apple as I head for the elevator. My stomach turns when I swallow it because heartache does more than just hurt. It makes you physically ill, and food is the last thing you want. I toss the apple into the trash just as the door dings open.

Fuck food.

I could lose a few pounds anyway.

What should only be a ten-minute ride at the most ends up taking me twenty because of construction and a detour. I pull up to Mugs & Books with high blood pressure. I love living in Atlanta, but this damn traffic will give me a stroke one day.

The paint crew and floor crew are already here, and I step out of my car in a beanie hat and black pea coat. Becca pulls up behind me.

“Good morning,” I say when she opens her door.

“You’re just getting here?” she asks.

“Traffic.”

She nods in understanding.

“Let’s get the table set up and coffee. I’m sure these guys would like some.”

The day passes with the crew painting the walls and sanding the old hardwoods. You’d never know it was two separate shops now. It’s doubled in size, and I’ve got people coming in later to install the kitchen appliances for the small kitchen in the back on the new side. I order pizza for lunch, and the boys take a break inside.

We’ve got the door open to release paint fumes and heaters going so we don’t turn into ice. I’m looking online for decoration ideas and halfway listening to the guys talk when Jace walks in the door.

“Harrison,” he says.

“Hey,” I reply so caught off. He’s eerily serious. His eyes skip around at everyone. “Um, can we talk?”

“Yeah,” I say, putting my phone down. I grab my gloves from the counter. “Be right back,” I say to Becca as I button up my coat.

We step outside into the crisp air, and I lightly breathe in, wondering what Jace could be doing here. Is Bryce okay? Did their mom die?

“The place is looking good,” he says.

“Yeah. It’s almost done. We should be moving things back in and opening up by the end of next week.” We walk across the street to the park, and I shiver slightly as a cold breeze licks my face.

“How’s your mom?” I ask, looking over at him.

“She’s in a coma. The doctors aren’t sure she’s going to come out of it.”

“Jesus,” I say, casting my eyes ahead. Like a heavy coat, regret covers me. Its pockets are filled with bricks, each one weighing more than I can bear.

I could have prevented all of this.

“Yeah,” he replies. He takes a seat on the park bench, sliding his hands into his pockets and stretching his legs out before crossing his ankles. I adjust the beanie on my head and put my hands into my pockets, too. The moment is filled with silence. I want to fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness. I want to screamI’m sorryfrom the rooftop, but I stay quiet. My heart is weighed down. Each artery and vein is stretched thin, like a bungee cord about to snap.

We don’t say anything for a moment. But my mind is sprinting into overdrive. I know this sounds selfish, but all I can think about is Bryce.

How is he?

How will he ever forgive me if she doesn’t make it? This may be over for us. I place my hand over my chest, and my eyes sink to the ground.

I’ve never truly known what love is until this very moment. And that’s because I now know how it hurts and how devastating it feels to lose it.

“I’m sorry.” My words come out in a low whisper, filled with shame and sorrow.

“You’re sorry?” he asks. “This is not your fault, Harrison.” My eyes dart to his. “Our mom is an addict. That’s her sickness. She more than likely would be in this situation regardless if you were in the picture or not. It’s not fair for Bryce to put that on you. How he acted was not cool, but he’s just upset, and he wanted someone to blame. He blames the wrong person, though. It’s no one’s fault that Mary is in that hospital bed but her own. You need to know that.

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