Page 37 of Salvation
Honestly, it’s a miracle Hayes has gone this long without hunting me down, especially after I left him high and dry at the station. We are partners. He has my back, and I’m supposed to have his. But my head isn’t in the game right now, and being there would only lead to someone getting hurt. My leave of absence wasn’t just for me. It was for him, too.
Cutting my engine, I drag my body out of the truck and up the steps to my front porch, falling into a rocking chair beside Hayes.
He doesn’t say anything for a while, and neither do I. We sit and rock, and I’m thankful for the time to get myself together.
The rocking chairs creak under our weight, and the birds chirp as we rock. The sun is shining, and there are so many things I should be thankful for. But all I feel is a crushing weight.
“We need to talk.” Hayes is the one to break the silence.
With a resigned sigh, I know I’ve reached the point where I can’t run from this conversation any longer. “I know.”
“What’s going on with you, Campbell? And don’t give me the run-around this time. Please—just talk to me.”
Taking a deep breath, I hold it in my lungs, letting it burn and burn until I can’t hold it anymore, and then I release it, all while Hayes watches me.
“I have a daughter.”
It’s the third time I’ve admitted it today, but I still can’t get used to the way the words feel in my mouth.
“With who?” The shock on Hayes’s face isn’t surprising. Ivy’s been the only girl I’ve ever loved.
Lifting one brow, I stare at him, waiting for him to figure this one out on his own.
“How—when—I just—why didn’t you tell me?” There’s hurt in his voice, and I look out at the front yard to avoid seeing it on his face.
“Because it’s complicated. I was trying to figure things out on my own before I dragged anyone else into it.”
“Are you kidding me?” Hayes shoves out of his chair, pacing on the porch. His steps are hard—angry—but I keep rocking, letting him get it out. “We’ve been best friends since elementary school, and you thought this was something you needed to handle alone?”
I shrug. “It’s fine. I am fine.”
Hayes stops in his tracks, his face red and contorted with anger. “I’m trying hard not to punch you in the mouth. This isn’t something you do on your own, Campbell. When did you find out?”
Hayes is yelling, but I can’t find it in me to yell back. “In a way—sixteen years ago,”
“Sixteen years ago.” Hayes’s laugh is dry and humorless. “ Sixteen years.” He repeats. I think maybe he’s in shock. “You kept this to yourself for sixteen years?” His voice grows louder, but I’ve had enough.
The rage that’s been building bubbles over, and I explode. Everything goes black, and I have no idea what I’m saying, only that I need to get this out before I explode.
“Yes, Hayes, sixteen years,” I yell. “And do you know why? Because it’s how I handle everything. Alone. People want the fun, clown version of me. It’s easy for them. They don’t want to know that I have problems, too—that I’m smothering in depression and have been for a long time. I learned a long time ago that it makes people uncomfortable. But I can’t fake it right now. I don’t have the energy, so do us both a favor and get off my property.” My shoulders heave up and down by the time I’m down, and the anger seeps out of me, leaving the hole behind. I fall back into my seat, resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands.
Hayes’s boots thud against the porch, and part of me hopes it means he’s leaving; the other part is terrified of being alone. That’s when things are darkest. But he doesn’t leave, he walks back over to the chair beside me and sits down, the wood groaning beneath his weight.
“I didn’t know, Campbell.”
There’s nothing funny about this, but I find myself laughing anyway, cracking my chest in two just to feel something. The sound is so foreign in my throat that it comes out as more of a croak than a laugh.
“Yeah, Hayes. That was kind of the point. I didn’t want anyone to know.”
“I don’t—I don’t expect you to always be happy. I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel that way.”
I drop my hands and shake my head, staring out at the yard. There’s a bare spot where the grass needs to be reseeded. I’ve been meaning to do that for a while, but deep down, I don’t know that I’ll ever get the chance to see it grow.
“You didn’t, Hayes. Not really. I just—don’t feel anything.”
“Have you prayed about it?”
I can’t stop the snort that rips through my nose. I’ve prayed about it more times than I can count. But somehow that seems to be everyone’s solution—like I haven’t fallen on my knees and begged God to take away this overwhelming emptiness.
