Page 10 of When We Were Us
His gaze is searing when he levels it on me. There’s something else there, too.
Hurt.
Not just hurt.
Pain.
“Just forget it, Wrenley.”
I blink away, unable to look at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t come back here to argue with you, Hank,” I say, quietly, and mean it.
He shoves to his feet. The bike teeters and then falls over with a clang.
“You haven't set foot in this town in seventeen years. Not even when they both died. It’s not hard to guess what you’re back here for.” Throwing his arms wide, he gestures to the house, the garage, all of it.
I jerk back as if he’s slapped me.
“I came as soon as I could,” I say, fighting back tears. I’m not sure why I feel the need to explain myself to him. “And I have never takenanythingfrom my grandparents. For you to accuse me of being back here for some kind of…” I cast around for words, “payoutis not only hurtful but completely untrue.”
“You said it, not me.” He shrugs. His cavalier attitude about something I feel extreme sadness for makes my stomach turn, but I won’t let him see how much it hurts me.
Hank has no way of knowing Iwashere when my grams passed because I spent it all with her. He has no way of knowing that I sat with her for two days, literally holding one hand, while my granddad held the other, as she took her last breath. She hadn’t wanted any services. So, my granddad and I celebrated her the next day with her favorites: strawberry shortcake in front of the TV, watching “Gone with the Wind.”
It wasn’t like I had purposely avoided him. It was a quick trip, and the only time I even left the house was to fly back to California. It had ripped my heart out, but I would have regretted not being here. If I had known my granddad was going to die when he did, I would have moved heaven and earth to be here then, too.
Clearly, Hank still has some anger where I’m concerned, and this conversation is quickly spiraling. I doubt he would even listen if I tried to explain. While Hank Hayes might still resemble the boy I knew, he is an entirely different man, and I am not sure I like him all that much right now.
“Look, Hank, it's been a really long couple of weeks. I don't have the energy or the desire to stand out here and do whatever…this is.” I fling a hand back and forth between us and shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans.
He removes his hat, runs a hand through his hair, and replaces it on his head. For a split second, I think I see a flash of something resembling remorse cross his face, but it's gone just as quickly.
“I think you should leave,” I say, quietly.
“Whatever.” He turns and stalks from the garage. “Get that shutter out front fixed before the damned thing falls off completely,” he barks over his shoulder before disappearing around the side of the house.
Seconds later, I hear a truck door slam, an engine roar to life, and then taillights disappear down the drive and away from the house. I will myself not to cry one more tear over Hank Hayes, but it's no use after the month I’ve had. As I shut off the lights and abandon my mountain bike, I let the tears fall.
CHAPTER FOUR
wrenley
THEN
It’stwo a.m. and I can’t sleep. My roommate hasn’t arrived yet, and I’m grateful for it. I've finally stopped crying, but there’s a dull ache in my chest that I can’t imagine ever going away. My grandparents left this afternoon to head back to Timber Forge, and while I’m grateful to them for making the trip with me, the room feels even emptier now that they’re gone.
I open my window to get some fresh air before climbing into the hard, narrow dormitory bed, but the noise of the city outside taunts me. I pull the quilt I brought with me from home up to my neck and burrow into its softness. I keep my back to the wall so I won't have to see the barren stretch of drywall that I can’t bring myself to decorate with pictures from home.
The hum of the air-conditioning and the drone of road noise—punctuated by a car alarm that won't quit and a yell from somewhere in the courtyard below as students celebrate Welcome Week at UC Davis—are a stark contrast to the sounds of Timber Forge at this time of night.
If I focus hard enough, I can imagine the sounds outside mybedroom window back home. Theclick, clickof a mountain cicada mixing with the constant backbeat of cricket song. The soft scent of cedar and pine drifting in as the wind rustles through the trees. The occasional hoot of an owl. The quiet sound of “Jeopardy” floating up the stairs from the family room as my grandparents laugh together over wrongly guessed answers.
I miss Finnley and the smell of campfire in my hair even hours after leaving the bonfire on Friday nights at the ranch with Hank and his family. I imagine the spray of the hose splashing off the ATVs and dirt bikes as we wash away the inches of mud caked on them from riding the never-ending miles of trails on the Hayes property. I miss waking up on Sunday mornings in Finn’s too-hot bedroom at the top of the stairs after a sleepover.
But mostly, I miss Hank. His goofy smile and his gray eyes. I miss sitting in the middle of the bench seat with the radio turned up and my knee pressed against his. His tanned wrist slung over the steering wheel. Soft curls peek out from the edges of his ball cap as he smiles over at me, with his hand on my thigh.
My chest constricts and my eyes flood with tears. I haven’t spoken to him since I left three days ago. He won’t return my calls. I understand his anger, his hurt. But it doesn’t make my chest ache any less.
When I met up with him that last afternoon, I hadn’t expected him to say all the things he did. I hadn’t expected him to tell me he loved me with so much passion that it took my breath away. He said he wanted to marry me and start a family. Told me he’d wait for me, or even come to California. I couldn’t believe it. Truthfully, it terrified me.
