Page 2 of Fight or Flight
“I’m fine, thanks. Didn’t forget anything.”
“That’s good.” Another sniffle. “Your dad and I are leaving for the beach house in the morning.”
“Oh yeah?” I say, pretending like they haven’t gone to the beach house at this time every year for the last six years.
“Yeah.” Her voice is soft and has a faraway quality to it that makes my chest constrict. “I just…” She lets out a little cough like she’s covering a sob. “I just wanted to check in with you before we left to see how you’re doing.”
“I’m okay, just trying to get through the week,” I say honestly.
“Me too, sweetie. I wish things were different.”
“Yeah, me too,” I whisper and squeeze my eyes shut.
“They should still be here,” she says, the last of her control slipping as she breaks down into her own tears. “Both of my babies should still be here.”
“I know,” I say softly, my eyes burning from the effort of keeping my own tears from falling.
“I’m sorry,” she says between quiet sobs. “I didn’t mean to… I’m just?—”
“It’s okay, Mom. I understand.”
There’s a long pause while she composes herself enough to talk. I wait quietly and stare up at the ceiling, my eyes unfocused and my chest tight.
“You shouldn’t have to see me like this,” she says. “It’s not fair to you.”
“Nothing about this is fair to any of us,” I point out.
“No, it isn’t.” She draws in a shaky breath. “I should go. I don’t want to upset you any more than I already have. I just wanted to check in before we left and tell you I love you.”
“I love you too. Text me when you leave and when you get to the house, okay? Just so I know you guys made it safely.”
“I will.” Her tone is more even, but I can tell she’s barely holding it together and will probably have a complete breakdown the moment she hangs up the phone.
“Is Dad home?”
I don’t like the idea of her being alone when she’s this upset, and the only person who can help her right now is my dad.
“Yeah. He’s just going over some last-minute arrangements. He sends his love.”
“Tell him I love him too.”
“I will. Have a good night, sweetie.”
“Night.”
The line goes quiet, and I slip my phone back into my pocket.
Still reeling from that conversation and the crush of memories it brought up, I leave the study room and head back into the hall so I can go to my room.
I need to be alone right now; otherwise I’ll do something stupid.
“Wassup, fuck nugget.”
The familiar voice drags me out of my zombie-like stupor, and I freeze, my entire body glitching out as anger flows through me, replacing my grief like floodwaters rushing through a broken dam.
Slowly, I turn around to see Jace Hawthorne standing behind me in a black hoodie and a pair of dark-wash jeans, looking every bit the carefree asshole he is.
He gives me a quick up and down, his brow furrowing. “You’re in a mood.”
