Page 21 of Jingle Bell Flock
After a moment, he scrubbed his hands over his face.
“I never told you how bad it got, but I didn’t think I had to. You knew what an asshole he was without the … the … abuse. I told myself you’d understand. That going with Sarah didn’t mean anything. That it wouldn’t change anything between us.”
He could barely get the words out. “I was eighteen years old and terrified, and I made the worst decision of my life.”
I sat up slowly, pulling my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. “You could have told me,” I said. “You could have explained what was happening. We could have figured something out together.”
“I know that now,” Harrison said roughly. “But back then, I was so fucking terrified of my dad finding out, of losing everything that I couldn’t think straight. And on top of all that, I was …” He trailed off.
“You were what?”
“I was freaking out about how much I felt for you. You were going to Minneapolis, and I was heading off to Harvard. I didn’t see a way for us.”
Silence stretched between us. I pulled my knees tighter to my chest, my chin resting on them while I stared at the wall. Part of me wanted to stay angry, wanted to hold onto the hurt because it had sustained me for so long … had given me something solid to cling to.
But the bigger part of me understood.
Harrison’s home life wasn’t like mine. It wasn’t just shitty. It wasdangerous.
And even if …
God, even if we’d both been brave, we’d still only had weeks. He was going to Boston. I was off to Minneapolis.
I reached over and took his hand, threading our fingers together.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I’m sorry you went through that. I’m sorry you felt like you had to handle it alone.”
Harrison made a choked sound, his grip on my hand tightening almost painfully.
“And I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to actuallyaskyou to prom,” I continued, the words scraping out. “Sorry that I never really told you what I wanted. Maybe if I had, you could’ve told me what was happening. Maybe we could’ve figured something out.”
“Jeremy, no—you can’t—” Harrison’s voice broke completely then. “This wasn’t your fault.Noneof it was your fault.”
“And it wasn’t all yours either.” I finally turned my head to look at him. His face was destroyed—red, swollen, tear-streaked—and something in my chest cracked open. “We were just kids. We both fucked up.”
We fell into silence, but it was a different kind of quiet now. Not heavy with anger or regret, but with something softer. Sadness, maybe. Or truth. Honesty. Admission.
I let my thumb trace patterns on his knuckles, the repetitive motion soothing.
“My mom loved you,” I said after a while. “She always called us her ‘two boys.’ Did you know that?”
Harrison’s expression turned soft. “Yeah. I remember.”
“I think she knew. About us.” The admission felt strange on my tongue. “One time—must have been right before graduation—she pulled me aside and said if there was anything I everneeded to talk about or get off my chest, she just wanted me to know that she and Dad were there for me.” My throat tightened. “That nothing I could tell them would ever make them love me less.”
Harrison’s hand found mine in the sheets, our fingers tangling together.
“I didn’t tell her,” I continued. “But I think she knew anyway. And she was okay with it. She was okay withus.” I looked at him. “You didn’t have that. Your parents, they would’ve … well, I guess I know now what would have actually happened instead of just imagining it.” "
“Yeah.’ Harrison’s thumb stroked across my knuckles. “I loved your mom. Both your parents. They made me feel like I had a second home. Like I belonged somewhere.”
“They loved you, too.”
“I was sorry I couldn’t make it back for your mom’s funeral. I was in London, and by the time I heard—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Anyway, I know we weren’t friends anymore by then, but I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
“You’re here now,” I said, surprising myself by meaning it.
Six months ago, when Jemma had sat me down to tell me Harrison Prescott had bought the old Abernathy house, I’d wanted to burn it to the ground. Now I was lying in his bed, our hands linked, and I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
