Wildfire (Maple Hills, #2)(103)
I should take the phone out of her hand, end the call, something. But instead, I stand frozen in the doorway staring at her. “I’ll tell him,” she says quietly to the person on the other end of the phone. “Bye.”
I need to say something, but every terrible possibility runs through my head at once.
“I shouldn’t have answered your cellphone,” she says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. It was it was your brother. He said he’s been trying to reach you because your dad has entered an addiction program. They want you to come home to make amends.”
It’s like being bulldozed with several emotions at once. Surprise, hurt, optimism, anger. I knew I’d have to tell her eventually, but I wasn’t ready to share now.
She’s staring at me with pity, like I fucking knew she would, and the frustration builds. “You shouldn’t have answered my cellphone.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t think! It was ringing over and over and the number wasn’t saved in your phone . . . you know what the service is like, maybe if I hadn’t answered it would have disappeared again. I don’t know, Russ. I thought something might be wrong, but I shouldn’t have answered it. I’m really sorry.”
Dragging a hand down my face, I blow out a sigh. I want to scream. “The bathroom is right here. You could have gotten me, you could have yelled for me, you could have done anything.”
“I’m sorry, Russ,” she says, her voice strained. “I thought it was urgent. I didn’t think.”
“I’ve told you before he does it to make me pick up. You know he rings over and over until I get pissed off enough to answer.”
“I forgot. The number wasn’t saved, and I didn’t think. It was a mistake and I’m sorry.”
It’s too much to process all at once. I can’t think straight when I’m around her. “You should go.”
“I said I’m sorry,” she stresses, walking toward me. “I’m really, really sorry. I know this must be a lot for you. Why didn’t you tell me your dad has problems with addiction? I thought we’d shared all our secrets . . .”
“Because I didn’t want you to look at me like you are right now, Aurora,” I say flatly. The embarrassment fucking stings. “Because I wasn’t ready to tell you and now I don’t have any choice in the matter.”
The words are so sharp and I hardly recognize myself as I hear them back. I hear him in the way I’m talking to her; my worst nightmare playing out before my eyes. He found a way to ruin her and he doesn’t even know she exists. I throw myself down on Xander’s bed, far enough away from her that I feel like I can still think, even though my head is swimming and none of my thoughts make sense.
“You get to be mad at me, but you don’t get to shut me out,” she says. Her voice wobbles with every word and when I look up at her, she looks devastated. I caused this. I’m the one that’s fucking this up. “I’ll wait while you call your brother back. Hear it from him. I can hold your hand and I won’t listen if you don’t want me to, but I’ll be here for you.”
The last thing I want to do right now is call Ethan. Part of me questions if it’s even true or is it just another one of his ploys to trick me into going home and he’s not there. Another day where I get left on my own to pick up the pieces of our family and break off a few of my own in the process.
“I don’t want you to.” I thought I’d be happier about hearing my dad has taken steps to get real help, but now all I can think about is this. What does she think of me?
“Russ, please don’t shut me out. I’ve told you everything about my family and you know I get it.”
“You don’t get it,” I snap. “It isn’t the same thing.”
My head drops into my hands; my stomach churns as my thoughts spiral.
This isn’t how this summer was supposed to end.
It’s incredible how shame fills the cracks other people create. For every fracture my dad’s actions have caused, humiliation has glued everything back together.
Ethan’s call took a sledgehammer to it all.
“I think you’re madder at me than I deserve,” she says crouching down in front of me. “Yell at me, Russ. Let’s fight about how angry you are at me and I can yell back that you kept this huge thing from me for months and we can scream at each other until you realize I’m not scared to carry your baggage. And we’ll make up. And I can support you the way you support me.”
I don’t want to yell at her. I don’t want this to be something she has to carry, especially knowing she has to face her own family today. “Just go,” I say. “You don’t want to miss your flight.”
“I won’t be able to stop overthinking until I know we’re okay.” Her hands shake as she rests them against my knees. “Please don’t burn me,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.
I feel like I’m burning everyone at this point. “Just go, Aurora. Please.”
She kisses my forehead as she stands and I feel her tears drop onto my skin. I want to reach out and hold her to me, but I don’t deserve that. She takes a sharp intake of breath, but I can’t look at her. “For the record, I really hope your dad gets better and you can heal from this. I’m sorry I found out before you were ready to tell me.”