His gaze drops to the carpeted floor. “Everything your boyfriend said…fuck, I don’t know. It just didn’t feel right, scaring girls and babies…I know one of you has PTSD…”
I go rigid, and my mouth falls. “Wha…？” That has been a fact we’ve all kept secret from the public.
“I didn’t tell anyone,” he says quickly. “I promise. I can’t even remember who let it slip. Either Ryke or Loren shouted it at me. No one else was around.” He hangs his head again. “I think…you should know that I planned to go with my friends.”
He bites his lips to keep more emotions at bay. A lump lodges in my throat. I see my best friend, a young Loren Hale who has so many muddled and warring sentiments swirling around him. The pain of living. It’s in Garrison’s eyes.
“I literally could not move my stupid feet,” he finally says. “And there’s a part of me that wishes I was with them. That I got caught too.”
It’s just guilt. I swallow hard and say, “You did the right thing.”
“Did I?” he asks and shakes his head again. “I can’t even say I’m sorry because it feels fucking stupid. Like…” He runs a hand through his hair. “Like it’s not enough, you know? It’s not at all.”
“This was enough,” I tell him softly. “I promise, it was.” I can’t even imagine Lo finding his way here at seventeen, saying these guttural, painful things to absolve himself.
Loren Hale walked in agony for another half decade.
He’d be happy to learn that he saved someone from that today.
Garrison rubs his eyes with the sleeve of his black hoodie, and then he exhales deeply and scans the store like Willow had previously done.
“Here, I’ll introduce you to Maya, the store manager. She’ll have a better idea what positions need to be filled.” I lead him over to the counter where Lo’s little sister and Maya stand behind the register.
“Hey,” Garrison greets the girls with a head nod.
As soon as Willow hears the male voice, she somehow knocks into the cash tray. It overturns and clatters to the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, her skin paling. The opposite of my embarrassed red flush. She sheepishly smiles at me, avoiding direct eye contact with Garrison. She bends down to collect the money while Maya fiddles with the computer.
“I can help,” Garrison says, squatting to gather dollar bills and quarters.
Oh jeez. I watch the way he furtively glimpses at Willow while she clumsily scoops the cash. I know that look. It’s one that says you’re pretty and interesting and I want to get to know you all wrapped in one.
Before any flirting occurs, I do what Lo would want and slip between them. “Okay, now you’ve met Willow and Willow you’ve met Garrison. Meet-and-greet has ended.” I’ll have to text Lo to see if I should maybe put them on separate shifts.
While I’d like Superheroes & Scones to be a geeky match-making facility, Willow is off-limits. Lo said to keep an eye on any “creepy guys” and mentioned that if a Captain America fanatic hits on her, he’s clearly not good enough. Willow deservers Scott Summers and above.
It was the most overprotective, cutest superhero reference he’s used in a while.
“Are you new here?” Garrison makes small talk.
No small talk. That’s off-limits too. “Yep. Yep, everyone’s new,” I say rapidly. “Willow, can you get my purse from the break room?” I didn’t bring a purse, so it’ll take her some time. Smart thinking. I internally pat myself on the shoulder.
“Sure.” She struggles to fit the cash tray back into the register.
“I can do it,” Maya tells her, taking over.
Willow leaves to the break room, but she stops midway like she lost something. “My backpack…”
Garrison finds it on the ground before I do. “This?” He picks up the old jean backpack and carries it to her.
Their fingers brush as he passes it to Willow. “Thanks,” she says, as pale as a ghost.
I give up. Maybe in another life, I was cupid and foretold every relationship there ever was. I smile at that thought. I prophesied them all except my very own.
{ 68 }
LOREN HALE
“You ready?” I ask Ryke as we step into the Hale Co. elevators that’ll bring us to the board room. His unkempt hair is barely combed, the sleeves of his white button-down rolled to his forearms. He even ditched a suit jacket.
I thought for sure I’d be meeting someone besides my brother today. I’d come face-to-face with the Ryke Meadows that’s been buttoning his shirts to the collar, tying wide-ties, riding to the offices in a car, not a motorcycle.