“Sorry. I was just hoping Jaxon would ask me to spend some time with him tonight. But—” I hold up my phone with a sigh. “Nothing so far.”
“Yeah, well. Don’t hold your breath. Making plans isn’t exactly Jaxon’s modus operandi.” There’s a sadness running underneath the bitterness in her voice when she talks about him. It makes me think that, despite what she says, she misses his friendship as much as he misses hers.
Which sucks, especially considering how much the two of them are hurting right now.
It’s not my place to get involved—I didn’t know Hudson and I wasn’t around when things went bad between Jaxon and Lia—but I know how fleeting life can be, even for vampires. How quickly things can just end, with no warning and no chance to put everything right.
I also know how much his problems with Lia weigh on Jaxon, reminding him daily of his role in what happened to Hudson. I can’t help wondering if those problems weigh just as heavily on Lia…and if maybe the two of them might finally begin to heal if they can forgive each other and themselves.
I mean, anything has to be better than this enmity between them. She’s destroyed, he’s devastated, and neither of them can move into the future because they’re so traumatized by the past.
Which is why, in the end, I can’t resist saying, “You know, he really misses you.”
Her eyes jump to mine. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” It’s a half whisper, half hiss.
“I do know. He told me what happened. And I can’t imagine how hurt you must be—”
“You’re right. You can’t imagine.” She starts walking faster as we head up the final incline. “So don’t.”
“Okay. Sorry.” I’m practically running in an effort to keep up with her. “It’s just, I think you would be better off if you could try to connect with Jaxon a little bit. Or anyone, really, Lia. I know you’re sad; I know you just want to be left alone because everything else is too agonizing to even think about. Believe me, I know that.” God, do I ever.
“But the thing is,” I continue, “you aren’t getting any better like that. You’re staying exactly where you were, drowning in grief, and until you decide to take the first step, you’re always going to be drowning.”
“What do you think I was doing when I invited you over for facials?” she asks, her voice smaller than I’ve ever heard it. “I’m tired of crying myself to sleep every night, Grace. I’m tired of hurting. That’s why I thought I could try to start over with you. You’re nice, and you didn’t know Hudson or the person I used to be. I thought we had a chance of being friends. Real friends.”
She turns her face away from mine, but I can still tell she’s biting her lip, obviously trying not to cry. I feel like a total jerk. “Of course we’re friends, Lia.” Impulsively, I wrap an arm around her shoulders and squeeze.
She stiffens up at first, but eventually she relaxes and leans into the hug. I used to be one of those people who never let go of the hug first—right up until my parents died. Then I got so many hugs I didn’t want from well-meaning people who didn’t know what else to do that backing away became self-preservation.
For Lia, I go back to the pre-accident time, hugging her until she decides it’s enough. It takes longer than I thought it would, which, in my mind, proves the theory that you hold on until the other person pulls away because you never know what they’re going through and if they need the comfort.
Of course, my phone chooses to finally vibrate right in the middle of the hug, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to make a grab for it. But real friends are important—not to mention few and far between—so I wait it out, not letting go until Lia finally steps back.
My phone vibrates three more times, stops, then vibrates again. Lia rolls her eyes, but in a friendly way that says the storm has passed. “Why don’t you answer that and put Jaxon out of his misery? He’s probably terrified the shifters decided to have barbecued Grace for lunch despite his warning.”
She must be right, because two more texts come in before I can pull my phone out. Lia just laughs and shakes her head. “How the mighty have fallen.”
Not going to lie, my heart skips a beat—or five—at hearing her say that, even if there’s a part of me that’s afraid it’s wishful thinking. Still, it’s hard not to smile when I look at the string of texts he’s sent me.