Chapter 7

“Mackenzie.”

I woke to Joe saying my name and gently shaking my shoulder. “Wake up. We gotta go.”

“What’s wrong?” My eyelids were freaking heavy, but I sat up. A big ass yawn on my lips.

“Tom’s parents are home.”

“What?”

“We gotta go. Quick.” He scrambled off the couch, and I could hear footsteps above us.

“Was Tom here last night?” a woman’s voice asked. “I thought he was at Nick’s.”

More footsteps, and a man’s voice rumbled, a murmur through the ceiling.

I hurried after Joe. He led me up some back stairs and then circled through the garage and to a side door. A door was open between the main floor and garage, and I heard the woman ask, “Was he drinking?”

The male voice grew louder. He was coming toward us. That was when I saw the car doors still open. They were unpacking.

“He had the pizza. The whiskey’s out, but I can’t tell if he drank any of it.”

“We’ll definitely have a talk with him,” the man replied.

He was right there, almost to the doorway.

Joe slipped out the side door, and I pushed him the rest of the way. We clicked the door shut moments before we heard heavy footsteps from the garage.

Joe shot me a look, letting out a deep breath. “That was close.”

“Too close.”

“I’ll call Tom. He’ll cover for us.”

“We’ll owe him one.”

“No.” Joe shook his head. “I’ll owe him one.”

I didn’t agree with that, but he looked determined.

We moved out of the yard and headed up the driveway to my house. I couldn’t hear or see movement inside, but I knew my parents were probably having coffee. That was what they liked to do since Willow. Before, they would’ve been rushing through the kitchen, yelling at us. We all would’ve been rushing around, whether it was a weekend, weekday, or summer day. There were always activities to go to.

The quiet creeped me out.

“Are you going in?” Joe asked.

I twisted around. I’d been standing on the front steps, staring at the door. I must’ve looked whacked out, like some space cadet who couldn’t sleep by herself, couldn’t handle being around her family, and couldn’t even bring myself to walk up to the porch.

“You’re too nice to me.”

“What?” Joe stepped closer.

I saw that he had his phone in hand. “Are you going to call Tom?”

“Yeah. I’ll let him know what happened last night so he’s prepared in case they call when they’re done unpacking the car.”

I nodded. Yes, that would be soon. It didn’t look like they had much more to do. “I suppose you should call now.”

“Yeah.”

But he wasn’t. And I wasn’t leaving.

We stood there. I watched my front door. He watched me. We sounded normal. We probably even looked normal, but one of us was very much not normal.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

An irritated huff came from him. “Is this the same thing as last night? You and me?”

“You and me, you being nice to me, doing this. Are you going to get in trouble?”

“The only one who might get in trouble is you. Tom will cover, say he stopped by earlier for food and that’s it. Trust me. This isn’t our first rodeo.”

But why was he being nice to me? Why was he going out of his way to help me? We didn’t even kiss, so he wasn’t doing it for an easy hookup. He was just sleeping next to me.

“Stop. Okay? Stop.” He touched both of my arms, coming to stand in front of me. “I can see the wheels going in there. Stop.”

“But why—”

He cut me off, his hands squeezing once before falling away. He stepped back. “Because I want to.”

“But why do—”

“I don’t know, okay? I don’t know either. I . . . I don’t know either. It is what it is. I don’t want to think about it any more than that.”

And that was the end of it. The questions plaguing me went away as if he’d silenced them. We didn’t have a formal goodbye. I nodded and slipped inside my house. The door was unlocked and the alarm off, so one of my parents had already been outside this morning. Once I was inside, I went to the living room window and watched. Joe continued to stand in our driveway a moment longer before heading back down the road.

“Good morning, honey.” My mom sailed past me on her way to the kitchen.

No, “Oh, you’re up,” or “Where were you last night?” or “When did you get home?” Just “Good morning, honey.”

I followed her to the kitchen and stared. She never looked at me—not while she filled her coffee cup, not while she put a piece of bread in the toaster, not while she poured some orange juice in a glass. Her head remained down as she buttered the toast.

“Would you like some breakfast?” she asked. “I’m making some for Robbie. I can put more bread in the machine for you.”

My stomach had rumbled last night, so I said, “Sure. Yeah.”

And she did, putting two pieces in before pushing the lever down. Then she picked up the plate with Robbie’s toast and the orange juice.

“Be right back for my coffee,” she said over her shoulder as she left.

She took him his food. She was coming back for her coffee, and me? I buttered my own toast.

“I know you snuck out last night. I saw you.”

My door was open an inch, and Robbie was there. I would’ve teased him about being a creeper except for the sadness, yearning, and caution that filled his eyes.

“Hey, kiddo.” I was at my desk and slid the chair over enough to toe open the door. “You come around these parts often?”

A soft giggle was my reward, and he came in, bouncing to a seat on the bed. His eyes calmed.

“So you caught me, huh?” I smiled, leaning back in my chair. “What do I owe you? You didn’t rat me out to Mom and Dad.”

He rested his hands next to his legs and lifted his shoulders. “You were with Joe. I knew you were safe.”

“Yeah?”

His cheeks pinked, and he looked down at his lap. “Joe’s cool.”

“I agree.”

“Did you sleep together again?”

For a moment, I had no words. It sounded wrong, that sentence coming from my eleven-year-old brother.

“Uh . . . what?”

“Sleeping next to him helps you sleep. I overheard at the Jensens’ house, and I assumed there was a reason you were in his bed.” He lifted his hands, folding them in his lap. “Is that why you left last night? So you could sleep?”

He thought I left to sleep. Then again, maybe he was right. It wasn’t about seeing Joe or sneaking out and giving a silent middle finger to my parents. I sighed. Robbie was too young to deal with any of this—with Willow’s decisions or mine.

“Forget about me. How’re you doing?”

He’d been kicking his feet back and forth, but he paused at my question. He looked away. “I’m fine.”

“Hey.” I scooted my chair closer and tapped on his knee. “I mean it. How are you?”

He looked back, and my heart was almost ripped out. Unshed tears hung on his lashes.

“I’m fine.” His voice trembled.

We’d been there for each other before the funeral, during the funeral, and I’d like to say afterward, but I couldn’t. Since we’d come back to Portside, I’d shut down. Literally. Going to see Joe last night had been almost the first thing I’d done besides going from my bedroom to the kitchen or bathroom. Seeing his tears made me want to curse myself.

“Hey.” I gentled my voice even more. “If you need anything, you can come to me. You know that, right?”

“Where’d you go?”

“We went to the movies.”

“Where’d you sleep? At Joe’s?”

“I . . .” The words were stuck in my mouth. He looked at me, completely innocent and vulnerable, and I contemplated lying to him. That was what it was. Not telling the truth was a lie.

I shook my head. “We came home. I was going to come in, but we snuck into his friend’s house. He lives next door to us.”

“And you slept there?”

I nodded.

“Good. You look better today. And I didn’t hear you crying last night.”

“I didn’t know you could hear me.”

He bobbed his head and jumped up from my bed. I could see his mind whirling. He was already thinking about whatever he would do next in his room, and he headed for the door.

“You cry every night. I’m glad you didn’t last night.” He pulled open my door. “You should do that every night.” And then he was gone.

I could’ve looked down to see my beating heart at my feet. He’d ripped me open. Again.