Starless Nights (Hale Brothers Series Book 2) (30 page)

WHAT HAVE I done?

I can’t believe that I hit him.

Should I go after him or should I stay here?

Numbly, I walk to the wall next to the door, lean back against it, and slide down to the ground.

Wanting to hide from this whole terrible situation, I pull my knees up and bury my face.

Silent painful sobs rip through me as I’m consumed with guilt.

I hurt him and my heart breaks knowing this.

Not one single muscle even twitched when I made contact with his face. It wasn’t a girly slap either. I hit him. His eyes locked onto mine and I could see exactly what I had done to him.

In that exact moment, I watched a fog roll over the fear in his eyes. All of the emotion and life in him instantly shut off. He was expecting more and he was ready to take it.

Pushing on the pain in my chest, I gasp realizing that this is what he lived with every day. Witnessing this side of him, a side that only his family has seen, I can only imagine what this did to him. What I did to him.

Beau of all people should never have a hand raised at him and I know this better than anyone.

Lifting my head, I glance at the door. In my heart, I am willing it to open. I desperately want him to come back, even though I know he won’t.

I hit him.

I hurt him.

Time passes and I don’t move. The shadows from the setting sun slide slowly across the floor and I can’t look away.

Out of the corner of my eye I see something next to the base of one of the mannequins. I crawl over and instantly recognize Beau’s brown leather journal, the one that I gave him all those years ago. It must have fallen out when he grabbed his bag to leave. Picking it up, I lightly thumb through it and see that at least three quarters of it is full. He’s been writing in this for a long time. I know that I shouldn’t open it, but I can’t help myself.

Adventure #1

So, I’m supposed to use this journal that you gave me to write down all of my adventures. What a stupid idea. But in the spirit of things, here goes…

I’ve been lying on my stomach in this hospital bed for three weeks. After I woke up, I cried in fear for you because I was worried but then I was told you were okay and got to go home. Relief flooded through me because I did it. I protected you. I saved you. Then, I waited for you. I waited through endlessly long days and nights. At the end of each day before I fell asleep I cried. I cried for you. I cried because I missed you so much and I couldn’t understand why you weren’t coming. I needed you more than I have ever needed anything in my whole life. I just knew that the minute you walked through the door, you would be able to make this entire awful, painful situation so much better. You were always my bright light in a constantly dark world. I needed you to help pull me out of this darkness. But then a couple of days ago, I got your letter. Now, I cry every night because you broke my heart. Broke isn’t even a strong enough word. You took a hammer and in its already wounded state, you proceeded to beat on it and shatter it as if it never meant anything to you. There’s really no other way to describe what you did to me. How could you, Leila? You were my person. My only person, and you left me. You left me here. Everything that I thought was true about you and about us, instantly became a lie. Day after day, I pray to God that he will have mercy on me and end me. I want to die and I wish I wasn’t such a coward so I could do it myself. Everything in my life just sucks and it has for so long. There are so many things that I came so close to telling you over the years, but I didn’t because I didn’t want you to worry. You were my best friend. You were my days and my nights, but mostly you were the stars. My stars. How will I ever look at the stars again and not think of you? You were the reason I wanted to get out of bed every day and now you are gone. I love you and you left me. You left me with nothing and no real explanation. Didn’t I at least deserve that? Apparently not. You have succeeded in making me truly feel like I am nothing to no one and I just want to die.

I’ve stopped breathing.

What is this?

My fingers tighten around the journal and I read it again.

His words, his tears, the heartbreak . . . this is crushing my soul and I’m shaking.

I don’t understand what I am reading. Why would he write this? It just doesn’t make sense to me.

Adventure #2

They tell me I should be thankful that my arm was in a cast because the cast was non-flammable. That if it hadn’t of been, most likely I would have lost my arm. Would it have mattered? As it is I am covered in scars that don’t appear to be healing. I was so excited when they told me I was leaving, I just wanted to go home and get in my bed, but instead I was moved to the burn rehabilitation wing where I am going to live for the next couple of months. Apparently, I am highly susceptible to infections. My dressings still need to be changed and they need to work on slowly incorporating physical therapy into my daily routine. I guess the scars will tighten the skin and make it hard for me to move. Maybe now I can give up tennis. At least while I’m here, this cast will finally come off. I never got to tell you about my arm. Dad broke it. When I got back from that last trip out to Bean Point with you, I went straight to my room because I was so mad and upset that you were leaving. I just wanted to be alone. He came in and told me he didn’t care for my attitude—I should say he yelled it, not told. He hit me with my tennis racket until my upper arm cracked in half. That happened the night before the fire when you were at Aunt Ella’s for the family going away dinner. Drew and Matt both stood in the doorway and cried as they watched him do it. I honestly don’t know which I think is worse; being on the receiving end or having to watch, while someone you love is being made to suffer? Earlier that day was last time that I heard Matt talk. It’s been over a month. Mom’s the one who brought this journal to the hospital. Along with Matt, I can’t say that I’m really talking to anyone either. She thinks the journal will help me to express my feelings. Such bullshit. She brought over that picture of us in front of Kelly’s Kandy Shop too. She tried to leave it in my room, but I had her take it home. What’s the point? Every day I wait for the mail to come. I am just hoping with everything that I am that there is something for me. But every day there never is. Mom shows up after work and disappointment floods in. So every night, before bed I reread your letter. Was I really that unimportant to you that you can forget me so easily? I don’t think I will ever be able to forget you, not as long as I live. Leila, everything hurts. My arm, my back, my body, my heart . . . I hate this life. I hate you not being in it. I will never understand why. We were together every day for six years. What did I do wrong?

I don’t know how to stop the tears that are pouring out of my eyes.

Closing the journal I clutch it to my chest. I can’t read anymore. Holding it tightly, I hug it, as if I can somehow magically hug the past.

He’s so broken. I broke him.

How did I not know any of this? I can only assume he’s talking about the fire that I was in. He said he saved me. Why don’t I even remember him being there? Why didn’t anyone tell me? Why would his mom lie to me? No wonder he is the way he is with me. I did this. I ruined us.

For years, I wondered why he didn’t show up to say goodbye and for years, he’s wondered why I didn’t love him enough. I hurt him in the most horrible way. It wasn’t even face-to-face. It was through a letter. Charlie’s right, I am a coward.

Scrambling off of the floor, I walk over to my center design table and pick up my phone. The other end of the line starts ringing and I am praying that she will pick up.

“Hey sweetheart, how are you?”

“Mom,” I sniffle out.

“Leila, what’s wrong?” Concern is immediately etched in her voice.

“Tell me about the fire.”

Silence.

“Mom, tell me about the fire!”

“I don’t understand, Leila, you already know what happened.”

“Mom, how did I get out of the fire?”

“Beau pulled you out. You know this.”

That hammer that he mentioned swings and crashes into my chest. I sink to the floor next to the table.

“No, I didn’t.”

“How did you think you got out?”

“I just assumed it was a fireman. Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Well, first off I thought you knew and second, I tried to talk to you about that night several times and every time you shut me down.”

She’s right, I did shut her down. I didn’t want to talk about the boy who I waited for, who didn’t come and see me.

“Oh mom . . .” I can’t help the tears or sobs as they pour into the phone. “Do you know what happened to Beau?”

“Yes, love. I do know what happened to him. I talked to his mother several times over the months that followed. I thought you knew too.”

“No, mom I didn’t. I never saw him before we left. I thought he didn’t care enough to say goodbye to me.”

“Why on earth would you think that? That boy has loved you forever.”

Deep down I know what she’s saying is true. My stomach turns over and I feel like I’m going to be sick. So many pieces of the puzzle are falling into place.

“I am the worst person in the world. I have been so mean to him all these years.”

“You know, I never understood why you stopped being friends with him after we moved. Your father and I always thought that the two of you were the once in a lifetime kind. I’m not going to sugarcoat this for you and say that everything will turn out okay, but what I am going to tell you is that you need to explain yourself to him. I can only assume that since you didn’t know the details, he doesn’t know either.”

“I don’t know how.”

“You’ll figure it out. Take care my love and good luck . . .” With that she hangs up the phone.

The sun has set and the studio is now dark. I’m still on the floor and I’m still trying to wrap my head around all of this. All I can see in my mind is Beau when he was fourteen years old, running into the fire to save me. He did save me, and not once have I ever told him thank you. No wonder he thinks I’m unappreciative, ungrateful, and a bitch.

Why he ever spoke to me again, I’ll never know.

IT’S BEEN TWENTY-FOUR hours since I walked away from Leila, and from the one person who I was once again beginning to think could be my forever.

The last few weeks have been so good. Too good. There’s a tiny part of me that is completely disappointed in myself, because I allowed myself become hopeful. Haven’t I learned over the years? Her words and actions hurt. She’s never given me the benefit of the doubt or cared about how these things affect me.

The loft is quiet as I lie on my bed and listen to the sounds of the street.

Nate and Coach both called this morning wondering where I was and what was going on when I missed practice, but I just couldn’t face them or really myself for that matter.

After the beach, I had spent weeks trying to convince myself that it was time to move on from her, and all she had to do was wave one little tiny olive branch, no make that a twig, and I fell right back in.

But the thing is, I really wanted to fall back in. These last couple of weeks, I’ve been happier than I have been in years.

My phone dings alerting me that I have a text and I pick it up off of my nightstand.

Drew – Dude! I don’t know what the hell is going on with you and Leila but she’s here with Ali and the girl is hysterical.

Beau – What do you mean?

Drew – Crying, Asshole.

She’s crying?

Beau – Oh . . . how long has she been there?

Drew – At least thirty minutes. She’s inconsolable. Keeps telling us she’s sorry and she’s muttering something about how she didn’t know.

Beau – Didn’t know what?

Drew – Beats me. Again, all she’s said over and over is your name and she didn’t know. This shit is upsetting Ali and I don’t like it. Fix it.

Staring up at the ceiling over my bed, I don’t understand why she would be saying she didn’t know. We’ve already established that she now knows about the tuition money, so what doesn’t she know? And what does all of this have to do with what just went down. Ugh . . . I wish that I didn’t care, but I do. I hate knowing that she is this upset. Picking my phone back up, I take a deep breath and call Drew.

He answers on the first ring.

“Hey, put her on the phone.”

“Alright.” I can hear him walking through the condo, open a door, and then the sound of her crying hits me. Hits me right in the chest.

Leila is always so strong and easy going. She’s confident in herself and she never lets things upset her. I think in all the years that I have known her I have only seen her cry just a couple of times.

“Here, it’s for you,” Drew says. He must be handing her the phone. Uneven breathing lands on the other end of the phone line and I close my eyes.

“Leila . . .”