Breaking Ties (7 page)

“Shelly and William said we needed to have her admitted for psychiatric evaluation,” he said after a cleansing breath. “So we did, and she required treatment.”

I nodded. I’d already sensed his story was headed in that direction.

“And that worked, for a while. It was about medicating her properly, giving her the treatment she required. And things started to look up. She could finally pull herself out of bed, feed herself, and carry on a normal conversation with people. Eventually, she came home. She had to maintain her focus—look forward and not back at what we’d lost. She changed her name after a while, and that was something even the doctor encouraged. The daily reminder of Dad’s name drew her back into her depression. Out with the Raddick, in with the Bennett, and strangely enough, it actually seemed to help her cope. And at that point, we were all for trying anything.”

He dropped his head for a moment and gathered his composure.

“Some days, she’d refuse her medication, but most of the time, things were okay. She was in better spirits when she was with Shelly, so there were a lot of trips and visits to and from Sugar Creek. Sometimes Shelly came to us; sometimes we went to her.”

Gabe was eerily quiet again, looking down to our linked hands. Whatever he was preparing himself to say, it wouldn’t come as easily as everything he’d said up to that point. There was a hitch in his breathing, and his grip on my hands grew a little tighter.

“I screwed up,” he choked, and tears formed immediately at the rims of his eyes. “We were on our way to Sugar Creek about a month after her psych-ward release. Mom was still adjusting to her medications and unable drive, so I offered to take her where she needed to go. Shelly was planning dinner and a movie—girls’ night in. I was going to drop off Mom, pick up Will, and take a much-needed evening out with him.”

“That hardly sounds like screwing up,” I whispered, recalling his words.
I screwed up
. “You were helping her. You were doing something for yourself.”

“We ran late,” he continued. “We hit traffic outside of Desden, and Mom was getting restless. I wanted to get to Sugar Creek as quickly as I could—for my sake and hers. She was driving me crazy.”

His expression turned solemn, and it was quickly overcome with guilt. He didn’t like admitting that; he’d lost his patience with his mother.

“I went too fast,” he said, more to himself and less to me. “As if speeding wasn’t bad enough, I called to tell Shelly we were running late. I took my eyes off of the road for three seconds.” He closed his eyes, and a single tear broke and slid down his cheek. “Three seconds, and I nearly killed her.”

I didn’t want to ask for the gruesome details. It was obvious by his expression alone that whatever happened hadn’t ended well for him or Lenora. It’d left him emotionally and mentally scarred, and it probably had done much the same to his mother.

“The car flipped four times.” He swallowed hard. “Four times, and I walked away with bumps, bruises, and scratches. I walked away. She didn’t.” I held his hand tighter, caressing his fingers with mine.
I’m here for you
, I told him, without saying a word. “Her seatbelt snapped, and the impact threw her from the car.”

Gabe was stronger than I’d ever given him credit for, especially in that moment. He’d carried so much on his shoulders, and somehow over the years, he’d found a way to dull the pain, hide it behind his walls, and deal with it all on his own. Like my sister had always done, Gabe learned to suffer in silence. He’d somehow managed up to this point, and I knew that this was the first and only time he’d ever vocalized the recollection of what happened that night.

“After weeks of recovery in the hospital, the doctors called her
lucky
,
” he said. “She woke up from a coma, maintained her memories and upper-body function, but had severe damage to her spinal cord.” He looked down to our hands again, and this time his fingers didn’t tighten; they fell limp. “But it was my juvenile mistake that left her a paraplegic for life. She lost complete function of her lower body, and they called her
lucky
. What kind of luck is that?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t tell him what I could’ve, reminding him that his mother was still alive and well. It wouldn’t have mattered. When it was only him, his own leg that was busted up and holding him back, he could see the silver lining.
At least I’m alive
. But when it was his mother, the fact that she was hurt completely destroyed him. He wasn’t going to say anything to make himself feel better about that.

“She ended up at Evergreen. I couldn’t take care of her … none of us could. Having lost her ability to walk, the home seemed like the best possible place for her,” he said. “Where she lives is part of the Evergreen Estates, which she inherited from her parents when they passed. We took advantage of Mom’s position as a wealthy Bennett and checked her into the nursing home so that she could live out her life with proper care. And we knew they’d take great care of her there. I mean, she owns the place.”

“And what about you? Did you stay with Lashell?”

“They were my godparents, and that was a responsibility they took very seriously. They took me into their home, they raised me, and they gave me everything I’d ever need.” A small laugh escaped him, in spite of the conversation. “William believed in consistency—
he would’ve loved you—
and wouldn’t dare let me change schools, so he drove me to Desden every morning and dropped me off before work. He helped me with classes; she taught me to cook. In the most crucial years of my life, they became my parents. They were all I had.”

Gabe relaxed then, leaned back in his seat, and breathed a little easier.

“If only that were the end, huh?” he asked, shaking his head. I could see he wished as much; he wanted to leave it at that, but he didn’t. “I don’t even remember the last words my mother spoke to me,” he said. “I’m sure it was about the traffic or my mood or something. But I know that the last words were spoken in that car, and after the accident, not a word after. To anyone else, you can’t shut her up.” He gripped my hand tighter. “Our relationship was already rough after losing Dad, and then she began to recover. She was getting her life back, and I destroyed that for her. I took away the last shred of hope she had left. She’s never forgiven me for that.”

“Gabe,” I said. “You were a kid. No one could blame you—”

“She did. She
does
. And please don’t think I don’t know what kind of mistake I made. After it happened, I begged her to give me a chance. She wouldn’t. So I started skipping school. When Will dropped me off, I’d walk to Evergreen. I’d spend hours in her room, talking, reading,
trying
. I still go. Every day. And nothing.”

“You can’t blame yourself for how things happened,” I said. “Accidents happen.”

“It shouldn’t have happened.”

“You were a kid,” I said again. “So you made a mistake.”

“A mistake that’s cost me nearly six years with my mother,” he said. “Mandy, I even enlisted in the military straight out of high school, thinking that would somehow help me prove myself to her. I wanted her to look at me, to see that I could follow in Dad’s footsteps. I wanted her to be proud of me. I thought something, somewhere, someday might be good enough to win her affection again. Look where that’s gotten me.”

He let out a long breath and looked down to the food the waitress had delivered sometime during his long-winded speech. Neither of us had noticed the plates in front of us until that moment. He gently pulled his hand away from mine and nodded at the food. We each started in on our plates, one slow bite at a time.

After a few seconds of silence, he looked up again and asked, “What about your Mom?”

“
My
mom?”

I didn’t want to talk about her. But, yeah. I owed him that. After everything he’d said, everything he told me, it wasn’t exactly fair to hold out on him.

“Bailey’s mentioned her a few times,” he said. “She told me a few days ago that your mom’s been trying to get back in contact with her. I was curious—”

“I don’t know anything about that,” I said. “I suspected she might’ve been in contact with Bailey, but I didn’t know for sure until last night. All I know is Bailey and Dad are both in foul moods, and I can always tell when it’s something Mom has said or done. She has a very special way of wreaking havoc, even when she’s not trying.”

“Not the best relationship, then?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Mom’s a character, let me tell you.”

“Please do,” he said. “Tell me.”

And then I did. I told him everything. I started with the first time Bailey and I had picked up on the subtle clues that things were failing in our parents’ marriage, recalling the few times I’d found them sleeping separately—Dad on the couch, Mom in their bed. I told him about all the arguments, the way Mom had screamed at him, lashed out at us … the way she would ruthlessly say anything she could to hurt anyone whom she felt threatened by. I even broke down and told him about overhearing that final argument, the one that left my mother surrendering her position in their marriage and banning all of us from her life.
Go ahead! Leave.
She said it so easily, like none of us had ever mattered.

I didn’t stop talking until I’d told Gabe everything up to the conversation I had with Dad last week about Ronnie and the affair. There wasn’t much to share about Mom’s recent phone calls to Bailey, or the way Dad lashed out when he found out that Mom and Bailey were in touch, but I told him that, too.

It was cathartic. Years of silence, years of feelings and stories I’d kept to myself, all let go. I told him everything. And he just watched me. He listened.

“So what do you want?” he asked, when I was done talking. “Do you want to know why she’s calling?”

“Do you know?”

“I don’t,” he promised. “I only know what Bailey’s told me, and that’s not much. Just that there’s another man, and now your sister thinks she’s seeking approval.”

“I think there’s more to it than that,” I said, not as quick to jump to any assumptions about our mother. “Mom’s motives are never so simple. On the outside, maybe that’s how it looks. But I think she wants something else, something more.”

“Do you want to know what it is?” he asked. “Or are you happy not knowing?”

“I’m kinda at a point right now where I’m numb to it,” I said. “It doesn’t feel like it’ll matter either way.”

“You know what’s special about this?” he asked, lifting his fork and pointing between the two of us. “We have a special way of bumming each other out.”

“That we do,” I agreed.

“So, how ‘bout this?” he said, nudging me with his shoulder. “No more Mom-talk. For the rest of the morning, it’s me, you, and everything else. No Moms.”

“I like that,” I said, smiling. “No Moms.”

“None.”

And then we watched each other for a long, quiet minute, and I found myself staring at his lips again.

“So … what next?”

Chapter Seven

We left the diner immediately after breakfast, both holding true to our promise to keep all the Mom-talk off the table. We sprinted out to his car and found ourselves at the Sugar Creek Park ten minutes later. Hand-in-hand, we made our way down the twisted paths to the amphitheater, and Gabe helped me up to the stage with promises that it would be prime viewing space for the sunrise.

I had a feeling he’d watched the view from that very spot more than once or twice, especially during the park reconstruction.

The darkness started fading, and the sky was already turning dull shades of orange and pink. And if Gabe’s calculation was correct, the sun would be up in a matter of minutes.

We’d laid things on so thick back at the diner, and we needed a little lightheartedness to carry us through the rest of the morning, so as we waited on the big moment, I turned to him.

“All right,” I said. “Proudest moment of your life to date?”

“Whoa, that’s a toughie.”

Gabe laid on the stage, his legs stretched out in front of him, and propped his hands beneath his head. After a long moment of silence, I found myself falling back, too, leaning on my elbows for support.

“I’ll go first,” I said, giving him some time to mull it over. I had no doubt that he would have a lot more personal triumphs and experiences to sift through in order to answer that question honestly. “Mine’s easy. Quitting RI.”

“Ah,” Gabe nodded. “Yeah, that’s music to my ears.” And then he mocked me. “
The proudest moment of my life was when I quit that program you started
.
”

“That’s not what I meant,” I said, shoving him. He lost his balance for a moment and had to take a second to readjust.

“Starting RI,” he said. “And I know that’s a very broad ‘moment,’ but I can’t narrow it down any more than that. I planned for this program since I was a kid. I was constantly working toward it, scribbling down ideas, possibilities.”

“Scribbling down ideas and possibilities in a big green binder?” I asked, angling my head to look at him.

“How could you possibly know that?”

“I’ve done my research,” I said, promising myself in that moment that I would never tell him that Jones had once described him as a freak in high school, who never stopped scribbling in a big green binder. There were a lot of things Jones said that day, things I was certain he would seriously regret saying if only he knew the pain and heartache living behind Gabe’s self-imposed isolation in high school.

Gabe watched me, his curiosity piqued, and then he shook his head.

“Any major regrets?” I asked, giving him an immediate look that warned him: no Mom-talk.

“Only one,” he assured me, giving me an equally undoubting look that said
if all Mom-talk’s aside
. He left his response at those two words. He didn’t say anything else. He only sat up straight, leaned to the side, and retrieved his phone from his pocket. He turned it on, tapped the screen in search for of something, and then passed it over to me.

“What’s this?” I asked, and I took his phone and cradled it in my hands. But then I wished I hadn’t because I came face-to-face with that stupid, viral video all over again.

Every time I watched it, it broke my heart a little more. Even though I had Gabe right there, even though he was in my reach and things had significantly changed since that day, I’d never recovered from that devastating moment. He’d hurt me so much that day.

“Why am I watching this?” I asked, feeling the crack in my voice.

I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. I couldn’t watch it again. I could hardly stand to hear it. I couldn’t bear listening to the way I spoke to him, the way I said goodbye, the way my voice broke. I couldn’t possibly listen to the way he cleared his throat, ignored my every word, and went back to his speech, like I hadn’t just spilled my heart.

“I shouldn’t have let you—”

“I know,” I said, opening my eyes again. I turned the video off and passed him the phone. “You’ve said that. You shouldn’t have let me say those things. You should’ve stopped me. You shouldn’t have let me jeopardize things for the team.”

“I shouldn’t have let you walk away,” he said. “I thought I knew what was best, but I shouldn’t have let you walk away without telling you what was going on. I should’ve told you how much you meant to me, in spite of the fact that we couldn’t make it work. I hurt you. I saw it then; I see it now. And if I would’ve stopped you…” He looked down at the phone and tucked it back into his pocket. “And not just here at the park. Every time I let you walk away, every time I didn’t give you what you were asking for—”

“Sometimes demanding—”

“Sometimes demanding,” he agreed with a grin. “But regardless, I should’ve trusted you enough to say what I needed to say.”

We both looked to the sky again, just as the tip of the sun began to rise over the distant tree line. I shimmied closer to him, our arms brushing as we watched the sky brighten.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” I said, almost whispering.

“Is getting suspended the worst thing you’ve ever done? Any big mistakes, regrets?”

Disobeying Dad was the first one that came crawling to mind, maybe because it was the most immediate one. That is, of course, if you could even call it a mistake. Calling it a mistake meant that I regretted every moment I shared with Gabe that morning. I wouldn’t have taken back a second of our morning together, at any cost. And since we drove away from the house only a while ago, I hadn’t once thought about the rule that I’d broken when I’d snuck out to meet him.

I couldn’t believe I’d tossed and turned all night, thinking that I’d inevitably regret whatever decision I made that morning, because I didn’t. I was happy to be there with Gabe, no matter what that meant.

My biggest regret was something that Gabe had already helped me overcome, slowly but surely. For so long, I’d shut out my family. I didn’t have a great relationship with my sister, and I barely had a relationship with Dad at all. Friends? Forget about it. I didn’t have any of those. If I hadn’t been so scared, if I could’ve faced the fact that not every person I loved would hurt me the way Mom hurt me, then maybe I would’ve opened up sooner. Maybe the friends I had now would’ve been my best friends all along.

“I wish I could make up for all the missed time,” I said, tearing my eyes away from the glowing sunrise as I looked to him. I didn’t have to explain what I meant; he already knew. “I can’t help but wonder where I would be if I would’ve opened up sooner.”

Gabe smiled at that, but he didn’t say a word, and in one simultaneous move, we looked back to the glowing sun.

###

“You don’t have to walk me up.” I stared at the house, studying each of the windows—so far, so good. It looked like we might’ve made it back before Dad or Bailey had even had a chance to notice that I wasn’t snuggled up in my bed at the end of the hall.

Gabe pulled up behind my car and killed the engine. I opened the door and slid out of the passenger’s seat before he had a chance to take off his seat belt.

“Hold on, hold on, hold on,” he climbed out of the car and shut his door, rounding the front of the car just in time to cut me off on my way up to the porch. “Where do you think you’re going? I don’t get a goodbye?”

I tried to be as quiet as possible. “I can walk myself up, Gabe. You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t
have
to,” he teased, cupping my elbows in his palms and drawing me closer. He leaned down slightly, his breath tickling my skin, and whispered, “But I want to. Is that okay?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I barely managed, rendered speechless by him just then. I couldn’t find my breath, couldn’t form a single word, with him standing so close, holding me that way.

“Was that a yes?”

I closed my eyes and concentrated on steadying my breath, praying that if he was going to keep talking, he’d keep his voice right there—in that low, whispery tone that breezed across my skin. Not only was it incredibly sexy, but also it worked well to my advantage; the chance of anyone inside the house hearing him was slim to none.

“Okay, but we have to make it quick,” I said, tugging away from him and heading for the door.

“What’s your hurry?” He pulled me back again. Our chests clung together like magnets, and my heart vibrated in my throat. “Why are you running from me? Am I that repulsive?”

“You’re not repulsive at all.” I said. “You’re amazing. You’re perfect. It’s just that I—”

“What? Don’t want to be seen with me?” he teased. “Afraid the neighbors are going to see us on the lawn this early in the morning and assume the worst?”

“Crap. I never even thought about the neighbors,” I said, and his eyes widened with curiosity.

It was already 8:40, and I was too worried about the fact that Dad or Bailey either one could already be awake. I was too concerned with getting Gabe as far away from the house as possible that I hadn’t even stopped long enough to consider that anyone, anywhere else, could’ve already spotted us.

Oh my God. What if someone at the diner told Dad we were there? What if someone called him?

No doubt the gossip mill would run wild if one of Dad’s kids was caught sneaking around with a boy in the dark of the morning. It wouldn’t look good, and Dad would surely find out then.

“Okay,” I said, taking a few difficult breaths. I had to tell him the truth. I had to get inside, and he had to leave. And the truth was the only way to get him to stop acting all cute and perfect. The teasing would have to wait; I didn’t have time to play games. “Honestly?”

“Please.”

“I snuck out of the house this morning to see you.”

“You
what
?” Thank God it was another whisper.

“Dad’s in his own world right now. He was never going to let me see you this morning, so I snuck out,” I explained. “He knew that we were supposed to have a date, but I never told him when or where, so he wasn’t expecting it to be this early. I thought I could go out and get back in plenty of time for him to think that I was still in bed, hating him.”

“You lied to your dad?”

“Yes.”

“And then you snuck out of the house.”

“Yes.”

“Just so you could see me?”

“Yes.”

“Mandy,” he said, drawing back to get a better look at me. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ll be in when he finds out?”

“I do, but—”

“You broke a rule.”

“Yeah, but, you have to understand. I wanted to see you.”

“Not even a rule of your own,” he said, still on his tangent. “You explicitly went behind your father’s back and did something
wrong
.
”

“But only because—”

“I love you,” he said, smiling, and no sooner than the words fell off his lips, his face turned blank.

For the first time that morning, Gabe actually let his guard so far down that he’d let something slip right off his tongue. Since the moment he’d picked me up, he’d been so focused on choosing his words carefully, letting me in, letting me closer. Each act was deliberate. Everything he’d said to me that morning, every move he’d made in my direction, each one had been carefully chosen—until now. That time had been a mistake … a perfect mistake.

“What did you say?”

“I mean—”

“You just—”

“You should go,” he said, nodding to the house. “You should get inside before he notices you’re not there.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” I said, breaking a smile. “Gabriel Raddick, you just said you love me.”

“Slip of the tongue.”

“But you said it.”

“I did,” he nodded, but he wouldn’t look me in the eye. “Any chance we can forget it happened? No?”

“No,” I smiled, and he raked his fingers through his hair. He’d flustered himself, and the fact that I wouldn’t let him dismiss it so easily only made him that much more nervous. “Why would I want to forget it?”

“Because it was lame,” he said, kicking the dirt at his feet. His cheeks flushed redder by the second, and with each moment that passed, his embarrassment became more apparent. It was the cutest thing in the world. “It deserved a better moment than that.”

“I thought the moment was perfect. No redos.”

“No redos?”

“No,” I said, taking his hand. “Now I’m going to go inside and pray my family is still sleeping soundly.”

“I’ll walk you.”

“Please do,” I said, and he threaded his fingers through mine as we walked slowly in the direction of the house. Both of us seemed to dread each stride that took us one step closer to being apart.

I stopped before we reached the stairs to the porch, turning into him one more time. I wrapped my arms around him, pressing my ear against his chest and listened to his heartbeat. It was beating as quickly as mine.
Thank God
it was beating as quickly as mine.

“Thank you for this morning,” I said, backing away. “I had a wonderful time.”

“Being pulled out of bed to watch the sunrise wasn’t the worst thing ever?”

“It was perfect,” I said. “Thank you.”

“You said that already.”

“Oh,” I nodded, letting go of a tiny breath. “I … I had a wonderful time.”

“You said that, too.”

“Yeah. Right,” I shook my head, suddenly feeling as embarrassed as he’d looked only seconds ago. “This was … ”

“Perfect?” he asked, and then I realized …
yeah
, I’d already said that, too. “You’re stalling, Mandy Parker.”

“I don’t want you to leave, and I don’t want to go inside.”

“But you have to,” he said. “Because you broke a rule, and unless you want your Dad to find out … ”

“Right, yeah,” I said, looking back up at the house. “I’ll go.”

And then I stood there, even though I said I would go, I stayed in that spot, lingering, waiting on something I was certain was about to happen.

But it never did.

Gabe never leaned in. He never stepped up, didn’t lower his mouth. His lips didn’t come anywhere near mine.

He started back toward his car, only turning back long enough to raise his hand with a subtle wave.

“Goodbye, then,” I said, still standing there, watching him walk farther and farther away.