Page 44 of The Other Side of Wild
“Of course, honey. We love you and want the best for you. That’s all.” She gives me a small, reassuring smile.
“I know.” She seems to catch on to my tension and drops the subject. My relief is short-lived when she brings up the one thing that almost hurts more than my spiral into the depths.
“Have you talked to Hannah since you’ve been back?” Her name is like sandpaper to my heart; I miss the hell out of her, but I’m too chicken shit that she’ll see me for the broken loser I really am and leave me in the dust.
“No.” I get out through gritted teeth, my hands clench and unclench.
“Why not?” Unbridled anger bubbles just under the surface. “She texted me this morning to make sure you were okay. Are you ignoring her?” Unfortunately for her, that question caused me to snap. Because, yes, I am. And I hate myself for it.
“I didn’t know I needed to give her a play-by-play update, Mom. We aren’t dating.” The words are venomous, sharp enough to cut, and the second they leave my mouth, I know I’ve gone too far. My stomach drops when I see my mom’s hand cover her mouth. Then I realized her eyes weren’t looking at me; they’re trained on something behind me.
I turn slowly, dread curling in my gut like it’s a living thing. My eyes meet Tatums, then slide over to Hannah. She’s standing next to him, arms full of things for me. A bag of my favorite tacos, and a stuffed dog that looks exactly like Harley. I watch as the color drains from her face, but stays a mask of indifference. Her eyes tell a different story, though, and it pierces me to the core.
Disappointment. Hurt.
I see the fragile trust we’ve built shatter right in front of me. I launch off the couch, desperate to fix this. My heart breaks even further as I reach for her, and she takes a step back, stretching out her arms to give me what she brought. The single movement feels like a knife twisting in my chest.
Slowly, I reach out and take it, “Hannah, I didn’t mean...” My voice sticks in my throat.
“No.” She shakes her head. “Don’t, Greyson.”
She won’t look at me, her voice void of emotion. “Please, Hannah,” I beg. She brings her head up and meets my gaze, eyes full of unshed tears.
“I hope you feel better.” She turns and walks toward the door. I immediately follow her, but I’m stopped by Tatum wrapping his hand around my arm.
“Let me go, Tate.” I grit through my teeth. I’m not above hitting my brother right now, and I need him to know it.
“You need to get yourself together before you go after her. You’ll do more harm than good if you try to fix what you just broke.” His words cut through me. I helplessly watch as she walks out the door at a steady pace, but one that’s faster than her normal cadence, her back completely rigid, as if she’s holding herself together by the finest thread.
“I’m sorry.” I cry, desperate, broken—the click of the door behind her sounds like a gunshot in the otherwise silent house.
My knees threaten to buckle as the reality of what just happened sinks in. No. No, no, no. What have I done? My anger finally won; I didn’t help her heal; I broke her. I ruinedeverything. I couldn’t possibly hate myself any more than I do right now.
Chapter 24 – Hannah
I can’t breathe; I shouldn’t be driving. I can’t see with the tears that are escaping. I’m playing Russian roulette with my life right now, and I can’t find a single part of me that cares. I’m numb, broken.
My biggest fear with letting someone in is they’d see me the way my dad did. Not worth the effort. It wasn’t so much his words that hurt but the dismissal. Like I was nothing, he all but confirmed that he was ignoring me. What a freakin fool I am. I somehow end up at the lighthouse, but I don’t get out of the car. Breathing deeply, I work to calm myself down. I can’t go home. Abby will ask questions that I don’t have answers to.
It’s then I realize it’s time. It’s time to go home. “Hey Siri, call Eli.”
“Hey, sis, what's up?” The sound that leaves me at the sound of his voice is violent. “Snap, crackle, pop... Han, what happened?” I let out a broken sob at the term he used to use when he found me crying in my bedroom, but it didn’t do me any good.
“I think I need to come home for a bit.” The pain that lances through my chest at the words is shocking. The yearning for comfort that I’ve only ever found in the backwoods of rural Alabama. The homesickness I haven’t let myself feel since I left. The urge to hug my brother and let him know how much he means to me.
It feels like my world is crumbling down, and I don’t know how to stop it. Like a slap to the face, realization dawns. My mom and Abby were right. I was running a rat race and not for myself. I was running myself into the ground, missing out on the beauty that life had to offer. And look where it landed me—broken and alone.
No. I let my father control my life for almost a decade after his death. This is where it ends. I’m going home; I’m reclaiming what he stole from me.
Standing on the front steps of my childhood home should feel haunting; it should feel strange, but it doesn’t. The front door swings open, and my mom comes running out crying, “Do you know how many times Abby called me last night? What were you thinking, driving almost nine hours in the dead of night? And without letting anyone know where you were.”
Eli knew where I was; I texted him every time I stopped. But I won’t throw him under the bus. “Sorry, Mom.”
Her arms circle my shoulders, and I finally let myself go. My knees give out, and we both fall to the ground. She doesn’t let me go; we just sit in the dirt and cry.
Finally, when I make it through the threshold, I get a good look at what she’s done with the place. The big fireplace in the middle of the living room is now an accent wall; from floor to ceiling, it’s covered in brick that matches the exterior of the house. The ceilings are exposed wooden beams, like what you’d find in a hunting cabin. She’s redone the kitchen since I moved out. The cabinets are white with matte black handles, the kitchen island is dark brown with white bar stools, and the nook where the stove sits is now brick that matches the fireplace.
“What do you think?” She asks hesitantly, like she thinks I’ll hate it.