Take Me On

Chapter 33

Haley

It’s eight at night and West is late.

I untangle the last jump rope and loop it neatly with the others on the hook on the wall. Two million explanations as to why he hasn’t shown yet have deluged my mind, but it’s the reasons that cause my heart to ache that stick around to torture me. Nibbling on my bottom lip, I scan the gym to find something else to fiddle with to pass the time.

“Prince Charming chip a nail and decide the sport wasn’t for him?” My grandfather turns off the light to his office. “Tells you a lot about a man’s integrity for him to show late.”

“I’m sure he has a good reason.”

“Humph.”

“He’ll show.” He will. Though doubt tiptoes in my mind like a linebacker through tulips. After the intense night we shared together, I sort of freaked and blew him off this morning. My eyes drift over to the clock again. As much as each tick of the second hand causes a painful sinking of my heart, in theory, isn’t this what I wanted? West to walk away?

The door opens, cold air rushes into the gym and the groan of a tractor trailer rumbling down into a lower gear from the freeway enters alongside West. My muscles actually relax at the sight of him, like I stepped into a hot bath. Until this moment, I hadn’t realized how much I had come to depend on him keeping his word.

With his baseball cap on backward, heavy jacket and gym bag thrown over his shoulder, West smiles when he spots me. My answering grin actually makes me feel like I’m floating, but then I notice his blue eyes. There’s no light shining from them. Just a bland dimness and the high within me plummets.

John mumbles something to West as he leaves. West nods his head and says, “Will do.”

I sit on the mat and roll out my yellow wraps, pretending I’m not dying to know why he’s not on time. “What did John say?”

“He told me to make sure you got home safely.”

“Hmm.” I have nothing intelligible to say to that.

West plops down beside me, unzips his bag and pulls out his set of wraps. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Why were you?” Hey, he brought it up.

He smirks with a muffled snort. “You don’t let anything slide, do you?”

“Answer the question.” Because while I hate to admit it, John’s right. Being late is an integrity issue and it’s one I plan on nipping in the bud now.

West pulls his cap off and scratches the top of his head. His blond hair sticks out in a hot crazy mess. He shoves his hat into the bag, then stares at the ground. “I saw my parents.”

My eyes flash to him, but he doesn’t meet my gaze. “Where? How? What happened?”

“At the hospital. I visited my sister and they were there.”

He pauses and I have no idea if I should fill the silent gap. Time passes. Enough I’m uncomfortable. “Is she okay?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” He shakes his head and the shadow of pain darkening his face physically hurts me. “She’s out of the ICU and in a normal room, but she looks like hell and her legs...”

Because both of his hands are untangling his wraps with the fury of a sailor untying knots on lines during a storm, I place my hand on his thigh, on the spot above his knee. “I’m sorry.”

West drops his wraps and places his hand over mine. He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t squeeze my hand. He just holds on.

The wall-length mirror reflects us—me and West. My mother read a story to me once where a girl walked through a looking glass and discovered that the world on the other side was the opposite of our reality. I can’t help but wonder if the opposite Haley and West are happy or if they’re drowning in worse circumstances.

With a sigh, West pats my hand and stands, taking his wraps with him. He leans his back against the mirror and weaves the fabric over his wrists and knuckles. Following his lead, I do the same, but because I’ve been doing this years longer than West, I finish before him.

I stand and try to ask as casually as I can, “What happened with your parents?”

West pulls hard on the material over his knuckles, then wraps the leftover material around and around the length of his wrist. “They told me to come home.”

Home. The word ricochets within me like a bullet. “That’s...that’s...great.”

But it doesn’t feel great and it feels worse knowing I should be happy for him. West won’t have to sleep in his car anymore, he won’t have to face the shelter and he’ll be fed. More than fed. For a guy who drives an Escalade and wears brand-name clothes on his body, I’m sure he’ll be full of all sorts of fancy food. He’ll have a warm bed with high-thread-count sheets and he’ll probably have every creature comfort that I could only dream about.

Somehow, this loss of a home was the bond between us and it made me feel less alone. Now, with him returning, I feel more isolated than I did to begin with.

I pull on my ponytail. Brat. He’s going home and I’m throwing a pity party. What’s important is that West will be safe. Even though I don’t understand what’s going on between us, I want West to be safe.

“That’s a good thing,” I repeat.

“Yeah,” he says and the heaviness in his tone indicates that returning home isn’t his dream come true.

I replay the conversation. West only said that they asked him to go home; he never said he agreed. “Are you going home?”

West slams the Velcro into place and rests his hands on his hips. “Yeah.”

“Is there a problem? I mean, is there something else going on there? Is it not safe?”

“No, it’s safe.” His face contorts. “But the problems... They’re still there.”

He’s going home and I’m not. He’ll be safe and I’ll still live in the presence of evil.

I think about my home. The place that Maggie drew with the stick figures. Nothing was perfect there. My mom and dad would have the occasional fight. Kaden and I would get on each other’s nerves. The hot water heater suffered from manic depression and would either be really hot or really cold. But for all the problems that surrounded me at that brick-and-mortar address, they were nothing like what I face now.

“I’d give anything to go home,” I whisper.

West’s head jerks up and the apology on his face is apparent, but I wave him away as I grab two jump ropes off the hook. “Three minutes jumping rope. Twenty-five push-ups. Then twenty-five squats. We’ll repeat the cycle five times.”

“Haley,” he says and I only offer him the rope.

He reaches over, but instead of taking the rope from me, he glides his fingers onto my wrist and swipes his thumb over my pulse point. His caress sends fire straight to my toes, but there’s a part of me, no matter how pathetic, that resents him. I yank my hand away. He’s going home and I’m not.

“As I said this morning.” I shove the rope into his hands. “We need to keep this simple. No complications. Now let’s get moving. You’ve got a fight in less than two months.”

Without allowing a response from him, I turn up the volume on the stereo and let Eminem drown out West’s voice and my emotions.