Take Me On

Chapter 68

West

I lie in bed and blur my vision so that the ceiling-fan blades merge into one. In my hand, I click the remote to my stereo on and off. Sound to no sound. Haley’s ghost surrounds me here. Her laughter echoes in my head; the memories of her touch whisper against my skin.

The house is too still. Too silent. The impulse is for sound, noise, music, dancing and alcohol, but I can’t live like that anymore. Haley said I was better. I am better. I told her she was worth fighting for and as she was on the verge of believing it—I abandoned her.

The burst of agony through the numbness causes me to roll off the bed and head out the door. Haley said impulse has to do with emotion, with not thinking. The urge is to forget. I bypass the dark stairs and slow when I reach Rachel’s door.

The bottom of the door brushes against the floor as it opens and this time there is no bluish glow. She had physical therapy this evening and her breathing is light. Asleep in a chair across the room with a closed laptop on his lap is her twin, Ethan.

I ease down to the floor with my back against her bed. The silence in here is by far more deafening than my room, but I’m searching to fill the emptiness, the shell that I’ve become.

There’s a shift and a hand slides down and touches my shoulder.

“I gave her up, Rachel.” My voice cracks and the desperation, the pain I’ve tried to bury, breaks through to the surface. “I gave her up and, right now, I don’t know why.”

Wetness fills my eyes and I slam my fist into the floor, pissed. Rachel moves to the edge of the bed. “Then you win her back.”

“Dad will give her what she wants.” I stop. Fuck me. Fuck him. Fuck all of this. “He’s not my dad.”

She’s silent for a second and the sigh that escapes her lips cuts deep. “Mom told us.”

There’s a flop next to me and my eyes widen when a groggy Ethan rests his head against the bed. “Can we get the mental breakdown over so I can get some sleep?”

“Why are you in here?”

“The same reason you are,” he says. “The same reason the three of us ever do anything and end up together. Though our problems seemed a lot less complicated when we were pouring bubble bath into the Jacuzzi. It doesn’t matter who your dad is, West, because the real Youngs, they’re in this room. It’s always been the three of us against everyone else. For some reason, it’s just taken us longer to get back together.”

I lower my head into my hands and I fight the wave of grief that sweeps over me. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“Well, if we get a vote, can you stop being Dad?”

“Ethan,” Rachel chastises.

Anger curls within me. “What did you say?”

“He’s here, Rach, and he’s asking for help. We either say this now or lose the opportunity.”

She settles back onto the pillows, a silent acceptance.

“You’re pissed because Dad painted you into a bad spot with Haley, right?” Ethan says.

I nod, but I’m madder at myself.

“Shouldn’t Haley be mad at you for taking away her choice? To me, that sounds a lot like how Dad treats us.”

“You say you don’t know who you are,” adds Rachel. “But the question should be—who do you want to be?”