The Boy Who Has No Belief - Victoria Quinn Page 0,96
what day it is.”
His eyes immediately shifted back to me, clearly surprised by what I’d said.
“I’m here. If you want to talk about it.”
He closed his eyes for a moment then looked away, still shutting me out. “That’s the thing. I don’t want to talk about it. I can’t help but be in a bad mood because of it, so I can’t hide it.”
“Why don’t you want to talk about it?” I felt like Derek and I had made a lot of progress, even with his friend that he didn’t want to see, but he still shut me out violently and I didn’t understand why. And by far, he was worse today than he’d ever been, as if we hadn’t just spent Thanksgiving together a few weeks ago.
He turned quiet, bowing his head in silence. “It’s hard. I have a lot of regrets about my mother, and every year I feel like shit. And talking about it makes me feel like shit all over again, and I just don’t want to go through it over and over.”
“Yeah, I can understand that. It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it. But I’m just surprised you wouldn’t just tell me why you’re upset, like you did with that old friend of yours.”
“I don’t know, honestly. This is just…different.” He glanced away, not looking at me, not connecting with me at all.
I stared at him, feeling the pain because he was in pain.
“It’s weighed me down for as long as I can remember. I’m in my thirties now, and I still can’t shake it.”
“How did she pass away?”
He was quiet for a long time. “It was unexpected. A heart attack.”
“I’m sorry.”
He was still, barely breathing. “We hadn’t spoken in a long time. She pretty much just forgot about me. One night, I was in a really dark place, and I called her out of the blue…got her voice mail…and I just ripped into her. I didn’t intend to do that, but my dad always answers when I call, even if it’s three in the morning. And the fact that she didn’t take that call made me lose my shit. I said a lot of really harsh things to her, screamed into her voice mail, said she was a terrible person and I hated her.” His breathing increased as he sat there in silence, reliving the memory. “The next day…she had a heart attack.”
I closed my eyes and felt the pain hit me hard.
“It was because of me—I know it was. She woke up, listened to that voice mail, and…that was it.”
I opened my eyes and looked at him.
His eyes had a thin film of moisture, of unshed tears that he refused to release. His breathing gently slowed, his features gradually recovering from the pain that had just hit him hard. When he blinked, the moisture was gone, absorbed inside his chest.
“You have no idea if it was because—”
“It was. Her husband said she listened to it before she collapsed.”
Jesus. “Derek—”
“This is why I don’t talk about this shit.” He turned back to me, vicious once more. “Do I look like I feel better? No, I feel fucking worse.” He dropped his chin and looked at his notebook again. “Just go. I’ll talk to you later.”
25
Derek
I sat at the dining table with my glass of scotch next to my computer, looking at all the schematics and models I had for the rocket. The project was completed, and it was literally days away from being launched, so there was nothing I could do at this point, but I checked anyway.
If that rocket exploded…I wouldn’t know what to do.
I couldn’t go through that again.
My phone started to ring beside me, my dad’s name on the screen.
He’d texted me earlier that morning, but I didn’t text him back. But now that he’d told Emerson something that was frankly not his business to share, I wanted to talk to him even less. I let it go to voice mail.
He didn’t leave a message.
I turned back to my work and forgot about the call altogether.
It was almost eleven o’clock at night and I should be in bed, but I dreaded closing my eyes, knowing exactly what I would see. My dad tried to give me pictures of my mother when I moved out, but I didn’t want them, so I left them at the house. He could burn them for all I cared.
A knock sounded on the door.
I released a loud, frustrated sigh because I knew exactly