me, it’s tone viciously cruel. You ruined your own life. In fact, you killed it.
The chill that races down my spine is painful. Uninvited. I’ll take the sweltering heat over it all day, every day.
“Look, Mal,” Carley continues, pinching the bridge of her nose and clamping her eyes shut. “I know this situation isn’t ideal, but you have to know I’m trying. Really, I am.”
“I know.” God, I’m such a dick. Resting the ice cream container on the counter, I slide to the floor. Standing on the tips of my toes—because everyone is taller than me—I wrap my arms around her and lay my head on her shoulder, nuzzling my nose into her shirt. She smells like lavender fabric softener and Dove soap. “I’m sorry, Carley. I’m the worst. You’re the best.”
She hugs me back, stroking her fingers down the long braid that I always put my dark brown hair in when I go to work. “You’re just saying that so I won’t kick you out,” she teases.
“Mean ass woman,” I whisper but I clutch her tighter for a moment. Carley has been a lifesaver. My rock.
Every person has moments in their life that are turning points, and after those moments, nothing is ever the same again. I only have one turning point of note. It happened last December. The accident. There was my life before the accident, and then my life after. Before, I was living with my mom in Rayfort, excited about my junior year of high school and avoiding the shit at home as much as I could by hanging out with my best friend James and wishing his brother, Dylan, would notice me.
Now, Mom’s on the run, everyone in Rayfort wishes I’d step in front of a bus, and I’m practically in hiding in Atlanta with Carley.
Who doesn’t deserve an ounce of my shit because I don’t know how I could have gotten through the last seven months without her.
“Thanks, Carley. Seriously,” I murmur, drawing away from her with a tiny smile tugging at my lips.
She brushes a stray strand of hair from my forehead, then cups my cheeks. It’s such a gentle, motherly gesture, it makes my heart ache. It’s something Mom would never have done. Jenn has never been big on showing affection—or being a mother in general—and I’ve always wondered how someone like Carley became friends with her.
Guess that old saying that opposites attract is true as fuck.
“All right, enough mushy stuff.” Giving my cheek a parting pat, she snatches the ice cream from the counter and stuffs it back in the freezer, between a frozen pizza and a stack of the icepacks she uses for her lunchbox. “There’s chicken salad in the fridge, the good stuff from Sophie’s and not that nasty crap I tried to make last week. I’m going to catch a nap before my shift tonight. Are you good?”
I nod. “Yeah. You go sleep. I’m going to have lunch and maybe take a nap myself.”
“Sounds good, baby girl. Anything happens later, you give me a call, okay?”
We go through this routine at least three times a week, but I accept the hand she holds out to me, linking my pinkie finger with hers. “Swear it.”
She gives me a soft smile and lingering look, but I can read the concern in her eyes as clear as a newspaper headline. Carley’s a natural worrier, and she’s always casting me these long stares, as though she’s afraid I’ll bolt at any moment. I want to tell her she shouldn’t worry. I’m not a runner. I try to face my problems head on because otherwise they have a nasty habit of following you into places you don’t want them to be.
Leaving Rayfort was a notable exception, and I would argue that I didn’t technically run away. I was forced out of town. There was no other choice.
By the time I head to my bedroom, Carley’s passed out on the couch in the living room. She’s an ER nurse at Piedmont, and though I know she loves her job, it takes a lot out of her. Reaching my bedroom door, I open it carefully and slip into the small room without so much as a squeak. I release a small sigh of relief when I close the door, even though it’s not like I’m in a high-pressure situation. I found out months ago that she’s a heavy sleeper. A tornado could go tearing through the front yard and it wouldn’t disturb her.
Which is probably