I know, it’s just that I have so much to do. I have to pack!”
“You haven’t packed?” She’s shocked. I actually have, but there are still a few things I could work on before leaving. I won’t be at school tomorrow or Wednesday either, so in many ways, this really is good-bye.
“I know, and you know how I am with shoes,” I joke, reaching around her shoulders to hug her tight. She squeezes me.
“They have a weight limit for the plane, you know.”
“Good thing we’re driving.”
“Ha, well . . . tires can only hold so much, too.”
My lips pucker a smile that turns into laughter, the kind that settles between two friends who would rather part like this than through tears.
I back away, wanting to run before the boys come out.
“I’ll call you before we go. We’ll talk. And we’ll talk every day, okay?” She’s the one promise I know I can keep. I need her too much.
“You better. And I want coordinated video chats that just happen to have Jordan in the background,” she says.
I pull my phone from my pocket to wave it, catching her in one last photo before I go.
“Unbelievable,” she retorts.
I grin, turning to walk the rest of the way to my car, and I cradle the phone in my lap once inside and look at the cross-eyed, open-mouthed face my friend is making. I save this one as my backdrop, and pledge to let it help me get through four months apart.
As I pull out, the team files out through the locker room doors, a certain two walking out last. I pause at the parking lot exit, my blinker on, ready to turn. It would be so easy to turn around, and I almost do.
But I don’t.
21
Tory
I should have gone to say good-bye. Hayden did. He even bought Abby a gift—a keychain with one of those little director’s clapper boards on the end. He wrote her name on it. It was thoughtful. I’m not very good at thoughtful right now. I’m nice and settled in on pathetic.
It just seemed better to let things end where we left them. Nothing definitive, just an air of possibility. No painful tears. No explanations to Hayden or our friends—ourselves.
She hit the road yesterday. Hayden called out of school to see her off. I went to class, and not because I love being one of the handful who shows up on half days before holiday break to watch various versions of The Grinch, but because school was a damn good place to hide for the day.
There’s no hiding from Thursdays, though. It seems a month since I stormed out of Dr. Majestic’s office. In one week, I’ve managed to unearth four years of secrets my brother has been keeping, bought a car, moved some of my shit to my dad’s place, and fallen in love. Oh, and I hit rock bottom in terms of ever wanting to fall in love again.
All in all, a pretty well-rounded week leading up to therapy.
In a show of faith, or maybe in an act of naiveté, I drove Hayden to therapy tonight. He wanted to have the full cop experience. I think he was a little disappointed when I didn’t actually have a siren and the flashy lights. They rip that shit out before auction. I do have a spotlight, though. That’ll come in handy the next time I take this thing off-road out on McCaffey’s land.
The drive in was good. I only hope we survive the drive home, because the longer the four of us sit in this waiting room just . . . waiting, the more palpable the tension becomes. Right now, it’s thick enough to melt the paint off the walls.
“D’Angelos. Welcome,” Dr. Majestic says.
“Wouldn’t it be great if she wore a wizard hat for one of these?” Hayden whispers behind my back. Dad and I both snicker.
“Tory!” My mom hushes me with her finger to her lips, and in a sign of normality, my father and brother straighten their posture and pretend they don’t know me.
“Unbelievable,” I mumble, elbowing my brother in the ribs. He grunts but laughs through it, proud he can still say things and blame them on me. This has been happening since we learned to talk.
We take the same seats as last time, only the doctor planned ahead and pre-moved the recliner for me. I give her a nod and flop into my seat, toying with the handle on the side to kick my feet