Unforgiven (13 page)

In any other situation, she would be the one he would think of first, the one he would want to reach out to, the one he would crave. He needed her support, her gentle sympathy. He’d had it before, and he still thought of it whenever he was crumbling.

Darren had lost his high school best friend, Scott, to suicide his third year of college. He’d been too busy to maintain the friendship the way he should have, and once Scott was gone, Darren was able to think of little else but the many times he let Scott’s calls go to voice mail, the times he’d turned Scott down when he’d called wanting to go out, every last rejection he gave his best friend that said loud and clear that there were other things in life more important to him. It had happened just before winter break, and he was fortunately home a month, otherwise he wasn’t sure he’d have made it through the pain.

Bailey had been the one he needed, and one night, two weeks after Scott’s death, she’d given him exactly what he’d craved. They’d ended up in bed together, curled up with her face nuzzled into his neck. His parents had been traveling, and Bailey was spending the night with Jess. Jess had fallen asleep while they’d watched a movie, and the moment he stood, Bailey’s eyes found him, and he reached for her hand. She’d said nothing when he led her down the hallway to his bedroom, and it was silent when she’d climbed in bed with him. She stroked his back in the dark, and he stared into the black, keeping his body close to hers and feeling the first measure of relief he’d experienced since finding out his friend was gone. They had done nothing wrong, nothing inappropriate at all, but neither of them had ever spoken about that night since then. It was never spoken about to anyone in fact, and he knew without even asking that she’d never told anyone, either. She was just his rock, the one he desired when nothing else could give him peace.

He craved her even now, wanting to feel her close to him, wanting to feel her fingers stroking his back, and her warm breath inhaling and exhaling calmly against his neck. He needed that relief more than anything in the world right now, and he knew she needed him too; how could she not? She was alone. Her parents must be on their way too, but she was alone, and she had to be afraid. But he couldn’t go to her. He was terrified to see her, terrified he might have to acknowledge that she’d done something to cause this, and he wasn’t sure he could deal with his rock being tarnished.

The detective walked up to the room he thought was likely Bailey’s room, peeking in and then slowly meandering back down to the nurses’ station. The detective kept looking into her room, and then eventually he disappeared inside, and two nurses exited. They walked slowly, not paying much attention to anything. They leaned up against the side of the desk, and he listened.

He was sitting in a stupor, forgotten by the corridor of nurses passing by and the occasional visitor moving around. He wasn’t supposed to hear that Bailey was doing fine, and she was stable. He was relieved more than he could articulate at the moment. He was desperately relieved . . . but he also wasn’t supposed to hear her blood alcohol level. His eyes snapped up to the two nurses still standing at the desk. Another had joined them, and they were talking quietly. They hadn’t realized he was sitting there as quiet as a mouse, waiting for something to happen.

“She was nearly twice the legal limit. When are these kids going to learn? They’re not invincible. It’s just so avoidable.”

“Detective’s been waiting to talk to her for a while, but she’s not gonna be leaving without handcuffs. Two more lives ruined. One in a grave, another in jail.” That’s when they saw him. He was just staring at them. Their eyes glanced furtively away from him, and he returned his eyes to the floor.

Drunk. Avoidable.

He was numb. He didn’t know how to process it. Bailey was drunk. She hadn’t seemed at all drunk when he’d left. She’d been drinking earlier in the evening, but drunk? She
had
done this—his Bailey. He had to be upset at her—didn’t he? He was supposed to—wasn’t he? He didn’t have any clue how he was supposed to feel. Relief that Bailey was doing okay felt wrong, but he was. He was relieved. He cared too much about her not to be relieved. But she’d done this.

“Darren . . . Darren.” His head was swimming in some other place, and he was having a hard time responding. It was his mother, and he needed to lift his head. His hands were cramping as he held his head in his hands, and the places on his knees where his elbows rested were painful. His back ached as he forced himself to sit upright. He hadn’t been asleep, but he also hadn’t been conscious. His brain had been zoned out as he’d replayed his whole day.

It was a surreal thing remembering their morning, talking to Jess and Bailey. He hadn’t had a clue his sister would be dead by the end of the day. How could he? And yet, it was such an odd thing to think he didn’t. How could Jess just be gone? How could Bailey be responsible? He didn’t realize just what that meant at first. He hadn’t much questioned why the detective was there. Of course there would be questions, but he figured out quickly this wasn’t just some little thing. There wouldn’t just be questions; there would be charges.

He didn’t know how to feel about that, either, and after sitting in the hallway for too long, watching the detective come and go from Bailey’s room, he stood and walked back into Jess’ room. His parents were sitting vigil. The word “vigil” almost assumed they were waiting for something to happen. Nothing was going to happen. Jess was going to be the eternal vegetable or his parents were going to agree to allow her organs to be harvested. He knew what their choice would be, and there was no disagreement to be had. It was what she’d want. How many times had he either been told that or thought that in the last eight hours? Odd, he’d never had to consider such a thing before. Of course it was what she’d want! But it didn’t mean she wanted to die.

“Darren?” His mom rested a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up at her. He didn’t need her to tell them it was time. They’d sat with her for a while, and the transplant team was ready. The coordination was crucial, and his parents had given their consent. His mother’s eyes were puffy; his father’s lips were pursed tight. It was how he showed pain. He clamped his lips tight against the tears. Darren did the same thing . . . most of the time. But he didn’t even try now. He closed his eyes, and his shoulders started to hitch and lurch as the sobs overcame him. His mother leaned over him and clasped his shoulders as her tears fell again. His father cleared his throat a few times until it became useless, and he ended up sinking into another chair, bracing his bowed head with a hand to his forehead.

This was hell. He’d always dreaded the passing of his own parents. It was something every child thought about, he supposed. It was usually the order of things, and however cliché it was to say Jess had died too young, or that she wasn’t supposed to go before her own parents, it didn’t much matter. It was just the truth. It was supposed to be the way of the world—the natural order of life. He stood and walked to the door. He looked back once. It was the last time he’d see his sister living, and he just stared. He’d been nearly desperate to escape the room only moments before, but now, he couldn’t seem to stop looking at her. He was too old to find death a mystery; he was too old to find this experience surreal. He’d experienced loss before. He understood it just fine, so why the fuck couldn’t he wrap his head around this one?

The swelling and abrasions on the side of her face were the only sign of the train wreck inside her head. She was a beautiful young woman who was supposed to be just waking up after a night out on the town—just like every other twenty-one-year-old woman on spring break. She looked completely peaceful; of course she had no worries anymore—at least none her brain was able to process. She didn’t know her life was getting ready to end, and the people in the world who loved her most were being forced to confront that fact—still so alive, but already dead.

He finally gritted his teeth, his head dropped, and he forced himself to walk away.

Now

He was just glaring at her. It was about the only reaction she could expect from him at this point. He liked to glare at her about as much as he used to like to smile at her . . . or smirk . . . or wink. “I’m moving away.” Her voice trembled as she spoke, but he didn’t react to her words at all. His eyes remained on her, and the only reaction she could sense was something unfathomable when she saw his Adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallowed. It meant something—the tightness in his neck muscles—but his expression remained cold and calm.

She got tired of waiting for a response, and since she had no idea what to make of his silence, she continued. “My mom has decided to move to Memphis. In a couple weeks. Most of the galleries that show her work are closer to Memphis than they are to Savoy. My parole office approved the transfer, and the parole office there has agreed to the transfer of jurisdiction.” She cleared her throat. She was stalling for some reason. “I just think it would be better.” And then she looked away. This was a hard conversation. It shouldn’t be. She was likely making his day, but it was hard because it was painful.

Her mother had been absolutely right when she’d said Bailey wanted to be close to Darren. It didn’t seem to matter that he hated her. It didn’t even matter that he was more than willing to show her just how much he hated her. It was funny because her need to be close wasn’t some self-destructive action that she was inflicting on herself—though any shrink in the world likely wouldn’t believe her if she said it. She just really and truly needed to know if he could ever forgive her. He’d given her no reason to think he could, but he’d also not completely given her reason to think he couldn’t. Not completely.

He’d touched her. He’d shown desire where he should have none. He sought her out, and it wasn’t to hurt her. She could understand his need to lash out, to be angry, but there was more there than that, and whether he intended to show it or not, he did. Even now, he was just watching her, seriously and coolly, but he was giving her no real reaction beyond that. What he wasn’t doing was making it clear he agreed with her decision. He wasn’t saying good riddance. He was just watching, glaring, staring, and intimidating her with his dark eyes. But he said nothing. What that meant for Bailey was a load of regret. She was used to regret, but this regret was for an action she’d not yet taken. She was going to move away, and she’d likely never get an answer to her question as a result. Could he ever forgive her?

“Darren, I’m sorry if my coming back here caused you more pain. I don’t want that, and I hope my leaving will help.” She was saying exactly what she didn’t want to believe, and still, he gave her nothing. If he would only agree, if he would only show her, tell her just how much he detested everything about her, then she could walk away and that damn question would be laid to rest, but he was a rock. Not a strong, time-withstanding rock of surety, just a quiet, distant, unfathomable, and hard creature. Perhaps this was her payback, and he knew his silence would send her packing with more questions and regret than she already had.

“Please say something.”

She watched as his Adam’s apple rose and fell again; the tension in his shoulders and neck was visible in the set of his body. His nostrils flared as he inhaled a deep breath, and when she finally gave up and turned to return to her bike, he grabbed her elbow. His hand clamped down tight as she paused midstride. “Coward.” His teeth were gritted as he spoke, and his jaw was tight.

Her eyes filled with tears. He had no idea what this was truly about for her. “I just don’t want to hurt you.” She could barely stifle the sob that was welling up in her throat, and as his grip loosened on her elbow, she pulled away and walked to her bike.

He stared at the ground as she moved her bike out of his way, and he ignored her entirely as he pulled out before her, leaving her staring after him. When she arrived back at her cottage, she settled into the chore of packing her life up. She didn’t have much choice but to leave with her mom, and when her mom had called a week before, it didn’t take her more than five minutes to make the decision. Just because the decision was an easy one did not make it a welcome one. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she also just didn’t want to be face-to-face with the fact that she was hurting him every day.

There was no escaping him here, and she didn’t want to. That was the kicker. He might want to be away from her, but she didn’t, hell couldn’t, feel the same way. She also couldn’t let him leave his life in Savoy because of her. He’d earned his place there a hell of a lot more than she had, and she simply wasn’t going to be responsible for it. The fact she was broke and couldn’t even pay her utility bills at this point helped her make the decision. She just had no choice at this point.

Her phone rang, and she collapsed on the couch exhausted. There were boxes strewn about. Some were full, some were half empty, some were still completely empty. She had little time. Her mom had made the decision on the spur of the moment, something her mom was quite prone to. Her lease had run up a few months before, and she was paying month-to-month on the place. It was time. Her mom knew the landlord would show up with another lease, expecting her to sign and lock herself in for another year, and what Bailey’s mom knew was that she didn’t want to be there for another year.

So, Bailey was left with less than three weeks to pack and get her parole officer on board with her plan. Fortunately, the sweet old man seemed to like her enough to be on board with about anything she wanted. She couldn’t support herself at this point, and seeing as no one really wanted her there anyway, it seemed like the right thing to do.

“Oh, hon, this is going to be good for us. You know that? We need a new start. I sure know I do, and baby, it’s time for you too.”

“I know, Mom. I’m looking forward to it.” Her voice didn’t sound very convincing. In some ways she was looking forward to it, but in another way, one she was struggling to ignore, she was dreading it. But her mom was right. It was just time to move on and forget her old life. Her life had hurt people, and it was continuing to do so even now. Time to cut her losses and run.