Unstable (17 page)

I wait a full ten minutes, growing more tense with each one and when nothing happens, I take a deep breath and pick the lock, opening it to the first page.

CRACKING THE SEAL AND
opening the diary, her scent still lingers on the pages, inundating me with a sense of her presence.

I trace the letters, not yet reading the words, merely admiring the handwriting that perfectly personified her. Bubbly cursive, large loops on every “y” and hearts to top each “i.”

When I do focus in on what it actually says, I gather that this is a diary of later days, because the first entry mentions Justin.

I get comfortable, snuggling deeper into the couch and blanket then begin to read, skimming over the parts I know she wouldn’t want me to.

Which is most of them.

Of course I knew she wasn’t a virgin after Justin, she was all too happy to confide in me—her twin—but I don’t need all the sordid details.

After flipping through a few of the
many
,
very thorough
pages filled with those, my eyes catch on my name.

I don’t like him for her. He’s not stupid enough to pull any shit in front of me, but there’s too many rumors not to be worried. But Mom says, don’t cause heartache and drama over silly rumors. Only speak what I see with my own two eyes. So I’ll be watching. Very closely. You fuck with my sister, and I’ll fuck with you.

My nose stings and my eyes water despite the fact that I’m lightly snickering. I’m not upset with her, she was waiting ‘til she knew for sure…I’m sure on whether or not Merrick was indeed cheating on me, before she got me upset. And I’m amused hearing how “badass” my sister talked about being when it came to protecting me, when she was anything but.

God, I miss our bond.

I miss knowing that she would unfailingly, conjure up some “badass” from somewhere, to protect me. And I her.

The next entry I stop on steals my breath. Because, like one soul in two bodies, it’s almost exactly verbatim of what I’d said to Gatlin just tonight.

I should tell her that he adores her. He always has, and how she doesn’t see it is beyond me. But I don’t want to sway her opinion or skew her vision. I want her to see for herself, her Prince, right in front of her eyes. She will, she has to. He deserves that. And she deserves him. I just have to keep my faith in destiny.

She has to be talking about Keaton, and had the same thought process as I did about her and Justin. We really did think alike. Like twins.

I keep reading, laughing out loud through flowing, happy tears when the next story is about a fight we had over her wearing my brand new boots—before I’d even had a chance to. I’d been so mad that I hid her favorite pair for a week.

I’d give anything to have another fight with her.

I flip a bit further toward the back and the bold, dark black letters at the top of a certain page grab my attention.

“BUSTED”

It’s a detailed account of the flashback I’d had before, the night she’d gone to a party and “suggested” I ask Keaton whose ass he whooped. When the memory had hit before, a fleeting thought went through my mind, remembering how banged up Merrick had been the next day. He explained it away from that day’s football practice, and I’d thought nothing more of it at the time. He hadn’t gone to the party; his parents had forced him to attend a family dinner function.

All lies.

A big one by my sister—of omission.

I sit up, seized by a sense of betrayal…until I continue reading.

All I know is, Keaton came out of the woods with busted-up knuckles and blood on his shirt, then jumped in his truck and left without saying a word to anyone. Justin wouldn’t let me leave his side, get involved in the chaos, but I know it was Merrick. My gut is never wrong. Keaton saw something and tore into that slimy bastard, and I’m glad! I hope Henley asks Keaton about it, like I told her to, and finds out for sure. I want her to open her eyes once and for all. Merrick is a snake and Keaton loves her!

I’ve just about read all I can take, but one page in the very back, has a pink tag barely sticking out of the side. I turn to it, almost afraid of what it will say. Even more spooked, yet relieved, but still disbelieving…hell, I have no idea what I’m feeling exactly when I process the words I find there.

Henley, if you ever read this, it’s okay. I read yours all the time.

I snicker and sniffle at the same time. It’s my sister—talking directly to me, so to speak. And it sounds just like her.

Listen, really listen, when I say this. Stop worrying about me, I was fourteen and I’m over it. I promise. Be happy, that’s all I want for you. I’m happy now, I swear. You matter as much as I do! This is me looking out for you for a change. We both come first, and frankly, I don’t know how much longer I can stand back and wait for you to figure out things for yourself. Don’t make me slap some sense into you, sister—you're the smart one! I love you, Henley.

I keep my composure long enough to close the book, kiss it softly, and gently set it on the table. Then, I release it all—a torrent of happy, sad, confused, relieved, lonely, regretful tears.

I cry ‘til I can’t breathe through my nose and my stomach rolls with upset. I cry for wasted oblivion, for ill-placed absence, for oversight and hindsight. I bawl with the knowledge that my sister and mother were as protective, forgiving, and loyal to me as I always tried, screwing it up severely at the end, to be to them.

The Three Musketeers…the weakest link left standing.

Something makes a faint noise and vibration under me and it takes me a minute before I remember—my phone. I dig around underneath myself ‘til I’m able to get a good grasp on it and pull it out.

I’ll never be able to explain the switch that flips in me in that moment, a revelation that perhaps I
am
worthy of more. But no one will buy it if I don’t truly believe it myself.

And if I’m going to believe in dreams and signs…why not believe in giving myself a chance to embrace what they’re telling me?

Yeah, that makes at least some sense, so I bare myself like I never have before, willing to give it a try.

I read his text and decide…
give it a try, Henley
.

Cocky PITA: He still there, you still contemplating, or are you just ignoring me? I see the light on, Hen.

Me: I….

Stop typing. Doubt, as always, rearing its ugly, horned head.

Cocky PITA: You what? Talk to me, Darlin’. You want me to call?

Me: No. I want… please don’t say anything to ruin this, okay?

Cocky PITA: I’ll try my best.

I check my forehead for a fever, nope. I get up and go get a glass of water, gulping it down, then return to the couch and pick up my phone.

Me: If it’s not too late, or too much trouble, I’d like for you to come over.

Cocky PITA: Open your door, Darlin’.

Me: I’ll just wait til you get here.

Cocky PITA: Then you’re late, ‘cause I’ve been here. Open your door.

I startle with a yelp when he knocks. No shit, he really is here, just sitting out there? Waiting for what?

I move tentatively, leery of his presumptuousness, and gradually open the door.

I peek my head out, suspicion narrowing my eyes. “Why were you already sitting outside?”

“Why’d you invite me over?” He smirks, the perfect topper to the entire package delivered straight to my porch. His black hair is a beautiful mess, the long-sleeved grey shirt he’s wearing boasts the physique underneath with its stretched fit, and the dark pajama pants? They don’t go real well with his cowboy boots, but I’m willing to overlook it.

“Because, I have a lot on my mind, gaps being filled in faster than I can process them, and I needed…a…friend.” I duck my head, hiding the embarrassed flush heating my cheeks. “You said you wanted to, could be that, right? My friend?”

“Absolutely. Wanna take a walk or you lettin’ me in?”

“As soon as you tell me why you were sitting outside, I’ll let you in. Unless I don’t like your answer, that is.”

His gentle laugh carries on the night air…as does his intoxicating cologne. “Truthfully?” he asks.

I lift my head now, staring into his eyes. Anytime someone poses such a question, that’s where I look, because the eyes always tell me if that’s what I’m getting. The truth.

“Yes, only the truth,” I answer nervously.

“I’m scared to close my eyes, Hen, turn my back for one minute. I’m terrified I’ll wake up one of these days and you’ll be gone and I won’t be able to find you. I can’t lose you again, just can’t. I know you’re not gonna like this.” He runs a hand through his hair. “But I’m gonna say it anyway,
my
way. I wanna keep you, Henley Gene Calvert. I want to keep you, love you, and somehow convince you to love me back, forever.”

Swear to God, if someone told me a story that included what happens next, I’d roll my eyes and probably not be able to hold back my laugh of disbelief. But right behind him, I see it, a shooting star, falling through the sky. A shiver runs through me and I know—I’ll never forget this exact moment for as long as I live.

I step back, giving him room to enter. “Come in, Keaton.”

I RETURN TO THE
couch and he follows me, sitting close enough that the anxiousness rolling off him in waves is palpable, but far enough away that I don’t feel smothered.

“Nice pajamas,” I start with something light and teasing, hanging on to my snicker. “You can take off your boots if you want and get comfortable. They look ridiculous with your,
outfit
, anyway.”

He doesn’t hesitate in pulling them off and setting them to the side then turns his body into me. He doesn’t talk, or pressure me to, with a persuasive expression or air of impatience. Rather, he throws an arm over the back of the couch and waits patiently, as though he’d be content to do so forever.

“You’re gonna think I’m crazy,” I finally whisper.

“Hey, look at me,” his voice is gently stern and I find myself doing as he says. “I do
not
think you’re crazy, and I never will. You need to stop thinking that about yourself and quit saying it too, or I’ll make good on my threat to tan your sweet ass.” He grins like he’s kidding, but his eyes sparkle…with, I’m guessing, thoughts of the latter and its appeal to him.

“That’s Hadley’s diary,” I point to it on the table, then gasp and cover my mouth with my hand.

I said her name, again, in front of someone.

He reaches over and gently pulls my hand down. “It’s okay. Once again, sky didn’t fall, did it, Henny Penny? That was her name and you loved her. You can say it out loud. You
should
say it out loud, anytime you want. Honor her, remember her, don’t hide her away.”

I shake my head and whisper it again, just to be sure I can do it on purpose without suffering gut wrenching pain.
“Hadley.”

“That’s my girl.” He gives my hand a gentle squeeze, but I pull it away and regain my train of thought. Which I have trouble doing when he’s touching me.

“I read some of it, her diary. She told me that I could in a dream.” I hone in on him scrupulously, waiting for an eye twitch, jaw tick, anything to confirm he in fact thinks I’ve lost my mind.