Page 20 of The Casualty of Us (Philosophies of the Heart Duet #1)

I roll my eyes at his dramatics, snorting a laugh and finally turning away from the window to head back to the bed. Piling my presents for everyone high in my arms and heading downstairs. Never even thinking to look out my window.

Hayes

I lasted all of four days waiting around for my mom.

Any good vibes leftover from the time spent hanging out with my dad at his house before he left to do some Christmas special or another quickly evaporated the second my sentence kicked in.

The empty concrete walls of Miranda’s place pressing down on me a little more with every second that passed and reminding me that I only have myself to blame for being stuck there.

Pacing for hours in a jail of my own making.

I even tried to call her a few times again, reminding her in a voicemail on the last one that she’s the one that constructed this agreement. She’s the one who promised things would be different. That I never wanted to have to come back to that house in the first place. To be stuck again.

But after four days of no reply and Dad on the other side of the world in Germany, I decided to fuck ’em both.

I’d screw off to somewhere else and they could see me next year if they cared enough to.

It’s not like she couldn’t find out where I was by picking up the phone.

So I hopped on a plane and headed to the only place I could think of at the time.

The only people I could think of at the time.

I stare up at the picturesque house from the curb, windows glowing warmly in the night and smoke billowing from its chimney.

A Christmas wreath on the front door that’s lit up all merrily with a nutcracker standing beside it and lights trimming the roofline.

The place is the complete opposite of both my parents’ modern monstrosities in LA, and it’s throwing me.

Knowing I want the people inside but not able to take that next step.

Not knowing how to deal with…all of it.

How to manage what’s an actual family, I guess. A home. How to answer the questions that will come while handling the possible pity that my answers will spark.

How to explain why I even went back there in the first place.

How to explain that my failings constructed a jail of my own making.

I drop my eyes down to the Christmas tree peeking out of the lower left window and catch a glimpse of Ollie.

A woman with blonde hair, who has to be his mom, comes into view a second later while reaching to pat his cheek affectionately, and the simple gesture throws me even more.

My only memory of something like it comes from a random nanny or two during my younger years.

It has my stomach twisting just as movement from the window above catches my attention, and I look up to see O standing there.

Staring down at something in her hand with a blank look and almost close enough for me to make out the precise blue of her eyes…

or maybe that’s my imagination. Either way, I remember them.

They’re sad eyes.

Sad eyes made up of sad blue.

It’s the first thing I noticed about her after she fell to the floor cursing and completely wrapping me around her finger as she did.

Sad blue eyes with something almost always moving in them.

The tiny specks of gray spinning as she seems to assess your makeup, weighing your actions and atoms and making me feel like my soul is on a goddamn scale half the time. Right up until she makes up her mind.

Then it’s like everything stills…like everything in her stops right along with the gray in her eyes and the world slows down for a split second.

The universe and her both in cahoots.

Holding their breath. Waiting for something.

I’ve caught her aiming it at me a handful of times, and it knocks me on my ass every damn time.

Leaves me floundering and wondering whether she found whatever it is she’s looking for in the first place.

Whether I passed the test I didn’t even know was happening.

But Ophelia Sage Fitzroy has pretty much made me want to either kiss the fuck out of her or puke my guts up from our first conversation.

Sometimes both at the same time, honestly.

Because she’s the first person in my life to ever look at me like she was expecting something more than just…whatever the fuck people are usually expecting when people look at me. A dollar sign, maybe. A ready-made connection.

But Ophelia…she looked at me like I could fail her.

Like the whole damn world could maybe.

It’s in those handful of moments of stillness when I catch her eyes and know she’s waiting for something.

All it took was a single look to have me practically doing cartwheels for her, because I quickly realized it just makes the smiles mean more.

Because when she smiles, my whole damn world lights up.

It made me want to earn something for the first time in my life actually. To keep the deal I made when I finally escaped that car.

I just have to keep my shit together.

A buzz comes from the pocket of my jacket, and I pull out my phone to see her name lighting up my screen with the first private message she’s ever sent me.

I quickly read the text that’s clearly meant to check on me before darting my eyes back up to where she’s standing in the window.

Still staring down at what has to be her phone.

Worrying about me when her happy family is waiting downstairs.

And I can’t…can’t be the one to do it. Not today.

I can’t intrude and pull her into my shit. Can’t detract from the happiness in there that she’s more than fucking due. Can’t steal her away like she’s a car that’s going to make me feel better right now.

Because she would.

She may still be a little foreign to me at times, but I’m not enough of an idiot to not see that as much as she scowls pissily at me…she cares too.

Which means if I go in there, she’ll try to make things better for me, but I’m not sure she can, and it shouldn’t be about me right now either.

Because I’m not good for her right now.

So I drop my eyes back down to my phone and quickly type out a half-ass reply, shoving it back in my pocket before looking up in time to see her get it.

Knowing I can’t fuck it all up for her and set her house on fire too.

“Hey, kid.” A deep male voice draws my attention down to where a guy dressed in black is coming around the side of the house. “You lost or something?”

“No, uh.” I turn back to steal another glance at O in the window before shaking my head and stepping back. “Just had the wrong address.”

The front door opens before I can make it any further, and a blonde head appears from it, blinking at me in a familiar way.

“Everything all right, John?” She turns to the other guy quickly.

“Fine ma’am.” He holds his hand up reassuringly. “Kid just had the wrong address.”

I quickly start to back away as her eyes return to me, gaze tracking my movements curiously and calling out, “Happy Holidays!”

“Yeah, you too,” I mumble, my words probably too quiet for her to hear while turning to head back to the town car waiting for me by the curb and not breathing fully until I’m inside of it.

“Where to, Mr. Flynn?”

“Uh.” I rack my brain, considering heading back to LA for about a split second before discarding the idea. “School. Take me back to school.”

There are some other people stuck there for the holidays, and I remember some talk in the locker room about a Christmas Eve party on our last day of practice. Maybe I can manage to make it in time for that.

Not be completely alone on Christmas.

Getting piss drunk sounds pretty good at the moment.

It turns out that I get that wish too.

Opening my eyes on Christmas morning with horror and knowing that I’ve fucked up the best part of my life in the worst way imaginable.

Still not knowing, though, that it’s only the first of the two mistakes I’ll come to regret most in all the years of my life that follow.