Page 61

KEENE

S pinning toward Waverly’s dad, I gaped at him, frankly startled to hear him side with me after the total ass I was being to his wife.

But he even held his ground as Ms. B sent him a warning glare. “We helicopter parent her, Katherine.”

I snorted in agreement. “Damn straight you do.”

Ms. Breeker swerved her glare my way. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. You don’t know what she’s been through.”

“Mom,” Waverly warned, her voice shaking.

And that pissed me off more than anything.

We were upsetting my girl.

“You know what,” I said, grabbing Waverly’s hand.

“Ninety-nine percent of the people she encounters in her life won’t know her history.

They won’t even give a shit. But she’s going to have to leave your safety net at some point and interact with them, anyway.

With me, I promise every new life experience will be what she wants, it’ll be done at her pace, and I’ll always keep her as safe as possible. ”

I could tell from the flicker in Ms. B’s eyes that she appreciated my promise. I was so sure I was finally getting through to her until she shook her head and muttered, “I still don’t like you.”

I sighed, knowing this was a losing battle.

“That’s too bad,” I muttered, deflating.

“But I guess you don’t have to like me.” And I turned to Waverly, hoping I hadn’t just lost her for good.

“Are you willing to sit on those stairs with me for five minutes so we can talk?” I asked, begging her with my eyes not to dump my ass then and there.

She looked scared to death, and when she glanced hesitantly toward her parents, I knew she was expecting them to step in and forbid it. Mr. Frank laid a staying hand on his wife’s arm, and Ms. B clamped her mouth shut, saying nothing.

Waverly turned back to me and nodded. “Yes.”

My eyes closed briefly. “Thank God.”

It was her father who nodded his assent and reached out to shut the door, giving us some privacy on the porch.

I blew out a relieved breath and turned to Waverly.

But all she said was, “There’s a camera in the upper corner of the rafters, so be warned, they can still hear and see everything we do out here.”

“Joy,” I groused, giving the camera the stink eye when I found it. “Hopefully my old school counselor will hear just how disappointed I am with her right now.”

Shaking her head in wonder, Waverly gazed up at me as if I’d just grown a second head. “I can’t believe you just stood up to my parents like that.”

“I can’t believe they treat you like that,” I growled, leading her to the steps so we could sit.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders because it was chilly out, I turned my face to kiss her hair.

“Hell, I can’t believe you let them. Why the hell have you never stood up to them?

” When a thought struck me, I pulled back in horror.

“Oh fuck.” Shifting closer, I lowered my voice and murmured, “They don’t, like, abuse you, do they? ”

Waverly sniffed out a sound. “No. Not at all. They’re just…worried. And they have reason to be. They have all the reason in the world not to trust me.”

Scoffing, I shook my head, not understanding. “Why? Because of how wild and out of control you are?” Arching one eyebrow, I teased, “Is it because of your massive drug addiction? Alcoholism? Your shoplifting tendencies? Vandalism? Or all those gang-related activities you participate in?”

When she rolled her eyes, I scoffed. “You’ve got to be one of the most responsible, level people I know. How can they not trust you?”

She glanced up, tears glittering in her eyes. “You’d look at me differently if I told you,” she said, her chin wobbling. “You’d start looking at me the same way she does, and you’d worry about everything I did and treat me like breakable glass or?—”

“Whoa,” I cautioned, lifting both hands. “How about you tell me, and we’ll find out exactly how I react.”

Her eyes begged me to drop it, but I cupped her face and whispered, “ Trust me.”

“I—” Mumbling to herself about her reluctance to admit anything, she wiped at her eyes and finally said, “I tried to kill myself when I was fifteen. That’s why they can’t trust me.”

“You…” All my breath left me in a rush.

My knee-jerk reaction was to yank her into my arms and never let go. But I knew she needed me to act rationally—not emotionally—about this.

I gulped heavily as she watched my reaction. Exhaling slowly, I asked, “Depression?”

She nodded. “Mostly. Yeah.”

Nodding along with her, I wondered, “Do you still have it?”

She hesitated. “Sometimes.” I knew it was a struggle for her to admit that to me, so I squeezed her fingers supportively and pulled them into my lap.

“Okay. And do you—” I shook my head and swallowed thickly. “Do you—do you still have suicidal thoughts?”

Waverly’s brown eyes lifted, and all the guilt and shame I saw was my answer.

“Fuck.” I pulled her hand to my mouth and kissed her knuckles.

“But I won’t ever go that far again,” she assured. “I learned my lesson. I won’t do that to my parents. I won’t do it to you. I promise. I won’t try to follow through with the bad thoughts again.”

“I know,” I said, wanting her to feel the full power of my support, of my trust in her. But I also had to learn… “How, uh, how did you…the first time?”

“Pills,” she whispered, sounding utterly humiliated.

I winced, picturing her gagging and choking as the medication tried to take her away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” she mumbled miserably.

“I just—I wasn’t ready for you to look at me differently.

Like I’m fragile. Like I’m weak. Like I can’t?—”

“I know you’re not weak,” I assured, even as I nodded to let her know I understood why she would think it. Wanting her to actually believe me, I explained, “Hudson tried to kill himself once. When he was fourteen.”

She blinked at me in surprise, and I nodded, touching my wrist. “You know those wrist cuffs he wears all the time? They hide the cut marks.”

“I…” Waverly blinked, looking stumped. “I didn’t know. Wow.”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I’m guessing it’s not something a person would want known about them.

But I don’t treat him any differently than I did before it happened.

He’s one of my brothers; I still love him just the same.

And I never once thought he was weak or fragile because of it.

Hell, Waves. I went through a brief taste of depression myself after my mom died.

It wasn’t like anything you’ve obviously gone through, but it was enough to let me know I didn’t ever want to feel that way again.

Like you’re just—you’re dead inside. Like nothing matters.

You can’t even summon the strength to care. Like everything you do is?—”

“Worthless,” Waverly whispered. “Pointless. Hopeless.”

I drew her hand up to my chest, right over my heart.

“Exactly. And knowing you fight a daily battle with that, always struggling with your own demons, always having to claw your way up from the darkness—that isn’t weakness.

That’s fucking strength. And just because no one can physically see how you fight—and they have no idea how bad it gets in your head—it doesn’t make your hardship any less challenging.

You’re a goddamn warrior. And I’m sorry you have to deal with this. ”

Pulling her against me, I wound my arm around her shoulders and pressed our brows together as I rocked us back and forth. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s not so bad lately,” she admitted. “The darker days come fewer and fewer. Just watching you across a room always makes me feel better.”

“Yeah?” I smiled smugly, honored to hear that. When she nodded, I drew in a reviving breath. “Well, you don’t have to just watch anymore, you know.”

Waverly glanced up and blushed so hard I swear I could see it through the dark.

“I know,” she admitted, tucking a piece of her long bangs behind one ear and looking away again. “And that still feels utterly surreal to me. Like the other shoe is going to drop at any moment, and I’m going to lose it all.”

“You’re not,” I assured her. Only to ask, “Am I going to lose you ?”

She shot me a dismayed glance. “What? Why?”

Tipping my head toward the front door, I rolled my eyes. “For going complete asshole all over your mom a few minutes ago?”

“Oh.” She blinked a few times, then shook her head.

“No. That didn’t cause you to lose me. I actually liked it.

” When my eyebrows lifted, she bit her lip.

“I mean, I don’t want you two to actually dislike each other, and I definitely don’t want all your encounters with her to be so brutal, but it did feel good to have someone stand up for me.

” She sent me a worried glance. “I probably shouldn’t have liked that, though, huh? ”

When I only shrugged, she searched my eyes, and all the scared uncertainty was still bleeding out of her bruised expression. “I’m sorry I’m not normal,” she said, her voice going hoarse. “I wish I could be more normal.”

Scoffing, I muttered, “I don’t. I like you just the way you are.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, so I leaned in and pecked a quick kiss on the end of her nose. “True story, Library Girl. Normal people freak me out.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide a smile.

“They do,” I insisted. “I get suspicious when a person starts acting too perfect. It’s like, why can’t you show your flaws, weirdo? What kind of sick shit are you hiding behind those fake veneers?”

When Waverly actually laughed, I went on. “Take Gerald Sprout for example.” I knew she’d recognize the name. No one could be a Westport native and not have heard of him . “That bastard was so eerily nice it made my skin crawl, and look what kind of perverted, rapist monster he turned out to be.”

Shuddering, Waverly pressed closer to me, and I rubbed my nose along her cheek. “Hey, you want to hear the only piece of advice my counselor told my grief group that ever resonated with me?”