On the road, I think of the way her smile dimpled when we were kids. I think of how I’m going to explain to my parents that I need to move back home. I think of the waitressing job I’ll have to spend the rest of my life working. I think of how tightly Mike held me last night, how he smiled at me this morning, how I’ll never see him again when I’m living on a farm in Indiana. I think of all the sweet dreams I never should have had.

Another sob chokes me, and I park along the side of the road to fall completely, utterly apart.

Chapter 18

In the back of a kennel, at the back of a hallway, at the back of a shelter, I sit with my forehead on my knees and an overweight basset hound licking the sausage grease off my fingers. Somewhere under the fluorescent lighting of this hallway, I lost track of time. I’m not sure if I lost it in the first cage or the second cage or the third cage, but now here I am, at the very last cage, with nowhere else to go.

“Hailey,” singsongs the shelter director, Barb, as her grass-stained Timberland boots echo down the hallway. “A strapping young man is here to see yooou.”

I peek up from my knees to see her grinning from ear to ear as Mike steps into view. He looks a thousand times better than he did this morning, freshly showered and shaved in a black Dogfish Head T-shirt and well-worn jeans. Barb waggles her bushy eyebrows as she lifts the lock and lets him inside.

“What are you doing here?” I ask as she walks away, and Mike crouches down to pet the potbelly pup sniffing excitedly at his side.

“Trying to find you.” He lifts his eyes from the dog to me, his expression telling me that he heard about what happened. “Danica told me she kicked you out.”

“Did she tell you she trashed my room?” I ask, ignoring the way my eyes start to burn. “Or that she broke my computer? Or destroyed my desk?”

Mike sits down next to me, hesitating a moment before he wraps a comforting arm around my shoulders. The basset hound immediately lays its head and front paws on Mike’s lap, its overplump tummy drooping onto the ground.

“I’m taking you home with me,” Mike says, hugging me tight against his side. “I already filled out the adoption papers.”

My eyes burn hotter, and a scalding tear traces a line down my cheek. “I’m driving home tomorrow.”

“To Indiana?” Mike asks, shifting to look at me. I avoid his eyes. “Why?”

“I have nowhere to live, Mike.”

“I just told you that you can stay with me . . .”

Another heavy tear drops onto my lap as I shake my head, because of course he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know that Danica’s family pays my tuition, my rent, my insurance, my gas, my everything. There’s no point in staying here because Danica is going to make sure the money stops, and when it does, there will be nothing left but for me to go back home and pretend I never tried to drag myself out of the mud, that I never chased after my dreams.

Thirteen years of “When I grow up, I want to be a veterinarian” school photos: down the drain.

“There’s no point,” I tell Mike, knowing the pull Danica has over my uncle. He’s a good man, but his daughter is his princess, and she’s grown up knowing that. She’s always had that man wrapped around her little finger, which is why she’s twenty-four years old but has never once had to hold a real job.

“Why not?” Mike asks, his voice full of concern.

“Danica’s not going to change her mind. It’s not like I can live with you forever.”

“Sure you can,” Mike argues, and when I look up at him, his smile attempts to make the world right again. “We’ll eat pizza, drink beer, play video games—it’ll be great.”

I wonder why he’s being so nice to me, why he broke up with Danica, why he came here to find me, why he wants to take me home, what he’d do if I crawled onto his lap and kissed him until the sparks inside me burned the world to the ground.

He’s single now. Why is he single?

“Why did you break up with Danica?” I ask with nothing left to lose, and Mike’s smile flickers before it fades away.

“That’s a loaded question, Hailey . . .”

I want to ask if it was because of me. The words trip over themselves on the tip of my tongue as Mike studies me and I study him. I stare up into those impossibly warm brown eyes, remembering how tightly he held my legs last night. But then I study the curve of his lips, the scruff of his jaw, the perfect way his finger-combed hair lies on his head, and I’m reminded of the girls who scream dirty promises at him from the crowd. I’m reminded of the fact that my cousin, whom he dumped, looks like she belongs on a runway in Paris. I’m reminded of my messy curls, my short stature, my thrift-shop clothes. “Tell me anyway” is all I say.

Mike holds my gaze for a moment before staring out at the chain-link wall in front of us. He takes a weighted breath before saying, “She isn’t the girl for me.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t love her.” His eyes find mine, and I let myself get lost in them. “I’m not sure how I ever did.”

“What changed?” my small voice asks.

Each question I ask feels like taking one step further out onto the plank. Eventually, I’m going to drown.

Mike continues staring down at me, his arm snug around my shoulder. His voice is low and quiet when he says, “Everything.”

My heart is beating out of my chest when I break eye contact with him to stare at the frayed edges of my bootlace. My eyes travel to the hole in the knee of my jeans, the hem of my oversized sweatshirt.




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