Page 50 of The Other Side of Green

I did not want to see that woman.

And not because of the way she’d treated Grams, Luca, or even me.

None of that.

Because she’d ruined everything, and for that I could have no forgiveness.

I shuddered a shaky exaltation two hours later when a pebble landed against my bedroom window. Repulsed at myself at the sudden burst of pleasure that swept through me at the familiar sound, I stalked for the window and pushed it up. “Thought we were doing doors now?” I called down.

Jack smiled up, but his smile only hinted at its usual beauty, his dark hair swept back, the black of his mourning suit making his green eyes pop to almost luminous brightness. “I did knock.”

Please God, tell me Luca didn’t tell him to get lost.

“Luca said you weren’t coming down,” he shot me a small smile, a gentle uptick of the corners of his lips and I wanted to cling to the beauty of the curve and forget what else went on around me.

“You two actually spoke to one another without throwing punches?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow, hiding the cracking fissure of heartbreak in my chest. Everything I needed, the rope I needed to pull me from this desperate black pit of grief stood right in front of me. My hand itched to grasp it. I clasped my fingers behind my back. Everything I needed, but all the things that didn’t exist for me. Jack. He was those things.

His smile crept a little more, still trying, not knowing the truth. I was a bitch for not telling him. What had I been thinking? “It wasn’t easy, could have gone either way.” He paused, bright eyes searching my face. “You look beautiful,” he whispered, transparent honesty making my hands slick with sweat.

Don’t say things like that. I’m a liar, the destroyer of futures.

My cheeks warmed and I ducked my gaze. “Thanks.”

“Luca said you haven’t seen Grams yet.”

Okay, small talk was over then.

I shook my head, words getting tangled in my throat, knotting into a bubble of tears I couldn’t let escape.

“Can I see her with you? I’d like to.”

“I don’t want to see her, and I definitely don’t want to see Mom.” Curse that woman and the word. The last person I wanted to see was her. Maybe I was selfish, maybe this wasn’t all about me, but it didn’t make the feelings go away. I’d tried. They were stuck like superglue into my soul, unshakable and indisputable—I hated her. Simple. Plain. Fact.

“I know, Lyra, but you’ll regret it if you don’t.” He shifted his weight toward me, just an inch, and I hitched in a ragged breath.

“Which bit?”

“All of it.”

I wanted to laugh. He didn’t know the terrible truth my mom had always kept from me, from us. If he did, he’d be singing a different tune, and he’d undoubtedly be singing it with his fists.

“Are Evan and the girls ready?” I glanced at the digital clock blinking by my bed. It was nearly time.

I couldn’t do this.

Didn’t want to do this.

Didn’t want to be a grown up. I wanted to sit under the table holding the buffet like I had when Pops had died; wanted to watch feet pass by and listen to conversations that I didn’t understand. I didn’t want a starring role in the heartbreak.

Jack held his gaze steady on my face. “Yes, all is good, although Pastor Clarke looked close to an aneurism.”

It shouldn’t have made me smile, but it did.

“Lyra.” His voice firmed up, reminding me of our godawful practice sessions at Berklee when he realized I couldn’t play the violin anymore. “Luca is taking your mom out of the house. Will you please come down before the undertakers arrive? You haven’t got long now.”

Haven’t got long… to say goodbye.

Goodbyes lasted forever; you could never take them back. You got one chance at them, one moment to make them right, one split second to ensure you never regretted a single word. That pressure didn’t sit well on my shoulders. It pushed me down, stooping me under the weight of fucking everything up.