When a boy breaks your heart, you know there will be more after him, even when it feels as if your chest has been cracked open and parts of your soul will never fully heal. But there will always be more boys. More laughter, more kissing, more falling in love. But the death of a parent, that’s an entirely different ballgame.
You don’t get second chances with your family. You can’t go to the local pub and hope you’ll find another mother or father. There isn’t an app that lets you swipe right for a new mum; they don’t make movies about finding different parents after you lose the only set you ever had.
No. There is an entirely different type of heartbreak that goes along with losing a parent, especially when you lose both, at the same time. And even if you never think it will happen to you, it might. And when it does, it’s as if the whole world has gone dark, and you’re left sitting on a wet patch of grass in the cemetery while your brother tries to talk your bonkers aunt out of fighting him for custody.
But then, in the universe of darkness, a small match was lit within me by none other than Reeve Sawyer. It was during those dark nights alone when he wouldn’t leave until I’d binged the entire Twilight saga, even though I knew how much he hated it. It was when he was miraculously free every time Ali had to go out to deal with another issue thrown our way.
It was never romantic for Reeve, but the more time I spent with him, it became that way for me. I craved the moments he would come by, the seconds dragging when I had to be alone. He didn’t make the ache go away—there was no remedy for that—but he helped lessen it, just a little bit, and to this day, I will never be able to thank him enough for it.
So, when I see him walking over to me right now, his eyes narrowed in on me as if I’m his prey, I can’t turn away, no matter how much my heart tells me to. All I can manage is to think back to that one moment when I began to realize I’ve always seen Reeve as more.
I wipe under my eyes, hoping that the last of my mascara is gone. Sniffing one last time, I check the mirror, making sure no one can tell I’ve been crying.
A knock on my door pulls me out of focus and I quickly spin around, unable to shield myself before the intruder enters.
“You know, knocking is usually followed by a person waiting to be told they can come in,” I snap at Reeve before walking over to my bed and slumping down. I don’t feel the need to pretend in front of him. He knows I’m pissed. He knows why.
“Come on, Em. Don’t be upset, you know we’d have you come with us in a heartbeat if you could. It’s only a few more years until you’re eighteen, and then you can come everywhere.”
I keep my body turned away from him as I feel the side next to me slump down. Eyes trained ahead, I internally chastise myself for not getting rid of all my stuffed animals before I turned fifteen. I mean, what logical fifteen-year-old still sleeps with Hello Kitty? Embarrassment continues to burn at my cheeks.
“It’s not fair,” I whisper, the crack in my voice betraying my pain. “Poppy only turned seventeen last week. How come her parents let her go and I’m stuck at home? Everyone who matters is going to this music festival.”
Everyone who matters. You, Reeve, I mean you.
“It’s not gonna be that special, Em. You’re not missing much.”
I spin around, finally facing him, anger coursing through my veins like hot sauce. “Of course it matters, Reeve. You, Owen, and Ali are playing your first live gig there, and I won’t even be able to see it because my parents treat me like I’m seven. My own best friend is going and she isn’t related to any of you.”
I clench my eyes shut at the thought of Poppy hanging around the lads. She’s only three years younger than them, while I’m teetering on a sixteenth birthday a month away.
“It’s bullshit,” I snap.
Reeve chuckles. “Don’t let them hear you say that, Em. Or you won’t be going to anything until you’re eighteen.”
I look away, knowing he’s right.
“Hey,” he says, turning my face toward him, “I swear, this weekend doesn’t matter. If it did, you know we’d find a way for you to be there.”
I nod even though deep down, I don’t believe him. He sits with me for a few more moments before having to return to Ali’s room.
I spend the next two days wallowing after I watch the guys drive off with Poppy in tow. It isn’t until I’m Facetimed by a mate of Reeve’s when the concert begins that I feel a little bit better. I fight off tears seeing them play, and later I replay the moment in my mind as I try to doze off. It’s as a text from Reeve comes in that I can finally quiet my mind.
Reeve: I know you couldn’t be here. But I hope this helps.
Looking down at my mobile I see a video of the show. I grin, thankful at least Reeve didn’t forget to think about me.
Looking back, I know that moment was what solidified my crush. My need to be around Reeve, and not at all remotely like a sibling. He was always more.
I continue to polish the glasses at Saint Street, having picked up a day shift to help Ali out. My attention is pulled from the mindless work when my spine begins to tingle and the overwhelming sense of someone’s presence overtakes me.
When I glance up, Reeve is staring at me with eye contact so intense I almost look away. But that isn’t me, I don’t cower, so I meet his stare head-on, attempting to not let on that his appearance here has taken me by surprise.
“I want to fix this,” he says—no, actually demands—pulling me out of my memories.
I shrug. “I need time.”
His green eyes blaze like emeralds. “Emilia, if I could take back that night, I would. I never meant to hurt you.” He balls his hands into fists, as if he can somehow turn back the hands of time with sheer will. But that’s our issue. He wants to take it back and I want to relive the moments before he ran.
“God, Em, I knew I would fuck this all up, I just knew it. You’re one of the most important people in my life, please.”
I almost break, almost cry at his feet and tell him we can move on. I want to be that person, the one who sacrifices her happiness for the sake of others—hell, I’ve been that person more times than I can count. But for some strange reason, I can’t seem to do that, because deep down I think I know that if I let his feelings overrun my own before I’m ready, I will certainly break, and all the superglue in the world wouldn’t be able to put me back together.
“I’m not ending our friendship, Reeve. I’m just looking out for my own well-being.” I don’t wait for a reply. I walk away before he can give me one.
“I think there is a strong potential that I’m going to die,” Lottie huffs, her chest going up and down while Stana is bright red and I do my best to keep breathing properly.
I nod before touching my chest and making a two out of my fingers, indicating my agreement while continuing to huff like a lazy dog post-work.
“It’s never usually that hard,” Stana says a few moments later when we’ve all caught our breath.
Lottie looks at Stana as though she’s nuts. “I don’t know what you Americans consider a fun time, Augustana Prescott, but that dance class was no dance class. That was an army-inspired workout. I can barely feel my arse.”