The Crush Collision (Southern Charmed) Read online

  I knew he’d be mad, but he’s making assumptions like everyone else has. Nothing has happened between me and Jake. The fact that my own brother assumes it has hurts. Screw him on this. I feel way less badly about not telling him than before. “You will never understand, Chris, so just stop. Not everything is about you.”

  “Right. You want someone you have to fix. A project because you want to feel important instead of being a self-proclaimed victim.”

  “How am I a victim?”

  He’s moved from the chair now and is closer to the steps. I’m halfway up them, staring down at him. We’re both screaming.

  Chris rolls his eyes. “Come on. Miss Nobody Gets Me. I have to live in the shadows. I know you blame me for you being you. Jake is nothing more than a ploy for attention, than a way to make yourself feel better.”

  If he was closer to me, and if I was a violent person, I’d smack him right across the face. He should hear himself.

  I scoff. “Wow, you don’t get it.” I start to walk up the stairs.

  “Get what?”

  “Jake isn’t broken!” I scream down at him. “He just needs something good. Maybe that is me.”

  “It’s not your job to make him happy.”

  I take three steps down toward him. “I know. But it’s also not your job to police me or protect me. You’re not my dad, you’re my brother. Be my brother!”

  “What does Jake bring that no one else does?”

  I thought Jake was his best friend. Jake thinks Chris knows him better than anyone, but he doesn’t know him at all. Not if he’s asking this, questioning his character. He should know more than anyone. Chris should know.

  “The fact that you don’t see that is part of the problem, one that existed long before he ever saw me in any way besides your sister. You should really give him some more credit, maybe ask questions instead of thinking you know how he should be.”

  Chris is quiet then, which means he’s drowning in thoughts. Normally I’d stay, I’d help him find a way to swim through them, but that’s not my job anymore. One day, not long from now, we’re going to be in two different places. We might as well accept that now and learn to cope. I swing back down a few steps. “And for the record, all Jake and I have done is kiss. That picture isn’t what it looked like, but we have not had sex. We didn’t get that chance.” Then I stomp up the steps.

  I hear him cuss and toss his bowl in the sink as I make my way upstairs. Good. I hope that mental image keeps him adequately annoyed. He deserves that, at least.

  I don’t say much during the Belles meeting that night, mostly because I don’t have anything positive to say. I feel like I’ve been trampled on, and my whole body aches.

  We’re gearing up for Homecoming in two weeks. It’s the closest I’ve been to Abby since her text, and she hasn’t even looked at me. Georgia Ann gives me a sympathetic pat on the back, but it sorta comes off in an “I told you so” way. She’d probably say it to my face if we were alone right now. Abby whispers to Shelby, and they both look over at me. They don’t even like each other, but I guess that was before they had a common enemy.

  “Don’t let her get to you,” Georgia Ann whispers.

  “She’s not,” I say, crossing my arms. I know I did the wrong thing.

  “You sure? Because you look madder than a pack of wild dogs on a three-legged cat.”

  I blink and peel my eyes away from my sometimes–best friend toward Georgia Ann. “Was that English?”

  She laughs. “It’s old folks’ English, but yeah. I’m saying you look right pissed off is all, and maybe you shouldn’t look like she got you feeling a certain way. You don’t want her to know she’s getting under your skin, or she’ll keep doing it.”

  I am mad, but not at her. I’m mad at myself. I should’ve told her.

  I spend the rest of the meeting trying not to look in their direction.

  When the meeting is over, Abby is talking with Mrs. Monroe, and she makes eye contact with me while I wait for them to finish. I need to talk to her, and she’s ignoring all of my texts. We’re in the same room. It’s the only way.

  When Mrs. Monroe leaves, I walk toward Abby. She crosses her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes. She’s all attitude, a look I know well, but it’s never been directed at me. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she says.

  By now the other girls have pretty much all cleared out, so it’s only us in here. “I know,” I say, “but I wanted to say I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “I saw your texts.”

  That’s it, then? That can’t be it.

  “Please let me explain what happened, and then maybe we can work through it.”

  Abby laughs and lowers her arms. “Here’s what happened: you went after my ex, who you know I still like, and you didn’t tell me.”

  “He’s not your ex. He’s someone you had a crush on and flirted with this summer. And I did try to tell you.”

  “There are still feelings involved! And it wasn’t only this summer.” She starts to lose her composure and pauses. “When did you supposedly try to tell me?”

  “When I mentioned a dream.”

  Abby laughs. “A dream. A dream isn’t reality.”

  “I was trying to open a door. And again when I brought up him liking someone, I was trying to tell you then, and you make it hard sometimes.”

  “Likely excuse,” she says, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She starts to walk away from me, but I follow her.

  “Everyone knows Jake told you it wasn’t going to happen, Abby, and you kept on.”

  Abby spins around on me. Her face is red with anger, something that is absolutely not SBA. “Because I liked him!”

  “I like him, too!” I say. Her eyes widen. “I’ve liked him for a long time, since we were kids. Before you ever moved here.”

  “Well, that’s news to me.”

  “Because you never asked.”

  “And you never volunteered!” Abby yells, and then she takes a breath—a deep one—and her eyes narrow in on me. “A best friend is supposed to know about your crushes, not steal them and lie to my face for…how long has it been now, like eight years?”

  I open my mouth and close it again.

  She shakes her head and puts her jacket on. “I can’t deal with you right now, Haley.”

  Then she leaves me there.

  There’s a party in Lane tonight. I drive the thirty miles because I literally have nothing and no one, so why not? The last time I came here was two years ago when I was dating Shane. I don’t really know anyone here, so it doesn’t help me not feel alone.

  I take my drink and go sit outside. The music echoes from the house, still making the porch kind of thump. I wrap my scarf tighter around me, curl my knees up to my chest, and think about everything that led me to be here alone. How I lied. How I hurt people. How much I care about Jake. How the last couple months have been the best of my life. Isn’t it ironic that they go together?

  “Rough week?” Shane asks. I groan and roll my eyes as he sits next to me.

  “Why are you here?”

  “This is a party I told the school about, remember?”

  I glare at him. “I meant, why are you here sitting next to me?”

  “Because you’re here alone. Where’s your brother or Lexington or Miss Giggle?”

  Shane doesn’t like Abby, and Abby doesn’t like Shane. There’s no love lost there on either of them. I did her really wrong, and she’s been a good friend to me. She hates people on my behalf, makes me try new things, always listens to me, and loves me anyway. I really should’ve told her about Jake. I tried, but it wasn’t hard enough. I got scared. I was busy playing a game of risk, but I wasn’t taking the biggest one in front of me, and I should’ve. Maybe she would’ve understood.

  “Just me tonight.”

  “Hmm,” he says, clearing his throat. “So, you and Lexington, huh?”

  I take a sip of my soda to avoid looking at him. “I don’t wa
nt to talk about Jake.”

  Shane sighs and stretches. “I figured that wouldn’t end well.”

  “You don’t know anything about it, so please spare me.”

  “Wow, a little of him has rubbed off on you,” Shane says, almost admiring it. I roll my eyes. He nods and sloshes around his cup in his hands like he’s bored. “It’s a shame Chris and Jake are having a falling out, though. I mean, bless his heart, but Chris is really the only friend Jake has. It must suck to lose the one person you feel like you have over a good time.”

  I’m watching him, staring into his cold brown eyes, and it hits me. I don’t know how I didn’t figure it out before. There’s no rhyme or reason to the fact that I’ve figured it out now, except that I know. I can feel it in my bones. The same way I did when I found out he was seeing other girls on the side.

  “You’re the one who took the picture.” Shane gives me this smug but slightly offended look.

  Shane holds his hands up. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”

  I shake my head. I can’t believe this. “How were you even at Jake’s that night?”

  He shrugs. “Right place, right time. I actually went there for Jamie, and I happened on it. I’d suspected, but now I knew. Lexington needed a little action and excitement around here.”

  I gulp down all the rage I’m feeling bubbling in my chest. “Why?”

  “Coach benched me on my recruiter game because of Lexington. If he and Howell aren’t getting along, that means they can’t play together.”

  “And you can swoop in and save the game.”

  “Exactly,” he says, boinking my nose with his finger. “Plus, you say you did nothing to me, but the whole breakup really nearly ruined my football career. Consider it evening the field.”

  “You cheated on me.”

  Shane rolls his eyes. “You were not so innocent. You know what it was like to date a girl who was into someone else?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Jake!” he yells. “You were so in love with the idea of him, the whole time we were together, you were never mine.”

  “Jake didn’t even know I existed.”

  “But you knew he did. Trust me, it wasn’t easy to compete with him.”

  “That’s not true at all,” I say, shaking my head. “And I can’t believe you did this as some delayed revenge.”

  “I did you a favor, Hals. You’ll see.”

  I grab my bag, leave my cup, and jump up from the porch. “You’re an ass. Go fuck yourself, Shane.”

  I hear him laughing as I walk away toward my car.

  I’m twenty miles outside of town when the rain starts. It hits without warning, a downpour trying to test if the car can float. I push the wiper speed up to the fastest setting. I’ve been driving without a destination. I want Jake, but I can’t go to him. I can’t go home, Chris and I have been pointedly not talking to each other. Normally I’d call Abby, but she’s out.

  I don’t know if we will recover from this one.

  My phone rings, and it’s my brother. Part of me doesn’t want to answer, but the other part of me doesn’t want him to worry. I push the button on the steering wheel to connect my phone to the Bluetooth.

  “Where are you?” he asks when I answer. “I’ve been texting.”

  “I’m just out. Driving, so I couldn’t look.”

  “Mom and Dad want us all to go to family dinner.”

  I groan. They don’t get a lot of weekend nights off, so when they do: forced family fun.

  “I know,” he says.

  “I’ll be there soon,” I say.

  He starts to say something else, I can hear it in his voice, but he stops himself.

  There’s a loud squeal around me, but I can’t see anything. The car in front of me slams on the brakes. I do the same, barely missing its bumper. My heart is racing. That was close. The rain still pours onto the windshield, and my wipers struggle to keep up.

  “K, see you soon,” Chris says and ends the call.

  Then there’s a crashing sound, and everything goes dark.

  Before – Jake

  It’s cold. That’s what I notice first. It’s cold, and there’s the sound of machines and something in my arm. I open my eyes, and Coach is there sitting next to me. He’s talking to someone else in the room, and I want to say hi, but I can’t.

  I move my arm around. An IV. That’s what’s in my hand.

  Coach looks down at me. “Hey there, son,” he says. He looks at the other person. “Get the nurse and his dad.”

  “Yes sir,” I hear, and I know immediately that it’s Howell.

  Coach is focused on me again. “You’re in the hospital, Jake.” Jake. He doesn’t call me that. Just son or Lexington, but never my first name. I try to talk, but I can’t. I touch my throat. “You’ve got a tube in your throat to help you breathe. The nurse will come remove that. You and your brother had an accident. Do you remember?”

  I close my eyes. I remember some of it. I remember blood and the trees being sideways. And Jamie, he was stuck. Is he alive?

  Coach touches my arm. “It’s okay, son. Jamie is alive.”

  I nod and close my eyes. He’s alive. That’s good. That’s good.

  “You two have had us all worried,” Coach says.

  I see Dad in the doorway. He pauses there. His white button-up shirt is dirty and bloody. His eyes look wild. For maybe the first time in years, Dad rushes over and hugs me.

  It’s two more days before I get to see Jamie. I’m in a wheelchair because I have a severe sprain that’s in a cast and everything. Some broken ribs. A concussion. A cut on my forehead. A punctured lung that they’ve fixed now. I’m okay, they say, but that’s all relative.

  Dad stands with his arms crossed over his chest. “Prepare yourself,” he says.

  I nod. Dad wheels me into the room, and I guess I wasn’t prepared. Jamie is in a bed with a neck brace. He doesn’t really move, except his eyes follow me around the room when I come in.

  “I’ll leave you two,” Dad says.

  We’re both quiet at first. I’m not sure what to say to him, and in true Jamie fashion, he doesn’t make me talk first. “Glad you’re okay,” he says. “They wouldn’t let me see you.”

  “Same,” I say. “Bro…” I start. Dad told me that his spine is too swollen. That they had to cut him out of the truck. That there’s a chance, but he will probably never walk again.

  “Don’t,” he says. “Just don’t. It’s been a week, and I’m done talking about it.”

  I nod instead. “Okay. Cops said they found the dude who ran us off the road. He was drunk and texting. He didn’t even remember it happening.”

  I was drunk, too, which I feel the worst about. All of this is my fault. He’s here, I’m here, we’re both like this because of me.

  Jamie is quiet. Too quiet. I can tell he’s pissed and scared. Hell, I’m pissed and scared. He wants to say something else to me, about it, I can feel it, but he doesn’t. Instead he says, “Sorry. I think I’m gonna go to sleep now.”

  “Sure,” I say.

  And I roll myself toward the door. I look back at him, but he’s already got his eyes closed, and I guess we’re not going to talk about it. About any of it.

  Howell takes me home two days later. Dad stays at the hospital with Jamie, who probably won’t be home for a little bit longer. I wanted to leave, even though as soon as we walk into the house, it’s dark and gloomy and I remember how much I hate it here.

  “You sure you don’t wanna come to my place? My parents are cool. You probably shouldn’t be alone here.”

  “It’s fine,” I say. “I need a minute.”

  Howell nods and walks with me to the kitchen. “Well, the good thing is you won’t be hungry.” He opens the fridge and shows me the thousand casseroles and dishes that fill the space. The whole damn town has brought something. The counter is covered in cookies and brownies.

  “Damn. No one does casseroles like Cu
ller,” I say.

  Howell laughs. “Mrs. Baker brought her famous mourning pot roast.”

  “That’s so delicious.”

  “I know,” he says. He touches my shoulder. “You sure you don’t want me to stay?”

  I shrug. “I’m good. I promise I’ll text you if I need you.”

  Chris nods. “Okay.”

  And a few minutes later, he leaves me there. Alone, in the shitty house I hate.

  I make it an hour before I dip into the pot roast. Another thirty minutes before Coach calls and I say I’m fine. Another twenty before I have some cookies and brownies, even though we have no milk.

  Another hour before I’m standing in front of Dad’s liquor cabinet, pouring myself a glass of scotch. Just one. One to help ease some of the pain. I lift it to the light, something I’ve seen Dad do a hundred times, and stare at the amber color. I think of my brother never being able to walk again, and I down it in a gulp. I pour another. And another.

  I take it upstairs with me. His bedroom door is open, and I see his bright red UGA jersey sitting on the back of this chair. I pour another glass and raise it to UGA. To the person who did this to us. To me, because really, it’s all my fault.

  After I swallow, I scream, and I throw the glass across the room. It shatters.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jake

  I’m not sure I even want it, but I’m paying for the bottle of whiskey with a wad of bills and change from my truck. Big Al pushes up his glasses and grumbles, “Thanks.”

  I hold the bottle by the neck, and the paper bag crinkles in my hand on the way out the door. I know what a drink means. It means I give up everything I’ve worked toward.

  My phone dings, and I want it to be Haley, but it’s my brother. I don’t want to read his text because it’s like he somehow knows what I’m doing. I feel the same pressure building in my chest. The one that comes when I think about Jamie and what he lost. When I see him still trapped in the car. When I think about how I could’ve saved him quicker, or how it wouldn’t have happened at all if I’d been someone else. Breathe. My phone vibrates again, and my keys slip from my fingers. I set the bottle down on the sidewalk so I can reach under my truck. My hands are shaking. Breathe.