Confessions in the Dark (23 page)

He'd snapped at Max. Was that it, then?

If so, this was...this was
bullshit
, was what it was. Self-sacrificing, overprotective bullshit. So he'd lost his temper with Max. It didn't have to mean what he seemed to think it meant. He could still be a friend and a tutor to Max; he could still be with Serena. He didn't have to do this—squirrel himself away from them and from the world the way he had for the last God-knew-how-many years.

This didn't have to be what had happened with his wife all over again.

She whipped around, half inclined to go storming right back up to his door to tell him as much.

Only...if he
had
been humoring her. If he'd just been giving in this entire time...

She'd pursued him and pursued him. She'd worn him down. And if she did it now, they'd just end up in this same exact place all over again.

Reaching out, she braced her hand against the wall to steady herself. She dragged the back of her other wrist across her cheeks. Then she closed her eyes and inhaled nice and deep, holding the breath in until she couldn't take it anymore before letting it out. Controlled and slow.

He didn't need her anymore? Fine. There were other people who did. Cole could stew for a while. She still had Max to take care of this afternoon and a whole nest of issues with her family to sort out.

He was a proud, proud bastard, but she had her pride, too. She'd chased him down enough times, and if he didn't see what a giant mistake he was making...if he didn't miss her...

She shook her head against the way her ribs constricted around her heart. It hurt to even think about.

He'd come back to her. He would.

Hiccuping, she drew in another rasping breath.

And if he didn't, then apparently he hadn't ever really cared about her at all.

S
omehow, he had never entirely expected her to give up.

That night and the whole day after, Cole went about his usual routine with half an ear bent toward the stairs, anticipating the light falls of her footsteps ascending toward him, girding himself again and again. He'd said what he said for a reason, and though every moment without her was killing him, he'd stand by it. He wouldn't let her in again.

There wasn't anything for her to come in
to
.

A night and a day of icing his knee and recovering his strength and that same tightness in his lungs—that feeling of the walls closing in on him—was back, only times a thousand.

What had he been
doing
with his life before she stormed her way into it?

His papers were strewn all across his shoebox of an apartment. The ones he'd left behind at Serena's place he had to re-create, but it wasn't any difficulty to do so. He buried himself in the numbers and symbols and lines and lines of calculations the way he wished he could bury his bloody head somewhere deep beneath the earth.

She still didn't come.

On the third day, he lost his damn mind. He packed up his laptop and took himself and his new mobility down the fire escape. His bones creaked with every step, but he was fine, he was
fine
. He still couldn't run, but he was supposed to walk—he'd never get his strength back unless he did—and so he went until he was sore, for miles it seemed. At the doorway of a likely-looking café, he stumbled to a halt, panting until he got his breath back.

He went inside, and the girl behind the counter asked him what he'd like, and it was the first time anyone had spoken to him in days. He staggered against the sound of another human voice, his brain melting out his ears and his rib cage threatening to dissolve.

“Mister? Mister, are you all right?”

He opened his eyes, and it was just a girl. Any girl. With a tight smile, he gave her his order and stepped aside. When his tea came up, he retreated to a table in the corner.

And he wrote a paper.

He wrote another the next day and yet another the third. All these years' worth of work scribbled in notebooks and him with nothing to do with any of it, and it was a fucking waste. Publishing his findings had always been his favorite part about his work. It meant getting his ideas out into the world—it was a way to teach without having to talk to bloody people. He sent the articles to a half-dozen journals, but he might as well be sending them off on the wind. Without a home institution, without credentials for these lost and wasted years, no one would listen to him.

And by then, the girl behind the register knew his order on sight. She knew his name, and it was too much. He couldn't bring himself to go there another time.

So he was trapped in that apartment again. He couldn't
do
anything. He tried to bake and he thought of slender fingers gripping the mixing bowl; he thought of soft lips and white teeth and that brief sliver of time when he'd had someone to share the things he'd made with, and it didn't matter that he'd gone without before.

Serena had stormed her way into his life all right, and the lightning had left him blinded to the darkness. Her thunder had deafened his ears. He didn't know how to go back.

He got the rejections for his first round of submissions within the week. They hadn't even made it to review, and he stared at the letters on the screen.

Bracing his hands against his desk, he closed his eyes.

“This isn't
working
.” He breathed it out into the silence.

He opened his eyes, and his vision blurred.

He couldn't do this. Not alone.

And it was like slipping and falling, and tossing his bloody crutch down the stairs in a fit of rage, listening to it echo with every goddamn step it crashed against. Like giving up and sitting down right there on the floor, at the top of the landing, a full flight of stairs above him and yet another below, stuck in the middle with no way to stand and no hope.

Only to have a voice call out from the distance. The most beautiful voice in the world.

A voice he'd last heard crying, begging, asking him why, and he would never hear that voice again. Because he'd told her he didn't need her, but he did. He needed her so fucking much.

When he'd lost Helen, it'd been like every star on the horizon going out. His wife had taught him how to love at all, and the next few years he lost in grief and rage and alcohol.

But he couldn't do that again. He couldn't face that emptiness, not after Serena had reminded him that there was more still in this life for him. If he couldn't have her, he needed
something
. Work, a hobby, maybe a fucking dog.

But already he knew. None of that would ever take away the ache.

He swallowed hard, throat burning.

He needed
help
.

“So.” Penny pushed her hair back from her face, a ghost of a grin coloring her mouth. “I have news.”

There was life in her sister's voice for the first time in so long, and it should have had Serena over the moon. As it was, she fought to muster any sort of a reaction at all. Not that it mattered much. Her mother looked excited enough for the both of them, smile positively radiant as she turned to Penny. “What's that?”

It was Sunday dinner at her mother's place, nominally Serena's favorite day of the week, but she was too tired for any of this. She'd been too tired for most things recently. But she just kept on pushing on.

Penny glanced from her mom to Serena to Max and back. “You remember that job interview I had the other week?”

Serena's fork skidded against the edge of her plate. The grating sound of it drew all eyes to her for a flash of a moment. “Sorry.” She set the fork aside and picked at the edge of her napkin.

Yeah. She remembered that interview all right. She remembered her sister calling in a favor and Serena doing everything she could to lend a hand. She remembered thinking she had one person she could depend on to help her out and have her back.

She remembered him pushing her away.

A quicksilver skitter of pain squeezed her chest, and she sucked in a breath, biting down on the inside of her lip.

Nearly two weeks had passed since then, and she hadn't so much as seen him around their building. An emptiness opened up inside her heart. She'd thought he'd have something to say for himself. That he would miss her maybe. Or even that he would have to go down their shared stairs at some point or happen to check his mail or
something
, and their eyes would meet. He'd realize his mistake.

Maybe he really hadn't needed her at all.

Unclenching her jaw, she exhaled long and slow. It was what it was, and pining and moping weren't going to help her. She'd already decided not to push him anymore. Not to ask him for what he'd clearly decided he didn't want to give. It was nobody's fault that they hadn't been on the same page after all. Definitely not her sister's. Or at least that was what she kept trying to tell herself.

Across the table from her, Penny let her mouth curl even wider, her eyes bright. “I got the job!”

Serena's mom clasped her hands in front of her. “That's wonderful, baby. I'm so proud of you!” She glanced to Serena pointedly. “Isn't that wonderful?”

Serena swallowed hard and forced a smile. “Yeah. It's great. Congratulations.”

“Nice,” Max chimed in, though it was noncommittal. He glanced back and forth between Serena and her mom, always so perceptive when the two of them weren't on quite the same page.

Their mom ignored it, plowing straight ahead. “What will you be doing? Do you know your hours yet? Tell us everything.”

It was just the encouragement Penny needed. Serena listened as she started in on all the details, but there was a ringing in her ears.

This was too familiar. They'd done this all before. Helped Penny through a crisis no matter the sacrifice it might require, applauding and showering praise on her when she got back to an even keel.

And her sister was ill. She was fighting a disease that claimed lives. She was so strong, and Serena loved her so much. She loved that she was happy.

But all she could see was the impending crash.

Penny got bad and then Penny got well, and then she left them. She went to college or she moved to New York, and they were left here standing in the ruins until the cycle started all over again, and Serena couldn't do it. Not again.

“I mean, the hours will be a little wonky at first,” Penny said, “but, Serena, maybe we can work things out with Max's schedule?” She waited for a response, but all Serena managed was a nod. Uncertainty crossed her face, but at their mother's prodding, she continued on. “It has benefits, thank God. And I'm thinking, once I get a month or two under my belt, I'll be able to get my own place, stop being underfoot all the time and let you guys get back to your lives again, and—”

And the ringing in Serena's ears was deafening, everything else fading to static, the tableau of the perfect family spread out in front of her—the one she'd longed for all these years—flashing to white.

She was on her feet before she'd decided to so much as move. She was dizzy, her hands shaking, and she clenched them into fists, but it didn't help.

“How.” No other words came out. She could barely breathe, could scarcely hear over the screaming pitch inside her head. “You.”

All the eyes on the table were really on her now. Someone said her name, and Penny's whole face twisted up, those bright eyes that were so much like her own staring back at her, and something inside Serena cracked.

“You can't,” she croaked. “You're not ready. You can't just go get your own place and—”

And push the people who loved her away.

Penny's mouth dropped. “Rena...”

“Every single time. You come back here needing us, and we drop everything. You don't even know.” The words were so unfair, and they'd been building inside her for so freaking long. “We put everything on hold because there's always some...some crisis. We mop it all up, and then when you get better, you leave. You left us. You—” Her throat closed up, and her lungs were on fire. She tried to refocus, to make this about something other than herself. “You left Max. He needed you, you know. We all needed you, and you left, and now you're back, and what do you think that does to him? What do you think that does to
us
?”

Penny had been flitting in and out of Serena's life for literal decades, completely blind to the holes she left in her wake.

Ten years ago, she'd barely gotten checked out of the hospital before she'd been boarding a bus. She'd barely stopped home, barely visited until...

Until now. And two weeks ago, she'd left Max at Serena's doorstep at a moment's notice, and it had ruined the best damn thing to have happened to Serena in years. She'd made Serena push, and Serena had lost the one thing that had been just for her. The one person who'd taken the time to wrap Serena up and tell her she was worth everything, she deserved everything, deserved time and love and the chance to do the things
she
wanted to do.

He was gone.

She choked on her breath, airways seizing against the burn of time and history and words she'd never been able to say before.

“Max is amazing. He's your kid and he deserves your time, and you can't just toss him aside.” The shaking in her hands traveled up her arms until it was her whole body shuddering to pieces. “You can't tell me I can't see him for weeks and then as soon as you're done with him, as soon as you decide you need something else in your life, you suddenly want us to be involved again? Life doesn't work like that. Love doesn't work like that.” And Serena loved. She loved so much.

Her mother looked like she'd seen a ghost. “Serena...”

But Serena wasn't listening. Tunnel vision settled in, blacking out the rest of the world except her sister. “I don't care if you don't think you can give him what he needs. I don't care if you think you're not the right person for him. For us. You came here because you needed us, and now you need us to do things for you, and you assume we will, but then what? What happens when you have your life back and you don't need us anymore?” Her fingers went numb. “When you decide to leave again, and I can't. I can't.”

“Rena.” Penny's voice was so quiet it was deafening. “I left because you were better off without me.”

Everything went silent all at once. Penny's expression was bereft, but she didn't make as if to take it back.

Serena's heart, already broken, cracked and shattered to the floor.

“Nothing,” she said, vision fogging, “is ever better when you're not here.” She sucked in a shivering, shuddering breath. “We never asked you to leave. We never wanted you to go, and I missed you. Every goddamn day. But you left. You left me.” Her ribs ached. “We've been here all along. We care and we try and we do what we can to take care of the people we love, and you can't just push us away when you're done with us...You
can't
...”

Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, and she couldn't see anymore, and oh
God
. She wasn't talking about her sister anymore, was she?

She loved so much. She cared and she tried and she did whatever she could to make people care about her, too, but it never mattered.

Her sister left. Cole left.

And here she was. With nothing of her own.

She staggered away from the table, scarcely able to see. Someone called after her, but she shook her head. By some miracle, she made it to the bathroom without bumping into anything or saying anything else she might regret. Locking the door behind her, she stumbled over to the sink and turned the tap on high. Cold water on her face did nothing to ease the hot flush of embarrassment and anger and all the other emotions she usually kept so tightly under wraps, especially around her family. Random breakdowns, screaming fits, running off without listening to anyone—that was Penny's territory. Well, maybe it was hers now, too. Maybe it was time they saw she wasn't some...some doormat, someone who was quiet and caring and did whatever anyone asked of her, expecting nothing in return.