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.“My dad took the midnight train too early, too.” But he just shakes his head.Then, a little softer, I add, “So I know it’s hard to visit someone who doesn’t exist anymore.”“I’m sorry.”“I’m sorry too, but it’s going to be okay.Eventually.”“Eventually.” He bites his bottom lip and lowers his head, and it’s almost instinctive when I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him into a hug.His face dips into my shoulder and he cries.I hold him, fingering through his orange hair soothingly, letting his tears dampen my shirt.There are no words I could say to make him feel any better, or any fuller, with that sort of emptiness aching inside of him.I have that hole, too.I can pinpoint it, mark it with an arrow, draw dashes to it on a treasure map because it is so familiar to me, like a old, deep scar.“Thank you,” he whispers into my hair, even though I did nothing to deserve it.It’s not your fault, I want to say, just as Dad’s death wasn’t mine, but that won’t stop the doubt from weaseling into his blood and burrowing into his bones, until he’s nothing more than a body bag of guilt and heartache.No words can.“Come on now,” I finally pull away, brushing the tears from his eyes with my thumbs, and press my forehead against his.He sniffles, chewing on his bottom lip.He’s such an ugly crier, but it only makes me love him more than I already do.“It was my fault.” He whispers, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to look into mine.His forehead is warm and sticky, like mine, but we don’t pull away.“Did you know she loved me? Holly.That she honest-to-God did? Every moment, I think.Ever since.well, I don’t know.It’s funny, but no matter how hard I tried to be the limelight, everyone loved her.I made all the piss-poor decisions.I drank, I screwed around, and I fucked myself a thousand times over.I should’ve died instead.”“Roman…” I mutter helplessly, glad in my own selfish way that he hadn’t died because then I would’ve never met him.Without him, I would be infinitely different, and I am thankful beyond words that I am not.“Roman, I—”He pulls away and shakes his head, as if dismissing the entire thing, and rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand.They’re swollen and red, but he doesn’t look about to cry anymore.“How did you get in here anyway?”“I, uh, there was a hole in the wall and…” I point behind me, vaguely in the direction of the crumbled wall.“Ah.” He doesn’t even look for the hole in the wall as he absently reaches over and plucks the Jeopardy theme on his guitar.“And you’re still sticking to your guns that you didn’t tip him off?”“I wouldn’t be here if I did,” I offer lamely, because the moment I could’ve told him my heart has disappeared.But what would he do if I did admit it? I’ll never see him again.Balls to the wall, as Maggie put it.“And, Roman?”“Mmh?”“I—”“Fuck.” His eyes go wide, staring off in the direction of the entrance to the cemetery, and he jumps to his feet, pulling the guitar over his head.Then he looks at me, and suddenly I know that there is no way in hell he could ever love me back.Chapter Twenty-fourIt’s not John this time, but the fine men of the Horry County Police Department.And they are heading straight toward us.Roman scowls, whirling back to me.“You told them! You—”“Stop blaming me!” I snap, grabbing him by the forearm and tugging him toward the crack in the wall.I’m having flashbacks to the night we broke into the put-put course, but somehow I think the repercussions of this will be worse.“You there! Stop!” One of the policeman calls after us, but his voice only propels my feet to go faster.Under my fingers, Roman practically vibrates with anger.“Front page not enough, huh?” he hisses as we dash over a hill of gravestones and cut around the statue of a weeping angel.“A whole fucking year in Super 8 Motels and fuck good that did me.You come along and wham! Oh, look, I’m a household name again!”“Oh please,” I snarl, because his temper’s getting old—fast.“You love the attention.”“Not as much as you, apparently.You think that hair’s bright enough?”“And yours isn’t?” I almost get sideswiped by a knee-high headstone, and I stumble.“And just so you know, I didn’t give him that memory card.Those photos were on the local memory, asshole! Totally not my fault! If anything, it’s yours for taking me with you!”He shoots me a glare as we duck under a curtain of weeping willow vines.“You could’ve said no!”“I did, back when you wanted to buy me ice cream.”We hit the back end of the cemetery, and the hole isn’t here anymore.Did I get turned around? I scan the walls, but it must be hidden behind a willow? Stupid me—did I even come from this side of the cemetery?Roman curses and kicks the cement wall.“I hope you and John are happy,” he grumbles.“Tell him your life story.Go on.I’m sure it’ll be a best-seller.”“Why the hell would I tell him anything?”“Because you hate me!” he roars.I purse my lips.Nothing could be further from the truth.“You know, this? This here?” He jabs a finger between us, so close I can smell the cinnamon and wet grass on his clothes.“This is the reason I don’t make friends.”“Because you just wanted someone you could pull along for a while instead, right? You saw me and I tickled your fancy.I don’t know why.I’m not pretty.I’m mundane.I’m going nowhere—even my fuck-buddy kept me a secret [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]