We don’t speak again until I come to a stop at the parking lot’s exit. I glance at him, waiting for instructions. “Oh, turn right. Sorry. Take a left three blocks down on Hansen and follow it till it curves around. I’ll show you which building it is.”
I’m curious where we’re going, but I don’t ask as I put on my blinker and head south. I haven’t gone half a block when Wes clears his throat. “You were talking about that night. I heard you mention Spencer and me. What happened yesterday?”
Cutting Wes a sharp look, I grip the wheel so tight that my arms start to shake. I’ve already told him I don’t want to talk about this. It’s making me mad that he keeps pressing the issue, so I decide to turn the tables on him. “Why are you on a first-name basis with everyone in the cancer center?”
I know it isn’t Rosie, because he mentioned that she had a crush on him earlier. If she were his girlfriend, he would have said as much. Wes glares at me, and I lift my chin, refusing to back down. Let’s see how he likes being pressed about questions he doesn’t want to answer.
I turn onto Hanson Street and follow it all the way down like he instructed me to. We’re in a complex of old apartment buildings. The red brick structures aren’t run-down by any means, but they look small and they aren’t anywhere near as nice as the house Wes lived in before. He used to live down the street from Spencer in a house that was even bigger and prettier than mine, but I noticed the sale sign in the front yard about six months ago.
Wes tells me where to park, glances at the clock on the dash, and grimaces. When he looks at me again, it’s clear he doesn’t want to ask me for the favor he’s about to ask. “Do you have time to take me to work? It’s not far. Maybe four miles is all.”
“Yes!” Spencer crows from the backseat. “Yes, Bailey. Tell him yes.”
I’d almost forgotten Spencer’s here. I’m surprised he’s so quiet every time Wes and I are together. Usually I can’t get him to stop talking. It seems that in his afterlife he has nothing better to do than make me laugh or talk to him so that I look like a total crazy person in front of people. But whenever I’m with Wes, he only speaks up when he’s afraid I’m going to bail on Wes. I frown at him in the rearview mirror, trying to figure out exactly what he’s up to. He points at Wes.
“Never mind,” Wes says and opens his door. “Thanks for the ride.”
As he closes the door behind him, I realize he must have seen me frown at Spencer and assumed I didn’t want to take him to work. I feel terrible. “Go after him, Bailey,” Spencer insists, waving frantically toward Wes’s retreating figure.
I huff a sigh for Spencer’s sake and then follow Wes out of the car. “Wes, wait.” He spins around with a guarded look on his face. I hurry to catch up to him. “I don’t mind taking you to work.” I scramble for an explanation. “I was just confused. This is where you live now?”
Wes pulls on the strap of his backpack. “Yeah. We moved here about six months ago.”
I wait for more explanation, but I know it’s in vain. I’m not going to get more from him. He heads up a couple cement steps to a white door on a red brick building. The welcome mat on the small porch is the same one that used to rest in front of his old house.
Wes clears his throat and kicks at the mat as he pulls his keys from his pocket. “You sure you don’t mind?”
I shake my head with a forced smile. “It’s fine. I don’t have anything else to do today. I’m happy to help.”
He mutters another thanks as he unlocks his door, then looks over his shoulder at me. He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, sweeping his hand in front of him in an invitation for me to come in. I’m a little surprised by the invite. I half expected him to disappear inside and slam the door in my face.
Inside the apartment, I recognize the furniture. It’s the same stuff that used to be in his house in my neighborhood; there’s just a lot less of it. They’ve done a good job at downsizing and keeping the clutter to a minimum.
The place is a little messy, which is definitely odd. Mrs. Delaney was always a neat freak. But it’s not a total mess. There are a few dishes in the sink, some papers scattered on the coffee table, Wes’s video game console and accessories strewn about the floor in front of the TV. It feels a little like a bachelor pad with the exception of the expensive living room set and the framed photos lining the top of the entertainment center.
I see a picture that makes me gasp and head over to get a closer look. It’s one of Spencer, Wes, and me on the football field at the homecoming game. The guys were both dressed in their uniforms, and I was in my cheer outfit. Spencer, tucked in the middle of Wes and me, was drenched in the red Gatorade his teammates had showered him with after he’d kicked the game-winning field goal. We were all smiling as if life couldn’t get any better. My heart pounded.
“Missy Halgren took that picture, and it ended up in the local newspaper.”
“I remember,” I whisper. My chest is burning so badly I can barely speak.
“Remember what?” Wes asks.
I flinch, realizing that it had been Spencer who’d mentioned the photograph. “I remember this picture,” I say quickly. “They wrote a story about Spencer in the newspaper, and they used this picture.”
Wes looks numb as he nods. His eyes never leave the framed photo. “I called Missy after I saw it and asked her to e-mail me the picture. It was the last one…”
I’m glad when he doesn’t finish his sentence. I don’t want to talk about this anymore, so I step aside and look at the rest of the photos. They’re all family pictures. I freeze when I get to one of Wes’s mom in a hospital bed, completely bald, with Wes and Mr. Delaney on either side of her with matching hairless heads.
My stomach drops. Finally, it all makes sense. I have no idea what to say. I feel like I shouldn’t be seeing this picture—as if I’m intruding on something much too personal—but I can’t tear my eyes away.
“She was diagnosed two weeks before homecoming last year,” Wes says. His voice is shaky. He’s staring at the picture, but I can tell by the set of his tight jaw that he’s determined to explain everything to me. “She got sick really fast. I started online school so that I could stay home with her while Dad was at work. Originally, they gave her three months. It’s been a year.”
I swallow the burning lump in my throat. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
Wes nods. “Most days I think so. Sometimes, though, when she’s really hurting…”
His voice trails off again, so I grab his hand the way I did at the hospital. He immediately squeezes back. “We sold the house to cover the medical bills, and we moved here because it was close to the hospital. Mom was transferred there a couple weeks ago when she got too sick to stay home anymore. That’s how I know everyone. We’ve been going there for a year, and now I spend as much time there as I can.”
My eyes start to burn, so I rip my hand from Wes and turn away from him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t my business.”
I jump when Wes’s hand comes down on my shoulder. “Don’t be sorry. It’s a relief for you to finally know. I wanted to tell you, I just didn’t know how to bring it up because things are so strange between you and me.”
I’m a wreck inside. With everything else going on, I can’t handle this devastation. I whirl around without thinking and grab Wes in a fierce hug, squeezing him as hard as I can while I bury my face in his chest. His arms come around me, too, and he holds me in such a soft embrace that the torrent of emotion in me dulls to a mild throbbing ache. I settle against him, letting myself relax, and I feel his body do the same.
After the accident, people always told me they were sorry about Spencer. It never brought me comfort, only more pain, so I don’t tell Wes I’m sorry about his mother. He knows I am.
Our hug goes on long enough that it turns into something more. I’m not sure how to break it up or if I even should. Wes’s embrace started out soft, but now he’s hanging on as if he plans to never let me go. His muscled arms have me trapped against him in a grip I couldn’t escape if I tried, and his cheek is resting on the top of my head. He’s not hugging me; he’s holding me.
As I stand there frozen in shock, one of Wes’s hands slides up my back and he tangles his fingers in my hair. His cheek slides across my head until I feel his face buried in my hair, and he takes a deep breath, inhaling my scent. His grip on me tightens even more, as if he can’t hold me close enough.
There’s something about the moment that feels desperate. It’s as if Wes can’t help himself. It feels as though he’s seized on the tiny bit of comfort I’ve offered him and is trying to soak it all in before it vanishes and he’s left without again. Has he had no one helping him through this for the entire last year? I can’t even imagine what a nightmare it’s been for him to have to deal with Spencer’s death and his mom’s cancer all by himself.
Spencer’s right. Wes needs me. I understand now why Spencer’s been trying so hard to push this. Wes has always been the suffer-in-silence type. He’d never ask for help, no matter how much he needed it, and he definitely wouldn’t ask for a shoulder to cry on. I remember the words I thought he muttered under his breath at the hospital—that he missed me—and now I’m sure he really said them. “I’m here, Wes.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “I’ve always been here. I’m not the one who broke our friendship.”
Though my accusation is true, I regret it instantly because it breaks the spell Wes is in. He pulls back from me and sets his backpack down on the couch, unable to meet my eyes. “I’ll just be a minute.” He disappears down a hallway before I can reply.
True to his word, Wes comes back a minute later. “Don’t laugh,” he warns as he enters the small living room.
I choke on a snort and bite my cheek in an attempt to keep a straight face. He’s dressed in an outfit so ridiculous it’s impossible not to giggle. His polyester pants are a deep forest green with gold stripes down the sides. The matching jacket is double-breasted with big shiny gold buttons down the front. But the best part is the tall, round hat sitting stiffly on top of his head, held in place with an elastic strap under his chin. Wes glares at me, but his lips twitch at the corners. “I said, don’t laugh.”
I try—and fail—to smooth out my face. “I wouldn’t dream of it. You look…very handsome.”
He rolls his eyes and shoves his wallet in his back pocket. “Shut up. It’s really good money.”
“What is, conducting a marching band?”
Wes shakes his head, and a small laugh escapes him. The sound excites me. A laugh from Wes is hard earned. He opens the door and holds it for me while I step outside. “I’m a bellhop over at the Grand Summit Hotel.”
I whistle. “Fancy.”
We get in my car, and this time the atmosphere is a little less stifling. It’s impossible to have any tension between us with Wes looking like he’s ready to give me a lift in an elevator. Still, it’d be a ride I’d get on. The dark green of his uniform complements his eyes and tanned skin tone, and the tailored jacket leaves no mystery that he’s broad shouldered and lean beneath his clothes. He’s one seriously sexy bellhop. “I bet you rake in the tips with the female travelers. How often do they try to slip you their room keys when you drop off their luggage?”
I glance at Wes with a teasing smile, but he’s staring at me in so much shock that I feel dumb. “I’m just saying…”
Wes turns his head to stare out his window, but his mouth twitches and he mutters, “At least once a week.”
I shake my head and laugh, and I hear Wes chuckle beside me. Our conversation dies, but it’s a comfortable silence. In the quiet, Spencer’s soft voice floats to me from the backseat. “Bay, talk to him.” I glance in the rearview mirror, and Spencer gives me an encouraging smile. “He told you about his mom. Do you know how hard that was for him?”
Again, Spencer’s right. Wes didn’t have to let me in his house. He didn’t have to open up to me. I’m not even sure why he did, but the least I can do is return the courtesy. If I want to fix things between us, I have to let him in. I sigh, causing Wes to glance at me from the corner of his eye. “Trisha saw us kiss that night,” I blurt, seemingly out of nowhere.
Wes’s eyebrows fly up at my confession, and he turns to give me his full attention. There’s more than just surprise in his expression, but I can’t pick out the other emotions. I trudge on with my explanation, ignoring the sudden churning in my stomach. “I didn’t know she’d been carrying that secret around for a year, but she got mad at me last night and announced to everyone that you and I were cheating on Spencer and that’s why he got drunk and died. Everyone pretty much hates me now.” My voice cracks, and I lock my eyes on the road in front of me, shrugging as if I might shake off the weight of Wes’s gaze. “Of course they blame me.”
A thick silence settles between us, made more awkward by the fact that we’re stopped at a red light. Then, when the light turns green, as if the forward motion of the car propels him to speak, Wes whispers, “I never should have kissed you.”
I don’t argue. That is one thing we both agree on. That kiss, as incredible as it was, is the biggest regret of my life—probably his, too. But there’s one thing I have to know. “Why did you do it, anyway? You hated me.”
Wes shakes his head emphatically. “I didn’t hate you.”
I shoot him a flat look as I pull into the parking lot of the Grand Summit Hotel. “Yes, you did. Ever since I asked Spencer out, you hated being around me. You hated when it was the three of us. You hated when Spencer and I went out on our own. You were always trying to get him away from me. You did anything you could to avoid me.”
Wes doesn’t deny it. He can’t. We both know it’s true. His shoulders slump under the weight of his guilt. He doesn’t say anything, so I speak again. I’ve needed to get this off my chest for years now. “I don’t understand.” I’m unable to keep my voice completely steady. “You made me feel horrible for loving him. We were best friends, and then suddenly you turned cold and mean. You were so angry. Things were never the same between us ever again.”
I pull into the hotel loop and stop outside the front doors. Wes glances out his window at the front entrance of the hotel and nods in acknowledgment to two other guys dressed in matching ridiculous outfits, but he doesn’t move to get out of the car. “It was complicated,” he murmurs.
I scoff under my breath. It’s a small, quiet scoff, but it’s 200 percent bitter. “Yeah, it still is, isn’t it?”
Wes freezes, his hand on the door handle. After a loud swallow, he finally looks at me. The depth of the sorrow in his gaze is startling. He’s as broken as I am. When he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper and takes on a soft quality that’s as full of regret as his gaze. “It’ll always be complicated with you, Bailey.”
He doesn’t give me time to reply before he climbs out of the car. Not that I know how to respond. As he moves to shut the door, he pauses one last time and says, “For whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry.” He tries to smile, but it’s more of a grimace. “Thank you for the ride.”
I can’t find my voice, so I simply nod, and he gently shuts the door.