“Don’t do that, Jess. Don’t you dare compare the two, because they aren’t even close to being the same. You’re my sister, and I was twelve. I was in a strange place all alone, and I was terrified that the only person in the world who could make me feel safe was about to be taken from me, too. It’s apples and oranges.” I had to take a moment to calm down. That had really gotten to me, more than any other time my sister had used our past as a teachable moment.
Apparently, she needed a moment as well, because she waited a beat before responding. And when she did, her voice was soft and timid, as if she had to hold herself back from unleashing what was truly on her mind. “I’d say it’s more like comparing a Golden Delicious to a Granny Smith—not exactly the same, yet they’re both apples. You were alone in a strange place, worried about someone you cared about, the only person who could make you feel safe. She’s alone in a strange place, and she was worried about someone she cares about. And maybe I’m putting words in her mouth, but it seems like you just might be the only person here who could truly make her feel safe.”
“Again, I was twelve. She’s almost thirty years old. Big difference, Jessa.”
“Okay, you’re right.” She took a step back, but just when I thought she was about to leave quietly, conceding to the argument, she added, “Don’t waste your time complaining to me about your name being in the headlines, because I won’t listen. You’re thirty-two years old, Coby…that means you’re equipped to deal with this a lot better than when we were kids.”
And with that, she walked out.
I ended up spending the next day and a half alone, not bothering to leave the pool house—but at least I got out of bed. I didn’t answer my phone when it rang, didn’t respond to texts, regardless of who they were from, and avoided the internet altogether. I’d spent the time thinking about my sister’s words, and when I’d had enough of that, I played video games. Sir Terry Drago being my only company. It probably wasn’t the healthiest way to deal with the situation I found myself in, but it was better than shoving it under a rug and pretending like the problem didn’t exist, which I’d had a tendency to do in the past.
Just before sundown on the third day of this mess, Tasha knocked on my door. I hadn’t seen nor spoken to her since arriving home from the hospital, and considering my state of paranoia after having my picture taken, I didn’t really have much to say. I knew she deserved to have her side heard; ignoring her wasn’t fair to either of us. So rather than pretend I didn’t hear her knock, I decided to answer it and let her in.
However, I wasn’t as prepared as I’d thought.
I’d grown so used to having her here, playing games, drinking a few beers together, laughing, and just having an all-around good time. Now, she took a seat on the couch in the same place she’d always sat before, but everything felt so different. The hint of a smile didn’t tease the corners of her lips, her laughter didn’t fill the room, and there was so much space between us—both literally and figuratively—that the scent of her shampoo didn’t make its way to my nose. Even the dull color of her eyes proved just how different this visit was from all the others.
“I’m really sorry, Jacoby.” Her quiet voice matched her eyes, gloomy and dismal.
“It’s not your fault.”
“I know, but I wasn’t thinking. I mean, I asked the woman at the front where you were.”
I so badly wanted to hold her hand, touch her in some way to ease the pain and guilt that riddled her body. But I couldn’t. The last thing I wanted was to give her mixed signals. That would only confuse things more than they already were. “I’m just as much to blame as you are; I wasn’t thinking, either. You might’ve asked about me, but I walked out with my arm around you. It was a stupid mistake with really horrible consequences that I’m still trying to deal with.”
She pulled her lips to the side while studying her wringing hands. Defeat. That’s what was written across her face. I could recognize it because I’d dealt with it, too. It consumed her entire existence; meanwhile, it choked the life out of me.
Defeat was a bitch that was hard to come back from.
“I talked to Ty yesterday. He said he got Tiff’s PR team ready to squash whatever story someone wants to tell. We weren’t doing anything wrong, so it’ll be easy to dismiss it as what it was—helping out a neighbor who’d been injured.”
I knew I’d meant more to her than just a neighbor, but hearing her say it that way felt like a million needles stabbing my heart. However, I had to bite back that emotion, had to hide it and keep her from coming to that realization. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful for your efforts to make this all blow over, because I’m not. But what you don’t understand is that when they figure out my name, neither you nor Tiffany’s PR team will be able to keep my past from being exploited. All that’s going to do is protect you—well, protect the great Tiffany Lewis from having her name dragged through the mud. It does nothing to protect me. Or Jessa.”
“What about your past are you so worried about being uncovered? If I knew that, then I’d be able to come up with a way to protect you and your sister as well.” Her eyes pleaded with me to tell her the truth.
But I
