It Matters To Me (The Wandering Hearts Book 2) (32 page)

His eyes snap up to meet mine. There’s hurt behind them, and I instinctively pull my hand away. Stumbling back a few steps, I catch myself on one of the brick pillars.

“What are you sorry for?” There’s so much anger in his question.

I shake my head, confused. “What? I just mean I’m sorry you have to deal with your dad. Are you okay?”

He laughs, crossing my path, retrieving a glass from a shelf, and filling it with cold water from the faucet. “It’s not anything new.”

“I mean about the Kitten thing,” I clarify, approaching the opposite side of the kitchen island and lean against the concrete counter.

“Some of us actually mean it when we say we’re over our ex,” his words slice through me like a sword through rotten fruit.

“Oh—wow,” I gasp. I close my eyes, focusing on the memories of Aiden and Africa. He just got a gut punch from his dad. He doesn’t mean this, I tell myself. I picture him as a child, growing up alone, desperate for someone to genuinely love him. Lost.

“What do you expect me to say, Kenzie?”

“What do you mean?”

“Was my father right when he said Ben doesn’t even know about us?” I look up to Aiden’s wide eyes, expecting them to soften when he saw mine. But they don’t; instead his jaw tightens, and his gaze narrows.

“I need you right now,” I whisper.

“What? You need me? I needed you. I needed you to take us seriously.”

“How can you say that? Of course I take us seriously,” I cry. I feel like I’m losing my mind, the world spinning out of control all around me.

“Then why didn’t you tell your ex-boyfriend about us?” he asks curtly.

I grip the counter top, begging it to not let me down. I need something in the world to hold me up at this moment, and if I can’t rely on Aiden, then I will rely on myself. Taking a deep breath I stiffen, pushing myself back upright. Staring him in the eyes, I firmly defend myself. “I haven’t had a chance.”

“From what I’ve gathered, you’ve been with him every second you can for days—” he watches my eyes, and I can see the moment he recognizes his statement as truth. Tossing a hand up in the air, he slaps the edge of the counter. “Damn it, I am such an idiot.”

“You’re not.” I realize I’m crying. “If you’d let me explain.”

He shakes his head wildly. “No, it’s not your fault. You told me when we were in Africa. Before we ever got together, you said you were in love with him.”

“I was!” I correct. “Past tense.”

“You even admitted he didn’t do anything for you two to break up.” Aiden looks as though he could rip the concrete slab up as easily as a sheet of paper and toss it across the room.

“You’re scaring me,” I declare.

He releases his grip, stumbling back. Out of everything we have said, this seems to have hurt him the most. His mouth opens, but it takes him several moments to find the words. “Maybe you should go.”

“What?” I give him a fast glare, searching his face for a shred of doubt.

He delivers me one last brief glance, then turns his back, and says, “Kenzie, I want you to leave.”

I pick my heart up off the floor and do as he asks. The path down the stairs feels long and lonely. It feels just like a movie. I think to myself it can’t be real.
He’ll chase after you.
But he doesn’t. I step outside and think he will shout out the window and ask me to stay. He doesn’t.

I swipe the Uber app on my phone, requesting a car. The entire time I wait for the car, I hold onto the hope he will come to his senses. A part of me holds on, all the way until I’m in the backseat, pulling away. I realize he’s not coming after me. It’s over.

“H
E LOOKS GOOD TODAY,”
I say, glancing from Ben’s sleeping face over to Karen, who is busy fidgeting with her latest hobby, knitting. The woman has been a serial hobbyist since I met her, trying them all and mastering none. One year, she was a baker, another a card maker, then there was sewing, dancing, and one year she even tried home brewing, though I think that one was an attempt to get closer to Ben.

She looks up from her yarn, studying her son’s face for a moment, and she smiles. She doesn’t respond to my statement. Instead, she says, “We all really appreciate you flying home.”

“Of course,” I answer. “There was no way I couldn’t.”

“Stuff like this has a way of putting things into perspective, doesn’t it?”

I pause, wondering if she is reading more into my presence than there actually is. “I suppose.”

She stands, placing the tangled mess of yarn on the chair. “You want to walk down to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee?”

Considering there’s a machine just down the hall, I know there’s a deeper motivation for her invitation. “Sure,” I answer with a smile.

She glides over to her son’s side, pushing his hair back from his forehead and pressing her lips gently to his flesh. She whispers, despite him being asleep, “I’ll be back soon.”

I follow the woman into the hall and toward the elevator. I press my lips together and silently study her features for some clue of what she’s thinking.

“I’m sorry we interrupted your work trip,” she says at last.

“Please Karen, it’s fine. I wanted to be here.”

“Ben said you seem excited about this new job.”

“He did?” The shocked words tumble out of my mouth.

“Yeah,” she continues. “He said he didn’t have a lot of the details yet, but the two of you were going to talk when you got back.”

Suddenly the picture became a little clearer. Ben had decided not to share the deeper details of our breakup with his mother. He decided not to explain that there was no reconciliation on the horizon. He never did want her to worry.

“What is it you’re doing exactly?” she asks with a half-smile, obviously distracted.

“I’m working as a photography assistant,” I answer, knowing this will only lead to more questions.

Her brow narrows. “Really?” There’s surprise there, but before I can say anything she adds, “Well, good for you. Do you enjoy it?”

“You know Karen, nobody ever seems to ask me that, but yes, I do. I actually really love it.”

“That’s great,” her voice is soft and tender, but her stare is distant. We step off the elevator and move in the direction of the deserted cafeteria.

“Is something bothering you?” I ask at last.

“What?” she gasps. “No, I’m fine,” she quickly says.

We grab the cups, I pay the cashier, and we make our way over to the pots. We pour the hot steaming liquid, add in our cream and sugar, stir and take a seat at one of the many empty tables.

“You know, when Ben’s father called me after the accident all I could think about was Richard.”

“Oh, Karen,” my voice cracks as I place a hand on her arm.

“Before Richard left for Afghanistan it’s like we were two strangers living under the same roof. I was so angry at him for enlisting,” she recalls.

I squeeze her arm a little tighter. “He knew you loved him.”

Her eyes dart up to mine. “I know. I just don’t want you and Ben to be like that.”

I shake my head, confused by her statement.

“Like what?”

“Strangers.”

“Ben and I—” I pause, trying to figure how to explain to her that her son and I are not just in the midst of some sort of spat. We’re finished. She doesn’t let me explain.

“Ben is never going to walk again,” she says sharply.

“Don’t say that,” I plead. “He’s a fighter, he always has been.”

She shakes her head then pulls away and folds her hands into her lap. Her voice doesn’t shake. She isn’t crying. She’s had time to process this. She knows what she’s saying. “The doctors say he’ll never walk again.”

A pang aches deep in my chest. Ben’s dark eyes and his once wide smile, flash through my mind.

“Does he know?” I ask.

“He knows enough,” she answers.

What does that even mean? I want to shout at her. In a softer tone, I ask, “What does he know?”

“He knows his spine is damaged.”

“And?”

“And recovery will be long and hard.” Karen’s body shifts into a defensive posture. “Kenzie, I’m not withholding this information from him because I think it’s fun. We spoke to his physical therapist, and she said that sometimes if patients know the odds they don’t even try to acclimate to their new…”

Her eyes glass over with a sheet of tears and her gaze quickly shifts to the checkered pastel tiled floor. The collected woman shows signs of breaking.

“He can’t lose his fight. He has a long road ahead of him. If we take away the hope of walking again, he may never recover. He needs to learn to live again, as this new form of himself.”

I collapse back in my chair, processing the information. A tear escapes and rolls down my cheek. None of this feels real.

“He needs something to fight for,” she continues.

“Fine, I mean, I’m not going to say anything if that’s what you’re worried about,” I offer.

She closes her eyes briefly, takes a deep breath, and says, “You give him more hope than anything else.”

And there it was. Karen knew exactly what the score was between Ben and me. Ben could try to hide the truth from her all she wanted, but she saw right through his stories.

“Ben and I are split up,” I remind her.

“Oh, I know,” she adds. “I was just saying you two were good together.”

“We used to be,” I say pointedly.

She moves closer to me, our eyes meeting. “I don’t know what I would have done without you after Richie’s death.” Karen was the only one who ever called Ben’s brother Richie. He had been a strong man. Wide necked, like Ben, strong in the shoulders, and though he wasn’t the tallest in our neighborhood, his stature demanded respect.

I shake my head. “There’s no need to—”

“People don’t do what you did when they don’t love someone.”

“Karen, I never said I don’t love Ben.”

“See, I told his father that you might have been walking away for good, but it wasn’t because you didn’t love our boy.” The idea of Ben’s father actually engaging in a conversation about his son’s love life seemed unlikely. I imagined it unfolded more as Karen speaking at her husband and him nodding before asking for another beer.

“I love all of you, but Ben and I,” I pause trying to carefully choose my words. “We don’t work together.”

“You could,” she says softly. “You could give him just what he needs to fight for.”

“What are you asking me to do?” I question, even though I already know the answer.

She moves over to my side, places a hand on my shoulder, and whispers, “Just listen to your heart.” And then without another word, she gets up and exits.

In an instant, a righteous anger grows inside my belly. I want to shake my fists in condemnation and outrage. How dare she put this on me? I am not her son’s keeper. We broke up. I will always care for Ben, but …

I close my eyes and listen to all the sounds of the hospital around me. My feet go numb, and my head starts to feel as if it’s swaying in a sea of darkness. The heat that had just flashed across my face dissipates.

Her words echo in my head.
Just listen to your heart.

My heart?
Standing, I open my eyes and rock back on my heels and then back onto my toes. What does my heart say? I miss Aiden. If Karen wants me to listen to my heart, I think she might be disappointed.

Lying to Ben about my feelings at the moment isn’t going to make this any less hurtful in the long run. I need to see Ben. He needs to know I’ll always be his friend. His friend.