Broken Knight (All Saints High 2)

“Maybe because you’ve been dicked all night.”

Evidently, I wasn’t going to be a supportive boyfriend. I just couldn’t stomach FUCKING JOSH’s name—even if I’d won the battle, the war, and conquered every inch of the land. I slid out of my seat and joined her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and kissing her head.

“Just because you didn’t tell them the whole truth doesn’t mean you lied. You didn’t speak at the time. It takes a lot of courage to do what you did, at age nineteen, and without the support of your idiot best friend. They’ll get over the shock. Cut yourself some slack.”

“What if I broke Josh’s heart?” Luna’s eyes filled with tears.

I took her hands and placed them on my chest. Her sweetness just about killed me. She wasn’t sad for FUCKING JOSH specifically. She was sad because she’d made someone else feel shitty.

“You didn’t do it on purpose. We break things all the time. It’s called life. If you don’t break, you don’t live. You don’t move. You don’t try. You don’t take chances. Breaking is a part of living. FUCKING JOSH will move on. He has to. You need to understand that sometimes, the consequences of your actions are destructive. You need to forgive yourself and make sure the other person knows you’re sorry. You can’t do more than that. You’re not responsible for someone else’s happiness.”

She ate pancakes, and I had a BLT. I forced myself to finish the bitch so she wouldn’t know how crazy lethargic I was from all the drinking. Since football season was over, I no longer gave a shit about my muscle tone. I wasn’t even sure I’d go to college at this point. I might skip a year to stay with Mom. I knew I was definitely not moving out, and I wondered if that was going to be a problem for Luna, who seemed to want to stay here at Boon.

We strolled toward the water tower after that, hand in hand. I was boarding a plane later this evening. I didn’t know the next time I could come visit. Technically, I could come next weekend, if Mom was okay. But what if she wasn’t? Leaving her side now felt like Russian roulette.

“So. This long-distance shit,” I broached.

We both looked forward, at the water tower, not each other.

“We’ll make it work,” she said.

“We have to,” I insisted. “And not just this year.” I stopped. She stopped. The entire world stopped.

This was hard. And necessary. No man should have to choose between the love of his life and the woman who gave him life. But here I was, in front of some fucked-up Sophie’s choice. The boy or the girl? The mother or the girlfriend?

The love of your life or the woman who gave you life?

“I’m not going anywhere, Luna. I’m staying in Todos Santos to be there with my mom. This year. Possibly next year. Definitely for the rest of her days. And if my mom…” I started, but she put her fingertips to my lips.

A tiny, barely visible shake of her head told me not to continue.

I cleared my throat. “Regardless of Mom, I will need to be there for Levy and Dad.”

After.

“We’ll make it work.” She brushed her thumb across my cheek.

“I’ll need you. All the freaking time.”

“I’ll try to transfer to UCLA. Might work. We’ll see.”

“Thank you.” I was too desperate to do the chivalrous thing and tell her to stay here if she was happy.

How the fuck was I going to survive until then? If she was even going to get the transfer.

She rose on her toes, wrapping her arms around my neck. She touched her lips to mine. There was something about that kiss that promised more.

An I love you.

If she said it, I promised myself, I would stop drinking. I’d hold on to it in my darkest hours. I’d be good. Or at least better than I was right now. For her.

I love you, I told her in my head. I love you, I love you, I love you.

For some reason, it was important for me to hear her say it first. I was so obviously blindly, pathetically in love with her, I needed her to show me this meant something for her, too.

Her mouth opened. My goddamn heart was about to burst.

“Ride or die,” she whispered.

I smiled, my disappointment leaking through the cracks of my soul.

“Ride or die, Moonshine.”

On my cab ride from the San Diego airport to Todos Santos, my fingers closed into a fist around three Xanax pills. I looked out the window, willing them to crush into powder so I could slide them easily into the mouthwash I had in a Starbucks cup. The high was faster when they were powdered.

The hospital.

I was going straight to the hospital.

The cherry on the shit cake, I thought as I tossed the pills into my mouth, was Dad refusing to tell me what was up. The worst possible scenarios rolled through my mind. Mom had sounded so weak on the phone.