Too Wrong: Hayes Brothers Book 2

“Pick up!” I snap, not for the first time, dialing Cass’s number on repeat for twenty minutes. “Fuck! Pick up!”

I pace the office, dry wood termites gnawing at the papermill of my mind. The way she cried out shit right before the call dropped has me worried to my back fucking teeth.

She was driving when we talked, but I refuse to let the dark scenarios infest my mind.

She’s okay.

She’s just pissed off and doesn’t want to talk to me.

Not that she should be. I sure didn’t give her an STD. No way it was me. I was clean. I get routinely tested every year, and it just so happened that my appointment was the day before Thalia’s birthday.

I was clean before I touched Cassidy.

Now, I’m not. All thanks to her and whatever dirty asshole she fucked while sleeping with me.

The anger is pushed to the background for now. My stomach churns with dread as I dial and redial her number. Five more tries before the cell pings in my hand—a message in the Hayes group chat. Before I even open the app, three more messages arrive.

Conor: Colt’s not having a great day. Just his fucking luck.

I study the picture he sent of Colt’s Mustang, the rear bumper and the left light smashed.

Nico: You good?

Theo: Shit, how did he do that?

Conor: Yeah, we’re good. You should see the other car. Cody’s is unscathed in comparison.

He sends another picture. A yellow Fiat is scrunched up as if it collided with a truck, not Colt’s Mustang. The front is almost unrecognizable, the hood folded like a pancake, the windscreen and left wheel missing.

Bile comes up to my throat. My hands shake so hard I can’t read the messages that keep coming. I know that car.

Cassidy.

Instead of her, I call Conor, ignoring the incessant pinging.

“You’re such a sweetheart,” he laughs in my ear. “We’re alright, Logan. Chill. Not a scratch on Colt or me. Cody’s not here. We nipped out for coffee and bam! You should’ve seen Colt’s face, bro!” He laughs again. “We’re cool, Shawn’s here, and I know a guy who’ll—”

“Conor!” I snap to stop his rambling. “I’m glad you’re fine. What about Cassidy? Is she okay?”

There’s a short pause on his side. Long enough to fucking choke me. I close my eyes, blocking another wave of dark scenarios, but they flicker on the backs of my eyelids, and my eyes pop back open.

She’s okay. She’s okay. Don’t freak out.

“How do you know it’s her?” he asks, weighing every word.

“I know her car. How. Is. She?”

“She’s alive… somehow. The clock on that toy she drives stopped at forty miles an hour on impact. I’ve no idea how the hell that tiny car took the blast the way it did. It got thrown onto the fucking sidewalk!”

“For fuck’s sake!” I boom, my teeth grinding with every next word coming out of his mouth. “Focus, Conor! Cassidy. Is she okay? Is she hurt?”

“Jeez, who pissed in your cereal?” he mumbles, royally annoyed with me now. “I said she’s alive. Battered and bruised. I think she broke a few ribs, and she’s got a nasty cut on her face, but she’s better than I’d expect after such a blast. The fire crew got her out of the car, and—” The ambulance siren goes off in the background stopping Conor mid-sentence. “Yeah, they’re taking her to the hospital.”

“Thanks. I’ll call you later.” I snatch the keys from the desk, storming out of the office without a bye in the receptionist’s direction when I pass her desk.

◆◆◆

“What do you mean no visitors?” I growl at the nurse, who refuses to let me see Cass. “Visiting hours don’t end until half five!”

She shifts her weight from one foot to another. “I’m sorry, but the patient asked not to let anyone in. She does have her phone, so maybe try calling. I know she’s in her room now, but she’s due a few more tests soon. If she tells me you can come in, I’ll take you up there, but—”

“Fine,” I huff, taking out my phone.

It’s not like I’ve not tried calling or texting a dozen times already. She’s not answering.

I stroll to the cafeteria, ready to wait until Cass lets me visit. The assaulting smell of antiseptic, citrus floor wash, and latex fails to mask the odor of sickness and death lurking in every corner of this place.

“A black coffee,” I tell the cashier and grab a sandwich while I’m at it. I have a feeling I’ll be here for a while.

As he moves away to fetch my coffee, I send Cass a text.

Me: Why don’t you want to see anyone? I’m not leaving until I see you, princess.

My phone keeps pinging, the chat about Colt’s crash still ongoing. I’ve glanced at the messages a few times since I got here to make sure Conor hadn’t made my concern for Cassidy the number one topic, but thankfully, he hasn’t mentioned it yet.

I hope he won’t. I don’t have the time or the energy to come up with an excuse for my sudden interest in her well-being.

Me: Your Guardian Angel needs sacking. He’s disgraceful.

An hour goes by while I eat and drink coffee, staring at the screen and willing Cassidy to read the messages. At least the engaging subject of Colt’s smashed Mustang runs its course, and the pings aren’t eating away my battery which sits at twenty percent. I might need to visit the gift shop to buy a charger.

Me: Still here. Just tell me you’re okay.

Time drags.

Everyone around me is going through a tough time. Whether it’s a disease or watching a loved one die slowly, people chatting quietly over the tables put my problems in perspective. A young girl sits nearby, her head shaved but a brave smile on her tired, pale face. She smiles at her mother, who keeps kissing her head and squeezing her arm.

Life is so short, yet people don’t realize it until it’s too late. We’re blind to the obvious. Too blind to see that life is about moments. Too scared to step out of the line and say fuck it, this is my life and my choices.

Instead, we chase the unattainable. We want more: money, recognition, respect. But the truth is that in the end, no one will remember the cool car you drove or the brand-new sofa you spent five grand on.

You won’t see expensive gadgets or a five-bedroom house when you’re gasping for your last breath and life flashes before your eyes. You won’t see material things.

You’ll see people.

Moments.

Memories.

The smile of someone you love. Their laughter. You’ll remember what it felt like to be happy.

People don’t need much to be happy, but we complicate our lives on purpose. We’re raised in a society that cares about appearances more than human interactions.

Two more hours pass and three empty cups sit on the table. I bought a charger, too. And one more sandwich. And a slice of pie. It’s close to half past five before Delivered changes to Read under the last message I sent. I grip the phone, waiting for three dots to start dancing.

A minute goes by.

Five.

Ten.

And finally, she starts typing.

Princess: Two fractured ribs, three stitches, and a mild contusion. I’ll live. My angel quit the day I let you back into my life. He knew I’ll end up crying and signed off ahead of time. Go home. I don’t want to see you.

I stare at the text message for the longest time as if it’s written in Greek. I don’t want to see you jumps out from the screen, cutting me in ways I’ve never been cut.

Stitches. Fractured ribs. Contusion.

That hurts, too. Picturing Cassidy in bed, in pain, alone and scared drives the knife that much deeper, but that one line hurts more than I’d ever expect words to hurt: He knew I’ll end up crying and signed off ahead of time.

Fuck.

I never wanted to hurt her. We were supposed to have fun. We were supposed to fuck, because we do it so well but add feelings into the mix, and that’s the kind of mess neither of us needs on our hands.

I should go. I should move on, but I can’t until I see her.

Me: Say it to my face, and I might believe you.

The three dots flash, then stop on repeat for a whole minute, but no messages come through. I have the sudden urge to toss the cell across the cafeteria.

It’d bounce off one of the patients’ heads, though.

“Excuse me.” The same nurse who didn’t let me in to see Cass before stops by my table. “Cassidy said you can visit now if you—”

I’m on my feet before she finishes. “Lead the way.”

A fond smile curves her lips, emphasizing the wrinkles around her eyes. “Normally, we don’t allow people in after five thirty, but you’ve been here all day, so I’ll make an exception.”

My mouth is too dry to grace her with pleasantries. I’m grateful she’s letting me in, but at the same time, I’m jittery inside, unsure what to expect.

The nurse leads me out of the cafeteria, and we take the elevator to the fifth floor. I keep pumping my fists to rid the irrational tension, anxious to see the state of Cassidy. The few pictures of her smashed-up Fiat that Colt sent to the group chat confirm it’s a miracle she’s alive. Two broken ribs are merely a surface scratch after a crash like that.

“You only have ten minutes,” the nurse says, opening the door to Cassidy’s room. “Make it count.” She winks, gesturing for me to enter.

I stop two steps inside the room, my eyes on the girl half-sitting, half-lying in bed, propped up by a few white pillows.

I suck in a ragged breath, taking in the stitches under her eyebrow. Half an inch lower, and she would’ve lost her eye. Hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I feel sick, scrutinizing her olive skin covered in cuts and bruises.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says, her voice calm but weak as if she’s exhausted. “You asked to come up here. Did you expect to find me in full makeup, pretty as always?”

“You’re just as pretty without makeup as you are with red lips and a smoky eye.” I walk further in, my legs a little spongy as I take a seat in the uncomfortable chair beside her bed. “How are you feeling?”

She’s ghastly pale, her lips a faint milky pink, and shadows under her blue eyes. A heavy chain girds itself around my chest. She looks so fucking fragile.

“I’m fine. The painkillers are working, so I can hardly feel my ribs now.” She brushes her blonde hair back with her fingers, meeting my gaze. “Why are you here, Logan? Why can’t you just let me be?”

Because I worry. I’m confused and can’t figure out how to tackle what I feel. I don’t understand what I feel, but I know those feelings aren’t welcome. They push me another step closer to losing my family.

“Did you mean what you said in the text?”

“I want to mean it,” she admits on a sigh, toying with the corner of the comforter covering her frail body. “We knew this… us had an expiration date. We’re past that now.”

Us. It’s been a long time since I was a part of us. Ten years to be precise, but the college flings weren’t meaningful. Not that Cass and I were supposed to be meaningful, but here we are. Three months of sex, and I’m way out of my depth.

“Plans change, Cassidy. It’s not like either of us has anyone to come home to.” Don’t end this. Not yet. I’m not fucking done with you. “What’s wrong with what we have?”

“There’s nothing wrong. Nothing right, either.” She steadies her breathing and wipes her eyes, getting ahead of tears, and I want to crawl out of my skin. “The longer we keep this up, the more I get hurt. There’s only so long I can pretend.”

“Pretend?”

“That sex is enough. It isn’t.”

I grit my teeth, pushing away the contradicting emotions. She’s slipping between my fingers, and I can’t decide whether to spread them wider or close my fist.

“Why did you agree if casual isn’t what you want?” I ask, letting annoyance shine through. It’s my safest bet right now. Anger is familiar. Disappointment isn’t. I don’t know how to deal with that glum mist of dysphoria blanketing my thoughts. “Why did you come to me when I said it’ll only be this once?”

A small smile tugs her lips, but there’s nothing joyful about it. She looks like she gave up, stopped fighting for herself, and accepted what life has in store, regardless of how much it hurts.

“For such a clever guy, you’re awfully oblivious. I’ll always come to you if you let me, and I’ll always take you back no matter how much it hurts to watch you sneak out at night.” She looks me dead in the eye, her voice soft. “I’ll cry, and promise myself that I won’t let you near, but I can’t push you away when you show up.” She bites her cheek, first silent tears sliding down her cheeks. “It’s sad,” she whispers, her eyes holding me hostage. “But no matter how often you leave, I want you to come back, Logan, because I love you. I’ve loved you for years.”

I… I… God, I can’t fucking breathe.

I’ve heard those words before. So many times from my parents, grandparents, and even my brothers. I’ve heard them from a few drunk chicks back at school too, but it never hit me the way it does now.

Those three small words act like a bullet. They penetrate my armor, pierce my chest, and stop in my heart, breaking it clean in two.

A cacophony of contradicting emotions burn beneath my skin as if someone set a slow and steady match deep in the pit of my stomach. Words stick to my throat. I’m afraid I might spontaneously combust at any moment. A primal flight reaction, or something like it, kicks in: a giant flood of adrenaline fills my veins like a drug.

I’ve never felt more alive and more defeated.

Cassidy watches me with big eyes. She’s silently coming apart, tugging on the comforter, and sinking her teeth into her lower lip to keep on top of her emotions. Confessing her feelings to me, the cold, arrogant fucker who brings more pain than good, sometimes without knowing, couldn’t have been easy.

“The cards are in your hands,” she continues quietly. “You decide whether I’ll cry once and by some miracle move on or whether I’ll cry time and time again.”

I don’t want the cards.

I don’t want to exploit her feelings and vulnerability, but I don’t know if I have the strength to let her go…

Maybe if we spend one more night together, I’ll get my fill. Maybe that’ll be enough. Fuck. She shouldn’t have told me she’ll give in to me every time.

How am I supposed to step aside?

A soft tapping on the door jolts me from the weird trance I’ve slipped into. The door swings open, and the same nurse who let me in here stands in the doorway with the same fond smile twisting her mouth.

“I’m sorry, but it’s time to go. You can come back tomorrow at eight-thirty.”

My legs feel as if I ran a marathon when I haul myself up to my feet, eyes back on Cassidy. I feel so fucking raw under her gaze, like there’s no skin left on my bones, and every movement of air is pure agony.

I take one step, lean over the bed and press my lips to her forehead. It takes all I have, every ounce of determination, will, and courage to walk out of the room without one word.

Without acknowledging or dismissing her confession.

But I do it.

One leg after the other, I leave Cassidy to lick her wounds in peace.