WINTER
When I snuck my way out of Haze’s embrace at seven thirty this morning, it physically hurt to let go of him. We got a call from the police when we came home last night. I washed my face, put on some clothes, and waited for the police officer we were told would show up at eight this morning. A few days back, I thought I wouldn’t survive losing Haze.
But if my father dies…
He might as well take me with him.
“We still don’t know who did it,” the police officer told us. My brother and I sat down in the living room and answered every single question they dropped on us for over two hours. So many questions to ask for so little answers to give.
They kept asking if someone might have a reason to want my father dead, a grudge of some sort. Wondered if we had noticed anything suspicious in the weeks prior to the accident, but thanks to my father being the nicest person on earth, each of our responses were useless. To make it better, they came up empty-handed when searching the scene of the accident.
I’m not sure why I asked Haze to stay last night. I pretended it was because of Jay, and in a way, it was, but in the end, I needed him more than Jay ever could. There’s still so much we need to discuss, but I’m not in the headspace for forgiveness.
All I can think about right now is my dad. He still hasn’t woken up, and every second he spends in a coma is a second I wish I could take his place.
“Morning.” Haze’s voice drifts through the quiet kitchen.
I bring the mug in my hands to my lips for a sip of smoking coffee. Alex, Will, and Kass are still sleeping, and Jay just got in the shower—we thought he needed a day off from school—which means I have no idea how long I’m going to be alone with my ex.
“Slept well?” I ask.
He stretches, lean muscles shifting under his white T-shirt. “A lot better than I did these past few days.”
I know what he means is a lot better tha
n I did when I wasn’t with you.
Same, Haze, same.
“Did the police come?”
“Yeah.”
“How’d it go?” He makes his way over to me, gets a mug out of the cabinet, and leans forward to pour himself a cup of coffee. Goose bumps erupt all over my skin when his arm so much as brushes mine. I distance myself from him. God, I can’t function when he’s near me.
“It’s not looking good. They still haven’t found who did it, and they said a hit-and-run that isn’t solved within the first few days has very low chances of resolution. They couldn’t track the car from traffic cameras, and there were no admissions at the hospital, no one who fits the profile of the other driver. They said it’s almost like someone planned it.”
Something gleams in his blue eyes. He looks anxious.
“What is it?” I worry.
“Nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing.”
“I just can’t believe someone would do that, that’s all.” He takes a sip of coffee.
I sigh. “Tell me about it.”
A beat of silence.
“Winter, do you…” He stops himself, hesitant as to whether or not he should resume. “Do you want me to stay today?”
Yes.
So, so bad.
“No.”