I'll Be Holding on to You

the terrible truth

There was no way to say it except for just to say it, and it was up to me. Hooray. "Hadley actually died last year."

Even though the words came out of my own mouth, they still affected me like a slap in the face. Tears stung my nose and the back of my eyes and I blinked rapidly. I shoved a sour candy strip into my mouth and it kind of redirected my brain, which was the desired effect.

"Oh, man." His face fell. "I didn't even see that coming. Fuck."

I made what I hoped was a sympathetic face while all I wanted to do was claw my eyes out in my own grief. "Yeah." Was he going to ask? Should I explain?

He stared at a picture of us that he had taken. The six of us are waiting off stage for our turn at a contest down in Anaheim. We're watching the group on stage with varying looks on our faces, none of them fear. We were nothing if not confident. Our name wasn't Undaunted because we liked the sound of it.

Although we did like the sound of it.

Sometimes people got mixed up and called us Dauntless. The difference was subtle but important, though both definitions could have had our picture next to them. Dauntless meant invulnerable to fear or intimidation; lionhearted, unflinching, unconquerable. Which we were, and then some.

But Undaunted was showing courage and resolution. Not shaken, discouraged, or disheartened; unfaltering. And this was even more us. Unflinching. Valiant. And my favorite synonym, fire-eating. Though none of us had attempted that.

Yet.

In the picture Cam with short hair is holding hands with Hadley, her long brown hair in a high ponytail. "I see a pattern here." Freddy looked at the next several pictures, where said pattern went on. "Cameron and Hadley?"

"For many years. Like eight." I looked away from the pictures as he continued to flip through. My legs ached to dance, and I guess my soul did too. Or maybe that was just missing Hadley.

"Poor Cam," Mo said dejectedly.

"Cam got dealt a shitty hand in life," I agreed, half informing Freddy of this fact just in case he for some reason couldn't figure things out on his own suddenly.

"Was his dad always crazy?" He got a handful of pork rinds and ate some.

"Pretty much, I guess. Used to beat him up, toss him down the stairs, put Lysol in his diapers, lock him in the closet in the dark and shit." I stomped down the inner rage that rose when I thought of this. "Too bad he didn't do the world a favor and turn the gun on himself, but what are ya gonna do."

Mohammed made a noise of accord. "Worthless p-p-piece of shit." He helped himself to some flaming hot Cheetos, studiously not looking at the pictures either. "There's a p-place that makes f-flaming hot Cheetos b-bagels," he added.

"Gross," I said, imagining it.

"I'd eat it," Freddy said decidedly. Surprise. "So your parents actually adopted him after that?"

I nodded, changing position and adding some bbq chips to the rest of the junk in my cast iron stomach. Stress eating for the win. "They did. My mom had been his psychiatrist for a year or so, since his mom had left his dad. She specializes in childhood trauma. He and I were close. He loved my house, and my mom. 'Course, everyone does."

Mo verified this. "She's the b-best."

I knew Freddy was going to ask. I saw it on his face. "How did she die?" He winced a little. "I'm sorry, I just, I feel like I have to know, even though I know I already should."

"Well, it is why we're here," I said gently, so he'd know I understood even though I didn't want to answer. He still had the luxury of thinking car accident, cancer, toilet seat fell on her head.