The One You Can't Forget (The One, #1)

five

Emyln

Today is the day I start work at my mom's mountain bike rental shop. The first day of prison starts at 7:00 a.m. on a fucking Saturday. I'm already counting down the days until my first day off, which is Tuesday. You'd think, after all these years of not having the option of seeing me, she'd cut me some slack. Apparently not.

As we walk down the trail to the east side of Lost Lake I can feel her eyes pinned on me. She has questions. I can feel a heaviness in the air. Mom's curiosity mixed with my withheld frustration and disappointment has formed a dark cloud that clings to the trees, dirt, and rocks like spilt ink across a blanched piece of printer paper.

I try to act normally; as if this is the third or fourth time I've visited her this year. I also try to keep my mind away from any thoughts about last night, Hainsey, and the tears I shed. Since I opened my eyes this morning, he's all I've been thinking about and I've been fighting myself to stop. But it's so hard to do. And when the thoughts about him surface, I feel like weeping.

I didn't say anything to him yesterday. I wanted to, and I should have. But I didn't. I wonder what he thinks. I certainly hope he doesn't hate me for being too stunned to speak. He's changed, gotten hotter and more handsome than ever. I wonder what else, other than his looks, has changed.

"So," Mom says, "Hainsey's changed since the last time you saw him?"

Irritation infects me like a skin rash. Does my mother have some type of unexplainable mind-reading powers that I failed to detect before I left? Whatever the reason, I find her question to be ridiculous. Every time she talks about Hainsey, she starts hinting at how great we'd be together, which, in my opinion, is really none of her business. If I somehow manage to bring back what was lost between us, she doesn't need to know. If he rejects me, she doesn't need to know.

I scoff. "I don't think you should be talking about relationships, Mom. You're not a very good example to go off of."

"Em..." she trails off.

I stop dead in my tracks. "Don't call me that!" I snap. "You lost every right to when you fucked one of your customers, and then tore apart our family." I know what I'm saying to her is harsh, but I can't stop; the words are rolling off my tongue. "Fuck. Why couldn't you have left Whistler and given me, Dad, and Rosa the house? Then maybe Hainsey and I would still be together." I glare at her, feeling the rage boil in my blood. "You disgust me beyond belief."

I feel the sting before I realize what she's done to me. Stumbling back and clutching my left cheek, I gape at my mom. In my nineteen years of living, she's never laid a hand on me. My left eye begins to water, not because I'm crying but because the aftershock of her palm hurts like hell.

"You," she snarls as she takes a step forward, "have no idea what your father and I went through, Emyln Juliette Walker. So don't you dare point all the blame at me."

"Who else am I supposed to pin the blame on when you're the one who cheated on dad?" I demand, feeling ready to explode.

Mom sighs, brushing a lock of dirty blonde hair behind her ear. "Emyln. Why are we talking about this now? It's been years."

I look up at the pine trees, feeling the tears beginning to burn my eyes. "I should have never come here," I spit. I look back at her. "Let's be clear, Mom – I'm not here to see you. I'm here to see Hainsey and Val. So, for the sake of our sanities, can we please, for the love of God, just attempt to coexist? I'll work and do whatever. Just stay out of my goddamned business."

Mom purses her painted lips, and then nods her head. "Fine. When you act your age, we can discuss the past. But for now, we shall coexist."

Her comment stings in ways I didn't know they could. I guess I was expecting her to demand that we solve this problem right here, right now.

But it's been years.

Perhaps Hainsey isn't the only one that's changed. 

I mentally curse at myself. I hate that all I can think about is him, and how much I wish he were here to be at my side and support me through all this shit. I wonder what he's doing right now. Is he thinking about me? Trying to stop himself from doing so? Or has he already pushed me away like an old pair of socks?

Turning back to the trail that leads to Mom's shop, I break out into a light jog. If I'm going to get through my first day on the job, I need to find an outlet for my anger or else someone is going to pay other than my mom.

So I run, letting the pounding of my Nike runners slamming against the compacted ground anchor me as I head for the shop.