June, Reimagined (28)

“June, you’re not acting like yourself.”

“And how should I act, Matty? Is the problem that I’m not acting like myself, or is the problem that I’m not taking orders anymore?”

“When the fuck have I ever ordered you around?”

June pictured him standing from the couch, coffee clutched so tightly in his hands that his knuckles were white. She squeezed her eyes closed. Matt may not have directly bossed June around, but he had influenced everything she did, everything she even considered. Because Matt sustained June like water.

“Just tell me what’s really going on,” he pleaded. “I know it’s been rough lately, but was your life here really so bad you want to throw it all away?”

She held back a verbal vomit of confessions. Matt didn’t understand because he couldn’t; telling him the truth—that June left because of him—would hurt Matt more than it hurt June to keep it from him.

“You know I just want you to be happy, right?” he said. “I’d do anything for you.”

But Matt’s protection was the problem. His good deeds made June’s lies even worse. His loyalty made her betrayal more gut-wrenching. His bravery made her cowardice even more intolerable. Matt’s insistent love only made June less deserving of it.

“Maybe that’s the problem.” She paced the kitchen. What she was about to say would hurt Matt, but June saw no other way. June Merriweather had always existed in tandem with Matt Tierney. He was a shield for her, down to the EpiPen he kept in his backpack. Now June had to shield Matt, from herself. She was the poison he needed protection from. She had thought putting some distance between them would be enough, but it wasn’t. “I should be who you want me to be, right? I’m just supposed to follow instructions like some neutered puppy?”

“I didn’t say that. You know that’s not how I feel.”

June was sick to her stomach. “I have to go.”

“Wait. Don’t hang up. We can fix this. We never hang up mad at each other.”

“Well, then I guess we have changed.” June ended the call and steadied herself on the counter. If she let go, she might crumble. Did she really just do that to Matt? She felt as though she had just cut the umbilical cord, a lifeline she had survived on for as long as she could remember. She could barely breathe. Who was June Merriweather without Matt Tierney? Could she even live without him?

But this was not about what June needed. She didn’t deserve Matt, or his kindness or his protection or his love, because June was a liar. And as afraid as she was to live without Matt, she was more afraid to watch her lies destroy whatever remained between them.



June sprinted to Lennox’s house, spare key in hand. He had given her a copy so she could let herself in to get Max when he was gone, which was often. Her hand shook as she put the key into the lock. She needed to run. She needed air and space and quiet after what she had just done to Matt. More than anything, she needed absolution.

But as she opened the back door and entered, June stopped. Lennox was home. The last thing she needed right now was him. She felt frail and broken and vulnerable. She had no energy to spar with him. One wrong word from Lennox and she might drop like a weak child.

She started to back out the door, but Max came into the kitchen and bounded toward her excitedly. June bent down, hushing the dog and petting him in hopes he wouldn’t bark and reveal her presence.

“It was good to see you today. I needed you, Isobel.” Lennox’s voice came from the other room. June was caught. She flattened herself against the wall, biting the inside of her cheek. “I couldn’t have survived without you. You’re my angel.”

Who the hell is Isobel? June remembered the hummingbird earring, and the intensity with which Lennox demanded she give it to him. And the way he spoke now—intimate, gentle, vulnerable—was so unlike anything June had heard from him, the opposite of misanthropy.

Her gut twisted. June hated that Lennox incited involuntary reactions in her. She either loathed him or craved him. But what she really wanted was to be indifferent, a stone sculpture he was unable to crack or change.

“Aye, I’ll come see you right after the festival,” he said. “Amelia has me doing charity for one of the guests. Lord knows what would happen if I left the lass alone in the house for too long. She’d probably burn it to the ground and then call it an accident.”

Charity? The word was practically a synonym for pathos. June needed to get out of the house, but just as she turned to go, Max barked. Seconds later, Lennox came into the kitchen, flip phone in hand.

June grabbed the leash off the table. “I’m taking Max on a run. I thought you’d be at work.”

Lennox set the phone on the counter. “I had something else to do today.” He didn’t expound.

“I’ll go.” June turned toward the door.

“Wait.” Lennox came closer and examined her face.

June wondered at the state of it. No doubt her eyes were puffy after her conversation with Matt, but she didn’t want to admit that to Lennox. It was all just too . . . pathetic. Too weak.

“Are you alright, Peanut?”

“I’m fine.” She dodged his large frame, not wanting to meet his eyes, and hooked the leash onto Max.

Lennox scratched the dog’s ears. “Make sure you bring her back in one piece, Max.”