Say You Still Love Me(130)

I laugh; meanwhile my chest swells with pride. “For once, it’s for a good cause.”

“Yes, well.” Cindy dabs at the corners of her eyes. “I’m not going to lie—there are dark days, when Eric’s spirits are especially low, when he gets frustrated and gives up on the work needed to improve. But we do our best to bring him out of it.”

Could having Ashley and me around have helped keep Eric’s spirits up, had we been given the opportunity?

My various feelings for my father are at such opposite ends of a spectrum—a pendulum swinging furiously between eternal anger and overwhelming gratitude.

The patio sliding door opens and Ashley steps out, her emerald-green eyes red-rimmed from crying. “Piper, Eric wants to talk to you.”

I take a deep breath, steeling my nerve as I stand. “Have my seat,” I offer her with an affectionate pat on her back. While Ashley may never have admitted how much she cared for Eric, there was never any doubt in my mind that she wanted more than just friendship. I can’t imagine how hard this is for her now.

I step inside. The cool, air-conditioned temperature is soothing against my sticky skin.

“Piper . . .” Eric attempts to say as I close the door behind me and take the seat next to his chair, still warm from Ashley occupying it.

It’s hard for me to meet his eyes without succumbing to tears, but I grit my teeth and fight the urge to break down.

He drags his right arm in his lap to tap the iPad screen, which is sitting in a holder.

A page entitled “Piper” on the top appears, with lines that he’s obviously prepared ahead of time.

Been streaking lately? Is the first one.

It’s so unexpected, so Eric, I burst out in laughter, even as a few tears slip out. “No. Not since that night.” I pause. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been here to see you. I didn’t know this had happened. I thought you were fine. I thought you had healed and moved on with your life—”

He makes a low, guttural sound, then scrolls down the list, his finger moving slowly to highlight line twenty-one.

I know that you didn’t know. Kyle told me. He told me your dad didn’t want you finding out. He told me about the money. He told me everything. I get it.

“Well, I still don’t, and I’m so pissed at both of them.”

He shifts his hand to a small keyboard and with painfully slow movements, types out, Don’t be mad at Kyle for asking your dad to help me.

I frown. “That’s not why I’m mad at Kyle. I would have demanded that my dad help you, and if he didn’t, I would have. I’m mad at Kyle because . . . I don’t even know why anymore. Because he didn’t tell me all this, I guess.” He had plenty of time. Plenty of chances, while tangled in my bedsheets with me, while pressing kisses against the back of my palm, while pretending everything was okay.

I wait patiently as Eric’s fingers move over the keyboard once again.

He was afraid to, because he thought your dad would cut me off of more help if he went against him.

“Eric, Kyle took a job in my building! Did he really not think that I was going to find out about all this eventually?” My dad’s right about one thing—Kyle is not stupid.

A strange half-moaning, half-grunting sound escapes Eric’s mouth, and I realize that he’s laughing.

I know. I dared him to, he types out.

My mouth drops. “What?”

I knew he was still in love with you, so I dared him.

My stomach tightens seeing that word. “But that’s . . . He wouldn’t risk pissing my dad off over a dare.”

Wanna bet? Again, that strange half-moan, half-grunt. I told him that if he didn’t do it, I would email you myself and tell you everything. This way at least he might get a happy ending out of it.

“There was definitely an ending,” I mutter, and, when I catch Eric’s curious eyes on me, I have to look away. I don’t want him to feel guilty or responsible for that mess. He has enough going on.

Eric scrolls through his list, to highlight an item that makes me pause.

I want to go to Camp Wawa. You, Ashley, me, and Kyle.

A conflicting wave of eagerness and dread washes over me. “They shut it down. I don’t know if they’re going to sell it or what.”

He taps on his screen harder.

I sigh. How can I say no? “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.” It means driving Eric six hours there, in his van, which means I had better make sure we can get on the property. Whatever . . . this is a challenge I can handle. Being there with Kyle, though, with all the emotions that are bound to rise up . . . I frown. “Why do you want to go back there so bad?”

He slowly types out, I guess cliff-jumping is out? and laughs.




“Kyle texted from town. They should be here by now,” Ashley announces, smoothing her frizzy hair off her forehead.

My palms are sweating as I pull my mom’s Z3—her latest car, which I had no idea she’d even purchased—past the open gate and into the familiar driveway. I’m not sure what I’m more nervous about: visiting Wawa again for the first time in thirteen years.

Or facing Kyle again.

We’ve arranged this trip mainly through email—Ashley and I emailing Eric, and him in turn emailing Kyle. I know Ashley and Eric have been messaging a lot over the past week, outside of planning for this trip. But Kyle and I haven’t exchanged a single word. I figured whatever needed to get out in the open would happen today, here.