The Summer We Fell (The Summer, #1)(15)
But he smiles like a man who is not at all concerned, and why would he be? The sun rises and sets with him for me.
I press my lips to his neck and breathe him in. Even after a night of sleep, Luke always smells like he’s fresh from the shower. “It’s just weird how real it all seemed.”
His hand slides over my hip and his breath quickens, his chest rising and falling as it presses to mine. His smile grows sly. “Did it seem as real as this?” It’s the kind of question that leads to sex, that has no purpose but to lead to sex, but something inside me says, “Make sure. Make sure it’s real.”
I sit up and glance around me. The room is familiar, and yet it’s not, so I walk toward the balcony and throw open the curtains.
That’s when I see the cliff. Guys are jumping off it, trying to reach a wave far in the distance.
I snatch the curtains closed in a sudden panic. If Luke sees them jumping, he’ll want to try it, too, and he’ll never come back to me.
I turn, ready to beg him not to go out there, and realize where we are. This is the rundown house I visited during Pipeline Masters, where I watched him from the dunes, and then snuck away like a thief so he wouldn’t know I was there.
We weren’t together then. We aren’t together now.
I wake with a start, in the dark, staring at the bare walls of an unfamiliar room.
The truth trickles in and drowns me—the nightmare came true, and the things I wanted most did not.
I fall face down on my pillow and weep, wishing I could find a way back to him, to the version of Luke who doesn’t hate me. Who doesn’t believe all the terrible things other people said about me wound up being right.
THERE ARE no blinds on my windows yet. I’d forgotten how fucking bright the sun could get this early.
I drag myself out of bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and bracing myself for another day of Luke’s well-deserved hatred and Donna’s undeserved adoration.
She’s just starting breakfast when I enter the kitchen. “Good morning, beautiful girl,” she says, pressing a kiss to my head. She should have had a whole village of children. I guess that’s what she’s creating with Danny’s House…only she won’t be alive to experience it for long.
I work on the eggs while she oversees the bacon, and Luke wanders in just as we finish, sleepy eyed and full lipped, running a hand through his messy hair. I see of sliver of abs as his shirt rises and think of that dream I had. His hand, possessive on my hip, his eyes so peaceful, so happy. Could it have been like that with us? I’ll never know, and it’s the not knowing that tortures me. For a half second my gaze lands on the cords of his neck, and I picture running my nose along the skin there, tasting it again. My stomach flips so hard I find myself pressing a hand to it, willing it to stop.
I don’t eat breakfast, but I load my plate anyway and sit with them because this is what Donna wants: to pretend that the years haven’t passed. To sit around a big breakfast as if Luke and Danny will be heading out to surf the moment we’re done.
“Did I mention they finally tore down the diner?” Donna asks. “Put in some fancy place.”
An ache hits before I can stop it, as if some phantom has slid inside my chest to grab my heart and give it a hard squeeze. My eyes meet Luke’s, and just for a moment, before he looks away, I see a phantom in him too.
He turns to Donna. “You said you had a list of things for us to do?”
“The shrubs for the backyard were delivered yesterday,” she says. “I think we need to get those planted first, and then I’ll have the two of you finish the drywall in some of the back rooms.”
Luke’s raised brow implies I’m more likely to bring down the foundation of the house than I am to put up its walls, which is entirely accurate. And with the amount of money we provided, none of this is necessary. For two million, drywall should’ve been included.
“Donna,” I begin, “that sounds like something for professionals. If you guys need more money I can—”
She puts down her spoon and meets my eye. “No. I don't need money. I need you to be involved. I need you to feel like this place is as much yours as it is mine or the children’s.”
I suppress a sigh. “I’m happy to be here, and I want to be able to spend time with you, but…why risk me putting a hammer through the drywall and ruining someone’s room?”
“You need to get your hands dirty, Juliet. The way you live now isn’t healthy for anyone. It separates you from your actual life. When was last time you did your own laundry? Or dishes?”
I press the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. It’s just like Donna to believe that a little bit of good, honest work will turn me back into the eager teenager who first arrived in her home. And even if she’s right, why does Luke need to be here? He’s making money, sure, but no matter how much he makes, I guarantee he’s living in some tiny place with no help whatsoever—his hands are plenty dirty.
Her gaze follows mine. “Yes, I know he does his own laundry. You’ve both made so much of yourselves over the past seven years, but I can’t help but feel your lives have gotten off track somehow and I want to fix it before I’m gone.”
There’s so much pain and rage in Luke’s gaze that I have to look away. “She can’t fix this,” his face says, “and she shouldn’t have to.” Because I did this to him and I did this to myself. Every problem either of us has…it all started with me.