The Summer We Fell (The Summer, #1)(42)

The hint of sarcasm in his voice sets my teeth on edge.

I raise a brow. “Was there a question in there?”

My publicist would scold me, but I didn’t want to do this interview in the first place, so fuck it, and who gives a shit if The Sunny Day Times claims I was defensive? I’m so sick of the implication that I was once doing something right before and no longer am.

“Sorry,” he says, glancing at his notes. “I was hoping you could give me a little insight into what led you from singing in a church choir to singing about, I don’t know, cocaine and oral sex.”

I smirk. “Well, I wouldn’t have minded singing about cocaine and oral sex back then either, but the church wasn’t really a fan of it.”

He laughs. I expect him to move on but he doesn’t. “So what got you started? What got you outside of the church to sing?”

If he actually did his research, he probably already knows the answer to this, or at least the answer that I have provided many times: that I sent out some recordings and about a year later, a producer finally replied.

But Luke has opened the box, and the truth—the beautiful and painful truth—is spilling like a stain inside me.

I didn’t just send out some recordings. The reason any of this happened was because once upon a time, someone wanted to put me first. I can let that much be known, even if I never say his name.

“A boy gave me a microphone,” I reply.





18

THEN

JUNE 2014

T wo days after Donna tells me about the internship she’s gotten me, the one that will have me staying with them for another year, Luke shows up in my section again. He shouldn’t be here, and I shouldn’t want to stay right by his side while he is.

I arrive at his table with coffee and juice and a bagel before he’s said a word. They’re all I can give him for free, and even the bagel might be a problem. I’ll pay for it if Charlie notices.

He smells like sunscreen, and the saltwater drying in his hair gives it a little curl. There’s something inside him that seems to glow after he’s spent the morning surfing, something that makes me want to be near him even more than I already do.

“How were the waves?”

“Knee high and glassy.” There’s a tiny glint of humor in his eyes. He surfs at Long Point in the mornings when Danny isn’t around, and Long Point has not had a “knee high and glassy” morning since the beginning of time. They’re double overhead on their worst day, the water churned up and unpredictable thanks to competing breezes.

I smile. “Sure it was. I guess you’re not hungry at all, then.”

His eyes flicker from the menu to my face, his mouth almost twitching. “I could probably eat.”

I laugh. Luke “could probably eat” if he’d just cleaned out a buffet. Luke “could probably eat” if he’d just finished fourths on Thanksgiving.

“Same as last time?” I ask.

For a fraction of a second our gaze locks. By referencing the fact that he’s been in before, I’ve referenced that we’ve kept it a secret. I’m admitting I remember what he ordered, and I probably shouldn’t remember.

Something softens in his face. “Yeah. Same as last time.”

We haven’t done anything wrong, but as I put in his order—two eggs over easy, bacon, sourdough

—I know I should end this. I know I should return with a stack of pancakes and act as if his last visit meant nothing to me, that it didn’t manage to imprint itself in any way and that the tip he left isn’t still hiding dead in the center of Wuthering Heights. But I wouldn’t do that to him, even if I wanted to.

Luke is like me—he’s alone in ways the people around us are not. The Allens might claim to love us, but they aren’t family. They can turn against us without blinking an eye if we displease them. I want Luke to know that I see him, that I’m in his corner, that I won’t turn against him no matter what happens after this.

When his food’s ready, I set it in front of him like a gift. I remember you were here. I remember every word you’ve ever said. I see you.

“Do you get to eat?” His tone is devoid of inflection as if he’s asking a question that doesn’t matter at all, that doesn’t matter enough to even be asked.

Is he asking if I’m free? If I can sit down with him now? I’m not sure.

I sigh. “Yeah, but only later, once it’s slow.”

“Don’t take that internship.”

Something sags inside me. “Donna went to a lot of trouble to make it happen. I feel like I have to.”

His lip curls. “Exactly how much trouble did she go to for that internship you never implied in any way you wanted? She knows you don’t want to teach. She wants you to teach. More to the point, she wants to make sure you stay nice and safe in her home, waiting for her son to come back and claim you.”

“You’re making her sound evil and she’s not.”

He runs a hand over his face. “I don’t doubt she thinks she’s got your best interests at heart. But she doesn’t care what you want from your life. She’s decided it for you, and she’s guilted you into accepting it. She just told you to quit your fucking job, the one that might get you a little independence, and go work full-time for free, Juliet. Do you really think that’s entirely altruistic, or do you think maybe a part of her is scared of what happens when you don’t need them anymore? Because I am fucking sure that’s a factor, no matter what she says to you or herself.”