The Summer We Fell (The Summer, #1)(55)

Thirty seconds of intercourse, no foreplay, and you’re trying to say you did it for me? Jesus Christ.

It’s my fault for not telling him, “No,” he thinks. It’s my fault for wanting it in the first place. He pulled me out of the gutter and brushed me off, but I wasn’t quite pure enough for him after all.

I climb from the bed, searching the floor for my clothes.

“Juliet, what are you doing?”

I step into my panties. He didn’t even take off my fucking sweatshirt last night but this was my fault? “You were trying to make me happy? What about that would have made me happy, Dan?”

“Hon, stop.” He throws off the covers. “It’s the middle of the night. Where do you think you’re going?”

I round on him. “I don’t know. Someplace where people aren’t blaming me for their fucked-up decisions. You brought this up tonight, and I even told you it seemed like a bad idea, and you pushed ahead anyway. And now you don’t like what you did and it’s too goddamn uncomfortable for you, so

you’re looking for a way to blame me.”

He winces. I’d like to believe it’s guilt but it’s probably just that he hates profanity.

“Babe, wait.” He jumps out of bed too fast and flinches in pain. If his knee is reinjured, I guess that will be my fault too. “Honey, I’m sorry, okay? You’re right. You’re absolutely right. Please just come back to bed. It’s been a hard couple of months between my dad and my knee, and now the scholarship, and I’m just not thinking clearly.”

“It’s been a hard couple of months for me too,” I reply. “You aren’t the only one who’s unhappy.”

My words are calmer than before, but I’ve still got one foot in my jeans, ready to finish dressing and leave. I stare at him, willing him to hear the truth in my words. To see that there are two of us here, two of us who matter.

His shoulders hunch, and he starts to cry. And for a moment, I’m frozen, torn between resentment and pity. He presses his face to his hands, trying to conceal it, but his body is shaking. He’s never cried in front of me, and already I can feel my anger dissipating.

His father has heart problems, he’s just lost his scholarship and his spot on the team, and now he’s given up something he’d valued deeply. It’s a lot.

I don’t have the heart to stay mad. With a sigh, I climb onto the bed and hug him because, when you’ve been with someone for a sixth of your life, that’s what you do.

But I just want out. And when I’ve been with him for a fifth of my life, for a quarter of my life…is that going to get any easier?





25

NOW

“W ell, I’m off,” Donna says.

The reporter from The New York Times is back and has decided to expand the story. In theory, it’s a good thing that she wants to meet with Donna. She’s going to focus more on Danny’s House than she’d intended to, which is what we want. Except I don’t trust her. It’s one of the reasons I negotiated with her in the first place, hoping a scoop about my background might be enough to shut her down. And Donna’s never been media-trained. She has no idea how one offhand comment might unravel this whole pack of lies I’ve been telling for the past seven years.

“Be careful,” I warn. “She’ll act like she’s your best friend and you’ll find yourself wanting to tell her everything. Just imagine every word out of your mouth appearing in print.”

She studies me for a moment. “I’m not sure I have anything in my head that I’d mind seeing in print,” she says gently.

That’s probably true, but it doesn’t mean the way she might characterize my time in this house, and Luke’s, won’t cause problems. Laid out the wrong way, Danny’s death might seem like the natural conclusion of those events rather than an unhappy coincidence.

Laid out the wrong way, it might look like we wanted him gone.

“She’ll be fine, Juliet,” says Luke, slamming the refrigerator door shut.

You wouldn’t know a thing about that, Luke.

“What will the two of you do tonight?” Donna asks us, going through her purse.

Avoid each other. I’ve been steering clear of him for the past two days, ever since I saw Grady at the store. Luke probably thinks I’m fickle, that I came to his room simply to get laid. Let him think it.

It’s better than the alternative—letting down my walls, allowing him to continue shaking the past loose until it can’t be put away. I’m going to lock myself in my room the moment Donna leaves and I won’t emerge until tomorrow.

“We’re going to rent a movie,” he tells her. The look in his eyes is defiant. I nod, but there’s no fucking way I’m watching a movie with him, and as soon as she drives off, I grab my stuff to leave.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demands. “We’re watching a movie, remember?”

“You can watch it. I’m going to go read.”

His arms fold across his chest. “That lie doesn’t work with me, remember? Come on, Jules.

Truce. I’ll even let you pick.”

Something softens inside me, though I don’t want it to. How can he be so fucking kind to me? I wish he’d stop.