The Summer We Fell (The Summer, #1)(90)

THE STATION IS RELATIVELY quiet over the next few hours. I feel ridiculously conspicuous in this red satin dress but eventually doze off and dream of Luke curled up against me.

“This is the most uncomfortable hammock I’ve ever laid on,” I tell him.

“It’s not too late. We can still go to Paris.”

I press my lips to his neck. He smells, oddly, like Windex. “I think we just need to buy a new hammock.”

“Jules,” he says, but it isn’t dream Luke. It’s real Luke. My eyes blink open to find myself splayed over two chairs, him kneeling in front of me.

His face is drawn, his jaw locked hard. He spent the night in prison because of me, and I wonder if he spent it dwelling on just how much he’s suffered at my hands, year after year. He had to watch me agree to marry Danny after I told him I’d run away with him, after years of wanting me from afar and doing anything he could to take care of me. And then he had to watch me walk away, acting as if he’d never mattered in the first place.

“Come on,” he says, rising.

I stumble to my feet and follow him outside, blinking into the too-bright sun. He walks around to the side of the station and I follow, my stomach sinking fast.

He’s staring at his phone. It feels intentional, as if he’s doing it simply to shut me out.

“Luke?” I touch his elbow. “I—”

“This is our car,” he says, as if I hadn’t spoken, nodding at a Kia swinging into the parking lot.

His voice is cold, distant. He’s treating me like a woman who broke his heart, or nearly got him charged with murder, or who spent seven years lying to him. And I’m all those things, so why shouldn’t he? I swallow hard as I slide into the back seat.

“The Obsidian?” the driver asks.

Luke nods, staring out the window, his jaw still clenched. “Yeah. Thanks.”

The driver glances at us in the mirror, his eyes widening with recognition when they meet mine. I can just imagine what kind of story this will turn into, if it isn’t already a huge story, and I no longer care. I just need to know where we stand.

“Luke,” I whisper, “can we talk?”

His eyes close. Even the sound of my voice is unbearable to him.

“Not here,” he hisses, never looking my way.

We continue in silence, through neighborhoods where children are walking to the bus stop and through some town where people stand twelve-deep in line for coffee before we finally turn toward the beach.

Donna was wrong. He isn’t going to forgive me. I press my face into my hands and take deep breaths through my fingers. How will I survive the next few days? How will I survive the next years, the next decades?

“We’re here,” Luke says as a valet opens his door.

I step out after him, ignoring the stares as I follow him into the lobby. He keeps moving, straight to the elevator, and it’s only when we’re both inside that he finally looks at me.

His mouth opens and he shakes his head, saying nothing.

We get to the suite. I walk in and he follows, letting the door slam behind him.

My eyes fill as I turn to him. “Luke, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

He pulls off his jacket and throws it on the couch, tugs the already loosened bow tie free. And then he presses his hands to his forehead before sliding them into his hair. “Jesus fucking Christ, Juliet. What the fuck?”

I brush at the tears that have begun to fall. “I know. I know. I’m so sorry.”

He stares at me, his eyes bright with rage. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through? Do you have any idea what the past seven years have been like, trying to get over you?”

Grief strangles me. I can’t even reply, but simply press a hand to my throat.

“You know what I did after you walked away at Danny’s funeral?” he demands. “I drove back to that fucking cliff, planning to jump.”

I inhale, sharp and fast. I knew he’d been hurt by what I did, but my God, if he’d jumped…

“I thought and thought, and only two things kept me from doing it—the fact that it would hurt Donna and the possibility that you’d come to your senses.”

“Luke, I thought I was doing what was—”

“I waited for you to come back to me for years, Juliet!” he shouts, starting to pace. “That’s how long it took to convince me it was done. And it was all a lie? Why didn’t you just tell me?”

I dig my hands into my hair. “Because you wouldn’t have gone along with it if you knew! You’d have confronted Grady, you’d have gone to the police, you’d have fucked it all up, and even if you didn’t wind up in prison, you’d have lost every sponsorship you had! I had to do it. Surfing meant everything to you.”

He stops pacing and stares at me, his nostrils flaring. “No, you meant everything to me. Surfing’s just what I do for a living.”

I lean against the wall behind me. He thinks I messed up and maybe I did. Or maybe I kept him out of jail. I can’t take any of it back, so all that’s left is to make sure he knows the truth before he walks away.

“I wanted you to be happy more than I’ve ever wanted anything for myself. If you think the past seven years weren’t awful for me, then you don’t understand this at all.” My voice breaks. “If you think the past seven years haven’t killed me, then you can’t possibly love me the way I love you, the way I’ve loved you since you first walked into the diner, because when you love someone like that, yes, you’ll fucking lie to him and for him—”