“We didn’t.” Sinclair said the words fast, but not quite fast enough to cut off Shane’s reply.
“We got to know each other toward the end of my senior year,” he said, and offered her a slow smile. “After I broke Ricky’s nose, a whole lot of people wanted my hide, but she stuck up for me.” He covered her hand where it rested on the table, and squeezed.
She kept hers absolutely still, in a silent plea for him to stop talking, but he didn’t read her mind.
“She tried to tell everyone what actually happened, and, for what it’s worth, I think Kenner believed her. But Ricky had all his friends telling a different story, and Kenner knew I didn’t stand a chance if his parents pressed charges, so he did his best to resolve the situation in a way that didn’t leav
e a mark on my permanent record.”
“It was nothing,” she said, trying to end the conversation.
Her mother’s brow furrowed, and she turned to Sinclair. “So, you two got to be friends before the summer you—?”
“We were not friends.” The sharpness of her words drew everyone’s eyes to her. She took a deep breath and told herself to reel it in. “Friends isn’t the right word. We just…we hung out a few times…” Shit.
Shane turned her hand over and wove their fingers together, seemingly oblivious to how cold and stiff hers were. “I don’t agree,” he said in a low voice. “We may not have spent much time together before I left, but I considered you my best friend.”
The moment took on its own momentum, spinning her around, pulling her down like a boat caught in a whirlpool. From a place beyond rescue, she watched her mother’s mouth drop open to release a small, almost imperceptible gasp. Eyes filled with new awareness darted to Shane and then shot a silent question at Sinclair.
Get this contained. Now. She leapt out of her chair, and grabbed her plate. “I’ll help you clear, Mom.” Brilliant.
Her mother nodded and then stood as well, picking up her own plate and the basket of rolls. “Thank you, dear.”
Sinclair stacked Shane’s plate on hers, turned, and practically ran through the small butler’s pantry to the kitchen.
Her mom came in, hot on her heels, and put her dishes on the white-and-black marbled counter by the deep farmhouse sink. With a regal air Sinclair could never hope to emulate, she turned and regarded her daughter. “He’s the one.”
It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t offer up an answer. She put her dishes on the counter with shaking hands and retreated to the opposite side of the kitchen, until the island backstopped her.
Her mother shook her head. “Sinclair, for heaven’s sake, if you were seeing him that spring, why didn’t you bring him around and introduce us? You obviously had strong feelings for him, and it seems he returned them.”
“You and Dad wouldn’t have approved. You would have put a stop to it.”
“That’s not true.”
“Really? His brother was in jail, he’d just gotten in trouble for punching Ricky, and he was leaving for boot camp at the start of summer. What part of that would you have liked?”
“The part where I knew what was going on with my daughter,” she retorted, color rising in her cheeks. “I would have liked the chance to talk to you about the decisions you were making, and…” She broke off and smoothed a hand over her curls, taming them as she tamed her temper. As a rule, her mom didn’t choose to belabor things that couldn’t be changed.
Sinclair couldn’t agree more. “Don’t tell Dad. Please.”
Her mother dropped her hand to her hip. “What your father knows or doesn’t know isn’t an issue anymore. You’re an adult, not a teenager he feels like he failed to protect. The issue is whether Shane knows he almost—”
“Shhh!” She cast a glance toward the door. “Keep your voice down.”
Pursed lips and crossed arms greeted her request. “He doesn’t know. Oh, Sinclair…”
“Sinclair what? It happened a long time ago.” Restless energy propelled her. She paced the short distance until she stood in front of her mother. “It’s over. Nothing came of it.”
“Not nothing.” The calm evaporated. “Don’t you dare tell me about nothings. Your father and I rushed to a hospital a continent away, in a dead panic.”
“I’m sorry.” Guilt swamped her, again, as an image of her pale-faced parents flanking her bedside swam into her mind.
“Goddammit.” Her mother rarely cursed. A rarer thing, still, for her to rub her eyes and let her shoulders slump. She blew out a breath and looked up. “I’m not trying to make you sorry. I’m trying to make you see it wasn’t nothing.” She made air quotes around the word. “It impacted you, and you’ve born the burden on your own.”
Surprise had her straightening her spine. Did her family see her as some kind of broken wing? She wasn’t. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“You keep a part of yourself closed off. It’s like you have a perimeter and nobody’s allowed too close.”