“No. Of course not. I want you two to be friends. It’s just weird. You normally avoid each other. You’ve never really enjoyed each other’s company and now… It’s just weird.”
“Everything’s fine. You focus on the wedding and your amazing husband-to-be,” I said. “Matt’s just Matt, and I’m just me. Like always.”
Em stared at me for a second longer, wrinkles developing, streaking upward from her eyebrows. “All right. Just don’t get into a fight or anything weird.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” That was a lie. I’d dreamed about him last night. But that had to end. It didn’t matter what had transpired between us years ago. This was Emilia’s time to be happy, and I wouldn’t let anything or anyone ruin that. Not even myself.
Chapter Twelve
Matt
Thirteen years earlier…
The house was quiet.
Crickets chirped outside the windows. The occasional night bird called. The moon was full in a star-speckled sky.
My favorite time of the night. When everyone had fallen asleep, when my eyes were scratchy with exhaustion but wouldn’t close. Every time they did, images of what had happened flashed in front of them. My dad’s sorrow. My mother’s coffin being lowered into the ground. And after that, if I did manage to fall asleep, the dreams would come. One after the other.
Dreams of having feathers for fists. Of trying to fight something I couldn’t see. And her voice would be in them, as always. Crying out for my help. But there was nothing I could do.
Better not to sleep at all. That way, the dreams could never come, and I could use this time for myself. During the day, there was school and the football team, there was Dad who needed all the help he could get, and there was Emmy with her own problems.
Now, I could breathe. Relax. Pretend that it had never happened and that we were safe.
The spaces under the trees in our vast backyard were quiet. The wind rustled leaves and moved the swing that had been strung from the old oak.
That was Summer’s favorite spot to sit and read.
My throat tightened.
Summer.
She shouldn’t have even been here.
How long was it now?
She’d moved into the guest bedroom three years ago and had stayed. Ignoring her had been easy at first but hard after my mom died. And it was getting worse by the day. Summer had her own problems—she had parents who’d abandoned her, with no money or prospects. Nowhere to go. No one to be, but she was still…here. And a reminder.
Liking someone doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t matter.
Caring only caused pain, and I certainly didn’t plan on caring about Summer.
She was just my sister’s friend. She happened to stay here. That was all.
Did it matter that every time she changed into her bikini and lounged by the pool, I couldn’t take my eyes off her? No. That meant nothing. Just that I was a dude.
Dudes liked hot babes.
I shook my head free of the idiotic thought. That was something Nathan and his dickhead buddies would’ve said. They talked “pussy” and “bitches” all the time and annoyed the hell out of me. Nothing excited me more than the prospect of getting out of town and starting my life somewhere else.
A creaking in the hall drew my attention, and I stiffened, my hand going to the pocket of my striped PJ pants. I felt the outline of my switchblade there and eased my breathing.
Someone’s in the house. They’re back. They’re going to hurt Emilia. Summer.
I got off the low window seat and shifted across the floor, my feet as silent as I could make them. I stood by my doorway in the dark, listening.
Another creak, and then a gentle noise I couldn’t quite make out. It was feminine.
A female intruder?
I opened the door and peered out into the hall. Nothing stood out to me except the dark silhouettes of the hall end table and the empty vase—it had stayed that way since Mom had passed. She was the only one who’d ever filled it with flowers.
I stepped out into the hall.
The door at the end was shut—Summer’s room—but light leaked from the crack underneath it. She was awake. Had the noise come from there?
I moved toward it and stopped, listening again.
Was she in danger? My fist tightened on the knife. Did she need my help?
Another soft noise came. A sob.
“Oh god,” she said. “This is so stupid.” But the crying continued.
She was upset, not in danger. I turned to leave, but I couldn’t take the next step. It didn’t seem right.
She needs someone to talk to.
But that wasn’t my fucking job. I didn’t talk to anybody, let alone her. We had nothing to discuss anymore. She’d been friendly and sweet, we’d started getting closer, and then all that shit had come. The feelings that I didn’t want. It was easier just to avoid her. Pretend that this was all bullshit. Just some teenage hormonal crap.