The events of the past twenty-four hours have been playing on repeat in my mind. There’s so much to unpack and process, and yet, one thing sticks out in my mind—the look on Dylan’s face when he mentioned his father. How did I not know his dad died that day? I mean, I was ten at the time, so really, how would I have known? I couldn’t even tell you the date of that fateful day. I chose not to keep track of it.
But Dylan…Dylan had the weight of both those things on his mind. It was obvious he held some pretty deep feelings about that day and guilt was high on that list. I wanted to help him; I wanted to say something to ease his pain, but it didn’t take long to realize I couldn’t do that for him. He had to forgive himself.
When he excused himself to leave, I knew it had nothing to do with Joel. He was breaking. He’d held on to the memory of that little girl for so long, and to discover it was me…I can’t even imagine what that would have felt like. Just like I’d asked for space the night before, I knew he needed it now. I could wait. If that’s what gets us through this, I’ll wait.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I become aware of someone knocking on the door, but I can’t even bring myself to lift my head. It’s probably Logan, back from his sleepover with Lucy’s friend. Cory will get it. If she’s even home. It’s hard to believe that Friendsgiving was only yesterday. So much has happened since then. Hell, today’s the real Thanksgiving, and I couldn’t care less. I don’t even know how long I’ve been lying here. I blindly reach for my phone to check the time when my bedroom door flies open and smashes into the wall, causing me to flinch.
Thomas.
I quickly jump to my feet, nervous to see what he’s going to say or do, but he doesn’t move. He stands on the threshold, a mix of anger, hurt, and curiosity on his face. His eyes search mine like he’s looking for answers. Answers I don’t want to give him, but answers I feel he already knows. He looks down at my body, then back up to my face, and I know what he’s thinking. He may not have believed Dylan the first time, but I’m guessing they’ve spoken again.
I don’t know why I do it. I should just kick him out, but instead I slowly turn and pull my top up to reveal my back. The soft fabric brushes against my scars. “Happy now?” I snipe.
Thomas remains silent. I don’t want to look at him, but I need to know he’s still there. I glance back at him as his head drops into his hands, and his shoulders shake.Is he…?
“Fuck, Summer, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I—”
“Don’t. I don’t need your apologies. Or your pity. You’ve seen the truth. You can go back to ignoring me.”I’m angry. I don’t needanythingfrom him.
“Summer, I…Fuck, I don’t know what to say if I can’t apologize, but I’m not abandoning you again. Are you even okay?”
“Thomas—”
“No, Summer. You can yell, or hit me. Or both. I deserve it. Just don’t make me leave. Please. I know I’ve fucked up, but I’m here now. Please let me fix this. Can I fix this?” His voice breaks.
My heart breaks for the second time today. This is too much for one person to cope with. “I’m sorry,” Thomas repeats and then drops his head back into his hands.
A tightness fills my chest as I move back to the bed and sit down, unsure of what to say. Thomas doesn’t move for a few seconds, and when he looks up there are definitely tears in his eyes. I want to hate him but I can’t. If I force him to leave now then I may never see him again. Taking a deep breath, I pat the bed beside me with a blank expression, my olive branch. Thomas runs a hand down his face, and after a slight hesitation, he sits down.
We’re both silent for a moment before Thomas speaks. “God, Summer. I didn’t know. I tried to talk to you, the day after, but you wouldn’t see me. Cory said It doesn’t matter. I should have tried again, triedharder.”
He’s right. He tried once to talk to me. I probably should have spoken to him, but it had just happened. I was scared, and I was homeless. At the time I thought he’d give me more than one shot, and then the money… “I’m sorry for not seeing you that day. I—”
“You have nothing to be sorry about. You were sixteen years old. You’re mysister. I should have been there for you. I should have seen the signs. Dad was always good to me. He showered me with attention, but you…I knew he gave you less, much less, maybe even nothing. I should have stepped up. You never talked about it. You were always so strong. I guess, I just thought you didn’t mind. I’m sorry…I…I’ll never forgive myself.” His face falls again as he openly cries.
My chest tightens, and a tear runs down my cheek.When did I start crying?I wipe my eyes and turn to Thomas, waiting until he looks my way. “You were a kid, too, Thomas—”
“I was nineteen.”
“Barely an adult. I don’t blame you for anything that happened to me. I just hated that you were gone. That you seemed to believe their story.”
“Fuck! I wish I could go back to that time and do everything differently. I’m so sorry. I was selfish and hurt, but there are no excuses. Please tell me we can get through this?”
I shrug and then sigh. “We can only try,” I say, offering a half smile through the tears.
He huffs out a laugh and then turns to me suddenly. “You have to tell Mom.”
My shoulders drop, and I sigh. God, I wish I didn’t have to say this. He’s already going to look at Dad differently. I don’t want to ruin things with Mom too. But… “I think she knows.”
His eyes widen in shock. “She can’t know. We didn’t know. Dad told us you stole from them; he said—”
“I know what he said, but…do you really think she didn’t know?”
“She loves you. I’ve seen her crying when she doesn’t know anyone’s looking. She thinks you left. I’m sure of it. Do you really believe she knew?”
“I didn’t want to at first, but she never came looking. Thomas, I was right here, and she never came.”
Thomas wraps his arm around me and pulls me into his side. “She was hurting. We were both hurting from what you did…what we were told you did,” he corrects.