Page 92 of The Breakup Artists

“If we’re not fighting, then why are you yelling at me?” he asks in a gravelly morning voice and sits up.

“Look, I’m sorry. I was a total and complete jerk. I betrayed your trust. But I’m not going one more day without my best friend. So whatever you need me to do, say it now or forever hold your peace.”

For a second, he doesn’t reply. He just pats down his bedhead, which matches Swee’s, and puts on his pensive August expression. Then quietly, thoughtfully, he says, “You lied to me, Tiny.”

And the hurt in his eyes splits my heart right down the middle.

I sit on his bed, the fight draining out of me. “You have no idea how much I regret it.”

He nods. “You’re just...” He pauses, looking at Swee for answers. “You’re the only person I can trust. And when you lie to me, I have no one.”

Shattered. Heart obliterated.

“I’ll earn back your trust. I promise you that.” My voice is heavy.

“Tiny,” he sighs, “it’s fine.” Which is about as mushy as August gets.

“It’s not, though. I hurt you.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “It wasn’t just you. It was a bad day. Terrible.”

Part of me already knew that my timing was off that afternoon; I just assumed he had a fight with his mom. “Tell me about this terrible day.”

“I kinda punched Kyle?”

My eyebrows launch up my forehead. “You didwhat?”

He glances at me but doesn’t maintain eye contact. “Mom needed me to drop some brushes off at the Kellermans’.”

“What?” I say again because August’s mom can be so clueless sometimes. “You should have called me.”

“I did.”

Once more I have that sinking feeling. He called me and I didn’t answer because I was at the beach with Bentley, which was the first thing I told him when I came over that day. Double fail. “Sorry again,” I say sheepishly.

He shrugs, not like he doesn’t care but like he’s over that realization already.

“So Kyle was there?”

He nods and takes a sip of coffee. “Pulled up just as I was leaving. Honestly, I don’t know what happened. He seemed bent on talking to me, tried to stop me. Grabbed my arm.”

I can actually see this play out in my head. All that tension bound up inside August bursting out when Kyle touched him.

“So yeah,” he says. “It was a bad day. Then my mom came home and tried to ground me like I’m ten.”

My eyes widen. This isnotgood news. We barely have a week left to save this case.

He must see the worry in my expression because he adds, “I doubt she’s actually going to enforce it. I kind of laid into her.”

The guilt that appears on his face makes me sad. He always beats himself up after they fight, even if what he said was true. No wonder he went silent. He took a hit from all directions, probably worst of all from himself.

“Did she lose her job?”

He shakes his head.

“Well, that’s good at least.” But it feels like too small of a win in comparison to everything else. I consider poking further into the Kyle thing, but the unsure look on his face tells me that it’s not the time. So instead, I say, “My dad’s party is in two days.”

“You have no idea how much I need that right now,” he says, releasing his breath.