Page 98 of Beg Me

“Okay.”

He walks through the kitchen and onto the back porch.

Gus groans. “Can we turn on something else now? This is boring.”

“You don’t like sports?” I ask, side-eyeing the door. “I thought you played all kinds of stuff.”

“I do. But that doesn’t mean I want to watch it all the time.”

I blow out a breath, wishing I could eavesdrop on Jory’s conversation. The way his tone changed and his demeanor stiffened, I know that something’s wrong. The shiver snaking down my spine cosigns my intuition.

“You’re not supposed to be watching television, anyway. The festival starts tomorrow and you don’t want to be in here for the rest of the week doing math, do you?”

He spins around, suddenly reengaged with the idea of actually doing his work. “So, what you’re saying is that if I do my work tonight, I can avoid this packet until Monday?”

“Sure.” I shrug. “Why not? Four days won’t hurt you.”

“I love you, Markie.”

Wish your dad did, too, kid.

The thought comes out of nowhere before I can think it through—before I can decide whether I feel that way or if I’m just being dramatic. But it’s so natural, almost a given at this point, that there’s not much to argue.

I think I love him.

The floor tilts beneath my feet as I wrestle with that sentence. It’s terrifying and it makes me want to puke. And it’s so me of me to fall in love with a guy with no interest in staying in Sugar Creek … or with me for the long haul, it seems.

A swell of warmth, accompanied by a sharp pain, rises in my chest. I’ve fought this feeling since lunch at Lolly’s. It’s an emotional tightrope of wanting an answer—am I just your summer fling? Of wanting to tell him the truth—I love you, Jory. And of wanting to do the most Markie thing of all and cut him loose before any real, lasting damage can be done.

I usually have no problem doing that. See ya later, alligator. But I can’t justify having him in town for three or four more weeks and passing him in Miller’s and saying hi like I do with everyone else, because even I can’t act casually around a unicorn.

I just have to figure out how to enjoy these weeks and know it’s going to be over. Just try to minimize the destruction.

The door creaks open and Jory pokes his head around the corner. His eyes are wary and that sends a shot of bile up my throat.

“Markie? Can you come here for a minute?” he asks.

“Sure.” My voice is much calmer than I feel. “I’ll be right back, Gus. Remember, you have strategies to help you break this down and solve it. And once you’re done up to”—I peer over his shoulder—“exercise eighteen, you won’t have to look at it or think about it again until Monday.”

“Aye, aye, captain.”

I try not to jog to the door.

The air outside is thick and humid, making it hard to breathe. Rain splatters the ground and pounds on the roof. Water droplets splash onto the porch, making everything damp.

It feels an awful lot like foreshadowing to me.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“That was Deidre,” he says, running a hand down his face. “Her dad had a massive heart attack this morning and they don’t think he’s going to make it.”

“Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry.”

My thoughts go to Gus and what this will do to him. I don’t know much about his relationship with his grandparents, so whether this will crush him or be manageable, I don’t know. Either way, it’s not going to be fun.

“I have to tell Gus.” He drops his hand and sighs. “Deidre said she isn’t steady enough to do it right now, and I should handle it however I think is best.”

“Yeah. I can imagine that she has a lot on her plate.”