Page 96 of When We Were Young

But she’s crying so hard that I can’t ask her to explain it right now. I take a chance and cup the sides of her face with my hands, gently brushing away her tears with my thumbs.

“Shhh. It’s okay. We don’t have to talk more about this right now.”

She pulls away from me and furiously wipes at her tears with the backs of her hands. When she closes her eyes and takes a few slow, deep breaths, her crying calms slightly. It doesn’t stop, but she’s no longer sobbing. She opens her eyes again and pierces me with her gaze.

“When everything happened, you didn’t let go right away. That night you found me outside at the party, I knew you wouldn’t release me unless I hurt you. So, I said the one thing I knew would wound you. I needed to cut deep, so I told you I chose him, that he was the better man for me. It was the perfect lie. The way your face fell when I said those words will torture me for the rest of my life. Ten years later, and I still can’t erase the image from my mind.”

I lean back against the couch cushions and blow out a breath. “Those words that night ruined me.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I had to do it.” She peers at me.

Just as suddenly as her tears came, a wave of anger rises in me—something I’ve worked hard not to feel and definitely not to let others see.

“No. I’m sorry, but I don’t buy it. You made a unilateral decision for us. You were with him.” My tone is harsh, though that wasn’t my intent. “I need to know why.”

“I did it for you. To protect you!” She blurts out the words, then her eyes widen, and she throws her hand over her mouth.

“From what? From falling in love with you? Guess what? You were too late. I already loved you then.”

Her breath catches. “You don’t mean that.”

I hold her gaze. “Don’t tell me what I mean and don’t mean,” I say in a hushed voice.

She looks to the side. “You don’t understand. I had to do it. It was the only way.”

“Tell me what, or who, you thought you had to protect me from.”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

I notice a subtle shaking of her hands.

“If it doesn’t matter”—I place a few fingers under her chin and gently turn her head so she’s looking at me again—“then tell me.”

She eyes me cautiously, and it’s obvious she’s trying to decide whether to share.

“From him. Landon. I did it to protect you from him.”

“What?” I ask, incredulous. My body jerks backward at her words. “You didn’t need to, Lizette. I didn’t need protection from him.”

I gape at her and watch emotions flash through her eyes as if she’s having an internal battle to see which one will win.

“He was going to ruin your scholarship, Holden.”

“What? That makes no sense.”

“The funding from the scholarship you had came from money that Landon’s father donates each year. Landon threatened to make you lose your scholarship if I didn’t stay away from you, if I didn’t get back together with him, truly try to make it work, and play the part of the attentive girlfriend. I spent two and a half years with him, waiting for you to graduate.”

Realization dawns on me. Oh, God. I have to tell her.

She’s studying me, awaiting a reaction. I imagine she sees pain, regret, and still anger—just for a different reason.

“I did lose my scholarship after that year...”

Silence has never felt so thick, so heavy.

When she finally speaks, her voice tremors.

“That’s impossible,” she whispers. “I-I made him show me copies of award letters each year.”