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“I’ve ruined everything,” I continue softly, “and all because I mistook her grabbing my shirt for something else. I thought she was pulling me in for a kiss, she thought she was saving me from falling through an old banister. It’d be a cute story, if it hadn’t all blown up in my face like a shaken-up soda bottle.
“I met Ben quite a few times. I don’t know if Summer knows that. We didn’t exactly get on like a house on fire, not at first—I thought he was a spoiled little rich boy, and, like any good brother, that he didn’t deserve my sister. Then, Grace came along, and Ben stepped up, even after he and Lyndsey called it mutual quits on their relationship. He could have made fatherhood go away with all of his money, bankrolling Grace without ever being involved in her life, but I don’t think that ever entered his mind. He loved that girl so much, from the very first second he held her in his arms.
“I remember, he lived on his couch for a year so Lyndsey could have his bedroom at that bungalow he had, without her feeling uncomfortable. A compromise, so he could be there to change diapers, help with night feeds, give Lynds a break when she was exhausted, and he cooked and cleaned and took care of them both, the entire time, until Lynds said enough was enough, and moved into her own place. But he was still always there, totally devoted to Grace. It was a privilege to see them together, while I stood on the sidelines as the fun uncle.
“What I’m trying to say, in the most roundabout way possible, is that I get it—I get the appeal. Ben was the kind of guy who doesn’t even look real. Like, impossibly good-looking. And super irritating that he was also a genuinely decent man who’d have done anything for anyone. The best dad, too. The kind of dad every guy hopes he’ll be, one day.” I set the phone down on the bed covers and lie back on the pillows, letting it record the ceiling and my voice. I don’t feel like staring at my mortified face anymore.
“No, what I’mreallytrying to say, and not very well, is that… even I can’t wrap my head around how you’re supposed to get over a man like that. He was… the sort of guy that I imagine a woman waits a lifetime for, and not every woman gets. Very few, probably. And, deep down, I don’t want to be the ‘good enough’ guy. Maybe, itwasfor the best that you stopped things when you did, Summer, or we’d be derailing everyone around us as well as ourselves.
“I know I like you, Summer, and I was captivated by you tonight, but I know I can’t replace someone like Ben. Not that I’d want to—God, no. Your past would be as important to me as our future, if… if therewasa future, which I know there’s no chance of. But, and I’m being purely hypothetical here, if a futurewaspossible, I see the glaring error in the code—even if tonight had snowballed into tomorrow morning—this morning, I guess—neither of us would have the luxury of a ‘let’s wait and see how this pans out’ situation, like normal people who do normal dating. I would never want you to feel like you couldn’t be around Lyndsey and Grace if it didn’t work out. Honestly, it would break my damn heart if you couldn’t be around me, either, in any capacity.”
Tonight, we were sitting on a powder keg, and there’s a bittersweet relief in my chest that we didn’t properly light the fuse. But I’m not going to make myself a liar and say that I didn’t enjoy every moment until Summer doused the figurative matches I had in my metaphorical hand.
“I can still feel your lips on mine,” I whisper shyly, feeling awkward as all hell. “I can still taste you, I can still feel you in my arms, and though it sounds corny as anything, and way too intense for one brief encounter, they feel emptier now.” I shrug. “Can’t explain it, but there it is.”
Grace’s bedroom door opens, and I hear her soft footfalls, making their way up the hall to her mom and dad’s room. The door creaks open, and there’s a quiet, sleepy, “What’s up, sweetheart? Can’t sleep?”
“Bad dream,” Grace replies, as the bedroom door closes.
A moment later, it opens again, and there’s the animal sound of Oscar yawning and scratching, before his footsteps pad down the stairs. I listen to his movements, following him through to the kitchen where he runs the faucet for some water, and then walks back across the entrance hall to the living room. There’ll be blankets and a pillow on the couch when I go downstairs for breakfast: a sacrifice Oscar willingly makes when Grace has her nightmares, so she can sleep close to her mom.
“I guess Oscar understands, far more than me, what it’s like to compete against Ben’s ghost,” I murmur, conscious of the volume of my voice. “Is that the key to it—to not compete at all, but to carve out your own space in the hearts of those who loved him?”
I contemplate my words for a minute or two, the recording still going, and realize it doesn’t matter. After tonight, Summer won’t want to be alone with me again. We had too much wine, got too carried away, and that’s the long and short of it.
“I screwed up, big time,” is all I dare to add, leaving the recording on a cliffhanger as I stop it, though I know how it ends. She hasn’t texted me back, and I’m mature enough to read the message, loud and clear.
15
SUMMER
Two weeks go by before I have to see Rowan again. I’ve been busy with the gallery, buttering up Anthony Frost so we can get his work displayed before the end of the summer, and working every hour possible just so I won’t have to go back to my apartment and see that damn couch. A few nights, I’ve found myself in my office, doing nothing at all, staring out of the window at the garden across the street with some music on, letting the hours tick by. Other nights, I’ve soaked in the tub at home until my skin pruned, spending most of my time in the bedroom and bathroom, avoiding the main living space altogether.
But, considering Rowan’s ties to the people I care about the most, I know I can’t hide forever. I still haven’t texted him back, and though I feel crappy about it, I left it too long. If I message him now, he’d think I was just trying to build a civil bridge before seeing him again… and he wouldn’t be totally wrong.
It’s just lunch. Lunch is fine. It won’t be awkward,I tell myself, as I pull up to the house in Slidell. I’ve been having the same conversation with myself all day, repeating the mantra through the whole drive. I didn’t even take a detour, this time, but the road seemed to go on forever, purely to torment me.
But when I head through the side-gate to the garden, calling out to Lyndsey and Grace and Oscar, I’m met with an outdoor table that’s only set for four. I frown at it, wondering if Oscar is heading out with his friends, or if Grace has a last-minute birthday party to go to.
“Big Bear!” Grace materializes from beneath the willow tree, running at me full force. Her arms wrap around my waist, though she’s sprouting up like a weed, and she hugs me tight. “Mom promised to call and make sure you were coming, but she kept forgetting. I’ve been under the tree, keeping you safe.”
I raise an eyebrow, smoothing back her wayward hair. “Do you have the cops stashed under the willow, Baby Bear?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “I do it when you or Mom or Dad or Uncle Rowan or any of my friends go anywhere. As long as I’m under the tree, wishing everyone will be okay, everyonewillbe okay.”
“I used to do that with green traffic lights and lottery tickets,” I tell her, understanding. “The lights always turned red, though, just when I got to the crosswalk.”
“You picked a bad thing. The tree is better,” she replies, with so much wisdom in her voice that I have to swallow down a chuckle. She’d think I was mocking her, and I’m not. Whatever helps is all good in my book.
“Is your mom around?” I pluck a thin piece of willow frond out of her hair.
“In the house. Dad is out getting the bread he should’ve got this morning.” She rolls her eyes, world-weary before her time. “He doesn’t think we need it for lunch, but mom gave him a funny look, so he went out.”
“I know that look well.” I grin, already feeling calmer in Grace’s presence. “How about your uncle? Is he keeping the peace?” My voice strains, mentioning him, and I hope she doesn’t notice.
Grace presses her lips together. “He went away for the weekend. Fishing or something.”
“Your uncle goes fishing?” I don’t know why it surprises me. He doesn’t strike me as the fishing type.
