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“You told her?”
He turns to me. “Hope, let me explain.”
“You promised. You ...” The words to describe the shattering happening inside my body don’t exist.
“I had to break my promise. I—Annette was in the hospital, and she told me ...” He drops his chin to his chest. “I wasn’t thinking. I just panicked. I saw a problem and didn’t want to run away. For you. I wanted to protect you.”
“Protect me?” The sting of those words penetrates my chest. “Because I can’t make my own decisions? Because I’m vulnerable?”
He lifts his gaze to mine. Will’s expression is confirmation, and something in my heart collapses. “No, of course not. I just—”
His attention snaps to Annette, whose gaze is ping-ponging between us. “Can we talk about this somewhere else?”
Words don’t come. Even if they did, I’m not sure I’d want to say them.
A flame snaps and stretches to the sky. For one bright moment, everything is clear—the field, the faces of the people watching us intently, the truth I should have known.
He pulls me to the side and puts his back to Annette.
“Hope.” His voice feels like an arrow in my chest. “Please.”
“I’ve told you from the beginning that I don’t need you or anyone else to protect me.” I taste the bitterness of my own words in the air. His mouth snaps closed, and I know that he does too.
“I care about you. You and I—”
“No, Will.” Somehow my voice sounds steady, though distant. “There is no you and I. I thought we could be something for the little while you were here, but we’re not even friends.” The admission that I made to Tessa less than two days ago about my budding feelings for Will flashes through my mind. I drive it down, into that dark pit of memories that recently reopened because of Will. It fits easily in the newly vacated space. “Natalie was right about you.”
“Hope.”
It’s a plea that I ignore without trouble because swirling around the ashes of that extinguished ember is another feeling. One I haven’t let myself fully feel: anger.
Anger at Will. At Brandon. At the truck driver and Kingsette and the universe. The universe most of all.
The anger unfurls inside me, turns every breath ragged.
I turn on my heel and storm away before I say the words boiling through me. My breath comes in jagged rasps that will open into sobs later.
Behind me, crunching grass tracks Will as he comes after me. I don’t look back. I move faster, pushed forward by muscle memory and the heat of the bonfire on my back.
It’s not supposed to be this hard. We can’t both keep running anymore.
I let Will catch up, because this needs to end.
Will reaches me. His eyes, full of desperation, hold mine. “Please listen to me,” he says, breathless.
“I think I’ve listened enough.” The venom in my voice makes Will stumble back a step. He winces, as if he’s been wounded.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Will’s nostrils flare.
He knows exactly what I mean, and he’s going to make me say the words anyway.
“Last night shouldn’t have happened.” The words rise up from some vicious, angry place inside my chest. “You made me think ... made me believe ... after we—I—”
“After we what, Hope? Say what we did.” His anger rises to meet mine, and it’s an absurd relief to feel it pushing against mine, driving my anger hotter and higher.
“We did nothing, Will. It was just sex.” My tongue feels coated with the sharp tang of bitter things and lies.
“That’s all it was.” His eyes have gone hard, cold. “It takes two, you know.”
