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I can’t stop myself.
I walk right up to him and SLAP him hard across the face.
He stares at me, stunned.
My palm stings.
Adrenaline rushes through me.
Behind us, the crowd lets out a quiet gasp.
“How dare you!” I scream at him. “How dare you sleep with her? How dare you do that to me!”
And then I slap him again, harder this time.
His mouth drops open, his hand going to his cheek.
I’m breathing hard, trying not to cry, my chest collapsing on itself.
And I’m staring at him, waiting for him to say something, to tell me why. We’re all waiting for it.
But he doesn’t say anything. The look of guilt and shame grows heavier on his brow and he just shakes his head slightly.
“What!?” I yell, throwing my hands out. “What is it? Tell me something! Anything!”
He swallows hard. “I’m so sorry.”
I blink, my face hot. “That’s it? You’re sorry? That’s all I get?”
His eyes grow wet. “I fucked up. I fucked up, Shay, and I’m so sorry.” His voice breaks.
Not good enough.
I’m this close to telling him that I’m pregnant, to really rub that in. But I don’t want my classmates to know. They’d judge me. They’d especially judge me after getting an abortion. I have to keep that secret tucked away, forever.
“Fuck you,” I tell him. “Fuck you for making me trust you. Fuck you for breaking my heart! I loved you! I loved you and you threw it away!”
“Shay,” he says, making a move for me, but I rip out of his way.
“Don’t!” I scream, the tears now spilling down my cheeks, breakdown imminent. “Don’t you dare try to touch me. It’s over. We’re through. I never ever want to see you again.”
I whirl around and march to the gate at the side of the house, Everly running behind me.
“Don’t worry, you won’t,” I hear Anders say quietly.
I believe him, too.
My heart feels like it’s breaking all over again.
14
Shay
Now
The surest way to turn a good situation into an awkward one is to let your ex-boyfriend kiss you in a barn whilst milking a cow, and then proceed to get caught by his disapproving uncle.
This was exactly the kind of thing that I was trying to avoid.
And believe me, I was trying to avoid it.
It’s just hard when…well, fuck. It’s hard when it’s Anders. I know we have all this tumultuous history between us, that we never got the closure we needed from each other, or at least I never did, but even if I didn’t have all that with him, I’d be in over my head.
I mean, look at him. He’s built like a Nordic god, gorgeous from head to toe, and would definitely rack up all the views if he ever put out a Tik Tok with him chopping wood or doing other manly mountain stuff or whatever. And then there’s his soul. So damaged and soft and he doesn’t even try to hide it. He’s got the artist’s heart beating underneath a laborer’s body and sometimes there’s such purity to him that it catches me off guard. Any woman worth her salt would feel revered, respected, and adored in his presence.
And yet, I can’t seem to forget what he did to me. And I know it was so long ago, I know I shouldn’t care anymore, but it’s become this big steel wall that slams shut every time I think about giving in to him. Every time I think, maybe this can work? And even if it can’t, maybe it can work for now? What’s so wrong with hooking up with your ex for a few weeks before you part ways? Isn’t that what most people do, especially if there is unfinished business between them? Maybe I’m the one who’s being the problem here.
Actually, I know I am. Because for that brief moment when he caught me before the walls could come down, when he kissed me, I felt something inside me break open, something I’d been trying to hide.
It scared me to death, to have that feeling again, to feel that alive, even if it only lasted for as long as his lips were on mine, for his hands to coast over my body, feeling so much more than it ever did.
And now, well, everything is awkward. Per caught us in a compromising situation and immediately needed my help with the sheep. Thankfully he didn’t bring it up again (and if he did, I didn’t notice—score one for not understanding much Norwegian) and by the time I was done and headed back in the barn to change out of my oversized jumpsuit, Anders had taken off on his motorbike.
He’s been gone most of the day.
I didn’t know what to do with myself.
I hung around the house for a bit, tried to make small talk with Per, but it’s not easy when neither of you speak the same language, so I just sat down in the living room with him, on the floral-covered couch, and watched some reruns of MASH, subtitled in Norwegian, then made us both cut up pears with local goat cheese and crackers, which I think Per begrudgingly enjoyed (despite having his own orchard, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a piece of fruit cross his lips).
