Page 89 of Crushed By Love

The woman exudes confidence. She lives and breathes coolness and self-assuredness. Sure, I get where she’s coming from, but she doesn’t know my full story. She doesn’t know everything I’ve been through, doesn’t know the thoughts that keep me up at night, the life I’ve lived, all the shit I’ve been through, and she certainly doesn’t know that I slept with her ex-fiancé. And I plan to keep it that way.

Because what if my darkness dims her light?

Thirty-Six

It’s been almost two years since I laid eyes on the King brothers.

I keep telling myself that since Ethan and Cooper are working for their father now, they don’t have time to spend another summer here. For all I know they’re not even going to set foot on Nantucket at all this year. Hell, the family could’ve sold that house by now.

But it doesn’t matter because I can’t get them out of my head. I need to. I need to live as if they never existed and erase them from my mind. Especially Ethan. And especially now that I’m here. Because the truth is, I still think about Ethan every damn day. I hate it. I hate him. And I hate his permanent residence in my mind—but how is this my fault?

He was my first love. I’m just supposed to forget my first time having sex or opening myself up to someone like that? How do you emotionally detach yourself from the first time you fell in love? My first love was also the first time my heart was completely decimated by someone I trusted to take care of it. Ethan took more than just my virginity. He took those experiences from me. He owns them now. They’re as much his as they are mine and I can’t undo that.

And so yes, the man is always on my mind now, a constant reminder of the foolish girl that I once was, even if nobody else knows the truth but us.

I should tell Sybil. She’s proven herself loyal. She would understand because she’s been there with Ethan too. And maybe she could even help me through the pain, but I’ve been too much of a chicken to confess.

At first it was because I was terrified that the Laurences would find out about my trespassing charges and would want nothing to do with me, but when the lawsuit eventually came to light, my new family rallied around me. They were angry on my behalf, becoming warriors of justice, insisting I’d been mistreated. The Kings were the ones to break their contract, not me. The Laurences put their army of lawyers on the problem and made it go away.

But something about this particular confession, that Ethan and I were more than employer and employee—it feels different. Terrifying. Taboo. The end of things.

Because not only did Sybil grow up with Ethan, she was engaged to the man. She wore his ring. Planned their future. They loved each other.

These families used to be so interwoven. They vacationed together, helped raise each other’s kids, and even owned multiple businesses together before they cut ties. I still don’t know the full story behind the break, but I don’t have to know everything to understand that it was most likely Conrad King’s fault. I experienced firsthand what that man is capable of.

And tearing these families apart? It changed everyone irrevocably.

So how can I bring this up without causing more pain? I don’t think that’s possible. And what matters to me now is the new family that I’ve been welcomed into. This is a family that loves me and that I love back. My time with them has been a dream come true and I’m still afraid I’m going to wake up and return to my old life.

That can’t happen. What’s past is past, and Ethan King is far in the past.

“Earth to Arden.” Sybil’s standing at the car door waiting for me to get out, a concerned crease between her eyes. “Are you okay in there?”

I blink my troubled thoughts away and force a smile. “Sorry, just thinking about school stuff.” The white lie leaves me with a pit of guilt in my stomach.

“You know you don’t have to study computer technology and business, right?” she says and I slide from the car.

We’ve had this conversation so many times it’s almost as if we’ve rehearsed it. “I’m studying business for your dad and tech for me. It’s fine.”

“My dad doesn’t really care if you’re some business whiz, he’ll still give you a job.”

“But I want to earn it.”

She doesn’t say anything more. After I moved to New York City and added on the business classes at my uncle’s encouragement, we talked about why a bunch of times. I transferred from the University of Massachusetts to Columbia University before my sophomore year, right after the trespassing charges blew up in my face. I’d kept my secret as long as I could, but eventually my court date was set and the university found out what was going on. I was facing losing my scholarship, but even worse, the possibility of jail time loomed large because I was being charged with not only trespassing, but with theft. I had eaten their food and used their water and electricity without permission.

That was when I got desperate enough to call my aunt and uncle for help. They swooped in and cleared things up within days, and then they got me enrolled at Columbia the following fall, insisted on paying my tuition, and even invited me to move in with Sybil. They claimed she was feeling lonely living in her swanky upper east side loft all by herself but I’m still not so sure. The woman has countless friends and even more social events. Her calendar is like an episode of Gossip Girl. But in the end, I agreed because they wanted it and I wanted them.

So here I am, getting myself even more entangled with them by vacationing with them for two weeks before starting my summer internship at Laurence International. Sybil and I got here a day later than everyone else because she had an event last night and I agreed to travel with her.

Now we’ll be one big happy family in their new beach house.

In just a short time I already owe them so much. They act like they don’t see it that way, like they’re the ones who owe me. They keep saying how terrible they feel about my upbringing, as if I should blame them for not stepping up when I was orphaned. How could I blame them? They didn’t know I existed. If anyone’s to blame, it’s a broken and underfunded system. That and parents who couldn’t take care of me.

“Let me show you your bedroom.” Sybil sweeps us into the house and leads me upstairs to a cozy bedroom with dormer windows overlooking the beach. The wood floors are covered in a lush cream wool rug, and the bed is large with a patchwork quilt of peaceful blue hues spread over it. Centered in the room is a glass French door and Sybil grins as she swings it open to reveal an adorable porch balcony with a hanging hammock chair. I immediately picture myself curling up in it, reading the afternoon away.

“This is amazing.” I don’t have words beyond that. It’s like she took my personality and turned it into a bedroom.

“Isn’t it perfect?” she beams. “My room is next door and Hayes and Chandler are across the hall. Mom and Dad’s master suite is on the main floor. The guest suite is connected to the pool house and has two more bedrooms so maybe next year we’ll invite some more people along. This year it’s just our family.”

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