Page 42 of The Summer I Destroyed You

“Doubtful,” I reply.

The waitress takes our order. They don’t even have salads on the menu so I get the fried chicken, at Liam’s suggestion, which means I’m going to have to find time to run this afternoon.

“I think you want me back at my high school weight as badly as my mom does,” I mutter once the waitress leaves.

His brow furrows. “So she wants you to gain weight? That’s not the impression I got when I helped her inside that day.”

I unroll my silverware and place the napkin in my lap. “She enjoys feeling superior. It’s a competition for her.”

He frowns. “That’s…really fucked up, Em.”

I sigh. I know this, and yet here I am, still affected by it. “She enjoys telling me I won’t be able to keep the weight off, and she loves the way it makes me panicky and desperate to prove her wrong while also making me desperate to eat more at the same time.” Silence stretches between us. My eyes fall closed. “I can’t believe I just told you that.”

“It seems like the kind of thing you’d need to get off your chest eventually,” he replies softly. “Has it always been like this with her?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “When my father was there, it didn’t matter so much. He kept her in check.”

“You’re sure you want me to throw out that lockbox of his, by the way? Lockboxes tend to contain valuables.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t want anything of that man’s. You can toss it.”

He leans back in his seat. “Can I ask what happened to him? You seemed upset that day you mentioned you had his shirts, but now it’s like you hate him.”

I blow out a breath. He must be the only person in the state who hasn’t heard. “He was helping some very bad people in San Francisco launder money and, from what I understand, was either going to have to testify against them and die on the way to the courthouse, or refuse to testify and get killed in jail. So he fled the country when I was ten. They know he made it to Mexico, but there was no sign of him after that.”

His face falls. “I’m sorry, Emmy. That sucks.”

I shrug. “He couldn’t have been much of a parent if he left me with someone like my mom, so it’s probably not much of a loss.”

Except it was a huge loss at the time. And a punch to the gut when I realized he’d used me to plot his escape.

It took all my memories with him and tainted them. Did we go to the wharf in Santa Cruz or take the train through the redwoods because he wanted to spend time with me, or was it all a trick? Was he making drops? Was he holding a silent conversation with some really shady guy right over my head the whole time? I’ll never know.

Our lunch arrives. It’s extra fried—I will have to go for two runs to work it off—but it’s still delicious. We’re nearly through when a woman walks up to us, glaring at me and Liam.

“Hi, Liam,” she says, her voice crisp and angry.

My stomach drops. I know he’s not going to be sleeping with me, but that doesn’t mean I want to meet the women he’s slept with instead.

“Hi, uh….”

“Holly,” she snaps. “Jesus Christ. It’s bad enough you’re already out with someone else, but now you can’t even remember my name?” Her head jerks toward me. “Enjoy your date. But assume you’ll be ghosted when he’s done with you.”

He groans aloud as she walks away. “I knew I was going to regret that.”

It seems his principles are a lot more flexible than he implied. “I thought you were against one-night stands.”

He runs a hand over his face with a weary sigh. “I never even slept with her. I kissed her because she made it incredibly awkward not to, and then I walked away.”

I should be calling bullshit on this, because no woman gets that pissy over a kiss, but all I can think is this: if he’s telling the truth about boycotting flings, he must be dying to get laid by now.

“I’m still not sure why you can’t have one-night stands. I mean…you’ve got to miss it a little?”

“Yeah, I’m starting to.” There are a thousand words spoken by that soft growl in his voice, by the way his gaze meets mine. It’s a growl that says he really misses it, that it’s been a while and he’s in need of some relief.

And the way he’s looking at me says he wishes I’d offer it.

“But I think it got in the way of finding something lasting,” he adds. “When you fuck a girl in the bathroom an hour after you’ve met her, it’s hard to go back to the part where you learn about who she is.”

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