Page 4 of The Summer I Destroyed You

I laugh, though I should not. I want to text him back, but I’m definitely not doing that either. Liam, in person, won’t be who he’s been by text. He won’t be someone who likes me despite all the evidence he should not, someone I can actually trust.

I’m going to miss him once it all falls apart. I really am.

2

LIAM

I began the morning by getting reamed out by a homeowner about delays that were entirely her fault. When that was done, I learned that one of my roofers put a nail through his hand and another of my guys had punctured a drainage pipe, which we’ll now be replacing on our own dime.

But even all of that isn’t responsible for my foul mood at present—a foul mood my sister Bridget will definitely call me on.

She comes to the door and watches as I walk the path to her house. “Can’t even tell you broke it,” she says, glancing at my leg.

I grimace. “I can tell I broke it.” The cast has been off for weeks, but when I’m climbing up a ladder, my right leg is still weaker than my left. Surfing is impossible—I can barely do a pop up. And my checking account sure as shit can tell I broke it.

I head toward the leaking toilet she called about, which is the exact kind of thing her worthless husband should be taking care of. I’ve stopped bothering to ask where he is. Scott either takes more golf trips than any human alive or she’s covering for him.

“Got the invite to Caleb’s wedding,” she says, following me into the bathroom and hopping onto the sink. “Who’d have thought you’d be the last one to settle down?”

I drop my bag onto the floor. “Yeah. No one.”

“You’re too picky,” says Bridget. “You really should have given Missy a chance. Sometimes one date isn’t enough to—”

“Hey, Bridge?” I ask, turning to glance up at her from the bathroom floor. “Can we not do this today?”

The familiar conversation entitled Perfectly Nice Girls You Shot Down has never been a favorite of mine, especially when I agree with her. A little more than a year ago, my closest friends were all either headed for divorce or confirmed bachelors, and now all three of them are happily taken and that just leaves me—the only one of us who has been out there dating the entire time. I’ve been out with a hundred girls who were cute and nice and did nothing objectionable aside from boring me. Acknowledging that I’m the problem, and I clearly am, doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want to tie myself for life to a woman who’s got me yawning an hour into our first date.

“Fine. I’ve got someone else you ought to meet. This single mom whose kid comes into our practice. She’s so friendly.”

“A single mom?” I shake my head. “No thanks. That’s twice as many people to disappoint.”

“Three times as many, actually,” she counters. “She’s also got a second grader. But Liam, you like kids. You were great with Daisy. Maybe that’s the piece that’s missing.”

It says everything about my sister’s marriage that she thinks kids can fill the empty space in a relationship. I’m pretty sure if she and Scott had had one together, she’d see how flawed her logic actually is.

“I’m tired, Bridget,” I grunt. “Let it go.”

Her head tilts. “What’s up with you today? You’re in a mood.”

I knew she’d fucking ask.

“I met with the bank,” I say, holding my hand out for the wrench. I don’t feel like discussing it, but I’ll have to tell her eventually. “They’re not going to give me the loan, which means my investors are out too.”

Her mouth falls open. “I thought you said it was a slam dunk.”

“That’s what they said back before I broke my damn leg. I don’t have as much saved up anymore. I am ‘no longer a good credit risk.’”

My crew did their best, but we fell behind while I was laid up. Why’d I have to climb that roof? It’s like I was one guy when I went up there and another entirely when I landed. Or maybe the change had already happened, and it just took a hard fall to make me realize it.

Everyone’s been treating me like a beaten dog since then. Everyone but Emerson Hughes, that is. She has no fucks to give about my feelings or anyone else’s. If it’s possible to develop a crush sight unseen with a woman who’s almost invariably cold to you, I’m pretty sure I’m halfway there. I’m also pretty sure that if you’re infatuated with someone who hasn’t shown a hint of interest in you, you need a shit-ton of therapy.

Which I now can’t afford.

I just feel something there. In her mean-but-funny responses and the way she refuses to lower her standards but is always reasonable when we hit a delay. I’ve never worked harder in my life to peel back someone’s armor, but the small glimpses I’ve gotten of her were worth it. Like the fact that she cries during that holiday ad where a little kid brings a present to the lonely old guy upstairs. Or that she’s surrounded by some of the most amazing restaurants in the world, but the best meal she ever had was a box of donuts she and her dad split when she was small. I like it all. I like it more than I should. She just seems to have something the Perfectly Nice Girls do not, and tomorrow I find out if it was all in my head.

Until I do, I’ve got no time for Bridget’s single mom or anyone else.

It’s after five when I get back to Main Street, nearly closing time for most of the places in Elliott Springs. Even though I’m in a hurry, my gaze is drawn toward the end of the street.

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