Page 91 of The Summer I Destroyed You

“Who would blame her after the shit you put her through?” I counter.

Her laugh is sharp and bitter. “Oh, right. Poor Emmy had it so rough compared to the rest of us—is that it? Poor Emmy, with her perfect grades and her money, was the innocent little victim.”

I stare at her. “Do you really think the fact that Emmy did well in school and wasn’t broke justified what you did to her at homecoming?”

There’s the tiniest flicker of guilt in her eyes before she blinks it away. “No, but the shit she did to me personally sure did. Before you start rushing to that bitch’s defense, ask her what she took from me first.”

“This has been going on since you were both ten. What the hell could Em have ever taken from you?”

She climbs into her car. “My father, for starters,” she says as she slams the door.

* * *

It makes no sense. For hours, it makes no sense. And when I finally do come around to an explanation, it seems too crazy to be true.

It seems too crazy, and yet, is it? The more I think about it, the more it also seems…obvious.

Em gets in late, grinning at Snowflake and then me, but the smile fades fast when she sees my face.

“What’s the matter?” she asks. Already I can see her battening the hatches, preparing for a storm.

“Why don’t you sit down?”

She swallows. “Either someone is dead or you’re ending this, and I don’t care which one it is, but I do care about the way you’re wasting time spitting it out.”

“No one has died, and I’m not ending things. Now sit the fuck down.” Irritation prickles my skin. “And if I was ending things, you’d care.”

She perches on the edge of the couch, rigid, ready to spring away and run. “Whatever. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I ran into Bradley today. Walking to her car.” It’s sort of true.

“Did you slam her face into a bar?”

I didn’t know she was aware of the Paul incident. “I certainly wanted to at a few points,” I reply. “But anyway, she said something about you having taken things away from her.”

Her sigh is heavy, fatigued. “Right. As if Bradley Grimm had anything I’d have wanted. What could I have stolen from her? One of those sexy Grimm’s Convenience T-shirts she wears? That piece-of-shit Honda she drives?”

Here we go. I already know she’s going to hate my answer. “Her father.”

She laughs. “What?”

“She said you stole her father. And then she slammed her door and drove away.”

“Her father?” Em jumps to her feet. Her arms fly out to either side for emphasis. “Did you remind her that she didn’t have a father? The dude left when her mom was pregnant.”

I reach out for her hand and pull her back to the couch. She comes, unwillingly, and I say nothing, waiting for her mind to follow the same path mine did earlier.

She laughs again. “Oh my God, Liam. You don’t believe Bradley and I are actually related, do you? How would that even be possible?”

“I don’t know, Em. It seemed crazy at first but the more I think about it, the more I see similarities.”

She glares at me. “My bitchiness was created, not inherited. I was a pretty nice kid before she and her friends decided to take a dump on me.”

I wrap an arm around her. “Think about it, babe. I know it seems crazy, but think about it. Didn’t you say you used to tell people you were twins?”

She rolls her eyes. “We were just stupid kids, Liam. And we’re not twins. We don’t even have the same birthday.”

“I’m not trying to say you are. I’m trying to say that it’s a little strange that you look a bit similar and that she didn’t have a father but yours started taking her on all your outings.”

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