Page 122 of Summertime Friends

I did tell her years ago. It was a roundabout way, but in Amsterdam, before we left, in bed, I told her I was an example of someone who loved her. I’ve loved her for three years.

“I disagree. States did,” George says. “Cal does, too.”

“Audrey?” Beatrix goes to her for support.

“I’m not making this girls versus boys. Why do you think she led you on?” Audrey asks.

“I saw everything with her, and she let me. Kids, a house here or there, a white picket fence, and dogs, if that’s what she wanted. Life partners—all of it I saw with her because she’s—she’s—Too bad Emerson is fucked in the head. Doesn’t believe that love exists.”

They all sit there and stare at me.

“Who doesn’t believe in love?” I ask rhetorically.

“For someone who doesn’t, Emerson sure knows how to show it,” George says. “And that’s leading Liam on!”

“Add that to the list!” I slam my glass on the table. Run my hands through my hair. “When I look at her,” my hands go to my eyes, then through my hair again. I think about Emerson. “I know she’d be the best life partner. She has no capacity to the amount or the way she can love someone. At least, I thought she did. Maybe this has all been a game to her. I’m the pawn. If that’s the case, check-fucking-mate States. You win.”

“Liam. . .” Audrey breathes out.

“Emerson knows it’s real. At least you are the first person to make it real to her. She might need more time,” Callum tries to tell me.

I roll my eyes and blow out a breath that feels more like a dragon blowing out steam.

“More time than three years?” I ask.

“It hasn’t even been a week since you told her how you felt. She hasn’t been processing it for years.”

“You don’t need to tell someone you are in love with them for them to know it. It’s in the small gestures, the silence, and the mundane moments that I wanted her to know she is loved. Play back the past three years. I did everything I could to show her. I wanted her to believe in love not because I said it but because she could feel it.” But I wanted—needed—her to love me back.

“But you never told her. She needed that. . . earlier,” Cal says.

Why does it sound as if he knows her like I do? No one knows her like I do. No one loves her like I do, nor will someone ever love her like I do.

The red increases a shade darker.

“What about me?”

“Liam,” George warns.

“She warned me. She told me she was fucked in the head, but I was blinded by her to see it. Didn’t want to believe it, but I should have. Instead, now I am, too.”

“Liam,” Beatrix says cautiously.

“Loving her. . . it’ll be the worst thing that ever happens to me. I wish I never met her.” I shake my head, the red now the darkest shade I’ve ever encountered. There isn’t a way for me to see past it. Or feel anything but it.

Across from me, Audrey’s eyes go wide first. Then Cal’s flare. It’s like they are a game of dominos. George follows suit. To his right, Beatrix gulps.

“And I wish I never met you too,” came a voice behind me.

That voice. Her voice.

Emerson.

She came.

Everyone is sitting there, staring at me and then staring at her. Cal’s covering his mouth with his hand. George releases a push of air and runs his hand over his head. Bea and Audrey lean in toward each other. No one is saying a word, no movement.

Why is she here?

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