Page 98 of Until the Storm Breaks
“Do you? Because from where I’m standing, it’s pretty fucked up, Maren. You knew how I felt about the people who treat my writing like it’s something more than it is. You knew about the conference groupies, the people who think they knowme because they read my essays. And this whole time you had my words literally etched on your skin. And you hid it.”
She takes a breath, steadying herself. I watch her gather her words, can see her trying to figure out how to explain this. “I was twenty-one and my parents had just died. Your book helped me through it. Yes, I got the tattoo. It meant something to me.”
“But why didn’t you tell me? When we started this, when things got serious, why didn’t you say something?”
“Because the longer I waited, the weirder it got,” she admits, meeting my eyes directly. “The first time you tried to kiss me, I thought about telling you. That’s why I bolted. But then I thought, what if he thinks I’m with him because of who he is as a writer? What if he thinks I’ve been obsessed with him all this time? And then days passed, and weeks, and it became this huge thing that I couldn’t figure out how to explain.”
“So you just hid it instead. Made sure I never got a good look at it. Changed the subject when I asked about it.” The betrayal sits heavy in my chest, mixing with the anger from my birth parents until I can’t separate them. “You lied to me.”
“You’re right,” she says, her voice breaking slightly. “I lied by omission. I should have told you immediately. I fucked up.”
I can see her eyes welling, though she’s fighting it, blinking hard to keep the tears from falling. Her face has that careful blankness people get when they’re trying desperately not to fall apart.
Part of me wants to pull her close, but the betrayal is too fresh. First my birth parents trying to use me, now finding out she’s been hiding this. The conference only days away, where thousands of people will be showing up to take a piece of me home with them. Everyone wanting something from Calvin Midnight the writer, not just Calvin the person.
“I need to think,” I say. “And the conference… I think I should go alone.”
“Are you ending this?” Her voice is quiet but steady, though I can see the effort it’s taking her to keep it that way.
“I… I don’t know,” I snap, sharper than I mean to. The words burn coming out. “I just need time to process all of this. My birth parents, your tattoo, everything. I’m too worked up right now to even know what’s real.”
She nods, wrapping her arms around herself. “I understand.” She takes a shaky breath. “I’ll drop you at the cabins so you can pack.”
“No, I’ll walk. It’s not that far. I’ll text you when I’m leaving for Seattle.”
She nods again, digging her keys out of her pocket. “Okay.”
I turn to walk away, but something bitter rises up in me. I stop, not turning back.
“You know what the fucked up part is?” My voice sounds hollow. “I actually thought you were different. That this wasn’t some literary groupie thing. But you’ve been carrying me around on your skin since before you knew me. How is that different from the people at conferences who think they know me because they read my book?”
“Calvin—”
But I’m already walking. Each step feels heavier than the last. Behind me, I can feel her watching, but I don’t look back. Can’t look back. Not yet.
I know even as the words leave my mouth that I’m being unfair. I know she’s not like them. But the anger and hurt need somewhere to go, and she’s the only target left.
The walk back to the cabins takes thirty minutes. The morning fog has burned off completely, leaving everything sharp and clear in a way that feels wrong for how confused I feel inside. Ipass the harbor, the familiar streets, trying not to think about how many times I’ve made this walk with Maren.
By the time I reach the cabins, my shirt is damp with sweat and my mind is no clearer than when I started walking. The cabins look exactly the same as when we left this morning, but everything feels different now.
I go straight to my cabin. Inside, I pack mechanically. Clothes from the dresser. Laptop and charger. The conference materials I’ve been avoiding. My hands move on autopilot while my mind churns.
Seven years she’s had those words on her skin. When she was reading my book at twenty-one, grieving her parents, was she thinking about the person who wrote them? When I showed up here this summer, what went through her mind?
I zip the bag harder than necessary.
I throw my bags in the truck and sit there for a moment, engine off, staring at the empty space where her car usually parks. Part of me wants to wait for her, to talk this through. But I know I need distance to think clearly. Everything’s too tangled right now with my birth parents’ manipulation, Maren’s secret, the conference looming, Mom being gone.
I start the engine and pull out. Seattle’s three hours away. Three hours to get my head straight before walking into that conference. The anger sits heavy in my chest—at my birth parents for their manipulation, at Maren for her deception. Both of them seeing Calvin Midnight instead of just Calvin. The conference will be more of the same, but at least there I expect it.
CHAPTER 25
MAREN
After Calvin walks away from the café, I sit in my car for a long moment, gripping the steering wheel. Letting the tears fall. He asked for space. He needs to walk back and pack. I need to give him that.
Once I’ve finally stopped crying, I drive aimlessly through town, killing time. Stop at the grocery store and wander the aisles without purpose. Pick up bananas I won’t eat, bread I won’t finish. Just going through the motions while my mind replays his face when he asked about the tattoo. The betrayal in his eyes. The way he said he didn’t know if he was ending this.
