Page 53 of Faking Summer
"He's kind of scary," I admitted.
"I think you gave him a run for his money, talking back like that," he said, amused. "I'm usually the only one who gets away with that, but I'd pay to see you do that again."
"Why does he not want you to talk to your mom?" The words came out more bluntly than I intended. "I mean, if you don't want to talk to her, that's fine, but it should be your choice."
I'd always thought Reese had the picture-perfect life: the successful, handsome father, the beautiful stepmother who’d swept in like some kind of modern-day fairy godmother. But after seeing that interaction, I realized maybe the image I had of him wasn’t all accurate.
"I can't figure it out. I know what she did was wrong, and he hates her for it..." Reese trailed off, staring into the water before him. "But he always gets defensive about it. Like I'd be betraying him if I hear her out. She doesn’t seem psychotic like he says."
Reese stopped, his fingers grazing the small chain around his neck before he adjusted the pendant on it to lay flat.
"Is that from your dad?" I asked, curiously. I’d noticed that he always wore it. I could always see the chain under his shirts, even when the pendant wasn’t out.
"No," he said, running a hand through his damp hair. "It belonged to my mom. It's one of the only things she left behind."
I floated there, the ripples from my movements caressing my skin while I thought about his words. I remembered the countless games where he stood on the mound, the necklace was always visible, even from the stands. For years, I’d watched him walk around this town like he owned it—reckless and untouchable. That cocky swagger of his made it clear he didn’t need or want anyone’s pity. But now, Icould see what he carried—not just her necklace, but some sort of hope or connection to her that he was missing. Was he more hurt than he seemed deep down? Maybe baseball and the image he portrayed to everyone was what held him together—the power, the sarcasm, all a way to hide the scars of abandonment.
twenty-two
Reese
"Well, boys," Crew grunted between strained breaths, arms shaking as he held the barbell above his head, "I ended things with the twins."
Across from me, Bailey was changing the weight on the bicep machine. "Doesn't count," he said without missing a beat. "You can't date twins."
Crew was already brushing off Bailey's comment with a grin. "You can date twins, trust me," he said. "But now, I'm dating a woman who's like dating triplets."
"Does that mean she has multiple personalities?" I asked, curiously. "I think my neighbor has that."
"Nah, she's not like that," he panted, his chest heaving. "She's like the whole damn package I never knew I needed."
"Everything you need in one woman, huh?" Parker yelled, his feet pounding against the treadmill. "We'll believe it when we see it, Crew!"
"Yeah, you once told me you'd rather stick a fork in your eye than have to be stuck dating one woman," Boston yelled from the treadmill next to Parker.
"Listen up, gentlemen," Crew began, dropping the barbell on the rack. "I've been changed, snatched off the market before my very own eyes," he declared.
Disbelieving laughter rippled through the room and eventually silenced as Boston brought his treadmill to a halt. We hadn't spoken much since that day—the moment he and Chandler walked in on Caroline and me in the bathroom.
Forcing myself to follow him, I grabbed my water bottle and took a deep breath.
"Hey, Boston," I called out, and turned into the locker room.
He didn't turn right away, and I watched the tension in his shoulders. Conversations between us either went kind of okay or ended terribly.
"About the other day—" I began, treading lightly.
Boston faced me, "Reese," he sighed, the name a surrender of sorts, "let's just leave it."
"Hey," I began, unsure of how to start this conversation. "I’m meeting Cindee for dinner soon. You gonna be there?"
He grunted, rifling through his locker without looking at me. "Yeah, probably."
"Cool." I said, casually. I leaned against the cool metal of the lockers. Then, in the most unsubtle way possible, I added, "Oh, and about Caroline..."
"You don't have to explain," he said, cutting me off before I could finish.
I nodded, relief washing over me. Thank fuck, because truth be told, I didn't even know what I was going to say. He closed his locker with a decisive click, and then, as if he was forcing out the words, he continued. "Caroline is a good person deep down. I know she's not everyone's favorite person, but there's this side to her that not everyone gets to see.”
