Page 28 of The Way We Are

“Chris was joking when he said he wanted a boys’ club. He was just annoyed you wouldn’t kiss him when the bottle landed on him.”

Savannah shakes her head before pivoting on her heels. “It’s not Chris, Ryan. God!” she breathes out in frustration.

Eager to stop her hasty retreat, I seize her arm. Although I’m not clutching her with half the force Axel used last night, a stabbing pain hit my chest the instant I grabbed her. I drop her arm like it's scorching my palm, praying I’m the only one noticing similarities between my hold and Axel’s last night.

Although I’m no longer keeping her captive, Savannah’s feet remain planted on the ground. She's facing away from me, but her tiny frame is shaking, leading me to believe she's crying.

“Please don’t cry,” I beg, stepping closer to her.

I wrap my arms around her torso, hopeful she won't pull away. She doesn't. Even though I'm wearing nothing but drenched boxer shorts, the angry confusion pumping through my veins keeps us warm.

I wait for her shakes to ease before saying, “I’m clueless, Savannah. I’m fucking lost.” I’m clueless as to whom she's talking about, but I’m also lost without her in my life.

Savannah whispers something, but either her voice is too low for me to pick up, or I’m going deaf. With my pulse raging through my body like a tornado, I’d say it's the latter.

When I tell Savannah that, she repeats, “Your dad.”

A cold chill rockets down my spine. “My dad? What about my dad?”

My words are forced through a brick in my throat. If he hurt Savannah...if he's the reason we’ve spent the last five years apart...I’ll... I’ll...I’ll fucking kill him.

"Did he hurt you, Savannah?" My voice is so thick I don't recognize it. It's as husky as my dad’s when he guzzles a fifth of scotch straight.

Hearing the torment in my voice, Savannah pivots around to face me. Her movements are unsteady since I have her wrapped up in a cocoon hold. I breathe for the first time in what feels like minutes when she peers into my eyes before shaking her head.

“Not physically anyway,” she mumbles, her low tone not issuing the same guarantee her eyes do. "You really don't know, do you?"

I shake my head. I’m more shocked now than I’ve ever been.

“Did you get my letter?” Her tone is nothing like the one she used earlier. This one is sweetened with understanding.

Her pupils widen to the size of saucers when I once again shake my head. “You wrote me letters?

Savannah nods. “Only one. I hand delivered it...” Suddenly, the color drains from her face. “Oh no—your mom. She must have read it.”

She slaps her hand over her mouth as if she's going to be sick. "She wasn’t supposed to see the letter. Oh god. She must hate me."

“No,” I deny with a shake of my head. “My mom loves you.”

That isn’t a lie. Savannah was the daughter my mom never had. She has missed her as much as I have the past five years.

“She would have been upset, Ryan. I hated myself for what happened, so I’m sure she felt the same way.” Her chest rises and falls three times before she murmurs, “The first time I walked in on them was on your thirteenth birthday. They promised they would stop.” Her lips harden into a straight line. “They didn’t.”

“Who promised?” I ask, still lost on who she's referencing.

“Your dad...” Savannah licks her lips before adding on, “And my mom.”

It takes a few seconds for my muddled brain to compile the facts, but when it does, the truth smacks into me like a freight train.

“Our parents had an affair?”

I don’t know why I’m asking a question. The answer is as obvious as the sun hanging in the sky. But with my mind still hazy, I want Savannah to spell it out for me.

When Savannah briefly nods, I ask, “For how long?”

“I don’t know when it started, but it ended when my dad found out.” Her eyes blacken with pain when she mentions her dad. “In the beginning, I blamed us: if we weren’t friends, they would have never met. It was only when their affair continued after I pulled away from you did I realize we didn’t do anything wrong. By then it was too late, too many months had passed. My letter was my last ditch attempt to build the bridge I had burned between us. I wrote it a little over four years ago.”

I raise my eyes to the sky, fighting to hold in the anger burning me alive. I'm not mad at Savannah. I'm furious at both my mom and myself. I should have looked into the reason for her absence more thoroughly. I knew there had to be more to it. But since I was just a teenage boy with out-of-control hormones, I accepted her lack of contact as a knock to my ego and moved on. It was an immature move, but what is my mom’s excuse? She’s an adult—then and now. She shouldn’t have kept this from me.

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