Page 83 of Don't Call Me Sweetheart

“What do you think of the color, Mom?” Jessica stood next to the wooden half-pipe, wielding a paint roller.

The half-pipe had been covered in graffiti. Nothing artistic—just pen-scratched curse words, names in hearts, and several suggestions of who to call for a good time. Jessica was mulling mural ideas, but for now, she was overlaying everything with a coat of vibrant blue paint. Blue was George’s favorite color.

“It’s beautiful,” I said. “George would approve.”

Probably, anyway. He would have been thirty-one now, not the same fourteen-year-old who scrawled FUCK in big red letters and giggled about it. Children grew up, and it sucked that he hadn’t had much time to do that. I understood now, more than ever, why Maria and Juan wanted the bench at the country club, a place they had once dreamed he might be a member of instead of a server.

I looked around at the throng of people. We had been at it for just over an hour and were already almost done. A surge of gratitude brought tears to my eyes. Emma and Eli, Suzie and Sam, Luke and his younger brother, Ethan…all my friends had put aside their busy lives to show up today. Even Suzie’s neighbor, Nora, was here, and she hadn’t ever met George.

The sound of a masculine throat clearing sent my heart jackhammering in my chest. I whipped around, even knowing that it wasn’t him.

It wasn’t.

“Kate.” Steven shoved his hands into his coat pockets, frowning at his boots, and then, with evident effort, forced himself to look me in the eyes. “I owe you an apology.”

I swallowed my knee-jerk reaction to disagree. To let him off the hook because the town sweetheart wouldn’t hold a grudge. “Yeah. You do.”

Steven grimaced. “I know, logically, that you’re not doing anything wrong. You’re not cheating on George. And, you know…” He shuffled his feet, hunching his shoulders, curling further into himself. “I got to grow up. I met Melanie, fell in love, had kids of my own. I kept on living, after he stopped. And it’s not fair for me to ask you not to do that, just because George can’t. It just sucks, you know? It hurts so much that he can’t.”

“I know.” Impulsively, I reached out and squeezed his arm. “I know it hurts. It hurts me too. But I need to live my life. Those feelings you have, that’s okay. That’s normal. But your feelings are not my responsibility. It’s not my job to make you feel better about George by keeping my own life rooted in the past. I’m not going to do that anymore.”

“You’re right,” Steven said. “I’m sorry I put that on you.”

I shook my head. “For what it’s worth, I put it on myself too.”

Steven nodded. I watched as he rejoined his family, gaining a hug from his wife, who smiled at me over his shoulder. I smiled back and then turned my attention to the scattered shards of broken bottles and glass near the chain link fence.

It was slow work, and I was grateful for the thick gloves I wore to protect my fingers. I worked steadily, smiling to myself at the cheerful buzz of neighbors and friends chatting while they worked. This wasn’t a somber event. It was a grateful celebration of what one person had meant to Hart’s Ridge. George would have loved it.

And then a laugh rose above the noise and froze me in place. I would know that laugh anywhere, even though it wasn’t especially loud or unique, simply because it was his and when I heard it, my whole body felt warm and glowy. I turned—slowly, because I was suddenly terrified that it wasn’t him, and I didn’t think I could bear the disappointment of it.

And there he was. Closer than I had realized, but still much too far away. But that changed because, without my permission, my legs were already taking me to him at a jog.

I stopped when he was close enough to touch. I managed to keep my hands to myself with monumental self-control. Not touching him right then deserved a Nobel Peace Prize.

“You’re here,” I said.

He eyed me warily. “Yes. I thought… I understand why you wouldn’t want me at the commemoration this morning, but this is different. I’ve only lived in Hart’s Ridge for a few months, but that’s long enough to know that George was important to everyone. And this is… I mean, it’s cleaning a park, so more kids can safely use it. I support that. And I support you. Because we’re friends. So that’s why I’m here. Supporting Hart’s Ridge—and supporting you.” His gaze tracked my face, as though looking for clues. “I can go, if you want.”

For the hundredth time that day, my eyes filled with tears. After everything I had put him through, he was still here. He had shown up. For me.

I shook my head. “I don’t want to be friends, Max.”

There was so much to tell him, so much to explain, but before I could get another word out, Sam cleared his throat. I blinked, taking in his presence for the first time…along with Eli and Luke. I had been so focused on Max, I hadn’t even noticed them.

“Let’s go help Jessica with the paint,” Sam said, his tone over-the-top cheerful.

“What a great idea!” Luke said, matching Sam’s tone.

Eli rolled his eyes and followed them.

When I turned back to Max, I found him glowering down at me, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he said.

I gulped. Okay, he might be a little angry with me. That was fair. No one liked to be yanked around by their heartstrings. “I—”

“No, Kate. You are not going to kick me out of your life. You are not going to pretend I don’t exist because, quite frankly, Hart’s Ridge is too fucking small for you to pull that shit, and I am the principal at your daughter’s school for the foreseeable future. I care about you. If you need something, I’m going to find a way to give it to you. I’m going to show up for you, no matter what, and I’m going to show up for Jessica too. If we can’t be anything else, then at least we can be friends, dammit.”

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