Page 78 of The Cost of Forgetting You

I spin before he can see the look of pure lust on my face.

I make quick work of my clothes, not allowing myself time for second-guessing. A cool evening breeze rushes in to kiss my skin, pebbling my nipples as my bra drops to the ground. I’m left with my thumbs hooked in my underwear, eyeballing the distance from here to the river’s edge. “Hey, Tru?”

“Yeah?”

“How are we gonna get to the river without seeing each other?”

He thinks for a second. A heartbeat, really. And then I hear footsteps thudding against the earth followed by a whoop of joy and turn just in time to catch a glimpse of his bare ass before he disappears beneath the dark surface with a splash.

I scramble to rip off my underwear and follow behind him, hoping I can make it in the time he takes to resurface. My heart is in my throat, pumping so hard my pulse echoes in my ears. I make a running leap. My lungs seize around my last breath. Cool water rushes up to meet me, swallowing me whole.

I come up gasping, giggling, spraying water. “Oh my God, it’s cold!”

“Excellent form. Ten out of ten.”

My mouth forms a perfect O. I throw water in his direction, which he dodges. “You looked!”

“You wish,” he chides, winking.

That wink does something to me. Or maybe it’s the sensation of water flowing over my bare skin—every inch of it—that has me heating from the inside out. I dunk myself, smoothing a hand through my hair. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. There’s no version of me I could picture doing this. Not the careful, responsible daughter who picked up her life to move back here and care for her father. The same one who is now torn over whether to do the same for her mom. Certainly not the shy high school girl who was in love with the man standing naked in the water a mere ten feet away.

But I’m here. Living my life. Doing something just because I want to.

When I resurface, Truett’s not looking. His head is tilted back, capturing the last purple rays of light on the column of his throat. The sky is already filling with stars, tiny pinpricks of light that flood the darkness in the east sky. I wonder if he’s looking at them. If he’s searching for his mother.

I swirl my fingertips over the glassy surface of the water, disturbing the reflection of that twilight sky. I’m in the deepest part of the river, where the water reaches my collarbones. Tru has remained in the shallow end, looking like a statue in this pose. I’d almost believe he was if it weren’t for the rise and fall of his chest in time with his breathing.

“Tru?”

His eyes drift closed. Does he grimace? Or is it a trick of the light? “Yeah?”

“How did you forgive your mom?”

Our gazes meet. Twin wrinkles appear between his eyes, which are wrought with an intensity that pierces my chest. “For the affair?”

I shake my head. How do I explain what I mean? I’m not concerned with the result, but the trigger. Not the side effect or even the medicine that caused it, but the disease it was meant to cure. Like the way my parents were never truly happy. Or the way his dad treated his mom.

“For marrying your dad in the first place.”

His blink is slow. Measured. His voice the same. “I lost her. Once she was gone, all that stuff—the anger at how he treated her, the resentment that she stayed. Even the fact that her choices cost me you.” His throat works over some unseen knot, and I trace the movement with my gaze, unable to look away even for a second. “It seemed so insignificant in the face of losing her.”

And now I’m losing my dad. Is that what makes it easier to forgive the part he played in all this? Or is it because I feel a kinship to him, floating weightless in the river as I fully admit to myself the feelings I’ve held captive for this particular Parker for my whole life. The ones that never really left. Perhaps a weakness for them is genetic. A trait I inherited from my father.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you,” I whisper. “And for almost kissing you.”

He takes a step closer. The water moves around his hips reverently, like it’s an honor to touch him. My heart cries that it would be.

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Sorry.” He says it flatly, like I should know this.

I blink. “I just said I was.”

“But why? Why be sorry, when we’re two adults who clearly have feelings for each other. What’s there to be sorry for?”

I suck in a breath and hold it till it burns my lungs. Setting it free does nothing to shake the nerves out of me. “You don’t have feelings for me, Truett. You’re just lonely and I’m around and we’re stuck in this emotionally heightened situation together with my dad. But don’t worry. It’ll pass.”

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