Page 82 of The Beach Trap

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

KAT

After leaving Boshamps, I drive aimlessly around Destin, heading nowhere because I don’t have anywhere to go. My face is damp with tears and my ears are still ringing from my confrontation with Blake. I’m desperate for someone to talk to, but I don’t have anyone to call. Which is pretty pathetic for someone who has almost one hundred thousand “friends.”

I can’t call CoCo—she has no idea what’s going on with me, or her brother, apparently. I can’t call my mom. I wish I could talk to Henry, but we haven’t really cleared the air about what happened the other day.

And Blake... I never should’ve opened the door for her again. She was literally the person who taught me that people you love could hurt you. When will I learn people don’t change and I shouldn’t expect anything different from them? Isn’t that the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing and expecting different results?

It was insane to let my guard down, to trust Blake. My eyes sting with fresh tears as I think of the way she walked right pastme and into Junior’s arms as if I wasn’t even there. Their embrace is burned in my mind, the way his hands trailed down her back toward her butt. I shake the image out of my head, knowing it won’t do me any good.

As I pull up to the light at Crystal Beach Drive, the familiar opening chords of “Build Me Up Buttercup” come drifting through my speakers. The song stirs a memory and tears stream down my face as I picture Blake and me in the dining hall at camp, practicing our lip-sync dance routine when that hippie counselor walked in and told me about my grandpa.

At the time, I had no idea that wouldn’t be the only terrible news I’d be getting that week. But I can’t help but wonder if Blake had known what was coming. If that was why she’d offered to wait at the lodge with me that morning. If she’d just pretended to be sad I was leaving, while in reality, she couldn’t wait to be reunited with her dad. My dad. Our dad.

Behind me, a car honks. The light has turned green, but instead of continuing straight, I turn right, not allowing myself to think about who I’m heading toward, and why he’s the only person I want to see.

•••

A few minuteslater, I pull in front of Henry’s little blue house. The sun has started to set and the sky is an orangey pink. It would make a beautiful #NoFilter photo for my stories, but I don’t have the heart or the energy.

Henry’s sitting on the front porch, his nose buried in a book. He doesn’t look up until I close the car door.

I watch as the expression on his face transforms from surprise to delight, then concern at the sight of my tear-streaked face. I thought for sure the well of my tears had run dry, but atthe tilt of Henry’s head and the slight dip in the corner of his mouth, they start again.

“Kat?” Henry says, standing up. “What’s wrong?”

“What isn’t wrong?” I laugh, but the sound turns to sobs.

He’s by my side instantly, helping me up the porch steps as if my leg is broken, not my heart. As we walk, he rubs my back in the way I imagine he does for Sunny. She’s so lucky to have such a good dad. I would have given anything for my dad to have done that, to try to comfort me just one time when I was sad.

The thought makes me come undone, and a new wave of grief washes over me.

“Shh,” Henry says, still rubbing my back as we sit side by side on the front porch swing. “What happened?”

I manage to tell him most of the story—pretending I’m talking to my old friend Henry and not the Henry I almost kissed. I tell him about how excited I’d been after the call from CoCo, the shock of seeing Blake and Junior together, and how the pieces of the puzzle finally clicked, why she’s been so secretive about the guy she’s been dating.

“I’m just so tired of losing everything that matters to me,” I say, standing up. I start pacing, too upset and anxious to sit. “And I’m so mad at Blake. I’m mad at myself for being in this position again—it’s just like when we were twelve, but instead of trying to take my dad, she’s trying to take my beach house. And now Junior? She wants to take everything I love!”

“You don’t love Junior Rooney,” Henry says. The first words he’s spoken in more than ten minutes.

“I could have,” I say, turning around to face him. “But Blake ruined it, like she ruins everything.” Out of words and out of energy, I lean against the railing, holding on to the pole for support. It buckles under my weight and swings loose.

“Oh!” I jump back, bringing on more fresh tears.Where do they keep coming from?“NowI’mthe one ruining everything!”

“It’s okay,” Henry says, leading me back to the porch swing. “It’s been broken for ages—you know what they say about the fix-it guy’s house being the last thing to be fixed.”

“Do they say that?” I ask, wiping away the tears I’m tired of crying.

“If they don’t, they should,” he says, holding my elbow as we sit.

It’s quiet save for the sound of my sniffles and the TV inside, where I imagine Sunny is watching cartoons. I hope I didn’t scare her with my emotional outburst. It was selfish of me to come here. I should’ve gone to the outlets and found solace in a sale.

“Want to talk about what’s really bothering you?” Henry asks.

I turn and look at him, wondering who the hell I’ve been pouring my heart out to for the last twenty minutes. “I just told you,” I say, dumbfounded. “Were you not listening?”

“Of course I was listening. Both to what you said, and what you didn’t say.”

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