Page 86 of The Beach Trap

I do believe him. But that only makes it harder for me to say what I need to say. “Kat has feelings for you, though.”

He waves a hand. “I don’t know why that matters.”

“You heard her! You saw how crushed she was.”

“What are you saying?” He stares at me, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion.

I’m having trouble getting out the words, so I run my hands through the dog’s fur to help me focus. “We—we have to end it.”

“End it?” Noah repeats, his voice flat. “End what?”

I motion weakly between us, unable to meet his eyes. “End whatever this is. Things between us.”

“Wait—what?” He sounds incredulous. “I can understand why you’re upset about how Kat treated you, but I don’t see what that has to do with you and me.”

I squeeze my hands together, frustrated he’s not getting it. “She has feelings for you.”

“So?”

“So I can’t do that to her!”

He stares at me again, speechless, for several seconds. “Please tell me that I’m misunderstanding you. I can’t believe you’re bending over backward for that selfish, entitled, spoiled brat—”

“Hey!” My voice is as sharp as a knife. “Careful who you call entitled—and don’t talk about my sister like that.”

I stop, shocked at the words that just came out of my mouth.My sister.Kat’s face appears in my mind, and I see it clearly: all the loneliness and grief she’s been carrying all summer, an invisible armor. She’s my sister, and right now she’s devastated and alone.

And so am I. The weight of everyone I’ve lost seems to press down on me. My mom, my dad, my grandmother, and someday in the not-so-distant future, my granddad, too. I can’t lose Kat. I’ve had a glimpse of sisterhood, and I can’t let it go.

“So that’s it?” Noah says. His eyes are sharp, his jaw tight. “Kat throws a temper tantrum, and you end things between us? I thought we had something good, Blake.”

I take a shaky breath. “It’s been wonderful, Noah, but you know we weren’t going to last beyond the summer.”

“Why?” There’s challenge in his voice, and it makes me sit up straight and take stock of him. His eyes are blazing.

I falter. “Because neither of us lives here. I’m going back to Minneapolis—”

“Why do you think I’m considering the job with my friend in Chicago? I’m trying to figure out how to be as close as possible to you. I don’t want to say goodbye when the summer ends. I want to keep seeing you.”

I’m stunned. I had no idea he was thinking this. “You—you do? You did?”

“How is it not obvious that I’m crazy about you? I want to be with you constantly. You’re all I fucking think about!” He runs his hands through his hair, then leans forward, his eyes locked onto mine. “Just last night I was looking at flights from Chicago to Minneapolis. I could fly out to see you on a Friday night and spend the weekend with you. Every weekend, if you wanted me.”

My mouth falls open. I’m speechless, fighting warring emotions. On the one hand, I’m elated that he’s been planning a possible future for us, scoping it out. But on the other hand, I’m thinking of my father, showing up for the weekend a couple of times a month, then disappearing back to his regular life.

Yes, it was fun for him, fun for my mom, but there was no commitment, no real intimacy, no mutual support through goodtimes and bad. Real life doesn’t just happen on the weekends; it’s the weekday mornings when you’re out of milk and someone needs to run to the grocery store, the weeknights when you don’t have the energy to make dinner, when you’re sick or lonely and just want someone to help shoulder the burdens of life.

I’ll never know if my mother was happy about the arrangement—maybe she was; maybe she liked her independence; maybe it was exactly what she wanted.

But it isn’t what I want.

“I—I can’t be your weekend girl,” I say. The words feel like acid in my mouth.

“Myweekendgirl? That’s not—” Noah shakes his head. “I’ve been trying not to freak you out by coming on too strong, so maybe I haven’t been clear enough. I want to be with you, Blake. I want to see where this can go between us.”

My heart feels like it’s going to burst. He’s so earnest, so lovely and sweet, and I can’t take it. I squeeze my eyes shut so I don’t have to see the hurt on his face, because now I’m waffling. I’m eight years old again, sneaking out of bed to find my parents slow dancing in the kitchen, their foreheads pressed together. Watching him take her face in his hands and kiss her like she was the most precious thing in the world. I thought they were the paragon of love. And yet he would get in his car and drive away, every time.

He would always,alwaysleave.

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