Page 41 of Tell Me You Love Me

“Remember when she got that belly piercing?” Chris brings the truck to a stop about forty feet from her car, dust pluming because this summer has been dry as hell, and dirt is just… everywhere. He cuts the engine and scrubs a hand over his mouth. To hide his smile, no doubt. “Bitsy was screaming all over town about how she would never let her daughter get such a trashy body modification. Not for as long as she lived.”

“So we drove her to Barlespy and took her to a piercing place there.” I draw a heaving breath, filling my lungs and expanding my chest, and remembering that day in a town about an hour from here as clearly as if it was just yesterday, I exhale again and nod. “She wanted it so bad, and her mother wouldn’t even discuss it. So we did what Watkins boys do—break the rules and celebrate after with a party… here,” I realize, as sorrow washes through my veins. “At the lake.”

“It’s not too late to turn around,” Eliza murmurs. “She saw us, but you know she’s panicking, too. We’d be doing her a favor if we left.”

“This is the best part of the lake for swimming,” Chris inserts. Logical. Unemotional. But he taps the steering wheel and warms the side of my face with his gaze. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”

“We can leave,” Alana calls out.

Her voice kicks my heart into the next gear, like nitrous oxide injected straight into my blood. Tossing the half-inflated tube to the ground, she bends and grabs a plastic grocery bag and throws things inside. “Franky, honey.” She looks over to find him in the shallowest section of water. She knows precisely where it’s safe out here, and where it isn’t, because she spent seventeen summers in this lake, just like we did. “Come out of the water, okay? The tube is broken, so let’s go back to town and get some ice cream.”

“Problem solved.” Eliza releases a breath of relief. “She’s doing the right thing.”

“No.” I unsnap my seatbelt and flick her hand off when she tries to grab for me, then shoving the truck door open, I move so much fucking faster than I intend. Around the back of the truck to sweep up the cooler, then over the sizzling dirt that turns to sand, which turns to patchy grass right where Alana set up camp, dappled shade from the massive tree growing above. “Don’t leave.”

She ignores me, filling her bag with random things and mixing soda cans with sunscreen. A hair scrunchie with the boy’s shirt.

“Franky? You have to get out of the water now.”

I grab her wrist and yank her to a stop, though I know she’d rather sprint straight past, scoop her kid up, and escape. I inhale her panicked exhale and hate that her eyes flare with fear.

Not nerves. Not anger. Not even confusion.

Straight-up fear.

“Stay,” I repeat, licking my lips and glancing down at my fingers wrapped around her wrist. I see the outline of my grip on her pale skin. “It’s a big lake, Alana, and it’s hotter than Hades out here today.”

“Hi, Chris!” Franky remains in the water, waving with his arm above his head so the gesture moves his whole body. He has a cute little outie belly button and ribs I can count. Though it’s not the same as when I was a kid, and my ribs were visible, too.

Franklin Page isn’t hungry. He’s just… small.

“I don’twantto stay.” Alana gently peels her arm from my hold, swallowing so her throat bobs. She tries so hard to tamp her emotions down, but she can’t stop the tears burning in her eyes. And evidently, she’sforgotten the sunglasses perched atop her head. “We’ve already had a swim, so fair’s fair. It’s your turn to have the lake.”

Godddddd, why is she so pretty? So tempting? So fucking perfect in all the wrong ways.“That’s what they say about love and war, right? All’s fair.”

“Tommy—”

“You were the love, and I was the war. Anything we did in the pursuit of either was fair.” I set two fingers on her trembling hip and turn her, just a few inches, until I see again the ink on her back. The date we fell in love, and with a messily drawn heart to go with it. “I had such bad handwriting back then. It’s insane, actually, that you let me put something permanent on your skin.”

“I don’t want a trip down memory lane.” She steps backward, forcing my hand to fall from her body. “I can’t.”

I look down at my chest instead, littered with ink. All but one of them were penned by a professional. “You drew on me, too. That’s how we justified it. All’s fair in love and war.”

“Please stop.” She brushes her knuckles beneath her eye. “Enjoy your day at the lake. Franky!”

“Chris and Eliza are gonna swim with us, Mom!” He splashes in the shallow end, waiting as Chris drags his shirt off and tosses it to the hood of the truck. Then he backs up in the water, waiting for the others to join him.

But we know—all of us—that there’s a ledge in the water. A drop-off in just a few more feet. He’s oblivious to what’s behind him, which makes Alana’s heart pound faster, and Chris’ feet move quicker.

“Careful, Franky.” Alana turns to go to him. She can’t know that I’m thinking about his safety, too. Or that Chris and Eliza are likely thinking the same. No doubt, she probably assumes we all hate him since he’s the only newb in our group, and if I concentrate too hard on the details, I might be left to wonder if he’s the reason she left. “You’re going to fall, baby. You have to?—”

“I got it.” Chris dives through the shallows, scooping Franky off his feet just inches from the edge. Spinning back this way, he tosses the boy and laughs when he lands with a splash, resurfacing with a squeal of happiness.

“You can’t leave now.” I set the cooler on the ground and inch forward, my chest almost touching Alana’s back. “He’s having fun. Take him away, and you’ll have to explain why.Mommy used to be friends with these people, but then she stopped for no apparent reasonisn’t a very pleasant story to tell. He’ll start asking questions, and you’re not real keen on answering those.”

We spent so much time together in our youth, I could touch wheneverI wanted. I could taste. I could wrap myself around her body, and never once, ever, did I fear rejection.

My heart and brain know I can’t do that anymore. But fuck, my body needs reminding. Because my fingers itch to touch. My hands beg to stroke. My chestachesto have her resting upon it.

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