Page 37 of The Summer We Played Pretend

Bounding down the stairs, I reach for the doorknob with trembling fingers, glad I got there before Dad did.

I swing open the door, a greeting ready on my lips. But the words die in my throat.

"Hey, Chloe." Brendan's smooth voice makes my stomach lurch.

"Brendan." I struggle to keep my voice steady. "What are you doing here?"

He leans against the doorframe. "Can’t a guy come and say hi?”

I cross my arms, steeling myself against the memories threatening to surface. It still stings—him ending things so abruptly and his behavior afterwards. But that’s it—just a little sting. Soon I suspect the hurt won’t even register.

“I thought I made it clear I wanted nothing to do with you.”

“We have a history, babe.”

“So that means you can just turn up on my doorstep?”

Brendan's smile falters for a moment. “Don't be like that. I've missed you. I just want to talk."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. "I think you should leave," I say, gripping the edge of the door.

Brendan's eyes narrow slightly. "Come on, Chloe. We were good together. Remember all those nights stargazing at Elmwood Pier? All the movie watching and listening to music together?”

“Yeah, and all the plans we’d made for the future. Before you—” I jab a finger in his direction “—ended everything over text.”

Brendan reaches out, his fingers brushing my arm. I flinch away. "Babe, I made a mistake. I know that now. I got scared and things were…you know…not really going anywhere.”

I fix him with a look. He’s talking about sex. He wanted it while I wanted to wait. It was always a problem between us.

“Then perhaps you should be asking your new girlfriend about that.”

Creases appear between Brendan’s brows. “I don’t want Maisie. I want you.”

I shake my head. It’s so hard to remember how I used to feel about him now. I can’t feel any of the love or the excited flutters. Now I just recall how he controlled and pressured me. How he dictated what I wore and what I did. I can’t believe I let it go on so long.

"No, Brendan. It's not me you want. It's the idea of me—someone who'll boost your ego and never challenge you. But that's not who I am anymore."

Brendan's eyes widen, his jaw working. "You don't mean that," he finally says, his voice tinged with disbelief and a hint of anger. "We were good together, Chloe. You can't just throw that away."

I almost laugh at the irony. "Throw it away? You already did that, Brendan.”

His face flushes, and I can see him scrambling to regain control of the situation. But I'm done letting Brendan Thompson dictate my feelings.

"Have you even split up with Maisie?”

“I’m going to—”

“She deserves better, Brendan. And so do I.”

"Chloe, wait—"

I don't. With one swift motion, I slam the door shut, cutting off whatever else he was going to say. The sound reverberates through the house, matching the thundering in my chest.

I lean against the door, breathing hard. Part of me wants to cry but a stronger part feels...liberated. I straighten up, squaring my shoulders.

I'm halfway up the stairs when I hear footsteps behind me. My dad's concerned voice follows. "Chloe? Everything okay, sweetie? I thought I heard Brendan.” He cocks his head. “And then the door slam. Very hard.”

I freeze, caught between the urge to retreat to my room and the sudden, overwhelming desire to spill everything. Dad's been battling his own demons lately. The last thing I want is to add to his burden.

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