Page 6 of The Summer We Played Pretend

But she was in love, and as far as I could tell, love made people really, really dumb sometimes.

“I wish Ethan was home for summer,” I mutter.

“He and Chloe have always been close,” my dad agrees. “I guess they’ve had to be.”

I nod. “Their dad’s depression doesn’t help.”

As far as I know, Mr. Davenport had been depressed pretty much Chloe and Ethan’s whole lives. I never really noticed it—he always seemed a chatty, relaxed sort of man—but it was no secret Ethan played more of a father figure to Chloe than her dad did, and Mrs. Davenport did her best. But both Ethan and Chloe picked up the slack when their dad was at his worst.

“Your Aunt Gina had depression after your cousin was born,” my dad says. “Uncle Rick had a hell of a time managing her and a newborn.”

“I don’t really remember.”

“You were only three,” Dad reminds me. “But it was all hands on deck. We were just lucky Gina came out of it intact. I can’t imagine what it must be like to have to live like that. Michelle has the patience of a saint.”

Mrs. Davenport was an amazing mom—there was no doubt about it. As well as juggling a high-powered job, a depressed husband, and two kids, she looked after us too. Though my dad is a mean cook and between us we keep the house tidy, neither of us can pretend we don’t miss Mom. Though I don’t really remember her, I’m always aware of the gap she left in my life. Mrs. Davenport tried to fill that as much as she could, even if it was just dropping off freshly baked cookies or using that scented stuff on my football jersey while Ethan and I hung out at his house after a game.

I feel bad. Bad for Chloe and bad for Mrs. Davenport. I know Mr. Davenport has been having a rough time lately, and Chloe won’t want to go to her mom for support, even if her mom would give it gladly.

“You going to do something about Chloe?” Dad’s question brings me back to the present.

I sigh, pushing my plate away, suddenly not feeling hungry anymore. “I don’t know, Dad. I feel like I need to help her out somehow.”

Dad nods sagely. “She’s like family, son. Her brother’s not here at the moment, and she could use someone looking out for her.”

He’s right. Chloe deserves better than what Brendan put her through.

“I’m not sure I know what to do with a heartbroken girl, though.”

Dad chuckles, and I eye him, brow furrowed. “What’s so funny?”

“Your mom and I might not have had as many years together as I’d have liked, but I did learn one thing about women.”

“What’s that?”

His grin widens. “Ice cream, son. The answer is always ice cream.”

I can’t help but laugh. If my dad had seen Chloe’s heartbroken face and felt the way she trembled in my arms, he might be giving different advice, but it’s a start.

“I guess I’m heading to the store then.”

Dad jabs a fork in my direction. “Just don’t go after Brendan.”

I lift my hands. “I wasn’t even considering—”

“Yes, you were.”

“Just briefly.”

“Ice cream and ‘I’m here to listen.’ That’s all you need. No fists.”

“No fists,” I promise.

Doesn’t mean I can’t make life really difficult for Brendan if needs be, though.

I shovel down the rest of dinner, grab my keys off the counter and shrug into my jacket as Dad watches from the table, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Good luck,” he calls as I head for the door.

Driving to the store, I replay the look on Chloe’s face when she told me about Brendan. That haunted, crushed expression keeps flickering in my mind, making my chest ache. She deserves better—better than Brendan, better than this shitty situation. The thought stirs something protective in me, something I’m not quite ready to examine.

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