Page 65 of The Summer We Played Pretend

Brendan glances around, his mouth pulled into a tight line. “Not exactly but I was…interested in someone else.”

Closing my eyes briefly, I feel a slight weight lift from my shoulder. At least I know the truth.

“I was cowardly, Chloe, and I’m sorry. That stuff with Maisie is over and it was stupid, but I know I can’t take back the hurt I caused.”

I stare at him for a few heartbeats, as if I might be able to see what’s going on inside his head. "Why are you telling me all this now?"

“Losing you was a mistake,” he says. “It woke me up.” He smiles softly. “I miss you.”

“You probably should have thought about that before you broke up with me.”

He nods. "I understand. I'm not asking for anything. I just...I needed you to know that I’m sorry. The way I, uh, treated you...it was inexcusable.”

I study his face, searching for any hint of insincerity. I can’t see anything but I keep my arms folded across my chest, feeling the need to keep myself in defensive mode.

"I'm not asking for another chance," he continues. "I just hope that someday, you can forgive me. And maybe we can be friends again."

"I don’t know, Brendan. Maybe.” I smile to soften my response.

He looks at me for a few moments then presses his lips together. “Ok. You listening to me is more than I deserve, I guess.” Brendan flashes a slightly awkward smile. “Have a great evening.”

“You too,” I say finally, brushing past him to head to my car.

I don’t look back, but I can’t stop replaying the conversation in my head. Part of me feels relieved to hear him take responsibility, but the other part—the louder part—still doesn’t trust him.

Brendan might be saying all the right things, but words are easy. Change is harder.

And yet, as I start my car and pull out of the lot, I can’t help but think about the way he looked tonight. Sincere. Regretful. Different.

Maybe he reallyhaschanged.

Or maybe I’m just tired of carrying so much bitterness on my own.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jackson

Irub my bleary eyes, staring at the glowing computer screen as the numbers blur together. The clock on the wall ticks past midnight, but I can't bring myself to leave the garage. What’s waiting for me at home? A meal to heat up and a night of staring at my ceiling?

Glancing briefly at my phone, I tense my jaw and resist the urge to grab it. Chloe hasn’t texted or called all afternoon. She’s probably given up on me.

I don’t blame her.

I force my attention back to the screen, but the words swim before my eyes. Who am I kidding? No amount of late nights at the garage can distract me from the ache in my chest.

I can’t believe she hasn’t replied to my apology text.

Or can I?

Shit. She’s probably just realized everything I am. That I’m a terrible fit for her and she’s better off without me.

The memory of my fist connecting with Ethan's jaw makes me wince. God, what was I thinking? Chloe's brother. My best friend. The look of shock and betrayal on Chloe's face haunts me.

I screwed up. I don't deserve her forgiveness.

I slump backwards into the old leather chair, staring at the phone on my desk. It would be so easy to call her, to hear her voice...

But what would I even say? “Hey, Chloe, sorry for punching your brother in a fit of rage. Wanna grab coffee sometime?” Yeah, that’ll go over well.

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