Page 7 of The Summer We Played Pretend

At the store, I wander the frozen aisle, scanning rows of brightly colored ice cream cartons. I know what she likes. Of course I do. I’ve known her long enough and recently I’ve been paying far too much attention to her dislikes and likes. But will it be weird to turn up with her favorite?

Oh, hell. I grab her favorite and pay quickly before I change my mind.

By the time I pull into the Davenport’s driveway, the sun is setting, casting everything in a warm, golden light. The house looks quiet, and for a moment, I wonder if this is a good idea. But then I think about Chloe, probably curled up in her room feeling miserable.

I know I can’t just leave.

Chapter Four

Chloe

Iswipe to another photo, knowing it’s the dumbest move and this isn’t dislodging the ache in my chest but unable to stop myself. A photo of Brendan at the last house party we went to. One taken by my mom of us before leaving for prom. A selfie with Brendan on a school museum trip.

I frown at our smiles. He moaned the whole time and dragged me through the exhibitions as quickly as possible, even though he knew I wanted to take my time.

The door creaks open and I toss the phone guiltily onto my bed to spy Sara’s blonde head inching through the gap.

“Hey, Chloe,” she says softly, padding across the room in her usual mismatched socks. Pink pigs on one foot and what looks like slices of cake on the other.

She quickly drops down beside me, wrapping me in a warm vanilla-scented hug, as if she’s trying to hold my broken pieces together with just her arms.

“I come bearing gifts,” she murmurs against my hair, pulling back only to hand me a box of tissues with a sympathetic tilt to her lips.

“Thanks,” I sniffle, grabbing a tissue and dabbing at the remnants of mascara betraying the fact that I've been crying for what feels like a century.

“Anytime.” She plops down next to me, close enough that I can lean on her if I need to. And oh, how I need to.

“Have you heard from Brendan yet?”

I grab my phone and unlock it, my stomach twisting as I scroll to the last message he sent—the one that shattered everything. I show Sara the curt, detached words, as if they don’t hold the weight of two years together. Each time I read it, it feels like a fresh slap, a reminder of how little I apparently meant to him. He made it clear he didn’t want to talk to me and we were most definitely over, leaving my texts after unanswered, like echoes in a void. All my texts after have gone unanswered.

“God, what a dick.” Sara shakes her head, her eyes narrowing. “If I were you, I’d hunt him down and--”

“And kill him, I know.”

Sara already offered to hurt Brendan in various ways when I texted her about the breakup, and I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s the girl who kneed Tom Carver in the crotch when he tried to grope her last year, after all.

“I already tried to hunt him down but he wouldn’t even answer the door to me.” I swallow hard, still able to feel the way my heart thudded as I waited at his front door, bracing myself for a confrontation or for Brendan to emerge, smiling and telling me it was all a mistake.

Neither happened.

I’ve been ghosted.

“You deserve answers, Chloe. I can’t believe Brendan would do this. We’re not fourteen, for God’s sake.”

“I’m not sure I can face him now.” I gesture to my blotchy face. “Especially not like this.”

We sit in silence for a while. I can’t cry anymore. My whole body feels wrung out, too dry, and like the ache in my chest will never go away. How does someone just end things after two years like that?

“Does your mom know what’s happened?” Sara asks.

“Not really. Dad’s not doing too well and she doesn’t need the stress.”

“She’d want to know.”

“I’ll tell her when I’m feeling more stable. I don’t want her to worry.”

Sara's hand is warm on my shoulder, grounding me. “She’s your mom, Chloe. It’s her job to worry about you. But this will get better.”

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