Page 74 of The Summer We Played Pretend

That stings. It’s a reminder of the age gap Jackson cited when he ended things. Two years isn’t much, but I’ve changed a lot in the past two, and I know I could change again in the next two.

Doesn’t mean I agree with Jackson’s reasoning.

A raindrop lands on my nose. I glance up to see clouds blotting out the stars. Poor Emma and Sara—they’re going to get soaked.

"Let’s stand under there," Brendan says, motioning toward a nearby tent—a rickety setup selling cheap jewelry and tie-dye shirts. He walks over, ducking inside. I hesitate, but the rain’s coming harder now, soaking through my thin dress, so I follow.

Under the tent, Brendan leans casually against one of the poles, standing too close. "Wishing you were here with Jackson?" he asks suddenly.

“That’s over now.” The words almost stick in my throat, but I can’t lie. The whole town probably knows by now anyway.

"Chloe," he starts, "I’ve been thinking about us."

"Don’t," I say sharply, cutting him off before he can get any momentum. "We talked about this.”

"Please listen. I’ve changed—you know I have. And now you’re not with Jackson..."

I stare at him. God, he’s got some balls. “What happened to you not wanting anything from me?”

"Come on. You can’t tell me you don’t miss it. Us.” He smiles softly. "We had something good, didn’t we? Before everything got... complicated?"

"Complicated?" I repeat, turning to face him fully. The rain outside feels distant compared to the heat building in my chest. "You mean when you dumped me over a text and moved on like I never existed? That kind of complicated?"

"I made a mistake. I apologized. And I know what I want now. I want you."

"I don’t want to do this, Brendan," I plead, my voice firm.

He sighs, stepping closer—too close. "I’m serious. We were happy once. Remember last time we were here? It was perfect, wasn’t it?"

Perfect. I remember that day. I remember it being hot but me wearing jeans so Brendan wouldn’t think I looked “too easy.” Pretending to like his favorite ride. Hanging out with his friends instead of mine.

Then I think of Jackson. His easy smile. The way he listens like every word matters. How I never felt judged by him.

"Stop," I say, my voice sharp. "Whatever we had, it’s gone. I’m not that girl anymore, Brendan. And I don’t want to go back to the way things were.”

"Because of him?" His tone shifts, bitter and sharp. "The mechanic?"

"His name is Jackson." The words snap out, hot and protective. "And yeah, maybe it is because of him. Because he’s kind. Decent. And doesn’t treat people like they’re disposable."

Brendan scoffs. "You think a guy like that has anything to offer you? What’s he going to do, fix your car for free? Meanwhile, I’m going to college. I’ll have a career. Money. I’ll see the world, Chloe. Do you really think he can give you that?"

I almost laugh. I should have known the guy who drove me to Emma’s was fake.Thisis the Brendan I recognize.

"Maybe not," I say quietly. "But at least he knows how to respect people. At least he doesn’t think he’s better than everyone else.”

Brendan’s laugh is harsh. "You’re seriously choosing him over me?"

"I’m not choosing anyone," I reply. "I’m choosing myself. And none of my choices involve you."

For a moment, I think he’s going to give up and I loosen my grip on my cup. He turns slightly, pauses then faces me again. “I know it wasn’t real, Chloe.”

I blink. “What are you talking about?”

“You and Jackson. I know it wasn’t real.”

Brendan’s smirk deepens, that infuriatingly smug tilt of his mouth making me want to chuck my half-empty lemonade at him. Rain drums harder against the canvas tent above us, but the roar in my ears drowns it out.

“What are you on about?”

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