Page 75 of The Summer We Played Pretend

“I saw the text.”

"Text? What text?"

"Don’t play dumb, Chloe." He steps closer, shrinking the space between us. "The one Emma sent Sara. Something about wishing you and Jackson would just make it official instead of pretending."

My chest tightens. I didn’t know Sara and Emma were texting about me—not that it matters. I trust them both.

"Wait." I narrow my eyes. "How do you even know about that text? Did you—" It clicks. "Did you take her phone?"

"Borrowed," he says, his smirk widening. "She left it on the counter while she and Tyler were getting ice cream. I just wanted to make sure you were okay." His voice is laced with mock concern. "Jackson isn’t a good guy, you know."

"You’re unbelievable," I snap, my voice rising. "You went through her phone? What’s wrong with you?"

Brendan’s scowl deepens. “I’m not the one faking boyfriends.”

“And you can’t call Jackson a bad guy while you’re snooping through someone’s private messages,” I counter, stepping forward.

"Relax," he says, waving me off. "It’s not like I screenshotted it or anything. But hey"—his tone drops, lower, sharper—"I could always let people know what’s really going on. A fake boyfriend, Chloe? Even for you, that’s desperate."

"Get over yourself." My voice cuts through the sound of the rain as I step back into it. "You don’t scare me, Brendan. Go ahead, tell whoever you want. It doesn’t change a damn thing."

For a moment, his smirk falters, his confidence shaken. Good. Let him squirm.

“You’ve changed, Chloe,” he says finally, his voice low, almost venomous. “You’re argumentative. You’re dressing like a—” He stops himself, but I know what he wanted to say. “You’ve changed.”

"I have. And I’m glad. It means I don’t have to listen to you anymore." I shove my drink at him, forcing him to grab it before it spills on his shirt. “Enjoy the fair, Brendan."

Turning on my heel, I march into the downpour, the rain soaking through my hair and plastering it to my neck. I don’t stop until I’m out of the park, away from the lights, the noise, and the sickly smell of funnel cakes. The wind off the ocean cuts through me, salt and damp clinging to the air but my skin prickles with unease. When I glance over my shoulder, I see Brendan a few paces behind me.

"Stop following me," I warn, spinning on my heel and heading down the pier. The wooden boards creak under my sneakers, barely audible over the rain.

"Chloe," Brendan calls. "Come on. Don’t be like this."

"Leave me alone," I snap, not looking back.

“Chloe,” he says again, louder this time, closer. "That didn’t go as planned."

I quicken my pace, shoes slipping on the wet boards, my chest tightening with every step. "Seriously," I throw over my shoulder. "Take the hint, Brendan. You’re not wanted here."

The pier ends abruptly, the wooden railing looming in front of me as waves crash against the posts below. I spin around to see Brendan still following, his posture determined.

"Enough," I say, fighting a shudder that could be from the cold or it could be from the look on his face. "Leave me alone, Brendan. I’m serious."

"All this fuss over a guy who was just pretending to be your boyfriend?" He sneers, stepping closer.

“This isn’t about Jackson,” I snap. “It’s about me.”

He laughs. "You’re seriously falling for a guy who didn’t even want you for real? That’s pathetic, Chloe."

"Pathetic?" My voice cracks with anger, my hands gripping the railing behind me. "That’s rich coming from you. What’s pathetic is you stalking me because you can’t handle that I don’t want you anymore. This isn’t about me or Jackson—it’s about you and your need to control everything."

"Control?" He steps closer, his voice lowering, turning darker. “You’re the one who lied to everyone about your fake boyfriend.”

His face twists into something I don’t recognize—angry, desperate, unhinged. My annoyance curdles into fear as I press myself against the railing, my grip tightening on the slick wood.

I feel it before I hear it—the faint groan of the wood beneath my hand.

"Brendan—" I start, panic threading through my voice, but I don’t get to finish.

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