Page 38 of The Edge of Summer
“I do say so. Delilah is a fine woman.” I cringe internally at my wording. “But I’m not interested.”
He laughs, undoubtedly at my expense. “It’s really funny you believe that.”
“Alright,” I huff. “Ican’tbe interested.”
This catches him off guard, and he’s silent fora minute. “Man, Kristina really did a number on you, huh?” he says eventually.
My jaw clenches, my molars grinding together. My ex is my least favourite topic, and I’m already on edge after he brought up Delilah. Talking about Kristina feels akin to picking apart every last mistake I’ve ever made until I’m raw and bleeding.
His expression softens. “It wasn’t your fault, Luke. You’ve gotta let it go. I’m not burying you with someone else’s guilt.”
If only it was that easy.
The once comfortable silence is now riddled with tension. I let out a slow breath. I don’t generally like being at odds with my brother, even if he is a pain in the ass. I’m usually the one that extends the olive branch, and today is no different.
“You seeing anyone lately?” I ask.
I’m not sure why I do. We don’t often talk about the women in our beds, and keeping on this topic is bound to circle back to Delilah, if I know my brother.
He huffs a laugh. “Dating on Kip Island is hard enough without the added perk of being a single parent.”
He and Abbie’s mom were only together long enough to create her. Larissa was a friend of a friend, and a simple one night stand later, she was pregnant. The first couple years weren’t easy by any means, but they managed to come out the other side as friends who happen to share a daughter.
He isn’t wrong about the dating scene, though. The pool of singles on the island is not so much a pool as it is a puddle that consists of old classmates and middle-aged divorcées.The only reason I met Kristina was because she came here on vacation and never left. Maybe that should have been my first red flag.
For Gabe, it’s undoubtedly harder, given the time he dedicates to his daughter and his work. But I have a feeling that isn’t the only thing holding him back.
“Hm,” I hum. “How’s Hallie these days?”
Gabe stiffens. “Hallie?”
“Yeah, you know. Hallie, the short blonde that used to follow you around with hearts in her eyes. Have you spoken to her lately?”
“She’s Clara’s best friend, not mine. Why wouldIhave spoken to her?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Didn’t stop you in high school.”
His jaw tightens. He glances away, out toward the trees. For a moment, I think maybe he’s going to ignore me. Then he says, “Well, newsflash: we’re not in high school anymore.”
Ever since Hallie Foster left the island, just days after their high school graduation, she’s been a touchy subject. Clara and Gabe met Hallie in kindergarten, and ever since, Clara has been friends with her. But there always seemed to be something between him and Hallie. Except graduation came and went, and she left for university. She hasn’t really been home since.
Clara is still friends with her. They talk every day. But when Gabe is around, she never mentions Hallie. No one knows exactly what happened between her and Gabe before she left, but we do know it wasn’t good. Our brother wasn’t the same after.
I decide not to press the subject. Instead I let the silence settle over us again.
The sound of glass shattering rouses me from sleep. I’m alone in my bedroom at the back of the house. Another crack, this time like the house is settling into place.
I throw off my covers and pad across the room. Opening my bedroom door, I lean out into the hallway. Everything is dark, but slivers of moonlight illuminate the floor. I move to investigate, but then more glass fractures. My pulse quickens in response. The sound is distant, coming from the front of the house. What the hell?
Another loud smashing of glass. This time, it’s my bedroom window.
A flash of light, and then fire. I step back as it licks at the edge of my bed like a match taking to a fresh wick. Out. I need to get out.
I make my way to the front door, but the moment I try to turn the handle, it doesn’t budge. I tug and tug, but it’s no use. Dread settles in my gut.
Back in my bedroom, a red brick lies on the rug, pieces of glass littered all over the floor. Most of the pane is gone, but some jagged pieces jut out from the frame. The house is steadily going up in flames, so the window is my only choice of escape.
I swing my legs over the sill. As I lower myself, my shoulder snags on a piece of glass. I bite back my groan as it rips my skin and blood trickles down my arm. It’s warm and sticky, the metallic stench mixing with the smoke rapidly filling the air.
