Page 89 of The Edge of Summer
The silence is agonizing as I finish gathering my things. He still sits on the bed, running a hand through his hair. He has a couple false starts, opening his mouth and shutting it again. I stupidly want him to say something—say anything. But he never does.
When I get in my car, the tears finally fall. I swipe at them, frustrated that they exist at all. After I pull myself together enough to drive, I back out of Luke’s driveway and head toward home.Home. Everything right now feels so faraway—so ridiculously not part of my plan. Falling for Luke certainly wasn’t part of my plan.
But it doesn’t matter.It does not matter. Because he doesn’t want me. Not like that.
And you know what, I don’t want him either. I want someone to wade in the mess with me. I want someone to love me through my faults. I want someone towantme. Not just for a week or a month. I’m not naïve enough to ask for forever, but I deserve someone who wants it anyway, even if it’s futile.
Clara picks up the phone on the first ring. “Hey, how did things go with Parker?”
I sniffle. “Um, not good. Do you think maybe… Can I come over?”
I can almost feel her gaze, weighed down with pity, through the line. “I’ll see you soon. And Delilah?”
I chew on my lower lip as I turn down her street. “Hm?”
“You’re going to be okay.”
Am I?I don’t think so. Not this time.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
LUKE
Not even coffeehas been able to salvage my mood today. It’s been a week since Delilah walked out of my bedroom. My house. My life. I want to say that I haven’t noticed; that my routine has reverted back to the way it was before she arrived on Kip Island. But I would be lying.
I lean back in my chair with a sigh, rolling my neck. I’ve been cooped up in my office all day and I need to get out, even if it’s just for a pointless drive around town. I grab my truck keys from my desk drawer and make my way outside. The midafternoon August sun beats down on the asphalt, adding to the heat in the air. I twirl my keychain around my finger as I head around the side of the building to the back of the lot.
When I round the corner, I stop short. Three figures, dressed in all black from head to toe like classic TV criminals, are standing along the edge of the station. Cans of spray paint fill their hands, and I watch as streaks of blue and redmar the brick. They don’t appear to have noticed me, so I make a concerted effort to stay silent as I come up to them.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I ask when I’m right behind them.
The figures all jump in surprise, and then they spring into action. The two furthest from me grab their backpacks from the ground and take off, sprinting around the other side of the building, out of sight. The third tries to do the same, but I grab hold of the shoulder of their hoodie and stop them dead in their tracks. I pull back their hood and almost do a double take.
“Parker?”
Delilah’s brother stands before me, a cross between embarrassment and annoyance painting his features. The incriminating can of spray paint is still clutched in his hand. Neither one of us says anything for a minute.
Eventually, I clear my throat. “Hand it over,” I say, palm outstretched. “And I think you know I have to call your sister now.”
Parker sets the can of paint in my hand and then kicks at the asphalt with the toe of his Vans. “I figured.”
We walk side by side into the building. He keeps his head down and stuffs his hands in his pockets. My firefighters send us curious looks, but I ignore them. I’m not about to embarrass the kid any further. That isn’t my goal.
When we make it to my office, I let Parker go inside first, and then I shut the door tightly behind us. He slumps in the chair across from my desk, looking down at his feet. I sigh as I lean against the edge of my desk and pick up the cordedphone. I don’t use my cell because I suspect Delilah is screening my calls. Not that I blame her.
“Hello?” she says warily.
“Delilah,” I say, and then I rush to continue before she hangs up. “I have Parker here at the station. I hate to do this, but… We have to talk. I can bring him to you?—”
“No, thank you. I’ll come there.” The formality in her tone is like a stab to the chest. All gentleness I’ve come to know is nowhere to be found. “I just have to let Clara know I’m leaving and then I’ll be over.”
This time, I let her hang up. I set the phone back in the dock, and then we wait. About ten minutes later, there’s a knock on my office door. Delilah sticks her head in before slipping inside. I don’t miss the fortifying breath she takes before she lifts her head to face me.
It’s only been a few days. There shouldn’t be this gigantic shift in the way she looks at me, but there is. I can feel it.
Her eyes are only on me for a brief moment before they slide to her brother. “What’s going on?”
