The Summer I Destroyed You, page 10
He frowns as he looks over his shoulder to reverse. “I meant that I used to make the most of being a young, single guy,” he says, “and I enjoyed it for a long time, but it got old. I want more now. I don’t do one-night stands or short-term.”
“You want a wife,” I say flatly.
“I fell through a roof over the holidays last winter and broke sixteen bones.” He swallows. “It took three days for anyone to realize I was missing because my friends all have their own lives now and no one was surprised when I failed to show up for shit. I don’t want work to be the only part of my life in which I’m consistent and reliable. I want to be able to count on someone, and I want someone to count on me.”
I wince at the idea of him there, alone.
And there’s a small wound, right at the place where my heart would be if I had one. Some pathetic part of me still wants the things he does—to count on someone, to be able to lean every once in a while—no matter how hard I try to shut the urge down.
Also a bummer? That there’s apparently no chance of turning my final weeks in Elliott Springs into banging the hot contractor weeks.
“You’d better clear out all the Dior lipstick and expensive conditioner from your home before you find her then,” I say quietly.
“It’s my niece’s.”
I roll my eyes. “This is as bad as your endlessly dying grandmas. Is your niece the little kid who owns those shorts you gave me or an adult wearing a twenty-five-dollar lipstick, because I doubt she’s both?”
He gives me a half smile. “Both. I helped take care of her a lot when she was little because my sister was single. And then she basically moved in here for the last few years of high school because she hates my sister’s husband.”
The evidence of Liam’s good side is growing disproportionately. It would have been enough that he scolded my mom for talking about my weight. It would have been enough that he was kind to Snowflake and is willing to restore Lucas Hall at cost. But he also doesn’t sleep around, didn’t fuck Julie into agreeing to crappy tiles, woke before dawn to save stores from flooding, kept me from getting washed off the road, and helped raise his niece.
There’s an uncomfortable twinge in my chest. It’s possible that the only villain in this car is me.
“You know the problem with your Lucas Hall plan?” I ask.
“That my competitor has billions of dollars and can offer to build the mayor a park while I cannot?”
I’m not sure how he knows about the park—I’d have thought the mayor would keep that quiet. “Well, none of that works in your favor,” I reply, “but the real issue is that you’re not giving people what they want. Lucas Hall just sitting there doesn’t benefit anyone. It doesn’t raise property values; it doesn’t bring in tourists. It maintains the status quo and humans are wired to hate the status quo. We’d never evolve if we didn’t.”
“I know,” he replies, crossing over the bridge, where water is rushing freely. Thank God he stopped me from driving home. “I had a different plan but it didn’t work out.”
I cock my head. “What was your plan? No, wait—let me guess. Lucas Hall as some lame museum about the town?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “It wasn’t going to entirely be a museum.”
I laugh, delighted with myself. “I knew it.”
“I was going to make it a hotel,” he says. “A hotel that featured some of the history of the town in the lobby and hallways. We’d keep the ballroom and offer it freely for all the traditional events the town holds.”
My laughter fades. It’s a really good idea. It would have brought in money without ruining the town’s character. “Why didn’t you do it?”
“I couldn’t secure the kind of loan I needed. I thought I had it, but when I fell last winter, my investors backed out and the bank said I was no longer a good risk.”
I’m trying to convince myself he’d have failed before he’s finished the sentence. “A plan like that takes a long time to pull together—”
“I started working on it two years ago,” he says quietly, cutting me off. “I thought I’d have longer.”
Two years. He put two years into this, and that little phone call I placed to the Santa Clara Office of Building Inspection last winter ruined it all.
Yes, I’m definitely the villain of his story, and he, as of yet, has no clue. I’d at least offer him a “sorry I ruined all your hopes and dreams” blow job, but he’s apparently not interested in receiving one from me.
He pulls into my mother’s driveway and I hesitate before I reach for the door.
“You asked once what I do for fun,” I say quietly. “I guess this was pretty fun.”
He holds my gaze for a half second and then he smiles. “You’re saying it was the best morning of your life, then, and the best meal you’ve ever had?”
I climb out of his truck. “Slow down, yard boy. It was stir-fry.”
His stir-fry wasn’t great.
But yeah, it was a pretty good morning. Maybe even one of the best.
My mother is on the phone talking about Harold when I walk in, clearly irritated by the noise as I start on dinner and talk to Snowflake.
She eats in front of the TV and I eat at the counter before retreating to my room and falling into an exhausted sleep.
All my dreams are about home. About Elliott Springs, when it was still a good place, and Elliott Springs, when it became hell on earth.
I dream about helping my father carry sandbags, about being tripped as I walked onstage.
I dream about Halloween and being back in my little ten-year-old body, which had begun growing squishier and fuller the spring before, when my dad left.
“I’m doing you a favor, fatty,” Landon Briggs says as he steals my candy. “Maybe if you lose some weight, your dad will come home.”
Landon runs, but in the same moment, across the street, an older boy takes off like a shot, chasing him down. He tackles Landon and marches him back to me.
“Give her the candy,” the boy says, glancing from Landon to me. I wonder if he’s now thinking what my mother said aloud as I left—that candy is the last thing I need. “Give her your candy too, asshole,” he adds.
He wasn’t thinking it, then. And I don’t want Landon’s candy, but I wish I lived in a world where more boys like this one existed, a world where someone was willing to take my side.
I sit up in bed.
Liam. Liam was the kid who defended me.
And he was never the villain—not even at the start.
20
EMMY
My makeup is done and I’m in the middle of getting dressed when someone rings the doorbell.
I pull on my robe and run down the stairs with Snowflake at my heels. Liam stands there, looking even bigger and broader than he did the day before. Maybe it’s something about the way he fills the entire doorframe. Maybe it’s just that I’m currently wearing panties, a bra, and a pretty sheer robe.
His eyes run over me, his nostrils flaring before he quickly looks away. “Sorry,” he says. “You’re normally ready by now. I was just letting you know I can drive you down to your car when you want to get to work.”
“Oh,” I reply, suddenly short of words. “You…don’t have to do that.”
“Were you planning to hitchhike?”
I roll my eyes. “No. I…”
I was assuming I’d call a car, having forgotten the nearest Uber or Lyft is a solid thirty minutes away. “A ride would be great. I’m almost ready.”
I quickly throw on a pencil skirt and blouse and then he leads me to his truck. “How does anyone climb into this thing?” I ask.
“You just put your foot on the floorboard and hoist yourself up. You did it yesterday.”
I huff in frustration. “I wasn’t wearing a skirt yesterday. I mean, how the hell do you date in this thing? Do you only go out with Amazons?”
“Maybe I just don’t date women who whine about everything,” he replies, and before I’ve even formed a comeback, his hands are around my waist and I’m lifted into the air.
“I don’t whine about everything,” I mutter as he deposits me in my seat. “And you shouldn’t lift someone without even asking first. I’m not a pet.”
He laughs to himself. “You and I must have different definitions of whining.”
He climbs into the driver’s seat and glances at me as he looks over his shoulder to reverse. “I assume your mom survived yesterday without you?”
“She was so busy talking about her doctor, the dreamy Harold Sossaman, that I’m not sure if she noticed I was gone. The guy is barely older than me, and she talks about him like their engagement is imminent.”
He grins. “On the bright side, if she marries a doctor, you won’t have to worry about her survival.”
“I thought we’d established yesterday that I’m already not worried about her survival. Though I probably should stop saying that aloud in case something does happen to her.”
“I’ve been documenting it,” he replies. “So I think you’re screwed.”
I laugh, surprised to discover we’ve already reached the bridge. The ride went weirdly fast.
“You can just drop me off at the store,” I tell him. “Thanks for the ride. I guess I owe you cookies or something.”
He gives me a crooked smile. “From what you’ve implied about your cooking ability, plus your thoughts on poisoning competitors, let’s just call it even.”
I open the truck door and carefully place one heel on the running board. Before I can even lower the other one, he’s come around to my side of the car and is wrapping his hands around my waist.
For a moment we are standing face-to-face, too close. My gaze meets his, and my breath holds. I don’t know precisely what I want to happen right now, but I know I want it to be something.
He sighs. It gusts against my forehead as he releases me.
“Thanks again,” I say, stepping away, needing distance. My pulse is racing, and I am not a pulse-racing kind of girl. I want to close my eyes and focus on the memory of that lush lower lip of his. I want to pull him down close enough to sink my teeth into it.
I move toward the store, but he keeps walking with me. “I think I can handle walking away on my own.”
“I’m looking at your floor, smart-ass.”
He’d be a lot more likable if he wasn’t right all the damn time.
I enter and he follows me inside, flipping on the lights and scanning the room with a growing frown. “How much are you paying Gary for this bullshit?” he asks.
“Putting in the floors?” I ask. “About six hundred total. Three hundred and fifty grand for the floors.”
“Total footage?”
“Twenty thousand square feet. And before you say anything, yes, I know he’s robbing me blind. But I’m on a deadline, and he’s the only one who said he could get it done.”
“He installed the subfloor wrong,” says Liam. “Which means you’re stuck with an uneven floor unless you tear all this shit out and start again.”
“I don’t have time to start again,” I growl. “The fixtures are arriving soon.”
He rubs a hand over his face, and his shoulders sag. “I’ll do it. Get your money back from Gary. If he gives you any shit, talk to me.”
“But…”
“Do you have a better option?” he asks.
Well, no. But working in a small space with Liam Doherty feels like a recipe for disaster.
I sigh heavily. “Do you have time to look at the plans? They’re back in the office.”
He nods. “Yeah, if we can do it over breakfast. Grab the plans, and we’ll go down to the diner.”
I stiffen.
Paul Bellamy could be there. He could call me “Emmy the Semi” or mention one of the other banner moments of my adolescence—the disastrous homecoming dance, the time they tripped me walking onstage to receive an award and my dress tore in half. They’re the assholes, yet I’m still the one who feels ashamed, as if I deserved everything they did.
“I hate the diner,” I tell him.
He raises a brow. “When was the last time you ate at the diner?”
“High school.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I thought as much. I’m sure it’s not your fancy New York City bullshit, but you’ll live. Come on.”
I’m not one to allow myself to be forced into anything by a man, but I find myself shrugging in agreement—perhaps because there’s something that feels safe about being by Liam’s side. I don’t think anyone would say a fucking word with him next to me. No one would call me some mean name from my childhood. No guy would say, “Smile, sweetheart,” and if they did, he’d make sure they never did it again.
As soon as we start to walk, he scoots me to the inside of the sidewalk, as if I’m a child who might step into the street. As we continue on, I sense him hovering, watching out for me.
I should resent this. I’m not sure why I don’t.
He opens the door to the diner, and it hits me that this man has been taking care of me in small ways and large ones since I was ten, though I doubt he’s even aware of it.
I pause in the doorway and glance up him. “I remembered something last night. You defended me when I was younger. This kid was stealing my candy on Halloween and you made him give it back.”
He stills, frowning. “I vaguely remember that. I’m sorry I didn’t do more.”
“Do more?” I ask incredulously as he grabs two menus and leads me to a table. “You not only recovered my candy, you made the kid give me his candy too.”
He slides into the seat across from mine. “Not then. Later.” He glances up only for a moment before his gaze returns to his menu. “I had no idea they all continued to give you such a hard time. I’d have put a stop to it if I’d known.”
My face grows hot. I wonder how much he’s heard. If he has a full grasp now of how fucking pathetic I was. Maybe that’s why he’s no longer interested in me the way he seemed to be before we met.
“That’s okay,” I reply. “If you’d stopped it, I’d have had no enemies to vanquish now and where would be the fun in that?”
He gives me a faint smile and sets his menu off to the side. “So, do you keep a written list of these enemies? Is the kid who stole your Halloween candy when you were ten on there?”
I tap my head. “The list is all up here. And yes, the kid who stole my candy is on there, but he moved to Seattle to become a musician and lives with seven other guys. I can’t crush his dreams until he has something I can take away from him.”
He bites down on a grin. “How unexpectedly reasonable. What are you getting?”
“Just coffee. I don’t eat breakfast.” I hate how much I sound like Sandra Atwell right now.
“Come on. Stop acting like you’re too good for the place.”
“I’m not…ugh…fine,” I say, snatching up a menu. “I suppose an egg-white omelet is too exotic for Elliott Springs?”
“Live a little. An extra gram of fat or two won’t kill you. Get the eggs benedict. You’ll love it.”
I do love eggs benedict. I love it on the patio of La Grande Boucherie and served with a mimosa, after I’ve earned it with a long run. I’m guessing the diner’s mayo-based hollandaise won’t live up to the memory, but I like these little moments with Liam, when it feels as if I could become someone else entirely—the kind of girl who goes out to breakfast with a guy she likes, who wears his sweatshirt and feels safe enough to fall asleep on his couch.
The kind who orders the eggs benedict and doesn’t calculate how many miles she’ll have to run to burn it off.
I order the eggs benedict and so does he, and when it arrives…the first bite is ecstasy. “Oh my God,” I groan. “It’s so good.”
His eyes flicker, ever so briefly, to my mouth. “I thought you’d like it.”
“Is this what you order every day?”
“No,” he says with a grin. “I get the egg-white omelet.”
After we’ve eaten, I lay out the blueprints, and he examines them carefully. “I can rip out what he’s done so far and have the subfloor fixed by Friday. I’ll place an order for new hardwood tomorrow and we’ll have it in by Tuesday. JP is checking on the cost right now.”
I blink. For the first time in months someone is actually exceeding my expectations. Who’d have thought it would be yard boy, of all people?
He insists on getting the check though I probably make his annual salary in a week. I run down the narrow hallway to the bathroom while he takes the bill to the register, and I’m thinking I’ve survived a meal at the diner unscathed when Paul Bellamy steps in my path,
“Brave of you to come back in,” he says. “You never know who’s making your food or who might have spit in it.”
My stomach rolls, but I’m not about to let him see I’m worried. “How sad that threatening to spit in my food is the only power you’ve got, Paul.” And you won’t even have that once Inspired Building closes this place down.
He storms away and Liam’s hand lands on the small of my back. “What just happened?”
I startle, turning toward him. “Just one of the guys from high school continuing to be a dick to me.”
“What did he say?” Liam hisses.
I wave a hand at it. “It was nothing. He implied he might have spat in my food. But we had words the last time I was in here so, as I’m sure you can imagine, I wasn’t entirely innocent in the whole thing.”
His jaw grinds. “That’s still fucking unacceptable.”
An older woman behind the counter says something to Paul and then walks over to us. “Hey, Liam,” she says, “is there a problem?”
Before I can answer, Liam does.
“Jeannie, this is Emerson. Paul just implied he might have spat in her food. He’s completely out of control.”
The woman looks from Liam to me, and her eyes fill. “My son…” she whispers, “he’s got issues. Anger issues. His wife left him—took their daughter. He can’t even figure out where she is now. I think he’s drinking again. But I’m so sorry he just said that.”
