Her words were harsh, and he reeled from them, sitting back in his seat, though he still stared at her, unable to peel his eyes away. He remembered, easily, the awestruck way she’d spoken of her father that summer, how desperately she’d tried to conceal their relationship from him. She’d lost her beloved mother and had only her father. Erik knew the profound pain it would have caused her to lose her only living parent . . . but to be the reason for that loss? It would have been a life-altering sort of horror for her.
He leaned forward again. “I get it.”
Her face softened as her head fell to the side, almost resting on her shoulder, tears tracks glistening on her skin. She sniffled. “You do?”
Now he couldn’t bear it anymore. He stood up and walked around the fire pit, sitting down on the couch beside her, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his body. No matter who they were to one another now, they’d loved each other once, and making her talk about this was causing her pain.
To his relief, she didn’t push him away. Perhaps she was too tired, or maybe she needed the comfort he offered now, as opposed to then, but she moved her head to his shoulder, resting against him.
This, he thought urgently. Please let me have more of this.
“I understand,” he said gently.
And he did understand, but it still hurt.
Because she could have told him. She could have come back at Thanksgiving, once her father was all right, and explained everything. She didn’t need to turn her back on him, on them, forever. “I just wish you’d figured out a way to tell me.”
“Do you?’ she asked, pulling away from his embrace and scooting her body into the corner of the couch. Her voice had changed in an instant—it was cooler, suspicious, and angry.
“Of course.”
“Give me a br—”
“You broke my heart that day, Laire.”
“Right,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes and looking away from him dismissively.
Before he realized what he was doing, his arm had whipped out and he’d grabbed her chin, forcing her to face him.
“That’s right,” he said, fuming at her flippancy. “I was in love with you, Laire. I would’ve done anythin’ for you.”
She narrowed her eyes, pursing her lips as she jerked her chin from his grasp. “You’re a fucking liar.”
He flinched like she’d slapped him. “No. I’m not.”
She was shaking her head, her face tightening in anger, even as her tears started falling again. “Yes, you are. I know about Van, Erik. I know.”
***
“Van?” he asked, leaning away from her, though he still looked at her face, his own increasingly more confused.
“Van,” she spat. “Remember Van? Your friend Van, who Pete was interested in? The gay couple you were friends with?”
“Laire,” he said, sitting up straighter and leaning away from her, “there’s a reason—”
“What reason?” she demanded. “Oh! So you could date both of us that summer? So you could chase after me every night and and screw her every day?”
“You’ve got it wrong,” he said.
She rebelled against these simple words.
“No, I don’t!” she said. “Stop lying! Everyone in the Western world knew that you were with her, kissing her at a party in Raleigh while I was at my sister’s wedding!”
“Fuck,” he muttered. His eyes shuddered closed, and he bent his head, running his fingers into his hair. “If you calm down, I can explain.”
“I don’t want to hear it!” she cried, hating him for making her go through this all over again. “I know you were with Vanessa that summer! You lied about her being a boy. I know, Erik. You were cheating on me all summer.”
“I never cheated on you,” he said softly, his voice flat, his head down.
“How can you say that? There are still pictures of you kissing her on the internet, Erik! Take out your phone. Let’s look at them together!”
“I don’t need to look at them,” he said, looking up at her. He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. “But I do need you to calm down so I can explain some things to you.”
“Like how her mouth suddenly landed on yours?” she shouted.
“Like how my mother would have hunted you down if she’d known about you!” he yelled back.
Wait.
What?
Her body was coiled into a tight ball, her knees up against her breasts, her arms around her knees under the shearling blanket, protecting herself or braced to spring.
She searched his face.
She opened her mouth to say something but closed it because his words had shocked her, and at the very least, they sounded like the beginning of an explanation she might actually want to hear.
“I used Van that summer. I used her,” he said softly, all the fight ebbing from his posture as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I let my mother think I was datin’ her so that she wouldn’t ask me questions about you. I pretended she was my girlfriend so my mother would leave us alone.”
“No,” said Laire. “No. That’s not how it was.”
“Fuck,” he whispered, exhaling whatever breath he’d been holding. “All this time. All these years. You thought I was cheatin’ on you that summer?”
“You were,” she whispered, but her voice lacked conviction.
“God, you must have hated me,” he murmured, staring at her with such profound sorrow, she sobbed, looking away from him, unable to bear his pain.