Sweet obsession, p.23
Sweet Obsession, page 23
I recoil like she slapped me. I would’ve much rather she had than try to wrap my head around whatever she’s accusing me of. “Summer, I’ve told you from the beginning that your safety is what matters most to me. That’s why I was following you, tracking you. To keep you safe. To make sure I was protecting you. You said that’s what you wanted.”
She rolls her eyes. “You just hate that I’m still going on fake dates with other men. That’s why you want me to quit. Your ego can’t take it. You’ve literally admitted to me that it makes you jealous.”
Now I am seeing red, but not for the reason she thinks. “I’m not jealous of any of them.” I step so close to her, she’s forced to crane her neck to meet my gaze. Her throat bobs, but she’s not backing down. “I know we share something you’ll never share with anyone else. I don’t give a fuck about them. What I do care about is your safety, and if you’re in danger, in any way, I have a problem with that.”
She steps back, forcing me out of her orbit again. I hate this new dance. To my horror, tears threaten to spill down her cheeks. “I don’t need your handouts. I don’t need your pity.”
“What? Summer, what are you talking about?” An ocean of space is growing between us, and I don’t know how to make it stop.
“That commission, Noah.” Her voice is watery. “You only requested it, you only offered to pay me that much, because you knew no one else would. I needed a handout from you because I couldn’t make it on my own.”
“Hey, that’s not even close to why I did it.” I try to condense the gap between us, but when she retreats again, I halt and hold up my hands. If she doesn’t want me near her, I’ll keep my distance. Even if it breaks me. “I believe in you, Summer. That’s why I’ve been telling you since day one to take the leap. Follow your dream. And when I saw your art? I never doubted you for a second. You’re incredible. I wish you could see that as clearly as I do.”
She sniffles, swiping at her cheeks with both hands before she grabs her suitcase from behind the bed. Already packed.
My stomach drops to my feet.
“Summer, where—”
“You got what you wanted,” she murmurs. Her eyes dart to the wall like she’s worried someone might’ve overheard our argument. Too late. I’m sure everyone under this roof is listening right outside the room. “We convinced your family that you’ve moved on. Now you can be single in peace.”
No. No, no, no.
She heads for the door behind me. I can’t let her go, but I also can’t hold her here against her will. The key part of her stalking kink is the consensual part.
So if she chooses to leave me, if she chooses to walk out that door . . . I can’t stop her. No matter how desperately I long to.
Her fingertips graze the copper of the bullet shell around my neck, and a lump lodges in my throat. “I’m sorry for . . . everything.”
“Don’t be. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. This doesn’t need to end.” My last plea to make her see reason. “I want to be with you, Summer.”
My declaration doesn’t stop her. She reaches for the handle, and my hand lands on hers. Her chest heaves. She’s trying to hold back more tears. Breaking her own heart almost as much as mine.
“Why did you pack that bag?” I whisper, heart splintering. “You were already planning to leave me before I walked through the door.”
She shakes her head quickly. “I packed my bag so that if Michael really had followed me here, I could keep you and your family safe.”
“So why are you leaving now?”
A tear slides down her cheek, and this time, she doesn’t bother swiping it away. “Because I don’t want to face your family in the morning when you tell them we broke up.”
My hand squeezes hers. One final plea to stay. “We don’t need to. We can figure this out. If you really want to stay at your job, I’ll support your decision. I just want you to be safe. And happy. We don’t need to break up.”
Summer opens the bedroom door and doesn’t look back. “We already did.”
Twenty-Six
SUMMER
Does it make me an asshole to leave Christine and David’s anniversary trip early, or am I sparing the family from five days of painful awkwardness in the wake of my and Noah’s breakup?
Fake breakup. Whatever it was.
Not fake. Even if Noah and I started off pretending to be in a relationship, there was nothing pretend about it by the end. I can’t deny that, no matter how painful it is to acknowledge now.
Not that it matters anymore.
I rub Prick’s cheek, his favorite spot, while he’s nestled in the crook of my arm. I swear he’s been depressed after being without Noah for days. He loves curling up in Noah’s hoodie even more than he loves cuddling with me. Not that I’m jealous or anything.
Even after two weeks of living in this house, it still doesn’t feel like home. With each day that passes, I long more and more for my cramped, claustrophobic apartment filled with memories of Noah.
So maybe it’s for the best I’m living here now. I’ll get used to it.
When Noah and I started our fake relationship, I knew it needed to end eventually. Back then, I assumed it would be a breakup, but once our relationship became real, I thought that would be enough. We could pretend it had been real all along and never need to come clean to his family or mine.
Turns out, I was right all along.
At least we broke up before anyone found out our relationship was ever fake. And now I don’t need to deal with Victoria’s accusations or constant suspicion.
Of course, I didn’t care about that as long as I could be with Noah.
I still can’t believe he’s the one who placed that commission. No matter how good his intentions, it only proved what I’ve been afraid of all along: I’m not good enough. Noah knew I couldn’t make it on my own, so he pretended to be an anonymous client commissioning a ton of custom art. Now I wonder how many clients Hazel has directed to me. How much of my success has actually been earned on the merit of my art, and how much has been from pity?
Noah almost made me believe he was different. That he might not try to change anything about me. That he could love me exactly the way I am.
“I still say you’re being an idiot.” Hazel’s voice crackles over the speaker while we video chat.
I jump. I forgot we were on a video call. Since I got back from the trip, we’ve been on the phone basically from the time I wake up to the time I go to sleep, with breaks in between when Mom calls to check on me. I’ve watched Hazel sit on the toilet too many times to be healthy now.
But she’s a good friend, and I’m grateful. Even if she does call me names and berate me.
“You left an all-expenses-paid vacation because of a little fight with your boyfriend. That was your first fight, Summer. You can’t run away at the first sign of conflict.”
“It wasn’t a little fight,” I remind her. She’s spent the past week trying to convince me to change my mind, even after I’ve recanted the details dozens of times about what drove us apart. “He doesn’t believe in me, Hazel.”
She scowls at me. “Don’t make me catch a flight to Maine just to slap you. Give yourself two smacks right now, each cheek, while I yell at you.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Fine. You’re my phone, and I’m me.” She shakes the phone so aggressively, I nearly get whiplash. “This is me shaking sense into you, Summer! Of course he fucking believes in you! He literally told you to quit your job! If he thought you’d fall flat on your face, he would’ve told you to stick it out or to find something else that paid the bills. He literally said, go be an artist, Summer. He offered to basically be your sugar daddy, and you turned that down?”
“I thought he would be the one”—I swallow around the lump in my throat—“the one guy who didn’t want to change me.”
“First of all, you need to learn the difference between change and growth. He wasn’t trying to turn you into a completely different person. Did he tell you to get a boob job or inject toxins into your face? Did he complain about your whiny voice or your obnoxious laugh or your weird walk? No—”
“Wait—”
“No, he bought you a new Kindle because he knows you love to read, he got you a new tablet because your dinosaur piece-of-shit couldn’t hold a charge or take a photo, he literally stalked you because that’s your kink, and he got toys for my adorable nephew, Prick, just to spoil him. Just to make you happy. Sure, he didn’t love your job. Can you blame him? A literal freak showed up at your apartment, Summer. He practically broke your door down, and what would’ve happened if Noah wasn’t there? Hell, I don’t want you working for that app anymore either. And that’s not because either of us wants to change you; it’s because we want what’s best for you.”
“Can we just double back to that whiny voice comment really quickly—”
“You found a good one, Summer.” Hazel’s voice drops to a somber pitch, the fiery demon that possessed her moments ago now vanished. “I can tell Noah made you really happy. I don’t want you to miss out on that just because you’re . . .” She trails off.
For the first time since I’ve known Hazel, she bites her tongue.
“Because I’m what?” My voice is so flat, monotone, even I’m startled.
I’m beyond done with this conversation. Hazel thinks she can help, can push me back to Noah, but the damage is already done. The relationship is over. We accomplished our goal: we convinced his family he’s over his ex. Now we can both . . . move on.
“Because you’re afraid,” Hazel finishes.
“I’m not afraid,” I blurt, a reflex. “And I need to go. I have work.”
Without another word, I end the call, give Prick his final snuggles, return him to his enclosure, and wash my hands so my adorable little hedgehog doesn’t give me salmonella.
I know Hazel is just trying to be a good friend. I’m not mad at her, but I don’t have the bandwidth to deal with a conversation about Noah right now. Not to mention, I really am running late.
I rush into my room and grab a fresh pair of socks. The camera Noah gave me is still perched on top of my dresser. Even though I turned it off when I returned home, I haven’t tucked it away or thrown it out. Every time the thought crosses my mind, I can’t bring myself to do it.
On my phone, my timer blares again. Another Plus One date. And somehow, I’m dreading it more than I ever have.
Heart in my throat, I press the button on the camera and turn it back on.
“See? Exercise helps. Aren’t you feeling better?” Somehow, my mother is not winded in the slightest, even as she does jumping jacks beside me.
A normal mother would show up to help mend her daughter’s broken heart with chocolates or sad movies. My mother shows up with a yoga mat and barbells.
We started with yoga, which escalated to pilates, which escalated to high-intensity interval training. Also known as: self-inflicted torture. Except my mother is inflicting it, right after I just broke up with my boyfriend.
Even the hike wasn’t this bad. Hell, even going for a run with Noah wasn’t this bad.
My chest squeezes painfully at the memory. The way he smiled down at me, how he caught me before I could fall flat on my face, the way he knelt before me to tie my shoe, and for a split second, I thought he was proposing.
“Summer?” Mom’s voice brings me back to reality. Her bright cheeks are the only sign she’s exerting any energy. “Did you hear me? Isn’t this making you feel better?”
“I feel the same level of terrible, but now my legs are sore and my ass hurts.” Not to mention these jumping jacks are killing my tits. My ancient sports bra from freshman year of college isn’t doing shit for me now.
She waves me off, dipping down into a squat and I groan. My calves burn while I attempt to mimic her movements. “Oh, that can’t be true. You’re releasing endorphins and boosting serotonin. In an hour, you’ll feel like you can take on the world.”
I collapse onto the small section of the couch that hasn’t disappeared under a mountain of clothes fresh from the laundry. Fresh as of three days ago when I pulled them out of the dryer, at least. My house is a complete disaster, and normally, I wouldn’t want my mother to see me living like this, but I can’t bring myself to give a shit.
I’m keeping myself and Prick alive. That’s about the most I feel capable of these days.
This is just a bad breakup. Noah meant a lot to me, yes. He was seemingly perfect for most of our relationship. But I’ve gotten over breakups before, and I will again. This one will just take more time. Maybe a lot more.
Mom frowns at me and then at her watch. “You made it ten minutes.”
“Correction: Ten minutes of yoga, ten minutes of pilates, and ten minutes of whatever hell that was.”
But Mom isn’t listening to me. She taps on her watch and grins before grabbing her phone and showing me the screen. “Look what Adam just sent me. An outdoor wedding venue! Isn’t it stunning?”
Arches adorned with white flowers, an altar on a wooden deck overlooking a gorgeous lake, all nestled into a rock quarry that gives the venue an intimate yet scenic feel. Perfect for my mother.
“Wow,” I manage. “It is.”
“Oh, shoot. Don’t look at that.” She practically throws her phone back onto the coffee table.
“I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to see your venue before the wedding.”
“I shouldn’t be subjecting you to wedding plans right now.” She perches awkwardly on the edge of the couch, the only space remaining for her.
“It’s fine. Really.” I would never let my cloud of misery dim my mother’s happiness. Seeing her light up talking about Adam and her wedding plans actually makes me feel a little better.
Mom reaches for my hand. “You know, I never saw you in love with anyone the way you were in love with Noah. Maybe you should consider giving him another chance.”
I pull my hand from her grasp with a sigh. “I’m not talking about him, Mom. It’s over, okay? I just want to move on.”
She chews her lip. “I just . . . don’t want you to make a decision because you’re afraid of making a different one.”
“I’m not,” I snap, and that silences her.
Afraid. Her comment reminds me too much of what Noah said to me the night we broke up. Of what Hazel said to me the other day on the phone.
But I’m not making my decisions out of fear—I’m making them out of self-preservation. And I wish someone could see that. I wish someone would be on my side.
Mom pats my knee before jumping to her feet. “All right! Time for push-ups.”
Twenty-Seven
NOAH
From my rental car, I follow Summer into the city.
As if getting dumped on my parents’ thirtieth anniversary trip wasn’t enough, when Killian dropped me off at home, we discovered a massive branch had fallen on the roof of my sedan. So that’ll be in the shop for at least a month. A doctor confirmed I did, in fact, sprain my ankle, I’ll probably never see Prick again—the only hedgehog I’ve ever loved—and Edgar Allan Paw’s owner abandoned him at my house. Left him behind without a note, only two bowls for food and water on my porch that were both empty by the time I got home. Who knows how long the poor little guy had been out there.
And then there’s Summer.
She floats like a breeze to a little bistro stuffed between a tattoo parlor and a wedding boutique.
I squeeze my steering wheel hard enough to rip it from the dashboard.
She doesn’t have a care in the world. She’s forgotten all about me.
I’m not sure if she’s still drawing. She either blocked me on social media or deactivated her art account altogether. My chest tightens. I hope not. Even if I can never have her again, I hope our breakup doesn’t stop her from doing what she loves. I couldn’t live with myself if I took that from her.
Summer lingers outside the bistro, giving a small smile to passing patrons as she continually checks her phone. Types. Waits.
My phone doesn’t ping with a message. She’s not texting me. Doesn’t even sense my eyes on her from the dark interior of my rental car parked just feet away.
I grit my teeth. I hate being a stalker relegated to the shadows. This was so much more fun when it was out in the open, when she was completely aware of every move I made.
My last strand of hope is the camera in her room. She turned it back on. She hasn’t closed the door on our relationship completely. Her way of telling me I can still keep an eye on her, still keep her safe, even if that’s as far as she’ll let me into her life right now.
In the cupholder, my ringtone splits the quiet. I jump and fumble with my phone, heart lifting with hope—
Vee’s name pops up on my screen.
In front of me, Summer offers a wave and a bright smile to someone else. To another man. Not me.
Maybe she’ll meet his family next. Then fall in love with him.
I memorize his face, his gait, his outfit. Anything that can help me track him down if necessary.
I’ll keep following her. Keep up the stalker roleplay, though I’m not sure it’s something I can turn off anymore. I’ll do whatever it takes to get Summer back. To prove my devotion to her.
Hopefully, she’ll see that someday. Hopefully, it’ll be enough.
When my ankle is fully recovered, I strap on my running shoes and jog down the sidewalk. I’ve been eagerly anticipating the day I could finally run again. Pushing my body to its limits until I’m pouring sweat, heart pounding hard enough to burst, is the only way I can turn my brain off. The only way I can silence the constant cycle of memories.
Summer, Summer, Summer.
I don’t realize I’m passing Vee’s house, her front yard in full bloom, until she calls out to me, waving over her head and racing to catch up despite the gardening hat, gloves, and overalls not at all suitable for running.
