The Summer We Fell

THE SUMMER WE FELL ELIZABETH O’ROARK Copyright © 2023 by Elizabeth O’Roark Developmental Editor: Sali Benbow-Powers Editor: Kelly Golland Copy Edit: Julie Deaton Cover Design: Lori Jackson Photography: Miguelanxo Model: Sergio Carvajal All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. CONTENTS 1. Now 2. Then 3. Now 4. Then 5. Now 6. Then 7. Now 8. Then 9. Now 10. Then 11. Now 12. Then 13. Now 14. Then 15. Now 16. Then 17. Now 18. Then 19. Now 20. Then 21. Now 22. Then 23. Now 24. Then 25. Now 26. Then 27. Now 28. Then 29. Now 30. Then 31. Now 32. Then 33. Now 34. Then 35. Now Epilogue The Summer I Saved You Also by Elizabeth O’Roark Acknowledgments About the Author 1 NOW It wasn’t that long ago that I could get through an airport without being recognized. I miss that. Today my sunglasses will remain on. It’s one of those obnoxious “I’m a celebrity!” moves I’ve always hated, but that’s better than a bunch of commentary about my current appearance. I slept most of the way from Lisbon to San Francisco, thanks to my handy stash of Ambien, but I’m still fucked in the head from the call I received just before I got on the flight…and it shows. Donna has always been a ball of energy, cheerful and indefatigable. I can’t imagine her any other way. Of all the people in the world, why does it have to be her? Why is it that the people who most deserve to live seem to be taken too soon, and the ones who deserve it least, like me, seem to flourish? I’ve been promising myself that I just need to hold it together a little longer, when the truth is that I’ve got three straight weeks ahead of holding it together with no end in sight. But if I think nothing of lying to everyone else, I’m certainly not going to quibble over lies to myself. I duck into the bathroom to clean up before I head for my luggage. My hazel eyes are bruised with fatigue, my skin is sallow. The sun-kissed streaks the colorist added to my brown hair won’t fool anyone into thinking I’ve spent time in the sun lately, especially Donna. Every time she’s visited me in LA, she has said the same thing: “Oh, honey, you look so tired. I wish you’d come home”, as if returning to Rhodes could ever improve anything. I step back from the mirror just in time to catch a woman taking a picture of me from the side. She shrugs, completely unashamed. “Sorry. You’re not my taste,” she says, “but my niece likes you.” I used to think fame would solve everything. What I didn’t realize is that you’re still every bit as sad. You just have the whole fucking world there to watch and remind you you’ve got no right to be. I walk out before I say something I’ll regret and head down the escalator to baggage claim. It wasn’t until I started to date Cash that I understood the kind of chaos that can descend when the public thinks they know you—but today there’s no crowd. Just Donna waiting near the base of the escalator, a little too thin but otherwise completely fine. She pulls me into her arms, and the scent of her rose perfume reminds me of her home—a place where some of my best moments occurred. And some of my worst. “You didn’t need to pick me up. I was gonna Uber.” “That would cost a fortune,” she says, forgetting or not caring that I’m no longer the broke kid she was once forced to take in. “And when my girl comes home, I’m going to be the one to greet her. Besides…I had company.” My gaze follows hers, past her shoulder. I don’t know how I didn’t see him, when he stands a foot taller and a foot broader than anyone else in the room. Some big guys go out of their way to seem less so—they slouch, they smile, they joke around. Luke has never done any of those things. He is unapologetically his unsmiling self, size and all. He looks older, but it’s been seven years, so I guess he would. He’s even bigger now, harder and less penetrable. His messy brown hair still glints gold from all those hours he spends on the water, but there’s a full week’s beard on a face that’s normally clean-shaven. I wish I’d been prepared, at least. I wish someone had said, “Luke will be there. And he’ll still feel like the tide, sucking you out to sea.” We don’t hug. It would be too much. I can’t imagine he’d be willing to do it anyway, under the circumstances. He doesn’t even smile, but simply tips his chin. “Juliet.” He’s all grown up, even his voice is grown up—lower, more confident than it was. And it was always low, always confident. Always capable of bringing me to my knees. It feels intentional, the fact that I’m only learning he’s here now. Donna knows we never got along. But she’s dying, which means I’m not allowed to resent her for this tiny manipulation. “He offered to drive,” Donna adds. He raises a brow at the word “offered”, arms still folded across his broad chest, making it clear that’s not exactly the way it happened. It’s so like Donna to attribute far kinder qualities to us than actually exist. “How many bags do you have?” He’s already turning toward the carousel, manning up to do the right thing, no matter how much he hates me. I move in front of him. “I can get it.” It irks me that he walks to the carousel anyway.