Chapter Nine
Six years earlier
As promised, Mr. Montgomery ordered pizza as soon as everyone was finished unloading the van—enough to feed a small army—or half of West Valley’s senior class. But that was how it was at the Montgomery home. Sometimes it was over half the football team, more than twenty-five jocks and their girlfriends, filling the great-room and lounging on the sectional in the corner. Today, however, there were only ten, which filled the home with rowdy laughter that sounded like twice that.
Renee sat at the bar with Samantha and Steven, wrapped in a purple blanket she’d taken from the cabin. It was far too noisy for any of them to hold a conversation, so they sat in silence, trying to ignore Tristan, and his friends who seemed to monopolize the entire room.
Samantha didn’t mind—because it took the attention away from her. Away from the guilt, the jealousy, and the desire she was sure could be seen on her face. Because her mind was preoccupied with something else. Two somethings, actually. One: she needed to figure out what to tell Renee. Because “I let your brother stick his tongue in my throat” didn’t have the right ring to it. And two: she needed to apologize to Steven. Because that’s what it would be. An apology.
She couldn’t be the girl he wanted her to be. She couldn’t like him the way he wanted her to, and she knew that fact would hurt him. She would say it as gently as she could, hoping with all hope they’d still have a friendship when it was over, but she was worried. It was all too much for a girl to take. Too much responsibility, too much stress. So much so that she thought she might have a nervous breakdown, right there in Mrs. Montgomery’s kitchen.
She picked up another slice of pizza, hoping to dull her emotions with carbohydrates, but Steven’s phone buzzed on the counter at that moment. He slid open the call, and held one finger to his ear as he excused himself to the front porch. Everyone was distracted, watching TV or playing pool, and Samantha knew it was the perfect opportunity to talk. She picked up her plate from the counter, then tossed it into the trashcan, intending to follow.
She found Steven sitting on the front sidewalk, still on the phone. Far enough from the house that the distance offered privacy from the rest of the party. Samantha sat down beside him, her feet stretched out to the road, waiting for him to finish his conversation.
“Okay, okay…” He held up one finger. “Yeah, I’ll wait outside.” He said goodbye, looked over at Samantha, and slid his cell back into his pocket. But he didn’t say a word for a good moment. Just stared at her. As though they both waited for the other to speak. A moment passed, and he turned in her direction, resting his elbow on his thigh. “Sorry, that was my mom.”
She nodded, though her throat tightened with anticipation of what to say next, because she had no idea where to begin. She’d never had a boyfriend before, but she imagined this felt much like breaking up. Ironic, considering they’d never even had a first date.
She worried her bottom lip, unable to pull the words from her tongue. But she finally turned to face him, her eyes intense.
“How long have you been here?” she asked, her hands in the warmth of her hoodie’s pocket, pulling at bits of lint to calm her nerves. She closed her eyes, knowing she’d messed things up already. Feeling the tension rush in all around them. “I mean, before we got home?”
He shrugged a little, but his brows furrowed slightly as if sensing her discomfort. “About an hour. I walked here from Mr. Chavez’s class—he wanted help setting up for fall semester.”
“Oh.” She nodded, taking a deep breath before looking down to the asphalt. Not surprised, because this was such a typical Steven thing to do. He was the only kid she’d ever met who still went to school during summer. But she admired that about him. She admired a lot about him.
He turned to face her, swallowing hard before opening his mouth again. “Did you give any thought to my question?”
She looked straight into his eyes, knowing without a doubt he was referring to the proposition he’d given her before she’d left. About becoming his girlfriend junior year, about crossing the bridge from friends, to so much more than that. She looked down to the pavement, to the rocky texture that blurred through unshed tears. This was her chance to speak up, to say she was sorry if she hurt him, but that she couldn’t do it. Because she was falling for someone else, someone who was unexpected, but the exact opposite of everything she ever thought she wanted. She chewed her inner cheek, unable to think properly. “About that—”
“Samantha,” he interrupted, taking her hands in his and squeezing. “Before you say anything, know this—you don’t like me as much as I like you. I know that. But you haven’t really given me a chance.”
“Steven, I—”
But before she could finish her sentence, he grabbed hold of her face and kissed her. Firm and hard—urgent…messy.
The exact opposite of Tristan.
She didn’t know what to do, push him away, hurt him more than she already had to—or stay there. To bear the invasion to save his pride. His tongue pushed inside her mouth. Soft and velvety, but different. She waited for the butterflies to flutter. To grow in her belly and swarm to her lips until the feeling filled her entire body. The way they had when Tristan kissed her—the way they did when he even looked at her.
But they never came.
Tears pooled in her eyes and she squeezed them shut. Partly because it felt so wrong, but partly because she wanted it to feel so right. She prayed for her mind to go blank, to replace all the wild thoughts with something safer. With Steven. With the boy who did homework on the weekend. Who didn’t have girls hanging on his arms every second of the day. But she couldn’t.
Nothing came. No butterflies. No tingles. And eventually she pushed at Steven’s chest, not hard, but hard enough to break away.
He scooted down the sidewalk, a good foot away, and looked down at his feet. A crease stretched across his entire brow, making him look older, upset, or almost angry. She pressed her hot lips together, still swollen and sore from their brief kiss.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he said, his voice low, but more emotional than she’d ever heard it.
She nodded, moisture threatening to seep through the corners of her eyes. Because she knew it was the truth. She knew that’s what he wanted, what he’d always wanted. Which was the reason it was so hard to let him down.
“I’m sure it will get better with practice,” he said, almost as though trying to convince himself.
She shook her head, knowing she had to speak up. “Steven—”
But before she could say the words, a bright blue hatchback pulled along the sidewalk.
Steven cleared his throat, quickly standing and dusting off the back of his jeans. “That’s my mom,” he said under his breath.
Mrs. Mathers waved from the driver’s seat, smiling the same infectious smile as her son’s. Steven looked down to sidewalk, where Samantha still sat on the ground.
He offered his hand, helping to pull her up beside him. But his dark brown eyes were searching hers, and seemed to have lost a little of their light.
She swallowed. “Steven, I don’t think this is going to work—”
But one finger came to hush her, pushing her lips closed before she could say more. “You’re confused, I can tell.” He searched her eyes, as if trying to read her thoughts. “Don’t answer now. Don’t answer tomorrow. But when you get all this stuff sorted out in your head”—he cupped the side of her cheek—“call me. I’ll be waiting for you.”
She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by what was happening. He was right. She was confused, but it wasn’t about Steven. Still, she could wait until tomorrow, wait until his mother wasn’t around as a witness—because right now she had bigger demons to face.
When she was finally stood alone on the curb, after Steven had driven off with his mom in her hatchback, Samantha shoved her hands deep into her pockets and headed for the house. She paused when she caught a glimpse of Tristan by the garage door, a two-liter soda in each hand as he walked into the house.
She held her breath, unable to move a muscle. Had he seen them? Had he watched them kissing? Her heart pinched with fear and she stopped at the front step. It had been the briefest of kisses, so much shorter than the one they’d shared in the woods. But if he’d been there for longer than a few minutes…