Page 112 of Brewer Family Collection, Part 1

“ You . You’re what’s wrong with me. You’re what’s always been wrong with me.”

“Oh, so now you’re blaming me for all the problems in your life? How fair.”

He laughs angrily. “Don’t you get it, Georgia?”

I take another step back. “Oh, I get it, Ripley. But don’t even try to use this kiss as something new to hold over my head.”

“Hold over your head? What are you talking about? ”

“I’m talking about how the last time you kissed me, you did it to win a childish, immature bet with your little friends.”

His features harden.

“And how everyone at Waltham laughed at me because I, the new girl, fell for you hook, line, and sinker.”

“Georgia …”

Now I’m just pissed.

I step toward him, fire coming out of the top of my head as I relive one of the worst nights of my life.

“You came up to me on the bleachers and asked me to dance,” I say, glaring at him. “You’d made eye contact with me all week at school, and I thought there’s a nice guy. Wrong .”

I stop a few feet in front of him, sliding his shirtsleeves up my arms like I’m about to fight.

“We danced, and you were so sweet,” I say, “asking me about how I liked school, and where I was from, and what I liked to do. Then that jock spilled a cup of punch on my shirt, soaking it through. Do you remember that?”

He rubs his forehead.

“We go to the little nook off the cafeteria because you insist that I wear your button-up until my mom comes to get me,” I say, getting madder by the minute. “I take my shirt off and …”

“I kissed you. Dammit.” He groans. “Georgia, listen …”

“No, you listen . That little stunt hung over my head my entire senior year. The girls that came over to tell me that it was all a bet by the jocks, and you won?—”

“ What ?”

“—don’t what me. I heard you all talking in the restroom. I had to go through what should’ve been my happiest school year known as the slut because you apparently let everyone think we did a lot more than kiss while I put on your shirt.”

“I would never do that.”

“Bullshit,” I say, firing right back at him. “Then I had to go home with no one to talk to, deal with my mother’s complete breakdown over her love life, and a father who didn’t want anything to do with me because, apparently, I wasn’t worth the energy of a relationship.”

Ripley’s face falls as my bottom lip trembles.

“I’ve gotten over it,” I say. “I don’t care what you or anyone thinks of me. You can hate me. That’s fine. But the fact that you would do this to me all over again …”

“Will you listen to me? Please ?”

“No.”

I turn to march into the kitchen because it’s the farthest I can currently get from him in nothing but his shirt, but he grabs my arm and whirls me around to face him. His eyes are wild. His features somber. Yet he holds on to me gently—just tight enough to beg me to stay.

“Did I know there was a bet that night?” He holds his breath. “Yes. I did.”

“You asshole.”

“But I wasn’t a part of it. I overheard my friends talking about it—who could be the first guy at Waltham to kiss the gorgeous new girl?”

“Congratulations.”

He narrows his eyes. “I’d watched you from the second you walked into that school. I couldn’t take my fucking eyes off you. You were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen, and I tried to talk to you a hundred times but chickened out.”

Right.

“Why would a girl like you talk to a guy like me?” he asks.

Is he serious right now?

He steps toward me hesitantly, as if he thinks I might bolt for the door.

“Listen, Georgia, I kissed you that night because I wanted to—because I wanted to kiss you more than I’d ever wanted to kiss anyone in my life.

And there was no way I was letting one of those assholes who wouldn’t give a shit about you make a joke out of you. ”

“So you did it yourself?”

“I danced with you to warn you but couldn’t figure out how to say it.

And then your shirt was soiled, and I thought it was the perfect time to talk to you without everyone around.

But then your shirt came off, and you looked at me and …

” He runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t do that to win a bet.

And, as a matter of fucking fact, that whole incident is what cost me my college scholarship. ”

My jaw hangs open. “What are you talking about?”

“A few months later, Shawn Tonley made a comment about you, and … it devolved from there. We got into a fight, and the cops got called. I got suspended and lost my scholarship.”

My eyes widen, and I cover my mouth with my hand. Oh my gosh.

“He ran his mouth because he knew I couldn’t do anything,” Ripley says. “The college I was going to had a strict behavior clause in the offer. Shawn knew that.”

“Then why didn’t you just let him talk shit?”

A softness drifts across Ripley’s face. “Because it was about you.”

I gasp a breath, my mind spinning. That’s why he got suspended? That’s why he lost his scholarship?

That’s why his father broke his nose?

Because of me?

I take him in, hoping I can find something that makes me think he’s lying to me—but there’s nothing. He’s more unguarded, more vulnerable, than I’ve ever seen him. There’s no joke, no smirk, no mischief in his eyes. No hatred.

He’s telling me the truth.

That one event caused this terrible snowball effect that tore apart my self-confidence and derailed his future.

God .

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Because I didn’t know you didn’t know. I thought you just decided I was a jerk, or a bother, and went on your way.”

“Someone told me once that I don’t have a lot of value as a person. And while I know that’s bullshit, it lingers in the back of my brain.”

Oh, Ripley.

“I don’t know what to say,” I say, stumbling over the words as I try to process the bomb that’s been dropped in my lap.

“Yeah. Me either.”

“I’m sorry. I?—”

“Doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. I’ve done enough things to piss you off over the years to warrant you hating me.”

I groan. “And I’ve certainly done enough over the years to warrant you hating me.” Not to mention being the reason your own father punched you in the face.

Thunder booms, rocking the cabin.

“Where does this leave us?” he asks, nibbling his bottom lip.

I know what he’s asking— how do we go forward? Do we forgive each other? Talk it out?

Does this change anything at all?

He’s right in that we have done a lot of mean things to each other over the years. We have made it difficult for the other. There’s not been an interaction that passed without us getting under each other’s skin.

But we’re also always together—in the same room, at the same parties, on the same television show …

If I had known the truth over the years, things would’ve been different for us. And if he’d realized that I didn’t know what really happened—if his father hadn’t fucked up his confidence—things would’ve been different for us, too.

Fuck you, Reid Brewer.

I’m starting to realize that my perception of Ripley has only been decided from behind very hurt and anger-filled glasses. And that anger has manifested such bitterness … and could have been avoided.

Ripley has always been a loyal friend to his friends and an amazing brother to his siblings. Tate adores him. I’ve seen it, but my perception has been skewed.

“I’d watched you from the second you walked in that school. I couldn’t take my fucking eyes off you. You were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen, and I tried to talk to you a hundred times but chickened out.”

He wanted a very different relationship with me. Truthfully, I would’ve died to have one with him before the mixer. And the fact that we were robbed of that—because it very much feels like a robbery at this point—and it affected the next decade of our lives feels devastating.

I study his pools of blue and the stress in my body fades away.

“Doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.” He’s right. We can’t fix it. We can’t erase the stupid things we’ve done and said to each other over the years. But we can refuse to allow the trauma from our fathers and childish mistakes steal anything else from us. We can see each other for who we are now.

And, right now, there’s a very handsome man standing in front of me who just might be the only man in my life to ever do anything to protect me. He had my back in rooms I wasn’t in.

How wild is that?

I don’t have all the answers, and I don’t know where we go from here. But I do know the answer to his question.

“Where does that leave us?” I ask, grinning. “You better get over here and kiss me again.”