Page 112 of Reasons We Break
His whole body wants to react to that statement. Jesus, Simranlovesto torture him. This is exactly the nightmare he’s been trying to avoid. She’s giving up Jassa—the one she’s been after this whole time—forhim?
He turns back to her. “We are not doing this. You know what people would say. What ourparentswould say. And you know what? They’d be right.”
“They wouldn’t.”
But even she doesn’t sound certain. If he has to remind her of every reason they shouldn’t be together, he will. “How would you know? Can you see the future?”
“Canyou?”
He stares at her dead-on. “I know I’ll fuck up, because I know myself. I’ve ruined people who loved me. I won’t do it again.” When she tries to speak, he holds up a hand. “You know how this story goes.”
The uproar would be horrendous. Simran would become another cautionary tale of how far a golden girl can fall. He’ll have no part in that, not when she could have someone perfect for her, like Jassa. As much as he hates to admit that. His hands ball into fists, and he gets a spontaneous rage headache at the thought of them together, ofanyonetouching her the way Rajan did.
The possessiveness surprises him. He turns away again so she won’t see it on his face; his insecurities are his own problem. “Besides,” he continues as evenly as he can, “I thought you were trying to make your family happy. This is the opposite. I don’t have to explain that to you, do I?”
“No,” Simran says, sounding miserable. They lapse into silence. Her on the step, him standing a few feet away, the moonlight their only companion.
“It’s a good thing Hillway’s almost over,” he mutters. “We shouldn’t see each other after this.” Now that he knows too much about her—intimatethings—his self-control is thin.
But when Simran sniffles, even that disintegrates. Instantly he’s back at her side. She’s hugging her knees, tears in her eyes, and his hands hover, wanting desperately to touch but knowing he shouldn’t. “C’mon, what’re you crying about? What happened today?”
She hiccups a laugh. “You just said you don’t want to see me again and you’re asking why I’m crying?”
“You’re crying overme?” That’s messed up. “Okay, well, we’ll see each othersometimes, okay? Kelowna’s not that big. I’ll wave to you in the grocery store. As long as some uncle doesn’t snipe me for looking at you. Right?” He nudges her, hoping that’ll help, but instead it sets off a fresh wave of sobs. He sighs. Wanting to distract her, he picks up the hem of her kameez. “Where’d you go tonight in this pretty suit?”
Another laugh escapes her. “Neetu’s. She’s got an engagement party on Saturday, but she had a smaller family party tonight.” Her voice becomes quieter. “I shouldn’t have gone.”
“Why not?” When she doesn’t answer, he gives in to temptation and pushes her hair back. Strands are plastered to her temples. Why’s she so sweaty? Is she nervous? There’s an edge to her that’s not normally there, even at her most upset. And now that he’s this close, there’s something sickly under her perfume, despite how much of the stuff she’s doused herself in. He frowns. “Wait. Have you been throwing up? Don’t tell me you’re coming down with something.”
Her body flinches, and then she’s standing, so suddenly her kameez flutters. “I—should go. I don’t know why I came here.” Almost to herself, “I wasn’t thinking.”
“What—”
But she’s already speed-walking away. He doesn’t chase her. He just watches until she reaches her truck at the side of the road. Once she’s driving away, he gets to his feet, too. This is probably a sign he should go home.
The house is eerily quiet when he enters. He glances down the hall and sees Yash peeking around his door. When Rajan meets his eyes, he ducks back inside.
“Yash,” Rajan calls, but the door slides shut. Okay, obviously something happened. If Sukha fought him over Oreos again, Rajan swears he’s putting a house-wide embargo in place.
But before he can find out, his father appears at the living room doorway. “We have a guest. Come here.”
A guest? The last guests they entertained were Simran and the cops. God, if it’s the cops again...He glances out the window, but there’s no cruiser.
His father doesn’t explain, just disappears back into the living room. Rajan shucks off his shoes and turns the corner, too.
Where he stops dead in his tracks.
Because the person sitting on the couch is someone he knows; very well, actually. This person has occupied a lot of his brain space lately, and caused a shit ton of grief. And yet, he hasn’t ever spoken to her, or even looked her in the eye until right now. And right now...there’s only one reason she could be here.
Simran’s mother steeples her fingers. “So,” she says. “You’re the boy who taught my daughter to lie to me.”
IT’S STUPID, BUTRajan’s automatic reflex is to mentally check his appearance. He knows he’s dirty, wearing a smudged hoodie and jeans fraying at the knees. His clothes probably smell like smoke and sweat. He prays she didn’t see him lugging a chain saw out back just now. His hair—he resists the urge to run his hand through it, although it’s still too short to be sticking up much.
Simran’s mother is wearing a brilliant green suit, clearly having come from a function. Probably Neetu’s. She looks him over. He doesn’t know why he’s holding his breath, but when her lip curls slightly, it hits harder than it ever has with anyone else.
Rajan rallies himself. So Simran’s mom hates him. Was he honestly hoping for any other outcome? “Sat Sri Akaal, Auntie ji. Can I get you something to drink? Chah, pani?”
Her expression doesn’t flicker, not even slightly impressed by the offer made in his most polite Punjabi. Rajan doesn’t blame her. Superficial manners don’t matter when you’ve already insulted someone beyond belief.