Page 87 of The Edge of Summer

I hold on to this promise because in the morning, Parker and I are going to have to talk. He’s been avoiding it, but now, his time is up.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-TWO

DELILAH

The next morning,I hug Clara hard before she leaves to get ready for work. After my epic showdown at Dockside, she met me at my front door with the promised wine and an armful of chocolate she somehow managed to procure. Over our drinks and snacks, I gave her a detailed play-by-play, pausing for her to gasp at the appropriate times. And then we put on a movie that we never watched.

I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to describe how much Clara’s friendship has meant to me. When I was stranded, afloat at sea, she pulled me in to shore. She has welcomed me and my siblings into her life as if we were always meant to be there. And in a way, I think we were.

Clara rests her hand on the driver’s side door. “Call me later after you talk to Parker.”

My phone buzzes in my hand, and I look down to see Luke’s contact flash across the screen.

Chief

Has Mitchell tried to contact you since last night?

No, I think he got the message.

Chief

Good.

Let me know if you need me.

“Who’s that?” Clara asks, clearly fishing.

I roll my eyes at her. “Just Luke checking in after last night.”

“You know,” she begins. “My brother cares about everything more than he probably should, but he’s never been like this. Not until you."

Not until you.

Butterflies swoop low in my belly, set on a path of migration right to my heart. Hope like this is dangerous. I can’t entertain ideas of being special. I’ll only end up disappointed.

“Get out of here!” I say, obviously eager to change the subject. “Go get ready for work.”

She shakes her head at me, but she obliges. As she drives off, she sticks her hand out the window to wave. When I get back inside, Maggie calls me to ask if Sophia would want to go to the park with her and Abbie. After getting my sister ready and then saying goodbye when they come to pick her up, I know that this moment is the perfect time to talk to Parker. I’m not looking forward to it, but it has to be done.

When he eventually makes his way down the stairs, he slows when he spots me sitting at the kitchen island.

“We need to talk,” I say, not in the mood to beat around the bush.

He avoids my eye as he grabs the orange juice from the fridge. “Fine.”

“You told Mitchell where to find me. Why?”

Parker shrugs. “He asked.”

The nonchalance cuts like a knife. “But you know we’re broken up.”You know what he did. “What is going on with you? Talk to me, Parker. Please.”

The carton of juice slams on the counter and I jump in surprise. He turns to me with a glare. “You wantmeto talk?” he spits. “That’s rich coming from you. We don’t even talk about them. Why don’t we talk about them?”

Our parents.

“I—” This feels utterly pathetic, what I’m about to admit. “I can’t.”