The Day That Saved Us (28 page)

HARPER SEATED MY
dad and Olivia across from Brooke and me. Peyton and Tyler sit next to Olivia, while Skylar and Harper sit next to me. My dad won’t stop asking Brooke questions. How did we meet?
Through my roommate, Scott. Her ex-boyfriend, ironically enough.
And now my ex-roommate.
What is her degree in?
Engineering.
How many siblings does she have?
Two sisters, both older. And a little brother.
What do her parents do for a living?
Mom is a nurse. Dad is an orthopedic surgeon.

The questions don’t stop. She’s answering them all like a champ, trying to be gracious. Although, I can tell Brooke is starting to feel interrogated. As a lawyer, my dad has that affect on people.

“Dad, how about we focus on the couple we came here for,” I interrupt when he starts asking her where she sees herself in five years.
Is this an interview to date your son?
If it is, I want to inform him that he doesn’t get a say in that. We’re already solid, and he’s not going to change that.

My dad chuckles when he realizes he’s gone too far. “I’m sorry. This is the first girlfriend you’ve brought home since high school. I simply wanted to know what’s special about this one. And, after talking to her, I know.” He winks at her. “She’s a keeper, Brodee.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I murmur. Not that I was waiting for his approval. I know Brooke is incredible. I’m not dating her because I think he’d approve. I’m dating her because I want to. Because she was the first girl to catch my eye in years. Because she’s independent and selfless and makes me want to be a better man. No matter how cliché that sounds. She does.

“I’m the first?” she whispers to me. I’m not sure if she’s surprised or concerned.

I nod once.

“I don’t know if I should be worried or flattered.”

She doesn’t have to know why. “Definitely flattered.”

Brooke squeezes my hand under the table, and I place a kiss on her dimple as she smiles at me. When I pull away, I catch Peyton watching us from across the table. I didn’t mean to look her way. She’s in my line of sight. Her expression is unreadable. She may be assessing the relationship I have with Brooke, or she’s shocked, or maybe she’s jealous. Perhaps it’s none of those, and I don’t know how to read her at all anymore. But then she blinks and offers a thin smile that I return before focusing on the meal in front of me and ignoring her for the rest of the night.

“IT’S REALLY NICE
to have you, Brodee,” Olivia says. We sit at their kitchen table, after eating dinner. “It’s been so long since Peyton visited. I was really hoping she’d accept our invitation this weekend and take a break. She’s just so busy.”

I can’t imagine why. I bite my tongue. I remember the manners my mom taught me. “Yeah, with work and school, she’s got her plate pretty full. Speaking of, dinner was really good. Thank you, Olivia.”

“You’re so welcome.” She takes my plate and my dad’s to the sink. “I know salmon is your favorite. I wanted to make sure you got a good home-cooked meal while you were here.” She’s never been more over the top in my entire life. And she could never make salmon as good as my mom if she tried. “Not that Tatum wouldn’t make you one. I know my salmon probably didn’t live up to hers.”

When I don’t respond, my dad covers it up with, “How is Peyton?” He stretches back in his seat. It doesn’t surprise me that I’d know more about her than them. While I don’t talk to Peyton as much as I used to, I know I talk to her more than she’s willing to talk to them.

“She’s good. I saw her last month. But most of my time was spent with Harper and Skylar. Peyton had to work a double at the restaurant.”

He nods. “Hopefully she’s still putting school first. It’s important she doesn’t let other things get in the way of her education.”

“Well, she does need a job to eat and live, so she’s probably found a good balance.” Honestly, I don’t know how she manages both. I feel like I’m drowning in schoolwork, and I don’t have a job. That’s one thing I can thank my dad for—the money to pay for the cost of living, so I can focus on school and not stress about making ends meet.

Olivia sits back down after putting our dishes in the dishwasher, and Dad says, “We were hoping Peyton would come home this weekend, too, because we wanted to talk to you both, but who knows when she’ll make it home.”

A boulder sits in the pit of my stomach. For them to want to speak to us in person, and together…

“Olivia and I have decided to get married.”

I’ve been waiting for this. Peyton and I make snarky comments about it all the time. We joke and make light of it because we know the reality of it is so much worse. But hearing him say it out loud…I feel like I’m on an airplane, falling from 35,000 feet, praying I’ll die before we hit the ground.

“We’re not going to have a big reception, just a small courthouse ceremony, dinner downtown afterward. It feels pointless to wait any longer, so we’re hoping you’ll be willing to come back next month. And maybe you can talk Peyton into coming with you this time. You could pick her up on the way.”

Everything is said so casually.
How was the surf today, Brodee? Did you catch any good waves? It seemed like it would be a perfect day for the beach.
Except we’re not talking about the ocean. We’re talking about my dad marrying his mistress. I don’t like to refer to Olivia as that. I cared about her once. She was my mom’s best friend, my best friend’s mom, my second mother. But now that’s all Olivia is to me—the mistress who tore apart my parents’ marriage.

“You really don’t care about what this is doing to us.”

“Brodee,” he warns, and the space between his eyebrows pinches together. My response wasn’t exactly stellar, but it was definitely called for.

“I have a phone call to make,” Olivia excuses herself quickly.

I don’t stop before she’s out of the room. “You’re joking, right? You honestly think Peyton and I want to be there? In what realm does that make sense?”

“Well, yes.” It’s not even a question in his mind. He’s so hardheaded and oblivious. “I know it’s hard, but you two are part of this family. I expect both of you and Carter to be there to support us. To support this fresh start. This new life for our family.”

“If Peyton has a hard enough time being around me, what makes you think she’ll even set foot in that courthouse?”

He looks at me as though I’m speaking a foreign language. He really is oblivious. I want to shake him. Bash his head into the table. But I know that’s my irrational anger.

“Do you realize you’re the reason Peyton won’t be with me?
You
.”

He calmly tries to say, “Well, it’s probably for the best. It might be a little strange since you’ll be related soon…”

I snort. “Don’t even go there, Dad. It has more to do with what you did to her father. To his memory. She won’t be with me because I’m a constant reminder of you and what you did to her family. To our family. She can avoid you with distance, but I’m the one who suffers the consequences. So, thanks. Thank you for not only ruining our family and hurting Mom. Thank you for taking away the only girl I’ve ever loved.”

“You’re being a little dramatic. It’s time to move on. It’s been more than a year. We’ve given you plenty of time to get used to the idea of us. You two are old enough to accept it and stop acting like two rebellious teenagers.”

My hands clench into fists. If he weren’t my dad, I’d punch him. Right in the face. “Funny thing I’m only nineteen, so forgive me if I still act like a
rebellious
teenager.”

I shove my chair back from the table. He calls out my name as I storm toward the front door. He keeps shouting at me to come back, hollering about how childish I’m being.

“I’m not finished talking to you!”

Oh, yes you are.

“Brodee!”

I slip into my flip-flops in the entryway.

“Don’t you dare walk out that door!”

I not only walk out the door, I slam it behind me with satisfaction.

WINTER IN CHARLESTON
is not like normal winters. One day it can be thirty degrees, the next it can be in the sixties. It’s bipolar.

Today, Harper and Skylar lucked out. We’re in the high sixties. The girls can still wear their dresses, and we don’t have to hear Harper complaining about how their jackets or sweaters don’t match.

Harper and Skylar say
I do
, and as they do, Peyton and I find each other like a gravitational pull. Our eyes smile. At first it’s out of happiness for our friends, but it changes. The smile remains, but longing shades it. For a moment, the ravine between us isn’t as vast as it normally feels. She’s really looking at me. It’s only a moment, but everything fades and leaves only us. I get a glimpse of the Peyton in Hatteras, who loved me in the rain and kissed away my worries. But then she blinks, and I lose her. She looks out at Tyler in the crowd, and grins, like she wants me to see it’s
him
she wants. Not me.

As we follow Harper and Skylar up the aisle, arm-in-arm, Peyton quietly says, “They actually did it.”

I whisper back, “They did.”

In reality, it feels like we’re saying, “
They did what we never will
.”

AFTER THE HAPPY
couple cuts the cake, my buddies stand around the dessert table with Brooke, Peyton, Tyler, and me. I grab a plate for Brooke, and she thanks me. I take another one and hand it to Peyton, but before she can thank me, Tyler stops her.

“You don’t really want to eat that, do you?” he asks her quietly, but not quietly enough. “You have a wedding dress you’ll want to fit into soon.”

“Oh.” Peyton puts the plate down on the table. “You’re right. I have a dress fitting next week.”

I’m dumbfounded.
Is my hearing working correctly?

“Did he just say what I think he said,” Brooke hisses into my ear, low enough so only I hear.

I have to replay it in my head because I can’t believe he did. “I think he did.” I eye Tyler up and down in his tan suit and perfectly combed hair.
That smug douche is trying to control her weight?

Harper must have heard Tyler, too, because her eyes nearly sear the side of my head. I look. They say,
you have no idea
. It makes me wonder what else I’ve missed and what Harper and Skylar haven’t been telling me.

The DJ starts playing music. Peyton takes Tyler’s hand and guides him to the middle of the yard where there’s a black and white checkered dance floor.

The guys have been hitting on the USC girls, whose names I still can’t remember, so they all make their way to the dance floor as well.

I turn to Brooke. “You dancing?”

“You asking?” She bats her thick eyelashes and cocks her head to the side. Coy little flirt.

I smile. “I’m asking.”

She smiles back. “Then I’m dancing.”

This woman deserves my whole heart. Any man would be lucky to have her. Brooke is quick-witted and laid back. For every joke or dig I give, she can shoot one right back. When she dances, her hair falls in her face and she laughs. It’s contagious. I take her into my arms and sway with the music, letting our eyes and bodies do all the communicating.

After a few songs, a slow song begins; I lean into Brooke’s ear. “I need to talk to Peyton. Do you mind dancing with Tyler for a song?”

Brooke grimaces, but agrees. I know the grimace isn’t aimed at Peyton, but Tyler. “As long as you’re asking her why the heck she didn’t stand up for herself.”

I chuckle. “I’ll say something like that. Don’t say anything to him, though, okay?”

“I’ll do my best to bite my tongue.” She scowls.

We hold hands as we walk across the dance floor. Tyler and Peyton seem to be deep in conversation with their heads close together. I almost feel bad for interrupting, but then I remember what he said to her, and I ask, “You mind if we cut in?”

Their eyes flash to us. It takes a minute for what I asked to register. “Yeah, sure,” Peyton says with a smile. They break apart, and I take Peyton’s hand, drawing her against me. Tyler wraps his arms around Brooke’s waist as she tries not to sneer. I feel guilty for asking her to dance with him.

I’ll have to make this quick.

“You know,” she says, meeting my eyes, “this is only the second time we’ve ever danced.”

I laugh. “You’ve really got to stop keeping score. This might be the last.”

I don’t know why I said that. She was trying to keep things light, and I shut it down. Her gaze turns away. I try to think of how to approach carefully what I came to ask. “You missed out on that cake. Harper’s cousin sure knows how to bake.”

“Oh.” She laughs uncomfortably. “I know. I hate that I’m cutting back.”

“To fit into your wedding dress?” I lift one eyebrow.

“Well, yeah. I mean…I’ve got to maintain my weight before the wedding so I don’t have to do any last minute alterations. I don’t want to deal with that. Such a pain in the butt.”

“And that’s why Tyler was so concerned about you eating a piece of cake?” I try to laugh, pretend like I’m teasing her.

She rolls her eyes. “He knows my goals. He was just trying to help me keep them.”

Don’t be stupid, Peyton. This isn’t you.

“Gotcha.”

The comfort I used to seek in our silence is absent. It stretches and grows strained the longer we dance. It seems like the more time we spend together, the further apart we grow. Will we eventually become two people who are in the same family, but no longer know each other at all, who dread going to family functions and avoid family time so we don’t have to ever see one another?

Peyton steps closer, but it’s more like she doesn’t want to look at me and is closing the distance so she doesn’t have to anymore.

“Brooke seems nice.”

I could take that statement several different ways, but it seems most like an olive branch.

“Yeah, she’s pretty great.”

“She’s really pretty, too.”

My eyes are drawn to Brooke as she dances with Tyler. Their movements are stiff and painful to watch. I know it’s Brooke’s doing, and I feel a little satisfaction knowing she’s not tempted by his charm. Okay,
a lot
of satisfaction.

She spent hours curling her long hair this morning. It cascades around her, covering her bare back in chocolate waves. Her airport blue dress—at least that’s what she calls it, airport blue—brushes her thighs and hugs her hips. I’m regretting asking her to occupy Tyler. I don’t like that his hands are touching her. “Yeah,” I agree, debating on cutting this dance short and taking back Brooke.

“Do you ever think about that summer?” Peyton’s voice is so soft. It’s almost inaudible, but I hear her so loudly.

Is it even possible to forget that summer? If so, I feel like I would have done it already. I’ve tried hard enough. But there isn’t time long enough, substances strong enough, hobbies consuming enough to drown out the memories of that summer.

“Yes.”

The song comes to an end.

In the space between I ask, “Do you?”

She lets me go without a glance. “No.”

And just like that, the world I built in my head—a world that disregarded black and white and painted the landscape in shades of gray, where we couldn’t be judged for our feelings and our so-called twisted love was accepted as it is, a world where we ignored our pride and took a risk to be together—came crashing down.

This was her final goodbye.

As well as mine.

Goodbye, world of gray. You were my best dream.