The Summer We Changed (Relentless Book 1)

by Barbara C. Doyle

  “Thanks, Claire.”

  “Anytime.”

  Dad looks at him. “As entertaining as this whole situation is, I’m glad you’re not hurt worse. But please, for my sanity, sleep in your own damn bed and not my daughter’s.”

  Will’s cheeks turn pink.

  I remind myself to tease him for that later.

  “Yes, sir,” Will murmurs.

  Mom rolls her eyes. “Leave the poor boy alone. Run along, Will. If you don’t, Erik will just keep lecturing you. Nobody wants to hear that.”

  “I’m just protecting our daughter,” Dad returns, almost bitter that she’s not on his side.

  Mom shakes her head and kisses his cheek. “I know, babe. But Will is a good boy, and you need to stop trying to scare him off. Just because he sleeps over doesn’t mean anything. Plus, they’re adults. They can do what they want.”

  “Not in my house,” he grumbles next.

  I roll my eyes. “Relax, Dad. We’re not having sex. Will and I fell asleep watching a movie. If it makes you so uncomfortable, he won’t sleep over again.”

  Dad seems a little happier, but not much.

  Will, on the other hand, is redder than the ruby-colored tablecloth draped across our kitchen table. Anytime we talk about sex in regard to us, he gets all weird.

  It makes me laugh when I see him react that way, like the cool and collected Will can be all weirded out and awkward. It makes me feel less vulnerable—out of place.

  “I should go,” he says, giving me an awkward hug. He waves at Mom, nods at Dad, and walks out the door with his bagel in hand.

  I look at Mom. “Well, that was weird.”

  She grins, but doesn’t say anything.

  Dad shakes his head. “Not weird, kiddo.”

  “How was that not weird? I swear, he can be such a prude whenever sex comes up. He’s almost twenty-two for crying out loud!”

  Mom giggles. “Sweetheart, you know I love you, but you can be so dense.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “I’m not dense!”

  “Will likes you,” Dad says, sighing like the words are a death announcement. “Not hard to see it.”

  I freeze, not letting the words soak in the way they want to. “He does not.”

  Mom eyes me. “He does, babe. He can joke about sex or anything else with his family, but with you? It’s because he likes you, and talking about you two having sex—”

  “Or lack of,” Dad intervenes coolly, giving me the eye.

  Mom snorts. “Save it, Erik. Anyway, Will has liked you for some time now, honey. He wouldn’t have stuck around for as long as he has if he didn’t. Look at everything he’s done for you. And how could he not like you? You’re beautiful, and you two spend a lot of time together. Feelings were bound to grow eventually.”

  “Uh …” I shake my head.

  I spent years entertaining the idea of u as a couple, but there is no way he did.

  Unlike me, he talked about being interested in other people. While I pined for the unobtainable, he lived his life and dated. So, no. I don’t buy it.

  Maybe, just maybe, if I could let go of the past—of what happened—I would open up to the idea of being with somebody. Anybody. Will, even. Not because everyone says he wants to be with me, that he always has, but because I want to be with him. Not just part of me, all of me. My heart, my mind, my body.

  And I’m not capable of giving that away.

  Not yet.

  Mom pats my hand in comfort, taking my silence as hesitation to the truth. “That doesn’t mean you have to feel anything back. It also doesn’t mean that you have to pretend not to feel something. Like I said, you two are inseparable. There’s nothing wrong with liking him, platonically or not.”

  “Let’s pray it’s platonic,” Dad mutters.

  Grinning, Mom shakes her head. “Erik, would you rather see your baby girl happy with somebody she loves? Or would you prefer she be alone for the rest of her life, never knowing what love feels like?”

  Mom always tries to be the mediator when it comes to the topic of me and boys. It’s like she’s the only person who can allow him to see past his thick head. I’m his baby girl, which means that growing up and being an adult is off the table when boys are involved.

  I’m sure if he could choose, I’d be the little girl dressed like a princess and playing tea party with him. The only worry back then was what bedtime story to read at night, not what nightmare would plague me from sleep.

  His lips twitch. “You make a fair point.”

  I turn to him. “Look, it doesn’t matter anyway. Will and I … we wouldn’t work.”

  Even Dad seems confused, because Will and I have always worked in some way or another. I just shrug, not elaborating. Talking about freshman year, all of freshman year, is something I avoid at all costs. I want to believe that the barrier holding in the all the details will be enough to save me from ever relapsing into the train wreck I became for months after. Worrying them was never what I wanted to do, so it became a part of me that I held in. Telling them why I am the way I am, why I don’t date, why I don’t put effort into myself like I used to, why I changed is a secret not even Will knows about.

  I’m damaged goods. Mentally incapable of grasping my own change. Incapable of moving past the events that replay in my head when I’m vulnerable at night. I’ve accepted everything that I’ve become, but I don’t accept dragging anybody else down with me.

  The best part is, they don’t push for a reason, which is why I love them. They care enough to make sure I’m happy and healthy, but they don’t try to weasel their way into my business if it doesn’t involve them. They let me make my own choices, even if they don’t like them. Maybe there’s an inkling that tells them it’s more than just me being afraid to become more with Will, but they don’t let on that they think so.

  “Anyway,” I conclude, shuffling toward the fridge. I put the ice pack back, and set the cloth it was wrapped in on the counter. “I’m going back to bed. I’ll try reaching out to my non-existent friends later and get out.”

  Mom rolls her eyes. “You have plenty of friends, Tess. You always just preferred Will.”

  I don’t argue, because she’s not entirely wrong. Besides Will, I used to hang out with Emily, but things changed once we graduated high school. Our motivations took us in different directions, and neither one of us looked back. Aside from her, I talked with Dylan. If you considered Dylan’s relentless flirting, playful and never serious as it was, talking. I always considered him a brother I never wanted, and he considered me the annoying little sister that pestered him at band practice.

  We were never as close as Will and I were.

  Nobody was ever as close as me and Will. That’s what makes us unique. Special. We can be total opposites, and in a lot of ways we are, but we still blend together.

  I pull myself from the depths of my mind.

  Mom winks at me and adds, “I don’t blame you. Will is a looker.”

  Dad and I groan at the same time. “Don’t go all cougar on my best friend, Mom! That’s so gross.”

  She laughs. “Oh, hush! You know your father is it for me. I’m just not blind. Will is a good-looking young man. Not even you can deny it.”

  I don’t let her know I agree, because that’ll just feed the fire. Screw that. “I’m going to bed,” I tell them, shuffling back upstairs.

  Before I’m out of earshot, Mom says, “She’ll realize it soon enough. She deserves to be happy, and we both know Will is what’s best for her.”

  But she doesn’t know the truth.

  I’m the storm raging to destroy everybody around me.

  I’m good for Will as a friend, but I’ll destroy him as anything else.

  I don’t sleep. I can’t. Instead, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Correction: I’m staring at the glow in the dark stars that Will and I put on my ceiling when we were in middle school. He won them at some school event and gave them to me because he knew I was scared of the dark.<
br />
  I should have been embarrassed to be afraid of the dark in middle school. That’s a fear for children, or so I’ve been told. But regardless, Will never judges me. He just wanted to help, so he did.

  Because he’s always liked you, my brain presses.

  I shut that bitch up, because I don’t believe it. Or, at least, I don’t want to. I like the dynamic that we have as friends. Sure, he’s attractive, sweet, and protective of me. Boyfriend material any girl would be lucky to have.

  I tell myself not to think any further. That’s always my problem. I overthink. I overanalyze. I freak out over the smallest stuff.

  Although, this isn’t necessarily what I consider ‘small stuff.’ Not when my parents seem to be rooting for Will and me to become a thing. At least Mom does. I think Dad still wants me to become the crazy cat lady, that way I’m not lonely and I’ll never be around humans of the male variety.

  I turn on my side, and sigh internally.

  My eyes take in the hideous pale pink walls that I was so excited over when I was little. My parent’s let Doug and I choose a color for our rooms when we first moved in. If we ever wanted to change it, we had to buy the new paint ourselves. At the time, I was five. So of course I was going to choose the most god-awful girly color I could find. At least Mom talked me out of the Pepto Bismol pink I originally wanted.

  My room is nothing special. Besides the pink walls, there’s a few posters here and there. Some of my favorite TV shows like Supernatural, and some of quotes that inspire me. My favorite is the poster of Chuck Norris jokes that Doug gave me right before he moved out to his own place. He said he was too old for it, but I think he just wanted me to have something of his.

  What he doesn’t know is that I had already taken one of his old shirts that was two times too small for him as a token of remembrance. Even though we were five years apart in age, we were pretty close. Now? Not so much. It hurt, not that I never let him see it whenever we did see each other.

  After a few more tosses and turns, I get out of bed. I throw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and slip into my Converse before making it to the bathroom. My hair is a frizzy mess, but I don’t feel like straightening it. Instead, I put it up into a ponytail and put some eyeliner on. It’s minimal, but it’ll do.

  Just as I walk downstairs, Mom is looking up at me with a wide smile on her face.

  “Good, you’re up!” she says happily. “I was just about to see if you were awake. You’ve got a friend here.”

  It’s only a little after ten in the morning, so I know that Will isn’t done with chores yet. And unless Mom got out my senior yearbook and tried reaching out to my old classmates—which I wouldn’t put it past her doing for the sake of me making more friends—I had no idea who could be visiting me. Not until a familiar musky mixture of woods and vanilla scent wafted into the hallway, one that I remembered only because I was the reason the cologne was mixed together.

  It was supposed to be a prank that Dylan and I played on him, but he ended up liking the scent. As far as pranks go, it was a fail.

  Ian stands in the hallway, his broad shoulder leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed across his chest casually like he belongs here.

  I stop at the last step, staring. At the concert, my senses were too frazzled to take him in. Sure, not much has changed, but enough to take notice. It’s easy to see that his clothes are fitting his body a lot tighter than before, emphasizing muscles that I know he has under them. Flashes of skin, the way he felt against me, over me, on me overwhelm my ability to comprehend that my mother is still standing next to me.

  “Tess,” he greets, still grinning, like he knows I’m undressing him. Remembering him.

  “Uh …” I can’t seem to think of anything to say, his appearance taking me by surprise.

  Mom interjects, “I’m so glad you two are catching up. Ian, I was just telling Tessa this morning that she needs to get out and have fun!”

  Ian looks at me and winks. “Well if there’s one thing I’m best at, it’s having fun. Right, Tess?”

  I fight off the blush that wants to creep up on my cheeks. More images flood my mind. The way my hands gripped his shoulders, how he guided my legs around his waist. If I closed my eyes, I could see how what little muscles he had back then ripple as he moved over me, his hands running through my hair, down my body.

  Mom and Dad don’t know about Ian and me, and I intend to keep it that way. I mean, I was eighteen when things between us … progressed, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like them knowing who I decide to involve myself with. Plus, even with Ian’s rise to stardom, I don’t think they ever fully trusted him. He was the town bad boy, the rule breaker—the guy all dads feared their daughters would fall for.

  I never fell for Ian, but I gave him part of me that would indicate otherwise.

  I clear my throat. “Right,” I agree, voice hoarse.

  Mom looks at me skeptically, suspicion rising in her gaze. “Ian was just saying how he wanted to try catching up with you since he’s been on tour. Isn’t that nice?”

  Despite Mom’s previous outlook on Relentless, she seems genuinely excited for me to go out. Am I that pathetic that my own mother needs to ship me out with old friends?

  It seems the answer is yes. Yes, it is.

  I try giving her my best smile. “Yes … nice.”

  I cringe at my less than stellar performance.

  Ian chuckles. “What? Didn’t you miss me?”

  “Not really,” I mutter.

  “Tess!” Mom scolds.

  “Kidding!” Only, I’m not.

  I made a choice back then, one that I could have walked away from. But I was determined, and Ian was along for the ride. I don’t regret what I did—what we did. But that didn’t stop the guilt from sticking in the creases of my thoughts.

  Even though Will and I never dated, it felt like I cheated on him. And how could I tell him what I did? Ian was his best friend, even back then. Things seemed a little rocky for a while, but what friendship didn’t have its ups and downs?

  You know exactly which friendships aren’t like that, a voice tells me.

  Ian grins, knowingly. “I know we weren’t close, Tess,” he begins, “but we knew how to have fun. I mean, remember that one time when—”

  “You know what?” I say quickly, cutting him off. “Hanging out sounds great. Let’s go. Now.”

  Mom smiles as I push Ian toward the door. He’s chuckling all the way out to the driveway, where an expensive looking car is parked. We stop next to the silver painted money on wheels, where I glare at him.

  “What was that?” I demand in irritation.

  “What?” he asks, feigning innocence. “I was just saying that we had fun together. Did we not? Was I lying? We may not have been close … well, we technically were. Very close, as I recall.”

  “Stop it!” I hiss, glancing at my house. “My mom likes to eavesdrop sometimes.”

  He rolls his eyes. “So what? Do they think you’re still a virgin?”

  I slap his arm. “They know I’m not, but that isn’t the point. I like to stay private about things, so stop making jokes about my …”

  “Sex life?” he prompts, laughing. “God, you can’t even say sex? So what you’re saying is that they know you’ve had sex, but not with who. Which means you probably don’t want them knowing it was with me.”

  My face heats up. “Yes.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because …” Why do I need to explain? “It doesn’t matter why. What matters is that my life is personal, which includes the people I sleep with. Or, in this case, slept with. Past tense. As in, not happening again.”

  He puts his hand on his heart. “I’m hurt, Freckles. Does that mean you didn’t think our time together was special? I thought every girl’s first time was supposed to be one they never want to forget.”

  I take note that he used the old nickname he gave me.

  It doesn’t stop me from gaping at him. “You
’re such an asshole.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me,” I mutter. “Listen, I don’t want to rehash the past. Since my mother thinks we’re hanging out, we better go somewhere. I suppose this thing belongs to you?” I ask, pointing toward the car.

  “This thing,” he replies, actually offended this time, “is my pride and joy. Besides my band, of course. It’s the newest Mercedes; just came out.”

  I stare at the car for a long moment, trying to decide if I should pretend to care or not. The car is nice, I guess. I’m not really a car person. Honestly, if I had a choice as to which vehicle to ride in, Will’s or Ian’s, I’d choose Will’s beat up truck any day. Not because I’m biased, but because his truck has a story. It’s been worked, hauled around, and abused, but it still runs. Even if it has troubles sometimes.

  Ian’s car? It’s too shiny, too new. It looks like it could break if you touch it, and for what money I can imagine he spent on it, I don’t see how it’s worth it.

  I roll my eyes. “If that’s supposed to impress me, you’re gonna have to try harder. And that doesn’t mean talking about all the expensive shit you can buy with your money. I don’t care about any of that. Now can we go? Or is my lack of caring about your baby going to mean I can’t get in it?”

  He stares at me for a second with a blank expression of his face. Then, a grin appears. “You haven’t changing a bit, have you? Still feisty as ever. You look good, Tess. Didn’t mention that before.”

  Why is he complimenting me?

  “Well … thanks.”

  He gestures to his car. “Get in.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  Once we’re seated in his car, I respond. “I hate surprises, Ian.”

  He starts it up. “I remember.”

  I find it odd he does, because the most we talked was, for like, a few hours. I don’t recall everything that was said, but I remember enough.

  I let it go. “And you’re willing to risk it?”

  He sighs. “For some reason, yes. Despite what you probably think, I did miss you. I had fun when we hung out. Not just because of the sex, either. You’re a cool girl.”