The Summer We Changed (Relentless Book 1)

by Barbara C. Doyle

  Again.

  It takes me back to the first time I was going to tell her about how I felt. Maybe it was the sappy chick flick she made me watch with her not long before, but I decided to tell her that I liked her and risk it. I prepared a speech that was way cheesier than I’d like to admit, and memorized every word.

  But I was still with Sheri.

  That made me a prick, I know. How could I be prepared to admit my feelings for one girl when I was dating another? I planned on breaking it off with Sheri, and she knew it.

  For months, she’d been on my case about how I felt about Tess. Accusing me of using her as a distraction to get my mind off my best friend. She wasn’t entirely right, but she wasn’t wrong either.

  I did like Sheri … at first. Even admitted it to Tessa not long before I gathered the nerve to ask Sheri out. I think it was the redhead appeal, and the fact she had double Ds.

  I know, I know. But I’m a dude.

  Either way, Tess knew that I liked Sheri. And, in my mind, there was no way Tess could possibly like me back. Hell, she encouraged me to go out with Sheri. Which seemed like a pretty good indication that she thought of me only as a friend.

  Even before Sheri, when I voiced interest in Amanda. A girl who was in her grade, somebody I shared a study hall with. That never went anywhere, just like Tess told me it wouldn’t. At first, I thought she just didn’t want me asking her out. Turned out Amanda only dated girls.

  So, yeah, my chances were in the negatives there.

  It was quick that I learned Sheri was suffocating. The first few dates went well. The first month or two seemed decent, freeing. I had a girlfriend, somebody who didn’t talk about movies or food nonstop like a certain brown-haired girl I know.

  It didn’t take long to realize that my interest in Sheri didn’t go much past her looks. Again, a dick admission. But a true one.

  She was obsessed with her image. How much money she spent on herself, the clothes she bought. She only ate healthy food, and whenever I tried getting her to split a king size candy bar, something Tess and I would always do, she would tell me that she couldn’t eat the calories.

  Yeah, she counted calories.

  Soon enough, I figured out that our compatibility was practically nonexistent. Everything I wanted to do she seemed to criticize, and not even in a playful way.

  I was going to break up with her.

  But then it happened.

  The bane of all eighteen (almost nineteen) year old’s existence.

  She offered me sex.

  And, like a total asshole, I took it.

  So, yeah, the breakup was on hold. How could I end it with somebody I slept with? I mean, it wasn’t like it was her first time. But it was mine. And it made me feel less guilty to pretend like I was still interested than to end it the day after we hooked up.

  I thought I was doing the right thing.

  Once again, I was wrong.

  Sheri and I started fighting more than usual, and Tess became the popular topic. The night we went to Dylan’s graduation party was the night that I couldn’t take it anymore. I guess she couldn’t either.

  “You have to pick,” she informs me, putting her hands on her hips.

  I know what’s coming next. An ultimatum.

  Her or Tessa.

  And she should know the answer by now.

  It’s not her.

  It will never be her.

  I was going to finally tell Tessa the truth. Sheri pulled me away from her as soon as we got to the party, and kept me at a distance. She knew what was coming just as much as I did.

  We were never meant for each other. But neither one of us wanted to admit it.

  Not right away.

  So when I ended it—well, technically she did, with very colorful words and hand gestures—I went to find Tessa in the crowded house. It took me about twenty minutes before I spotted her.

  Then I spotted Ian, whose hand was in Tessa’s, pulling her toward the basement door.

  My mouth went dry. My fists clenched.

  But did I stop them? No.

  Because, for all I knew, that’s what Tessa wanted. Why should I stop her from being happy? She let me be happy with Sheri. Well, as happy as I could be.

  I left as soon as the basement door closed behind them, because I had no interest in finding out what happened next.

  So, yeah, my luck with Tess is about the same luck that my three-legged childhood dog had. And he was hit by a truck.

  Picking up my notebook from my nightstand, I open it to a blank page.

  The rest of them have pointless scribbles of lyrics that don’t make any sense. Lyrics that are forced from lack of inspiration—ones with no meaning or emotion behind the words. Most of them are crossed out or reorganized to make a decent verse, but nothing ever works.

  I think about the song I played at Marty’s; the song Tessa teared up over, the one that was all instrumental. She texted me about finishing it, writing lyrics for it. I can tell that it means something to her, which is enough for me to find the drive to put my pencil to paper.

  I glance at my Gibson guitar that Marty insisted I bring back with me. It’s resting against the side of my dresser, beckoning me to hold it. Play it. Create something.

  So that’s exactly what I do, with Tessa’s face the only thing I can see in my mind.

  Resting the notebook on my knee, I drape my guitar across my lap. I close my eyes, the lyrics filling the space Tess occupies. I can feel the beat, feel the music. I strum the cords, the jarring tone filling my small room.

  When the storm is waging,

  Deep in her heart

  When the fear is raging,

  And the damage scars

  When the days turn to nights,

  And she cries in her sleep

  When her smiles are tight,

  Yet she still takes a leap

  That’s the girl I know,

  That pain will always show, yeah

  She tries to stay okay,

  But it’ll never change

  That’s the fight I see,

  When her eyes are always beaming,

  She fights against the world,

  But there is no stronger girl.

  When the fire’s dimming,

  And her love is low,

  Her eyes are swimming,

  In the afterglow

  When she thinks she’s losing,

  But her mind is strong

  She is always choosing,

  Just to prove them wrong.

  That’s the girl I know,

  That pain will always show, yeah

  She tries to stay okay,

  But it’ll never change

  That’s the fight I see,

  When her eyes are always beaming,

  She fights against the world,

  But there is no stronger girl.

  I stare down at the lyrics, smiling to myself like I just created the next biggest formula since the Pythagorean theorem.

  But maybe, just maybe, this will be the formula that mends her.

  That fixes us.

  Apparently, calling my parents to tell them that I needed stitches wasn’t the best plan. After going back and forth on the phone about how I shouldn’t be alone when I had a concussion, I finally agreed to come back home with my sadistic almost-murderer cat.

  Why? So they can babysit me.

  Or, as they like to call it, “watch over me.”

  What’s amusing is when Mom informed me that she and Dad had made plans to go out for the night prior to hearing about my little incident. They were going to cancel their plans, plans that they rarely ever make, until I insisted that I’d be fine.

  Unfortunately, that wasn’t good enough for them.

  Which is why I’m staring at Doug, who is currently wiping out the contents of our fridge, with his greased-up monkey hands, wearing dirty pants and muddy work boots still on. I’m surprised Mom didn’t make him change as soon as he walked in, but I guess it pays to be
the oldest.

  “So your cat tried killing you, huh?” he prompts, mouth full of the last piece of pizza my parents ordered for lunch.

  I swear, the guy can eat an entire household worth of food, and not gain any weight. I envied him for that. If I even so much as breathed near a brownie, a gained ten pounds.

  Doug isn’t necessarily a small guy. He’s six foot three, and built like a wrestler. Maybe not a pro wrestler, but same difference. Broad and muscular. Once upon a time, he thought his muscles were the shit. Probably still does. He seems to have toned down quite a bit though. Good thing, because I don’t think I could handle another ego like Ian’s.

  “Yeah, he did. But what’s new?”

  He snorts as he leans against the counter. “So what have you and the neighbor kid been up to? Mom said you were at your apartment, but I saw him coming out of his parent’s house earlier.”

  “None of your business,” I inform him, taking out my cookie dough ice cream from the freezer. I grab a spoon from the drawer, and set it on the counter to thaw enough to eat.

  “It is my business. You’re my little sister.”

  “What’s that have to do with anything?” I hoist myself up onto the island, right next to the dessert I have every intention of eating for dinner.

  He crosses his arms over his chest, his biceps looking like they’re being squeezed to death in the navy Dickie shirt he’s wearing. “You two not talking? You used to be joined at the hip.”

  My jaw ticks. “Seriously, Doug. Why do you care?”

  Why does everybody care?

  Mom and Dad asked me the same thing.

  Why am I running from Will?

  Why am I avoiding Will?

  What happened between me and Will?

  One thing I love about staying at my apartment is the lack of obligation to talk to anybody. Sure, it got lonely. Especially without Will to bug. But if I come home from school in a bad mood and don’t want to talk, I don’t have to worry about offending anybody by keeping quiet. If I want to just binge-watch episodes of Bob’s Burgers on Hulu, I don’t have anybody guilting me to do something more productive. I never have to divulge information I wasn’t willing to share.

  Plus, I don’t have the answers.

  Because it’s him that’s avoiding me.

  I match his stance, crossing my arms over my chest. Only, my biceps, or serious lack thereof, don’t make the sleeves of my shirt tighten.

  Man, I need to work out.

  Or at least cut back on the carb intake, which is nearly impossible. Carbs are my soulmate. I have the T-shirt to prove it.

  “We’re just …” I shrug. “I don’t know. We’re still friends, I guess. He’s just going through some stuff, so we haven’t talked much.”

  Or at all.

  “What are you going to do?” he questions, leaning forward and snatching my Ben & Jerry’s ice cream off the counter with his dirty hands.

  You can tell he works for a living just based on his hands. They’re rough from calluses and stained from grease and dirt.

  I narrow my eyes at him, knowing damn well he isn’t going to leave me any of the cookie dough chunks. He always picks them out and just leaves the vanilla ice cream.

  Total dick move.

  “I haven’t figured it out,” I admit.

  Hopping off the counter, I walk over and swipe the ice cream from his hands. Then I grab my own spoon, digging into what little is left.

  His face twists with amusement, like he’s thinking of something. “You could always climb to his window.”

  My spoon stops mid-mouth at his suggestion, the idea echoing in my head.

  He deadpans, guessing what I’m thinking. “No. No, absolutely not. I was kidding, Tessa.”

  I put the ice cream down. “You can’t just say stuff like that to me and not expect me to do it! It’s a brilliant idea!”

  He gapes at me. “You’re going to kill yourself. Literally break your neck.” He shakes his head, giving me a warning. A warning he can see I am not taking. “If you die, don’t bitch at me.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “If I die, I’ll be too dead to complain, now won’t I?”

  “But our parents won’t be,” he grounds out, eyes shooting me another ignored warning.

  “Well I am their favorite. They’d miss me.”

  He grunts, taking back the ice cream. “You wish, kid.”

  “I’m not a kid!” I blast, irritated that he always insists I am.

  “You’re always going to be to me.”

  “I’m practically twenty-one,” I point out gingerly. “And stop acting like you’re old. You’re only twenty-five!”

  “You still have a week, kid.” I want to stab him in the hand with a fork. But I restrain myself, because I’m nice like that. “And I’m twenty-six.”

  “Not for another month!” How is it fair he gets to round up his age when I can’t? “You’re infuriating,” I inform him.

  He smiles. “It’s my job. As the older brother, I’m obligated to piss you off. I’m also supposed to be overprotective, so I guess you seeing Will isn’t supposed to go down with me. Plus, you’re gonna fall and break your neck if you try.”

  I cross my arms on my chest. “You have little faith in me,” I state, almost sadly. “And you never played the typical brother role before, so don’t bother now. It’s weird. “

  He just rolls his eyes.

  I ignore the look he gives me, the one that says “don’t mess with my authority,” and walk toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” he demands, quickly following behind me.

  “Where do you think, oh wise one?” I snip, opening the door.

  “Tess, come on. They left me to look after you, not let you climb the side of buildings like a damn Spiderman wannabe.”

  Shows how much he really knows me. I’ve always been a Batman girl.

  Pathetic.

  “I don’t need a babysitter, Doug.”

  “They want to make sure you’re okay after your concussion.”

  I turn to face him. “I’m fine. Like I’ve told you, and them, a million times. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going next door to see my best friend.”

  “Nobody does something this stupid for their best friend,” he calls after me.

  I know, I want to tell him.

  I sneak past the window to their living room, where the glow of the television screen reflects off the glass. His parents are both there, probably watching another episode of NCIS. I swear, they’re obsessed with Gibs. I’ve seen them perfect the head smack using Will and Ryder as their practice dummies.

  Well, really, it’s Will and Ryder’s fault. Even I’m surprised at half the stuff that comes out of their mouths. They deserve every head slap they get.

  When I turn the corner and look up, I see the bedroom light on in Will’s window. My eyes travel to the lattice structure that his dad built for his mom. My feet are tiny enough where I can climb it at least halfway, and try getting the rain gutter from there.

  Thankfully, Will’s room is right off the flat roof of their add-on that they built as a wash room a few years ago. It gives me less to have to hang from.

  I grip the lattice in my hands, managing to climb about a third of a way before I feel it start to tilt backward from my weight. My pulse spikes in my body, and my heart drops in my chest. Adrenaline floods my body as I try balancing back out so I don’t fall.

  Somehow, it works.

  Releasing a breath, I start climbing again. This time, faster. When I reach the rain gutter, I grip the edges, hoping not to cut myself from the sharp edges.

  I hear leaves and twigs snap from below me.

  Expecting Doug, I say, “Go away, dillweed. Tattle to Mom and Dad if you must.”

  The laugh isn’t from Doug though.

  I look down, which is probably not the best idea since I hate heights, and see Ryder peering up at me.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, his hands shoved casually in his j
eans pockets.

  My heart squeezes in my chest when I see how far up I am.

  I take a deep breath. “I’m going to see Will.”

  “You’re aware we have a front door, right?”

  My grip tightens on the gutter. “I figure this way there would be less of a chance of rejection from him. He can slam the front door shut in my face, but he can’t push me off a roof.”

  Well, he could. But something tells me he won’t.

  He mumbles something that I can’t hear. Then says, “I guess. If you don’t die first.”

  My stomach churns. “Help me then!”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “Seriously?” I gasp, feeling my grip slip. “If you don’t help me, I swear to God, I will never share my cheese fries with you again!”

  “You really know how to hit a guy where it hurts,” he informs me.

  I roll my eyes. “If lack of cheese fries is how to hurt you the most, then I seriously question your manhood.”

  There’s a pause. “Now is that any way for you to talk to somebody who wants to help?”

  “Ryder!” I all but hiss as my hand slips some more.

  He swears. “Okay, okay. Hold on.”

  I count the seconds he’s away.

  Thirty-eight.

  Although it feels a lot longer when you’re hanging from a rain gutter. I can feel my heart go into overdrive in my chest, my palms getting sweaty. Then, all the sudden, a ladder appears next to me.

  I let out a breath. “Thank you.”

  “You owe me a lot of cheese fries.”

  “I’ll buy you a bucket full tomorrow.”

  “I’m counting on it.” Then he’s gone.

  I manage to slide over so I’m stepping on the ladder. Apparently, he’s not worried I’m going to knock it over. I swear, his mind is one track. Cheese fries is all it took for him to focus solely on the task.

  Shaking my head, I find the courage to climb the rest of the way up. Once I’m on the roof, I peek down at the ground. It’s actually not that far away, probably ten or fifteen feet.

  Still neck-breaking worthy.

  I crawl over to Will’s window, and knock on the glass. I can hear music playing from inside, but I don’t see him. Is he even in there?