Summer (Four Seasons #2) (20 page)

“Okaaay…” I hate this bullshit. I hate playing guessing games. And yet… “I guess I feel that way because…I don’t know. I feel like, for the first time today, I know I’m never going to get back with her.”

“What’s changed?”

“My friend saw her with someone else.”

“Right.”

I punch my balled up fist into my other hand, shaking my head. “
Right
.”

“And you’re angry at her for moving on?”

“No. No, I’m not. I have no right to be.”

“Then why are you physically hitting yourself right now?”

Rafferty hasn’t turned around to see me do that, but he must have caught it out of the corner of his eye. I look down at the way I’ve clenched my right fist, like I’m readying myself to go ten rounds with someone. “Because I’m angry at
myself
,” I say softly.
 

Rafferty tips his chair back, stretching his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankle. He does this when we’re starting to make progress. “Great. Would you consider yourself a very angry person in general, Luke?”

I shake my head. “No, not really.”

“But you recently smashed your fist into a wall, correct?”

The hairs on the back of my neck bristle. “I was drunk. I would never have normally acted like that.”

“Your father used to drink a lot, didn’t he?”

“He was
an alcoholic
.”

“And he was pretty violent, too?”

“He broke my arm.
Twice
. I think there’s a difference between me getting frustrated over putting myself in a stupid position and lashing out, and what
he
did.” My voice is getting increasingly louder. Rafferty sits there, staring out of the window, not looking at me. He shrugs.
 

“Maybe he felt the same way after he hurt you. Maybe he lashed out because he did something stupid and he felt bad about it.”

“
What
?”

“Well, you know how it can be. You said it yourself… you put yourself in a stupid position when you were drunk. If you’d just had one more drink, who knows what might have happened. You could have slept with that girl. You might have been too drunk to hear her saying no, she didn’t want to. You might have forced yourself on her without realizing. Right?”

“What the fuck are…
what the fuck are you saying?
I would never be drunk enough to—”

“Perhaps your dad didn’t really know what he was doing, Luke. Perhaps he woke up in the morning and tore himself apart over what he’d done. Maybe he didn’t even remember. Alcoholics black out all the time. How can he be held accountable for something that he probably didn’t even remember?”

I can feel the blood surging through my veins, too hot, too fast, too full of adrenalin. I’m getting ready to leap out of my chair and pile drive my fist into his face. How? How the hell can he be saying these things right now? My face feels so hot, like it’s on fire.
 

“Maybe...” Rafferty says. “Maybe he was just doing what came naturally to him. You can’t hold that against him, surely?”

I’m up and out of my chair in a heartbeat. It feels like my head is exploding, my vision clouding in my peripherals. My only thought is to get hold of Rafferty and make him stop talking. I grab his purple Ralph Lauren shirt with both hands and I yank him toward me.
 

“HE HAD NO FUCKING RIGHT! I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG!
I WAS A CHILD
!”

Rafferty doesn’t even blink, despite the fact that I’m roaring into his face. “Do you think you’re like your father, Luke?” he asks.
 

I set my jaw, glaring at him. “
NO!
”

“Do you think you deserved what happened to you?”

“
NO!
”

“Do you think there was any excuse for him to do what he did?”

I loosen my grip on Rafferty’s shirt, an ice cold sense of realization running down my back, as real as if I’ve had a bucket of cold water dumped over my head. “Of course not.”

“Then why do you insist on owning what happened to you? What you said just now was exactly right. Your father had no right. You didn’t do anything wrong, Luke.
You were just a child
.”

With every word, it feels like I’m being punched straight in the gut. I let go of him entirely, staggering away from him until my back hits the wall behind me. I slide down the plasterwork until my ass hits the floor, desperately trying to drag a breath into my lungs.
God. God. Oh, god. I was just a kid
. I hold my head in my hands and I sob for the boy who went through all of the beatings, the shame and the fear. He should have had a happy, joy-filled childhood. Instead he spent most of it hiding in closets and creeping around, trying not to draw attention to himself, terrified of the consequences if he did. I sit there and I cry for a long time. It’s a while later when I feel Rafferty’s hand on my back. I don’t look up at him yet. I can’t face him. I nearly tore his fucking head off.
 

I sense him sitting down beside me on the floor, leaning his own back against the wall. “
Now
we’re getting somewhere,” he says quietly.
 

I let out a shaky laugh. “How so?”
 

“Because I’ve heard you say it, and I’ve seen it for myself. You
know
what happened to you back in Wyoming wasn’t your fault. You know with every fiber of your being that you’re nothing like your father. You know you’re
you
. You can be free now, if you let yourself, Luke. And that means you’re in a position to be something to someone else, too. I couldn’t have encouraged you to chase down this girl back in New York before
this
very moment, right here, right now. You weren’t ready. But I think you are. Or you might be very soon, anyway,” he says, nudging me with his shoulder. “Do you feel ready?”
 

“Hell no. Not even close.”

“Well, you will soon. I don’t make promises to anyone, Luke, but I’m gonna make one to you right now, okay? Your past has been chasing you for years, and you’ve been running scared. Just now, you turned around and you faced it head on. And what happened? You saw the truth. Your past has no hold over you anymore, if you choose not to let it. So here’s my promise, for what it’s worth…Things are going to get better from here on out, Luke. Just watch.”

I let out a strangled bark of laughter. “I’m sorry I tried to kill you.”

“Oh, y’know. It’s fine,” Rafferty tells me. I can feel him shrugging where his shoulder touches mine. “Happens all the time.”

NINETEEN

AVERY
 

The air conditioner isn't working in Morgan's apartment. God knows why Sam and I decide to meet there for my practice session is beyond me. I sit in the middle of Morgan’s living room, dripping sweat and grumbling like a child. I like Sam a lot. Unlike Morgan, he’s laid back and yet he still has a fire lit under his ass. He’s a lot like Luke, I guess. It’s hard not talking to him about my fucked up past, which is unusual considering I’m normally doing anything and everything in my power to avoid talking about Luke.
 

My best friend pauses by her front door, lifting her unnecessarily huge bunch of keys in the air. “I’ve opened all of the windows. It’s hot as fuck in here. I'm headed out in search of ice. You guys want anything specific?”

“Something cold. God, anything.” I lift my hair from the back of my neck, groaning.
 

“I’m good with whatever, baby." Sam smiles and I can't help but smile as well. They’re sickeningly cute together. Morgan sticks out her tongue at me and disappears out the door. I glance over at Sam, the large tatted guy staring after my best friend like she’s still standing in the same spot, and I suppose I’m kind of relieved. She was in such a dark place, and so recently, too. With a guy like Sam looking out for her, I feel like I don’t need to worry about her as much anymore. “I'm glad you guys are together,” I say softly.
 

“Me too, kiddo. I've never wanted a girlfriend. Women have seemed like fucking hard work up until this point.” He shrugs. “And, man, I know she
is
. I know she’s got her issues just like I’ve got mine, but I don’t know...sounds strange to say it, but I
want
to handle her shit with her. I
want
to be there. I know that five years down the track, we’re gonna be boring as fuck, in bed by nine o’clock, watching sixty minutes and drinking decaf and shit, but I also know that I’m gonna be happier than a pig in shit. That’s something, y’know?”

“Pig in shit. Got it. Something to aspire to.”

“Don’t mock me, Patterson. This is gonna sound so fucking condescending, but you’ll get it one day.”
 

The thing is, I do get it. All too well, in fact. I pictured myself and Luke like that so many times. It never bothered me that we weren’t going to be out partying every night. I looked forward to the quiet, peaceful, silent moments between us, where the way we held each other tightly as we fell asleep spoke more than the declarations of love we made with our mouths and our words.
 

“Ahhh, big scary musician guy’s gone all mushy on me,” I say. “Who knew a six-foot-three, beer-swilling, ass-kicking, tattoo-covered guitarist could be such a romantic?”

“Every man has the heart of a poet when he finds the right girl, Patterson. What can I say? I knew I was in trouble the moment I saw her.”

“Love at first sight? I thought that was a rather outdated concept.” I strum halfheartedly at my guitar, not really concentrating on my right hand. The fingers of my left hand move swiftly in a pattern I’ve been practicing over and over again, until my whole arm’s felt like it’s cramping—the chord transitions for Blackbird.
 

Sam watches, nodding with approval. “You telling me you’ve never taken one look at a guy and gone weak at the knees?”

I can’t remember the first time I saw Luke. Even as a child, he was just there, a part of my community, my school, my life, always a couple of steps ahead of me, always seeming so much older. I
do
remember the specific moment that I saw him and he was no longer awkwardly tall Lucas Reid with the bowl cut hairstyle and the skinny frame, though. I was walking down the hallway on my way to AP math and there he was, arms wrapped around Casey, kissing her with an intensity that made my heart race out of my chest. She looked like she’d just gone limp in his arms, as though she had absolutely no control over her body and she’d surrendered herself to him. I’d never seen anyone kiss anyone like that before in real life.

I started noticing him then. Every single girl with a pulse did. He had muscles overnight. His hair was fucking perfect—he had that tousled, messed up yet amazing hair style going on that you just wanted to dig your hands into and maybe pull a little. Except I was thirteen and I didn’t even really know that was what I wanted to do to him at the time.

“Avery? Ave, you okay?”

I realize my hands have stilled on the neck of Luke’s guitar. “Huh? Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just got a little lost there.”

“I don’t mean to be a dick or anything, but I’m pretty sure you were just swooning. I have a younger sister. I’ve seen it go down before.”

I fake scowl at him. “Nope. Just a minor detour down memory lane. I’m back now.”

“Hmm. It’s not safe to drive in reverse, Patterson. Look out of the windshield, not the rearview. That’s my motto.”

“Agreed. Sometimes it feels like your car’s been impounded and you’re not moving anywhere anyway, though. Then, you’re looking out of any available window, trying to figure out what the hell’s going on.”

Sam laughs. “This conversation would be a lot easier to understand if we weren’t talking in car analogies. You know…Morgan has a big mouth. She tells me things. And you should know, I maybe a six-foot-three, beer-swilling, ass-kicking, tattoo-covered guitarist, but I’m also pretty good at listening to people. It’s, like, my super power or something. If you feel like it…”

“I’m all good. Really. Let’s just nail this song, huh? I feel like it’s taking me weeks.”

“It is.” He sticks his tongue out, and I throw a cushion at him. He ducks the missile, laughing. “Don’t feel bad. It’s a hard song. The Beatles were kind of badasses. The rhythm on this one’s all over the place. It’s gonna take time.”

“I’m not a patient person, Sam. I want to nail it now,” I tell him, smiling.
 

He nods, leaning on the body of his own guitar, studying me. “Some of the best fucks of my life have been the ones I’ve had to wait for,” he advises me. “Playing the guitar is like that, too. You wait, you practice, then it comes to you and it was all worth it. The guitar’s not going anywhere. Your hands aren’t going anywhere. Just give it the time it needs.”
 

I feel like we’re not really talking about learning Blackbird, somehow. Somehow, I think we’re talking about Luke and that makes me really uncomfortable. I lean my guitar against the sofa beside me and I think about what I want to say next. It’s obvious Sam already knows everything about Luke. Would it feel good to talk about him right now? Would it be kind of cathartic, or would it feel like I’m picking at a scab I just can’t let heal? I’m seconds away from opening my mouth when the front door flies open and Morgan sweeps into the apartment, arms full of grocery bags, her bangs plastered to her forehead, swearing at the top of her lungs. “FARK!!! People are dropping like flies out there. I think the sun’s moved closer to the earth or something. I had to fight an old man with a walking frame for this soda. You bitches better appreciate what I’ve been through in the last hour. I may have PTSD.” She staggers to the kitchen and dumps her seemingly hard won items onto the counter, and then drags the back of her arm across her forehead, making her bangs stick up. She flicks the switch on the radio that’s sitting on the windowsill, and Justin Bieber’s voice blares out of the tinny speakers.
 

Morgan doesn’t seem to care, though. “Why do I feel like I just walked into a D and M?” she asks, her gaze shifting first from me and then to Sam. “Don’t do that, guys. I’m an emotionally unstable person. I can’t handle open displays of sympathy, empathy or any other kind of pathy. I’ll be bawling about it for weeks in my sessions.” She points an accusing index finger at us both in turn. “You know this about me.”