Summer (Four Seasons #2) (27 page)

Panic overrides any and all common sense I may possess. I wheel around, turning to Brandon, who has a sorry look on his face. “Yes, I want to drive the truck please,” I say quietly, holding out my hand. “Can I have the keys, please?”

“Avery, honey—”

“
Brandon, please.
I need to get out of here.”

“I know I was trying to shepherd you out of here, kiddo, but maybe that was the wrong idea. Maybe…” He sighs. “Maybe you should go and talk to him. Y’know, clear the air before tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to clear the air before tomorrow. I want to leave before I cause a scene.” I know that it’s true. If I stand here for one more second with Luke’s eyes burning holes into my back, I’m going to lose my mind. Brandon moves far too slow for my liking as he fishes the keys for the truck out of his pocket. I snatch them out of his hand as soon as he holds them up for me, and then I’m pushing and shoving my way out of Jerry’s fighting for breath.
 

Outside, the night air is still and warm. The roar of crickets is almost deafening as I hurriedly stumble across the gravel parking lot toward Brandon’s rust bucket of a truck. I hope Brand’s hot on my heels because if he’s not, I fully intend on leaving him behind here. Overhead, a low rumble of thunder rolls in the distance, promising a storm that I can already feel in my bones.
 

“Avery!
Avery, wait!
”

My heart leaps into my throat, but then I realize it’s not Luke calling out my name. I’m fool for even thinking that it might be. It’s Emma. I don’t stop walking.
 

“Leave me be, Emma. I don’t care what he’s sent you here to say to me.”

She catches up with me, placing her hand on my arm as she ducks in front of me, trying to get me to stop. With her dark hair and her brown eyes, she looks so much like Luke that it hurts to look at her. “He didn’t send me to say anything to you,” she says. “I’m not his lackey. I don’t do his dirty work for him. He has to do that himself. He has some apologizing to do—I know that and
he
knows that.”

“Does he? Because he doesn’t look very sorry from where I’m standing, Emma. I don’t expect to ever hear him apologize to me. In fact, I could say that I’ve clean forgotten what his voice even sounds like, given that he hasn’t called me once in months. Not even when he decided he didn’t want to be with me anymore, Emma. Do you have any idea how fucked up that is? To sleep with someone one day and then refuse to even reply to their texts the next? I was sick with worry that something had happened to him.
Sick!
But he was just fine, wasn’t he? He just didn’t feel like being a civilized human being and letting me go with some dignity. No, he had to make me feel worthless and small, like I meant nothing to him, after everything we went through.” Tears are streaming down my face, but my voice doesn’t waiver. It feels good to acknowledge how angry I actually am. How sick I am with all of this bottled up rage over what he did to me.

Emma nods, her hands on the tops of my arms and sympathy in her eyes, which makes me want to tear myself free and burn off in the truck as fast as possible, but she stops me. “I know. I
know
, okay? He did the worst thing he possibly could.”

“Then why are you here, Emma? Why are you standing here, holding onto me, asking me to wait? Because I can see no valid reason.”

“Because you never met my father, but you know what he did. Luke gave you the black and white version. The bare minimum. The raw facts. He gave you that, because that’s all he could manage. Telling you every evil thing that happened to him would have broken you as badly as it broke him, so yes. He made a mistake. A huge, gargantuan mistake. But he’s not like every single guy you meet. He worries about everything and everyone, and that clouds his judgment a little. He acts rashly, makes bold, occasionally very stupid moves, because he thinks it’s in someone else’s best interests. You haven’t cornered the market on fucked up pasts, okay? Other people have shit they’re trying to work through too.”

That feels like a slap to the face. A hard one. I want to retaliate, to say something awful, but I can’t because the second I open my mouth I’m hit with the memory of Luke as a kid, broken and tortured, learning how to play guitar with my father. The old Super 8 footage I found in my father’s study was heartbreaking. Luke was…Luke was traumatized, that much was clear to see. He was sitting there with my father, but only in body. He looked like he’d shut down entirely.
 

Emma’s come out here on the offensive, and I get it. If I had a brother or a sister, I’d defend them to the bitter end, no matter what they did. She’s just trying to protect him. Over her shoulder, I can see him sitting at the booth inside the diner, and he’s not looking out the window at us. He’s staring at the tabletop in front of him, stiff as a board, and I’m willing to bet he’s not blinking right now. Something inside me twists. I want to go to him, to make sure that he’s okay. I want to slide into that booth next to him and rest my head on his shoulder, place my hand on his knee under the table, and just sit there with him. We did a lot of that after I got out of the hospital. Just sitting together. It was calming, not just for me when I was panicking about Chloe’s first court appearance, but for him, too.
 

Inside Jerry’s Luke angles his chin toward us, as though he’s listening incredibly hard, trying to hear what’s being said. My heart skips a beat. “He never loved me,” I whisper, and the words feel like a burning hot poker stabbing me in the gut. “He can’t have.”

“Of course he did, Avery. My god, he still does!”

I can’t even comprehend why she would say such a thing to me right now. “He didn’t call me. Not once in all that time. And now, when he sees me again for the first time in months? He didn’t even get up to talk to me. That’s not the behavior of a guy who’s in love with someone.”

Emma shakes her head, smiling softly. “No. It’s not. It’s the behavior of a guy who’s so terrified that he’s fucked up the one most amazing thing in his life that he’s physically paralyzed by it.”

TWENTY-FIVE

LUKE

Back in New York, I had to attend court all the time. More often than not, it took a full year for a case to make it to court, so by the time I was called to recount my statement and identify the criminal in question, there was every chance that I would have forgotten the finer details of an incident that had led to me making an arrest. I got good at making seriously intricate notes. You never knew what was going to be important later on, and you never knew if you were going to have to rely on the observations you wrote down when it came down to it. Sometimes, after a particularly nasty case, I’d stay back after the court had cleared and I’d just be still there. I’d sit in the dock or on the benches, and the cleaners would come in and start tidying up, and I would read through my notes, racking my brain, trying to make sure I hadn’t missed something, or that I hadn’t taken something the wrong way.
 

This morning, sitting in this court, I don’t need any notes, though. I don’t need to scour over every memory I have of this particular incident, because every single second of that awful night is burned into my memory. I couldn’t forget or block it out if I tried.
 

This courtroom smells just like the Williamsburg courthouse back in New York. It smells like every courthouse: dried, old paper, wood polish and something like pencil shavings. When Chloe first went to trial, the courts were packed every day and people were fighting over their chance to come sit in and watch the proceedings. Too much time has passed since she was convicted, though. People have gotten on with their lives. Gone back to work. Forgotten about the crazy policewoman who murdered a bunch of people seven years ago. Now, there are only a handful of people scattered throughout the galleries, which isn’t going to impress Chloe, I’m sure. I’m pleased for Avery, though. She’ll be nervous enough as it is. It’ll be a relief when she sees that the place isn’t such a zoo this time.
 

In my pocket, my cellphone buzzes, distracting me from the gray-haired, tall, bird-like man in a suit who is unpacking his brief case and organizing his papers on the other side of the room.
 

It’s a text message.
 

Cole:
Have they locked the crazy bitch back up again and thrown away the key? Let me know when you’re on your way back to LA, bro
.
 

Me:
They haven’t even started the hearing yet, man. Getting a little ahead of yourself there.
 

Cole:
I think Marika suspects we’re gonna boot her after this show. Butler’s talking about signing some sort of contract.
 

Me:
Do NOT sign anything until I get back
.
 

“Everything okay, honey? You look a little stressed out.” Mom places her hand on my knee, bringing me back to the courtroom and the low rumble of tense conversation that’s taking place all around us. I told her she didn’t need to come with me, but hell. She’s my mother. There was no way she
wasn’t
coming today.
 

“I’m fine. Just…y’know…didn’t expect to be back here so soon.”

Mom nods, sighing. “I know. And you’re worried about Avery, too, right? I know you. I know you’re panicking for her right now.”

I look away, because I don’t want to answer that question. What would be the point? Mom knows how I feel. Over the years she’s learned to read me like a book. I told Avery when she first came and stayed with me in Break that my mom’s like Yoda, she just always seems to know everything, and that definitely hasn’t changed. So Mom’s well aware of how sick I’m feeling right now, sick to my damn stomach, and she knows that I really don’t want to talk about Avery, even though avoiding the subject is practically impossible given where we are and what we’re doing here today. She doesn’t push me when I fail to answer her, because she also knows how I’ll probably react to that, too.

When Avery finally enters the courtroom, Brandon’s at her side in an ill-fitting suit, looking grim, and there’s absolutely no sign of Amanda St. French. Avery looks pale. Washed out. On edge. In fact, she looks like she’s about to burst into tears, which makes me want to get up and move over to the other side of the gallery so I can sit with her. Let her lean on me. Just like last night, however, my feet are glued to the ground and I feel like I have a ten-ton elephant sitting on my chest, refusing to let me move. God, she’s beautiful. She never normally wears dresses, but she has today. It’s very respectful—knee length, navy blue, with a matching navy blue blazer that makes her look very responsible and grown up. Her hair has been gathered back out of her face, taming those unruly curls of hers that were blowing about all over the place last night while Emma was in the parking lot, shouting at her.
 

She shouldn’t have done that—Avery sure as shit didn’t deserve it. It was pretty cruel on Em’s part, but she’s seen how miserable I’ve been for the past few months. She knows how bad I feel over how I’ve treated Avery, and I suppose it’s logical that my sister would want to protect me. Shit, though. That wasn’t the way things should have gone down. Not even close.

Avery and Brandon seat themselves on the left hand side of the court, behind the state prosecution team. Annie Wallis, the prosecutor who led the case against Chloe, heads over and hugs Avery. She talks with them for a little while, and I wait for her to scan the people present to find me. I know she’s going to come up here and ask me to do something I don’t want to do any second now, so I’m just holding my breath, waiting for it. After a few more minutes spent catching up with Avery, I’m proved right when Annie’s head snaps up and she starts hunting me out. When she sees sitting at the far back with my mom, I see the recognition in her eyes and I brace myself.

“Morning, Luke. You look well,” Annie tells me when she’s navigated her way through the obstacle course of benches and wooden balustrades. She’s lying. I don’t look well at all; with my ruffled hair and dark circles under my eyes, I look like shit and we both know it. It’s kind of her to pretend, though. “Are you ready and prepped?” she asks, smiling.
 

“I suppose I’ll have to be,” I reply.
 

“Glad to hear it. Now, if I could just get you to come and sit down at the front with Avery, that would be great. We need to present a united front. Both of your testimonies were so powerful last time. All you guys need to do is say exactly what you said last time and this thing will be over before we know it.”

I know Avery is going to hate the fact that we have to sit together, but Annie’s right. I need to be up there beside her, otherwise it’s going to seem strange that I’m lurking in the back of the courtroom like I’m hiding. Doesn’t look good.
 

Mom gives me a tight smile as I leave her where she is and follow Annie down to where Brandon and Avery are sitting. I make to go around to the right, to sit beside Brandon, but Annie takes me by the wrist and pulls me the other way, to sit on the right. Avery looks stricken when I side step down the aisle and seat myself beside her.
 

“I don’t know what’s going on with you guys. I thought you were bomb proof from the way you were with each other the last time we did this, and I’m really sad to see that isn’t the case anymore,” Annie says softly. “You should know, though…there can’t be any fighting or lover’s tiffs here today. Remember why we’re here. Remember what the purpose of today is.” She pauses. “And consider the consequences if we aren’t on top of our game, too.”

It’s a short and sweet pep talk. She sits herself down then, leaving us, and I can feel the anger rolling off Avery beside me. God, I love her so fucking much. She’s beautiful. Her hair’s gotten so long since I saw her last, and her skin is slightly tanned now. She’s lost some weight, though. Weight she didn’t have to lose. And the circles under her eyes match mine. She clasps hold of her purse, tightly hugging it to her chest as though she’s trying to use it as a shield or something.