Chapter 41 Past
Molly and I spent the afternoon down at the lake.
We didn’t talk much—just floated in the shallows and let the sun bake away the heaviness.
Every now and then, she’d toss a rock, trying to skip it across the water, and I’d pretend not to notice how quiet she’d gotten since we left her house.
Some silences don’t need filling.
That evening, I worked my shift at the Soda Shop.
It was steady enough to keep my mind occupied, but slow enough that I caught myself staring out the window more than once, wondering if Paul was okay.
He called to check in, said everything was fine.
Apparently, his dad had taken Nick out for some celebratory beers and ended up getting too drunk.
Paul brushed it off like it was nothing—like it was just another Tuesday.
I tried not to let it mean more than it did.
The next morning, Shay felt like a different place.
Stores were closed, church bells rang, and a parade of people lined Main Street in their Sunday best.
It was Nick Newsome’s send-off, and the town showed up like it was a holiday.
There were flags and folding chairs, speeches and a full performance from the high school marching band.
Phil Newsome stood front and center, swelling with pride, talking about service and legacy and what it meant to wear a uniform.
Paul stood a few paces behind him, hands in his pockets, not saying a word.
The celebration seemed to go on for hours, and then like that Nick Newsome, the All-American boy, was on a bus heading to basic training.
The days that followed blurred into each other.
Work, the lake, long hours sprawled on Molly’s dock with our legs in the water and the sun on our backs.
At night, when the town got quiet, I’d sneak through Paul’s window. Sometimes we’d talk. Sometimes we wouldn’t.
By morning, I’d be slipping back out before the sun could catch me.
None of it felt real, but maybe that was the point.
It was a hard couple of weeks. Paul was distant, and I could tell he wasn’t handling Nick leaving very well.
Despite how much time he spent with me, Paul and Nick had always been close. They leaned on each other in ways only brothers could.
Paul had always been Nick’s shadow—quietly following, watching, learning. And now, with him gone, everything felt... different.
I did my best to keep his mind occupied.
We only had a few weeks left of summer, and I was determined to make each one count.
We took long walks, talking about anything and everything.
It amazed me that we hadn’t run out of things to say.
Eventually, I opened up about my family—about all the secrets, all the things we pretended weren’t there.
It felt good to finally say the words out loud.
Paul listened. He didn’t try to fix it, didn’t offer hollow comfort. He just held space for me, like it was second nature.
I felt safe with him. I trusted him.
Sometimes, he’d remind me of something his mom used to say:
“Bad things happen.”
I’d smile at that. Lean in and kiss him.
Because somehow, in the middle of all the mess, he was the “great thing” I could hold onto.
Things were slowly getting back to normal. The ease of summer was settling back in, even though in a few short weeks, we’d be back to the hustle and bustle of school life and have to figure out how to navigate through those routines.
Tonight was the Fourth of July celebration, despite it being a holiday, Taylor asked if I’d be willing to work since so many people would be out to watch the fireworks.
I reluctantly agreed. I was so close to having the money I needed to get my car—add freedom for me and Paul.
But I still had a few hours until I needed to go in and my parents were out of town for the day; they wouldn’t be back until late this evening.
Paul and I took full advantage of it.
It didn’t matter if we were at his house, my bed, the boathouse, or the back of his car—we knew each other by now, completely.
We’d fallen into each other’s rhythms like second nature.
It was reckless, but never careless.
Intense, but never rushed.
We sat there as the day slipped by—faster than either of us wanted.
I let my finger trace the scar on his neck again.
It was becoming a habit, like touching it helped me understand him a little more.
He must’ve felt it too, because he spoke before I could ask.
“I got that the day I saved that little girl. Suzie.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised. “Did you hit something when you jumped in?”
“Nah—” He gave a dry laugh. “It actually happened after I left the hospital.”
I sat up straighter, sensing the shift in his voice.
“My dad did it.”
My stomach turned. “What do you mean?”
He took a breath.
“I was in his office, looking for paper so I could write Suzie a ‘get well soon’ card. My mom’s idea.”
His eyes stared past me.
“I was going through the desk when he walked in. Grabbed me by the shirt collar, lifted me off the floor.”
I could barely breathe.
“He had that heavy watch on—the one with the sharp metal band. Every time he shook me, it dug in deeper.”
His voice was calm, like he’d told this story before. Like it was something he’d learned to live with.
“Nick walked in, got him off me before it got worse.”
His voice trailed off.
You could feel the shift—like the air between us had gotten heavier.
But Paul wasn’t going to sit in it.
Instead, he rolled over, pressing his weight into mine with just enough pressure to pull me back to him.
His lips found the soft spot below my jaw and then they began to wonder…. and just like that, the conversation slipped away—
Replaced by the kind of closeness that made it impossible to think about anything else.
After a quick nap and me rushing around to get ready for work, Paul dropped me off—promising he’d be back to pick me up in a few hours.
Thanks to steady crowds grabbing milkshakes and floats before heading out to claim their spots for the fireworks,
the shift went by quickly.
When closing time came, I went out front, expecting to see Paul’s car parked like it always was. But the space was empty—He probably got caught up in the parade traffic or people trying to make it to the fireworks.
While I waited, I took off my apron, and shoved it into my bag. I started fidgeting with the buttons on my uniform, instantly regretting not throwing on my usual tank top and shorts underneath.
Thanks a lot, Paul Newsome, I thought, smirking to myself. Distracting me like that. I’ll definitely be sure to pay him back for that later.
Suddenly a breeze kicked up from the lake and I crossed my arms, not loving the way goosebumps started to creep along them. I glanced up and down the road. Still nothing.
Taylor had already locked up and headed to meet Jane at the docks—So I couldn’t use the phone inside.
I started walking—thankfully the rumble in the distance was fireworks and not thunder—here’s to staying dry this time, I sarcastically thought to myself.
I kept walking and finally made it to Paul’s driveway. The street was unusually quiet, almost like the whole town had migrated toward the lake.
I slipped around the side of the house, keeping close to the bushes. Most of the lights were off, except for one—casting a dim, tired glow across the yard.
I crept up to his window and tapped lightly.
He didn’t move.
He was lying on the bed, one arm draped across his chest, the other hanging off the side like he’d just collapsed there.
I tapped again—louder this time.
Finally, he stirred. Sat up slowly.
But something was wrong.
He looked toward the window, his face caught in the weak light. His eyes were red-rimmed, his jaw clenched.
Like he’d been crying.
He let out a long breath and rubbed his eyes hard with the heels of his palms.
Then, using his fists, he pushed himself up like he was bracing for something.
Like he already knew it was me at the window—
and wasn’t sure if he could face me.
He unlatched the window and pushed it up slowly.
Neither of us said anything for a second.
“Hey,” I whispered, careful. “You okay?”
He gave a small shake of his head, barely a motion. “Not really.”
“Can I come in?”
A pause. Then, a faint nod.
I climbed through the window, my feet landing softly on the floor. The air in his room felt heavier than usual. Stale. Still.
“I waited for you,” I said quietly, “after work.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
His voice was hoarse, like it had been fighting itself all night.
“What happened?”
He didn’t look at me. He sat back on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
We sat in silence until Paul leaned back slightly and laced his fingers with mine. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t quite know how.
Then finally, he exhaled.
“Nick wrote me a letter,” he said quietly—eyes landing on a folded piece of paper on his nightstand. “And uh… it just—it shook me.”
I followed his gaze. The letter looked like it had been read a hundred times in just a few hours—edges frayed, creased in the middle like he’d folded and unfolded it too many times.
I watched his jaw tighten, like he was trying to keep everything else inside.
“What did he say?” I asked gently.
He looked down at our hands.
Then he turned toward me.
Tears filled his eyes, but he blinked them back—quick, practiced. Like he’d done it too many times before—I could see the moment he pushed it all down—whatever it was he wasn’t saying.
His body shifted.
He swallowed hard, the muscles in his throat tightening. Then he looked at me—really looked at me—like I was the only thing tethering him to the moment.
“Distract me,” he said, voice low and rough.
I didn’t ask what he meant.
I didn’t need to.
Instead, I reached for him, letting my fingers trail lightly up his chest, over the soft fabric of his T-shirt.
“Okay,” I whispered, leaning in.
And just like that everything disappeared.
Whatever pain he was holding onto—whatever that letter stirred up—it slipped into the shadows, if only for a little while.
Because right now, he needed this.
And so did I.
Not one button survived the moment he tore my dress open—like the space between us had become unbearable.
From there, we didn’t hold back.
There was no hesitation, no pause for permission—we already knew each other too well for that. His hands were desperate, mine just as demanding. It wasn’t soft or careful. It was necessary. A release. A way to quiet everything neither of us knew how to say.
We met each other in that charged space—where grief blurred into need, and love pressed up hard against the edges of pain.
And for a while, the world outside didn’t exist.
Just us. Just this.
The fireworks were crashing—bursting color and noise into the night sky—but we both fell asleep.
Curled up in each other’s arms, bodies worn out, hearts still heavy.