Until Then Page 12

  He’s angry. But he lied. No matter what he calls it, it’s still a lie.

  “So is that what you have to tell me?” I force out.

  Feeling the tension under his arms, I remain resolved.

  He darts his eyes away from mine to glance at my mouth. Then he looks to the ground to cut his tension. “Summer —” He darts his face back up to mine, eyes piercing me.

  He lied. I have a problem with that.

  “Is your mother alive, Crew?” I hiss, wanting to get to the truth.

  His eyes bulge out of his head, completely offended. “What?” he says in disbelief. “Of course not, Summer.” He shakes his head. “How could you even think that?”

  “Lies don’t just stop at one,” I say. “They come in bundles.”

  The squint in his eyes tells me all I need to know. “You think I’d lie about that?”

  “I don’t know what to think, Crew.” I want to tell him that I don’t know him, that I’m an idiot for blindly trusting him all this time, that our annual attempt at friendship has to stop. But all I can say is, “Tell me what to think. And I don’t want the abridged version. I want the whole aria.”

  Crew lets out a gruff, then grabs my hand and pulls me toward his car.

  “What are you doing?” I exclaim. “Let me go!” I pull my hand away.

  He huffs loudly and looks up to the sky for a moment before landing on me. “Will you please come with me?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “Because I don’t trust you right now. You lied, Crew. About something pretty fucking important.” I can’t let that go. I don’t know him well. But barging into my life using his mother’s death as his opening line seems pretty damn cruel. “And you’re acting so strange — all angry and annoyed. What the hell is going on?”

  “Summer,” he says slowly, like he’s speaking to a child, “I don’t mean to be deceitful. I want to answer your questions. Will you please come with me so that I can explain?”

  There it is. A challenge. He knows that I have an innate insecurity to run away from situations where I feel most vulnerable to being wronged. And he’s right. I want to run away and not deal with this anymore.

  But even more than that, I want to know why. Why lie? Why meet me at my father’s grave every year? Why single me out? Why doesn’t he want to be more that once-a-year friends?

  I silently take his proffered hand and get in his car, wondering whether anything between us will change after tonight.

  15.

  Summer

  In the 13 minutes it took for us to arrive at the other cemetery, Crew took two calls and placed one. The calls he answered were from Sebby, which annoyed and angered him. I couldn’t help but wonder about the catalyst that transformed “Crew the Caregiver” to “Crew the Callous.” I could guess, but I was too hung up on his explanation for lying to me.

  The call he placed filled in a few of those blanks. He called someone at the cemetery, hoping to pull a favor and get in after hours. Which made sense when we drove up to it — the cemetery is surrounded by a fence. Unlike my father’s cemetery, this one wasn’t easily accessible once it closed. But the guard waved us through the gate without question.

  Crew drove through the dark road with familiar ease. He knew exactly where to park, opened my door, and led me straight to his mother’s headstone. It was cleaned off and weeded with a bouquet of fresh lilacs sitting against it. The idea that Crew took care of his mom so tenderly softens my heart.

  I’d almost forgiven the liar with the secrets and temper.

  Almost.

  Isabella Lilliana Evans. Wife. Mother. Sister. Friend.

  Crew’s mother.

  “She has a beautiful name, Crew.”

  He smiles without taking his eyes off her marker. It’s a sad smile, one I know too well. A smile that hides the void that never gets filled. A smile meant for everyone else. A smile that buries the heartache.

  “Everyone called her ‘Izzy’ for short,” he says. “Except my father. My father used to call her ‘Bella.’ Said she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen…or will ever see.” He smiles again and looks amazingly handsome.

  I hadn’t taken it in fully before, but Crew looks more grown up this year. His hair is still long, but it’s neater. He has a slight beard growing in that is probably still soft to the touch. He isn’t wearing his jogger pants and fleece but rather dark jeans and a nicer t-shirt. He’s dressed like it’s casual Friday. No matter what he wears, though, he’s still incredibly attractive. His heart, his concern, his empathy — they all penetrate everything he does, every word he says. It’s alluring. He’s alluring.

  “One look at you and no one would doubt her beauty,” I reply, causing him to hold my gaze a few extra long moments with those bright green eyes that drive right through to my soul.

  Long enough to speed up my heart.

  Long enough for me to remember that I’m supposed to be mad at him.

  I don’t want to be mad at him. He’s not a bad person.

  I glance around and notice the other headstones. Most of them are “Evans” or other names that eventually lead to “Evans.”

  Crew’s family is buried here.

  “That’s my grandmother,” he points back to a headstone behind his mother’s, taking my hand and walking me there.

  Lilliana Maria DeRozzi.

  “She used to make the most amazing lasagne. Fresh tomatoes, fresh herbs, fresh pasta. All handmade. Every Sunday we had those big family dinners. Everyone was loud and in each other’s business. So many people. It was some of the best times I’ve ever had.” Crew is so animated when he talks about his family, but his eyes betray his sadness. He’s struggling today. Probably even longer than today considering that he probably just had his heart broken by the bitch who was cheating on him.

  “Do you want to talk about it, Crew?”

  He furrows his brow and gently squeezes my hand.

  “Something is troubling you. I’ve never seen you this…unglued before. I heard your conversations. I know your girlfriend was sleeping with your brother.”

  Crew silently chuckles to himself and looks toward his mother’s headstone briefly.

  “I don’t give a shit about them, Summer,” he says, looking back toward me. “I’m here with you. That’s all that matters.” He brings his hands up to my face, preparing me for a kiss.

  “Are you still with him, Summer?” he asks.

  “With who, Crew?” I ask, feigning my knowledge to see what he’s deduced.

  “Xaden. I saw the pictures of you two on tour. Are you together?” Right. The media got those pictures only because Xaden leaked them and didn’t correct any embellishments of our relationship.

  “We were —”

  “Are you now?” he interrupts.

  I smile. “We were…together…for a little while, but it wasn’t serious.” He holds his breath for my next sentence. “But no…we’re not togeth —”

  He crushes his lips to mine before I can finish it.

  His kiss is passionate, almost beseeching. He’s kissing me like he needs to breathe. Pouring all of his angst into me, I can feel myself softening as his tongue softly licks and dances with mine. His gentle moan tells me that he’s been waiting a long time to feel good.

  I make him feel good.

  After a few long moments, he finally breaks our kiss and rests his forehead against mine.

  I keep my eyes closed and softly say, “I’m still mad at you, you know.”

  He chuckles to himself. “I know that, baby, but you being mad at me couldn’t stop me.”

  Baby.

  I’ve never been called “baby” before. I’m surprised by how much I like it.

  Sensing my apprehension, Crew picks up his head to look at me with his brilliant green eyes. He reads me, making sure I’m comfortable with what he’s just said. But I simply respond with a smile.

  Taking my hand, he leads me bac
k to his car.

  “Wait. Don’t you want to say goodbye to your mother?” I ask, wondering how he can just leave without notice.

  “I’m here often enough. Mom knows I have some things I need to give my attention to,” he smiles.

  Me.

  The feeling gives me butterflies everywhere in my body.

  We walk back to the car in silence, but I need him to explain some things before we get into the car. Because I don’t want to have sex with Dr. Jekyll only to realize he’s Mr. Hyde.

  “Can you please explain why you lied about where your mother was buried?” I ask while clenching my jaw somewhat, trying to set the stage for a calm, truthful discussion while calming my storming emotions.

  “I didn’t mean to lie, Summer,” he says contritely. “But I couldn’t tell you the truth. Not yet. I didn’t even know you.”

  “But you did know me,” I say, throwing his words back at him. I don’t want his apology. I want his truth.

  Crew stops and turns to face me, gently brushing his thumb across my knuckles. I can feel the sensation chime throughout my entire body, sending shivers up my spine. I’m not sure if I should be scared or excited.

  “You look pretty tonight,” he says, even though I’m wearing black Doc Marten 8-eye boots and jeans that are widely shredded in all the right places. My cold shoulder top lends a touch of flirty femininity. It’s a far cry from the pristine gowns I had to wear while performing Beethoven and Mozart.

  “Thank you,” I reply. “It’s snowing in New York, so I had to tuck my coat in my bag. I didn’t think it’d be this warm here in February.” I shrug one shoulder only to see Crew’s eyes light up.

  “What?” I ask.

  He smiles wider, obviously making some sort of connection in his brain. “Maybe you’ll get stuck here.” He winks.

  And he makes me laugh. “I can’t get stuck here. My mother is in New York. I have to get home to her.”

  He kisses the back of my hand in a chivalrous gesture. “One can only hope.”

  I feel my face burn with embarrassment. He’s such an enigma. Time to solve the puzzle.

  “Crew, I think we need to get some things straight between us,” I begin, wondering where the hell my courage was stored away.

  He lowers his head but looks up at me through hooded lashes. He’s got a lot on his agenda tonight. “I know. We do.”

  We start walking again while I mentally prioritize what I need to know. Why did he lie about his mother? What does he have to tell me? What happened with Sebastian? When did he get a girlfriend? Am I just a rebound for him? Why does it seem that he never wants to be a part of my life permanently? What am I supposed to do after I finish school in a few months?

  “I’ve known you almost my whole life, Summer,” he starts, taking me by surprise. He’s not looking at me, so I take the chance to scrutinize his profile for any clues of deceit. “I’ve wanted to be part of your life since I was 5 years old. Since you were this bouncing ball of sunshine with strawberry curls and dimples in her cheeks. You were the happiest person I’d ever seen,” he says, his eyes twinkling when he looks at me. He looks to the ground and back and me intermittently, his boyish charm washing over his face. He’s acting a little shy, with his chin down. I find it utterly adorable.

  “But then you stopped going to lessons, and I lost sight of you. Until high school.” He smiles. His pauses are as intriguing as ever, leaving me bereft until I hear this whole story. “In the fall of my sophomore year, I was standing under the oak tree in front of the school when I first saw you walking in. It took me a few minutes to figure out who I was staring at because this girl didn’t have bouncy girls and a skip in her step. She wasn’t wearing little sundresses with bows in her hair. She stood with a heaviness on her, like gravity was pushing down too hard for her tiny frame. Her hair was still pink but duller than I remember. And her eyes didn’t glimmer as they did when she was skipping to piano. Her clothes were dark and drab. She didn’t look like the Summer I saw all those years ago. She didn’t look like summer at all. More like late winter after it’s been snowing and the ground is frozen.” I chuckle at his joke. “But I knew she was you — she was an older you, weathered by experience, a teenager working through her angst.”

  I smile at Crew, remembering the fight I had with my mother picking out my school clothes. “I was starting in a public school for the first time after years of private tutors. I think I was just trying to fit in, partly rebelling against my parents for dressing me like a porcelain doll for my performances all those years.” I shrug my shoulders.

  He laughs. “It wasn’t working for you — the whole ‘misunderstood’ facade you’d created.” He gently nudges my shoulder, letting me know that he’s being sympathetic, not critical.

  Being with Crew feels familiar and easy, even though I’ve only known him for, like, four days. He’s comfortable to be around. It’s easy to have a conversation with him, and I’m glad he’s talking. I didn’t want to leave things unfinished, bail out, and take a car to the airport again.

  “I knew some things about you, about your life. I knew you were a prodigy. It didn’t surprise me. You were so pretty. I couldn’t take my eyes off you when I sat at that booth waiting for your lessons to start.” He winks at me. “But to know that you have such brilliant talent, traveling the world, playing in famous halls —” He shakes his head. “— you were way above any league I’d ever be in.” He squeezes my hand then raises it to kiss the back. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, in person, that is. But there you were.”

  I love that he kissed my hand right before he said that. It makes me feel like a real person, like he understands that I wasn’t just a freak show that people could ogle at their convenience. Because that’s how most of the kids in school treated me — like I was some sort of walking art on constant display. They didn’t know how to talk to me or interact with me because they couldn’t relate to me. They didn’t realize that I was also just another teenage girl trying to get through high school…who happened to be good at playing piano.

  “There I was,” I say to Crew.

  His smiles make my heart flutter every time.

  “It took me weeks to figure out how to approach you, how to be your friend. I had to push all my insecurities aside just to say ‘hello’ to you. I mean, I didn’t know how to talk to girls. And I didn’t see why you’d ever want to be my friend.” His eye lashes blink quickly, confessing his insecurity. “When I plucked up the nerve to approach you, I saw you sitting underneath that same oak tree. Your face was buried in a book, but with closer examination, I realized that you hadn’t turned the page in several minutes. Your eyes were fixed on the same spot. You weren’t reading the book. You were pretending to read it. Something was bothering you. You looked sad, like your puppy just died or something. I wanted so badly to know — what could have happened to make this girl — this girl who is so beautiful and sweet and bursting with talent — so damn sad?”

  Waiting for me to explain, I chime in. “I wasn’t very happy at school, Crew. The other kids…they treated me…differently.”

  “How so?” he asks with a kindness I haven’t experienced in a long time. He’s genuine and soft-spoken and really concerned about my answer.

  I squeeze his hand as he quietly waited for me to elaborate. “They never treated me like a nobody, another face in the crowd or another kid to ignore. They either tried to have conversations with me that were anything but ‘normal.’ Or they felt the need to knock me down a peg or two, when they were the ones who were putting me up on their imaginary pedestal. It was quite miserable.”

  “I know,” he says.

  “You know?”

  He nods his head. “I know you were miserable. Because on that day by the tree while I was summoning the courage to talk to you, I watched a kid walk up to you and tease you mercilessly. His name was Dillon Eames. He was a Junior, a conceited son of a bitch. I had known him since kindergarten. And I wanted to hurt him for
making fun of your clothes and your hair. He did it on a bet. I could see his friends laughing at a distance. But you didn’t give him the satisfaction; you didn’t even acknowledge him. Then when he walked away, I went over and threatened him in front of his friends. I told him that if he came near your again, I’d punch his lights out. I was always bigger than him. He was humiliated.”

  He nudges me again but only because I smile and laugh at his story. “I never saw you.”

  “I stayed hidden,” he replies. “But I saw the sadness on your face, and I noticed the tear trail down your cheek. Before I knew it, you got up and walked away. I didn’t see you again after that, and it killed me to not know what happened to you.”

  He leads me to where his car is parked, and for a moment, we stand next to the passenger door. “I was humiliated,” he continues. “I spent the rest of the school year having lunch in the music room with the piano. Mrs. Benoit, the music instructor, let me stay there. Then I bailed from public school that year. Went back to tutors. I couldn’t deal with it anymore.”

  Crew brushes the backs of his fingers down my cheek sending exciting tingles everywhere. It’s so soft and tender. It reminds me that I’ve forgotten how it feels to be really cared for.

  “I’m sorry, Summer,” he says searching my face. “I’m so sorry to cause you more pain,” he speaks achingly soft. Something tells me he’s not just talking about my pain.

  He has pain.

  “I’ve known you almost my whole life, Summer. I’ve wanted you my whole life.” He slides his hands down my arms and takes both my hands in his. “But I just couldn’t ever get to you.” He chuckles. “You seemed to elude me. Except….” He looks down to our hands and slithers his fingers in mine. “Except when your dad had the accident.” He stops moving and holds his breath. “I wanted to see you so badly,” he breathes out. “I wanted to be there for you. I cried for you. I was heartbroken for you.” He looks so deep into my soul with his emerald eyes that I feel cold.