“You can ask.”
“Fraser actually told me what happened,” she admits. “You got injured trying to pull a machine off Alec’s dad, right?”
I should probably be annoyed that Fraser gossiped, but I’m mostly just relieved I don’t have to retell the story. “Aye.”
She looks down. I’m just in my boxers, and her eyes travel over my scarred thigh.
I force myself to not cover up. “It’s ugly.”
She looks affronted. “No, it’s not!”
I snort. “You don’t have to lie to me, princess.” A girl like her knows a lot about pretty.
“I’m not lying.” She runs her hand up my leg. “You have humungous muscly tree-trunk thighs with an impressive scar on one. Nothing ugly about that.”
I grit my teeth. “Stop it.”
“What?”
“Flirting with me.”
She gives me a sparkly look and curls up against me. “I heard you arguing with Alec.”
“Aye, well, he’s being a twat,” I mutter. “He blames himself for the accident. He wasn’t eventhere. I’m the one who ran out to help his dad, but he acts like it’s his fault.”
She turns solemn. “It hurts you.”
“Aye. I’ve moved on with my life, and he refuses to.”
“It hurts Fraser too,” she says sadly. “He’s getting so tired of having to smooth everything over whenever you argue.”
Shit. She’s right. “I have to leave,” I say flatly. “I can’t be around Alec anymore.” He doesn’t treat me like a friend. He treats me like a tragedy.
Summer looks troubled, fiddling with her nails. I catch her wrist, examining them. The paint has peeled from farm work, and all the jewels have fallen off. “Why don’t you put more on?”
“Oh, they’re gel. I may be an overpacker, but I don’t actually pack a UV curing light in case I need a manicure.”
I just stare at her. “You what?”
She snuggles into my side. “You should be proud of me, Cameron. I’m a country girl now. I like rolling around in the grass and swimming in lochs and stuff. I no longer care for silly things like my nails and clothes.”
I frown. Did I make her feel like that? “Nothing wrong with your nails,” I mutter. “It’s just your shoes I hate.” I damn near had a heart attack when she tripped the first time I met her.
She laughs. “Yes, I know. The Chanel pumps especially weren’t very practical. But they were my favourite. The first designer thing I ever owned.” She yawns. “Mum hated them too. When I first showed them to her, she said I looked like a clown. Which is probably true. But they made me happy.”
I glance down at the faint scar shimmering up her forearm. Summer doesn’t talk much about her mum. What I have heard doesn’t sound promising. “Have you spoken to her since you stopped posting?”
Summer shakes her head. “We don’t really talk a ton. She’s always so busy.”
A bad feeling swells in my stomach. “Any other family?”
“Nope, I was an oops baby.”
“Youknowthat?”
“She’d joke about it all the time. She’s even spoken about it in interviews. I was the unfortunate side effect of a drunken mistake.” She yawns again. “She still looked after me all byherself though. And while working, like, twenty-hour days. She’s like Superwoman.”
Hmm. Summer yawns again, this time so widely it must hurt her jaw.
