Page 37 of The Art of Drowning

But not enough to stop myself from gravitating toward Callum like he was the sun pulling me in. I was powerless to stop myself. Honestly, I was tired of trying. Tired of not looking at him. Of not noticing him on purpose. I’d told myself that the interruption back at Christmas had been a sign that this was a bad idea. No good would come of this. But Callum’s hazel eyes burned into me. The memory of his mouth taunted me, and I stepped closer.

He dropped his arms as the last of his defenses faded.

“Sam will never be okay with this.” Callum said, like he was trying to defuse the situation, but it was like throwing a bucket of water on a wildfire.

I wanted him too much to stop. Too much to say no. Unless he said it first. Unless he asked me to stop or to go away. I was going to kiss him again.

“Sam doesn’t have to know,” I offered, now just inches from Callum. We were so close I could feel the heat radiate off his skin and sense the way his body trembled. Anticipation? Fear? Excitement? All of the above?

Those five words were a comfortable lie. If this happened, if it happened once and then again, and again, and again, Sam would eventually find out. But I was desperate to feel that connection again. I needed to know if it was something I’d imagined, something I’d dreamed up. Or if the frisson of excitement that zapped through me had been real. Kissing Callum was the best thing I’d ever felt. Callum in my arms. Callum against my body. I’d die to feel that way again.

He didn’t make me wait for death.

He barely made me wait for another breath, another heartbeat, before the space between us disappeared. He threw his arms around my neck and pulled me down to him. I’d grown taller than him, only a little, but I liked how it felt to have him pressed against me. Slightly shorter. A little smaller. But wiry and strong.

The kiss was explosive. A bomb went off in my chest and obliterated any misconception that I’d imagined the way I’d felt back at Christmas when we kissed or over the summer when I was still figuring out what those new feelings churning around inside me were. It was painfully obvious now that I had a real problem.

I was deeply, deeply, deeply hooked on Callum Weeks.

And if his brother ever found out, he’d kill us both.

But even that couldn’t make me stop. Not now. Not yet. Not when I finally felt seen for the first time in months. Maybe for the first time in my whole life.

People at school knew me as Sam’s friend. The loyal sidekick. Here, I was Sam’s friend—the emotional charity case his parents welcomed into their home. But to Callum, I was Damien, who couldn’t swim until he taught me. I was Damien, who loved to watch The Muppet Christmas Carol and drink hot chocolate. I was Damien, and I was crazy about him and he kissed me like he just might be crazy about me too.

NINETEEN

callum

NOW

“What do you think is in the envelopes?” I asked, my eyes closed. I was back in bed with Damien, tucked in against his side. We’d fooled around in the shower, because of course we did. We were like two horny teenagers again, screwing around in secret, completely delusional about the potential consequences of our actions.

“We could open them and find out.” Damien suggested the logical approach.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to hear what he had to say. Knowing what I know now.”

“You don’t have to open it now. Or ever if you don’t want to.”

“Did you want to open yours?”

He scoffed. “Honestly, yes and no. Mostly no. I get that we hurt him, but I feel like he took it too far. Part of me wants to understand why he went through all the trouble to lie and pretend that I was still his friend when he hadn’t said a word to me since that day. Another part of me is just sad that I let him dictate the direction of my life.”

“Tell me more about your life,” I said, letting my eyes fall shut. I was so fucking tired. The events of the past few days had sucked the life out of me. Being near Damien again was both amazing and terrible. We weren’t the same people we were in high school. We had different lives now. Different responsibilities. But our souls were the same. They still knew each other and the feeling I got when I looked at him wasn’t any different.

Damien still made my stomach swoop when we kissed. My breath still caught when I looked at him. Even after all this time, I still wanted him. Still loved him. I’d never stopped.

I’d tried. Sometimes I convinced myself that I succeeded. That Damien was a teenage infatuation, and that we didn’t actually know each other well enough to declare that we were in love. But the lie was ash on my tongue because Damien knew me the best out of anyone. Even after years apart, even though he knew little about how my life was now, I still felt like he knew me in a way that no one else did. He knew the hopeful teenager that I’d been. He knew the shape of my happiness because he’d shared it with me.

And now, in the dim light of his hotel room, he knew me still. He knew that once upon a time, I’d loved my brother, but he also understood that I was pissed at him. I’d been angry at Sam for a long time and now that anger had nowhere to go. Damien didn’t push me to open the envelope. And he wouldn’t. Just like he’d never hold my anger toward Sam against me. Damien was safe. He’d always been safe.

“There’s not a lot to tell.”

“Okay, that’s a lie. Tell me what happened after.” I didn’t have to elaborate what after meant. After Sam found out. After he thoroughly and completely tore us apart. Sam’s rage had been a nuclear bomb. We’d betrayed him. Lied to him. Snuck around behind his back. We were terrible people. How could we do this to him? We ruined everything.

“Well, after that day, I stayed away from your house. Which meant being at home a lot, which fucking sucked. But I got into an out-of-state school and my parents, all too eager to get rid of me, funded my move. They made sure I wouldn’t end up on the streets because it would make them look bad. I haven’t seen them in years. We don’t talk anymore.”

“I’m sorry, but your parents are the fucking worst.”