Page 91 of People Like Us

August let out a slow breath through his nose, like he’d thought about this far too much already. “Because he doesn’t care if they’re perfect.”

August’s cheeks flushed deeper as he continued quietly, “He just pushes his mouth against yours. Uneven. Quick. Possessive.” His jaw tightened slightly. “He never takes his time with you.”

The words landed somewhere frighteningly intimate.

“It drives me mad,” he admitted softly.

“Then how should he kiss me?” I whispered.

August stared at me for one long aching second before leaning forward again. His lips barely brushed mine when he answered. “He shouldn’t.”

Then he kissed me deeply, his body going flush with mine beneath the comforter. We stayed like that for a long time, tangled in each other. In love. Safe. Belonging only to each other.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Before the churchyard had fully emptied, I caught Andy’s sleeve between my fingers. He’d been laughing politely at something Pastor Spires had said, the kind of practiced laugh everyone in Woodland learned young, the one that never reached the eyes. When I tugged lightly, he looked down at my hand first, then at my face. His smile faltered so quickly it almost hurt to watch.

“Can we talk?” I asked softly.

Our parents stood in a loose circle beneath the church steps, all Sunday clothes and pleasant smiles, my stepmother’s gloved hands fluttering through conversation while my father nodded along beside her. The cold air still carried the smell of wet earth from last night’s rain, mingled with that haunting musky scent of the old paint chipped boards holding Holy Trinity Baptist together. Somewhere beyond the crop-barren fields, crows called to one another through the forest of shedding pines.

Andy looked toward our parents before nodding once. “Yeah.” There wasn’t any fight in the word.

I led him away from the congregation, my brown dress brushing against the brittle winter grass. I’d thrown it on that morning without thinking, hardly bothering with makeup after Morgan had dropped me off at my trailer. My hair hung loose down my back, still smelling faintly of August’s cedar shampoo from the night before. The breeze caught the ends of it and swept it across my face as we walked.

We stopped beneath the old magnolia tree at the edge of the churchyard. “Andy…” I began softly.

His jaw flexed so hard I could see the muscle jump beneath his skin, making me pause. I swallowed tightly, searching his pale blue eyes for any softness he might have left for me.

He gave me a look that was somehow both pleading and impatient. “Are we really gonna do this here?” he asked dryly.

My stomach dipped. “Do what?”

He rolled his eyes toward heaven, as though asking God for more patience than he’d been born with.

“You’re breaking up with me, right?” His voice cracked around the words before he forced it steady again. “I figured you’d at least wait until graduation.”

He wouldn’t look at me. Instead his attention stayed fixed on our parents across the lawn, watching them laugh together like the world hadn’t already started splitting open beneath our feet.

“How did you know?” I asked softly through pinched brows.

His eyes finally found mine, though only for a second before he said, “Because I know you.”

My throat went dry, and it hurt to swallow. Andy did know me. And I knew him. Better than I knew Emily or Lindsey, or even my own parents. I knew where all his boundaries were, what jokes he would tell before he even got the chance to make them, and I knew when he didn’t have the energy to argue. He would get this look on his face like a child awoken abruptly from a nap, angry and tired all at once. An expression that was often reserved for after a particularly bad fight with his father. But Andy wore it now, looking at anything but me underneath the magnolia tree where we’d had our first kiss.

“I used to think…” He laughed quietly. “Hell, I used to think I knew you better than anybody. Thought I always would, even if you barely let me in.” His fingers curled into fists at his sides. “I know when you’re sad. I know when you’re angry. I know when you’re pretending everything’s okay.” His voice softened until it almost disappeared beneath the wind. “And I know when you’re in love.”

My eyes burned. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. “I’m sorry.” The words felt small and pathetic from my mouth.

A tear escaped before he could stop it, slipping down one flushed cheek. He scrubbed it away roughly, embarrassed by it, but his shoulders had already gone rigid.

His whole body looked like it hurt to stand upright.

“Have you slept with him?” his voice came out raspy and broken.

I shook my head immediately.

“Of course not.” The lie—or maybe only half a lie—caught somewhere in my throat.