Page 208 of The Storm

I glance at Adrian with raised brows.

“Tough love,” he says. “If you annoy him some more he might even swear.”

I press my lips together and look away, and there’s that fucking lump in my throat again. “I’m just so freaking dumb,” I say. And when those words are out and past the lump, the rest follow like they’ve broken through a dam. It all comes out. The whole story. Every sordid detail and every moment of heartbreak. The whole damn mess. From the moment I first laid eyes on Nicholas Hayes in that boat shed all these years ago.

The way he hated me.

The way he loved me.

And the way he left me.

I tell them about the plans we made and how nobody really knew about us but they were going to sooner or later because we were going to be so ridiculously happy.

I tell them about falling in love with him.

About being giddy with love and filled with adoration. I tell them about the butterflies and fireworks and how it was all because of him. Because I was in love with a funny, smart, gorgeous guy.

And then I tell them about Dia. And finding out that all those years, my parents had been lying. I wasn’t their son, and they knew and didn’t tell me.

I tell them about how I lied.

About how scared I was, and how I didn’t know what to do, and how I lied.

How angry he was when my dad told him the truth.

How he still stepped up for Dia.

How he left.

And how I tried to forget him.

How I tried so hard.

And failed again and again.

And now I’m here.

And I’m still not over him and never will be over him, and I’m a fucking mess. And so freaking dumb.

And then I sit on their couch with my head in my hands.

Arms come around me from both sides, and I suddenly find myself engulfed in a tight hug.

“Um, Dylan?” I say. “Your boyfriend is hugging me.”

“What do you expect me to do after you unload all of that?” Adrian asks. “Have you ever told anybody about any of this?”

I shake my head.

“Not even your sister?” Dylan asks.

I look down, plucking at the edge of the couch cushion. “I was trying to forget. Ineededto forget. Talking doesn’t help with that.”

“Did it work?” Adrian asks. He sounds very much like he already knows the answer, so I don’t bother with a reply.

“And now you’re—you’ve reconnected?” Dylan asks diplomatically.

I let out a bitter laugh. “Sure.” I rub my face tiredly. “Reconnected. It’s the worst.”