Page 115 of Pull Me Under

‘About last night⁠—’

‘Jude.’ She sets down her fork. ‘I’m not going to apologise for asking.’

‘I wasn’t asking you to.’

‘Good.’ She picks up her coffee, wraps both hands around the mug. ‘Because it was a fair question. And I notice you still haven’t answered it.’

The directness catches me off guard. But that’s Brynn – she doesn’t circle around things. Goes straight for the jugular.

‘I’m going to tell him,’ I say. ‘I just need to find the right moment.’

‘The right moment.’ She repeats it back to me, flat. ‘And when will that be?’

‘I don’t know. Soon. When he’s⁠—’

‘What? In a good mood? When is Reuben Harding ever in a good mood?’

She’s not wrong. But she’s not right either. It’s more complicated than that – or maybe it’s simpler, and I’m the one making it complicated.

‘I know it’s hard to understand⁠—’

‘It’s not hard to understand.’ She looks at me, and her guard drops. Just for a second, enough to see the hurt underneath. ‘I understand perfectly. Your father hates my family. Has hated us for decades. And you’re scared that if you tell him about us, he’ll hate you too.’

‘Brynn—’

‘I get it, Jude. I do.’ She reaches across the table, takes my hand. Her fingers are cold, still grease-stained. ‘I know what it’s like to want a parent’s approval so badly you’d do anything to keep it. I spent my whole childhood trying to be enough for my father. Trying to make him see me.’

‘Did it work?’

‘No.’ A sad smile. ‘It never does, does it? You can’t earn love from someone who doesn’t know how to give it.’

The words land somewhere deep. Somewhere I don’t let people see.

‘I’m not like him,’ I say. ‘I’m not going to let this – us – be another casualty of his grudges.’

‘Aren’t you?’ She pulls her hand back. Not angry, just … careful. ‘Because right now, from where I’m sitting, it feels like his hatred is winning. We sneak around. We hide. We pretend we’re nothing to each other when anyone else is watching.’

‘That’s not⁠—’

‘I’m not an embarrassment, Jude.’ Her voice is quiet, but there’s steel underneath. ‘I’ve spent my whole life being treated like one. The Trelawney girl. The family that left. The people who weren’t welcome. I refuse to be someone’s dirty secret. Not again. Not even for you.’

‘You’re not a secret. You’re⁠—’

‘Then what am I?’ She meets my eyes. ‘What am I, if not a secret you’re hiding?’

I don’t have an answer. Not one that would satisfy her. Not one that satisfies me.

‘I’m going to tell him,’ I say again. ‘I promise. I just need a little more time.’

She’s quiet for a long moment. Studying me. Weighing the truth of me.

‘My grandfather used to talk about your family,’ she says finally. ‘About how the Hardings were good people, once. Before everything went wrong. He never told me what happened – what really happened – but I could see it in his face. The loss of it. The betrayal.’

‘Brynn—’

‘I came back with nothing but some paperwork and a front door key for a cottage, expecting to hate the Hardings.’ She stands, carries her plate to the sink. ‘All of you. The family that drove us out. That made my grandfather die in exile, missing the only home he ever loved.’ She turns, leans against the counter. ‘And instead I found you. And you made me think maybe the feud didn’t have to define us. Maybe we could be different.’

‘We can be⁠—’