Seven years on and Emerson is still living on the beautiful Pacific West island of Bainbridge, helping her family run their outdoor adventure company. The last thing she needs is Jake turning up, bringing with him old memories and opening up old wounds. But Jake—even better looking than Emerson remembered and on the cusp of a bright sporting future—seems determined to revive their friendship no matter how much Emerson tries to push him away and soon they’re in the midst of a passionate summer romance that neither of them wants to end.
But if they’re to have any kind of future, they’re first going to need to confront the past, a past that most people want to stay buried.
I stop laughing and scowl at him instead. ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask. I don’t want him here. This is my place. My tree house. He abandoned it. He can’t just walk back in and act like it belongs to him. It doesn’t. Not any more.
‘I was just out for a run and - ’
‘And what? There’s a whole island to run around McCallister, you had to come here?’
He cocks his head at me and raises an eyebrow. A tremor of a smirk flickers at the corner of his mouth, and I know it’s because I called him McCallister—something I only ever do when I’m pissed at him. Jake always found my temper hilarious.
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I didn’t realize it was private property. Never used to be.’
He has me there. I grind my teeth and take a deep breath. I could turn around and walk away but that would mean surrendering the tree house. What are you Emerson, a fifth grader? This is not the Walsh Wars all over again.
As I stand there trying to figure out whether I’m staying or going, Jake starts climbing down the tree. I think about warning him that there’s a rusty nail on the third rung from the bottom but I don’t. If he cuts himself it would be karmic retribution.
I watch him descend, moving fast and fearlessly like always. My legs feel suddenly elastic, my stomach jittery. When did he get so... tall?
He jumps the last three rungs and then turns to face me. All the air leaves my lungs at once like someone stamping on a set of bellows.
Jake stands opposite me, studying me with a serious expression on his face. Sweat is sticking his T-shirt to him in places and though I try very hard not to, I can’t help but notice the outline of his chest and shoulders. He’s ripped. I know he’s a pro-skater, that he’s already signed to the Detroit Red Wings, but hell, how did he get that built? He must be in the gym or on the ice ten hours a day. To say that Jake is imposing is an understatement. I drag my eyes off his chest and back to his face but it’s somehow even harder to look him in the eye.
I fix on the scar on his chin instead, and on the day’s worth of beard. Neither of us has said anything for a while. I’m not about to go first though.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jake finally says, his voice soft.
I blink. That wasn’t what I expected to hear. At all. I narrow my eyes at him. Sorry for what though?
Jake shakes his head and looks down at the ground before looking up at me through his lashes. Goddamn it. Why does he have to look at me like that? I steel myself against him. ‘You’re sorry?’ I say. My voice sounds robotic, cold as ice. I don’t feel flustered anymore, just angry—it flushes through my veins like anti-freeze.
A muscle in Jake’s jaw pulses. He doesn’t speak. He knows me too well. This was always his play. Let me burn off my anger, then say something funny when he knew it was safe enough for me to be defused. And it would always work. Except for this time. ‘You don’t get to waltz back into my life, say sorry, and expect things to go back to the way they were.’
He stays silent, staring at me with those deep brown Bambi eyes of his and I think I see something buried in them, something like sorrow but it’s probably just pity and it needles the heck out of me.
‘Things aren’t the way they were Jake. Things have changed.’ I think about my dad and swallow away the lump that’s materialized in my throat. ‘They’re different now.’
I’m different now, I want to add. I’m no longer the extrovert with the big mouth that he used to know, no longer the star skater for the Bainbridge Eagles, no longer the kid who used to dare him to do crazy stunts like swim across the bay in winter without a wet suit only so he would double dare me back. I’m not me anymore. I’m someone else, someone I barely recognize.
‘I just want to be friends Em,’ he says. There’s hurt and pain but also a note of hope in his voice and I can’t bear to hear it so I turn my back and start walking away.
‘You don’t get to be my friend anymore Jake,’ I shout over my shoulder. ‘And you don’t get the tree house either!’
There’s a pause. ‘How about we divide it in half?’ he yells after me.
I can hear the laughter in his voice. He’s trying to make a joke, trying to make me laugh. Trying to defuse me. And a little voice in my head tells me to let him. To laugh.
But it’s like telling a rock to speak. I can’t. It’s been so long since I laughed that I’ve forgotten how. And why should I laugh? Why the hell does he think he can turn up and act like nothing happened?
‘OK then,’ Jake calls when I’m almost out of sight. ‘I’m down with that. You can keep the tree house. I won’t come back again.’
It’s as if he’s thrown a stone at my back. I almost stumble but I don’t. I keep on walking.
‘I was just out for a run and - ’
‘And what? There’s a whole island to run around McCallister, you had to come here?’
He cocks his head at me and raises an eyebrow. A tremor of a smirk flickers at the corner of his mouth, and I know it’s because I called him McCallister—something I only ever do when I’m pissed at him. Jake always found my temper hilarious.
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I didn’t realize it was private property. Never used to be.’
He has me there. I grind my teeth and take a deep breath. I could turn around and walk away but that would mean surrendering the tree house. What are you Emerson, a fifth grader? This is not the Walsh Wars all over again.
As I stand there trying to figure out whether I’m staying or going, Jake starts climbing down the tree. I think about warning him that there’s a rusty nail on the third rung from the bottom but I don’t. If he cuts himself it would be karmic retribution.
I watch him descend, moving fast and fearlessly like always. My legs feel suddenly elastic, my stomach jittery. When did he get so... tall?
He jumps the last three rungs and then turns to face me. All the air leaves my lungs at once like someone stamping on a set of bellows.
Jake stands opposite me, studying me with a serious expression on his face. Sweat is sticking his T-shirt to him in places and though I try very hard not to, I can’t help but notice the outline of his chest and shoulders. He’s ripped. I know he’s a pro-skater, that he’s already signed to the Detroit Red Wings, but hell, how did he get that built? He must be in the gym or on the ice ten hours a day. To say that Jake is imposing is an understatement. I drag my eyes off his chest and back to his face but it’s somehow even harder to look him in the eye.
I fix on the scar on his chin instead, and on the day’s worth of beard. Neither of us has said anything for a while. I’m not about to go first though.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jake finally says, his voice soft.
I blink. That wasn’t what I expected to hear. At all. I narrow my eyes at him. Sorry for what though?
Jake shakes his head and looks down at the ground before looking up at me through his lashes. Goddamn it. Why does he have to look at me like that? I steel myself against him. ‘You’re sorry?’ I say. My voice sounds robotic, cold as ice. I don’t feel flustered anymore, just angry—it flushes through my veins like anti-freeze.
A muscle in Jake’s jaw pulses. He doesn’t speak. He knows me too well. This was always his play. Let me burn off my anger, then say something funny when he knew it was safe enough for me to be defused. And it would always work. Except for this time. ‘You don’t get to waltz back into my life, say sorry, and expect things to go back to the way they were.’
He stays silent, staring at me with those deep brown Bambi eyes of his and I think I see something buried in them, something like sorrow but it’s probably just pity and it needles the heck out of me.
‘Things aren’t the way they were Jake. Things have changed.’ I think about my dad and swallow away the lump that’s materialized in my throat. ‘They’re different now.’
I’m different now, I want to add. I’m no longer the extrovert with the big mouth that he used to know, no longer the star skater for the Bainbridge Eagles, no longer the kid who used to dare him to do crazy stunts like swim across the bay in winter without a wet suit only so he would double dare me back. I’m not me anymore. I’m someone else, someone I barely recognize.
‘I just want to be friends Em,’ he says. There’s hurt and pain but also a note of hope in his voice and I can’t bear to hear it so I turn my back and start walking away.
‘You don’t get to be my friend anymore Jake,’ I shout over my shoulder. ‘And you don’t get the tree house either!’
There’s a pause. ‘How about we divide it in half?’ he yells after me.
I can hear the laughter in his voice. He’s trying to make a joke, trying to make me laugh. Trying to defuse me. And a little voice in my head tells me to let him. To laugh.
But it’s like telling a rock to speak. I can’t. It’s been so long since I laughed that I’ve forgotten how. And why should I laugh? Why the hell does he think he can turn up and act like nothing happened?
‘OK then,’ Jake calls when I’m almost out of sight. ‘I’m down with that. You can keep the tree house. I won’t come back again.’
It’s as if he’s thrown a stone at my back. I almost stumble but I don’t. I keep on walking.
Originally from London she has lived in Bali for the last four years with her husband and daughter.
As well as writing young adult fiction under the name Sarah Alderson and adult fiction under the name Mila Gray, she also writes screenplays.
Up for grabs:
♥ All three of Mila Gray's books, signed
♥ 3x signed copies of Run Away With Me
(Open Internationally)
Looks very interesting.
ReplyDeleteWhat an intriguing synopsis! "Run Away With Me" looks gorgeous; thanks for letting me know about it. :)
ReplyDelete--Ann