You were right. It was all a ploy. I never wanted to be your friend. But now, I’m stuck in this dual relationship with you.
“Summer?”
That’s spoken aloud, a penetrating question of a man seeking support but scared to ask. The nudge of a metaphorical hand.
I swim to the edge, balancing on my arms.
Levi finally looks away from the ocean, and even his jaw loosens a nerve or two. “You know I’d do anything to protect you, right?”
Sensing this is a conversation needed to be experienced on equal ground—literally—I hoist myself out of the pool and settle beside him. Levi tugs a towel off from the lounge chairs behind us to wrap over my shoulders. His finger lingers along my collarbone before dropping his head to my shoulder.
“This is the last thing I should be saying.” His accompanied sigh is that of a man with too much to lose.
This is about Hunter.
Or the picture.
Either way, I don’t think I want to know any longer.
“Hey.” I tilt my head into his until we’re embracing. “Tell me.” Driven by the alcohol, I rest my hand on his knee, moving it up and down his thigh, getting too close to edging out of friendship territory. “I know you’ll protect me, because you’ve proved it more times than fair. What is it?”
He blows out a long breath, getting heavier on my shoulder. “Normally, you would have been the one contacted, but I didn’t want you getting stressed out should the worst happened. Which it did. The prison called me early this morning.”
My stomach drops.
No. No, no, no, no. Don’t say it.
“Your dad broke out of prison and…I believe he’s here. On the resort.”
Everything crashes.
My happiness.
My relaxed state.
My healing.
Gone. All stolen by a handful of words.
“Summer.”
I jerk away from him, feet scrambling on the cement to stand, run, and hide. In my rush, I knock over an empty cup, but it’s the last thing that matters, because my father is free.
Dad isfree.
And close by.
Those missed calls.
The picture.
The picture I so desperately hoped was part of his Hunter game.
It takes repeating Levi’s words before the danger registers. This isn’t like any other time. Now, Dad will be pissed. I contributed to sending him to jail. The accounts of the events came from me. He’ll place the blame on me, and this won’t be like dropping his beer bottle or burning supper or one of the numerous other excuses in his arsenal.
It’ll be worse.
He’ll kill me.