Chapter 2

Dean’s POV

Twenty minutes later, we're sitting at dinner.

It's pure torture.

Marie is across from me, talking to everyone except me.

Dad is telling Diane about the garage, Diane is laughing at something I've heard at least six times, and Marie is picking the raw onions out of her salad and pushing them to the edge of her plate.

She still hates raw onions.

I almost smile.

Of course she does.

"So Dean basically runs the place now," Dad says, somewhere in the middle of explaining the clubhouse to Diane. "Him and Tristan and Luke. I mostly just show up and annoy them."

"You do more than annoy us," I say.

Dad points his fork at me. "See? That's the kind of respect I get in my own house."

Diane laughs. "You love it."

"I tolerate it because I'm a generous man."

Marie smiles down at her plate.

She's been doing that since we sat down. Laughing when she's supposed to. Answering questions. Looking perfectly comfortable as long as she doesn't have to look at me.

I'm having the opposite problem.

Her hair is longer now. There's a silver ring on her right hand that she keeps turning around her finger. That's new.

The way she scrunches her nose when she's trying not to laugh isn't.

Neither is the way she pushes food she doesn't like around her plate like nobody will notice.

I notice.

I always fucking notice.

"Marie, you'll have to come by sometime," Dad says. "See the clubhouse properly."

She looks up. 

"It's changed a lot since you were last here. Dean and the boys have done a hell of a job with it."

"The boys," Diane repeats, amused.

"They'll be fifty and I'll still call them that."

Marie laughs.

Her eyes flick to mine.

Just for a second.

And I'm twelve again.

***

2012

Building the ramp was Marie's idea. Neither of us owned a skateboard. 

Apparently, that was a problem for later.

"Hold it straight."

"I am holding it straight."

"No, you're not."

"Then you hold it."

"I can't hammer and hold it."

"Sounds like poor planning."

She glared at me. "You're annoying."

"And yet you asked me to help."

Three hours later, we stood in front of something that looked more likely to kill a person than launch a skateboard.

Marie put her hands on her hips. "I think it's crooked."

"It's definitely crooked."

"You did that side."

"You drew the plans."

"I drew a triangle."

"Exactly."

She stared at me, then started laughing.

Not the little polite laugh she used around adults. The real one. Head down, shoulders shaking, grease smeared across one cheek.

I stared.

She caught me.

"You're staring, Harrison."

"You have grease on your face."

Her hand went to the wrong cheek.

"The other one."

She wiped at it and somehow made it worse.

I laughed. "Jesus, Ree."

"Oh, shut up."

She shoved me.

I shoved her back.

She came at me again, and I caught her wrists.

The laughing stopped.

Marie looked down at my hands.

Then back at me.

Something changed.

"Marie!"

I let go.

Tristan came jogging up the driveway with a basketball under his arm.

Marie turned toward him.

"Finally. We need someone to test it."

He stopped beside us and stared at the ramp. "With what?"

Marie and I looked at each other.

Tristan shook his head. "You two are idiots."

She laughed and stole the basketball from him.

Whatever had just happened between us disappeared.

But for the rest of the afternoon, every time Tristan made her laugh, I noticed.

***

Present time

"Dean."

I look up.

Dad is watching me.

"What?"

"I said Tristan's coming by."

My eyes move to Marie before I can stop them. Hers are already on Dad.

"Tristan?"

It's the first time all night I've heard something genuinely excited in her voice.

Dad nods. "Told him to swing by for dessert. Luke might come too if he ever answers his damn phone."

"When did you invite them?" Diane asks.

"Earlier. Figured Marie might want to see some familiar faces."

"That's sweet," Diane says, reaching over to squeeze his arm.

Marie smiles. "Yeah. It is."

I look back at my plate.

Of course Tristan is coming.

Because apparently the universe has a sense of humor, and it hasn't gotten any better in ten years.

The doorbell rings a few minutes later. Dad starts to get up.

"I'll get it," Marie says.

She's already out of her chair. I watch her disappear into the hallway. A second later, I hear the front door open.

"Marie Cruz. Holy shit!"

Her laugh comes back immediately.

Real this time.

"Tristan."

"Come here!"

I can see them from where I'm sitting.

Tristan pulls her into a hug, and Marie goes without hesitation, wrapping both arms around him.

I haven't touched her in ten years.

He's been in the house for five seconds.

My jaw ticks. Tristan's hand rests right at the small of her back. 

As if she can feel the heat of my gaze burning into her skin, Marie’s eyes snap over Tristan’s shoulder.

They lock straight onto mine.

Good girl, I think, holding her stare until her cheeks flush. 

Look at me.