Page 77 of June First
Wendy pulls her lip between her teeth, worrying it, thinking about her next words. Her head shakes back and forth, just slightly, another piece of hair falling loose. “I promise that’s not what this is about, Brant,” she says, and there’s earnestness laced into her tone. Blunt honesty that cuts me deep. “I’m telling you this because I’m worried. If I noticed it, then someone else will, too.” I’m about to counter her claim again, but she cuts me off. “Your sister, huh?”
My lips part, but nothing comes out. I just frown, waiting for what she’ll say next.
“That’s interesting,” she continues, glancing down at the pavement, twisting the toe of her stiletto into a crack. “You never call her your sister. You’ve always hated that word. Until right now.”
Traffic rumbles from the highway behind us, and a sharp breeze blows through, kissing my skin. It feels colder than it really is on this muggy August night. “It’s not like that.”
“She’s gorgeous, Brant. She’s stunning and loyal, and she absolutely adores you.”
“Stop it.”
“This isn’t coming from a place of resentment,” Wendy tells me, reaching for my hand and giving it a squeeze. I glance down at the contact, but don’t pull back. I’m numb. “This is coming from a place of love. I love you, Brant, and I always will. And I’d hate to see you crash and burn.”
My eyes trail up to hers, slow and lazy, my defensiveness dwindling to defeat. “June and I are close. Closer than most. We always have been,” I explain, hating that I have to explain it at all. This is madness. “Nothing is going on between us.”
Wendy squeezes my hand one more time, the smallest of smiles hinting on her face, then lets me go. “Good,” she whispers. She steps away, another prickly draft carrying her final words over to me. “I hope for both of your sakes you keep it that way.”
I’m not sure why she comes to me.
Tonight, of all goddamn nights, when I’m lying here, restless and tormented, replaying Wendy’s words over and over again inside my mind.
She comes to me.
“Brant?”
I lift up on my elbows, squinting my eyes through the dark, dragging my gaze over her outline. She’s standing right at the edge of my bed, dressed in what looks to be a tank top and shorts. “June,” I murmur, already suffocating on her scent. Already twisted up inside because Wendy put dirty, untrue claims into my head and now I can’t shake them. “What are you doing in here?”
“I had a nightmare.” She fidgets beside me, waiting for an invitation she won’t receive. “Can I lie with you?” she asks softly.
“No. You should go back to sleep.” I shut her down quickly, probably more harshly than she deserves, and flop back down to the bed, rolling away from her.
The mattress shifts.
A subdued sigh leaves me, and I close my eyes for a moment before twisting back around to find June sitting next to me, her eyes glistening in the dark. “You’re still here.”
“Why do I feel like you’re angry with me?”
“I’m not, I just…” Grumbling with a tinge of frustration, I pull myself up until my back is flush with the headboard. “I’m not angry with you. I’m just tired, and you shouldn’t be in here.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s late, you’re seventeen years old, and you’re hardly dressed.”
Moonlight leaks in through the window, partially illuminating her white tank, her cleavage spilling out the top.
She bites at her lip. “I’m wearing what I always wear to bed.”
“You can wear whatever you want,” I say, my tone clipped. “In your own bed.”
Silence settles in.
June glances away, her dark hair curtaining her profile as her chin dips to her chest. “What did I do?”
Guilt blankets me, and I sit up straighter. I gaze at her for a moment, reeling in my strange emotions, sorting through my addled thoughts. Rubbing both hands up and down my face, I finally lean forward and reach for her, curling my fingers around her wrist. “Hey. I’m sorry,” I say, watching as her head slowly lifts, her eyes finding me through the dark. For a blinding, beautiful second, I see her as she is—my beautiful Junebug, the girl who makes me homemade scones, who lies with me and dreams with me, who protects my heart at all costs. Nothing has changed.
Nothing has changed.
I trace the underside of her wrist with my thumb, inching closer. “You didn’t do anything. I just…I had a bad day. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”