Chapter 125
Summer's POV
The last class on Valentine's Day afternoon felt like it would never end. I sat at my desk in Ms. Peterson's English class, staring blankly at the whiteboard where she was discussing Elizabeth Bennet's rejection of Mr. Darcy's first proposal. Around me, the room buzzed with barely suppressed energy—girls whispering about flowers they'd received during lunch, boys checking their phones to confirm dinner reservations.
Caroline Morgan kept twisting her wrist to make her new Cartier love bracelet catch the light, leaning over to show Zoe every few minutes. Brooke Martinez had spent the entire period on her phone under her desk, posting Instagram stories of the giant teddy bear and balloon arrangement her boyfriend had delivered to her locker.
I pulled at the hem of my Zimmermann dress, suddenly self-conscious. Mom had insisted I wear it this morning—a rose-printed silk slip dress with a delicate off-shoulder design that showed my collarbones and the curve of my waist. I'd wanted to wear jeans and a hoodie, to blend in and disappear, but she'd been so insistent.
"It's Valentine's Day, Summer. You should dress like the beautiful young woman you are."
Now I felt exposed, like everyone could see right through the pretty fabric to the hollow ache underneath.
When the bell finally rang, I gathered my books slowly, letting the rush of excited couples flow past me toward the parking lot. Mia caught my eye from across the room.
"Summer!" She hurried over, her arms full of books and a cheerful bouquet of sunflowers. "Oh my god, you look gorgeous. Is that dress new?"
"Mom bought it." I managed a smile. "Your flowers are beautiful."
"Thanks." She glanced down at them, a soft smile on her face. "Logan gave them to me at lunch. Very him—sunflowers instead of roses." She looked back at me, her expression shifting to concern. "Are you okay? You seem..."
"I'm fine." The lie came easily. How could I explain that I was terrified for someone she didn't even know existed in my world? That while everyone else was celebrating hearts and flowers, I was counting down the days until someone I cared about would be back in hell?
She didn't look convinced, but before she could push, Ava appeared at my elbow.
"Summer!" Ava's voice was too loud, too bright. "Oh my god, you look amazing! That dress is incredible!" Her eyes gleamed with something that wasn't quite friendly. "Did you see Evan at the main entrance? He's been waiting there since lunch with the biggest bouquet of roses I've ever seen. Everyone's talking about it."
My stomach dropped. "I didn't see him."
"Really?" Ava's smile sharpened. "He told Blake he was going to wait as long as it took. It's so romantic! And you look so beautiful today—I mean, obviously you dressed up for him, right?"
"I have to go." I pushed past her, my heart pounding.
"But Summer—"
I didn't wait to hear the rest. I walked quickly down the hallway, my heels clicking against the polished floor. I could take the side entrance. Avoid the main doors entirely. Get to my car and—
"There she is!"
My head snapped up. At the end of the hallway, near the main entrance, a crowd had gathered. I could see phone cameras raised, hear the excited murmur of voices. And in the center of it all, backlit by the afternoon sun streaming through the glass doors, stood Evan.
He was holding an enormous bouquet of red roses—at least three dozen, wrapped in cream paper with a white satin ribbon. He'd clearly dressed for this: navy blazer, white shirt, khakis. His golden hair was perfectly styled, and when he saw me, his face lit up with that practiced, charming smile I used to think meant everything.
The crowd parted as I approached, creating a pathway. I could hear whispers, feel dozens of eyes on me. Someone giggled. A phone camera flashed.
"Summer." Evan's voice carried across the sudden hush. He took a step forward, the roses cradled in his arms like an offering. "I've been waiting for you."
I stopped walking, my hands tightening around my books. "Evan, what are you doing?"
"What I should have done months ago." He moved closer, and the crowd pressed in around us, a living theater. "I made a mistake, Summer. I was an idiot. I didn't appreciate what I had when I had it, and I've regretted it every single day since."
My face burned. This couldn't be happening. Not here. Not now. Not with everyone watching. And not today, when my mind was already consumed with thoughts of someone else—someone who wouldn't dream of making a spectacle like this, who probably didn't even know what day it was because he was too busy working double shifts to save money for his sister's cochlear implant surgery, who was facing a nightmare I couldn't protect him from.
"Evan—"
"Please, just let me say this." He held up one hand, his expression earnest and vulnerable in that way he'd perfected for student council speeches. "You're the most amazing girl I've ever known. You're beautiful and talented and you made me want to be better. I know I hurt you. I know I didn't treat you the way you deserved. But I want to make it right." He extended the roses toward me. "Give me another chance, Summer. Let me prove I can be the guy you need."
The hallway was completely silent now. I could feel the weight of all those stares, all those phones recording this moment to dissect later on Instagram and Snapchat and The Whisper.
I looked at Evan—really looked at him. At his perfect hair and his perfect smile and his perfect words that meant absolutely nothing. This was what I used to think love looked like: grand gestures, public declarations, expensive flowers. Performance art designed to make everyone watching believe in a fairy tale.
But I'd seen real love now. I'd seen it in the way Kieran's ruined right hand trembled when he tried to sign his name, in the exhaustion carved into his face after working until midnight at The Happy Patty, in the fierce protectiveness in his eyes when he talked about Lily. Real love wasn't roses and speeches—it was sacrifice and endurance and choosing to keep going even when the world kept breaking you down. Real love was Kieran facing another day in that apartment, another shift at that restaurant, another rejection from his father, and still finding the strength to be gentle with his little sister.
That girl who would have melted at Evan's feet, who would have taken him back just to feel wanted—she felt like a stranger now.
"No," I said quietly.
Evan's smile faltered. "What?"
"No." Louder this time, clearer. "I don't want another chance with you, Evan. We're done. We've been done."
His face shifted, confusion giving way to frustration. "Summer, come on. Don't be like this. I know you're upset, but—"
"I'm not upset." I cut him off, my voice steady even as my hands shook. "I'm just not interested. You had your chance—multiple chances, actually—and you made it very clear I wasn't worth your time unless it was convenient for you."