Chapter 196
Summer's POV
Then the door opened, and my past walked in.
Mason Pierce hadn't changed since middle school. Same artfully tousled hair, same sharp jaw, same outfit that probably cost more than most people's rent—a linen shirt unbuttoned one too many, sleeves rolled to show off tanned forearms, styled to look careless in a way that took ridiculous effort. He strolled in with two guys flanking him like an entourage, laughing at something on his phone with the easy confidence of someone who'd never once worried about being watched.
Then he saw me.
His eyes lit up—not warmly, but the way a cat's do when it spots something to play with. He changed course, that slow, deliberate stride eating up the distance between us, and stopped at our table. He didn't just lean against the booth—he slid right in next to me, his thigh pressing against mine, trapping me against the wall before I could react.
"No way." That grin—wide and boyish and rotten underneath. "Summer Hayes. At a Shake Shack." His arm came up, draping across my shoulders like we were old friends, like he had every right to touch me. "I thought you were more of a Per Se girl."
I went rigid. His cologne was suffocating, expensive and cloying, and I couldn't move, couldn't breathe with him this close, his weight pinning me in place.
"Mason." My voice came out strangled. "Get off—"
"Relax, Hayes." His fingers curled around my shoulder, thumb pressing into my collarbone. "Just catching up with an old friend. You remember, right? Middle school? Good times." His eyes traveled down, slow and deliberate. "Though you've really... changed. What happened to the girl who used to finish entire sleeves of Oreos during lunch? You finally figure out how a treadmill works?"
The words hit like a punch. Suddenly I was thirteen again, hiding in the bathroom stall while Mason and his friends laughed outside, passing around photos they'd taken of me in gym class, writing "whale" on my locker in permanent marker. I was sitting in the cafeteria alone because no one wanted to be seen with the fat girl, watching Mason mime my walk for his table, everyone howling with laughter.
"Or wait—" His grip tightened, fingers digging in. "Are you trying to impress someone? Because if this whole—" he gestured at my body with his free hand, "—transformation is for me, Hayes, I gotta admit, you clean up nice. Really nice. Maybe we should give it another shot, huh? Now that you're not—"
"Get your hands off her." Kieran's voice cut through the noise, deadly quiet.
Mason's eyes flicked to him, taking in the Southie accent, the cheap hoodie, the scars on Kieran's knuckles. "And you are?"
"Not someone you want to fuck with," Kieran said evenly. "Walk away."
Mason laughed, his arm tightening around my shoulders, pulling me closer against him. "Relax, man. Summer and I go way back. We're just catching up." He turned his attention back to me. "Right, Hayes? Tell your boyfriend here that we're old friends."
I couldn't speak. Couldn't move. His touch was burning through my shirt, his weight pressing me into the booth, and all I could think about was middle school, was the time he'd cornered me after gym class and told me I should be grateful he was even talking to me, that girls like me didn't get attention from guys like him, that I should say thank you.
"Seriously though—" Mason reached across me with his other hand, fingers hovering over my burger. "Are you really eating this? I mean, good for you and all, but you worked so hard to lose the weight. Wouldn't want it all to come back, right?"
He pushed the basket. Not hard, not violent, just a casual flick of his wrist that sent my burger and fries sliding off the table, hitting the floor with a wet splat.
And then I was gone.
Not here, not in this Shake Shack with Kieran trying to protect me and Lily watching with frightened eyes. I was in middle school, in the cafeteria, watching Mason knock my lunch tray out of my hands, food splattering across the floor while everyone laughed. I was in the hallway, pressed against my locker while he and his friends surrounded me, their voices blending together into a cacophony of "fatty" and "whale" and "disgusting." I was in gym class, trying to hide in the locker room while someone—Mason—took photos over the stall door, the flash burning into my retinas.
My head was splitting, a sharp, vicious pain that started at the base of my skull and radiated forward until I couldn't think, couldn't see, couldn't do anything but press my palms against my temples and try to remember how to breathe. The restaurant noise amplified, became deafening—every laugh sounded like mockery, every voice an accusation, every scrape of a chair someone getting up to take photos, to point, to laugh at the fat girl who thought she could be normal.
Except I wasn't fat anymore. I'd starved myself for years, ran until my feet bled, counted every calorie like my life depended on it because maybe, maybe if I was thin enough, pretty enough, small enough, people like Mason Pierce would leave me alone.
But it didn't matter. It never mattered. Because he was still here, still touching me, still looking at me like I was something he could play with and discard.
"Summer." Kieran's voice, rough and urgent, but I couldn't focus on it. "Summer, look at me."