Chapter 16 Chapter Sixteen

Chapter 16 Chapter Sixteen


Finally, I glance up at him. “You didn’t argue with her.”

His brow furrows. “About what?”

“About being responsible.” My voice wavers, but I push on. “You could’ve told her the truth. That you were the one trying to keep things under control. That you weren’t just standing around letting it all happen.”

Gavin’s jaw works, like he’s chewing on the words he won’t let out. His gaze shifts to the fence line, then back to me.

“She wouldn’t have believed it,” he says quietly. “Not when it comes to you.”

My chest tightens. “Why not?”

He studies me for a moment, and the silence stretches between us, heavy with everything we’re not saying. Then he shrugs, his voice dropping.

“Because it’s easier for her to think I should’ve known better.”

The truth of it lingers, stinging, until I finally whisper, “That’s not fair to you.”

His eyes soften just enough to make my breath catch. “Doesn’t matter if it’s fair. It’s what it is.”

And for the first time, I realize maybe the weight he carries isn’t just about Mara or me — it’s about expectations he never asked for but somehow can’t escape.

Gavin leans against the railing, arms folded across his chest, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the treeline. “You think I wasn’t paying attention?”

His voice is steady, but there’s something sharper beneath it.

I blink at him. “I didn’t say that.”

“No,” he says, finally meeting my eyes, “but you asked why I didn’t defend myself. Why I didn’t tell your mom I was trying.”

His words hang heavy between us. The morning air feels charged, like even the breeze has gone still to listen.

“I saw more than you think,” he says, his tone softer now. “But sometimes… saying it out loud makes it worse. So I don’t.”

A chill runs through me that has nothing to do with the air. His meaning hovers in the space between us, close enough that my pulse quickens, but not close enough to name.

I swallow hard. “So you just… let her think it was your fault?”

He smirks faintly, but there’s no humor in it. “Better me than you.”

My breath catches. The weight of his words feels like it’s pressing into my skin, leaving me with no idea what to say back.

For a moment, it feels like the world narrows to just the two of us — me searching his face for the answers he won’t give, him looking at me like I’m the only thing tethering him to the ground.

I open my mouth, the truth threatening to slip free — how much I notice him, how much I always have — when a voice cuts sharp across the yard.

“Gavin!”

We both jolt, turning toward the sound. Mara’s voice floats over the fence, sweet but edged, her silhouette visible between the slats.

The spell shatters.

Gavin’s jaw tightens. He glances at me once, almost apologetic, before calling back, “Yeah, I’ll be there in a second!”

I step back, the air between us cooling instantly. He runs a hand over his face like he’s dragging himself out of something, then pushes off the railing.

“Later,” he mutters, and without another word, he heads for the gate.

I stand frozen, staring at the spot where he’d been, the echo of his words still thrumming in my chest.

Better me than you.

Mara leans against the post, her hair twisted into a messy knot like she’s been up for hours. She smiles when Gavin gets closer, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“There you are,” she says lightly, but there’s a bite under the sugar. “I’ve been calling.”

Gavin pushes a hand through his hair, slowing his steps. “I heard you.”

“You didn’t answer,” she presses.

“I was talking to Ari,” he says simply.

Mara’s expression flickers. “Of course you were.” She crosses her arms, tilting her head at him. “You spend half your mornings over there. Her mom probably thinks you’re their third kid by now.”

Gavin exhales through his nose, steady but sharp. “She is like family. They all are.”

“Really?” Mara’s brow lifts, her tone sharper now. “Because the way you look at her doesn’t feel very… brotherly.”

He freezes, jaw clenching, but doesn’t give her the satisfaction of answering right away. Instead, he leans against the fence, arms crossed. “What do you want me to say, Mara?”

“Say you invited me here because you want me here,” she blurts. “Say you’re not just going to keep looking over my shoulder at her.”

Gavin’s eyes darken. “You know I didn’t invite you. You showed up.”

For a moment, the truth hangs heavy in the morning air. Mara flinches, but she squares her shoulders quickly, forcing a smile. “I came because I care about you. Because I thought maybe this summer was still about us.”

Gavin doesn’t reply. He just looks past her, toward the house next door, like his silence is the loudest answer he can give.

Mara’s smile falters, but she doesn’t push again. Instead, she whispers, “If you keep doing this, you’re going to lose me, Gavin.”

His response is quiet, almost too quiet. “Maybe I already did.”

From the deck, I can’t hear their words — just the rise and fall of voices, sharp edges dulled by distance. But I don’t need to. I can see enough in the way Gavin stands, his arms crossed tight like he’s holding himself together.

And my chest aches with something I can’t quite name.

Because even after everything he just said to me, even after that moment that felt like it cracked open a secret between us… he still walked to her.

And I hate how much that hurts.

I hug my arms tighter around myself, trying to anchor my spinning thoughts. The sunlight cuts across the deck boards, warming my legs, but it doesn’t touch the knot in my stomach. I can’t stop watching him—can’t stop noticing the rigid line of his shoulders, the way Mara’s words seem to press against him and he doesn’t move.

Gemma nudges my arm. “Ari… you’re staring like a lunatic. Come on.” Her tone is light, teasing, but her eyes hold concern. I shake my head, forcing a laugh that feels foreign even in my own ears.

“I… I’m fine,” I murmur, though my voice barely rises above the wind.

She frowns but lets it slide, flipping through her phone. I glance back one last time. Gavin hasn’t turned his head. Not once. Not even when Mara’s arms tighten around herself as she says something else—something I can’t hear.

I feel a twist of something—jealousy? longing? confusion?—and it surprises me. I didn’t think I’d feel this. Not about him. Not like this.

Gemma leans over. “C’mon, Ari. The water’s perfect. We can’t just sit here staring all morning.”

I want to argue, want to protest that I can’t leave him standing there, but my legs feel like they forgot how to obey. Finally, I nod, letting her pull me toward the stairs. My gaze flickers back once more, catching Gavin’s profile framed against the fence, his jaw tight, his stance unwavering.

Something simmers in my chest, a quiet ache that’s entirely my own. I turn away and follow Gemma, forcing myself to focus on the sound of waves, the shimmer of the ocean, anything but him.

But even as the sun warms my back, I know I won’t be able to stop thinking about him—about the way he moves, the way he looks at the world, the way he just… is.

I stop mid-step, Gemma tugging at my arm, and the memory hits me like a splash of cold water.

“Oh…” I mutter, my stomach twisting. “I… we can’t. Mom grounded us. Josh and I—no leaving the house.”

Gemma freezes, her eyebrows shooting up. “Wait, seriously? All this time?”

“Yeah,” I mumble, kicking at a loose board on the deck. “I totally forgot until just now.”

Her face falls into a grin, part exasperation, part amusement. “Well, that explains a lot. Guess we’re stuck being responsible today. No beach, no sun, no…” She gestures vaguely at the waves beyond the yard.

I bite my lip, glancing toward the fence where Gavin had been. The memory of him with Mara lingers, the ache in my chest resurfacing.

“Guess we’re just… hanging here,” I say softly, more to myself than her, letting the disappointment settle in.

Gemma shrugs, waving it off. “Could be worse. At least we’ve got the pool.”

I nod, trying to focus on the silver shimmer of water in the backyard rather than the golden sunlit figure across the way. But even with the pool right there, I can’t shake the tug of him out there—Gavin, calm and infuriatingly distant, still lingering at the edge of my thoughts.

The house feels smaller suddenly, the walls pressing closer. Grounded or not, I know I’m still tangled in everything he represents—and I’m not sure how to untangle it without everything falling apart.

Josh frowns. “Was that—?”

Before I can answer, a voice calls from the side gate. “Yo, Miller twins! You on house arrest or what?”

Eben’s head pops over the fence, his grin wide enough to make Gemma snort.

“Pretty much,” Josh replies, deadpan. “We’re officially banned from the outside world. No stores, no boardwalk, nothing.”

“Damn,” Eben says, swinging the gate open anyway like rules don’t apply to him. “Guess it’s a good thing I come bearing gifts.” He lifts a paper bag like a trophy. The smell of warm bagels drifts out, and Gemma’s already on her feet.

“You’re a saint,” she declares, snatching the bag and rifling through it.

I manage a smile as Eben drops into the chair beside mine, slouching like he owns the place. “So what’d you do this time?” he asks, eyes glinting.

Josh points at me. “Her fault.”

“My fault?” I whip around. “You were right there with me!”

“Exactly,” Josh says, grinning. “Guilt by association.”

Gemma laughs, Eben smirks, and for a second the heaviness in my chest lifts. But when I glance toward the fence again, I catch a flicker of movement—Gavin, still lingering on the other side.

Eben follows my gaze, brows quirking. “What’s with him lately?” he asks, low enough that only I hear.

I don’t answer. I can’t.

Eben follows my gaze, his brow furrowed. “What’s with him lately?” he mutters, half to himself.

“His girlfriend, I think,” Gemma says before I can even answer, rolling her eyes. She kicks her feet up on the railing, as casual as if she just called the weather.

Eben’s head snaps toward her. “Girlfriend?” His tone is sharp, like the word doesn’t fit. “Mara?”

Gemma shrugs. “Who else? She’s glued to him.”

Something shifts in Eben’s face — a flicker of recognition, annoyance, maybe both. He exhales hard through his nose and shakes his head. “Figures. He never tells anyone anything.”

Gemma snorts. “Yeah, well, not like it’s a secret. She acts like she already lives here.”

I glance at Eben, waiting for him to correct her, to say Mara isn’t really Gavin’s girlfriend. But he doesn’t. He just leans back in his chair, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the yard like he’d rather be anywhere else.

And suddenly the silence between us feels heavier than the words Gemma just dropped.

Eben drums his fingers against the arm of his chair, his eyes locked on Gavin by the fence. He notices it before I do — the way Gavin keeps glancing toward us, like he wants to cross the yard but won’t.

“Unbelievable,” Eben mutters under his breath.

I shift in my seat. “What?”

“He keeps looking over here, like he’s got something to say, but he’s too busy playing house with her to actually come say it.” Eben’s jaw tightens, his voice low and sharp. “Classic Gavin.”

Gemma doesn’t even look up from her phone. “Maybe he doesn’t want to deal with the attitude he’d get if he did.”

Eben shoots her a glare, but she’s too absorbed in whatever she’s scrolling through to notice. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes still on his brother. “He thinks he’s protecting everyone by keeping his life a mystery. But all he’s doing is making a mess.”

The words hang heavy in the air. I can feel the heat of Eben’s frustration, the sharp edge of it cutting against my own tangled feelings. And when I risk another glance at Gavin — Mara’s voice pulling at his sleeve, his eyes flicking back toward us again — my chest aches all over.

Because Eben’s right.

He looks like he’s caught between two places. And right now, neither of them feels like it’s winning.