Say You Still Love Me: A Novel

by K. A. Tucker

  “I remember the first time I saw the design for this project. I was in love.”

  Kyle’s eyebrows arch. “You guys built this, too?”

  “Calloway Group, yeah. These houses and those two buildings.” I point to the luxury condo buildings that tower over us up ahead, designed to complement one another and the row houses but to also stand out on their own. “We were going for eighteen-hundreds European charm within an urban center.”

  “I don’t know eighteen-hundreds anything, but I’d say you nailed it,” he murmurs, reaching out to touch one of the replica gaslight-lantern lampposts that run the entire length of the street, adorned by planters bursting with vibrant red geraniums and petunias. Ornate park benches are interspersed evenly. In the wintertime, it’s all dressed up in white lights and red bows. “Is there anything your father hasn’t had a hand in around here?” he asks, and I could be mistaken, but I sense a touch of resentment in his voice.

  “Honestly? Not much. Not in this city, anyway. And once the Waterway project is realized, he’s going to own the downtown skyline.” The massive project, with two condominium towers overlooking the water, flanked by a river boardwalk and surrounded by several square blocks of retail shops and restaurants, is expected to become the new downtown “it” spot for shopping and nightlife.

  Kyle opens his mouth to say something, but he seems to decide against it. “Have you decided what you’re going to do about that Tripp guy yet?”

  I groan. “I don’t know. I can’t just come out and accuse him and, no offense, but my father’s not going to take your word for it. But I have my assistant, Mark, digging up information. So far I know they went to college together, and they’ve played golf together. A lot.”

  “Does he use a company phone?”

  “His cell? Yeah.”

  “You should be able to pull the records for it, then. See how often he’s been talking to this guy. I can tell you exactly when I overheard them, so you can pinpoint the number. Also, see if they can pull the records for any deleted texts. He’s arrogant enough to use his company phone for shit like that.”

  “Can they do that?”

  “They should be able to. Upwards of a year, possibly. And it’s your company phone that he’s using. I’m sure you can talk your way into getting hold of the records.”

  “Yeah. Maybe I will. Thanks for the suggestion.” I throw a casual hand at the stately building entrance ahead. “This is me.”

  Kyle’s head tips back as his eyes draw upward, showing off the sharp jutting curve of his neck and that long, slender nose that I used to drag my finger along. “You at the top?”

  I can’t peel my eyes from his profile. “Yeah.”

  Those lips that I’ve kissed a thousand times—what feels like a thousand years ago now—curl in a soft smile. “Figured as much.”

  “When did you take it out? Your lip ring?”

  “When I started working for Rikell.” His eyes remain on my building for another long moment before lowering to settle on me. “They don’t allow piercings or ink on your face. So far they haven’t said anything about my sleeve.”

  “Too bad. I always liked it.” My fingers itch to touch the small scar in the corner of his mouth.

  His chest rises with a deep inhale, and I’m hyperaware of just how close we’re standing. “Please don’t look at me like that, Piper.”

  “How am I looking at you?”

  He chuckles. “You never were any good at playing dumb. That’s one of the things I always loved about you.”

  My stomach tightens with anticipation. “Come up to my place?” I hold my breath, slipping my fingers through his.

  He squeezes my hand once before releasing it. “I think that’s a bad idea.” His voice is hoarse.

  “Why?”

  “Seriously, Piper? Christ, look at us!” He holds his hands out and laughs. “I’m in a security guard’s uniform! You know, for my job in your family’s high-rise office building. I’ve been working double shifts and saving every spare dollar for the past ten years, and I’m still five years away from ever being able to afford a down payment on anything. And here we are, literally standing in the middle of your family’s billion-dollar empire, with you in a ball gown like some sort of fairy-tale princess, after not eating at a five-thousand-dollar-a-plate party.”

  “I don’t care about any of that.”

  Kyle shakes his head. “Maybe not right now, but you will, when you realize that I don’t fit into your world. And I don’t think I can go through that learning curve with you. I thought I could handle it, but the second I saw you I knew I can’t. I can’t stand the thought of having you and then losing you again.” He frowns deeply, as if pained. “There was a place where you and I worked, but it was thirteen years ago and we can’t go back in time, Piper. Believe me, if we could, I would. For so many reasons.” His eyes are full of earnest as they settle on mine, drifting to my mouth. “I’d go back in a heartbeat.”

  “But . . . ” My objection fades on my lips, as my mind searches for words that will convince him that this is worth trying. That I am worth trying for.

  I listen to what he’s telling me, though—that I wasn’t the only one with a broken heart when we left Wawa that summer. That brings me an odd shade of comfort, even as my chest aches with frustration.

  Is Kyle right?

  Am I still clinging on to a past that can never exist in the future? In my future?

  We fall into silence as a man strolls past us, his poodle pausing to sniff the nearby park bench and then lift its leg against it.

  “It’s an evening gown, by the way,” I mutter.

  Kyle frowns curiously. “What?”

  I slide his jacket from my shoulders, holding it out for him. “My dress. It’s called an evening gown, not a ball gown.”

  He smirks, his eyes flittering over the plunging neckline as he closes the distance to accept his jacket from my hands. “See? I can’t even tell the difference between dresses.” His gaze locks on mine, and in it I see an odd resignation. “All I know is that you’ll always be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

  I can’t resist any longer. Just like on that first day atop that rocky cliff, surrounded by empty packets of candy, my lips stained red from cherry powder, I lean in to press my lips against his.

  It’s a quick kiss—a test, really—long enough to revel in the feel of his lips against mine again, and then I pull back, to hold my breath and wait for his reaction.

  Terrified of his rejection.

  “Piper . . .” His throat bobs with a hard swallow.

  “We still have feelings for each other.”

  “I know, but—”

  “But we’re supposed to pretend we don’t? We’re supposed to pass each other in the hall as we go and date other people? I’m supposed to be okay with perky little Renée hovering around the security desk until you ask her out?” I shake my head, my frustration swelling. “No, I’m sorry. That’s not happening—”

  Kyle’s lips crash into mine, cutting my words off. His hands are on me in an instant, one settling on the back of my bare neck, the other curling around my waist, to pull me flush into his solid body. It takes me a moment to realize that I’m kissing Kyle, and when I do, I reach for his shoulders for support as much as because I simply need to touch him.

  This feels every bit as euphoric as I remember it being at sixteen, and yet different. He feels different. Thirteen years different. His body is stronger, his hands more assured as they smooth over my skin, his lips more demanding as they ply my mouth open to allow room for his tongue. His stance is different as he pulls me hard into him, not bothering to shift to hide his arousal.

  Relief surges inside me.

  This feels like coming home, after thinking I’d never see home again.

  “Who could have guessed this was going to happen,” comes a familiar voice nearby, breaking Kyle and me apart.

  Christa strolls up the sidewalk, her white Nike runners in star
k contrast to her simple black skirt and plum-colored blouse. She stops in front of us. “Kyle . . . Long time, no see.”

  He frowns, as if trying to place her. “Christa? Is that you?”

  “Oh, good. You remembered my name at least.”

  He brushes aside the dig. “You look so different. Good. Just . . . different.”

  “It has been thirteen years.”

  “Yeah.” He scratches the back of his head in wonder. And then, as if catching himself, he steps forward to envelop her in his arms. “It’s good to see you.”

  She stiffens and glares at me, as if surprised, but eventually returns the embrace—with that awkward hand-pat-on-the-back move, the only kind of hug that Christa seems capable of giving. “Okay, well . . . this is weird on many levels.” She practically shakes him off. “I’ll see you upstairs, Piper? When you’re done mauling each other like a couple of teenagers on the sidewalk outside our building.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I mutter absently, my mind already moving forward—to the fact that Kyle just kissed me.

  “She’s changed, but she hasn’t,” Kyle murmurs, watching her disappear into the lobby. “She still hates me.”

  “Hate’s a strong word. More like eternal dislike. And she’s not too big on showing affection. Unless you’re her cat.”

  “How did you end up becoming friends again?”

  “She was there for me, after . . .” After you. “She and Ashley. My other friends didn’t get it.” Ava and Reid came back from Europe with tales of marathon shopping on cobblestoned streets and all-night parties on yachts and scandalous nights with French men. They couldn’t grasp the appeal of my summer camp boyfriend and they didn’t show much sympathy with each day that passed without word from Kyle, as my hope slowly crumbled.

  It was a moment of desperation that made me call Christa, who was going to college an hour north of Lennox. We may not have seen eye-to-eye, but we’d shared a cabin and responsibility for dozens of girls.

  Half of me expected her to say “I told you so” and crush whatever was left of my spirit. Yet, she did something I didn’t think her capable of—she listened. And she commiserated, and she even came with me to Poughkeepsie, to try to find Kyle.

  Then she told me “I told you so” and highlighted all the ways I was better off without him. But it was what I needed to hear at the time, to help me move on.

  Christa’s appearance definitely dampened whatever moment Kyle and I were having. Before I can angle to recapture it, Kyle takes a step back.

  And another one.

  “This was a mistake.”

  “Kyle—”

  “You may not want to admit it, but you will always seek your father’s approval.”

  “That’s not true. I ended things with David. And he loves David.”

  “So you’ll find someone else he approves of.” Kyle gives me a sad smile. “But I will never be it.”

  “I don’t care—”

  “Please don’t make this harder for me than it already is.” Genuine pain fills his eyes.

  “Then don’t leave.” I hear the pleading in my voice and it shocks me. When have I ever wanted a man to stay this much? “You’re just scared.”

  “Terrified, actually.” His jaw tenses. “Good night, Piper.” With that he turns and walks away, a lone dark figure in a black uniform along the picturesque street, his head bowed.

  I watch until he disappears around the corner, barely feeling the air’s chill, wondering what thoughts are going through his mind.

  Wondering if he’s right and there is no going back to what we had one summer, so long ago.

  Chapter 18

  THEN

  Camp Wawa, 2006, Week Four

  “She really has no idea how big of a dork she is, does she?” Eric stands beside me in the corner of the rec center, his long, lanky arms crossed over his chest, a wide grin on his face as we watch Darian moon-walk across the makeshift dance floor to the Michael Jackson tunes blaring over the portable stereo system.

  “More like she doesn’t care,” Kyle says from my other side, and there’s a hint of admiration in his voice.

  It’s Friday night of Week Four. Dance night. Every week is the same, just with different campers. They call it a “dance,” but really it’s an opportunity to stuff a horde of bodies into the rec center, feed them popcorn and Kool-Aid, and blind everyone with a disco light that sometimes short-circuits. Darian forces the more extroverted counselors into the center to dance to her own personal CD collection, sprinkled with terrible eighties songs that charted when none of us were alive. Eventually, the small groups will break free from their boy-girl segregation and join in, for no other reason than to top one another’s goofiness.

  Except for the few older campers who have found first love, of course, and are clinging to each other for their last night. Darian makes us float around, pulling them apart.

  Tomorrow, these kids will all leave, with glossy eyes and lofty goals of talking to one another every day, or as much as their parents and phone bills will allow.

  I wonder how many will hold fast to their promises, and for how long. Eventually they’ll settle back into their reality—school friends and everyday life—and their week at Wawa will become a fond memory, something to look back on, something to look forward to next year.

  What will it be like for Kyle and me?

  That’s the downside of pining for our Saturdays. With each one that races past, we’re that much closer to the end of our summer.

  My stomach twists with that thought.

  “The Time of My Life” comes on, signaling the last song of the night.

  “Oh, hell. Not this song again.” Eric groans. “I need to go to sleep just so it can be tomorrow. We’re hitting up Provisions to stock up, by the way, bro.”

  “You want to get fired?” Kyle mutters.

  Eric waves it away. “It’s Saturday. There’re no rules on Saturday.”

  Kyle just shakes his head at his friend.

  “You did this to him.” Eric jabs an accusatory finger at me. “He’s whipped.”

  I roll my eyes. “Which one of you has ID, anyway?”

  Eric nods toward Kyle.

  “Max is twenty-one and we look a lot alike.” Kyle slips his hands into mine and walks backward, leading me onto the dance floor.

  “No!” I drag my feet.

  He grins. “Come on, humor me.”

  “Fine, but no stupid dance moves,” I warn him. Claire and Simon reenacted the Dirty Dancing movie last Friday, after practicing the choreographed steps all week in drama.

  Kyle chuckles, twirling me once before pulling me into him, close enough that our chests bump each other. “No stupid dance moves. Promise. Put your arms around me.”

  I comply, roping my arms around his neck. He settles his hands on my hips, gripping me tightly, and we begin swaying as the tempo to the song picks up. “I can’t dance to this. It’s horrible.”

  “Pretend it’s a different song, then.”

  “What song?”

  He leans in, pressing his mouth close to my ear—the cold metal of his lip ring tickling my lobe—and begins humming in my ear.

  A shiver runs down my spine. “What is that?”

  “You like it?”

  I can feel campers’ curious eyes glancing our way and I know we should disentangle ourselves, but he feels too good. “Yeah. But what’s it called?”

  “It doesn’t have a name.”

  “It has to have a name.”

  “It doesn’t.”

  I pull back far enough so he can see me roll my eyes. “Just admit you don’t know.”

  “Oh, I know it.” He flashes a crooked smile.

  I raise my eyebrows, waiting.

  An unreadable look passes through his beautiful golden eyes then. “It’s called, ‘I Think I’m Falling in Love with You, Piper Calloway.’ ”

  A flush of adrenaline courses through my body as I absorb those words, playing them back to make sure I h
eard them right.

  My heart is pounding inside my chest, the blood rushing in my ears as I try to keep the stupid grin from my face. “I’m so in love with you,” I blurt out, curling my arms tight around his neck, inhaling the smell of his soap as our bodies press into each other. I knew it from the moment I saw him. Others—sane people—would call it infatuation. But I knew.

  Kyle’s mouth trails over my neck and down to my collarbone.

  From the corner of my eye, I spot Darian approaching us. I peel myself away just as she reaches us.

  “You two like to test me, don’t you?” Her short blonde hair is damp from sweat and disheveled.

  Kyle groans. “Come on, Dare . . .”

  “Relax. You’re not in trouble. Yet. But here.” She thrusts a basketball into Kyle’s hands. “If this doesn’t fit between you, you’re dancing too close.”

  He laughs. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?” Darian points at her rosy face, her expression stern. “And do me a favor: think about this basketball tomorrow night, when you two are not doing the things you shouldn’t be doing, so you won’t remember to not protect yourself so you don’t end up with a more uncomfortable and serious ball between you. The kind that cries. Got it? Good.” With that, she’s gone.

  I frown. “Did we just get a sex talk from Darian?”

  “I think it was more a ‘don’t get pregnant’ talk.” Kyle cringes. “That was somehow way worse than the one my mother gave me. You?”

  “Definitely. And my mother used the word deflower.”

  Kyle tips his head back and starts howling with laughter just as the song ends and Christa flicks on the lights.

  “Okay!” Darian claps her hands. “Cabins one through five and eleven through fifteen, it’s turn-in time. You have fifteen minutes. Go!”

  I sigh. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  Kyle checks over his shoulder to confirm that Darian’s attention is occupied and then leans in to kiss my lips.

  “You really like taking risks, don’t you?” I tease.