“I’m not being nasty, Harper. I’m trying to make living in the same town manageable.”

“Manageable?” she scoffs. “You call that managing the situation? By making a spectacle? You know what everyone is going to be talking about tomorrow? How you were too disgusted to even be seen near me.”

“That’s not what I said,” I say, pulling on the back of my neck.

“Might as well have, because that’s how it came off. You might have deep roots in this town, but I’m trying to find my way, and I don’t need you making it more difficult by shouting from the rooftops that you want nothing to do with me.” She wipes a tear off her face. “You know how you could have handled that better? You could have politely talked to me, shared a little small talk, and then we could have gone our separate ways, letting the town realize that we’re cordial but not dating—instead of screaming that you would rather be caught dead than let one single person even suspect we got back together.”

Shit.

“I’m sorry.”

“You seem to know how to say I’m sorry a lot, Rogan, but it’s hard to believe you actually mean it.”

She tries to push past me, but I catch her arm. She turns her face away, refusing to make eye contact.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask. The breeze picks up, sending her familiar scent floating past me, triggering a dull aching in my bones.

Wanting.

Yearning.

If I just turned her forty-five degrees and met her halfway, I could have my lips on hers in seconds. I could have her in my arms, pressed against the white brick building behind her, getting lost in her touch and getting reacquainted with her lips.

But I’m tossed back into reality the minute she opens her mouth. “You’ve apologized many times for what you did, but it doesn’t feel like you actually mean it, because if you did, you’d never hurt me again.”

“I don’t want to fucking hurt you, Harper.”

She glances up at me and then down at my bad leg, the weight of that glance falling heavily between us. “And yet you’re so good at it.”

With a shrug of her arm, she pulls away and heads up the road toward the lighthouse.

Fuck.

The shitty thing about all this is that she’s fucking right. I am good at hurting her, and I have no idea how to stop.

CHAPTER TWELVE

HARPER

Senior Year, High School

Knock, knock.

“Harper, are you going to come out of your room?” my dad asks from the other side of the door.

“No,” I mutter, head buried in my pillow.

“Rogan’s here.”

“Tell him I’m sick.”

The door cracks open. “Are you decent?”

“Yes, Dad,” I groan, burrowing farther down into my bed.

Knowing my room is a complete disaster, I can sense my dad’s hesitation as he makes his way past piles of clothes, makeup, and books to reach my bed. When the mattress dips, I know he’s made it safely. His hand finds my back, where he lightly rubs small circles.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You won’t disappoint me. So just talk.”

Peeking through the pillow, I extend my hand and hold out a white envelope with a navy crest in the corner. “I didn’t get in.”

Taking the letter from me, Dad pulls back the covers. “It’s okay, sweetie. You got into Manchester University.”

“I know.” I wipe away a tear. “But that’s not Rogan’s first choice. He wanted to go to Penn State, and I didn’t get in.” My lip trembles. “I knew I should have taken the SAT one more time. I’m just not good at it. My mind gets all jumbled under the pressure. I have good grades, Dad.”

He moves a strand of hair off my forehead. “Maybe this is the little sign you needed. You know I love Rogan like he’s my own son, but this might be good for the both of you.”

“What are you talking about?” I sit straight up. “Is that what he told you? He wants to take a break? He wants to go to different schools?”

“No, honey, I haven’t talked to Rogan at all about college. All I’m saying is that I would hate for one of you to make a future decision that could mold your life based off each other. You’ve both worked so hard. Manchester University is a great school.”

“But they didn’t offer Rogan a full ride. They don’t even have a decent football team. It’s only Division Two.”

My dad sighs. “You’re not getting what I’m trying to—”

“Harper?” Rogan steps through the door, his large, muscular frame filling the doorway. “Are you okay?”

My dad stands up, then walks through the minefield of tossed clothes and gives Rogan a pat on the back before exiting the room, leaving me alone with my Adonis boyfriend. Not only has he grown a few more inches in the past year—towering over me at six foot three—but he also put on another twenty pounds of solid muscle, making him a highly sought-after wide receiver.

Tentatively, he steps forward. “Is everything okay?”

Lip trembling again, I shake my head and cover my face. Why is Rogan witnessing my emotional breakdown? This is the last thing he needs right now with all the colleges breathing down his neck, looking for an answer.

In a flash, Rogan is at my side, pulling me into a hug. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

“I . . .” A hiccup pops out of me. “I didn’t . . . get into Penn.”

He kisses the top of my head. “Harper, that’s okay.”

“No it’s not, because now we’re not going to go to school together.”

“Says who?”

I glance up and wipe a tear away. “You can’t turn down a scholarship to Penn.”

“I can do whatever the hell I want. Just because they have the best team right now doesn’t mean I meshed with their players the best. It’s all about the perfect fit for me, and if they don’t accept my girl into their school, then that right there tells me it’s not a school I want to go to.”

“You can’t make such a huge decision based off me, Rogan.”

“Yes, I can.” He tilts my head up and stares into my eyes, reading them for a second before exhaling, grabbing me by the hand, and pulling me to my feet.

“What are you doing?”

He bends down and picks up a sweatshirt from my floor, tossing it over my head. He finds my slip-on shoes and sets them before me. I step into them, confused.

“Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes my hand in his and leads me straight out to his truck with a passing wave to my dad as he shuts the door.

In silence, we drive away from the peninsula and into town, making a left down a road that I’ve come to know quite well over the past few years. The grand oak trees, dense with leaves, line the sides of the road like a tunnel leading us to our sanctuary.

I don’t think I could have picked a more perfect place to be right now.

Rogan parks behind the quince bush on the right side of the manor so the truck is out of view. We know being here is technically trespassing, and we’re pushing our luck every time we walk through the back kitchen door. But we’re cautious; we don’t want to chance losing our space, at least not until it’s bought.

Although, we don’t think that will ever happen. We joked around once that when we’re older and retired, after Rogan has played out his seasons in professional football, we would come back, find a way to buy the manor, and then raise a gaggle of children in it.

Taking my hand in his, he brings me into the house and quickly spreads a blanket and a pillow out on the floor. We kick our shoes off and lie down, pulling another blanket up and over us. I cuddle into his side, and we both stare up at the ceiling.

No words have to be spoken; the truth rests heavy between us. The bond we share is unbreakable; at least, I know that’s what Rogan is trying to convey in the tight hold he has on me.

“What color would you paint these walls if you lived here?” he asks quietly, his hand brushing through my hair.

“If I lived here? I don’t know. The space is so grand I would hate to dull it down with color.” I pause for a second and smile. “Honestly, do you know what I would do?”

“What?”

I kiss his shoulder. “I would look back at all the old letters from the mystery girl, and I would see what she wanted.”

“Your Forever Girl. You would listen to her?”

I nod against his shoulder. “Yes. Even though the manor was never hers, I would want her dream to come true. She was so passionate about this house in her letters. I really wonder what happened between Iggy and his girl. Why was he with Emma?”

“I don’t know,” Rogan says, “but there had to be some solid reason why. I couldn’t imagine not being with the person I love. Hell, even knowing I have to say bye to you at some point tonight is going to kill me.”

I lie still in his embrace, my heart rate picking up as I lift my head from his chest and look him in the eyes. We’ve been dating for two years, and we’ve never said I love you. It’s been on the tip of my tongue for so long, but I’ve always been too afraid to be the first to say it. And if my ears aren’t deceiving me, it almost seems like it’s been on the tip of Rogan’s tongue too.