I pretended to gag. “We’re supposed to eat soon. If you could stop, I’d appreciate it.”
“You know—”
I stopped but didn’t face him. “Beau’s right next door, and he’s just itchin’ for a reason to come over since he knows you’re here.” When Philip didn’t respond, I felt a smile cross my face. “That’s what I thought.”
But I’d only made it a couple feet before he grabbed my arm and turned me toward him. “One of these days—”
“Let go,” I demanded and tried to yank my arm free, but he tightened his grip.
“One of these days,” he repeated, getting in my face, “you’re not gonna have that psycho to hide behind. One of these days, you’re gonna have to face the world without unleashing that disaster on anyone you don’t wanna have to deal with.”
“If you don’t let go of me, I’ll gladly remind you that I have no problem dealing with cowards like you on my own.”
“What?” he goaded as his fingers curled even tighter. “I thought you liked guys who take what they want and give a little pain while they do it.”
“Beau would never touch me without my permission,” I said through gritted teeth. “And he would never grab me like an insecure little shit who isn’t getting his way.” I shoved my free palm into his chest and snatched my arm from his grasp just as my mom’s voice rang through the house.
“Dinner’s just about ready!”
I rolled my shoulder back to shift away from Philip when he fell into step beside me and hissed under my breath, “Touch me again, the next time you eat will be when I shove your balls down your throat.”
“You’re so passionate, Savannah,” he murmured. “I love it.”
“I hate you,” I snapped back as I veered away when we entered the kitchen and took solace near Peter. “I hate your brother.”
He scoffed as he set his drink on the counter behind him. “What else is new?”
“I missed you?” I teased, making it sound like a question and choking back a laugh when he elbowed my side.
“Brat.”
I sighed as some of the anger started easing from my body just being near Peter. He’d always been one of my favorite people, the brother I never had until I met the Dixon boys and became surrounded by them.
“Seriously, though. You’ve been gone, what . . . two and a half years now?” I thought for a second, making sure I had my dates correct. “I thought you would’ve come back for the holidays—or at least summers.”
A soft grunt sounded from him as he picked up his drink again. But he didn’t respond or take a sip.
When I finally looked at him, he was just staring at the contents of his glass. “Peter?”
He shrugged and forced a smile. “Not everyone loves Amber the way you do, Savannah.”
I felt the corners of my mouth tug down at the weight he seemed to be holding on his shoulders. So different from just seconds before, even. “But you must be liking school then, right?”
“About that . . .” His stare darted around the kitchen to where our moms were finishing putting everything out, his voice dropping low when he continued. “I’m dropping out.”
Shock punched from me. “What?”
“I just enlisted in the Navy.”
Words failed me. Instead of responding in any way, I stood there, unable to figure out if he was joking.
Peter was at Columbia, studying to be an architect.
His parents told everyone in town pretty much every day—followed closely by the news that Philip was going to Yale for pre-law. Their pride in their children was widely known, just as Peter’s dream of being an architect had always been known. At least by us.
“Game face, Anna-Hannah,” Peter whispered.
I tried to school my features and kept my voice as soft as his. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m miserable,” he explained. “Honest to God, miserable. Here . . . there. I hate everything about what I’m doing. I wanna do something that means something to me.”
I nodded, the action probably going on longer than necessary as I absorbed what he was saying. “Well, then, you should.”
“Yeah?”
“Absolutely,” I said more assuredly. “Why should you be miserable?”
He gave a grateful smile and reached out to ruffle my hair, softly laughing when I smacked his hand away. “I knew you’d be the only one on my side.”
“One, of course I’m on your side. Two, I just fixed my hair.”
“It still looked terrible.”
“You’re such a jerk,” I said half-heartedly, but the words trailed off as I caught the tail end of what Mrs. Rowe was saying to my mom.
“. . . everything that Beau has done to our Philip.”
“Dana,” my mom said with a shake of her head. “I know, but you have to remember the Dixons are like family to us.”
“And what about us?” Mrs. Rowe gently argued, looking offended that my mom would defend the Dixons. “After all we’ve been through, I would think our friendship would mean more.”
My mom gave her a look as she set a stack of plates down. “Don’t say that. You know what your friendship means to me—what your family means to mine.”
“Then you shouldn’t condone any type of relationship between y’alls families. And especially between Savannah”—she said my name on a whisper as though I hadn’t inched closer to hear every word—“and that beast of a boy when, just last week, Philip needed stitches on his head because of what Beau did to him.”
“Excuse me?” I demanded, causing Mrs. Rowe to flinch as she turned to meet my enraged stare.
“Savannah, why don’t you kids start getting your plates ready?” my mom suggested.
“No, I wanna know what Mrs. Rowe was talking about.” I sought out Philip, sulking in a corner and looking like he’d just seen a ghost.
Good.
“Can we not do this right now?” Mom quietly begged.
“It has to be done at some point,” Mrs. Rowe countered without ever looking away from me. “The fact that you continue dating that boy”—she sneered the word—“is a slap in the face to Philip and our family.”
“I clearly don’t agree,” I said, voice quivering as I fought my anger and sorrow for Beau. “But about last week. Those stitches—I wanna know about that.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Philip mumbled.
“Of course it is,” Mrs. Rowe nearly yelled as I snapped over her, “I’m sure you don’t think so. Why don’t you tell your mom what really happened?”
No one in the kitchen spoke.
Philip stared straight at the floor, looking like he wanted to crawl into a hole.
I wished he would.
“You said Beau was the reason Philip needed stitches?” I asked Mrs. Rowe as I faced her again. At her firm nod, I forced myself to take a breath so I wouldn’t scream at Philip. “Last week, Philip ran up and sucker-punched the back of Beau’s head, trying to goad him into a fight—the way he always does,” I said loudly, sending a quick glare Philip’s way. “I stopped Beau from going after him, but Philip was running backward, taunting Beau, and tripped and fell into the corner of the lockers. That’s why he needed stitches.”