Standing up, I resolve to find Ashley, apologize, and then go home with my tail between my legs for the rest of the summer. Jonathan’s right: none of this is my business, and I should never have allowed myself to get dragged into things so far beyond my ken.
When an arm goes around my waist from behind, I gasp in shock, but the sound is almost immediately blocked by a rough hand against my mouth. I’m pressed head to toe against the body of a man not much taller than me, but significantly stronger. I struggle, but his fingers are cutting off my breath and stifling my cries. “Hi, June,” he whispers in my ear. I don’t recognize the voice.
Just when I begin to truly panic, blood zipping through my veins, another voice carves through the growing gloom. “Grow up, Dalton. Let her go.”
As quickly as I was seized, I’m released. I whirl to see Dalton smirking and Jonathan cringing not far behind.
“Don’t you ever touch me again,” I spit. For a second I’m not sure if I’m talking to Dalton or to Jonathan. I can’t believe my brother let that happen.
Dalton assumes my target and laughs. “She’s a spunky one, eh?” To me he says, “You let Sully touch you, darlin’。 This is practically the same thing.”
I bite back a retort, because what do I know? Maybe Sullivan and Dalton are exactly the same. I haven’t heard from Sullivan since we talked at the pancake breakfast.
“Where have you been all day?” I ask Jonathan. It sounds like an accusation because it is. I’m furious for a dozen different reasons, but right now my anger is wholly directed at my brother and the fact that he allowed Dalton to put his hands all over me.
Jonathan has the decency to look stricken by what just happened, but his repentance clearly doesn’t change anything. He shrugs. “Nothing, really. Just hanging out.”
I scowl at him for a moment, fighting back the urge to cry out all the things I think I know. I could tell Dalton about the pictures I found, about the fact that I believe my brother is lying. Just exactly who he’s lying to is beyond me, but it would feel good to throw fuel on that fire all the same. Something volatile hovers in the air around us, and I feel a bit like a child who’s walked in on her parents fighting. There are things going on that I just don’t understand. So I turn and walk away without another word.
“Stop!” Jonathan jogs a few paces and falls into step beside me. Across the yard, someone cannonballs into the pool fully dressed and a howl of collective laughter drowns out his next words. It seems for a minute as if he will reach out to take me by the arm, but my expression must deter him. Instead, he leans in. “Don’t go that way. Ashley’s on the warpath.”
When I waver for a second, he takes his chance. “Follow me. There’s a back gate.”
Of course I know the Pattersons have a back gate. I’ve used it a million times. Still, I don’t want to give Jonathan the satisfaction of taking his advice. Nor do I want to run into Ashley. My earlier bravado is shaken, and I just don’t know if I can handle a face-to-face confrontation right now. No, I decide, and wordlessly stalk off in the direction of a much smaller gate set into the far corner of the Pattersons’ eight-foot perimeter fence.
Dalton and Jonathan follow. “Leaving so soon?” I ask, my voice dripping with snark. I’m furious; I can feel it sparking and white-hot in my chest.
“We’ve been here for hours,” Dalton says, clearly unmoved by the way he affected me. “Had to take advantage of the Pattersons’ booze.”
Naturally. Dalton does, indeed, seem drunk. But when I glance at Jonathan, his gaze is steady and his stride sure. He’s stone-cold sober, I can tell.
What Dalton sees in my brother is beyond me. Jonathan is just eighteen, still in high school, and so different from Dalton and the rest of the Tates; it’s almost jarring to see them together.
Halting, I cross my arms over my chest. “I want to talk to my brother,” I say. “Alone.”
Dalton laughs, but Jonathan fixes me with a stare that says: Don’t do this.
Whatever. I’m past playing nice.
“No problem,” Dalton says, seemingly oblivious to the nonverbal exchange between me and my brother. He waves at Jonathan as if to shoo him in my direction. “I’ll just be waiting at the car, drinking a beer, keeping myself company…” he trails off as he walks away, his path wavering.
Jonathan hangs back reluctantly, but the moment Dalton is out of earshot I take my chance. I punch my brother in the shoulder. Hard.