Chapter 3

Summer's Pov

I ran.

I just turn and ran out of the dining room, down the narrow hallway, into my bedroom, my tiny, cramped bedroom with the cracked ceiling and the window that doesn’t close all the way. I slam the door and lock it, pressing my back against the wood like that will somehow keep the world out.

Crew’s father. Of all the men in this city, my mother is marrying Crew’s father.

I slide down to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest, and the sobs come hard and fast. My whole body shakes with them. This morning I thought things couldn’t get worse than being humiliated in front of the entire school. I was wrong. So catastrophically wrong.

“Summer.” Mom’s voice comes through the door, sharp with disapproval. “Open this door right now.”

“No.”

“Summer Elizabeth Winters, you open this door or so help me—”

I unlock it because I don’t have the energy to fight. She pushes inside, and I can see the anger in her face.

The disappointment.

“That was disrespectful,” she says. “That was incredibly rude. Richard is a good man and you just—”

“Mom, we can’t do this.” The words tumble out desperate and broken. 

“You can’t marry him. Please. I don’t want this. We can’t—”

“It’s already decided.” Her voice softens just slightly, but there’s steel underneath. “This is my life, Summer. My choice. And this is good for us. Don’t you see that? He’s going to make everything better.”

“Mom—”

“You won’t have to worry anymore.” She kneels down in front of me, taking my hands. “No more worrying about food or bills or clothes. No more living in this tiny apartment with the broken heating. You’ll have your own room—a real room. You’ll have everything you need for school. We’ll finally be okay.”

“I can’t do this.” I’m crying again, can’t seem to stop. “Mom, this is Crew’s father. Crew Ashford. I’ve told you about him. We’re not….we can’t…he hates me, Mom. He hates me.”

“So he’s your stepbrother now.” She squeezes my hands. “That changes things. Being family will change things. This marriage is going to work, honey. I need you to trust me.”

“It won’t work.” Something inside me cracks wide open. “Nothing can make this work. Nobody can replace Dad. Nobody. How could you do this? How could you just—”

“Don’t.” Her voice goes sharp.

“Don’t you dare bring your father into this.”

“He’s only been gone five years, Mom. Five years. And you’re already…”

“Stop it!” She stands up so fast I flinch. “You think I don’t know how long it’s been? You think I don’t count every single day? I loved your father more than anything in this world, but he’s gone, Summer. He’s gone and we’re still here and we’re drowning and I…”

She stops. Her hand goes to her chest.

“Mom?”

Her face goes pale. Then gray. She gasps, a horrible rattling sound, and her knees buckle.

“Mom!” I catch her as she falls, but she’s too heavy, we both hit the floor. “Mom, no, please—help! Somebody help!”

Her eyes roll back. Her whole body is shaking.

“MOM!”

The door crashes open. Richard fills the doorway, and the next few minutes are pure chaos—him lifting my mother like she weighs nothing, me following them out, stumbling, crying, everything blurring together. His car is parked outside and it’s massive and sleek and I don’t care, I just climb in the back where he’s laid her across the seat.

“Mom, I’m sorry,” I’m sobbing, holding her hand. “I’m so sorry, this is my fault, I’m sorry…”

Richard drives like a demon. We get to the hospital in what must be record time, and then there are people in scrubs taking her away, someone’s asking me questions I can’t answer, and Richard is talking to doctors in a voice that commands instant attention.

They take her to the emergency ward. The doors swing shut behind her, and I’m left standing in a sterile hallway that smells like antiseptic and fear.

This is my fault.

I did this.

I caused this.

“Summer.” Richard’s hand lands on my shoulder, gentle. “You should go home. Get some rest. She’s going to be fine.”

“I want to stay with her.”

“I know. But she’s not even awake right now, and you need to take care of yourself.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Please. Go home. I’ll call you the second there’s any news.”

I want to argue. But I’m so tired, and my mother is unconscious because of me, and I can’t even call Ruby or Ty because my phone is shattered in pieces in my destroyed backpack.

“Okay,” I whisper.

A nurse helps me find a cab. I give the driver my address through tears, and when I get home, the apartment feels emptier than it ever has before. Richard is still at the hospital. My mother is in emergency. And I’m alone with my guilt.

I cry myself to sleep on the couch because I can’t face going to my bedroom.

****

The next morning, I wake up with my face stuck to the cushion and my whole body aching. I’ve never missed a day of school in my life. My perfect attendance is part of what keeps my scholarship secure.

But I can’t go today. I can’t face those hallways, can’t face Crew, can’t face anyone.

I skip.

It feels like the end of the world.

Instead, I take a bus to the hospital. 

My mother is awake when I get there, sitting up in bed, looking small and tired but alive. Relief hits me so hard I almost collapse.

“I’m sorry,” I say immediately, going to her bedside. “Mom, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Shh.” She takes my hand. “I know, baby. I know.”

Richard is there too, standing by the window, looking exhausted. When he sees me, he smiles.

“The doctors say she’s going to be fine,” he says. “She just needs rest and medication. No stress.”

The guilt crushes me all over again. I caused her stress. I did this.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For paying for everything. For being here.”

“She’s the love of my life now.” Richard comes over, and there’s such genuine warmth in his face that I almost understand why my mother fell for him. 

“You and her are my responsibility. I take care of what’s mine.”

The doctor comes in then, explaining medications and follow-up appointments. Richard handles everything. When they finally discharge my mother—after hours of observation and tests—he tells us we’re not going back to the apartment.

“Everything’s arranged,” he says. “You’re moving in today. There’s no reason to go back to that place.”

“Today?” My voice cracks. “I haven’t packed anything. My books, my clothes—”

“You don’t need to bring anything.” He says it so casually, like he’s talking about throwing away trash instead of our entire life. 

“Everything you need is already at the house. New clothes, new books, new everything. We’ll send someone to collect anything important later.”

I look at my mother. She’s nodding, smiling, like this is all perfectly normal.

This is really happening.

We’re really doing this.

The drive to Richard’s house takes twenty minutes. Twenty minutes out of our neighborhood, through increasingly nice areas, until we’re in a part of the city I’ve only ever seen in magazines.

When we reach the gate, I stop breathing.

It’s like something from a movie. Massive iron gates that open automatically, revealing a driveway that seems to stretch forever. 

There’s a fountain, an actual fountain with marble sculptures. Trees line the path. And at the end, rising up like a castle, is the mansion.

Twenty people could live here and never see each other.

“Do you like it?” Richard asks, and there’s such hope in his voice.

“It’s beautiful,” I manage.

We pull up to the front entrance, and staff—actual staff in uniforms—come out to help my mother from the car. She’s moving slowly, still weak, and they treat her like she’s made of glass.

Richard leads us inside, through a foyer with a chandelier that probably costs more than our entire apartment building, into a living room with ceilings so high my voice would echo.

And standing there, arms crossed, face carved from stone, is Crew.

He’s wearing practice clothes—hockey gear slung over one shoulder. His hair is damp from the shower. He looks like he just got back from the rink, and the sight of him makes my stomach drop through the floor.

“Crew!” Richard’s voice is warm. 

“You’re back from practice.”

“Yeah.” The crew's eyes don’t leave me. “Dad.”

“Good, good. Listen, I have an update.” Richard puts his hand on my mother’s lower back, guiding her forward. 

“You know Victoria, the woman I’ve been telling you about. This is her. And her daughter, Summer.”

Richard looks between us. “You might know each other from school.”

“Yeah.” Crew’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “We’ve met.”

He walks toward me, and every instinct screams to run. But I’m frozen. My mother is right here. Richard is right here. I can’t make a scene.

Crew stops in front of me, towering over me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

“Welcome home, sis,” he says.

Then he hugs me.

It’s not a real hug. It’s a trap. His arms wrap around me, pulling me against his chest, and his mouth is right by my ear when he whispers:

“I’m so glad to have you here. This makes everything so much better. You have no idea how much fun we’re going to have.”

His grip tightens just enough to hurt.

“Welcome to hell, Summer.”