The Year We Fell Apart (28 page)

His eyes close. He blinks them open and squeezes my hand. “There’s no excuse for the things I said. The way I treated you . . .” He grimaces. “I am so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am for hurting you.”

But I do know. I know exactly how it feels to face someone after showing them the ugliest part of yourself.

Say everything
.

“I’m sorry too. You deserved better from me. You deserved the truth.”

“You tried to explain—”

“I’m not talking about the other night.”

The contradiction slips off his face. “Oh.”

I clasp my arms around myself. “What happened in October . . . I was terrified to tell you. I knew how you felt about my drinking, and I’d never been that wasted before. I blacked out. And the next day, when I realized what I’d done, I just . . . panicked. I didn’t want to hurt you more than I already had, and I was sure I’d lose you anyway, so . . . I took the decision away from you. And I had no right to do that.”

We’re quiet for a moment, and I make a thousand wishes that we could go back. Change one thing, or change everything, and not have to do this. Not have to spend the next week or month or year making up for the fact that we hurt each other. That we are still hurting.

But we can’t go back. The only way to change our past is by adding to it.

“Here,” he says. “The thing I wanted to show you . . .”

He leads me around the tree and lets go of my hand, gesturing ahead of us. I stumble forward, not knowing what to look for. And then I spot the carving.

An infinity symbol, with our initials inside. I trace my fingers over the lopsided figure eight.

“When did you—”

“Last winter. When I was home for break. I got this idea in my head that you might see it. That it might make you change your mind.”

I shut my eyes, sending a river down my cheek. I blink my vision clear and turn around.

“I have to leave again.” He’s staring at the ground between us. “My dad was going to let me stay, but then I got into that fight . . .” He cocks his head and smiles tightly. “He wasn’t happy about it.”

“So . . . what does that mean?” I don’t say
for us
.

I hold my breath while he shuffles closer. “No matter what I said, or how I acted, I never gave up on our promise. I want to work this out, and I can wait. I’ll wait as long as you need. I’ll come home more often, holidays and weekends, I’ll do whatever it takes. But after the way I treated you, if you can’t . . .”

I focus on my hands. “I waited too, you know. I kept that promise.”

He’s searching my face. Then he’s touching my cheek. “Harper . . . I’ll understand if it’s really over. I just need to know.”

I lean into his touch, hungry for it even after everything that’s happened. His eyes flicker back and forth between mine. The crease in his forehead stays put, but his lips soften. Slow as the tide, his mouth moves to the corner of mine, then ebbs. He’s suspended millimeters above me, and then gently presses his lips against mine.

A residual sting runs down my sternum, and I pull back. Declan winces.

But this is not the same person who made me cry in an empty parking lot. This is my best friend. My favorite Declan.

Covering his hand with my own, I turn and brush my lips across his open palm. Then I tilt my chin up and our lips meet and it’s sweeter than any touch we’ve ever had—our new best kiss.

Declan’s thumb trails across my jaw while my hand curves around his neck, and I can feel Declan’s smile and it is so contagious. He smiles harder, and then we’re not even kissing anymore, just beaming at each other.

I try to forgive everything in that moment. Forgive Declan, for losing faith in me when I needed it most. For hurting me. And I try to forgive myself, too. For every epic mistake and for losing myself in them. It doesn’t happen all at once, but I’ll find that forgiveness, eventually.

Eventually, all of this will be behind us, only a small part of who we are. We may never reach a life entirely absent of regret, or forget the missteps we made along the way. All we can do is keep moving.

So I move closer. I slide my arms around his waist and rest my forehead against his.

“You and me, Declan . . . we’ll never be over.”

I’m incredibly fortunate to have met so many kind and talented members of the writing community on my road to publication, and I am forever grateful for all the support they have given me along the way.

My deepest gratitude goes to my agent, Lara Perkins, for all her guidance and for loving Harper and Declan as much as I do. Thank you for believing in me and for your thoughtful approach to everything you do. I am so lucky to have you in my corner.

Many heartfelt thanks to my incomparable editor, Sara Sargent. Thank you for swooning over Declan and, more importantly, for pushing me to do my best work, for challenging me and giving me room to grow. And for buying me my first butterbeer.

To the team at Simon Pulse, who have been amazing to work with and who took my cover thoughts and turned them into something truly beautiful. Endless thanks for all you’ve done to bring this book to life.

To my dear friend Olivia, for putting up with countless rambling calls/emails/texts about character arcs and for insisting Harper’s story was worth telling, even after reading the terrible first draft—I love you more than sweet potato pancakes, and I couldn’t have done this without you.

This story really grew its wings during a contest called Pitch Wars. To Evelyn Skye, for picking my manuscript to mentor and for killing so many of my darlings. Declan and I will always be indebted to you. And to Brenda Drake, for creating such a supportive and welcoming community, and for putting so much time and energy into helping other writers succeed. Thanks for being so awesome.

To my brilliant CP Laurie Elizabeth Flynn, thank you for your unwavering enthusiasm and encouragement throughout this crazy journey. I’m glad we got to share so many firsts together. (See what I did there?)

To my early readers, especially those who suffered through more than one draft: Jenna, Katie, Emily, and Lindsey—you guys are my heroes.

Thank you to my family, and especially my parents, for teaching me to follow my dreams, and for their patience, love, and support during all the years it took me to figure out what those dreams were.

Last but not least, my infinite thanks to Jim. Thank you for giving me the strength to keep going, even on the days I convinced myself I was wasting my time. Thank you for keeping me fed when inspiration struck and I couldn’t tear myself away from this story, and for cleaning up after me when I was under deadline. I love you forever and always.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

SIMON PULSE

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First Simon Pulse hardcover edition January 2016

Text copyright © 2016 by Emily Martin

Jacket illustration copyright © 2016 by Sarah Dennis

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

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Jacket designed by Karina Granda

Interior designed by Tom Daly

Author photograph copyright © Kate L Photography

The text of this book was set in Adobe Garamond Pro.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Martin, Emily, 1987–

The year we fell apart / by Emily Martin. — First Simon Pulse hardcover edition.

p. cm.

Summary: A year ago Harper made the biggest mistake of her life by destroying her relationship with her best friend and first love, Declan, so now that he is home from boarding school for the summer, Harper has three months to fix the year of miscommunications, secrets, and lies or finally let go altogether.

[1. Love—Fiction. 2. Friendship—Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.1.M373Ye 2015

[Fic]—dc23

2014048842

ISBN 978-1-4814-3841-4 (hc)

ISBN 978-1-4814-3843-8 (eBook)