Page 83 of Head Under Water

At that he turns back halfway, not quite away from me, but enough so I can only see the hard line of his profile. “I don’t own you.”

The words land heavy between us. A line in the sand.

A contract I still need to sign.

“No,” I drag the word out, my tone light. “You just punch the guys who date me.”

Will turns back to me completely, hands resting on the countertop behind him, shoulders squared. “I punched Banks. Yes, there. You’re right. But not because you were dating. And not because I wanted to hurt you. Because…he was an asshole.”

A grin tugs at my lips, but I fight it. “What did he ever do to you?” I tilt my head. “Because he wasn’t mean to me.”

“He wasn’t nice to you either,” Will says.

The words are certain, matter-of-fact. For once, his tone isn’t defensive.

The argument hangs in the air. I could push this, could deny his claim. But is he actually wrong? Banks was never hurtful, but he was also never…there. He didn’t want to be serious. He didn’t want to put focus on our relationship because he was too focused on school.

But he was always upfront and honest about that. I knew what I was getting myself into with him. I agreed to it.

“He didn’t deserve to be punched.”

Will gives a small nod. “You’re right. It wasn’t my best moment.” His grip tightens on the counter behind him. “But you deserved better. I stand by that.”

I resist the urge to argue. To demand to know who made him in charge of what I deserve—then or now. But I bite my tongue. “I didn’t need you to stick up for me.”

Slowly, he turns back to the counter and picks up the knife, continuing to chop. “Maybe not,” he says quietly, after a moment. “But I did. I always did.”

The words settle.

Something solid sits in my chest, a mound of snow I can’t seem to melt.

“You said you’re the only one allowed to be mean to me,” I repeat his words.

He stills. Just for a second. “Exactly.”

I suck in a breath, bracing myself. “Did you ever think…” My voice thins. “That it might’ve been easier if you’d just been nice to me?”

That makes him turn around fully, his jaw tight, eyes flashing—ready for battle. “Oh, because you were so nice to me?”

“Will.” His name shatters on my lips. “You hated me. You bullied me. All our lives. You made my life miserable, and you got off on it.”

His brows quirk up, and there’s a whole war being fought behind his expression that I don’t quite understand. Finally, his eyes lock with mine. “You’re wrong,” he says quietly. “But I never bothered to correct you.”

“I’m not wrong, Will. I remember everything.”

He gives several small nods of his head, convincing himself of something. “I’ll probably regret this,” he says, his voice rougher now, “but if you really want to have this conversation, let’s have it.”

“What conversation?”

He pushes off the counter and takes a step closer. “Tell me a time I bullied you.” He pauses, studying me with a challenge in his eyes. “And I’ll prove to you it wasn’t what you think.”

My head bobs back with shock. “You’re serious?”

He just watches me. Doesn’t smile or tease. Just waits.

“Well, let’s see. There are so many to choose from.” I tap my fingers on the island rhythmically, searching my brain for the many memories when Will left me crying, fuming, or both. “How about most of our childhood? Let’s start there. When I wanted to play with you guys? You, Cory, Ridge and Kyle, Devon and Tyler. You were the only kids who lived nearby, and you and Cory always walked to the park to meet them without me. Even when Cory tried to include me, you said no. I know we were kids, but that’s where it all started. We were, what? Six? And you couldn’t let me feel included a single time. You always left me at home with our moms.”

He tilts his head to the side, eyes tracking across my face. My skin feels too tight under his scrutiny. “They were going to make fun of you. Do you remember the day I stopped letting you come? Because there were days that you did come. What changed?”