Friday. 8:00 PM. I should be standing in a black mini-dress on Taylor Cunningham's porch, my stilettos digging into my toes, ready to begin the night. The bass of the music should be pumping through my veins, trickling into my bloodstream, working its way into my mind until I become braver and bolder than I usually am.
Friday. 8:00 PM. I'm on a porch, but I'm not wearing a dress and it's pouring rain, plastering my hair to my face and slipping off of my raincoat in icy pelts. It's dark outside, and I can't see anything except the doorbell, illuminated by the flickering lanterns lining the walkway.
My fingers are stiff from the cold but I push the button, listening to the faint echo of it ringing through the house. Silence. I shift from foot to foot, locking my jaw so that my teeth aren't chattering.
Nobody comes to the door. I'm about to turn around and go back home when the knob finally twists and heat from the house envelops the porch. Spencer's wearing a ratty t-shirt and a baseball cap shoved on crooked, and he's studying me with wide eyes.
"Come in and warm up," he says. He doesn't tell me he hates me. He doesn't tell me to go away, that he never wants to see me again. He just takes my hand and tugs me gently inside, shutting the door behind us and blocking on the biting cold and sleet.
I take off my rain boots and coat while he watches with his arms crossed. I keep waiting for him to say something, but he never does. Instead he continues to track my every movement, his blue eyes flickering in the slightest shadow of a blink from time to time. When I turn back around to face him, he finally asks, "Why are you here?"
"I want to talk to you. About everything that happened. We've barely spoken about anything. We never even officially broke up."
"I think it was pretty official," he says, his eyes narrowing. I know he's thinking of Taylor, of the day at his house when I eavesdropped at the window. I'm thinking of that day, too—of the lie I found out Spencer had been telling me. It's the reason that we broke up. Rationally, that would mean this isn't my fault. And yet I still find myself here, wanting him to explain things to me. A crazy part of me thinks that he'll work some miracle and we can fall in love again.
"Let's just talk, okay? Are your parents home? Can we go sit in the living room?"
He doesn't say anything else, just nods and starts walking towards the living room. I sit down on his couch and lace my fingers together, twisting them until they hurt just so I have something else to think about. When he sits down beside me, the cushions shift.
We're silent for a few minutes before I realize that he's waiting for me to speak. Taking a deep breath, I keep my eyes trained on the carpet and say, "I don't want to come here and accuse you. But when I found out you lied to me about that night at the beach I got really mad. And Taylor had been manipulating me for weeks already. I know you're probably pissed that I started dating him so soon after I broke up with you, but I was in a messed-up state. And I was—I still am—mad at you for what you did. But this last week or so I can't help but think...what if there's something I'm missing? Spencer, I'm giving you the chance to tell me the absolute truth. If you lie again, I'll know. And I'll walk away and never look back."
He lifted his arms out his head as he exhaled, curling them loosely around the top of the couch. It only took a few breaths for him to open his mouth and say, "I'm sorry I lied, Erika."
He admitted it. I'd expected him to hesitate, to make excuses. And yet here he is, about to tell me everything. Maybe he doesn't want to lose me. Maybe there's a tiny thread pulling him to me like it's endlessly pulling me to him.
"You already know what happened," he continues. "Taylor told me he wanted to sneak Allison down to the room so I had to sleep on the couch. I tried to talk him out of it, but that's not a good excuse. I went with it in the end. I still don't know why. Yeah, Taylor was my friend, but so were you and Brynn and everyone else. I think about it all the time—how I let that silence ruin so much."
I recognize the regret coating his voice. It's the same sensation I've felt time and time again, when I've thought of hours I've wasted with Taylor or lies I've spun just to protect myself. I chew down on my lip and think of all the things I could say to him: how I'll never forgive him, how he began so many of my problems, how he thought everything would be okay if he told that one tiny lie. But how much of a hypocrite would he be? He's still sitting next to me on this couch, telling me everything after all the unspeakable things I've done. He's forgiven me. Why can't I do the same?
He's sorry. I can tell—it's wedged deep in his wide eyes and the way his mouth is tightened, the way his jaw is tense. Why should I punish him again and again by refusing to forgive him?
"I know what that's like," I say quietly. "To carry that kind of burden with you. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I deserve it." He runs his hands through his hair and then sets them in his lap, inches from my own. I feel a tug towards them, like I want to reach out and grab them.
I'm angry that I can't, but it still doesn't feel like the right time. Instead, I say, "I forgive you."
"You do?"
"Yeah." I scoot closer to him, so that our shoulders are pressed up against each other. I can feel heat radiating from underneath his shirt. "I think you should talk to Brynn and let her know how you feel. I'm sure she'll forgive you, too. You'll never be able to undo what you did, Spencer. But you can't live the rest of your life regretting it."
"Guess not. You were right to dump me. I'm not sure why you moved on to Taylor, but it's fine."
"You forgive me, too?"
He stretches out his fingers towards mine but relaxes them at the last second, before they can touch. "I don't have to forgive you," he says. "There's nothing to forgive. Who you date is your choice. You've suffered enough."
"We both have." I crack a smile and when I glance over I see that the corners of his mouth are turned up. One dimple protrudes from his left cheek, matching the dull sparkle that is beginning to revive his eyes.
Then he reaches out and takes my hand.
A/N: How do you feel about the first bonus? There will definitely be more to come—each bonus will be shorter but hopefully will give a sense of conclusion that you may not have gotten from the book! I'm so excited to keep writing these.