Backup Plan - Emily Goodwin Page 0,10

for her. She worked hard to push forward with her dreams of writing despite being bullied. She stood her ground and refused to bend, saying she’d rather be herself and alone than fake and popular. I always respected the hell out of her for it. It’s not easy to have that sort of confidence, especially when we were teenagers.

Chloe got everything she deserves, and I am happy for her…yet I have to remind not to be bitter or resentful. Not towards her, but towards myself.

Because as far as I’m concerned, Chloe will always be the one that got away, even though she was never mine. It would be one thing if she slipped through my fingers, but it’s much, much worse as I practically shoved her away.

I had my chance with Chloe and I fucking blew it. There’s no way she’ll ever forgive me for it.

Chapter Five

Chloe

Eyes closed, I lie back on the dock. The hot sun beats down on me, and I’ve been sweating since the minute I came out here. There are quite a few people out on the lake today, and the distant sound of boats and jet skis interrupts the quiet of the forest surrounding the lake. Silver Lake is large and kind of horseshoe-shaped. It’s divided into two parts, with the part Dad’s house is on being the “quiet side” of the lake reserved for fishing or any other sort of activity that doesn’t produce a wake. Its counterpart is where the fun happens, and the annual boat races are still held every July, just like they were years ago.

I didn’t grow up right along the lake like this. We lived in a small house right in the middle of Silver Ridge. Mom always wanted to live on lakefront property, but even in this small town, it was too expensive. It was her dream to buy one of the historic homes and fix it up, but she died before that could ever happen.

When this house popped up for sale, I jumped on it, but then almost backed out at the last minute because the thought of fulfilling Mom’s dream without her hurt too much. I’d only been living in LA for a few months at that time, and Nightfall had just gotten optioned for film, so I was overwhelmed on all ends. I went to bed with every intention of getting up and calling the bank to tell them I’m out, and that night I dreamed about Mom. She told me we all needed this house, and she’d be mad if I let this house go and someone else bought it and turned it into a cheesy bed and breakfast. Plus, she didn’t like seeing Dad alone in the house she died in, and said this house would be good for him. Dad likes a project, even though I was planning on hiring contractors to handle the much-needed renovations.

Three months after moving in, Dad went on his first date since Mom died. And to this day he’s still dating Wendy, the next-door neighbor who lost her husband in a car accident three years after Mom died.

A fishing boat goes by, with county music playing too loud for my liking. Any volume is too loud for country music in my opinion, though. Male voices drift over the music and the water, and I’m tempted to sit up and glare at them. Instead, I cover my face with my dark red hair, using it to block out the sun.

I doze off, startling awake when the dock shakes under someone’s feet. I sit up, blinking in the bright light, and see Dad coming down toward me.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Hi, Dad. It’s five already?”

“Five-thirty, actually. I got held up at work.” Dad’s a supervisor at an electrical company, and after years of working holidays, weekends, and midnights, has a nice Monday-through-Friday, nine-to-five job.

“Everything good?” I ask, lazily stretching and grabbing my cover-up. I pull it over my head, and the sheer material sticks to the sweat on my back.

“It is now. I thought you were joining us for dinner.”

“Go without me,” I say. Coming home was so spur of the moment, I didn’t realize that today was Dad and Wendy’s anniversary. They’ve had reservations tonight at a nice place half an hour away for weeks, and a mini-vacation planned a few days later. Dad feels bad they’re leaving basically as soon as I got here, but the quiet will help me concentrate on my book. “I already ate.”

“Really?” Dad questions. “What