Shameless - Sybil Bartel Page 0,68

sob broke free. Then I did what I should’ve done years ago. I hugged her. “I’m so sorry, Fallon.”

She hugged me back, tightly, and it was better than any words she could’ve said.

Falling apart but also feeling like I was finally coming together, I forced myself to step away. “I don’t want to mess up your dress.” I tried to laugh as I swiped at my face.

Tucking a strand of my hair back, blinking away her own emotions, her lips hinted at a smile. “I don’t mind.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” I let out a half laugh. “Remember when you made mud pies with me in your Chanel dress and I accidentally turned the hose on you?”

A fondness I’d always taken for granted softened her eyes. “I remember.”

“We didn’t make mud pies again after that.” I’d felt too guilty for getting her wet.

She smiled. “I didn’t wear that dress again.”

We both laughed.

“Thank you,” I whispered against the tears trying to come back.

Her expression turned wary. “Can we move past this?”

I knew she wasn’t just speaking about our past, but about me. About whether or not I was going to snort my way into an early grave or piss off another drug dealer, or do something equally stupid, and in that moment, I didn’t feel a few days shy of twenty. I felt a lifetime of insecurity, I felt the loss of my childhood to circumstances, and I felt both too old and too young.

But I did know one thing. “I want to be a better person.”

“Oh, Summer.” Her delicate hands grasped my shoulders and she held me tight in her version of an embrace before releasing me. “You will do just fine. Remember, you’re as good as—”

“Your acts,” I finished the sentiment she’d been drilling into me since I was little.

Her smile was reserved like it always was, but it brought me comfort.

Inhaling, she clasped her hands in front of her in a regal gesture I’d never managed to emulate. “I’m not sure what you’re thinking your next steps are, but I have a charity dinner for Children’s Hospital next week.”

I sucked in a sharp breath already knowing what was coming. “I’m not ready for that.” Dressing in couture, smiling for people who talked behind my back, free flowing alcohol in the ballroom and lines in the bathroom—no thanks.

“You can’t hide forever,” she quietly chided.

I turned toward the sweeping ocean view wishing it was mountains. “Why not?” Suddenly depressed, I looked out at the endless paradise that used to feel like home. “Trust me, none of your friends will want me there, and I don’t have any friends of my own in this town anymore.” I wasn’t sure I ever did.

Stepping next to me, she took in the same view. “I want you there.” Her green-eyed gaze turned toward me. “Your life doesn’t have to be defined by your past.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to say, tell that to a six-foot-five dark haired, dark eyed bodyguard. But Fallon didn’t know what had happened on that mountain, or that I’d exchanged one obsession for another, and I wasn’t going to burden her with any more of my shit.

“Please consider it.” She squeezed my shoulder once then dropped her hand. “I think you might have a new perspective if you attend.” Her slight smile came back. “And there’s an opening on the board.”

“Fallon—”

In an unusual display of emotion, her hand came up. “I know it’s not what an almost twenty-year-old wants to do with her free time. But I do really think you would enjoy it. I would not have suggested it otherwise.”

I laughed without humor. “And how old were you when you started your foundation?” It was a rhetorical question. She’d started her charity when she was about my age. Now she had a board of directors and was responsible for funding an entire hospital for kids with rare diseases, not to mention all the money she raised for medical research.

“Please just consider it. In the meantime, I’m going for a visit tomorrow.” She paused. “I would love for you to join me.”

My skin started to itch from the inside. I hated hospitals. Like, hated them. Doctors too for that matter. I’d only tolerated rehab because no one wore white coats and the place was decorated like a damn hotel. “Hospitals and I aren’t friends.” Not since Leo had taken me to county when I was fifteen.

Dragging me down endless corridors with open doors to rooms filled with unimaginable amounts