Chapter 1

I ruined him.

He stood in the drizzling rain, staring at me, as I stood, dumbstruck, on the slick, manicured lawn. I saw it in his eyes – the betrayal, the hurt, the fact that I'd done this to him.

Me. Melody Blaire. The girl he'd been rescuing in one way or another, almost from the very beginning.

But now, he had it all wrong. I had nothing to do with this current cluster. I bit my lip. Or, almost nothing. At least, not on purpose.

Damn it.

I gave him a pleading look. "Joel, please. It's not what you think it is."

He made a noise. It might've been a scoff, except it was too raw to convey normal human disbelief. With a slow shake of his head, he turned away, heading for his car.

I lunged after him, clutching his muscular forearm with my trembling fingers. I gave his arm a desperate squeeze. "Just wait, okay? I can explain."

Except, I couldn’t.

If I told him everything, it might mean the death of him, literally.

Still, somehow, I'd make it right. I'd make everything right. I just needed some time, that's all.

To my infinite frustration, Joel apparently wasn't inclined to wait. Gently, he pried my fingers from his rain-soaked skin. "Forget it," he said. "Not a big deal."

It was lie, and not a very good one. It was a big deal. A very big deal. It was written all over his face, and I couldn’t exactly blame him.

Lamely, I mumbled, "That wasn't supposed to happen. Not like that, anyway."

Stupid Derek.

Stupid me.

Stupid dreams that were slipping away.

From somewhere near the front of the house, a female voice called out, "Hey Melody! Ask him if he wants pie!"

Oh, for God's sake. Aunt Gina.

Now, she was trying to help? Where was she an hour ago, when everything was going to crap?

But I wasn't being fair. At least Aunt Gina was trying to help. It was more than I could say for some people.

Trying not to scowl, I turned toward the sound of my aunt's voice and spotted her, standing in the open front doorway of the crumbling mansion that I called home. With a pathetic smile, I waved her away, hoping she'd take the hint.

She didn't.

"Just ask him," she called. In an overly cheery voice, she added, "It's apple. Everyone's favorite, right?"

I made a sound of frustration. Didn't she get it? Pie wouldn’t solve anything. A flamethrower, now that might be helpful.

Still, I turned back to Joel, who, thank God, was still there. With a note of desperation, I asked, "Do you? Want pie, I mean?" I sucked in a nervous breath. "We could talk. And, uh, I think there's ice cream in the freezer."

It was a stupid little speech from a stupid little girl – me, even if I was twenty-one years old. Right now, I was feeling more like five, about to be abandoned by the person I needed most.

Silently, Joel shook his head.

Of course, he didn't want pie. Probably, he wanted to strangle me. And all things considered, I couldn’t quite blame him. But he didn't know everything that I knew, so of course, he'd be seeing things totally wrong.

And the worst thing was, I couldn’t even correct him. Not if I really cared. And I did care, more than he obviously knew.

Suddenly, I hated everything. I hated the big, crumbling place that I called home. I hated my last name and everything it stood for. I hated the fact that some guy I'd known for only a few weeks had come to mean more to me than the hollow life I'd been living for far too long.

I watched, helplessly, as Joel turned away yet again.

Short of throwing myself at him, I wasn't sure what I could do.

Sure, I could tackle him, and we could roll around on the front lawn like Aunt Gina's drunken date last Christmas Eve. Or, I could claw at his clothes and beg him not to walk away. Or maybe I could do what Angelina the Skank had done the first time she'd met him. I could beg him for just one blissful night alone – in his arms, in his bed, in his life.

Except I didn't want Joel for just one night. I wanted him forever.

Six weeks. That was how long I'd known him. Six amazing, crazy weeks.

During those weeks, I'd learned a few things – about him, about myself, and about the things in life that really mattered.

And if he left me now, I knew that nothing else would matter, ever again.

I blinked long and hard. I had to find some way to tell him. I'd just need to be creative. That's all. Supposedly, creativity ran in the family, right? No matter how long it took, or what I had to do, I'd find some way.

He was worth it. We were worth it.

Funny to think that not too long ago, Joel was just some guy who'd beaten the crap out of the closest thing I had to a brother – not that I'd known that the first time I’d seen him, walking into my family's boardroom like he owned the place.