Everything hurt. My head hurt. My stomach hurt. My hair and my eyelashes somehow even hurt. 

I tried to open my eyes and moaned when I finally succeeded. The sun was like a knife driven right into between my eyebrows. I tried to clap my hand over my face, but the motion made the room start spinning. "Merciful God," I groaned and shut my eyes again. 

There was a soft sound of footsteps outside my bedroom door. I must have woken Everly. "Hey," I croaked, licking my parched lips. "Would you mind getting me a glass of water?"

"If you have water right now, you're just going to puke," came a deep, sleep-clogged voice. 

I shot straight up in bed and stared at Beau. Merciful heavens, what was he doing there, standing in my doorway all shirtless and rumpled and looking like every kind of sin I'd been warned against? I stared at him just long enough for his mouth to kick upward into a smile...

And then everything hurt again. I wondered if I had the flu. My little sister Miriam had said it felt like this when she got it. Everything hurting, 

 I fell back onto the bed, feeling like I'd been kicked in the stomach by a cow. "Dear Lord above," I panted. 

"Do you have any juice in the house? I'll mix you up something to help your electrolytes."

I had no idea what he was on about, but I nodded weakly. "In the fridge." Talking felt like dying. 

I heard his step on the floorboards as he walked back down the narrow hall that separated my room from Everly's. 

Everly who had left for Gabe's house early this morning. 

Everly was not here.

But Beau somehow was?

I squeezed my eyes shut - even that hurt somehow - and tried to piece together how it was that Beauregard King was in my house right now. We’d become friends once Everly and Gabe started dating, but there was no way anything more had happened. He was famous in the secular world. He’d want a girl who didn’t seem so sheltered and naive. He wasn't... oh heavens no, he hadn't been in my bed last night… right? 

A flutter of terror in my stomach made the contents rise. For all his sweetness, Beau was from a family steeped in worldliness. And while I didn't follow the laws of the Chosen anymore, I couldn't shake the warning voice inside of me. He was in a rock and roll band, it hissed. Satan's music. 

And he had stayed the night. Where? In here?

I clapped my hand over my mouth and rolled to the side, noting with muted surprise that there was a garbage can already sitting there at the ready. "Oh no," I breathed, touching my lips, my body, checking, checking...

Everything felt fine. Normal even. Flu aside of course. 

I swallowed hard and willed my stomach to settle. Beau - terrifying, fascinating Beau - was in my house, but it seemed like he had... slept on the couch?

Why?

"Here you are." Beau reappeared at my doorway, and I was relieved that he had put on a shirt. He handed me a glass and laughed when I squinted at it suspiciously. "It's apple juice with honey and some salt." He grinned wider when I wrinkled my nose. "It'll replace what you lost drinking last night. It should help that headache, as should this." He opened his fist and offered me two white pills. 

I glanced down at what he was offering and back up again. It was sweet that he was trying to take care of me, but there was one small problem. "I didn't have anything to drink last night."

He raised an eyebrow.

I shook my head and then regretted it. But he was wrong. "I didn't drink last night," I protested, louder now. "I didn't want to miss any of Everly's goodbye, so I specifically stuck with iced tea... why are you laughing?" I demanded.

He was. I scowled as he laughed so hard he had to set down the drink. My mouth was a desert. I wanted so badly to reach for it, but not when he was laughing at me like this. 

He caught a glimpse of my face and tried to pull himself together. "I'm sorry, you said iced tea, right?"

"Yes," I grumbled. My thirst won out and I reached for the drink he'd brought me. The salty, sweet mixture felt odd on my tongue, but I was too parched to care.

"Hey, hey," he said, reaching out and pulling the glass from my lips. His hazel eyes were concerned. "Slow down," he said. "You're going to make yourself sick."

"I'm already sick," I said. "I think I have the flu. It's too hot in here, can you open the window?"

He was smiling for some reason when he leaned over my bed to push my sticky window up, letting in the cacophony of birds. "Oh hush," I spat at them, flinging my arm up over my eyes. "There's nothing to be singing about."

"You don't have the flu, Rachel," he said, pushing back from my wall. He looked down at me and I sulkily took another sip of the odd tasting drink. My head was starting to actually feel a little better. He was sweet for making it for me. Sweet and handsome and way too big for my tiny little bedroom. "You're hungover."

At the sound of that, all nice thoughts I'd been having about him vanished. "I told you," I said, mustering up as much dignity as I could while lying sweating and squinting in bed. "I didn't have anything to drink."

"Long Island Iced Teas are alcoholic, Rachel," he said gently. "They're actually one of the strongest drinks you could have. It's no wonder you were falling down drunk last night."

Long Island Iced Tea. I remembered the name on the menu and immediately flushed hot. My heart started racing and my fingers curled in panic. I should have known. I hadn't known. 

Panic was closing my throat. It was the way he looked down at me. It had nothing to do with his expression, which was concerned and faintly amused. It was the way he was looming over my bed in the morning. It was the way he was informing me of a mistake I swore I hadn't made. It was the hot, bright shame that slithered through my veins. I could almost see the eyes of the congregation, watching impassively, doing nothing, waiting for the first blow to be struck...

I sat up. Ignoring the way the world slid sideways, and squeezing my eyes shut against the pain in my head, I forced my words out between teeth gritted in panic. "You need to go."

My eyes were still shut, so I couldn't see his face, but I could feel the shift in the air. He was surprised. "Rachel, it's okay, you didn't know..."

There was that note in his voice. Whether he heard it or not made no difference, because I sure did. The note of confusion. Like I was some kind of puzzle. Like the way I'd grown up meant I belonged in a zoo, or in a lab to be studied under a microscope. "You're right, I didn't," I said crisply. "And it's not right for you to make me feel silly for not knowing. I'm not silly, Beau."

"No, of course you're not, it's just—"

"Don't laugh at me," I said. "Please. Don't laugh at me ever again."

He inhaled sharply and then held it. Then let it out in a long exhale I could feel rushing across my cheek. I kept my eyes shut until he finally said, "I won't."

"Good."

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Rachel?" His tone was more formal now, and part of me wanted to tell him it was okay. To ask him to go back to teasing me and taking care of me. 

I licked my lips and steeled myself to do the right thing. The way I had countless millions of times before. "You can go," I said. 

He held his breath again. I kept my eyes shut, not even daring to peek at him. If he wanted to stay, there was no way I could stop him. I was alone here in this house with this man, this rock and roll musician, completely vulnerable. I felt so helpless, I was almost able to pray again. 

But after a moment, I heard his tread on the floor. I held my breath until I heard the front door slam, then opened my eyes to see that he had done what I asked. 

I wasn't sure why that surprised me so much.