Mom's jaw drops when I walk into the restaurant. Recognition flashes on her face. And then it's there—the pain of losing Rosie. I know how that feels. Some mornings I wake up and think of texting her only to realize I can't.

Some nights I toss and turn, desperate to ask my big sister for advice. But I can't. She's gone.

I know it's wrong to push Mom like this. I should let her grieve her own way, in her own time. But I can't take it anymore. I can't keep pretending.

We're all hiding. Miles hides behind his songs. My parents hide being their perfect image.

And I hide between my schoolwork. I drown myself in my studies in an attempt to escape the grief, but it only hurts worse when I resurface.

I take a seat across from my mother.

She nods a polite hello. "Your dress is lovely. New?"

"Found it today. It was a great deal."

She studies me. Her mouth opens like she's about to speak, but she says nothing. I guess that's a Smart family tradition. Words are always on the tips of our tongues, just barely failing us.

Miles glances at me like I'm a vase he's checking for cracks. His gaze turns back to my parents. "This is a lovely restaurant." Under the table, he takes my hand. "I'm afraid Meg and I need to leave after this."

"Oh?" Mom asks.

"She has a test Tuesday, and I have a deadline."

"What do you do, son?" My dad asks.

"I'm a songwriter." Miles skips over the rock star, sex god part. "Pop, mostly. The rules are strict, but I have fun with it."

"Anything I would know?" Dad asks.

Miles names another few songs. Different ones. Mom's gaze shoots to me. Her mood shifts now that she has something pleasant to latch on to. Her only daughter has a successful boyfriend. Only that's a lie, because I'm the one keeping up appearances.

I let Miles take the spotlight. He's effortlessly charming, begging my parents for stories about my childhood, asking if I was always such an adorable little nerd. He really sells it, really acts like my sweet, calm, loving boyfriend.

This restaurant serves expensive organic food. It usually tastes good, but not today. My tea has no flavor. Even my curry shrimp, a dish that's usually bursting with spice, has no flavor.

Finally, we finish eating. Miles insists on paying the check. My parents pretend to object. They look at me with pride. I've always been the good girl who didn't get into trouble. Future doctor. Perfect grades. Sweet boyfriend. I follow so well in their footsteps, keeping up these fraudulent appearances.

My parents invite us to join them at the wine bar across the street from the mall. We decline.

After some goodbyes and tense hugs, Miles and I leave.

We walk to the car in silence. We drive to my parents' house in silence. Our suitcases are already packed. I guess he thought of everything.

He really is a great boyfriend. Even if that's all a lie to please my parents.

I linger in Rosie's cleaned-out room. The spare room. It's completely transformed. There are no signs of her—no pop princess posters, no touches of bright purple, no ornamental vanity. There's nothing here but a bed and a dresser.

Maybe this is what moving on looks like. Would it be better to keep her room intact, a shrine to a girl who doesn't exist anymore? I don't know.

All I know is that this house is too expansive, too quiet. I'm going to suffocate.

I bring my suitcase downstairs. Miles is sitting on the edge of the couch. His eyes are on mine.

What does that look mean?

I don't know that either. But I do know something. I need to feel better. He's the only person who makes me feel better.

I takes his hands and pull him off the couch.

He leans closer. There's intention in his eyes. There are words on the tip of his tongue.

But he doesn't speak them. He kisses me.

I kiss back. Finally, I feel something. Finally, I taste something. Finally, I need something.

I grind my crotch against his. I dig my hands into his hair. I need him to wipe away everything that hurts.

He pulls back. His eyes find mine. They're filled with concern.

I run my fingertips along his neck. "Fuck me."

"I'm not your distraction."

"Please. I need to feel something good."

I press my lips into his. For a moment, he doesn't kiss back. Then something in him takes over, and his hands are on my ass. His tongue is in my mouth, sliding around mine like he can't bring himself to do anything but fuck me.

Miles breaks the kiss. "Look me in the eyes and tell me it's because you want me and not because you're miserable."

"I want you." Okay, no more playing around. I reach under my dress and slide my underwear to my knees. "I want you coming inside me."

All the resolve on his face fades away. I'm the one affecting him, making him bend to my will.

"What if your parents come home?" he asks.

"They won't. They hate it here as much as I do."

He moves closer, pressing his lips against my neck, his crotch against mine. "Say it again."

"I want you inside me." I lean into his kiss. "I want to feel you come."

He groans. His fingers dig into my hips. He can't control himself any longer. He wants this as badly as I do.

He pins me to the wall, kissing me hard and deep.

I close my eyes. This is a Miles I understand. Every place he touches is on fire, burning away everything that hurts.

His teeth sink into my neck. He unzips my dress and slides it down my shoulders. His hand slides over my bra. I groan and reach for his shoulders, but he grabs my wrists and pins them against the wall.

"Not yet," he growls.

He thrusts his hips into mine. I'm pressed firmly against the wall, no way of moving, nowhere to go, nothing to feel except this.

I turn into his embrace. I rock my body into his.

Miles bites me again. The sting sends waves of pleasure through my body. Everything he does feels so good. It's hard to believe he's ever caused me pain.

He pulls my bra out of the way, exposing my breasts. He groans, sinking his teeth into my neck again.

I push away everything that's been weighing me down until I'm light enough to float. This is my chance to feel good.

This is my chance to be his.

To have him be mine.

I make another move for his back, but his hands are on my wrists almost instantly.

He pins me to the wall again. I arch my back. I rock my hips into his. His erection is pressed against my stomach, and I want more of it. I want to feel him in my hands, my mouth, my sex.

He brings his hand to my chest and draws circles around my nipples, one at a time. I moan. I already need him so badly. He's the only thing that can free me.

"Miles, please."

"Mhmmm."

Every part of my body is begging for his touch, but his hands feel so good on my breasts. I'm an instrument, and I'm tuned to perfection. I lose track of everything but the pleasure. His touch is so light I can barely feel it. Somehow, that makes it more intense

Pleasure shoots through my body. I bite my lip. I rock my crotch into his.

"Please," I groan.

He slides one hand between my legs. Slowly, his fingertips skim my thigh. Then they're on me.

He lets out a low moan. "You're so fucking wet."

He brings his lips back to mine. His kiss is intense but steady. He strokes me again and again. I moan. I shake. I suck on his lips.

But he doesn't relent. My sex pangs. Almost.

I groan into his mouth, kissing him harder. I rock my hips to match his motions. Pleasure pools inside me. Almost. Yes, almost.

He rubs my nipple with his thumb. I can't do anything except moan and kiss him harder.

The pressure inside me builds. It's so much, so intense. I break away from his kiss to cry out.

"Miles," I groan.

An orgasm rushes through me. It's only good, only pleasure. I close my eyes and hold onto it as long as I can. My body is warm, relaxed, free.

My arms fall to my sides. He unhooks my bra and tosses it aside. Then it's my new dress. It's a heap on the floor.

His eyes find mine. They're heavy with lust like he's lost in this, too. Like he needs this as much as I do.

Somewhere deep inside, he hurts. For the next few minutes, I'll be the one to wipe it away.

I pull his shirt over his head and explore his body with my hands. Every inch of him is hard. His skin is warm, soft. It belongs against my fingers.

We belong together. Maybe our hearts and our heads are fucked, but our bodies are perfect together.

He undoes his jeans and kicks them to the floor. His boxers go with them.

He's naked. He's naked, and for now, he's mine.

Miles slides his hand under my thigh and wraps my leg around his waist. "I've never tried this before."

"You say that to all the girls you pin against the wall."

"No." He presses his lips against my neck. "Only you."

He takes my other thigh and wraps that leg around his waist. I'm airborne. I squeeze him with my thighs. I hug his shoulders.

His hands slide to my ass. He pulls me into position. My sex is hovering over his cock. Then we're there. His tip strains against me, teasing me.

I groan.

Is it really possible to need someone this much?

The world clicks into place as he enters me. Hard to believe I ever felt anything but bliss. Hard to believe I could belong anywhere but pressed against Miles.

He holds onto my ass and thrusts into me. He's deep already. He feels good already.

I hold him as tightly as I can, and I surrender to the ride. I press my back and head against the wall to give him leverage, and he thrusts deeper. Deeper.

His nails dig into my ass.

He groans against my mouth, holding me tighter.

"Harder," I breathe. I need more of him. I need all of him.

He moves harder, deeper. I close my eyes and rock my hips to meet him. I bite my lip. I turn my head, offering him my neck.

He runs his lips against my skin. Then it's his teeth. He bites me hard, like he's marking me, like he feels so good he can't help it.

I hug his shoulders. "Harder."

His grip around my hips tightens. He pins me to the wall and he fucks me. No illusions of making love. We're two broken people finding a way to feel good.

I close my eyes, soaking in every bit of pleasure and pain.

Almost. Almost. Almost. The knot inside me builds until I can't take it anymore.

An orgasm rushes through me. It's fast and intense. I have to scream to contain it.

His breath is strained. He grunts, lost in the sensation.

I'm almost there again.

I groan.

He slams my hips into the wall.

One more thrust and all that tension releases inside me. I gasp, clawing at his back, screaming his name over and over.

He holds me steady, rocking into me as I come. His breath gets heavier. His eyelids press together.

He pins me to the wall as he thrusts harder and harder. Then he's there. I can feel his cock pulsing inside me as he comes.

He holds me for a moment then unwraps my legs and sets my feet on the ground.

For a minute, everything is right. We kiss desperately, slowly, like we mean it. Then the kiss breaks and he steps back. We clean up and dress.

There's a shift in the mood. Neither one of us wants to talk.

I roll my suitcase to the door.

"You ready to go back to L.A.?" he asks.

I shake my head. "No. There's somewhere else I want to go."

"Where?"

"To visit Rosie."

* * *

The grass is dry. There's no danger of slipping in my canvas sneakers. I squeeze Miles's hand and make my way to my sister's grave. Just left of the center line, sandwiched between a beloved grandmother and another girl who died way too young.

My hands are empty. No flowers, no trinkets, nothing to offer her. It's silly. I know she isn't here, that her spirit is off in some other plane of existence. But I can almost feel her. She would've hated it here, so dull and drab and totally average.

I sit, cross-legged, on the ground, no concern for the grass stains that might form on my dress. Miles kneels behind me. He wraps his arms around me and leans in close.

"Do you want some time alone?" he asks.

I shake my head. "No, I like your company. Even when you're driving me out of my mind."

"Meg, we're not"

"I know. It's just… you know how this feels. It hurts for such a long time. Then one day you wake up and it doesn't hurt quite as much, and you're not sure how you're supposed to deal with that."

He shifts, melting into me. His breath warms my neck but he says nothing.

I turn my attention to the tombstone. "Rosie would've warned me about you."

"That right?"

"Absolutely." I play with a blade of grass. My shoulders tense. I roll them back and take a deep breath. It's a little easier. A little softer.

The last few months have been difficult between school and work and Miles making me lose track of which way is up and which way is down. But it doesn't hurt as much anymore. It's a dull ache instead of a crushing pain.

"I'm sorry," I say to someone, maybe Rosie, maybe myself. "I wish I'd stopped running sooner. I should never have let you get away with lying to me. But I understand now, how it starts. It's one lie, one temptation. Then it snowballs into something you can't control." I run my fingers over the tombstone, tracing the letters in her name. "I'm sorry. I love you, and I miss you, and mostly, I forgive you."

My exhale is long and deep. It's like there isn't an ounce of oxygen left in my body. I forgive my sister for lying to me. I forgive my parents for trying to cope. I forgive myself for missing all the signs she was drowning.

I forgive myself for running from the pain. But I'm done running.

The muscles of my back relax. I'm a puddle again, taking shape around Miles. He holds me close, the way he would if he really loved me.

We stay like that for minutes. It's calm, intimate.

Slowly, I push myself to my feet and walk back to the car.

He runs his fingers over my neck. "Hey."

"Hey."

"Look at me."

I turn so we're eye to eye.

"We still have those same terms—no lies?"

"Yeah."

His expression gets serious. "I have to ask you something."

Miles is reminding me about honesty? That's rich, but I guess I can entertain him. "What?"

"Do you have feelings for me?"