“She needs better taste in music,” I quipped. “If I hear My Chemical Romance blasting from her phone one more time, I swear someone will get decapitated.”

I expected a snort, a laugh, anything. But nothing ever came. I reached to touch her thigh. “Hey. It will be okay.”

“No, it won’t. My dad’s dead. My dog’s dead. My best friend is dying. The only person I have left is you. Well, and Darren and Mayra, I guess, but they only care because they have to. One is paid, and the other is just embarrassed by his sorry excuse for a wife.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t think Darren cared for her. If he had, he wouldn’t have pulled this type of shit. But hey, what the fuck did I know about love? A lot, apparently. For starters, I knew that it hurt like a motherfucker.

I parked her vehicle a few feet away from an old sycamore. The earth beneath it was loose and damp, easy to dig. I took out a shovel I’d picked up from the gardener’s shed from the trunk, flung my shirt to the driver’s seat and started digging. She watched my back all the while. I carried Shadow into his burial spot and covered him in dark soil, then grabbed a pointy branch and wrote down his name in the sand. Shadow Dog Carter.

“Let’s give him a eulogy.” I tugged her to my side, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and dropping a kiss on the crown of her head. “He was a good dog. He deserves it.”

She stared at the fresh pile of mud mounded under the sycamore, her chin shaking. I wanted to suck her agony into my own body until she felt better, even if it killed me. And the worst part, was, I knew I was wronging her by not telling her about my meeting with Darren this afternoon. About Artem. And still, I couldn’t see her hurting more.

“Once upon a time there was a little girl,” she started, crouching down and burying her palm inside the soil. “The girl was scared of the dark and loved Kit Kats. There were four fingers on every Kit Kat. One for her. One for her father. One for her mother, and one…” She paused. I knew she was smiling, even though she was looking down. “The girl wanted a companion, so her daddy gave her a puppy for Christmas. The girl named the dog Shadow, because he followed her everywhere. In the pouring rain and the blistering heat. He was there for her when her daddy died. He was there for her when her mother reinvented herself and decided that the girl no longer fit into the picture. He was there for her when they took her soul and all that was left behind was her scarred body. He was there for her, even though she wasn’t there for him. The girl was too scared to face the real world. To take him to the vet. To save him.”

“Jesse.”

She shook her head, a tear landing on the soil beneath her. “Why does the truth always hurt so bad?”

You tell me. I’m drowning in it right now.

When I was young and impressionable, Artem had given me a piece of advice I’d liked so much, I’d tattooed that shit onto my torso, just in case. A tribute to the man I hadn’t known would be such a magnificent part of my downfall.

Don’t fall in love. Fall off a bridge. It hurts less.

I liked it because it was funny. I’d had no idea it was also true. I picked Jesse up, and she buried her face in my chest. I wasn’t much good at comforting, but I wanted to make it as easy as possible for her.

“Give me Mrs. Belfort’s kids’ numbers,” I said.

I called them the same evening, when Jesse was taking a shower.

The next day, they were on the plane.

MY MOUTH FELT FURRY AND dry when I woke up the next morning.

There was a dull, persistent pain that had wrapped itself tightly around my head, like a turban. I wondered if I was experiencing my first hangover. My eyes fluttered against the rays of sunlight pouring through the naked windows of Bane’s houseboat. Reality came in like a flickering light. On, off. On, off.

Shadow was dead. We’d buried him yesterday. Then we’d driven back to Bane’s place—“Where is your Harley?” “Don’t worry about it, Snowflake”— and I’d told him everything was dead, which was an On the Road reference that he picked up immediately, because Roman Protsenko was both well-spoken and well-read. Probably the most well-read man I knew, save for my father. Roman told me it was time for a beer and a joint, and one beer turned into three. I hardly ever drank alcohol before The Incident, and definitely not after, so it had hit me hard.

Now I was no longer drunk. I was sober and heavy with sorrow. I stirred in his bed that smelled like his cinnamon breath and heady skin.

I flung my arm over Roman’s shoulder. It was hard as stone, and I loved how he felt like he’d been carved from the most resilient material in the world. The tough to my fragile. The sturdy to my frail. He groaned, and I peered at the clock beside him. It was eight o’clock. He’d skipped on his surfing session, no doubt for me, and I had a shift I was already kind of late to.

“You think my boss will be mad if I’m late for work?” I hugged his midsection, trailing kisses up from his shoulder to his jaw. His skin was warm. Downy, almost. I’d been such a sour thing yesterday. Yes, I’d had my reasons, but I hadn’t even acknowledged how amazing Roman had been. He whirled around and grabbed me by the waist, slamming me into his morning wood.

“Depending on what your excuse is. He seems like a reasonable dude.”

Yesterday, he’d said he had spoken to Kacey and Ryan, and they were going to land in San Diego this evening. I wanted to be there when they arrived, but dreaded to guess what method Roman had used to make them drop everything and jump on the first flight home.

“The excuse is me sleeping with said boss.” I quirked an eyebrow. He smiled and brushed my hair out of my face.

“Hope that fucker gets slapped with a sexual harassment lawsuit by evening. How are we feeling this morning?”

“Torn.” I kissed his lips. “Whole.” I kissed his forehead. “Mostly, I’m just grateful to have someone to lean on.”

I dragged my lips down to his neck, whispering, “I love you, Roman ‘Bane’ Protsenko. Not because you take away my loneliness, but because you give me strength.”

I didn’t wait for him to say it back. I kissed a wet path down his torso, flipping his blanket out of the way, and stopped when the metal of his cock ring touched my lips. I smiled up at him. His face was blank, hard, and unimpressed. I was momentarily confused, but not enough to pull away.

“We need to talk.” He scrubbed his face with his big palms, looking pained.

I popped his shaft into my mouth and gave it a hungry suck. His head fell to his pillow, his forearm hitting his eyes. “Fuuuuck.”

I licked him like a lollipop for a few minutes before he grabbed onto my hair and angled my head up to meet my gaze.

“If you want to suck me off, you’ll need to do it my way.”

I nodded silently.

“My way is not the kind of way you read in your books.” He lowered his voice and chin, searching my eyes for signs of distress. There weren’t any.

“You haven’t read my books.” I arched an eyebrow. “Don’t make false assumptions.”

He smirked like the cocky bastard that he was, grabbing my head, angling it back to his cock. “Your safe word is antiestablishment.”

“I’ll never be able to say that word around your cock.” My eyes widened.

His smirked broadened. “Good.”

He pushed the back of my head, his shaft smashing into the back of my throat at once, and I wrapped my lips around it, sucking as hard as I could while controlling my gag reflex. I was hungry for it, and that confused me. I’d never wanted to do that to anyone else.

Slowly, he began to thrust into me with his pelvis, fucking my mouth rather than allowing me to set the tone. His strokes became faster, deeper, and more frantic, and I felt him growing in my mouth, his hand fisting my hair tighter.

“Shit. Your mouth is like a fist.” His voice was husky with sleep and sex.

Two minutes later, I felt him jerk and twitch inside my mouth. He lifted my head up, his eyes dreamingly heavy-lidded. “Yes or no?”

I didn’t need him to spell it out for me.

“Yeah.”

I wrapped my lips around him again and felt as his cum shot into my throat in small, hot spurts. It was salty and thick, and made every single part of me tingle.

After he finished, he dragged me to his living room, stark naked, and positioned me on the edge of his tattered couch. He threw my legs open and put his mouth on my already-dripping sex, my need for him running down my inner thighs. He began by licking my inner thighs, biting on them softly with a dazed smile. I tousled his hair in my fist, loving how soft and silky it felt under my fingertips. I gasped when he sucked both my lips into his mouth with force, pumping them in and out while casually sweeping his tongue along my slit. I stared down at his sunshine mane, my mouth puffy and the feel of his cock still lingering on my tongue, wondering if he realized he hadn’t said it back to me. I love you. Maybe he didn’t share the sentiment. That was okay, too. Soul-crushing, but okay, I guess.

With loose, broad strokes, he flicked his tongue around my clit, making me squirm until I had to hold his hair and push him away because it got to be too much. He laughed into my core, my legs wrapped fully around his neck, knotted together by the ankles.

“Why the couch?” I nearly stuttered from pleasure.

“Better position for oral. Lie back and let me eat you.”

“You’re making me crazy.” I writhed, my butt sliding down his couch as I thrust myself toward his mouth. I loved that I couldn’t see his face. Loved that I could simply feel his smile on my sex as he licked me up and down now, using his thumb to rub my clit.

“I like your crazy. It makes you drip like a passion fruit.” He looked up, and I should have been embarrassed to see just how wet and shiny his lips and chin were, but I was way past being self-conscious.

Just minutes later, I came hard, watching as his beautiful lips sucked me hungrily. He looked up, his green eyes menacing, wild, in every shade of green known in nature, and stood up fully, his erection leveling with my face. He pushed me down until I was lying flat on my back and kneeled between my legs, straddling my left leg.