––––––––

Once a met a boy and gave him my heart

But what if he never gives it back?

He’s our neighbors’ adopted son.

He’s quiet, brooding, hot.

We walk together down the street after school,

And we talk.

I want him a lot.

But he thinks he’s bad luck, a bad son,

And misunderstandings will tear us apart...

*** This is a prequel to BAD WOLF—a short Novella ***

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BAD SON (Prequel to BAD WOLF)

Jo Raven

Copyright Jo Raven 2018

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Cover art: RBA Designs | Romantic Book Affairs ()

Chapter One

Jarett

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I’m walking home from the school bus stop, my backpack torn, hanging from one strap over my shoulder, my ribs aching dully from the beating I took—and gave—after classes ended. A joint hangs from my lips, taking the edge off the pain, off reality.

It’s not enough, though.

I’m late, and I’m not even sure my new foster parents will care. I’m not even sure where this home is that I’m heading toward. What it means. The house down the street is new to me, the people in it strangers. I arrived here almost a year ago, but I still haven’t yet unpacked most of my stuff.

Not that I have all that much. Clothes. Some books. A tablet.

Always ready to move to another foster home, another town. Always ready to leave. When you’re eighteen and can barely remember having a family—though the memory is there just to tease you with what-ifs and smashed hopes—then you know it’s not in the cards. Is there an expiry date to happiness?

I guess I feel that way, that I’ve hit rock bottom with my luck. There’s no getting better, no finding what I’ve lost. It’s over, and I want to punch everything and everyone, make room for my anger. I want to keep punching and hitting and screaming until the rage runs out of me like blood and leaves me empty.

At peace.

Another word that has no meaning anymore.

Taking a long drag on the end of my joint, drawing the last of the smoke into my lungs, I flick it into the gutter and finally notice that someone’s following me.

It’s an old reflex, checking my surroundings. Growing up in the system isn’t easy, or safe. You learn to protect yourself, to look out for danger.

But it’s just a girl. Blond, tall, curvy, in a tiny skirt, knee-high socks and combat boots. Her shirt is tight, her cleavage drawing my gaze.

She’s followed me before. Yeah, I noticed, and damn, she’s too pretty to forget.

But this time she smiles at me, big and wide.

It distracts me enough that she skips across the street and catches up with me. She falls in step beside me as if that’s the most natural thing in the world, and grins sideways at me.

“Hi,’ she says. “I’m Augusta, but you can call me Gigi. Augusta Watson, your neighbor? What’s your name?”

***

Gigi, as it turns out, is one persistent chick. I ignore her questions, ignore her presence by my side as I continue down the street.

Or try to.

She keeps talking, about this and that, school and the neighbors and the classes and the weather, and at first, it’s all white noise. Will her mouth never stop running? Jesus fuck. After all the hours slouched at the back of the class, trying to follow subjects I never really understood—trying my best because during the past few years I just fought and smoked and hated the world—my head is pounding.

The years since Connor died. Foster families that hosted me never really cared about what I did when I wasn’t in their line of sight, not since Connor passed. Connor cared enough to adopt me, but he died five years ago, and since then I’ve been drifting.

Until the Lowes took me in. Will I stay here? That’s the million buck question.

Nah. I’ll probably drift away again soon. Nothing’s permanent in this life. People, places, promises. They change. They fade.

They die.

Gigi is still talking, about someone called Merc and about music. Yeah, she’s persistent, but as we approach the Lowes’ house, my destination, I find I don’t mind. That my heart has stopped racing for the first time in I don’t know how long, and that I wish she’d stay and talk to me some more.

The fuck, right?

She stops, realizing I’m staring at her, and tucks a strand of white-blond hair behind her ear. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“So you can speak. I was starting to wonder.”

I smirk. “I wonder about lots of things.”

“Such as?”

About her, for starters. But I just shake my head.

Girls’ hot. Her lips are soft, shiny with red lip gloss, her blue eyes wide. I wonder how they’d taste, how they’d feel wrapped around my dick.

I wouldn’t mind pushing her against a wall and taking my pleasure from her. Most girls at school would beg for it. Have begged for it, on occasion.

Fuck. Adjusting the straps of my backpack hanging from one shoulder, I turn to go.

“We’re neighbors, remember?” she says brightly at my back. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

And the prospect, somehow, doesn’t annoy me as much as I thought it would.

***

Sitting in my attic room, at the window, I gaze down at the quiet, darkening street, at the trees down its far side, the old houses and cars parked outside. Two kids are running in circles, chasing after a ball.

I tilt my head back and let out a breath.

The Lowes are nice people, and their house is clean and quiet. Sebastian, their son, is a little shit, arrogant as fuck and clearly unhappy to be sharing his breathing space with me.

But that’s nothing new. If he thinks he’ll scare me off...

I snort. Scare me off. As if I’d leave. Where would I go? I just turned eighteen, but I own nothing in this world except for my few things. I don’t have savings deposited in the bank, or hidden under my mattress. And I should really finish school, while I’m here, while things are easy and life peaceful.

Before it all goes tits-up once more and I find myself in a new place, with new people to please and a new world order to adjust to.

When Connor adopted me, I thought I’d reached my destination, the end of the line. A cop, tall and strong, he vaguely reminded me of my father. I have faint memories of my real parents, before the accident that killed them. Bearded, burly, gruff, Connor could have been my uncle.

And he wanted to be my family. He signed the adoption papers right away, even though I was a surly, annoying kid. I’d been only ten but I’d been passed around a lot already, and had found that I had in me a huge, deep fucking rage directed at the world.

This world that didn’t seem to want me.

And then the world killed him, and left me to my own devices once again. I doubt I’ll ever find anyone to stay with. A family. It’s over now, no matter what the Lowes seem to think. They won’t keep me. Why would they? Sebastian would have a fit, and I’m not good at school, or at anything else—except for the things that mattered to Connor, like shooting a gun and getting the upper hand in a fight.

What fucking use am I to the Lowes?

Someone is walking down the street and I lean forward to see better through the dusty glass, not sure what caught my attention.

It’s her. Augusta. Gigi. She’s walking together with a tall, skinny boy, his pale hair catching the low afternoon light.

“Motherfucker,” I mutter and open the window, lean out, my heart hammering in my chest. “Who the fuck are you, asshole?”

Why is she talking to him? With such familiarity. She looks at ease by his side. Comfortable. Too comfortable.

He’s taller than her, and she tilts her face up to look at him. The way she laughs at something he said... it makes my breath catch.

Jesus. I honestly have no fucking idea why I’m so pissed. No idea what I’m doing.

I sit back, open my pack of smokes and pull one out. I tap it against my palm, still looking at the two of them strolling, their heads bent together in conversation.

Why should I be surprised she has someone? She’s pretty. So damn pretty. I bet she’s doing great in school, too. A golden girl.

And I’m a black sheep. A sheep in wolf’s clothing. Marked by death. Bad to the bone. Someone who’s stolen, and lied, and lost his way.

God knows, I was lost from the start.

Chapter Two

Gigi

––––––––

Going to school here is horrible, as things often are these days. Leaving all my friends back in Destiny still stings. Plus, back there I knew the bullies. There was Ross and his buddies, and I knew how to avoid them. Not that he picked so much on me as on my sister, but still.

I know about bullies.

But here they’re not content with calling you names and tripping you up in hallways, not just stalking you on social media and posting insults, but tearing your locker open and filling it with used condoms, ripping your backpack to shreds, cornering you and lifting your skirt, just short of raping you right in front of everyone.

The latter only happened once in Destiny, and it still haunts me.

Sydney, my bestie, has suffered from them as much as I have, or so she says. But she has three boys protecting her, and she says I should do the same. Find a protector.

Easier said than done.

There is this one boy, though. I’ve been following him from a distance all the way from the school bus stop. I started doing that at the beginning of the school year, but I don’t think he noticed until recently.

The strategy is simple: choose a tall, muscular, mean-looking boy walking in the direction of my house and stick close to him. Pretend I know him, that we’re walking home together.

Keep the bullies at bay.

If the boy is alone, bonus points. It means he won’t show off to his buddies by picking on me, won’t gang up on me.

This boy seemed perfect. New to the school, a loner—I’d noticed him during break—and obviously living in my neighborhood.

And not bad looking, either.

Okay, so that’s an understatement. He’s frigging hot. Which makes it all the weirder that he doesn’t have a following as he hoofs it home from the bus. Buddies chatting with him. Girls fawning over him.

Well, except for me. I’m his most loyal following.

I watched him first, of course. A lot. Took loads of mental notes—on how he limps sometimes, how his eyes track everything, how his lip curls when someone stands in his way.

Just... hot.

And here I am again, following him.

Just then he flicks the cigarette he’s been smoking—well the joint, I can smell weed as well as the next person—and turns to look at me.

I freeze and do my best not to show it, barely slowing down. I smile instead.

His expression does something weird. It stills, though his eyes seem to darken. He stumbles a little, almost coming to a stop.

Taking advantage, moving before I can think about it too hard, I cross the street and join him.

“Hi,” I say, “I’m Augusta, but you can call me Gigi. Augusta Watson, your neighbor? What’s your name?”

He doesn’t say anything for a long while, until we’re almost at my house, his hooded eyes flicking sideways at me all the way.

And right before I skip away to the promise of a warm lunch and an afternoon listening to music and doodling in my notebook, he talks to me in his deep, warm voice and I’m gone.

Crushing on him so hard.

He doesn’t tell me his name, but I know it. Jarett. Jarett Lowe.

I wanted him to say it. To offer it to me, a pledge, an understanding. I think I’d fallen for him already, from a distance, but that one word, his name, seals it.

I didn’t know it then, didn’t know this was the boy who would one day break my heart.

***

At school, I look for him but rarely see him. Once I catch him during break, right outside the school fence. He’s alone, one booted foot braced on the fence, head tilted back in the watery sunshine, smoking. The watery sunlight gilds his cheekbones, his lashes.

Beautiful.

Another time I see him from the classroom window during math. He’s smoking again, slouched against the water fountain, the smoke curling up in the air in fantastical shapes. He seems to be in deep thought, his brows drawn together, his gaze distant.

I really shouldn’t stare, but I can’t help it. Boy’s gorgeous.

He should be in class, like me, but he’s obviously cutting school. His dark hair looks wet, as if he’s just stepped out of the shower, or as if he’s been running. The thought of him all sweaty makes my little heart go pitty-pat.

God. What’s happening to me? I never got this hung up on a boy before.

I glance at him again out of the corner of my eye, while pretending to be checking something out in my math book. He’s still there. He has shoved a hand through his hair, and has closed his eyes. The bulge of his thick biceps mesmerizes me. He’s so strong, his shoulders so wide, he’s just...

Sexy.

Dangerous.

Unlike any other boy I’ve ever known.

In fact, he’s exactly the kind of boy Mom has always warned me about. A slacker. A flake. A punk. A delinquent. A troublemaker. And I have no business wondering what it would feel like, being held in his arms.

“Miss Watson!” the teacher snaps, and I jerk my gaze back to the whiteboard, heart pounding. “Pay attention. We have a test coming up.”

I nod, and try to regulate my breathing into the semblance of something normal. I force my mind back to the calculus written on the board and the problems to be solved.

When I look outside once more sometime later, he’s gone.

***

“You say he lives here?” Merc asks, glancing sideways at the Lowes’ house. “This Jarett guy?”

“Yeah. Stop looking! What if he sees you?”

“Nah. I’m stealthy like a ninja.”

“Shut up.” I snicker and elbow my brother. “He usually sits at the attic window, looking at the street. I think that’s his bedroom. Just don’t look that way.”

“Gotcha.” Merc shoves his hands into his pockets, kicks at a pebble on the street. The golden afternoon light catches on his hair, turning it bright like flaming crown. “You’re in love with him?”

“What?” My heart starts its pounding again. “Of course not. Who said that?”

“No one. You just can’t stop talking about him.”

I lift my chin. “Whatever. I only said he’s at our school, and our neighbor, and Mom says he was adopted—”

“—and he’s awesome, and he wears Metallica T-shirts, and has some tattoos that are so cool, and generally you can’t shut up about him.”

I fall silent, stung, and kick at a plastic wrapper.

“Hey.” Merc nudges me with his elbow and stops walking, his back to the house of the Lowes. “I’ve just never heard you talking so much about someone, that’s all.”

“Yeah?” I steal a glance at Jarett’s window and I think I see his silhouette behind the glass. I look away quickly. “I’m sure I have. Your memory is clearly going together with your looks.”

He snickers.

I just walk down the street every afternoon in the hope of catching a glimpse of Jarett. Is that normal?

Or pathetic?

Merc is shaking his head. “My memory and my looks are just fine. You, in the contrary...”

“What?”

Was that movement at his window?

Stop staring, Gigi!

Merc grabs my arm and steers me away. “You’ve got it bad, sis. Let’s go and get some ice cream. Come on, before the Lowes come out and ask why we loiter in front of their house. Unless you wanted to go in and ask for Jarett?”

“No. Merc, wait...”

But I let him draw me away, because he’s right. I’m not going to ask for Jarett, or risk him seeing me standing about. Acting interested. Acting like a girl with a crush on him.

No way.

Chapter Three

Jarett

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School sucks balls.

And I’m not only talking about being behind in classes, or about the dumbass teachers who look at me and judge me instantly for being older, tattooed and pissed at the world, thinking that means I’m stupid.

One look at me and they decide I won’t make the cut, I won’t pass the exams, I won’t have the right answer when they ask a question.

And know what? I don’t give a shit. Let them think whatever they want. They don’t know jack about me. They don’t know how bad I really am. About the company I kept until the Lowes took me in, how I stole and broke stuff, how I spent time in Juvie.

Yeah, I’m as bad as they think. No, worse. Besides, what use is school anyway? I just hang out in class until the Lowes realize the mistake they made by taking me in and kick me to the curb.

Today I’ve skipped the last class. I’m outside, leaning against a tree in the school yard and counting the smokes left in my last pack, when I see Gigi.

Fuck, look at her. Just... look at her.

Something in my chest twists, and I go still, watching her. The girl is a stickler for the rules. She never skips class, never smokes, never deviates from her path between school and home.

But she’s clearly not in class now, unless I’m hallucinating, and after thinking about her so much over the past weeks, it’s a real possibility.

She hasn’t noticed me yet. She has her cell phone glued to her ear and she’s pacing up and down, a frown tightening her delicate features, not talking.

Listening.

Today her long hair is in two braids that swing every time she turns, and her lips are a glossy pink. Silver hoops glint in her ears. She’s wearing one of those short plaited skirts she seems to like, with knee-high black socks and low army boots.

I’ve seen plenty of pretty girls in my life. From conservative goody-two-shoes to punks with shaved heads, black lipstick and more piercings on their bodies than I could count, I’ve seen it all, but no girl has ever gotten me so hot and hard like this one—or so intrigued.

“Wait... wait!” she suddenly yells into the phone, scaring the living shit out of me, so that I fumble with my smokes and drop them.

Fuck. Slowly I bend down to pick them up, my bad knee creaking and shooting shards of pain up my leg.

“No, Merc,” she saying now, gesturing wildly as she paces back and forth, “no. It’ll be okay, I promise, okay. I promise!”

Promise.

That word reels me in closer. Connor always talked about promises and how important they are, how your honor depends on keeping them, how careful you got to be before promising anything. How ready to sacrifice anything to fulfill them.

Honor, and family, and the law. Those were his guiding principles, instilled in me the few years I spent with him.

Anyway, what’s all this about? And who the hell is this Merc? His name rings a bell. She’s mentioned it before. It’s clearly someone important to her.

Just then, the image of her walking down the street with a tall blond guy flashes through my memory, and I clench my pack of smokes in my hand, crushing it.

“No, Merc. Listen to me.” She has stopped pacing, giving me her profile. She’s biting her lip. She does that a lot. “I’m coming over.”

Over where? To the guy’s house?

The hell. My fists curl tighter. I barely notice when my crushed pack of cigarette falls back to the ground.

The moment she starts moving, I’m after her. I need to know who this Merc is, how I can compete with him for Gigi.

It’s not until she climbs into the bus, the same bus we take after school every day, that I realize I have no reason to check out the competition.

I stop in my tracks and watch as she takes her seat and the bus rolls away.

What the fuck, Jarett. Are you out of your goddamn mind?

A girl like Gigi may talk to me and walk with me, but she’d never go out with me. She’s smart, and I’m bad news. She has to know it.

And I have to remember it.

***

“Trust me,” Mr. Lowe says, his deep-set eyes kind. “You’ll like this, Jarett.”

Yeah, about that. I really fucking doubt it.

And I don’t trust kind eyes. They tend to get you into trouble.

He’s working on the engine of an old Impala in the garage, where he usually likes to tinker around. Sebastian is already there, lounging against the car, toying with a screwdriver.

“Seb pretends he doesn’t want to be here, but ignore him,” Mr. Lowe says, waving a dismissive hand at his son. “That’s just his style. Come here, take a look at the engine.”

“Yeah, come in, why don’t you?” Sebastian’s gaze is hard like flint, but he shoots me an indulgent smile, like you’d do to an annoying kid. “Do come and take a look. What would we do without you, Fen?”

“Don’t call me that,” I say automatically, although I don’t mind the nickname.

“Jarett Fenris,” he says, using Connor’s family name, the only one that really belongs to me right now. Drawing out the syllables. Mocking me. “Fen.”

“Stop this,” Mr. Lowe tells him, but without real anger.

Sebastian’s hostility actually makes me feel better, so much so that I approach the car. I can trust that—the annoyance, the anger. You can’t fake those emotions.

Maybe Sebastian does like working on cars, somewhere deep inside his black little soul, but he sure as hell doesn’t like having me here.

Knowing this, at least I’m on firm ground.

“Hold this.” A wrench is placed into my hand. “You okay there?”

“Yes, Mr. Lowe.”

He chuckles, looking up from the engine. “We talked about that. If you won’t call me dad, then Bruce will do for now.”

“Bruce,” I whisper, swallowing hard and clutching the wrench in my hand, because no way am I calling this guy dad, not when Connor died just a few years ago, when this peaceful time won’t last, and certainly not when his son is staring at me like he wants to murder me.

“Know what? I think you two can fix this engine just fine,” Sebastian says right on cue, as he usually does when Mr. Lowe invites me to take part in some family tradition such as this one, and throws the screwdriver over his shoulder. “Catch you later, Dad.”

Yeah, I knew the good times wouldn’t last—and they were good, despite Sebastian’s little tantrums. Much better than most other times in my life. But I had a gut feeling, born from experience. It said, good times don’t ever last, Jarett.

And I was right.

***

“Hey,” a girl’s voice says from behind me.

Then comes a loud crash, scaring the fuck out of me, and I drop the rake I’d been using to gather the leaves in the garden, taking a step back.

“Fuck.” I spin around, my heart slamming about in my chest, and find Gigi right outside the fence giving me an apologetic smile. “What the fuck?”

“Um, sorry?” She shrugs, her eyes wide. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

I shake my head, struggling to gather my wits. It shouldn’t be so hard, dammit. My ears are buzzing. “What the hell was that noise?”

“Oh. I dropped my backpack and it landed on some empty bottles. And other trash.” She looks down and makes a face. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“How...” I rub my face with both hands. “How did you miss a heap of trash and dropped your bag on it?”

She laughs, a bright, sweet sound. “I was looking at you. I mean...” Her eyes widen again, and her cheeks go red. “Looking for you. Not at you. That’s just...”

The frantic hammering of my heart eases as I stare at her and the meaning of her words seeps in.

“You were looking at me,” I say.

“No, see, that’s the thing. I wasn’t, I was passing by and I just...” She waves her hands back and forth, her face reddening more.

“Ah-huh.” I lift the hem of my T-shirt the wipe the sweat off my face, and her gaze dips to my abs.

She likes what she sees. There’s no denying the pleasure of knowing that. Even if that’s all there is to it, and I know nothing could ever happen between us.

A girl like her with a guy like me... Yeah, no fucking way. So what harm is there in looking, right?

I give her a once-over in my turn, grinning when the blush moves down her pale throat. “Nice.”

“You’re, um. Raking. Leaves.” She swallows, tucks a loose strand behind her ear. “So.”

I arch a brow at her.

“Working in the garden,” she forges on. “Helping out. Which makes sense. That you’d be good at physical stuff. Like, um. You look like you do sports.”

Heh. She’s still checking me out? Sweet.

“Okay, so...” She’s so flustered. Damn cute. Hot. Jesus, I could eat his girl up. I bet she’s sweeter than candies.

Then I remember that guy she’s so hung up on, and my mood sours.

I pick the rake up and lean on it. “I’m not done here.”

Not that I want her gone. Not really, despite the flare of anger and the tightening of my pants and the confusion of wanting a girl I can’t have.

But like every time, her presence calms the tempest in me. I breathe easier when she’s around. The day seems brighter, warmer.

It’s a fucking mystery.

So when she shrugs and leans away to grab her backpack from the heap of trash she dropped it on, I give up on all pretense and walk over to the fence.

“Wait.” Dammit, how do I get her to stay? After my silences and the flirting, I dunno what to say to her. “Wanna... come in?”

Into the garden. Not the house. But it hits me then that I’ve never invited anyone past the garden gate.

Which makes sense. It’s not my home. I’ve no right to invite anyone in.

But before I second guess myself any more, she smiles and passes me her backpack over the fence.

“Sure! Thanks.” Then she pulls herself over the fence, and I think too late to help her.

I think too late that she’d choose not to use the gate.

Crazy girl. I grab her arm and haul her over, letting her backpack and the rake fall, and by the time she’s over and inside the garden, I’m snickering.

We stumble on the grass together, trying to catch our balance. I plant my feet wide and steady her, and the feel of her sweet curvy body pressed to mine sends a heady wave of need straight to my balls. I’m getting hard so fast I’m lightheaded.

Whoa. Down, boy.

I could kiss her. I could throw her down on the grass and lie on top of her, between her legs. I could touch her, pleasure her. Sink inside her.

She’s still laughing, though, and it’s the best sound in the world, even if it brings me down to earth with a thud.

“Okay.” She wipes at her eyes. “I’m inside your garden. Now what?”

What is she doing?

What am I doing? I’m grinning and have no fucking clue why. “I need to rake the leaves.”

“Okay, gimme that.” She gestures imperiously at the rake, all sign of embarrassment and flustered nervousness gone. “I’ve got this.”

I narrow my eyes at her, confused. “You wanna rake the leaves.”

“Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

I swear, this girl makes no sense. “I’m supposed to do it.”

“So we do it together.”

“Why?”

And how the fuck can we rake the leaves together? There’s only one rake, and in any case...

“That’s what friends do,” she says, cutting through my thoughts. “They do stuff together. Trust me.”

Do I trust her?

God help me, I think I do.

And it’s not as if I’d know what friends do. Never really had any.

She grabs the rake and I stare at her, her curves, her mouth, her tits, her eyes, her heart-shaped ass when she bends over.

Hell, I’m so damn horny. I want her so damn much. I never thought it was possible to want someone you like, to burn with want for someone who claims to be your friend.

I let my long T-shirt cover the tent in my pants and hope she doesn’t notice. Then I wonder what she’d do if she did notice.

She was looking at me earlier. Would she let me touch her, kiss her? It’s so hard to ignore when she’s right here, in my face, so pretty and getting sweaty as she rakes the dry leaves.

So damn hard...

Finally I can’t take it anymore and I grab the rake, stopping her. “Enough.”

She eyes me as I take over. At least by keeping my hands busy I won’t be tempted to reach for her, run my palms over the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, over the swell of her ass. “You could have let me do this.”

Yeah, no way. I keep raking, sweat running down my back, sticking the cotton to my shoulder blades.

“Okay, then tell me something about you.” She leans against the fence, and from the corner of my eye I stare at her legs.

Dammit.

“Like...” She crosses her legs at the ankle as she leans back and I tear my gaze away. “How do you eat your fries?”

I snort. I can’t help it. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah! I like mine with blue cheese dip, or ketchup. You?”

Is she for real?

“Ranch dressing.” I go back to raking. She’s just fucking with me, I know it. Who cares about shit like this?

“Merc likes his with Chocolate frosty. Dips them in it. I swear...” She sighs fondly. “He’s something.”

A jolt of shock goes through me at the mention of the guy’s name, when the thought of kissing her is still burning in my mind. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. He eats them with Nutella, too. Can you believe it?”

“Jesus Christ, who the hell cares?” I throw the rake down to the grass and start toward the house, and I swear my bones are vibrating with rage. “Why don’t you go back to Merc, whoever that fucking loser is?”

“Jarett!”

I don’t turn around, though I hear her footsteps following me. She touches my arm, and I spin around. “What?”

“Merc is my brother.”

My breath goes out, and with it my rage. I sag, searching her face for clues. She doesn’t look like she’s shitting me.

Jeez. The guy she was talking to on the phone, probably also the guy she was walking with down the street? That’s her brother?

“Come on,” she says softly, taking my hand, smiling. “We’re not finished yet.”

She’s right. We’re not.

Whatever it is we’re doing.

Chapter Four

Gigi

––––––––

“How’s your brother doing?” Mom asks as I come out of Merc’s room, closing the door behind me.

“Mom, we live in the same house. Ask him.”

“Oh, you know how he is. He won’t let me coddle him, and pretends he’s fine. God, sometimes I wish he went back to being a toddler. Back then it was easier to tell what he needed.”

“He’ll be fine.” I give her a reassuring smile.

“Does he still have a fever? I’ll take—”

“Mom, he’s fine.”

Merc isn’t fine, but it’s not a physical sickness that’s tormenting him on most days, and even now... Even now, he’s exhausted because he can’t rest in his sleep, troubled by nightmares and memories.

Mom can never know. Octavia, our older sister, either. Merc made me swear when we were kids that I’d never tell a living soul.

And I’d sworn. Cross my heart and hope to die. I kept my promise, even if I’m not sure anymore it makes any sense.

However, I made him swear he’d keep my own secret, too, and he did. A pact, though he’s getting the light end of the deal. God, I don’t want to think about it. What happened to him... If it really happened... if his little kid’s mind didn’t misconstruct something he saw...

In any case, I still think he should talk to someone about it, a professional, someone who can help him. You see, just by looking at my little brother, you can’t tell that he rarely sleeps at night. He’s full of positive energy, a bright person, and a total heartthrob. Behind those clear blue eyes, though, there’s this heavy shadow.

I want to take it from him, but he won’t let me.

And now I’m drawn to Jarett, another boy whose pretty eyes seem to hide a wall of pain, only...it’s different.

Of course it’s different. Merc is my younger brother.

Jarett is definitely not my brother. And he’s so hot...

“Gigi. Are you listening to me?” Mom has her hands on her hips and she’s glaring daggers at me. “I said, is he asleep? Or shall I take him some soup? He hasn’t eaten all day.”

“Soup. Take him some soup,” I say and skip down the stairs and out of the house.

I didn’t see Jarett at the school today, or even afterward, in the bus. I walked home alone. I wonder if he also caught the bug that brought Merc down.

That’s a good excuse to go look for him, right?

***

But Jarett doesn’t look sick. At all. He’s standing in the Lowes’ garden, beside a lawn mower, bare-chested in the dipping sun, and whoa...

This boy is ridiculously ripped. From his broad shoulders to his defined pecs and chiseled abs, he’s like a work of art. A classical statue of a man, tanned and shifting and very much alive. He shoves dark hair from his eyes and turns, spotting me.

He grins.

Be still my heart.

He gives me a long look, that grin melting away all rational thought, then grabs the lawn mower and starts it up again.

I know by now he doesn’t talk much, but hey, he seemed glad to see me, so I enter the garden—using the gate this time—and stand to the side, watching on as he cuts the grass.

Makes me wonder why I never see the family’s other son, Sebastian, work in the garden. He has other chores? Or he’s just a lazy ass? I know he’s older than Jarett, because Sydney told me, and that he works someplace on the other side of town. Maybe that’s why I never see him around?

Not that I mind. I never liked that guy much.

Whereas his brother...

“So you were adopted?” I shout above the noise of the mower, and... nice move, Gigi. Great way to start a conversation. He probably hates talking about it.

What’s worse is that I seem to be right. He glances at me, his jaw clenching, and he goes on mowing, his back to me.

Crap.

I approach, but stay out of his way as he walks back and forth, in perfect straight lines, mowing the whole frigging lawn with military precision. I never thought Jarett was so neat and organized in anything he did.

And it hits me how preconceptions shaped the way I see him: dark lines of tattoos on his arms, all those strong muscles, the glare he directs at the world make me think he’s messy, in his life and in his mind.

What do I really know about him, after these past weeks of walking with him, and talking with him?

Nothing, really.

Except that he likes eating his fries with ranch dressing. And that he got jealous of Merc. At least I think he did.

Anyway, that last bit is what gives me the courage not to flee, but to stick around until he’s done with his task. I wait until he turns off the machine and goes to grab his T-shirt from a bench by the house, disappointed when he pulls it on, hiding his tattoos.

Now he’s looking at me, at last, and I’m not missing my chance to fix this.

I walk over to him, open my mouth and what comes out is... “Why don’t you ever talk to me? Do you even listen when I tell you things? Do you even care?”

His brows shoot up.

Oh God, that’s it, I’ve lost it. I blink, put a hand over my mouth, then turn around and walk away as quickly as I can, my face burning and heart racing.

What am I doing? Accusing him of things when I was only going to apologize for asking private questions and invading his private space and...

“Gigi, wait.” His deep voice startles me, but I keep going.

I don’t even know what’s going on in my head. It’s like an explosion. My thoughts spin uselessly. I just know I need to leave, hide somewhere until things make sense again.

“Gigi.” His hand closes around my arm, and I come to a stop, panting. “I said wait.” He turns me slowly until I’m facing him. “I listen.”

I shake my head, not sure what he’s telling me.

“Your best friend is Sydney,” he says. “Your favorite subjects at school are music and history. You like your fries with blue cheese dressing or ketchup. You used to live in a town called Destiny, and you don’t like living here much.”

He talks some more, but I’m gaping at him. I can’t believe my ears. He’s been listening all along, all these days and weeks when I’ve been babbling at him, vomiting every thought and feeling, thinking he ignored me.

And yet I can’t face him now, can’t chat. I don’t know why I still want to flee.

But he won’t let me. His grip on my arm gentles, but never releases me. “What’s wrong?”

I could swear there’s concern in his voice. “Merc... he’s sick,” I blurt. “And I’m worried about him.”

He nods, and finally lets go.

I don’t want him to let go. Merc wasn’t even the real reason for this panic attack.

But Jarett steps away. He heads over to the lawn mower and drags it into the garden shed, and I wonder if I imagined all this.

His hold on me, his voice, this connection between us.

Until he returns with his sweater in his hand and gestures at the garden gate. “Wanna take a walk?”

It makes me smile.

He’s wrong, though, about me not liking it here.

Sure, I didn’t like it before, but since I met him, everything’s changed.

Since I met him, I like it here just fine, and wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.

***

Walking beside Jarett down our street feels natural. His usually slight limp is a bit more pronounced today. I asked him once why he limps, but he never replied. Glancing at the shape of his broad shoulders against the backdrop of trees and old houses, seeing the way his biceps bulge when he lifts a hand to shove hair out of his eyes... it’s familiar to me by now.

Dear to me.

He’s fascinating. A gorgeous riddle. He takes my mind off everything else—Merc, school, the past. He demands and occupies my whole attention. My whole body is attuned to his every word and move, my every nerve sings when he’s near.

I’m happy.

His strides are long, despite the limp, but like every time he checks himself and slows down when he realizes I’m starting to lag behind.

He shoves his hands into his pant pockets, shoots me a smirk.

Says nothing.

And that feels natural, too. That’s how he is. Letting the silence settle between us. Waiting for me to break it.

“So...” I tug my ponytail over my shoulder and chew on the end. “Life okay with the Lowes?”

His brows go up. He shrugs. Kicks at a pebble.

Right.

“How is having Sebastian as a brother?”

He glares briefly at the street ahead, then huffs.

Okay...

My mind keeps returning to his hand gripping my arm, so warm and strong, to his words. He was trying to keep me there, convince me to stay.

He wants me here, with him.

I have to remember that, when he’s quiet.

And then he says, “They’re okay. Too good for the likes of me.”

He speaks! But then his words sink in. “You can’t seriously think that. You’re great, Jarett—”

He shakes his head so vehemently I fall silent again.

This conversation thing isn’t working out today. So I fall back on my habit of talking about everything and nothing—about school, and Mom, and Sydney who has so many boys following her around and I don’t get it, like how can you be just friends if you’re a boy and a girl?

“Sydney always said that it’s something that almost never happens, you know?” I mutter, mostly to myself. “A girl and a boy, just friends. Almost never,” I repeat, thoughtful. “No idea why.”

I realize he’s stopped walking and I turn to face him.

He has a light flush on his cheekbones, an intensity in his green eyes, and a flicker of fear lights them up right before he turns around and starts walking back.

“Hey.” I take two steps after him but he doesn’t turn around. “Jarett!”

He doesn’t even slow down this time. He keeps going until he vanishes between the trees, leaving me to stare after him, hurt and confused.

What was that about, huh?

Boys.

And this particular boy is the most confusing of all.

Chapter Five

Jarett

––––––––

“Jarett!” Mrs. Lowe’s voice calls through the house. “Jarett, come down here now!”

No fucking way. Sitting on the ledge of my attic room window, legs hanging out, I draw on my cigarette and contemplate the street.

Empty.

A metaphor for my life, or some shit like that, I’m sure. Mrs. James keeps harping about metaphors in English class. As if I care. As if it matters.

Literature.

Or my life.

“Jarett!” Mrs. Lowe’s voice is getting louder. “I know you’re up there. We need to talk.”

What about? About how they’d be sending me packing?

Oh shit, she’s coming up.

She knocks. That’s fucking ridiculous. This is her house.

I suck on my cigarette, inhaling the bitter smoke.

“Open this door, Jarett,” she says from outside, and strangely she’s not shouting anymore. “Open this door now.”

Or what?

I stab the glowing embers into the sill and throw the cigarette down the roof. I watch it tumble, tiny pinpricks of red in the gathering darkness.

“Please, Jarett,” she says from behind the door. “Let me in.”

My throat closes and I have no fucking idea why. I’m eighteen, for fuck’s sake. I don’t need gentleness. I’ve learned to fight for my place in the world.

But for some reason I swing my legs inside and close the window.

Then I open the door.

Mrs. Lowe gives me a watery smile. I hate her wet cheeks, her red-rimmed eyes. Hate I made her cry.

Hate that I give a damn.

I lean against the door frame, folding my arms over my chest, and school my face into a bored expression. “What is it?”

“Look.” I see her try to school hers yours, and fail. “May I come in?”

I step aside, giving a mental eye-roll. “It’s your house,” I mutter.

She walks inside, wringing her hands together. “It’s yours, too.”

I shrug. Yeah, right.

Mrs. Lowe is a short, plump woman with deep wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her hair is a washed-out dyed blond, her eyes a washed-out blue, like her son’s.

She’s usually quiet, and kind, and foreign to me, as distant as the far side of the moon.

“Come sit here,” she says, sitting down on my unmade bed and patting the mattress beside her.

I don’t budge. I watch her, waiting to hear the verdict. My bag is under the bed, all packed. My phone’s in my pocket. I realize I’ve been waiting for months for this moment—when the look of disappointment would enter my new foster parents’ eyes.

Only this time the social services won’t arrive to take me away. I’ve turned eighteen. I’m on my own, but that doesn’t scare me.

Nah. Fuck no.

My heart is racing, betraying me. My palms are sweating. I lower my hands and wipe the sweat off on my jeans, hoping she won’t notice.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened today?” she asks quietly.

I snort. “What do you think?”

“I want you to tell me.”

“Like it will make a fucking difference?”

“Language, Jarett,” she says.

Fuck that. “There’s no fucking point.”

She sighs. “Tell me.”

“I got into a fight. That what you want to hear? Beat Nelson Wells to a pulp. I broke his nose. Fucking shit deserved it and more.”

And there it is, the disappointed look in her eyes.

Didn’t take long.

But strangely... she doesn’t send me away. I wait and wait for her to corner me and say something, for Mr. Lowe to come up, too, and have a talk with me, but nothing.

In fact, by the next day she seems to have forgotten the whole episode. I have no idea what it means.

It took a while to connect the pieces, and by then, it was too late. Truth is, it was too late all along.

For her, and for me.

***

It’s some days later, and I’m smoking in the school yard after classes when I hear Gigi call my name.

“Rett? What’s up?”

I’ve been avoiding her but here she is, approaching me warily, her backpack slung over one shoulder, her red coat making her face glow.

I don’t wanna look. I hate that she’s calling me that, that she has a nickname for me.

I like it.

It’s ridiculous.

It’s nice.

Fuck it, it doesn’t matter, cuz I don’t wanna talk—to her or anyone. The goddamn anniversary is coming up, the date Connor died, plus things have been sort of weird at the Lowes’ house. I don’t know if I’m imagining things but I somehow have a bad feeling in my gut.

I trust my bad feeling. It always comes true.

“Rett,” she says again, low and patient, and it only fuels the low-level anger that’s been simmering in my chest for the past few days, fanning it into fury.

Funny how my fear often turns to anger. It’s a well-worn path in my mind.

“Fuck off.” I throw my smoke away and turn on my heel to go, resisting the pull she always has on me. It’s a sweet rope around my neck, a grip around my goddamn dick, tying me to her. “I’m busy.”

“Come on. Don’t do this.” She’s coming after me, and I wanna stop and grab her in my arms, bury my face in her neck and draw in her sweet scent, hold her until my world stops spinning out of orbit and it all settles.

But the damn anniversary is tomorrow, the anniversary when I lost everything for the second time in my life, and everything I lost is a weight in my chest, in my heart, a lump of lead that I can’t shake.

Or maybe it’s a premonition of more bad things to come. Who can tell? I always expect bad things to happen. They tend to rain down on me on a semi-regular basis.

“Rett, stop.” Her small hand latches on my arm, and then I’m dragging her along in my flashflood of anger and sorrow. “Stop!”

I stop.

I’m breathing hard, and it’s not as if I was running. Her hold on me seems to be the only thing preventing me from sinking into the ground.

“What’s wrong?” she whispers. “Talk to me. You’ve avoided me for days. You have hardly ever come to class. What’s going on?”

Although I don’t want to, I shake her hand off me. “Nothing.”

I can’t tell her. Can’t tell her of my fears, the bouts of panic that wake me up in a cold sweat and keep me up all night. I’m afraid... afraid I’ll lose everyone.

So I can’t have anyone. You can’t lose what you don’t have, right?

“You shouldn’t miss so many classes,” she’s saying. “Were you sick? There’s this bug going around, the one Merc caught last week. Were you—?”

“I’m fine.” I shove a hand through my hair. “Look, I’m not good at anything. There’s no use in my coming to school, I fucking suck at it. I’m not sure I’ll finish.”

“I’m sure you can do it.”

I glance at her, surprised. Nobody has told me that since Connor. Sure, the Lowes keep nagging at me to study and work harder, but this trust...

It distracts me.

She distracts me. All the time.

I wish I could let her, but right now it’s all I can do to keep breathing.

Forcing air into my lungs, I set off again, my only thought to get off the school grounds, maybe hop on a bus and go into town, or out of town even, out into the unknown. Why the hell not?

It’s not until I’ve made it to the school gate that I realize she’s followed me. I swear, this girl doesn’t know how to quit.

“Now tell me.” She nudges me with her bony elbow and shoots me a faint smile. “You know you can talk to me, right? God knows I talk your ear off on a daily basis. I can be a good listener.”

I grunt at her. Doesn’t she get that I don’t wanna talk?

But of course this is Gigi, and she blinks at me with those ridiculous, big eyes of hers, sticking her tongue out a little, and the words just rush out of me, and I’m fucking helpless to stop them.

“It’s just that... It’s a bad time, and Mrs. Lowe has been acting weird, and I’m so damn worried.”

Fuck. I rub a hand over my face and snap my mouth shut.

That’s stupid. She’s fine. Everything’s fine, even the dark mood Mr. Lowe seems to be in lately, and Sebastian’s tantrums.

“Acting weird, how?”

“Know what, forget it.”

“Just tell me, Jarett. We’re friends, or we aren’t. Friends talk to each other, okay? Take it from me.”

Again that friends thing. I’m friendzoned, it seems, and instead of being shocked she still wants to be my friend, to be around me when I’m such an asshole, I want more.

Goddammit.

“She’s forgetting stuff, and insisting she doesn’t, and I just...” I shove my hands into my pockets, roll my stiff neck. “It’s nothing.”

“It bothers you.”

“Jesus, Gigi, lay off it.” She flinches at my angry bark, and I... fuck, I don’t know what to do with the twisty feeling in my chest. “Look, it’s just that... it’s the anniversary of the death of someone I used to know.”

“Who? I’m sorry, Jarett.”

Fuck. I kick at the school fence, then again for good measure, before walking on, trying to ignore the pressure in my chest and the shaking in my arms.

“Come,” Gigi suddenly says, grabbing my elbow and pulling me in the other direction.

Where is she going? That’s not where the bus stop is.

I let her lead me away, because I don’t wanna talk, or think, and the feel of her hand on me calms me as much as it excites me. Either way, it keeps the demons at bay. She always casts that spell on me. I stare at her blond ponytail bouncing as she leads me determinedly away from the school, from our predetermined path, toward the unknown.

***

She takes me to a small diner I’ve only ever passed outside but never entered before. Inside it smells of coffee, melted cheese and fried bacon, and when she drags me to a table in the back, I follow, my sleep-deprived brain stuck on the brightness of her hair and the shape of her so close, so fucking close to me.

I can’t process the fact that I’m here, with her, when five minutes ago I was sinking in the spinning eddy of my dark thoughts.

I force myself to sit down, moving away from her, breaking the lifeline of her touch. “What the hell are we doing here?”

“Having coffee.” She says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She lifts a hand to stop my protests when I open my mouth. “I’m teaching you how friendship works, okay? Let me do the honors.”

What is she talking about?

Amusement creeps through my dark mood when she waves at the waitress and then proceeds to order coffee and pancakes for both of us. Taking charge. Sort of...controlling me, mothering me, like I’m a baby.

She’s so damn cute, and yeah, when she shrugs off her coat and tugs on her sweater, my eyes dip to her cleavage.

Can’t fucking help myself. I love looking at girls, love their tits and their curves, their smooth skin and their smell, but I’ve never felt as helpless as with her.

That should have been my warning, but it got lost in all the bad swimming around in my head.

“Hey, Rett.” She smiles. “You like pancakes, don’t you?”

She keeps calling me that annoying nickname that I like hearing when it comes from her.

This is nuts.

“I’ll feed you at least.” She sighs, props her chin on her hand and gazes at me. “What is it with you boys that you don’t like it when people try to take care of you? Merc won’t let me look after him, won’t let me help him, but at least I’ll look after you.”

“I don’t need looking after,” I scoff.

But I can’t meet her gaze when I say it, cuz I like her being here, talking to me, and I’ll be damned before I admit it.

The waitress pours us tall mugs of coffee and then brings the pancakes and bacon, and I dig in, suddenly famished.

I’ve inhaled two pancakes and going for a third, when I catch sight of her making faces at me, showing me her teeth full of pancake.

I can’t help it. I give a sharp bark of laughter. “What the fuck are you doing?”

She chews thoughtfully, and swallows. “Did you notice that doing what others tell you to do doesn’t always work out?”

I lift a questioning brow at her, taking a huge bite of pancake.

“Like, everyone tells you that you should eat with your mouth closed. But have you noticed that if you eat with your mouth open, everything tastes so much better?”

I look into her wide eyes and laugh. I laugh so hard I almost choke on the pancake. And then I laugh some more when she snickers.

This girl will be the death of me. And man, what a way to go.

Chapter Six

Gigi

––––––––

“So where’s your crush today?” Sydney asks me as we put our books in our lockers after school.

“I don’t have a crush,” I say primly, glancing at Tom Horton who’s been hitting on me all year. He’s grinning at me.

Make him go away.

“The hottie. You know the one? Tattoos, big shoulders, pretty eyes, a limp?”

“No idea who that might be.” I close my locker with unnecessary force.

“Come on, Gigi. Jarett Lowe. We don’t keep secrets from each other, remember? Not that this is a secret. The whole school, heck, the whole town knows.”

“Knows what? We’re neighbors, that’s all.”

She shakes her head at me and gives a heavy sigh as she shrugs on her backpack. “Yeah, right.”

“Seriously. We live on the same street.”

“I know that, dummy. You’ve told me before, like ten thousand times. What I don’t get is why you deny you have a crush on Jarett.”

“That’s because I don’t.”

She has to jog to keep up with me as we walk out of the school, and it reminds me of me and Jarett, and how I always hurry to catch up with his much longer strides.

Or how he slows down for me.

Lately, everything reminds me of Jarett. It’s annoying. I don’t have a crush, and that’s that. Plenty of boys around, thank you very much, and I don’t need any of them.

Jarett is... different. I can’t put my finger on it, but he’s not the same as the other boys. He’s not one for talking much, but everything he’s said is branded in my mind. I look forward to seeing him every day after school, and I miss him when he’s not there.

His presence is special. Beautifully warm. Brightly dark. Painfully wonderful.

No, Jarett is not a crush. He’s either nothing, or he’s everything.

And I’ve never been so scared in my life.

***

“Why are you here?”

I scowl at Merc who’s taking off his earphones and leaning back on the sofa, his short blond hair adorably ruffled. “You should be happy I’m here, you little shit. You’re sick. I’m your sister, and I worry about you.”

“I’m not sick anymore,” he protests—and then spoils it when he gives a lung-rattling cough, remnant of the flu that brought him down two weeks ago.

“Right.”

“Honestly, dude, I’m okay. No reason for you to hover when you wanna be someplace else.”

I hide my flinch. “And how to you know I wanna be someplace else, huh?”

“No brainer, sis. You’re always with Jarett, you know the one, the tall one with the tats, the one who lives down the street—”

“I’m not always with him! That’s a lie. Besides, he’s a neighbor, I can’t really avoid him, can I?”

“—or looking for him, or at him, or toward his house, sighing and shit, hearts flashing in your eyes—”

“Merc, stop this right now, okay?”

“—like you can’t spend a second away from him and the—”

“Merc, shut up!”

He chuckles and grabs a chocolate from the bowl on the low table. “Not my fault you don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Really. Maybe you’d rather talk about your nightmares? We can talk. About the dreams and the memories, the ones you never talk about.”

He pales so fast he scares me. “Shut up. Not talking about that. Hell, no.”

I hate that I put that haunted look in his eyes. But he has to face what is still hounding him, doesn’t he? “You should, though. To Mom. To me. To someone who knows—”

“They aren’t memories, Gigi. Just dreams. Give it a rest.”

“So I should spill my guts to you about Rett, but you won’t even tell me what’s been waking you up in a cold sweat every night?”

“Rett, huh?” He winks, and even though he’s still pale, I could almost believe he’s fine.

Almost. I mean, he’s my brother, I know him too well to be fooled by the front he puts on.

But I let it go, for now. “You don’t need me to tell you about Jarett.”

“Because you’ve been talking my ear off about him for weeks?”

“Because you know very well who he is. You’ve seen him at school, in the bus home, walking down the street, mowing the lawn at the Lowes’ house.”

He shrugs, pops the chocolate in his mouth. His color is better now, and to my regret I decide not to push him about the nightmares. He hates talking about them, and although during his sickness they got really bad, he seems to be sleeping better now.

“Anyway.” I shrug as well, mimicking his nonchalant gesture. “I haven’t seen him all week, so.”

“And why’s that?”

“Nothing. I was just busy, you know. Doing stuff.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been hanging around the house, driving Mom up the wall and getting on my last nerve.”

I stick my tongue out at him, because when I’m with Merc, I’m three years old. “You love it when I’m around.”

He sighs, mouth quirking in a smile. “Don’t let it go to your head, brat. Just because you’re my sister...”

I sink down beside him on the sofa and grab the TV control. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” I elbow him. “Love you, too.”

Boys and their complete and utter inability to express their feelings. Jesus.

Whereas I... I have no feelings.

Rather, what I decided that day in the diner with Jarett, is that I can’t have feelings for him. It’s confusing me, this back and forth. I said I’d teach him how to be friends, but the way my body reacts to his proximity, the way my heart pounds tells me I want more, and it’s obvious he doesn’t.

We could be friends. Perhaps. As soon as I get my wayward thoughts and fantasies under control. As soon as I don’t want to jump his bones every time I see him.

I wonder if I’ll ever manage that.

It doesn’t seem possible.

But I’m too young to lose my heart to someone who won’t cherish it, right? Too young to have found the love of my life.

This has to be a crush, and it will pass, given time.

***

During the day, I go about pretending I don’t care if I never see Jarett again. I busy myself with homework and play Final Fantasy with Merc, help my mom bake cakes and text with Sydney.

I’m sort of avoiding meeting her face to face too, truth be told, as she has a knack for getting me to admit things I don’t want to admit to anyone, even to myself.

But during the night, it’s different. When the darkness falls, I lie in my bed and wish, and want.

I want Jarett with every fiber of my being. I want to touch him, and hold him, and kiss him, and understand him. I want him to tell me about himself, to open up, to show me the affection I feel for him. For him to be my mirror in this twisted tangle of emotions I have for him.

I want him to want me like I want him. To care for me, like I’m starting to care for him.

Which is stupid. He never came after me. I’m the one always going after him, seeking him out, following him around, talking to fill in his silences. Struggling to understand his shifting moods when he rarely if ever explains them.

But he did explain, my traitorous mind says in the silence of the night. He said he was feeling off because his adopted mom was acting weird, and something about the death anniversary of someone he used to know.

Information I had to drag out of him kicking and screaming, where I had to fill in the blanks, where he kept saying he was fine, and that it was nothing, and like, missing a week of school was a non-issue.

This is the guy I’m so hung on. A guy who spends more time smoking behind the school than inside the classroom. Who rarely answers my questions, or asks about me. In fact, he never asks, does he? How I am. What I need.

He has his moments, though, moments when I think he can feel, too, he can be worried—about me.

And he’s so cute.

Okay, that’s a lie. He’s a panty-melting god, and even though I try, I can’t help wondering how it would be with him. If he were here with me, would he roll me under him, cage me with his body? Would he kiss me hard, or softly?

Would he press himself between my legs, so that I could feel every inch of his long, muscular body on mine? Would he let me trace the hard lines of his chest, the ink on his arms?

Oh boy... I’ve got it bad, and it has to stop.

I just don’t know how.

Chapter Seven

Jarett

––––––––

Gigi has vanished.

Not from the town, or the world, but from my life. She doesn’t look for me during school break. She doesn’t follow me after we get off the bus. She doesn’t hang out at the Lowes’ garden as I mow the lawn and doesn’t check me out as I rake the leaves.

She’s not around.

Her absence is a hole in my goddamn chest. And I do my fucking best not to think about it, to ignore it, to ignore everything—the darkness waiting for me at night when I sit at the window smoking, knowing I can’t sleep anyway, the worry over the Lowes who took me in without knowing what they were doing and who keep fighting.

Is it over me? Did they realize what a fuck-up I am?

Today Mr. Lowe spent like an hour yelling at his wife over something she said, no idea what, and that’s not like him.

Today Mrs. Lowe forgot my name, when she came up to my room. She started to ask me how my day was, and then just stopped and stared at me like she didn’t know me. It freaked me out, but I guess she was so stressed over her husband’s behavior, she lost it.

Right? I mean, what else can it be?

And all the while, Sebastian doesn’t seem to notice a thing, anything outside of himself. He’s locked up in his room when he’s at home, smoking weed and playing videogames, but mostly he’s out and about, coming back in the early hours reeking of booze and chemicals.

Sometimes I wish I could be him. Not to care. Not to bother. Not to lie awake at night or wake up from nightmares.

Or maybe to care and yet to allow myself to get lost in a chemical haze, forgetting about the goddamn world around me, about the past and the future and everything in between. About who I was, who I am, and what the hell that matters.

Why should I care anyway? The Lowes are foster parents, just like others I’ve had before. They get money to host me, and they don’t have to give a damn about me.

I don’t have to give a damn about them, either. So what if they’re acting out of character? Maybe it’s because they regretted taking me in. Maybe they have financial troubles. Who knows?

Shit happens. And it’s not my shit. I don’t have to know why. They don’t owe me anything.

Nobody owes me anything, and I’m fucking done.

Without Gigi, I’m done, and the thought is scaring the shit out of me, because since when do I depend for my sanity on a girl? On anyone, for that matter? Let alone a girl who has decided I’m not worth her time anymore.

Fuck.

***

“What do you want?” Sebastian snaps at me the moment I set foot inside the garage. We haven’t worked on a car in weeks, and I’d been hoping for some peace and quiet.

I may not want to admit it, but Mr. Lowe had a calming effect on me, before he flipped his shit and started yelling at everyone at the drop of a pin.

Last thing I expected was to find Sebastian here, lounging against the car Mr. Lowe has been working on. He has a cigarette in his hands, and he looks annoyed.

No, he looks fucking pissed.

So I stop myself from turning around and leaving. Instead I step deliberately further inside and lean my hip against the car, just to piss him off more. “Same as you.”

The fucker hates that his parents took me in, probably thinks I’ve stolen his only-child privileges and spoiled his trust-fund.

Fuck him.

“You wanna smash the car and set the garage on fire?” He sucks on his cigarette, eyeing me through the smoke. “No? Yeah, I didn’t fucking think so.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

“Am I?” He cocks his head to the side. “You’re trying so fucking hard to be good. To be a good boy, a good son, and for what? You think they take notice? That it makes a difference? Newsflash, fuckface: You’re not their kid and never will be.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” But my throat is strangely dry, and the itch to push him, prick him until he’s furious and then brawl with him and hopefully punch him? Yeah. It’s fading fast in a dark wave of depression. “I’m not trying anything.”

“Sure you are. You want to fit in. In this neighborhood, in this house. But can’t, Fen. You’re rotten inside.”

“Shut up.” I swallow so hard my throat clicks.

“You think I don’t know? You used to steal, and destroy property, and we’re supposed to just, what, overlook it? Forget it? You don’t belong here, got it?”

How does he know to hit where it hurts the most when I don’t even know it myself half the time? Don’t know it, or don’t wanna know it. It hurts so fucking bad because he’s right.

Turning around, I head right back out, not angry or sad, but cold, an icy realization seeping into my chest, into my bones.

I’m a bad person. Bad sort. Bad luck.

And a bad son to whoever decides to give me a chance. I already proved it to my real parents, and then to Connor.

If the Lowes haven’t yet realized what a mistake they’ve made, it’s only a matter of time.

***

The days drag. The nights are rocks around my neck, pulling me down, keeping me underwater. I’m drowning, watching from a distance as the Lowes quarrel and drift apart, as the faint hope I’d been harboring—the hope I didn’t know I had, one more thing that’d escaped me—starts to fade.

How didn’t I realize until Sebastian threw it in my face that I’d been hoping for just that—to fit in, to become the Lowes’ son? All the times Mrs. Lowe asked me to call her mom, and I refused. All the fight I put in it, all the times I refused to look at the possibility of staying here, with them, and now it’s eating at me, not letting me rest.

The possibility of staying here, where Gigi is.

Goddammit.

In the morning, I stand outside the school gate, wondering what the hell I’m doing, in this city, in this school, in this life. I’m already late for class, and I haven’t opened a book in days.

It feels like I’ve stood there for days, not sure if I wanna go in or run away, maybe this time for good—leave this neighborhood, this family, this city behind and kill this fucking flicker of hope that’s been torturing me—when I see her.

Meeting her again is like watching a sunrise. A fucking sunrise, after days in the dark. A pale gray light seeping through the blackness, turning golden as it spreads, golden and bright and blinding until you can’t breathe from the goddamn beauty of it.

And as I’m struggling to draw air, she glances at me, jerks back and turns around to go, taking all the light with her.

I’m going after her before I know what I’m doing. “Gigi! Wait.”

She doesn’t stop, though she’s shaking her head, her ponytail swinging against her back.

Reaching out, I catch it, and I catch her, too, releasing her the moment she comes to a halt. I look down at my hand. My body doesn’t obey me when it comes to her, much like my mind. I clench it at my side, to keep from touching her again.

“Please, wait,” I whisper. I never thought I’d beg her to talk to me, to wait for me.

Little did I know.

“Jarett...” She sighs, her pretty eyes lifting to my face and then flicking away. “Why aren’t you in class?”

“Why aren’t you?” I counter, and grind my molars because dammit, I don’t wanna fight today, not with her, but the tension inside me is hard to control. “Fuck.”

She shakes her head. “I’m just... I can’t focus. Too much on my mind.”

“Mine, too,” I admit, and it feels good to finally talk to someone, to let it out, even if it’s vague words. “Is it your brother?”

“Merc? No, he’s fine. Mostly. Anyway, no, I just...” She wrings her hands together.

I reach for them, untwist them, then let them go again, because the feel of her skin on mine burns, and sends bolts of desire straight through me. “Just what?”

“I... I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Do what?” A shaking is starting in my body, in my bones, a spin in the pit of my stomach. The dreaded anniversary has passed, and I’m still alive, but with my foster family falling apart, she’s the only person I can bear having around.

The only person I need.

Breathe, Jarett.

“Do what?” I repeat, more softly. “You said we’re friends. You said you’d teach me how.”

Please, teach me. Please, don’t fucking walk away, too. Don’t disappear from my life like everyone else has before.

Uncertainty flickers in her gaze. It should piss me off—that I’m baring myself to her like I’ve never done with anyone and she still hesitates—but I’m fucking desperate. Something bad’s about to go down, I feel it in the marrow of my bones, and I don’t wanna have to face it alone.

Not this time. Not again.

And not after I’ve been near her, bathed in that warm glow that makes me forget the bad things, that says the future won’t be as bleak as the past.

But I’m already bracing for her rejection, for her to turn around and go. So when she finally speaks, it takes me a moment to process her words.

“Coffee and pancakes?” She’s smiling at me, her smile quiet and small but real, brightening her face.

“Yeah.” My voice is rough, so I try again. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Being with her, even for an hour, even for one morning, sounds fucking awesome.

***

The diner is familiar ground. We’ve come here a couple of times since she first brought me, and it relaxes me enough to sit down and breathe in the scent of coffee and bacon and sugar. It reminds me of that day she dragged me here, determined to make me feel better, and that memory all on its own serves to slow down my racing heart.

She’s not indifferent. She gives a shit about me. Right? She’s not following just anyone and everyone around, talking to them and hauling them off to diners for coffee and pancakes. Only me.

So where did she vanish to this past week?

She’s fiddling with the end of her ponytail, and her nervousness is undoing the good effect of this place, undermining my reassurances to myself.

When the waitress comes to pour us coffee, I accept my mug and take a long gulp, letting the heat flow through me, hoping it will ground me.

“What’s going on?” I finally ask, unable to stand the silence any longer. I know that’s rich coming from me, but... “Something freaked you out, didn’t it?”

I don’t even know how I know that. Maybe because that’s how I feel most of the time, this twisty thing fucking up my chest—like when I realized I need the Lowes more than I thought. When I realized I need Gigi. This fucking panic.

“No, I...” She spreads her hands on the table. They’re small, pale hands with pale pink nails, perfect ovals. What will she do if I take her hands in mine, if I kiss her palms? “Everything’s fine.”

I search her face for the lie, because, come on—but I can’t find anything that says she’s dishing out what I wanna hear. She smiles again, color rising in her cheeks, her gaze meeting mine, tentative and yet bold.

Fuck, she’s beautiful. And there’s something so sweet about her face, about that smile, that I’m transfixed.

The pancakes arrive then, the clatter of the plates on the table jarring me. The waitress winks at me and goes, and I blink stupidly after her.

“I don’t suppose you want to tell me how things are at home,” she says after we’ve dug into the syrupy goodness of the pancakes and the crispy bacon. She licks her fingers and I stare, her words flying right over my head and my dick going diamond hard. “Jarett.”

“Huh.” I realize I’ve been staring at her mouth, and force my gaze away. “Nah, I’m good. I mean...” I lift a hand to rub at my forehead and the headache spiking there. “Not really, but man, I don’t know, are friends supposed to always—”

“Friends understand.”

I look back at her, surprised. “What? Understand what?”

“If the other person needs some space. But eventually you talk to each other. We,” she waves between us, “talk to each other about whatever has been on our minds. That’s how it works.”

I nod, not sure what to say. If that’s what she wants from me, then that’s what I’ll do. And if all we get to be is friends, then that’s okay. It has to be okay.

Right now, it’s all I have.

“Give me your phone number,” she says. “And I’ll give you mine. And you can call me whatever you need someone to talk to. Or to have pancakes with.”

My mouth pulls into a smile.

Somewhere in my head, a voice is railing at me for letting this slip of a girl tell me what to do, dictate how this relationship will work. But just for that word, that idea, that relationship with her, I’d work hard.

I’d give all I have. It’s not much, but I’d give it all of myself.

Chapter Ten

Gigi

––––––––

“Lick me, Gertrude,” Ollie says, thrusting his hips, standing way too close to me, while his buddy Everett holds me in place as I flail. “Suck me. Take it deep, bitch.”

The fact he’s fully dressed, that we all are, and we’re right outside the school doesn’t matter to my panicked mind.

“Let me go!” I struggle in Everett’s hold as the two idiots laugh, but for me it’s a flashback straight to hell, to my recurring nightmares. A memory from a few years back that shouldn’t have shaken me so badly. It shouldn’t, I keep telling myself stubbornly, even if it’s obvious that it did. “Everett, let go!”

I wonder how many more people will pass by and not stop. You’d think my shouts would give people pause, but they only hurry by fast, heads down.

Do they think I want it? That I asked for it? That my skirt is too short, my cleavage too low, my hair too long? That I invited these assholes to paw at me and make crude jokes?

Jesus.

I’m still struggling, Ollie’s voice lost in the rising roar of panic in my ears, when Everett’s hold goes slack.

Ollie steps away from me, falling silent, and they both turn and walk away quickly, casting glances over their shoulders.

I stagger back and try to catch my breath, wondering what happened and who I have to thank for this respite.

Then I see Jarett.

I should have known. He’s one of the few people the bullies are afraid of. He hasn’t noticed me, I realize. He’s just passing by, his wide shoulders and the strength in his body, the intensity of his gaze and general presence commanding attention.

He swaggers by, and the guys step back, while the girls sigh. He never seems to notice. And he’ll never know how he’s saved me time and again from the bullies just by being here.

My heart bangs about in my chest. I want to smile and cry at once. I want to plant myself in front of him, throw my arms around him, and ask him to hold him.

I want to turn around and go before he sees me and this complicated feeling in my chest grows stronger and chokes me up.

This truce between us... no, not truce, that’s not the right word. This understanding, maybe, this arrangement, the tacit agreement that we’re friends without benefits and with many boundaries, friends who skirt the real issues and only hang out together sometimes making small talk... isn’t enough for me.

But it will have to be.

It’s pretty clear Jarett doesn’t share my feelings, and that he needs a friend, someone who’ll put up with his shitty mood swings and stubborn silences, and in exchange for his protection from the bullies I’ll be that friend, if it kills me.

***

“You’re shitting me.” I shoot my mom un incredulous look.

“Augusta, language.” Sometimes I think Mom is sad she never gave me a middle name to call me by when she’s upset with me. “It’s our best option.”

“Best for whom?”

“Oh for Pete’s sake, don’t throw a tantrum now, Gigi.” Mom puts her fists on her hips and glares at me. She’s a copy of me—or rather, I’m a copy of her. Same hair, same eyes, same mouth, only hers is thinner, especially now when she’s flaming pissed. “Best for all of us. When have I ever put myself before you?”

God, she’s right. I’m just so angry, so frustrated.

We’re moving house. Moving away—from this neighborhood, this street, this school.

So not fair. Just when I decided that I can’t keep away from Jarett, that I’ll try to be his friend, she goes and springs this on me? Sure, being his friends is not what I want, but it’s something. Moving away would be to lose him completely.

I can’t. Can’t give up on him. On this strange relationship we have. On the hope that one day things could change.

“Honey, listen.” Mom sighs and lets her hands drop to her sides. “I know it’s a shock. But I didn’t realize you’d take it this hard. Merc seemed happy when I told him. I know you made friends here, but you’ll make new ones. Besides, we’re not moving all that far. Just to the other side of the city. Not to the other side of the country, or to the moon.”

She’s right. Moving won’t change anything. I’ll keep in touch. With Sydney. With Jarett. Right? Nothing to worry about.

Even if I don’t have Sydney anymore to gossip about everyone and everything during break.

Even if I don’t have Jarett to walk home with and check out in the garden as he rakes the leaves, shirtless and sexy and...

Yeah. I’ll be fine. It will be fine. Has to be.

I repeat that to myself while Mom explains why this is a good move. How this neighborhood is getting dangerous, how this house is falling apart, how much better the new house will be, how marvelous our life will be from now on.

It occurs to me she’s trying to convince herself as much as me.

Anyway, looks like it’s a done deed. My opinion doesn’t count. Not being an adult yet sucks. We’re staying here until the end of the month, then going, and that’s in less than two weeks. I’m too shocked to throw a fit over the fact Mom has obviously been sitting on this for some time but didn’t see fit to tell me.

Probably because she knew I’d throw a fit.

Still.

It sucks. And it hurts. And I’m afraid that it will change everything.

***

“We’ll be fine,” Sydney says for the hundredth time as I sniffle into my pillow. “I’ll be hitting you up at your new home so often you’ll wish you’d never met me.”

And that makes me snicker.

We’re both in our jammies in my bedroom. Syd’s staying over for the night, something we often do—supposedly to catch up on homework but mainly to listen to music and talk.

Tonight we’re not even pretending to be studying.

“You will visit me,” I tell her, and it’s an order. “We will hang out. All the time. Every day.” Then my bravado fails me. “Will we? Please, say yes, Syd.”

“Yes,” she says immediately, and see? That’s why I love this girl.

Our friendship is new, but strong. I can’t even remember how it started. During a school break I guess, maybe in the cafeteria, but since then, we’ve been living in each other’s pockets. We’re inseparable, and this move won’t change that.

“What about Jarett?” she asks quietly, and I flinch.

That’s exactly what—and who—I’ve been trying very hard not to think about, not to wonder what will happen.

“What about him?” I mutter.

“What did he say about this? Wait...” She scoots closer to me. “You told him, right? That you’re moving?”

The little red hearts printed on my pajama bottoms suddenly become fascinating. I study them with a frown.

“Gigi. Oh my God, you didn’t tell him.” Sydney elbows me. “Why not?”

I shrug. Wince inwardly.

“You have to tell him!”

Dear God... “I will, okay? Haven’t had the chance yet. I’m just...” Scared to death we’ll drift apart. That the tenuous thread of friendship between us won’t hold, that it will snap and we’ll part ways forever.

But no way, right? We’re friends. We’ll be fine. If Sydney and me are going to be fine, why not Jarett, too?

It’s different, something tells me. It’s not the same. No matter how you try, how you force what you have into this friendship mold, it wants to be something else, something more.

You don’t lust after your bosom friends. You just don’t. And the way I lust after Jarett... Even if he doesn’t feel the same way... is not how friends feel.

And moving away from him feels like dying.

Chapter Thirteen

Jarett

––––––––

The heavy feeling in my chest hasn’t eased up. More days have passed, and Mr. Lowe is still yelling, and Mrs. Lowe is still wandering around in a strange daze, forgetting what she was about to do, what day it is, and who I am.

Fuck this.

At least Gigi is back, walking with me from the bus stop home, chattering about this and that, calming me down with every step we take.

I’ve been thinking to take her hand. I’d fucking love to hold her hand, grip it tightly to let her know I’m listening. That I’m right there, with her. That I need her to give me a chance, to give me time.

To stay.

When I wake up shaking from a nightmare, from bad memories, when the deep cold pit of fear opens up in my stomach, I think of her, a few houses down the street. When I remember the bullies I encountered in foster homes, when I remember Connor, I think of her, and I can breathe again.

So when she comes over to the house today, I look up from where I’m painting the fence, and smile. It feels good to be outside, moving and creating something, instead of stewing inside four walls, lost inside my mind.

Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, strands of flyaway hair in her eyes, her lips chapped, and she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

We should kiss, I think randomly. Otherwise we’ll never know how good it could be. I think it’s time.

“Hey, Rett.”

I nod at her. “Hey yourself.” I keep painting, keeping an eye on her. “What’s up?”

She bites her lower lip, and I stare until my brush starts dripping on the grass. Damn, it’s hot when she does that. “Nothing much. You?”

“Same.” I won’t tell her about the Lowes again, or Sebastian’s barbs whenever he sees me. Fuck no. I lay the brush over the can of paint. “Wanna grab a coffee?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

That’s when I notice she won’t look me in the eye. Her cheeks are splotchy and I realize her eyes look red-rimmed. What the fuck happened?

Worried, I get up from my crouch and stretch my legs. “How about a walk?”

“Okay.”

That’s our thing, I guess. Walking side by side. I close the can of paint, leave everything where it is, and I don’t fucking care if Mr. Lowe yells at me about it.

I hurry out the gate to join her, and she smiles, but it’s not convincing. Something happened, that’s for sure.

We walk together down the street, and even though we don’t hold hands, I can almost feel her slim fingers in mine.

One day, I tell myself. One day, maybe, we will.

“Will you tell me what happened?” I ask as we pass by the Jensens’ house with the white picket fence. A fairytale house, with chocolate tiles on the roof and pink candy windows.

“Not today,” she says. “Today I just want to walk with you down the street, like we always do.”

Can’t be anything all that bad, I think, shrugging and matching her much shorter strides. If it was, she’d tell me.

Right?

Maybe she had a fight with her friend, that Sydney chick she always talks about. Or with her brother. So what if she cried? Girls cry more often than boys.

I haven’t shed a tear for as long as I can remember, and I’ve tried. I’ve tried to let all the grief and anger out, but I can only smash things, destroy things, and the ache in my chest never lessens.

It’s as if the tears I’ve kept inside have dried up, their salt hardening around my heart, turning it to stone, but now... now I feel things. Since I met her, I feel, and it scares me.

As we walk and walk, saying nothing and hearing everything, I think she may be undoing the spell. The shell is cracking. The numbness is fading. It occurs to me that with one blow she may well crush me.

Well, I did say she’s worth it.

I just didn’t think she’d do it. Crush me under her heel.

Christ, how many times do I have to get it wrong to realize I know fuck-all, and that hope will always screw me over?

***

The first indication that the world has gone to shit once more is the ambulance I find waiting outside the house when I return from school two days later.

There’s a catch in my breath, in my heartbeat, in my whole body. I stumble, and have to hold on to the fence not to fall on my face.

In a daze, I stagger into the house, my bad knee hurting more than usual, as if it remembers older times just as much as my mind does.

Mrs. Lowe, a voice is screaming in the back of my mind. Something happened to her. Or to Sebastian? He takes drugs, I’m damn sure of it. What if he overdosed? What if he was in an accident? What if she fell down the stairs?

So many scenarios. So many fucked-up possibilities.

The door is open a crack. I push it and enter the house, this house that it’s finally starting to feel vaguely familiar, not a home yet but maybe, given time, someday...

Hope. That sneaky, big fucking bastard.

I don’t see anyone in the hall. I check the living room, and the kitchen, but it’s all empty. Then I hear voices from upstairs, so I make my way up on shaky legs.

I see the paramedics first, and the stretcher, and then Sebastian. Someone is sobbing.

It’s Mrs. Lowe, sitting on the bed where her husband is lying.

He’s dead. I don’t need anyone to tell me. It’s in the stillness of his face, of his chest, the grief on his wife’s face. The blank faces of the paramedics who are standing in uncomfortable silence, waiting to take the body away.

The body.

Mr. Lowe, teaching me to fix a car engine, treating me like his own, clapping me on the shoulder, asking me how my day had been. Trying to make me feel at ease, treating me like a son.

And all I can think of is that this is a fucking déjà vu. It can’t be happening.

Not again.

I’m still stuck on that, when Sebastian ambles over to me and unexpectedly puts his hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be okay,” he says.

The weight of his hand is crushing me, the weight of the whole world, and yet it keeps me there, an anchor, a line to the here and now. I’m adrift in my mind, in the past and all the bad stuff, and his hold is the only thing keeping me from sinking.

Who would’ve thought that he, of all people, would know what I need, that he’d care enough to comfort me when it’s his dad who died, not mine?

That’s fucking nuts.

So I stay there in a daze, watching as the paramedics eventually load Mr. Lowe on the stretcher and carry him downstairs, as Sebastian turns to his mother and holds her as she cries, and realize I want just one thing:

To hear Gigi’s voice.

But when I call her number, she doesn’t answer.

Chapter Fourteen

Gigi

––––––––

In typical Gigi fashion, I avoid Jarett in the days after Mom dropped the bomb about us moving away. I’ve seen him around at school. But he hasn’t seen me. I’ve kept out of sight. Hey, he’s done it, too, from time to time. Why should I feel guilty for needing time?

We’re more similar than I care to admit to myself, Jarett and me. Hiding from ugly truths, preferring not to look reality in the face.

But yeah, I know I need to tell him. Sydney was right.

Not that I needed her to tell me that. Of course I’ll let him know. Only I hesitate because... honestly, I’m not even sure he’ll be upset like I am. If he isn’t as sad about it as I am, it will break my heart.

Crazy. I’m crazy. He shouldn’t have the power to break my heart, not so easily, not when we’re barely friends, let alone anything more. When we haven’t ever kissed, or held hands, or professed any feelings for each other.

Feelings he probably doesn’t have.

Feelings I shouldn’t have.

But still, I guess I wanted to put off telling him a little longer. Pretend nothing has changed. But avoiding him, not taking his calls, can’t last forever.

Now it’s time to face the music.

Mom is out of town—she went back to our little hometown of Destiny to get some things we left there in storage, and after that, in a few days, we’ll be moving out. I would hate it if he’d waited so long to tell me had he been the one moving away, and here I am, trying to protect myself from the inevitable. Thinking of myself only.

Suck it up, Gigi. Come on.

But of course the moment I decide to get on with it, Jarett is nowhere to be found. He’s not in the bus home after school, and he’s not in the yard of the Lowes’ house. The house itself is dark, no lights in the windows despite the grayness of the overcast afternoon, no movement visible inside.

I stand at the fence, staring at the house, unease stirring in my stomach.

On a whim, I whip out my phone and call Jarett again.

He doesn’t reply.

Chewing on my lower lip hard enough to draw blood, I open the gate and walk up to the house. I climb the porch steps and ring the bell.

It’s quiet inside. I ring again, shifting nervously from foot to foot, shivering in my light coat. I’m not even all that cold. The ice is all in my bones as I wait for Jarett to get the door.

But when the door finally opens, it’s not him looking back at me.

I open my mouth to say something—Hi? Who are you?—when I realize I know this guy.

Sebastian, the Lowes’ annoying son, leans against the doorframe and lifts a dark brow at me. “May I help you?”

I take an instinctive step back. Not that I know Sebastian personally, but rumors are he’s a cruel, obnoxious man.

“I’m looking for Jarett,” I manage through a throat gone dry.

“Jarett is... not here.”

I frown. “Where is he then?”

“Oh you know. Out and about.” He shrugs, his gaze flickering. “Like he does.”

That’s... all wrong. That’s not like Jarett at all.

My phone is still in my hand. I press redial, and from inside the house I hear the answering ring.

I look up.

Sebastian’s lip curls. “Ah hell,” he mutters and straightens, turning and walking back inside the house. “For you, man!”

Frowning, not sure what’s going on, I step inside, and there he is.

Jarett. Phone in hand. His frown matching mine.

He was here all along.

***

The afternoon light outlines his profile in silver. He’s propped his hip on one of the porch pillars and folded his muscular arms over his chest, gazing out at the garden and the street, his jaw tight.

“You’re leaving,” he mutters, his voice rough and low.

“Just moving to another neighborhood. I just wanted—”

“You’re fucking leaving, in a few days, and you’re only telling me now.”

I tug on my ponytail, bringing the end to my mouth and chewing at the soft tuft. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry.” He snorts, but doesn’t sound amused.

What he sounds like is very, very angry, and it’s making my heart pound.

“I only found out a few days ago myself.”

“But you waited. And didn’t take my calls. Why?”

I shrug. His anger is making me defensive. “I wasn’t ready to discuss it, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, that’s fucking okay.”

“What do you want from me, Jarett?” I stalk to the end of the porch, to the steps. “Want me to go right now? I came to tell you. And it’s not the end of the world.”

He casts me a strange look, and I think I see pain in his pretty eyes, a shock rippling through their depths.

Then he looks away and something shifts in his posture. “Yeah. You’re right.”

I don’t want to be right. I don’t like the way his expression has closed off, his eyes gone flat and empty. “Rett...”

“It doesn’t fucking matter if you leave,” he goes on, interrupting me, his voice hard. “In fact, you should go now, get ready. Not much time left.”

I can’t speak for a long moment, my heart in my throat. Tears prick the back of my eyes. “Rett, don’t do this.”

“Do what?” He blinks, long lashes hiding his eyes. “You’re the one who’s leaving.”

“But I...” I stop, horrified when my voice breaks. What can I say? He’s right. It’s not my fault, but it’s my fault for not telling him immediately, for not answering my phone. I still don’t understand why he’s so furious with me, though. “I wish I wasn’t.”

“It makes no difference.” His broad shoulders roll in a slight shrug. “Everyone leaves sooner or later. You might as well go now, before I start giving a damn.”

I flinch, startled at how much his words hurt. “You don’t mean that. We’re friends, we—”

“We’ve never been friends.” He spits the word like it tastes bitter on his tongue. “We’ve never... You know what? Just go. And don’t fucking ever call me again. I’m done.”

No.

He can’t mean it.

But this is exactly what I feared, isn’t it? That he’d let me go so easily, that he doesn’t much care if I stick around or not. He only got all pissy because I didn’t tell him earlier.

Screw him.

Screw him seven ways to Sunday, and I hope I’ll never see his face again, and...

And I can’t bear this pain.

Blindly, I turn to go, and clap a hand over my mouth as I stumble down the steps. No way am I going to sob in front of the bastard. No way is he seeing how badly it hurts.

If he’s done with me, then it’s about time I let him go.

Epilogue

Jarett

––––––––

When I first lay eyes on the girl with the big blue eyes and pouty lips, when she followed me home and talked to me, I never thought we’d click. Never thought she’d become my anchor.

Never realized she’d be the girl who’d break my fucking heart.

But she gutted me, laid me open only to walk away and leave me with a gaping hole in my chest.

I know now it was on me, too. I was fucking lost, I needed her, and I said hurtful things. I told her never to call me again, I told her I didn’t care about her. I even changed my phone number in those first days of fury, around about the time I smashed everything in my room and got myself so drunk I nearly died.

Things went downhill after that, and soon enough we moved away, too, from the neighborhood where I met her, but the thought of never seeing her again stayed in my mind, lodged in deep like a thorn.

It took two years for me to find her once more, and when I did, I held on with all I had... because from the start, she was my bright light, and I let her go.

I won’t be making that mistake again.