As the bus rumbles closer to home, I keep stealing glances at Jesse, who’s dozing, slumped against the window. He works a lot, though today’s the day he gets the afternoon off, which is why we agreed on going shopping. Still, he looks so tired, the dark circles under his eyes starker than ever, and the way he looked back in that alley…

Jesus. So pale and drawn, shaky. Eyes wide and unblinking, as if he’d seen a ghost. Scared me half to death.

He said I don’t need to change. That I’m fine as I am. Could he be right? That I don’t have to change for the world to accept me? That I’m not the problem? If Jesse likes me as I am…

My hand is still resting over his, its warmth reassuring. What I want is to reach up and touch his cheek, demand to know what is wrong so I can fix it. So I can see him smile again.

Don’t go there, Amber.

Ev warned me about him. Being friends—if that’s what we are—is okay. But if I fall for him, I might as well carve my heart to pieces and give it to the dogs.

Nevertheless, when we approach the stop near Damage Control, I don’t wake him up, telling myself he needs to rest. Not that I want him back in my apartment, my kitchen.

Good try, Amber.

It doesn’t matter, anyway. Too late. As we rumble close to home, I shake him lightly, and his eyes snap open. He gives me a bleary look, glances outside, and frowns.

“What’s going on?”

“Come on.” I tug on his hand, and luckily he gets up and follows me off the bus without hesitation. “Didn’t want to wake you up. Besides, we have meat pie Ev’s mom brought us, and you owe me an answer.”

Not to mention Kayla isn’t home, which gives me some breathing space.

“An answer, huh? Kill me now,” he grumbles, staggering after me, his hand still wrapped around mine. “Save us both the trouble.”

“No trouble for me,” I say and keep my hold on him as I unlock the building door and let him in.

No idea why I turn into a smartass around Jesse. Few people put me at ease like that. My parents, Ev… Kayla maybe. I never thought I’d be so comfortable around a boy like him, so… wild. Covered in tats and dipped in bad history.

Handsome like a girl’s wet dream.

“Meat pie,” he mutters as we climb the stairs, and his stomach rumbles. “Shit.”

“And garlic and mushroom risotto.”

“Ev’s mom made that, too?”

“I made that.”

“Damn.” He gives a wolf whistle. “You know the way to a man’s heart.”

My pulse stutters, and I stifle nervous laughter. “Yeah, right.”

He says nothing more as we trudge up to my floor and I open the door to let him in, but he seems lost in thought, and I leave him by the couch to go and warm up the food. My question can wait ten minutes.

My mind buzzes with worry. Whatever happened back there can’t be good.

Only when I return with the pie and risotto in ceramic bowls, he’s asleep again. He’s curled on his side, an arm thrown over his eyes, the colorful ink and the scars underneath fascinating. They aren’t parallel, like the ones I once saw on a schoolmate’s arm, from self-harming. These are irregular, crosshatched, some deeper and darker, and some shallower, paler on his tanned skin.

I place the dishes on the table and softly sink to my knees in front of him, observing the way his broad chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. He works too hard, training at the tattoo shop in the mornings, at the café in the afternoons and a fast food joint evenings. Ev said Rafe pays for his rent, so why did he take on an extra job?

His hand twitches, and his breathing changes. He curls in more tightly, and a tremor goes through him, tensing the muscles in his arms. Funny how in sleep a tall guy like him can tuck his long legs in, fitting into a corner of the sofa.

Okay, maybe funny isn’t the right word, especially when his breathing speeds up and a low moan escapes him. I watch as the nightmare pulls him under, hoping he’ll come awake on his own.

But he doesn’t. Sweat trickles down his face as he twists on the sofa, his lungs laboring. He’s muttering something under his breath, over and over again, but I can’t make out the words. His arm jerks, almost hitting me in the face.

“JJ, wake up.” I wanted him to rest, not exhaust himself worse with nightmares. Jeez, he only just fell asleep. I shake him gently, my fingertips digging into his tightly coiled, rock-hard bicep. “Wake up. Come on. JJ!”

He bolts up on the sofa, his eyes wild, and cradles his inked arm to his heaving chest as if it hurts. “Stop,” he whispers. “Just fucking stop.”

I’m at a loss. Don’t know what to do. Never seen him like this before, so shaken. He’s always so confident and sure of himself. The fear in his wide eyes is unmistakable, and I don’t even know if he sees me, his gaze locked on something I can’t see—a scrap of nightmare that lingers.

I pull myself onto the couch, and his eyes snap to me.

“Embers?” he whispers.

For some strange reason, my throat is tight. He’s out of sorts today, and it’s breaking my heart.

“Hey,” I say and put my arms around him. “I’m here.”

I half expect him to push me away and stomp out of my apartment, but he remains very still, breathing harshly in my loose embrace, the arm he holds to his chest pressing into my breasts. My embrace gentle, I let him be for a while, let him breathe until his heart stops pounding and his muscles unlock. His arms drop to his sides and he slumps against me, his chin resting on my shoulder.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his voice rumbling inside his ribcage, vibrations traveling through my fingers to my arms. “I fell asleep.”

“You work too hard.”

He says nothing for a long time, then he starts to pull away, and I let him.

“Talking of work… I’ll be late. I don’t have the evening off.”

“Wait. What happened today, JJ?”

His long lashes flutter against his cheekbones as he looks away, avoiding my gaze. “You don’t wanna know.”

“You promised.” I wait a heartbeat, curling my legs underneath me. “We made a deal.”

“Dammit.” He bends over, runs his hands over his head. “Goddammit.”

Yeah. I knew he wouldn’t give in easily. “Something happened to you in that neighborhood. Please, JJ. I won’t tell anyone else. Cross my heart.”

He huffs, swallows hard. Rubs his inked arm, still not looking at me. “What’s it to you anyway, huh? Can’t you ask me something else?”

I unfold my legs, plant my feet on the carpet, and bend over, mimicking his posture so that our faces are next to each other.

“Tell me.”

He swallows again, his throat clicking, dry, but I’m afraid that if I get up to get him some water, he’ll be gone by the time I’m back. Instead, I reach out and put my arm around him again. He tenses under my touch, then relaxes again in degrees, letting out a long, quiet sigh.

“I used to sleep there,” he says, his voice a mere breath. “Behind that dumpster.”

“When was that?” I’m afraid he’ll tell me this counts as another question or to go screw myself, but he doesn’t. He glances at me, his gaze strangely blank.

“Couple of years ago. I ran away from a boy’s camp. It was hell, and living on the street at first seemed the better option. And it was, in some ways. Until winter hit. The damn shelters were full, and I was broke. So I fell back on my old ways.”

I shiver and pull him closer. Old ways?

“It was a shitty time. I didn’t know anyone here.” His voice catches, releases. “The camp was somewhere in Minnesota. After I escaped, I rode in the back of a truck, and then another and another, until I reached the outskirts of Madison. I knew only one way of getting cash, so I tried it a few times. Except that night I was down on my luck.”

“What do you mean?” His heart is hammering again. I can feel it through his thin T-shirt where my arm is slung around him.

“I got no money that night. I got something else entirely.”

“What then?” I wait, and wait, but he doesn’t say more. I lean my head closer to his. “JJ?”

He shakes himself, as if from another bad dream—or the same one, who knows? “I was waiting at my usual place, but business was slow. Guy shows up, tells me that’s his spot. All bullshit. Well, it didn’t matter. He threw me down and kicked the living shit out of me. Then he broke a bottle he found lying around and beat me with it. Fuck, I tried to fight back but he was…” His breath hitches. “He was built like a shit brickhouse. I couldn’t win.”

“But you survived,” I whisper. “How?”

“Sometimes I’m not sure I did.” He draws a shaky breath. “Think I’ll wake up one morning and be back there.”

I lay my head on his shoulder, trying to get closer to him, hold him closer to me. In my mind’s eye, I see him, younger than he is now, skinny and filthy, lifting an arm to protect his head as a huge guy pounds on him with a broken bottle, leaving behind bloody gashes.

“People say they’d rather starve than do what I was doing. Have they ever starved? Do they know what it’s like? What you’d do to keep from dying?”

I want to cry. I want to ask a million questions, and I don’t dare.

Then it doesn’t matter anymore, because he shoves away and gets up. “Gotta go.”

He makes a beeline for the door and lets himself out. The door slams behind him, and I stare into space, trying to wrap my head around what he’s told me. What exactly was he doing on the street to earn money? What ‘old ways’? What is he trying to tell me?

Now I’m the one caught in his nightmare with no way of waking up.

* * *

“You need a website to sell these,” Ev mutters, lifting a pair of earrings made of copper coil and transparent glass beads with golden thread. “So cool. I bet Tyler could whip up one for you. Want me to ask? He’s got lots of experience.”

Any other time I’d be thrilled to discuss how I could live from my jewelry, but right now my mind is stuck on Jesse. I haven’t seen him or heard from him in the past four days, ever since he walked out of here. “I don’t know—”

“You should definitely ask Tyler for a website. I’ve seen a couple he created and they rock.” Kayla tries on a fuchsia pendant made of silver wire and colored thread. “Oh God, I’d totally buy half your stock in one go.”

Warmth floods my face. “Thanks.”

She bats her lashes and pulls down her blouse to show us cleavage while holding the pendant in place. “How do I look?”

“Come here, sexy lady,” Ev whispers dramatically and grabs Kayla’s arm, dragging her toward her on the sofa.

Kayla squeals and resists, a cat fight ensues, and I rush to rescue my pendant before it’s pulled to pieces. I retreat back to my armchair and roll my eyes at the two of them as they make faces at each other and cackle like demented hyenas.

“Are you done playing like two-year-olds?”

“Jeez, mellow down a little.” Kayla rolls off the sofa and lands on the carpet with an oof, and more laughter. “Oh man, I haven’t laughed like that in a while.” She grabs Ev’s foot and pulls until she gets her down on the carpet, too. “Missed you, girl.”

I do my best to ignore the tiny stab in my chest. They used to live together. Of course they miss each other. Heck, Ev has been telling me she missed me every week since I left town. But fighting insecurity is an uphill battle.

“Hey there, don’t look so gloomy.” Ev leans over and tugs on my leg. “Come down to our level. Madness is not contagious, I promise.”

“That’s what they all say,” I mutter, but slide down anyway, the box of my jewelry in my lap, and shoot her a smile. “In any case, it’s too late.”

“That’s my girl.” She snatches another pendant from my box and holds it up to the light. It’s polished copper, matching her curls. “Oh, I want this one, too.”

“I could sell you the box in return for a house on the lake.”

“You’re so incredibly generous.” Kayla bats her lashes at me.

“Just the box, though. I’m keeping the jewelry.”

“You’ll make a good businesswoman,” Ev says, distracted by the pendant. “Oh boy, I’m loving this one.”

“Then keep it,” I say.

“I’ll pay for it.”

“No way.

Ev sighs. “And here I thought you could think business.”

“We’re friends.”

Like I am with Jesse. We banter, we hug, we do things for each other. That’s what friends do, right? It doesn’t matter that I want him, that I want to kiss him, and lick him, and—

“Have you thought about your studies? You said you wanted to change direction, give up architecture.”

“Yeah.” I put the box beside me, stare blindly at the metal and glass. “I was thinking to take art as my major. I like creating things people wear, you know? Art that touches them, that touches their skin as much as their heart. Art that pierces them, and hugs them, and tethers them somehow.”

Silence spreads.

I blink. Uh-oh. Was it a mistake to say what I feel? People often find me weird.

But Kayla whistles and pats my foot. “That was deep, girl. Me like. You could use it as your logo. Art that pierces you to the heart, or something.”

I shake my head. Not so sure about that.

“I say go for it. Study art, focus on what you really like. What you got there,” Ev waves at my creations, “says the same. This is your path.”

That’s my feeling, too. I remember lying in my bed back in Chicago, wondering what craziness was driving me to return here, why I suddenly decided I needed to escape. Up until then I thought my parents could save me, fix my past and my fears, give me the best advice about my future. Architecture was their idea, as it combined art and more practical aspects of life.

I don’t want practical. I want my dreams back. I don’t want to bury my fears. I want to fight them and beat them.

Enough of running.

“I’ll talk to Tyler,” I say and run my fingertips over the smooth beads—over Jesse’s smooth, warm skin, over taut muscle and sinew—

“Something else on your mind?” Kayla taps her forehead. “I can hear cogs turning.”

“She needs lubrication,” Ev quips, the traitor, then rolls on the carpet, laughing. “Oh my God, lubrication …”

“Now, now. Very funny.” Kayla pats Ev’s head, her eyes on me. “Shh. Let’s hear what’s troubling Amber here.”

I gather up my knees and rest my forehead on them. “I’m just worried about Asher’s wedding.”

“Why?” Kayla frowns at me.

“I’m not good around people.”

“Nonsense,” Ev says. “You’re great. It will be lots of fun. You’ll see.”

Yeah, right. I love Ev, but sometimes I don’t think she really knows me. She can’t understand how I freak out like that in crowds. Thinks I can get over it.

As if I haven’t tried.

I think again of Jesse offering to take me, make sure I have fun. Will he do it now? I doubt it. I tried calling him—got his number from Micah, who promised not to tell him anything—but he doesn’t answer. I’m more worried about him than I am about the wedding, which is stupid.

He probably doesn’t want to talk to me or see me again, after my interrogation of him.

I bite on my lower lip. This is what’s troubling me, but how can I tell the girls that? They’ll laugh. They’ll tell me to stop thinking about him.

And I frigging can’t. I feel like I’m losing my mind.

While I’m lost inside my mind, Kayla makes a grab for my box, and she spreads pendants, earrings and bracelets on the red carpet. Ev bends over them eagerly, like a kid at Christmas, and their exclamations of awe and their giggles wash over me.

A thought has hit me, and it’s sending chills down my spine.

I told Jesse I’m antisocial, too, and he didn’t believe me. Then I got comfortable, let myself free to do and say whatever came to my mind. I thought we were just talking, but instead I pushed him until he snapped and ran, like I knew would happen.

Like everyone else, he expected me to know the boundaries, to behave normal. He said I could be myself, that I’m fine as I am—but apparently that was a lie.

* * *

Tuesday morning and I’m standing in front of Jesse’s door.

This is a bad idea. I know it, and I wish I had a better one, but if I ask Ev or Kayla or any of the boys to take the bags with Jesse’s new clothes over to his place, they’re bound to ask me questions and assume lots of things that aren’t true.

I don’t need more teasing and harassment. Seriously, I’m fine most of the time, but avoiding drama is half the work.

Besides… I need to see Jesse.

I reflect on that, my finger hovering over the doorbell. Although I’m pissed at him for vanishing, I don’t blame him. In fact, I’m worried about him. After dropping that bomb—and I’m still not sure what he was telling me exactly—I want to look into his eyes and make sure he’s okay.

It’s been years since that evening he was attacked, I remind myself, hefting the bags in my hand. The plastic is cutting into my palm. He’s here, alive, perfectly healthy, working and flirting with girls. Going shopping with you. He doesn’t need your concern. He survived all by himself, but still…

“Sometimes I’m not sure I did.” That’s what he said.

I ring the bell and wait, his words haunting me. It doesn’t matter. I’m just going to drop off his bags and go.

Nothing happens for a while, and I send the staircase a longing glance. Crap. I ring again, shifting the bags to my other hand.

In my memory, I see the way he’d looked in the metallic blue shirt that made his eyes glow, his smile, his teasing.

Before I can analyze why the thought of his teasing makes my face warm and my heart beat faster, the door unlocks and swings open.

A tall guy dressed in shorts and holding a towel in one hand is standing at the opening, giving me a once-over—but it’s not Jesse. Definitely not. This one’s blond with soft brown eyes and his powerful chest appears devoid of tattoos. His fair hair is wet, as if he just emerged from the shower.

You know your mind is stuck in a rut when you find the lack of tattoos on a man’s bare chest strange…

Pulling myself together, trying not to stare at the guy’s powerful physique or the red lines on his pecs—are those scratches? Like from a woman’s nails?—I lift the bags in front of me.

His eyes narrow a fraction, focusing on the bags. “Yeah? Can I help you?”

“These are Jesse’s. Could you please give them to him?”

“What’s in there?” He leans over them. “Are those clothes?”

“Yeah. He knows what they are.” I lift the bags again, but he doesn’t take them. “New clothes. He bought them.”

“And who are you?” His gaze is back on me, and I squirm under the scrutiny.

“Just… please give these to him?” I drop the bags and turn to go.

“Hey, wait a sec.” A heavy hand drops on my shoulder, and I yelp, stumbling and twisting around to shove at him.

“Let go.”

“Girl, what’s your problem?” He lifts his hands, his eyes comically wide, but he’s still crowding me, so that I press my back to the wall of the landing. “I only wanted to tell you he’s here, and you can give them to him yourself.”

Cold sweat is running down my back. My breath is frozen in my lungs. He’s towering over me, and he smells all wrong—not at all like Jesse. He reaches for me and I gasp, my legs folding under me. I slide down the wall.

He curses, grabs my arm—and then stumbles sideways, releasing me. “The hell?”

“Damn you, Travis, move away from her,” a familiar male voice snaps, and Jesse is there, pushing the guy away. He bends over and puts a hand on my cheek. “You okay, Embers?”

His touch should freak me out even more—Jesse’s just as tall as this other guy, Travis, and even more muscled—but I find myself leaning into his hand.

“Let’s get you inside,” he says, and I let him pull me to my feet, let him slip his arm around me. It feels so good, being with him.

“Go to hell, asshole,” Travis mutters behind us. “That’s what I was trying to do anyway, get her inside, bring her over to you. What crawled up your ass and died, huh?”

“I don’t know, Jesse says as he tugs me through the hallway, “but I hope it’s not the same thing that died in yours. It stinks.”

I stifle laughter as he leads me through an open door, and then turns and closes it behind us. “You didn’t just say that to him.”

“Wanna bet?” That infectious grin is back, and I hadn’t realized until now how much I’d missed it. How afraid I was I wouldn’t see it again.

“You often fight like that?”

At the muffled sound of soft plastic hitting the door, he grins without turning and yells, “Fuck off!”

“JJ…”

He sets me down on a bed—his bed, my mind belatedly realizes—and crouches in front of me. “Ignore the idiot. Sorry about that.”

“Not his fault. I’m jumpy.”

“Don’t you dare worry about him. He keeps me up every night. I swear, I’ve never known a guy to be so damn noisy during sex.”

My mouth opens and closes. “You and him…?”

It’s his turn to gape at me.

Then he laughs. I love the sound, deep and resonant, and the way he throws back his head. “God, no, he brings chicks here and bangs them in his room next door. Plus, I’m into women.” He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and quietens, gazing at me. “I’m definitely into women.”

Caught in the blue-green of his eyes, so intense now, I couldn’t move if the world ended. “Good to know,” I hear myself whisper, as if from a distance.

My reply seems to amuse him. A corner of his mouth curls up.

Then he takes my face in his hands. “Embers, I have a question of my own to ask you. I need you to tell me why Travis frightened you so much.”

“I was bullied at school by this guy and his friends.” Still caught in his eyes, in his spell. “He was tall and strong, and he liked overpowering me.”

His mouth twists. “What was his name?”

“Nick.”

“Nick.” His hold on my face is so hard it’s bruising. “Nick what?”

“Nick Harris.”

“Is he still around? Is he bothering you?”

“No, I…” I pull back and his hands fall away. “Haven’t seen him in years.”

I think. If the guy I saw across the street the other day wasn’t him, and thinking it might be him sends icy shivers down my spine.

“Good. He’s lucky. I’d feed him his fucking balls.” Jesse rises on his knees until his face is right in front of mine. “He’s gone, but he’s left scars. Invisible, unlike mine, but real. Are you scared of me?”

“No,” I whisper and lift a hand to stroke his face. “No, I’m not.” I trail it over his soft lips, and he draws it into his mouth. I gasp, fire spilling down my arm to my chest and straight to my belly.

What is he doing? I feel like I’m on fire, even after I withdraw my finger from the heat of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth, the velvet of his lips.

“You’re so pretty,” he says quietly, his eyes smoldering. “You should be afraid of me.”

Then he cups my face again and kisses me.