“Can I ask you a question without you going all postal on me?” Ian asks, taking a fry off my plate and dipping it in mayo.

I make a face at the combination. Mayo and French fries should not be a thing. I mean seriously, what a perfectly good waste of carbs.

I perch my feet on the vinyl booth next to him, admiring my neon orange painted toenails. It’s better than watching him destroy fries for me forever by ruining them with the wrong dipping sauce.

Tearing a piece of cheese off my sandwich, I pop it into my mouth. “I guess. Don’t expect me to answer though.”

He rolls his eyes and leans forward. “I’m not trying to be an ass here, but I’m curious. Why aren’t you and Will together? I figured you two would end up together eventually. Even lost fifty bucks to Dylan when we got back and found out you’re not.”

My brow quirks up. “You bet on my love life?”

It should surprise me, but it doesn’t. The guys used to make bets on me all the time when we were younger, because I was the odd one out of the group. I was the shy, introverted nerd who liked taking pictures and observing over being part of the fun.

He winks. “At least I was getting in your favor. I don’t remember everything that night at Dylan’s grad party, but I do know some of the stuff we talked about.”

I glance down at my half-eaten Rueben. “I was drinking, I shouldn’t be held accountable for anything I said.”

“You nursed one beer, and didn’t even finish it.”

What? Was he watching me longer than I thought?

I internally sigh. There went my excuse. “Whatever. Your point?”

“My point,” he dawdles, “is that you admitted you had a thing for him. I could tell you didn’t mean to admit it. Hell, you didn’t mean to feel it. But you did on both accounts.”

I remember perfectly, but he didn’t understand everything that played against my silly crush.

There are too many people crushed together and dancing in a way that would put Miley Cyrus’s MTV Award performance to shame. Seriously, if this is what they want me to do, I’m going to pass.

I look around for Will, still holding the red solo cup of beer in my hand. I can see the top of his head, and know it’s him because Sheri’s unnatural curly red locks are right next to him, using his body like a stripping pole as she grinds against him.

Watching them makes me squirm, seeing her use his body like that. She always has to put on a show to claim her territory. It’s nauseating. So, I turn away, trying to find a quieter place to hide out until he wants to leave. Considering Dylan was adamant about me attending, since it’s his big bash before he heads out with the rest of Relentless, I haven’t seen him once.

Of course, the blonde he’s usually plastered to is probably the reasoning.

Just as I turn the corner, I bump into a firm chest, my room-temperature drink sloshing over the rim and onto my hand.

I look up and see Ian Wells smiling down at me, despite the fact I just plowed into him. He’s probably used to that sort of thing by now though.

“Sorry,” I say loudly, taking a small step back. There are a group of people behind me, so room is limited.

“Don’t worry about it,” he practically yells over the music playing. It’s some techno music with a heavy bass beat. Not really my thing.

Of course, when you’ve got mostly Taylor Swift music on your playlist, music like this doesn’t really compare.

Some people criticize that girl for dating so much, but I praise her. How else would she write the music she does? I say, dump them all.

“Want to head somewhere quiet?” he asks, gesturing toward the door behind us with an off-limits sign taped on it. I think it leads down to the basement, but I’m not sure.

I shrug, figuring it’s probably better than standing around awkwardly pretending to have a good time up here. I know Ian well enough that it seems like a safer choice than just lounging around a bunch of strangers who are drinking. After all, I spend at least a couple times a week at his house with Will and the guys.

Not that I say much, or anything, but still.

When we’re downstairs, I gape at the man cave set up. There’s a huge leather sectional in front of the biggest entertainment system I’ve ever seen. In the corner is a pool table, a dart board, and a little reading nook off to the side. In front of us is a mini fridge on a table, apparently full of different drinks based on the water Ian pulls out.

“You didn’t look that comfortable up there, Tessa,” he notes, gesturing for me to follow him over to the sectional.

Hearing him say my name still makes me feel weird. Not giddy like I’m harboring a crush on him, but weird in the sense that he and I are not on the same level. I mean, I’m Will’s other friend, so of course he would know my name. But we’ve never held much of a conversation before. Ian is one of the popular guys in town. Well-liked by everyone, respected because of his dedication to music. Compared to him, I’m nothing special.

I sit a good distance away from him, my eyes trained on the drink in my hands. The amber liquid doesn’t smell great, and tastes even worse. I’ve never been a beer person. Or drinking person. Really, I don’t know why I bothered showing up.

“Want something else to drink?” he asks, seeing the distaste on my face.

I shake my head, setting the cup down on the fragile looking glass table in front of us.

I scope the room out again, seeing pictures of random scenery hanging on the walls. Next to where the flat screen is hanging on the wall, is a stuffed deer head.

“Are we allowed to be down here?” I question, fidgeting with the hem of my dress. It’s just a basic black one that tapers in at the waist and flows just above my knees. It’s cap sleeve, light weight, and minimal effort.

Will told me I looked beautiful. I blushed.

Then Sheri showed up, giving me her fake, toothy smile and telling me she loved my dress. It was a fake compliment. A show for Will. She only wears expensive brand clothes from the mall. I’m sporting a Walmart ensemble.

I hate her with all my guts, and not just because she’s with Will.

Nine times out of ten, she’s fake. Two faced even. When he isn’t around, she warns me away from him, like I’m ready to pounce when she’s not looking. She even felt the need to tell me when they slept together, an admission that still makes me cringe.

It seems like everyone is having sex but me. What kind of eighteen year old heads off to college as a virgin?

Sheri made me feel bad about my status, like what I am is a bad thing.

“You saw me pull out the key,” he says simply, taking the gold key out of his pocket to show me. “Dylan lets me and the guys use it to get away. His parties can be pretty crazy.”

“Oh.” That’s all I can think to say.

He sips his water. “You don’t look happy, Freckles.”

My brows go up. “Freckles?”

He reaches out, tracing the line of freckles that spackle my pale cheeks and nose with the tip of his pointer finger. His finger is warm, his touch gentle yet ticklish to my skin.

I hold in a breath, eyes wide at the contact.

“You’ve got freckles here,” he informs me, as if I don’t already know. “Seems like a decent nickname for you. It’s cute. They’re cute.”

My fingers brush my cheeks. He thinks my freckles are cute?

I shift on the couch. “So, uh, you didn’t like the party?”

He shrugs. “Once you’ve been to one you’ve been to all. Plus, the host went upstairs to show one of the Willis sisters a good time.”

My cheeks heat up. Don’t say oh again.

I just nod.

“You’re red.” Amusement is thick in his tone.

Biting down on my lip, I shrug. I can’t deny it. I feel the fire in my cheeks. Kind of hard to tell him I’m not blushing when it’s evident that I am.

I opt to go with the truth. “I’m just not around people who talk about sex a lot. I mean, I joke about it, but …”

He nods. “But you’re a virgin.” It’s not a question.

“I don’t want to be,” I whisper, the admission only causing my cheeks to burn more.

“You and Will never talked about doing it?”

“He’s got Sheri.” My voice is more bitter than I intended it to be.

“And you’re not okay with that?”

I’m lucid. Readable. Vulnerable to the truth.

I shrug. “He likes her. She’s … okay. Sometimes.”

He snorts, drinking more of his water. “You, my friend, are a terrible liar.”

I go to defend myself, but I don’t. “I know.” I sigh. “I like him. Will, I mean. Obviously, I’m talking about Will. Who else would I be talking about? God, sorry, I’m babbling. It’s just … he always told me he liked Sheri, and then they were dating. It seemed like my crush on him was stupid. He’s my best friend, of course I’d like him. We spend a lot of time together. It’s probably just my emotions thinking I like him like that. The fact he’s with her means there’s nothing to hold onto.”

He seems to soak that in. “But you still do.”

“Maybe a little,” I admit. “It doesn’t matter. It’s obviously just a crush, and crushes never last. I just need to move on.”

“And how are you going to do that?” he asks with interest.

I don’t know why I blurt it out, but the filter I usually have isn’t working. “I’m going to sleep with somebody and prove to Sheri that I’m not after Will. That she has nothing to worry about.”

Ian chokes on his water, some dribbling out of his mouth. He wipes the escaped droplets with the back of his hand. “You’re going to do what?”

I take a bold nod. I can kill two birds with one stone tonight. Losing virginity, and the pesky Sheri off my back.

It seems reasonable … at least to me.

Ever since I noticed boys, I’ve noticed my best friend. Will is always there, always an option. But never one that reciprocated anything. He likes Sheri, and before her were plenty of other girls he pined for. Girls that aren’t me. Why stay hung up on somebody who can’t notice me the way I want?

I take a deep breath and stand up, knowing damn well that if I don’t do something about it now, I’m going to chicken out. Everyone says that your first time should be special. But why? Why can’t it be something I choose to make a one-time deal? An experience that I control? If it’s supposed to hurt like everybody says, then why waste it on someone you like?

Ian quickly stands up, too. “Whoa, Freckles. Don’t you think you should think about this?”

Is Ian Wells, playboy extraordinaire, telling me not to have sex?

I cross my arms on my chest. “I’ve been waiting for something like this to happen, and why not now? Will has Sheri. I can’t wait for him forever. We’re young. It’s stupid for me to believe he’ll ever be with me.”

The silence between us makes me want to cringe. My chest becomes heavy with panic, like admitting this to him was a stupid move. Guys talk about losing their virginities like it’s no big, so why can’t girls?

I know Ian was one of those guys, so the look on his face shouldn’t be so shocked.

Letting out a heavy breath, he looks me in the eyes. “If you’re that determined to lose your virginity, then why not stay here with me?”

Heart. Failure.

“W-what?” I ask in a breathy tone.

He rubs his jaw, shrugging. “We know each other enough. You know I won’t hurt you. If you go up there and scout for a guy, who knows what you’ll get? If you want this that badly, then just let me help.”

Let me help.

Oh, my God. I’m going to have sex with Ian Wells.

The memory fades quickly after a fry comes flying at my face. It smacks me right under my eye, hitting my cheekbone, mayo and all.

I glare at him. “You could have hit my eyeball!”

“Well it would have snapped you out of it. What were you thinking about?”

Instead of answering, I pick up my sandwich and take a bite.

He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t press. “You still like him. As more than a crush, that’s my point. So why not finally tell him? It’s been years. You’re still close. Seems like a done deal.”

I can’t give him the real reason, because he won’t understand it. Why describe what it’s like to feel the way I do to somebody who won’t understand?

“You need a push,” he states, brushing the crumbs off his shirt.

“What kind of push?”

“You need to make him jealous,” he declares.

“Jealous?”

He nods. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s that men hate when women they like are being adored by other men. It’s like watching a dog peeing on your territory.”

My nose crinkles. “Uh, I don’t want to be peed on.”

He laughs. “Don’t worry, no golden showers will be necessary.”

I lean back, staring at him. He seems confident that this will work. I guess since he’s a guy he would know what makes other dudes tick. But if it works, if Will becomes jealous, what does that mean? I’m not sure I’m ready to let somebody in my life as more than a friend.

Not even Will, as much as part of me wants that.

I shake my head. “You think you’re so smart, huh?” I pop another fry into my mouth.

“Oh, please,” he chortles, “I’m so swift they call me Taylor.”

A laugh bursts out from my lips. “Did you really just say that?”

He grins. His eyes flash toward the window out front, but before I can see what’s he’s looking at, he’s across the table with his lips pressed dangerously close to mine.

My heart just about comes out of my chest, but not in a good way. My personal space is something that I cherish, and he is invading it in too many ways.

I squeak, panic rising in my chest. “What are you doing?”

“Just go with it,” he says quietly, tilting his head farther to the side. His lips aren’t on my skin anymore, but his breath is still tickling my cheek.

“What are you doing, Ian?” I demand, ready to push him away.

There’s a pause. “There was a group of girls heading by the window and they saw me. Figured if they thought I was on a date with someone they’d leave me alone.”

I roll my eyes. “Well did it work? Are they gone?”

To my surprise, he chuckles and pulls away.

“Yep. They’re definitely gone.”

I look at his devious, up to no good face. My eyes narrow at him as he takes his last fry and eats it.

“Finish up,” he tells me. “We’ve got stuff to do. Places to be. I’m going to help you get Will once and for all.”

I gulp. “And how do you propose we do that?”

“Just leave that up to me, Freckles.”

And just like I always do, I trust him.

I wanted to talk to Will about what he thought about me taking Ian’s offer on the photography job, but ever since movie night, he hasn’t talked to me.

It’s been over a week.

Three texts were left unread.

Two phone calls left unanswered.

One voicemail left unheard.

After day two, I was ready to storm over to his house and demand he tell me what his problem was. But just as I was, Mom told me that his family is going through a rough patch with their farm. Again.

The first time, Will came to me. He talked to me, worried about what his parents were going to do. I helped him through it, comforted him. He told me he was glad I was there for him.

I guess he doesn’t want me to be there now.

And that hurt more than it should. Why should he have to come to me? I shouldn’t expect him to. I guess I just thought that’s what friends did. They helped each other through the hard times.

I reason with myself on the issue. Will needs space, so I’ll give it to him. I mean, what other reason could he have for avoiding me? He seemed fine when we watched the movie together. He even texted me the next day.

Then … nothing.

Radio silence. Zilch.

What he’s going through has to be hard.

Give him time, I chant.

But no amount of cat therapy could save me from boredom, and the more I waited around for Will, the more bored I became. My mother’s not-so-subtle hints to find a hobby finally pushed me to just leave and head to my apartment.

The problem is, everywhere in town reminded me of things Will and I did.

It’s not like you’re dating him, an annoying voice points out.

Even though we’re just friends, it feels like he broke up with me. When he goes away on trips with his dad, even if it’s for days, he sends me at least one text. Hell, when he leaves for a class we don’t share together, which was never often since we signed up for at least two classes together during the semester, he would leave me a note taped on my door with a horrible hand-drawn picture of a cat.

It shows he’s thinking of me.

That he misses me.

I can’t even find pleasure in watching Batman movies, because he’s not here to criticize me about it. And talking to Ollie like he’s human is no fun without Will around. He would engage in conversation, pretending to be Ollie by talking in a voice that I should have found creepy.

If anything, it’s endearing.

I don’t know if that makes me weird, but if so, then I’ll embrace it. Because Will does those things for me.

Every little criticism is an endearment—a reminder of our relationship. He accepts my craziness, and even feeds it from time to time. In all the years I’ve known him, he has never walked away from the crazy things I say or do.

He never walks away from me.

Not until now.

Standing in the middle of my apartment kitchen, I gaze out the tiny window above the sink. The view of the backyard is sad—the parking area all mud from the rain we’ve had nonstop for the past three days, and tree limbs down from the amount of wind that’s been whipping.

It’s like Mother Nature can sense my mood.

Maybe if I think happy thoughts, a rainbow will appear.

I roll my eyes at my train of thought.

Yeah, I snort silently. And maybe if I think really hard, a unicorn will pop up beside me with a pot of gold on its mystical back.

I really need to get out more.

I move away from the window, almost stepping on Ollie’s tail behind me. Throwing my weight to the right, I lose my balance. Before I can catch myself, I smack my chin against the counter, tumbling to the ground.

My hand goes to my chin, and I wince at the pain throbbing throughout my face. An instant headache fills my temples, and red liquid drips excessively from where my fingers touch the wound.

Queasiness fills my stomach at the sight of blood, and the metallic-like scent doesn’t help the nausea. I’ve never been great with blood, and apparently that hasn’t changed.

My phone goes off in my pocket, the familiar Relentless song “We Do” telling me it’s Ian calling.

Managing to get to the sink, I put the damp washcloth on my chin. I cringe when it hits the area, probably still having dish soap from the dishes I washed earlier in the cloth.

I hit the answer button. “Now’s not a good time,” I groan, applying pressure on the wound.

“You sound like shit,” he informs me.

I mentally smack him. “Where the hell have you been?” He’s been just as quiet as Will has the past four days. The last time we chatted was the day at the diner. Even after sitting on the idea Ian blossomed, I’m still not one hundred percent on board.

“Aw, did you miss me?” he teases, voice playful.

Honestly? No. It sucked not having him to joke around with, or even fangirl and talk music to, but his absence was nothing more than an inconvenience that fed my boredom.

That makes me a bad friend, but I don’t care.

“Your silence hurts me,” he says, sighing.

“Ian, I really can’t talk.”

“What’s wrong?” I can hear the genuine worry in his voice, and it surprises me. Although I consider us friends, we’re not close. Sure, he’s helping me find work doing something I like, and he’s helping—or thinks he’s helping—me get past my roadblock with Will, but I don’t know if that qualifies us as besties. We don’t talk every day, we don’t share secrets. We share adventures, a taste for something new.

That’s where are similarities end.

But the worry in his tone makes me feel comforted, because at least somebody is.

I sigh. “I’m bleeding.”

“Oh.” His voice sounds low. “That’s uh …” He clears his throat. “Like you’re having girl problems? Because I’m not sure I want to hear about that, Freckles. Maybe call your mom?”

I roll my eyes.

Of course he thinks I’m talking about my period.

“No, dummy,” I murmur, leaning my elbows on the corner of the sink. “I fell and cut my chin. It’s bleeding.”

I pull the washcloth away thinking it’d be done now, but more blood comes out.

My stomach churns. “Oh, God. It’s still bleeding.”

He swears. “Where are you?”

“At my apartment.”

There’s a knock at my front door.

I still. “You’re here?”

“Your mom told me where you were.”

Of course she did.

I press the once-green washcloth tighter against my chin before making my way to the front door. This time, I make sure Ollie is out of my way. He stays in the kitchen, his tail twitching and his green eyes on me the whole time I’m walking. I want to believe he’s sorry.

But the bastard doesn’t look it.

Unlocking the deadbolt, I open the door.

“Jesus,” he mutters as soon as he sees me. “You’re pale. Like, paler than normal. And that says something.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He looks me over, wincing at what he sees. “I mean, seriously, Freckles. I think I’ll have to start calling you Casper.

I deadpan at him. Does he not realize I’m bleeding out here?

Yes, some people think that porcelain skin is beautiful. I was told once it’s even desirable. But why? When I think about porcelain, I think about toilets. How beautiful are toilets really? Not very desirable to me.

“Come on,” he says, tugging on my arm. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“I don’t need to go,” I argue, trying to pull away. Just as I move back, I get dizzy. My head gets light and my vision goes wonky around me.

His arm hooks around my waist. “I’m not giving you a choice. You might need stitches. It looks like it’s bleeding pretty badly.”

I groan loudly in protest. If there’s one thing I hate worse than blood, it’s needles.

But, reluctantly, I grab my keys from the side table by the door, shutting and locking it behind me.

I can fight him on it, but bleeding to death alone in my apartment doesn’t sound appealing. Then what would Ollie do for food? He’d have to eat me.

I read an article once about an old lady who died in her sleep, and her cats had to eat her in order to stay alive. Because, of course the lady had like twenty cats.

I refuse to let that become my outcome.

He drags me to his fancy car, which is parked out front.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, opening the door for me, and guiding me to sit down. He’s being gentle, showing a side of him I haven’t seen in a long time.

Not since the party.

I answer honestly. “The potential of my cat eating me for survival if I die alone in my apartment.”

He stares at me like my hair is on fire. A slight judgmental look flashes in his icy blue hues, all sincerity gone from the color.

He thinks I’m nuts. Will wouldn’t think I’m nuts. He’d give me statics about the likelihood of being eaten alive by cats.

He shakes his head, helping buckle me in like I’m incapable. “You’re weird, Tess.”

I lean back, my headache easing when my head hits the headrest behind me. “I know. Been told before.”

Closing the door, he jogs around the car, getting in quickly and starting it up. “So how did you fall? I remember you used to be clumsy, but never enough where you got hurt.”

“I’m not clumsy!”

“You tripped over your own feet once,” he reminds me, driving down the road. “We had study hall together. I was a senior, so you were, what? A sophomore? Anyway, you were walking around the table in the library and then all the sudden you just fall. It’s like you tripped on air.”

He doesn’t hide the amusement in his tone.

Sadly, I remember the day he’s talking about. I don’t bother telling him that I actually tripped over my own two feet. Apparently, the concept of walking is foreign to me.

Mom used to tell me I was so talented, I could trip over painted lines.

She would be correct.

“Fine,” I grumble. “But I’ll have you know that I fell because my cat tripped me.”

He makes a face while slowing for a stop light. “I can’t stand cats. It’s like they’re just there silently plotting your murder. Once, I looked into a cat’s eyes, and I swear I felt my soul being sucked out.”

I snort. “Yeah, whatever.”

“It’s true. Cats are the devil.”

I don’t argue with him, since I’m certain Satan himself created my cat.

One minute he’s sweet, and the next he’s sour. He could totally be the feline sponsor for Sour Patch Kids.

Total asshole status.

“Well if you hate cats, clearly we’re not cut out to be friends,” I inform him, closing my eyes. The sun is hurting my head more than it already does.

“Your loss.”

“I’ve been doing just fine without you,” I say, almost a little too bitterly.

He takes notice. “Down girl. I’m just teasing.”

I curse silently to myself. “Sorry. I don’t do well with injuries. They make me irritable.”

I can feel him look at me, but I don’t bother opening my eyes to see for sure. It’s like his gaze is burning doubtful holes into the size of my face.

“You sure that’s it?”

No. “Positive.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Tessa.”

I’ve been told that a time or two, as much as I hate to admit it. Once, when I was little, I wrote my brother’s name on the wall and tried telling my parents it was Doug. Apparently, the sloppy five-year-old handwriting insisted that it was a lie.

“So, if I were to call Will right now—”

“Don’t!” I all but yell. The action pulls on my chin, and causes my head to throb more. Biting back a groan, I squeeze my eyes shut.

He snickers. “Thought so.”

“Do you always feel the need to be right?” I grumble.

“Only in days that end in y,” he muses.

The pain in my head makes me want to cry, but the last thing I want to do is let Ian see me that way. There’s only been a handful of times when Will has seen me cry. And at least two of those times was over a sad movie.

His hand brushes mine. “Hey, you okay?”

“No,” I croak, pressing my hand against my head.

He sighs. “I’m sorry, Tess. I just wanted to lighten the mood. We’re almost there, okay?”

I don’t answer him.

For a few minutes, we’re engulfed in silence that eases some of the pain. It doesn’t stop the awkwardness from creeping in, like we should be making conversation or something. I can hear my heart in my chest, so I count the beats to distract myself. The scent of blood is faint, but still there. My stomach is still weak, but not as bad.

If Will were here, he’d be holding my hand.

But he’s not, that pesky voice inside my head points out. If I could pluck that annoying pitch out of my skull, I would in a heartbeat.

The car slows down, rolling to a stop. “Hey, we’re at the emergency room doors. Let me help you out.”

I try waving him off, but he’s already out before I can. I crack my eyes open as he opens my door, guiding me out as gently as he can.

He’s not Will, but he’ll do.

The worst part of the hospital is the smell. Mom always questioned why I hated it, like she could never figure out how the scent was so bad. But everything is so sterile, so white. It’s like a mixture of pungent cleaners and people’s bad choices swirled together.

Not to mention everything is so innocent. White plasters just about every wall. The rooms aren’t the kind that bad things happen in. Plus, I hate the décor. The stupid one through ten pain scale with the creepy faces are always watching me—judging me. It’s like they know my cat is the reason that I’m here, and their judgmental eyes are burning holes though me as I try avoiding them.

God, maybe the fall damaged my brain.

Well, more than it’s already damaged.

I lay back onto the uncomfortable stretcher, the stiffness of the mattress making my back hurt. Readjusting the pillow with one hand, I attempt to keep the new cloth they gave me pressed against my chin with the other.

The good news is, the bleeding has slowed down considerably. Probably a good thing since we’ve been here for a solid thirty minutes without anybody except a nurse checking in on us. Well, the guy in charge for registration also came by, but he only wanted my money.

Lot of good he was going to do for me.

The last time I was in here, it was for Will when the cow kicked him. I remember freaking out every time he moved and winced in pain. I think I went more postal on the employees than his parents did that night.

The thought of him makes me frown. My head starts creating a whirlwind of questions, ones that I want answered, but are afraid to get the answer to.

Curiosity is a bitch. Might as well call be Pandora.

“You still alive over there?” Ian asks from the corner of the room where his seat is.

I murmur an incoherent response.

“I’ll take that as a maybe,” he says. I hear the scraping of chair legs get closer to me, then the sound of his sitting down in the air-filled cushion that makes a sound as his ass hits it.

Cracking an eye open, I turn my head toward him. He’s watching me, worry etched into his features.

“I’ll be fine,” I tell him quietly, hoping to ease some of the stress. “In fact, you don’t have to stay. I’m sure you’ve got better places to be.”

He shrugs. “I’ve got nowhere to go tonight. Been ramming all week.”

My face twists at the sound of that. I don’t want to know what—or who—he’s been ramming. Knowing Ian, it’s probably been a lot.

“Well that explains why you’ve been AWOL.”

“Careful,” he teases, flicking my arm. “Talk like that and I might assume you actually did miss me.”

I shake my head, my lips cracking into a smile. “I have been bored without you around, that’s for sure.”

“No Will?”

My lips tighten together.

One of his brows goes up. “Trouble in paradise?”

I know he isn’t going to let this go, so I might as well just tell him. Who knows? Maybe he can help. Apparently, he’s got a PhD in Will and me.

“His parents’ farm is going under,” I tell him, voice quiet, threaded with hurt. Hurt for him. Hurt for his parents. Hurt for the memories, although few, that we shared together there.

Sure, it sucks that he never told me himself, but he’s got way more going on than I can help him with. The reality of it blows, because what can a girl like me do? I’m not even twenty-one, no life experience, no money.

The brunt of the hurt is for him, and everything they need to figure out. Losing something they’ve worked so hard for has to be difficult.

Ian lets out a heavy breath. “Man, that sucks. Again?”

I’m surprised he remembered the first time they almost lost it. It wasn’t long before they headed out.

“Don’t give me that look.” He leans back in the uncomfortable looking chair. “Shit, I have a lot of respect for Will after what he decided back then.”

I gather enough energy to sit up. “What are you talking about?”

He cocks his head to the side. “You mean there’s something that you don’t know about your bestie?” I can hear ridicule in his tone, and I want to slap it away.

I wait impatiently for an answer.

“Will had a spot in the band where Dylan is,” he replies casually. To me, it’s not casual at all. It’s surprising. Will can play guitar well—just about any song I wanted to hear, he would learn and play for me. Rarely, would he sing them. Only select times, like on my birthdays or special events, would he let his gravelly voice out to play when he performed.

He tells me he’s not a singer, that he isn’t comfortable singing to others. I keep hearing the song he played at the bar, the one that made my soul hurt and emotion pierce the surface, and wonder if there’s lyrics to go along with it. I want to know them, to hear them from him. He’s better than he thinks, but he never allows himself to believe it.

You’re my friend, he would inform me. You have to compliment me.

I always snorted at that, because friends can be brutally honest with one another. If he sounded like a tone-deaf walrus, much like I do, I would tell him that. If for no other reason, to save my own eardrums.

But I like when he sings. Especially when it’s to me. It makes me selfish, but at least I’m honest about it.

Really, it’s amazing what he can do, but he never once mentioned that he could have been in Relentless.

I let that soak in.

“When he found out about his parents’ farm troubles, he told me he couldn’t leave,” Ian explains, crossing his arms on his chest. “At first, I couldn’t believe he would let an opportunity like that go. He may not have been as open to attention like Bash and I, but he was a talented guitar player—a good fit for the band.

“But, honestly, I had a lot of respect for him for choosing family first. I mean, all Bash and I ever talked about was leaving Clinton behind to become something bigger. Will even talked about it sometimes, but wasn’t as set on never looking back. Not when everybody he loves is still here.”

I nod along. “He’s all about his family.”

Even though he always tells me that Ryder gets on his last nerves, he loves his little brother. When people talk about him around town, Will shifts into a protective mode I wouldn’t want to mess with. Ryder hates when Will does it, but I think it’s sweet. It shows that Will cares.

And deep down, I think Ryder likes it, too.

Ian gives me a low chuckle. “His family isn’t the only one he stuck around for, Freckles.”

I just stare at him, wanting to believe he’s not telling me what I think he is.

Why am I so against believing he stayed for me?

I shake my head. “I don’t want to hear it, Ian.”

“Why?” he doubts.

“Because Will had an opportunity do something he loved, and he gave that up. I don’t want to know I’m the reason he stayed behind. That’s just …” I shrug, not even sure what to say

“It’s respectable,” he informs me, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his thighs. “And he didn’t just stay for you, but his family. He knew his family needed him, so he opted to make a decision. He told me to let Dylan take his place. And you know what? It all worked out in the end. I’d take Will back in a heartbeat, and still keep Dylan on. But things change. I can see that the dream he once shared with the rest of us isn’t the same anymore.”

Don’t say it.

“Because of you.”

I stay quiet. My heartbeat increasing in my chest, like the news is welcoming.

I’m fighting this like I always do. It’s a constant battle in my mind. Like Will. Don’t like Will. The way my heart flutters at the thought of his staying for me tells me the truth. The way butterflies form when he’s around tells me the truth.

But I lie to myself. I force down the lies like I force down nasty cough syrup. Both thick, disgusting flavors. But I endure it, because the fear of losing Will altogether is too strong to risk.

Who else would deal with my crazy ass?

Certainly not Ian.

“You two are dense,” he groans, swiping a palm down his face. “You both like each other. It’s damn obvious to everybody but you two. Just sleep with him already.”

My face heats up. “What does sex have to do with anything? You should be telling me to express my feelings or some crap like that.”

He eyes me. “Do I look like I’m the touchy-feely type? I express myself through actions, not words. If I want a girl, I take her.” He winks. “In more than one way.”

Now I groan. “You’re a pig.”

“I don’t deny it.”

“And you’re also a liar,” I accuse. “You act like you can get any girl you want? Then what about Kasey?”

He presses his lips together, jaw ticking at the sound of her name. Averting his eyes, he avoids my glare.

Yeah, he doesn’t like it when the shoe is on the other foot.

I nod. “Yeah, I thought so. Don’t act all high and mighty. You might fall off that damn pedestal you’re so high up on.”

Before he can reply, the doctor comes in, pulling back the curtain that gives the tiny exam room privacy.

Ian stands up, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ll wait outside.”

Guilt bubbles up in my chest, but I beat it back down like a damn whack-a-mole. No way in hell am I going to feel bad about being right.

He acts like he can get anybody he wants—like he doesn’t have feelings that he can relate to. He wants me with Will because he never got to be with Kasey. What makes us so different?

Nothing.

In that moment, I realize the truth.

We’re both cowards.