Chapter 1

Nico

My knees bounce as I count each passing road sign on the way to the lake house. My friends Hunter, Taylor, and Kris are horsing around in the backseat just like usual, and Dante is quietly driving, the cruise control set to exactly the speed limit, the radio low so as not to be a distraction.

I allow myself a small smile as I take in my best friend, my heart thudding loudly behind my ribs. I’ve spent enough time looking at him when I’m sure he won’t catch me that I’ve long since memorized every single detail of his face from his slightly crooked nose to the birth mark on the left side of his jaw. My favorite is the small scar on his forehead he got when we both fell out of the treehouse I built when we were ten. Well, I fell out, he dove after me to try to save me. He ended up with five stitches, and I had a sprained wrist that kept me from playing baseball that spring, which I thought was the absolute end of the world at the time.

Dante’s dark hair is buzzed short, his full bottom lip caught between his teeth as he puts on his turn signal and slows into the turn. He gives me a quick glance, and I blush when I realize I’ve been caught staring. I avert my gaze, but not before I catch a friendly smile on his lips.

He’s truly the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, both inside and out. And I’ve been hopelessly in love with him for years.

“How much farther?” Hunter asks from the backseat.

“Fifteen minutes,” Dante answers.

I swallow around the lump in my throat and return to bouncing my knees and worrying myself into an ulcer.

The five of us have been coming every year since we were sixteen to my parents’ lake house to celebrate the end of the school year. But this year will be our last. With our college degrees completed and job offers in hand, this is our last weekend to spend together as carefree friends before we officially become full-fledged adults.

And I decided it’s time I tell them the secret I’ve been keeping from them for years.

I chance one more quick glance at Dante. I’m worried about how the others will react, but it’s Dante’s reaction I’m most concerned about. What if he’s disgusted? What if he can tell I have feelings for him? What if he never wants to speak to me again? Maybe I should scrap this whole idea of telling them at all. After this weekend, we’re all going our separate ways, moving to different cities or states, god only knows how long it’ll be before the next time we’ll see each other. By then I could have a fantastic boyfriend and telling my friends will be that much easier because I’ll be happy and settled.

“We’re here,” Dante announces, and I drag myself out of my spiraling thoughts.

I will tell them this weekend. If for no other reason than closing this chapter of my life and moving forward proudly, no longer hiding who I am.

I told my parents last weekend when they came for the graduation ceremony. I wasn’t surprised that they took it well. They’ve always been accepting and wonderful, but it was still a huge weight off to finally have it out in the open and know for sure that they aren’t upset.

We all pile out of the car, and I fish the key for the front door out of my pocket while all the guys grab their duffle bags and divvy up the groceries we picked up on the way.

Stepping inside the musty smelling home, I’m hit with a wave of nostalgia. My parents bought this place when I was ten, and I’ve lost count of the number of summer weekends I dragged Dante along to swim in the lake, tell ghost stories around the fire pit, and attend the many local summer festivals in the area—cornfest, bratfest, tacofest, the list goes on.

I drop the bag of groceries I grabbed onto the counter in the kitchen, and then head for my bedroom to toss my stuff on the bed.

There are three bedrooms and a couch in the living room, plus Kris brought a blow-up mattress so there shouldn’t be any shortage of places to sleep.

“Looks like rain,” Taylor notes, glancing out the back window at dark, storm clouds rolling in over the lake.

“Guess we’ll just have to stay inside and drink all night,” Kris concludes happily, reaching for the first case of beer and tearing into it.

He passes out a can to each of us, and I go back to my room to pull out a deck of cards from my bag, and then return to the living room.

“Poker?” I suggest, and the guys all head for the kitchen table enthusiastically.

I take a deep breath and tell myself to enjoy this one last normal moment before I drop the bomb.