“Go away,” I tell the imbecile knocking on my door from under my covers.

My shift at the coffee house just ended and since Breslin's running behind and won't be here for lunch, I decided to take advantage of the hour I have before my class starts and catch up on sleep.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

Evidently someone with a death wish has deemed that impossible.

I get out of bed and stumble to the door, ready to tell Becca off for not giving me the space I asked her for.

The words I was ready to dish out fade when I shove my sleep mask up and see Landon standing there.

Judging by his appearance, and the fact that he smells like he's been bathing in nothing but alcohol for a month straight, I'd say he had quite the time being a rock star in England.

As I continue glaring at him through my squinted vision, I vaguely recall Breslin mentioning his tour wouldn't be over until later this week.

So why is he here now?

On second thought, I don't care. I'm far more annoyed with my disrupted sleep than I am curious.

“You know, there are these nifty things called phones. You press a few buttons and it allows you to speak to someone without having to wake a poor innocent person up with your relentless knocking. You should try it some time.”

His face falls and I feel like a bitch for snapping at him. Landon's a sweetheart, and from the looks of it, he's already having a bad day.

I motion for him to come in. “She's not back yet.”

He takes a hesitant step inside. “I left my cell phone on the plane.”

I grab my phone off the charger and hand it to him. It died when I got to work, but it should have enough juice to make a quick call.

“Knock yourself out.”

He stares at it cautiously, like I just handed him a stash of stolen drugs from the cartel instead of a communication device.

Fuck a duck. I can kiss that nap goodbye.

“Ugh.” I stomp around the room, gathering my things. “Okay, let's go.”

He lifts a dark brow in question. “Go where?”

I throw a sweatshirt over my head. “The cafeteria.” I reach for my jacket and knapsack next. “Breslin's still not home and you obviously need someone to lay your shit on before you talk to her. Plus, I'm grumpy when I'm hungry, so you're buying me lunch.”

“I'm fine.”

When I give him a look, he says, “Okay, I'm not fine. I'm jealous and I don't know how to make it go away.”

I point to the door because I hate giving advice on an empty stomach. Even though the solution to this giant cluster fuck is as clear as day.

“You're not jealous, Landon. That would imply you're envious of what someone else has. But you already have what Asher has.” I pause, realizing I'm leaving out the other one. “And what Breslin has.”

We start walking down the hallway. “What you are, my friend, is threatened.”

He thinks about this for a moment before he says, “Fair enough. I keep trying to get over it, but whenever I picture them together without me I'm—”

Seriously contemplating washing your brain out with acid just to get the image of them together out of your head forever?

Wait, this isn't about me.

“Hurt?” I offer.

He shakes his head. “Afraid. They have a connection and a past that I can never compete with.”

“Then why are you? Trying to compete with it, that is.”

Why am I? Despite Becca swearing they're over, Preston and Becca are still having a baby together. There's no way I can ever contend with that kind of bond.

He frowns. “Because I love them and I don't want to lose them.”

I hear you loud and clear, brother.

Becca's not just under my epidermis, she's under all the layers of my heart. And she's festering like a bad case of mold.

I focus back on Landon and his issues. “Look, I don't know shit about being in a polyamorous relationship, and Lord knows the thought of one penis, let alone two, seriously skeeves me out, but I have fallen in love more than once in my life.”

Forty-nine times to be exact.

“Okay,” he drawls, sounding puzzled.

I stop mid-stride and look at him because I need him to understand where I'm going with this. I might not be able to fix my broken heart, but I know without a doubt that Breslin, and even Asher—despite being a major douche canoe at times—both love him deeply and will stop at nothing to fix his. That alone tells me their relationship—however unconventional it may be to outsiders—is worth salvaging.

“Did you fall in love with Breslin for the same reasons that you fell in love with Asher?”

He runs a hand over his jaw. “No. Different reasons entirely. Same feeling, but the two aren't mutually exclusive because they aren't the same person. I'm attracted to and value different aspects of them individually.”

He hikes his guitar case up his shoulder. “Breslin because she's feisty and stubborn, and yet underneath that hard exterior she's sensitive and warm.” He taps his chest. “We run on the same wavelength and I can be myself around her, no pretenses. She gets me and accepts me for who I am. And even when she frustrates me, I'm somehow at peace when I'm with her.”

I take a seat on a bench in the courtyard because I have a feeling this might take a while. “And Asher?”

“Asher is a wild card. On the surface, he's unpredictable, reckless, and self-centered. And yet, there's a genuine depth to him once he lets you in.” He rocks back on his heels. “He challenges me and even though we're opposites, we somehow fit when we're together. He's my best friend and rival all in one. We're turbulent and complicated, but that's part of the draw.”

I study his face, wondering what the problem is. “I don't understand why you're threatened by what they have when it sounds like you have something pretty amazing with them too.”

I hold up a finger because I'm not done yet. Sometimes outsiders can objectively see things about people's relationships that the people in them can't because they're so clouded by their feelings.

And a sensitive and caring guy like my buddy Landon has a lot of feelings. Which means he's extra cloudy.

“Their connection and past doesn't negate the connection they have with you, because if it did, no one would be fighting to make this relationship work. One or all of you would have given up by now.”

I stand because talking about emotions is making me hungrier by the second. “I get that you're insecure and afraid that they're going to run off into the sunset without you, but look at the big picture here. If they didn't want you or love you, they would have dumped you to be with one another. You give them something that the other can't. And before you get upset, that doesn't mean you're lacking, it simply means that you're important, Landon. You matter to them. For the same reasons they matter to you.” I pat his shoulder. “You're not spare parts. Quite the opposite actually, you're the part that makes them complete. And I bet if you communicated and told them your concerns, they would reassure you of that in a way that I can't.”

He smiles and I see some of the tension he was carrying vanish.

He gestures to the dining hall. “Come on, Kit. You've earned that lunch. I'll buy you two of anything you want.”

If the thought of kissing a guy wouldn't ruin my appetite, and he wasn't dating my best friend, I'd totally lay one on him right now.

I rub my stomach as we walk through the cafeteria doors. “Good, because I am starving.” I grimace. “I had to do five whole hours of coffee slave labor by myself this morning.”

He laughs as we look for an empty table in the semi-packed room. “Otherwise known as work?”

I'm about to make my own quip, but we spot a table all the way in the back and head for it.

We exchange a glance when we see some guy wearing a black jacket hunched over at the very end, his back to the wall.

Given his hood is on and he's face down, resting his forehead on his arms, he's clearly sleeping.

I think this guy might be my spirit animal.

“Hey,” I say in his direction, just to be sure he's not bored while waiting on some friends. “Mind if we join you?”

When there's no response, I shrug and sit.

I fight the urge to tease Landon about how that's the standard protocol for those who are sleeping.

Landon places his guitar case down and grabs the seat across from me. “Ready to go up and get food?”

Clearly my friend didn't grasp the part about me being on my feet for five hours. Then again, the dude works like twenty different jobs...in addition to being a double major who's also on the dean's list.

I open my arms wide. “And give up this prime seating? Uh, no. I'll take the grilled chicken and avocado club, though.” I give him a shit-eating grin. “Two of them...and a Dr. Pepper.”

“Got it.” He stands up. “Watch the guitar.”

I start to wave him off because it's not like I'd let someone mosey on over and steal it...but I look up and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

Preston Holden's heading straight for our table, and the hard edges of his structured jawline, combined with the severe look in his eyes tells me he's ready to battle.

I feel the color drain from my face when I realize he must be here to confront me about Becca.

I mean, of course he would. She's the mother of his child...and I'm...

Shit. What exactly am I in this situation?

My stomach heaves when it comes to me.

Crap on a cracker. I'm a homewrecker.

I yank Landon back to his seat. “Don't go.”

“What?” He turns his head. “Why—” His words fall when he sees Preston.

I look at the exit, wondering if I have enough time to run out before he comes over.

My hopes are soon dashed because Preston's standing in front of us a moment later, thanks to his freakishly tall stature and long legs.

“Hey, can we talk?”

I silently hope his question is directed at Landon.

I'm out of luck though because those eyes are solely fixated on me.

“Sorry, can't.” I stand up so briskly it sends my chair sailing. “My class starts in a few.”

When he opens his mouth to object I add, “Breslin will be walking through those doors any minute now and I haven't seen my bestie in almost a month.” I reach for my knapsack. “Bros over hoes and all that.”

I motion for Landon to get up so I can stop rambling like an idiot and leave.

He looks between us, appearing uneasy. “Listen, guys, I don't—”

“You're supposed to be in jail,” Preston yells abruptly, cutting him off.

Sweet Baby Jesus. It's on the tip of my tongue to argue that jail is a little harsh for my transgressions and remind him Becca was mine first, but the guy at the end of our table stands up without warning, latches on to the back of my jacket, and tugs me to him.

“What the fuck? Stop it.”

Not only do I hate being manhandled, I honestly have no idea what's going on or what this guy's problem is.

Preston who was visibly irked turns pale suddenly...and that's when I feel something cold and hard against my temple.

I don't have time to freak out about having a gun pointed at my head though; because in a flash, the guy extends his other arm and opens fire in the dining hall.

There's nothing but bone chilling screams of terror as a huge wave of people rush for the exits.

I've read about school shootings in the paper, I've seen it covered on the news, and I've watched it depicted in school safety films.

But none of those could have ever prepared me for what it's really like.

There's nothing more harrowing than realizing whether you live or become another statistic on a memorial plaque...is up to some psycho with his finger on the trigger.

When I see that neither Landon nor Preston have moved, I open my mouth to tell them to forget about me and get out while they still can, but the guy holding me at gunpoint sneers, “Run and I'll kill her.” And my stomach free falls.

“Kyle, don't do this, man—” Preston starts to say, and I want to ask him how he knows this maniac's name, but then something absolutely horrific happens.

The guy points his gun at the mass of students who are all fighting to make it out alive.

And then he pulls the trigger...multiple times.

It happens so fast, it's almost like I'm in a dream. No, a nightmare.

My ears ring and the already petrified crowd turns violent as they all shove and trample each other to get through the double doors.

I make the mistake of looking down and notice blood pooling from two bodies on the floor.

Oh, God. This can't be happening.

I want to shut my eyes and scream all the pain away like I used to when I was a little girl.

But I can't...because I'm still standing in the eye of the storm.

Everything around me whirls and bile rises up my esophagus when I recognize one of them as Kelly from my economics class.

Tears blur my vision and my knees buckle when I see the purple notebook soaked in blood right beside her.

It no longer matters that I thought she was annoying and she thought I was a dyke freak.

None of that superficial bullshit will ever matter again.

Because she's dead.

I freeze, paralyzed with fear.

And he's going to kill me too.