“Ha-fucking-ha,” Vicious said, popping a grape into his mouth, lying on a lounger like a mad, entitled king. “But I have to say. The look on Val’s face when she signed those papers? Priceless. I’d feel sorry for her if it wasn’t for the fact she hadn’t even asked about Luna. Bet she ran off to the nearest bar to try to score some rich old businessman before the happy hour was up.”

Vicious thumbed through the documents we’d examined earlier that week with Eli Cole, Dean’s lawyer dad. The last couple days had been hectic, with each of us running around like a headless chicken trying to block every single evil plan Jordan Van Der Zee had crocheted for me. I had my friends to help me, and they were there, hound dogs out for blood. “Your ex-girlfriend saved your ass. Thank fuck she is no longer a minor and can testify the shit out of her dad’s wrongdoings.”

My stomach dropped at his last sentence, and I rolled my lower lip between my fingers, playing it off. I sat on the edge of the low table, trying to look like my heart hadn’t burned into ashes at the sound of her name and the idea she’d fucked me over by protecting him. When I’d sent Dean, Vicious, and Jaime after her, the rules had been clear—no telling her about Jordan and Val. I didn’t want her sympathy, and I didn’t want her to knock on my fucking door with crocodile tears.

Even though I wanted to knock on her door all the goddamn time.

Luna was with my parents. It was way past midnight—she was safe and sound and mine—and still, the hunger was there. The hole in the pit of my stomach sucked all my feelings and spat them back out into something numb.

“Edie talked?” I asked.

Dean laughed. “Talked? She sang like a fucking canary. She gave us so much information about how abusive Jordan was toward his son and her. Yeah, Edie padded us real good with all the info we needed. Why do you think Amanda gave you a bulletproof case? Edie told us about the abuse, the neglect, the bruising grips. Then she mentioned something about her dad constantly making her mother tea, and the addict in me got inspired and put two and two together. He drugged her mother. She just didn’t fucking realize it.”

The tea. All the info I got had been through Amanda. But a lot of what she’d given me was patched up from the cloths my friends and Edie had produced.

“Edie also hooked us up with the woman helping her with her brother’s case—your little friend, Sonya.” Dean’s lips curved into a knowing smile. We were all sitting in front of the pool, but our bodies were tilted to one another. A huge stone lifted from my heart, and I began to breathe again, coughing out the sweet, rancid smoke inside my lungs.

“How the fuck did Edie have Sonya’s contact info?” I gritted my teeth.

“Sonya is her best friend’s mother,” Vicious supplied, opening his arms in a check-out-this-shit-show gesture.

My jaw locked. “Bane?”

“Five points to the man with the sixteen-inch dick.” Dean clapped.

“That motherfucker.” Jaime laughed. “You should have seen the stare down between him and Vicious. Vicious straight up asked him if he was his Made-in-China version.”

The four of us shared a low chuckle before Vicious arched an eyebrow. “Hey, asshole?” he called to me from his lounger.

I looked up from my joint. “Yeah?”

“Do you miss her?”

Vicious was not the kind of asshole to pillow talk. Not with his wife, and sure as hell not with his friends, so I knew he had a motive. The lie danced on my tongue. No matter how big and tall and old and rich you are, when asked about the girl who broke your heart into a thousand pieces, you’ll always be the thirteen-year-old kid who still didn’t know what to do with his hard dick and out-of-control hormones.

I shrugged.

“Answer with words, Mute,” he pressed.

All eyes were on me. I looked away to the pool, squinting. “She’s in my fucking blood,” I admitted.

Vicious got up, shoved his hand into his pocket, and threw something small in my direction. I caught it, opening my palm and staring at it in disbelief.

I looked back up. He shook his head.

“She never gave this to Jordan, Trent. She couldn’t do it.”

Dean leaned toward me from his lounger, nudging his shoulder against mine. “Did you hear that, fuckface? You finally got someone to love your cold ass. You need to put that shit on lockdown because she is still young and naïve enough to like you.”

I clutched the flash drive in my fist. I swore it smelled like her.

Later that night, I sat in my car and stared at it, thinking it could be so easy. I could ignore it. I could move forward with my life. We wouldn’t have to deal with how I’d locked her father up in jail, and the judgmental stares, and the uncomfortable questions, and the fucking gossip.

We were already apart, and we were surviving just fine.

The flash drive dug into the skin of my palm until I bled. Then, and only then, I started the car and drove away.

THE WORST PARTS WERE THE nights.

When I couldn’t feel his body next to mine as I lay on Bane’s sofa. The memory of him was a weapon against me. His lips brushing the back of my neck like a lion that’s about to dig into his mate and fuck her raw. His hands running along my arms like he was undressing me from all my hang-ups, worries, and dark thoughts. His warm, slow breaths against my mouth. His pulse beating against mine. Was life worth living without these moments?

Every time I asked myself this question, I pushed the thought away and turned to the other side of the couch, fighting either the yellow itchy fabric of the back of the sofa, or squinting away from the light of the TV in Bane’s cabin, which was directly in front of me. Bane had been great about giving me a place to stay without asking when I was going to move, or to chip in on any costs for groceries. He did not, however, stop for a second his wild, rough life. Not that I’d expected him to, but with Mom in rehab and my father in jail, I really had nowhere to go. Mom’s lawyer offered to rent me a room in a hotel, but that was just more money I couldn’t afford—and who in the hell wanted to be alone in my situation? I needed a distraction. Human contact.

Bane screwed other people in his room like he was trying to break some kind of record.

They were loud and lewd, and there wasn’t a door separating his bedroom from the tiny living area.

But every time I thought about packing a bag and going to a hotel, I remembered the thoughts about the unknown with Theo and the known and devastating about Trent were going to haunt me, and I changed my mind.

This was another night on the sofa.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

I wished Bane had gotten rid of that clock after he’d gotten this boat. It seemed to have served as a reminder it’d been days since I’d seen both Trent and Theo.

And Luna. God, I missed Luna more than I’d expected to. The little sounds she made when she was amused or eager. They’d been my trophies for making her smile.

In the distance, I heard fishermen walking, chatting, and spitting, their heavy steps making the wood beneath their rubber shoes creak. It must’ve been dawn. They always came before the sun was out. Funny, the things you learn about a new place to make it your home. Noises, sounds, habits, people, smells…

The boat creaked.

That’s the thing about living on a boat. Everything throws your world off-balance. Bane loved it. Living on the edge of everything. Me, I craved stability. I wanted to feel like I was rooted into the ground, not blowing in the wind.

Something dropped outside on the deck. Something…light. I craned my neck, peering toward the small window by the door. It was dirty and made of cheap plastic. But I could see something. Someone. Someone who shouldn’t have been there.

Carefully, I got up from the sofa and tiptoed to the makeshift kitchen. An open jar of peanut butter was on the counter and a half-licked sharp knife on the edge of the sink.

I grabbed it, for once thankful Bane had the tendency to use a steak knife to make anything, even peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

I passed by Bane’s open room, wondering if I should wake him up. Probably not. It was probably one of his drunk friends, passing out on the deck or pissing into the bucket he kept there for when he went fishing. Slipping into my Dr. Martens, I opened the door a few inches and peeked outside through the slit.

Nothing.

No one.

I looked down. There was a pile of seashells waiting in front of the door. I opened it wider and walked out. The shells were from the same kind. Yellow Prickly Cockle. Not too rare, but your chances of picking a handful of seashells and finding the exact same type were slim. Seashells are like people. They differ in size, color, and shape, but all are beautiful all the same. I squatted down, taking one in my hand. It was still cold and fresh from the ocean. I squinted my eyes, staring ahead at the pink, purple, and blue of the sunrise, looking for the person who’d left them, when my eyes rested on another pile by the stairway leading to the deck.

More shells.

Walking over to where they were, my heart began to pound more furiously. A cluster of Jewel Box shells, rare and gorgeous, was waiting for me. Cold. Fresh. How?

I picked one and pocketed it along with the Prickly Cockle. Then moved forward, descending to the pier, where another pile waited.

Rose Murex. I pocketed one. Moved forward.

Periwinkle. Jesus, how? How? Pocket.

I jogged from the pier to the promenade, eager to find out the meaning of all this.

Lion’s Paw.

Banded Tulip.

Turrid.

Pointed Venus, and I was so far from the marina, I had to look up and see where I’d stopped. There were no more shells to collect, and I was standing in the middle of the promenade, panting, still wearing an oversized shirt I’d borrowed from Bane, my hair a matted mess. I looked around me. All the shops were closed. What did it mean? What in the hell was happening here?

Pointed Venus.

Where was it pointing? I looked straight to the direction of the sharp edge of the shell. It was an alleyway. An alleyway I remembered. An alleyway where I’d left one of my sweetest, roughest, most heart-defining memories.