Unafraid (Beachwood Bay) - Grace Melody

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Copyright © 2013 by Melody Grace

Interior design by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats Cover photograph copyright Jessie Weinberg.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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PROLOGUE ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY TWENTY-ONE TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE TWENTY-FOUR TWENTY-FIVE TWENTY-SIX ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My grandpa trained horses his whole life. He had a gift; people say he was the best they’d ever seen. We used to visit his ranch out in Beachwood Bay every summer. I’d watch in awe as the horses would be led in to that old dirt paddock, their eyes wild, nostrils flaring. They fought the lead, shied away from every touch, damn near killed a couple of ranch hands trying to get away. But Grandpa never quit. It would take him all summer long, working his magic, pacing slowly in that ring, learning what it was that made the horses tick, until by the end of it, even the craziest ones were eating peppermints from the palm of his hand. The first time I laid eyes on Brittany Ray, I knew this girl was wilder than any stallion I’d ever seen. She was headstrong, wounded, passionate, and free. And I had to have her. “Some horses will never be tamed,” Grandpa used to tell me. “The only way you get through is to earn their respect. You’ve got to learn what they’re so scared about, because the wildest ones… Well, those are the ones that are the most scared of all.” I didn’t listen to him, not at first. I was eighteen, I thought I had the world all figured out, and hell, I was so desperate for her, I took any chance I could get. One night together, one brief taste of her beauty. But when morning came, she was gone. That’s when I realized, one night with her would never be enough. The world kept spinning after that summer, taking me far from Beachwood, and changing my life in ways too tragic to comprehend. Grandpa’s gone now too, the old ranch is crumbling to disrepair, and some nights, it feels like my time with Brit was just a fever dream. But that’s the thing about dreams: they can keep you going, even through the bleakest nights and the darkest of days. Give you something to believe in, when everything else in your world is guilt and sadness and pain. She saved me, that girl. She saved me, and she never even knew it. I always swore to myself, I’d make her more than just a dream. I’d go back to that town, I’d take the time to earn her trust, the way my grandpa taught me, until I know every secret lurking in those beautiful dark eyes, every hope she holds, deep in her soul. Until she trusts me enough to stay. My truck cruises round the bend in the road, and I see the sign loom closer, out on the edge of the

windy highway as I cross the county line. Welcome to Beachwood Bay. I smile, feeling like myself again for the first time in damn too long. Yeah, I’m going to do it right this time. I’m going to make her mine.

It’s Friday night in Beachwood Bay, which means there’s only one place to go: Jimmy’s. By eight, the bar is already packed, full of tourists and locals all wanting a cheap beer and some loud music to get their weekend started right. “When are you going to change the name?” I ask Garrett, slamming down another order. He’s behind the bar, pouring beers as fast as he can to keep up. “I’ve had three tourists ask to meet Jimmy, and it’s too much hassle to explain the whole thing.” “Hey, you don’t mess with history.” Garrett just gives that lazy shrug. He’s dressed in his usual uniform of a plaid shirt, jeans, and two-day stubble; he’s the boss now, so he gets to wear what he wants, while I’m stuck in my black Jimmy’s tank and cutoffs. I roll my eyes. “Maybe history can move a little quicker,” I suggest, flicking back a sweaty strand of hair, dyed a dark brown this month. “I’m still waiting on those cocktails for the sorority girls in the corner.” Garrett glances over to the group of girls in skintight cutoffs giggling in the booth. “Nah, you go ahead, I’ve got them.” “What about Melissa?” I remind him, loading up my tray with waters and cutlery. I look up in time to catch a sheepish look flit across his face. “Yeah, Melissa said she wouldn’t be in tonight. Or, any other night.” Garrett mumbles. “No!” I cry, swatting him with my dish-towel. “You can’t keep doing this.” “Doing what?” “Screwing all the waitresses.” “Not all.” He points out, with a grin. “Eww. That’s disgusting.” I glare. Garrett is like a big brother to me, and with my real brother, Emerson, off in the city, he’s the only family here I’ve got. “I’m serious,” I warn him, “they keep quitting when you break their hearts, and then there’s no one left to help me serve!” I head out across the bar, cursing the fact that Garrett can’t keep it zipped. At this rate, we’ll be blacklisted by every waitress in the state before fall.

Not that I should care. The truth is, I’ve been telling myself that helping out at the bar is just a favor. A short-term, stopgap kind of thing until I figure out what I’m going to do with my life. But it’s been a year since I graduated high school, and I’m still here: serving burgers to the folks who wouldn’t look twice at me in the street, like somehow being a waitress is part of the plan, and not just treading water as time slips on by. “I forgot,” Garrett tells me, when I head on back to the bar after taking another round of orders. “Mail came for you, I left it in the office.” “Thanks.” I go check it out when there’s a lull in the crowd. The envelope is propped on the messy desk with my name printed in neat black type. Charleston postmark. I stop, my heart suddenly clenching in my chest. The letter is slim, weighing next to nothing, and before I can get caught up in wondering whether that’s good news or bad, I rip it open and pull out the single sheet of paper. Dear Miss Ray, Thank you for your interest in our company. We regret to inform you… The words blur with a sudden sting of tears. I angrily swipe them away, crumpling the letter into a ball and hurling it to the ground before I can read another word. I don’t need to. They’re all the same. I’ve been secretly applying for internships for months now, sending out my portfolio to every designer and clothing line I can find. I’m not crazy, I know the best I can hope for is a basic assistant gig––fetching coffees and running fabric samples––but that’s just fine with me. Anything to get my foot in the door, and start working my way up to one day designing my own line. But every single application comes back with the same, impersonal letter. Sure, they’re polite, but after reading the first dozen, I got the message written between the lines: you’re not good enough. You don’t have the skills, or the qualifications, or the fancy fashion school credentials to even get a foot in the door. We don’t want you. “Bad news?” Garrett’s voice makes me jump. I turn to find him in the doorway, watching me with a concerned look on his face. I swallow back the sting of disappointment. “It’s nothing,” I tell him. “You sure?” Garrett’s eyes are soft, “Because—” “I said, I’m fine!” I snap. “At least, I would be if you could stop being such a broken man-whore and keep a damn waitress in this place!” I storm past him, but not so fast that I don’t see the flicker of hurt on his face. It’s too late to take it

back, so I just add the guilt to the whole mess of emotions I’m carrying, heavy and sharp like a steel knife blade in my gut. My phone buzzes in my back pocket, and I pull it out, glad for the distraction. hey sexy. c u later? It’s from Trey, a guy I’ve been hooking up with these past couple of weeks. We met in a bar a couple of towns over. One drink led to another until we closed out the night in the backseat of his beat-up old Chevy. It’s turned into a regular late night thing, my one good distraction to take my mind off another long night of nothing here at the bar. And tonight, I sure as hell need distracting. sure, I text back, and a moment later, his reply flashes up. already hard 4 u. Real romantic. I tuck my phone away with a small grin. Trey and his dirty talk have done the trick; now my latest rejection letter is just another in the stack, one more thing to forget about and move on from. I take a deep breath, and remind myself: I’m the one in control. All those fancy fashion lines may not want me, but I can get Trey panting with nothing but a wink and a flash of red lace from under my tank top. Out there in the world, I may be nothing, but put me in a room full of guys with one thing on their minds, and they’ll want me. They’re always going to want me for that. I sweep aside my disappointment and head back out to the bar, adding a swing to my hips and some strut to my stride in my chunky lace-up boots. Garrett gives me another look of concern so I just flash him a fake smile and keep moving, loading up my tray with waters and going to bus some empty tables in back. You’ve got this, Brit. You’ll be just fine. I see a new group enter the bar: an older couple, and their daughter, a pretty blonde about my age. I grab a stack of menus, about to go over to welcome them, when the door swings open again. Trey. Despite myself, I smile. I guess he couldn’t wait until I finished my shift. He’s dressed up, I notice: a button-down shirt, good jeans, cleanly shaven. The last few times we met, it was a late-night thing: sweaty and disheveled after a long day at work. We both know I’m a sure thing either way, but it’s nice he made the effort for me. Guys never do. “Hey you,” I call out, but he doesn’t hear me. He doesn’t even look in my direction. Instead, he

walks straight over to the far table, and the family who just walked in. He slides in next to the blonde girl and drapes an arm around her shoulder. I freeze. The girl smiles up at Trey, and he leans to drop a kiss on her lips. She reaches up to touch his cheek, and that’s when I see it: the ring on her engagement finger, bright and sparkling, and full of betrayal. My blood runs cold. Trey still hasn’t seen me. He’s smiling, easy, joking with the girl’s parents. They’re all having a ball of a time, as if ten hours ago he wasn’t grunting in my ear, cursing under his breath as he groped at every inch of flesh on my body. Funny, he forgot to mention his fiancée. Rage comes, hot in my veins. I shouldn’t be surprised anymore, how this goes. How it always goes. But after that letter from the design company, this is like a ton of salt dumped on the wound. All my rejection comes boiling up again, sharp and bitter with regret. I guess I’m only good enough to fuck. I stalk over there before I have a chance to reconsider. “Hi y’all, welcome to Jimmy’s.” I say flatly. I look to Trey for some kind of reaction: shock maybe, or fear. But instead, he has the nerve to smile at me and wink, like we’re in this together. “We’ve got some specials here tonight,” I continue, my voice sharp and metallic. “Sure,” Trey grins, lounging back in the booth. “Let’s hear ‘em.” I narrow my eyes. Without the tequila blurring my vision – and good judgment – I can see he’s just a beefed up jock with a bad goatee. Jesus, why did I even waste my time on him? Because there was nothing better to do. The voice in my head answers for me. Because he helped you forget, just for a little while, what a dead-end your life has become. I push the voice back, and glare at Trey, like I could strip the skin off his bones with just one look. “Well, first up we’ve got the cheating asshole,” I announce. “It comes with a side of whiskey dick.” That wipes the smile off his face. Trey scowls at me while the rest of the table blinks in confusion. “Brit—” he warns in a menacing voice, but I’m not done yet. “Or how about some lying piece of scum?” I continue, “You won’t have to wait long for that. Trust me, it comes real quick.” “That’s enough!” Trey leaps to his feet, but I step back, quicker. “Damn right it is.” I spit. “Already hard for you?” I quote his text, fury pumping in my bloodstream. “Funny how you didn’t mention your fiancée.” I grab a plate of nachos from the next table and upend it all over his head. The mess of cheese and guacamole and beans smears down his face and drips, slowly to the floor. There’s silence. The rest of the table gasps at me in shock.

“What the fuck?!” Trey finally finds his voice, wiping at the mess on his shirt. “You crazy bitch!” “What’s she talking about?” The blonde blinks, all innocent confusion. “It’s nothing, babe,” Trey says quickly. I snort. “He’s been fucking me for weeks.” I tell her harshly. “And god knows who else. Better get tested, sweetheart. I sure as hell will. Y’all have a nice night.” I add to the girl’s parents, sitting there, shellshocked. I stride away, victory surging in my veins. That’ll teach him not to use me like some piece of ass, then go running back to Little Miss Perfect the minute daylight comes. I can hear him now behind me, begging and groveling to them all. “Don’t listen to her, baby,” I hear him plead. “You know what everyone says about her. She’s just a crazy slut. She’s nothing.” My steps falter. Now that my rage is fading, I realize the whole bar is staring at me. I can see their faces, wide-eyed and scandalized. Then the whispers start, gossiping tones drifting out to me as I hurry across the bar. “You know those Ray kids… She gets around, for sure… Just like their mama…” I keep walking, my anger fading to humiliation as reality sinks in. As far as everyone here is concerned, Trey isn’t the one who made a fool of himself just now. No, that was me, lashing out, flying off the handle, causing some huge scene. And for what? “What the hell, Brit?” Garrett steps out of the back room in time to catch the carnage behind me. “I’m on my break,” I snap, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the bar as I steam down the back hall. “Brit, wait a second!” Garrett’s voice and the noise of the bar recede behind me as I hurry up the back stairs. I bypass his apartment on the first floor, and keep climbing, even when the staircase narrows into a winding spiral. Finally, I heave open the rusted fire escape and push outside into the crisp night air. The rooftop is empty, home to a couple of old lawn chairs and an ancient grill. I walk slowly to the edge and lean out over the railing. Why do you always do this? The scene replays in my mind, but I don’t see Trey’s smug face staring back at me. No, I see the blonde girl instead. Sweet, and pretty, and so damn naïve. Sitting there with her perfect family, it never crossed her mind for a second that Trey could betray her. I can’t tell if she’s lucky or just another fool. He didn’t take me to dinner. They never do. I’m not that girl, you see: the one who gets dates and flowers and sweet whispered goodnights. I’m the one they screw up against the back wall of a club in a neon-lit alley; who they text at 2:00 a.m. when they’re bored and need something to pass the time. I always told myself it was better this way. No use believing in a dream that would only fade to ashes in the end. But feeling this used and empty, over and over again… What’s better about that?

I take a gulp of the whiskey, feeling it sting in the back of my throat. The anger, the adrenalin, it slowly seeps away, leaving me with nothing but the low burn of rejection in my gut. I look out across the harbor and the few lights bobbing on the water, down past the row of tourist stores and the new beachfront townhouses. In the pale dusk light, Beachwood lies quiet and still, lights glimmering,— with nothing to drown out the echoes in my mind. “You know what everyone says about her. She’s just a crazy slut. She’s nothing.” It’s true. That’s what they do say about me. Growing up in a small town like this, with a junkie mom and a runaway dad, I was never going to escape the gossip. I figured I’d just embrace it instead. Let people say what the hell they want about me: I won’t tie myself up in knots trying to live down the family name. They want to write me off, spread rumors, and ‘tsk’ under their breath as I walk by? Let them. I even used to revel in it when I was younger: strutting around town wearing the sluttiest outfits, flirting with all the men, seeing the look of disapproval in everyone’s eyes, like their good opinion meant a damn thing to me. It was all just a game, anyway. And this way, I could feel like I was winning. Then everything changed. One night: that’s all it took for me to get a glimpse of what life could be like, and after that, it all just felt wrong. The victories didn’t taste so sweet; the gossip and rumors started to get to me. Slowly, my bad reputation felt less like a badge of pride, and more like an albatross around my neck, always dragging me down. Now I wonder what it would be like if I’d grown up normal. Unknown. Able to walk down the street without the whispers behind me, to meet some guy who hadn’t heard the rumors, the half-true legends of all my wild antics. Someone who didn’t think they had an easy shot just because of my last name. Someone to know me, the real me. I brush away the thought and take another swig of whiskey. This is the rejection talking, and the booze. I know, even if they got to know me, it wouldn’t mean a thing. A few weeks of playing at happiness, maybe, before they hit the road again. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s that people always leave. I sink down into one of the chairs. The whiskey is finally working its magic, warming my bones from the inside, even though it feels like I’m made of solid ice. I should go back down and help out Garrett, I know, but I can’t drag myself away just yet. The last wisps of twilight are fading, and way up here, I can pretend the ugly mess downstairs doesn’t exist. Nothing exists but me and the distant lights of the shoreline, so pretty that I can almost forget what this town is like up close. I come here all the time. This is my secret spot, up above it all. It’s where I come to think and be alone, to spend hours just watching the bustle of the town below, letting the distant sound of the ocean wash away my pain as I daydream of some other life, some other future, far away from this town and

all the memories chasing me down. Some good those daydreams are. The years slip past, and I’m still here: hiding away up on my rooftop, while they all gossip and scorn me behind my back. I wanted so badly to prove them wrong, but all I do is live up to their low expectations. “That was quite some scene.” A guy’s voice comes from behind me, amused. “Leave me the hell alone,” I snap, not turning. I’m not in the mood to deal with any more bullshit tonight—especially not from some guy who heard the whispers and figures I’m an easy score. “This is private property.” There’s a low hum of laughter. “The Brit I knew never cared about that.” My heart stops. It can’t be, I tell myself. Not here, not again, after all this time. But it is. I know the truth even before I brace myself and turn. I’d recognize that voice anywhere: the low, sexy drawl that echoes in my dreams, smooth as honey and sweet as the night we shared together, three long years ago. Hunter Covington.

“Waste of a good plate of nachos, if you ask me.” Hunter grins at me across the rooftop, hair glinting dark gold in the setting sun. “And you always said, nothing exciting ever happens in this town.” My heart pounds as I stare at him, disbelieving. He’s leaning in the doorway, casual as can be. A ghost, a relic, a memory I’ve clung to through dark nights and desperate days. I never thought I’d see him again. My legs give way beneath me, and I clutch at the back of the lawn chair for support. “You’re here,” I breathe. “I’m here,” he agrees, and fixes me with a crooked, heartbreaking smile. Everything falls away. The bar, the rejection letter, Trey—it all dissolves under Hunter ’s piercing gaze. My eyes devour him hungrily. He’s older now, we both are, but somehow I’ve been carrying the picture of who he used to be. The boy he was, not the man he’s so clearly become. There’s power to his athletic body now, clear in the broad frame of his shoulders, the muscles beneath his preppy Oxford shirt. His blonde hair falls over his golden skin, blue eyes still blazing like the brightest summer sky I’ve ever seen. I feel an ache slice through me, longing, and pure bittersweet regret. Just one night, that’s all I had with him, but somehow, it’s meant more to me than anything else in my life since. I thought in time it would fade, that I would feel those feelings with some other guy, that I would dilute Hunter ’s power with a hundred other kisses, dozens of other bodies and lips and hands. I was wrong. He’s still the only one. The one guy I let slip through my defenses. The one guy who shared my pain. The man I walked away from, before he could have a chance to break my heart. “I didn’t mean to surprise you,” Hunter ’s brow furrows. “I figured after that show, you’d be up here celebrating. Not…” He trails off, but I can fill in the blanks. Not moping here, defeated. Not stuck, exactly the same as when he saw me last. Not hiding from the whispers and scorn like some scared little kid. I lurch up. “I can’t…” I stutter. “It’s not…”

Hunter stares at me, confusion masking his chiseled, tanned face. He probably expected some witty banter, my usual tough barbs, but right now all my defenses are down and I feel like my chest is ripped wide open, heart beating bloody and raw for the whole world to see. Why tonight? Why him, here, now of all nights? “Brit?” Hunter moves towards me but I flinch away. “No!” I stumble back. I can’t do this. Hell, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to face him again, but right now, every instinct in my body is screaming out to run. “You shouldn’t be here.” I gasp. I turn, bolting for the door, but my foot catches on the gravel and I stumble, scraping my shin painfully against the jagged metal edge of the chair. In an instant, Hunter crosses the distance between us to hold me up. “Easy there,” he murmurs, holding onto my arm. A shock of sensation floods through my body at his touch, and despite everything, my heart leaps just to feel him next to me. He holds me to him, tight against the solid warmth of his body, and for a moment I’m caught there, lost in his eyes, in all the memories of the past. But the past is done. It was over almost as soon as it began. “Goodbye,” I manage, breaking free from his embrace. I hurry down the stairs, crashing through the bar hallway and out into the back parking lot. Garrett’s truck is parked right by the exit, and I know the keys will be up under the mirror. I scramble in, gunning it into drive and taking off, not stopping a moment, not until I’m a mile away, speeding down the dark streets, and Hunter is just a memory in the rearview mirror. If only he could just stay that way. I slam the steering wheel, my cheeks burning with humiliation. What’s he even doing back here? Hunter Covington, Ivy League prince, heir to a society fortune. He should be off playing tennis at the country club, or partying in Monte Carlo, or whatever it is that young, gorgeous men do when they have the world at their feet and a multi-million dollar trust fund burning a hole in their designer pockets. He could be anywhere, doing anything, and instead, he’s back here in Beachwood? I shake my head in determination. Just because he’s back doesn’t mean a thing. He’s probably just passing through, the way his family did every summer when I was growing up. The Covingtons had an old horse ranch out on the edge of town, and a fancy new mansion on the waterfront too. They would come for July with Hunter and his brother, Jace; bring their rich friends down too, dock their yachts and stroll around town, cooing over how ‘quaint’ and ‘rustic’ we all were. That’s not fair, a voice warns me. Hunter wasn’t like that. No, he wasn’t. I sigh, remembering him back then. I was fourteen, fifteen, too young to really care at first, but even I noticed that every year, he got more gorgeous: growing taller, his muscles filling out. The slim, athletic boy who first bounded around town like an eager puppy turned into a strapping

young man, in front of all of our eyes. God, the girls in town would go crazy over him: flirting and giggling if he so much as looked in their direction. And with his older brother along, too… They were the golden boys, alright. Handsome. Charming. Wealthy. Untouchable. At least, until that night… Don’t even think about it. I tell myself, pulling the truck into the drive of the beach house. Whatever the reason he’s back in town, he’s still the boy who’ll inherit the whole world, and I’m still the girl with nothing. Some things never change. I wake at dawn to the memory of Hunter ’s eyes, watching me on the roof. I’d never seen a blue like that before him, and I haven’t found it since. Maybe it’s the golden tan of his skin that makes them shine the way they do… I stop that memory dead in its tracks and leap out of bed. There’s a restlessness stirring in my veins, and I know I can’t just stick around town—especially not with the thought of Hunter waiting for me around every corner. I’m not due at the bar until the evening shift, which gives me the whole day to myself. I quickly shower and throw on a denim miniskirt and one of my favorite shirts. I made it myself, taking a bright neon printed scarf and sewing it over on itself to make a handkerchief top. I fasten it in a halter-neck with a thin leather cord, pull on my ankle boots, and head downstairs. I want to get on the road right away, but I force myself to take a beat and circle the house, checking the windows, and watering the plants out on the back porch. It’s the least I can do, since I’m house-sitting, rent-free, for my brother, Emerson, and his fiancée. I couldn’t understand it, when he said he got it for her; I mean, who buys a place right before they move to the city? But they wanted to keep it in Juliet’s family, and I can’t complain, I know. If it wasn’t for them, I’d be crashing on the couch up in Garrett’s tiny apartment, or stuck in a tiny studio somewhere in town. My big brother, always the one looking out for me. I’m lucky. He’s all I’ve got. Dad left when I was barely four years old, and Mom bounced on and off the wagon for years. Booze, pills, and fucked up men—you name a ticket to self-destruction, and Dawn Ray would give it a try. Us kids watched her fall apart, and there was nothing we could do, like seeing a slow-motion car-crash on the road ahead and you can’t find a way to swerve in time. In the end, it was a twisted relief when she left us for good, the summer I turned fifteen. My heart broke that she could walk away from me, but at least I didn’t have to spend every waking moment

fighting the fear and uncertainty that cloaked my life. No more wondering if she’d come home or not at night, or if I was going to walk in the front door to find her passed out, coming down off another Oxy high. She was just gone. I shake off the shadows. It must be seeing Hunter again that’s got me drifting down memory lane, but I’m not getting caught up in my same old disappointments, not today. Everything’s safe and locked tight, so I finally grab a Pop-Tart and hit the road, but I’m barely past the county line when my cell rings. Garrett. “You took my truck.” “Oh, yeah, sorry.” I cringe. “There wasn’t time to leave a note.” “Are you planning on bringing it back anytime soon?” Garrett doesn’t sound pissed, just amused. “I’ll drive it back for my shift tonight, I promise.” He laughs. “That means, not today.” “I’m already halfway to the city.” I admit. “I really am sorry, I just had to get out of town for a while.” Garrett’s voice softens. “If it helps, that asshole is barred for life. And if you want me to go sort him out…” “It’s OK,” I sigh. “He’s not worth it. No use in you getting all beat up over nothing.” “Are you saying I can’t take him?” Garrett sounds outraged. I grin. “Fine, it’s not worth you getting an assault charge for nothing. You know he’d just run straight to the sheriff anyways.” I feel a shiver of disgust for Trey, and all his slimy, lying, cheating ways. “I mean it, Brit, you just say the word.” “You don’t have to.” “Sure I do.” Garrett says quietly. “You’re family.” I feel a warmth in my chest. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine. Trey wasn’t even the half of it…” I stop, but Garrett picks up on the change in my voice and demands.”What happened?” “Nothing. I’ll tell you tonight,” I sigh. When I’ve had a whole day to pick apart the humiliating experience in my mind. “Anyway, thanks for the truck. I’ll see you later.” “Drive safe.” Garrett rings off. I turn onto the interstate, using one hand to flip through the mix CDs in the dashboard until I find a rock mix from the last time I borrowed the car. I slip it in the player, turning up the Paramore track and letting the miles drift by, cool breeze whipping around my bare shoulders, a new chill to the usual sweltering temperatures. Summer ’s almost done, I realize with a pang of regret. September will be here soon, and Beachwood Bay will shut down for another year – our temporary inhabitants heading back to their

lives, kids going off to college in the fall, tourist stores shuttering for winter. The buzz of weekend beach parties and festivals at the harbor will fade, my tips at Jimmy’s dwindling until it’s just the locals in on a Friday night for beers and burgers. And I’ll still be there. Another year older, and no closer to my dreams. Not if the stack of rejection letters have anything to say about it. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, making something of myself. I’ve thought about getting out of town like Ray Jay and Emerson, starting fresh somewhere, but I’ve always felt trapped, caught suspended between the safety of Beachwood Bay and the unknown of the world out there. I may have a reputation here, but I know how to get by; I have a place, even if it is as the town bad girl. At least this way, I get to cling onto the hope that life outside will be different, something better. But what happens if I actually make the move—pack up and move on, only to find that it’s exactly the same? Same whispers, same judgment. Same me. Not that I have to worry about that anytime soon, I remind myself. Not until I find a job, or some plan beyond waiting tables for a living. As the city rears up in the distance, sunlight glinting off the tall buildings, I feel the same rush of possibility I always do leaving Beachwood Bay behind. I grip the steering wheel with determination, merging into the traffic downtown. I don’t know how I’ll make it, but I will, one day. This will be my life, not just for the afternoon, but for good. And until then… Well, I have the day to myself, far away from the disappointment of my life, and I’m going to make the most of it. My first stop is the same place as always: a nondescript warehouse building on the edge of the college district that houses my favorite place in the whole entire world: Emilia’s. There’s no sign, or website, but that’s what everyone calls it: a vast fabric warehouse ruled over by the eagle eyes of Emilia herself, a fearsome old Russian woman with tiny gold-rimmed spectacles and the best taste in materials I’ve ever seen. “Brit-Brit,” she pounces on me the minute I walk in. She clutches my arms with her wizened hands and lands a kiss on both my cheeks. “You so skinny now, you need to eat. Men like meat on their bones!” She bursts into laughter, shooting a glance over at her long-suffering husband, Henri, who sits—as always—silent in the corner, laboriously pouring over the books. “I’m fine!” I protest. “Believe me, you should see me put away a burger, you don’t need to worry.” “Hmm,” Emilia squints at me, unconvinced. “How did the skirt turn out? It was like I said with the hem stitching, no?” “You were right,” I admit. “The fabric didn’t take. I had to do it by hand.” “I told you.” She glances past me at a group of fashion students manhandling some velvets. “No!”

She calls. “Hands back! Shoo!” she turns back to me with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, “The new class, ay ay ay. They put their sticky fingers over everything.” “I’ll just browse.” I grin. “And look,” I show her my palms. “Spotless.” “Of course you know,” she beams. I leave her snapping at the students, and drift down the main aisle. All around me, reams of fabric are stacked fifteen feet high, samples draped enticingly in swathes of silky satin and stiff, architectural canvas. It’s heaven. I can browse here for hours, lost in the possibility of this swatch of fabric, or that print, imagining what I could transform them into given a few days—and an unlimited budget. A cute, funky club dress, or an elegant, sweeping skirt? A tough denim vest, or a wild patterned shirt? Under this roof, anything is possible. I got bit by the fashion bug early as a kid, as much out of necessity as anything. There wasn’t any money for new clothes, so my mom would raid the Goodwill in the next town, and beg black trash bags of castoffs from her friends’ kids. Looking back, it sounds tough, but the days she came home with a fresh haul were like Christmas to me. I’d tear through the piles, excitedly pulling out an old sweater or some embellished shirt—I knew that on their own, they looked way out of date, but if I chopped off those sleeves, and fixed those rhinestones to that collar… I would spend hours working to transform the old clothes, graduating from a needle and thread to an old secondhand sewing machine. My early attempts ended in disaster most of the time, but by the time I started high school, I could whip up a cute tank from an old sweatshirt, and turn an oversize pair of jeans into a cutoff skirt. I would never be one of the popular girls in their fashionable jeans and store-bought shirts, but at least I didn’t look like I was desperately trying to keep up with them and be something everyone knew I wasn’t. These days, I’ve moved on from just altering stuff. Now my sketchbooks are filled with wild, outlandish designs: amazing dresses, bold and crazy—and totally impractical for life in Beachwood Bay. I keep most of them in my imagination, but some, I can’t help but try to recreate. I sew them from scratch, painstakingly cutting patterns and mock-up canvas until finally, I can risk it with the real fabric and bring to life something that once only existed in my mind. I daydream half the afternoon away, until Emilia finds me, poring over lace samples to use as a trim on a camisole top. She clucks her tongue, guiding me away, “This is no the good stuff. I have some, I put aside special for you.” “You’re a gem.” I smile, following her to the back of the store. Emilia always saves me the good stuff: the odd-sized ends of a roll, and scraps of expensive fabric other buyers don’t think to bother with. Good materials cost more than I can afford, so I make do with what I can find, and usually, a slip of silk will inspire some new design in my sketchbook—even if I can’t afford to make the whole thing a reality.

Emilia digs out a basket from under the table, and spreads her wares for me to see: thin swatches of the lace I’m looking for, delicate as silken spiderwebs but bright in black and red; ribbon trims; a length of bold, orange printed satin; and more of the stiff, scratchy canvas I use to mock up my designs and fix the patterns before I graduate to real fabric. “This is perfect,” I tell her, stroking the lace. I’ve been doing more lingerie-inspired pieces this year, adding flashes of lace and silk trim to camisoles and bra tops. I love how wearing something bold against my skin makes me feel extra-daring, like I have a secret nobody knows. “You’re the best.” Emilia waves away my compliments with a smile. “What you work on now? Something pretty, maybe. You always so dark, aggressive. Try a little lightness…” She offers me a cotton in sprigged pink, but her suggestions fade as I look past her to the next table. “When did these come in?” I ask, drawn forwards as if I’m pulled by some magnetic force. The table is covered in bolts of silk, every color of the rainbow, shimmering and lustrous even under the cheap lights. Emilia follows, looking at the fabric proudly. “Just this week, my guy in India.” “It’s beautiful,” I breathe, stroking the silk. It’s soft under my fingertips, draping and folding in a gorgeous, heavy sway. I lift a length of the purple. It’s deep as midnight, with a rosy-colored sheen. I could drown in the depths of the color. I feel a shiver of anticipation. I can see the dress already: simple, floor-length, strapless. Timeless. “How much?” I ask. I know from Emilia’s pause that it’s more than I can afford, but I don’t care. Suddenly, I have to have this fabric. “I’ll take it,” I tell her, before she can answer. It’s probably more than my earnings for a month, but it’ll be worth it. This fabric is made to be mine. Emilia gives me a knowing smile. She’s probably seen it a hundred times, the spell a piece of material can cast over you. “I’ll go cut,” she tells me, whisking the bolt away before I can have second thoughts. Before I know it, I’m out on the street again, my heart racing—half in shock at the amount of cash I’ve just parted with, and half with nervous exhilaration at my find. But as I drive back to Beachwood, the excitement takes over, and the thought of what those bags hold. Dresses have never really been my thing—not unless they’re cut to stun guys into submission—but this fabric is crying out for something sweeping and elegant. Not a fairytale princess dress, all frou-frou and glitzy, but something bold: the kind of dress that would stop you in your tracks. I’m still swept up in plans for my precious bolt of silk when I pull into the drive back at the beach house and find a strange truck already parked up front, this one even more dusty and battered than Garrett’s. And behind it, sitting on the front porch steps, leaning back on his elbows like he owns the place, is Hunter.

“How did you find where I live?” I demand, slamming the car door behind me. He unfolds his limbs and stands, coming down the steps to meet me. “I asked around.” Hunter replies. He’s wearing another of those preppy Oxford shirts and a pair of jeans that fit way too good. “Small town hospitality,” he grins happily, “It really can’t be beat.” “It’s a treat, alright.” I mutter. This is something else I won’t have to deal with when I get out of town: people dropping by unannounced, without any warning. Without any time for me to prepare. “The lady at the café even wrote me out directions.” Hunter holds out his hand to show pen marks scribbled on his palm. He’s so casual and relaxed, it’s like he’s totally oblivious to my hostility. His gaze drops to my bags. “Been shopping, huh?” Hunter reaches to help, but I duck past him, heading inside. He follows me through the hallway and back to the living room, which I’ve set up at my temporary studio. Fabric samples are piled on the table, my sewing machine sits under the window to catch the best light, and there’s a dress form in the corner wearing an unfinished negligee. I dump my bags on the table and turn, my hands on my hips. “What do you want?” The edge of Hunter ’s mouth quirks in amusement. “What do you want?” he echoes. “That’s it? No, ‘How you been?’ ‘What are you up to?’ ‘Sorry for ditching you three years ago?’” Is he for real? “I’m fine, thanks for asking.” Hunter continues, glancing around the room. He wanders over to the corner, looking closely at the nightgown I’m working on. “Finished college, the folks are doing great. What about you?” “Spectacular.” I bite out. “Will you—don’t touch that!” I leap across the room to stop him from pulling my work-in-progress apart. Hunter stands back, hands up in surrender. “Sorry. This is great, you do all this yourself?” “Had to do something to pass the time.” I drawl, crossing my arms protectively over my chest. “I don’t spend my life waitressing, you know.” “I didn’t think you did.” Hunter ’s smile fades, and he looks at me for a moment with an unreadable expression. “It’s good to see you again, Brit.” The sound of my name, soft on his lips, does something to me. A shiver rolls right through my body, delicate and sweet. I remember the touch of those lips, kissing their way across my skin. Suddenly, this room is way too small, and Hunter is standing way too close. Close enough to kiss. “So now we’re all caught up, maybe you can answer my question,” I snap, retreating behind the safety of my sewing table. “Like I said before, what do you want?” “I’m just being neighborly. I took over my grandpa’s ranch,” he explains. “You remember, it’s a couple of miles that-a-way.” He nods in an eastward direction.

My heart drops. “You moved here? You mean, you’re staying?” Hunter seems amused by the shock in my voice. “Looks like it. Wait, I brought you something.” While I’m left reeling from that bombshell, Hunter disappears back out to the porch, re-emerging a moment later with a familiar green-patterned bakery box. Krispy Kreme. A full dozen. “You bought me donuts,” I mutter, my head spinning. “I thought about flowers, but I remembered, you always had a sweet tooth.” Hunter grins at me, proud as a little kid as I dumbly take the box. The scent of sugar and fried dough drifts up, and despite myself, my mouth starts to water. He brought me donuts. I don’t think any guy’s ever given me a thing, save a warm six-pack of beer and a morning after filled with regret. Hunter watches me. “So, you want to have dinner with me to say thanks?” Wait, what?! “Dinner?” I repeat. “Like, a date?” And I thought this encounter couldn’t get any stranger. “You say it like it’s a dirty word.” Hunter teases. “Yes, a date. We’ll go eat some food, make small talk, fight over who pays the check.” He strolls closer, just the narrow table between us now. “Just so you know, I’ll win that one,” he adds, reaching over to take a cruller from the bakery box, still open in my arms. He bites down and smiles at me, his lips dusted with powdered sugar. “I don’t care what you say about equality and women’s lib. My mother raised me to be a gentleman, and a gentleman always pays.” I blink at him, stunned. Hunter Covington. Here in my living room. Munching on a donut, and asking me out to dinner. There’s only one thing I can say to this. “No.” Hunter chews thoughtfully. “Why not?” “A girl doesn’t need a reason to turn you down.” I reply archly, struggling to cling on to my last shred of control. “I don’t want to, that’s enough.” “But you do want to.” Hunter reaches for the bakery box again. I snap the lid shut. “Oh yeah?” I’m getting pissed at his arrogance now. Or maybe it’s because he’s not buying my ‘keep away’ act, when every other guy in town would have cut bait and bailed for an easier target by now. “Yeah.” Hunter fixes me with a knowing look. “You want to spend time with me. You want to hang out, and laugh over a couple of drinks, and have me kiss you senseless on the front porch out there when I bring you home. So why don’t you drop this bullshit tough girl act, and give me one good reason why not.”

Kiss me senseless… My mind races. How can he see through me like this? What can I say to make him leave me alone? “I’m working!” I finally blurt, but the words make me glance over to the clock above the mantle, and I realize that my excuse is true. “Shit, I’m late. Garrett!” I exclaim. Hunter ’s face darkens. “Is Garrett your boyfriend?” I’m tempted to lie, but that would only drag this out longer. “My boss.” I drop the donut box to the table, grab my purse and head for the door. “Or rather, soon to be ex-boss, if I don’t get my ass to Jimmy’s in the next five minutes.” I steam outside, this time glad that Hunter follows on my heels. “You need a ride?” Hunter offers. “I can take care of myself.” I lock up, and head for Garrett’s truck without another look. “Think about what I said,” Hunter calls after me. “You, me, a bottle of wine, the lame excuse for fine dining this town has to offer. You’ll have fun, I promise.” “Don’t hold your breath.” I yell back, starting the engine. “I’d rather pull teeth.” Hunter ’s laughter echoes after me as I squeal out of the driveway. When I glance in my rearview mirror, he’s standing there on the front porch, golden in the setting sun, reaching into— Damn. He took the donuts.

I rush into the bar, breathless and apologetic. “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” I yelp, grabbing my apron and yanking the ties into a knot around my waist. “I know, I’m late.” “That’s OK,” Garrett sounds chill, and when I get it together enough to look around, I realize why. “This is Jade,” he says, introducing me to the cute, African American girl already wearing her work apron. She’s standing by the bar, gazing adoringly at Garrett. “She’s going to be helping out now that Melissa is gone.” “I bet she will.” I give Garrett a glare, then switch on a smile for poor Jade. She doesn’t know what she’s in for. “Welcome to Jimmy’s. You need me to show you around?” “Already covered.” Garrett interrupts me, flashing Jade an irresistible grin. “Why don’t you head on back and grab me some paper napkins from the store room?” “Sure thing, boss!” Jade disappears down the hallway. Garrett watches her go. “I like the way she says that. Boss.” I lean over the bar and punch Garrett in the arm. “Oww!” he glares. “What was that for?” “That was for Jade.” “I haven’t laid a finger on her!” Garrett protests. “And she’s been here all of ten minutes.” I roll my eyes. “You must be getting sloppy.” “You make it sound like I’m some lecherous old perv.” Garrett puts on his wounded, puppy-dog face. “I can’t help it if women find me irresistible.” “What a dreadful curse, my heart breaks for you!” I slide his keys across the bar. “Here, boss. The truck’s right outside, I even filled her up with gas.” “Thanks.” Garrett takes the keys and sets about taking down the chairs from the tables and getting the bar ready for opening. He pauses, looking over at me. “You good?” he checks. I nod. “Sure?” he asks, awkward. “Because if you want to talk about it…” “And then we braid our hair and paint our nails and talk about boys?” I joke, trying to change the subject. Garrett laughs, clearly relieved. He’ll happily beat Trey to a pulp for me, but he’s more the playful, joking type—talking about feelings is definitely not his thing. “I don’t know how much

braiding you’ll get done with this,” he runs a hand through his shaggy brown hair. “I don’t know,” I pretend to muse, setting out ketchup bottles and mustard. “I think you’d look cute with a couple of barrettes, maybe some highlights…” “Shut up!” Garrett throws a dishtowel at me. I duck back, laughing. “Wait, where’s Jade?” I look around. “Don’t tell me she got lost on the way to the storeroom.” “I’ll go check.” Garrett starts towards the door, but I cut him off. “Oh no. I’m not leaving you alone in there with her. That room has history.” Garrett’s eyes widen in recognition. “That’s right, Em and Jules…” I shudder, remembering the time I caught my brother in a very compromising position with Juliet, back before they were even officially together. “Don’t even talk about it.” I order him. “Some things, you can’t unsee!” I spend the first half of my shift hidden away in the back office going through purchase orders. At least, that’s what I tell myself I’m doing, but the truth is I need a moment to myself, to process everything that’s happened over the past twenty-four hours. Hunter. It was only supposed to be one night, that’s how I justified it to myself at the time. One night to taste a world I knew I couldn’t own; one night to surrender to a feeling far beyond my control. The last night of summer. I’d just turned sixteen and the Covingtons were back in town again. I’d always stayed out of the way of the rich kids before. I had a gig waitressing at Mrs. Olson’s diner, and the closest I’d come to them was serving pancakes on a Sunday morning, or laying out on the beach a few towels over from their non-stop party crowd. I kept my distance for a reason. I’d seen the damage the summer people could do. My brother, Emerson, had his heart ripped out by a girl who left town and never looked back. But something was different about Hunter. It felt like we were circling each other, all summer long. We never said a word to each other, but I would catch him staring when we passed on the street, and one day when I was down by the docks I saw him, taking in the sail on their boat. He was stripped to his swim trunks, the muscles of his shoulders and torso gloriously defined in the midday sun as he reached to haul in the heavy fabric. I watched him from behind the safety of my shades, and felt something flicker to life I’d never known before. Desire. This wasn’t the frustrating tension from the brief hook-ups and clumsy fumblings I’d already

experimented with. Those encounters left me feeling empty and unsatisfied, but this was something deeper, a strange awareness that seemed to flood my whole body, a magnetic pull towards him, as if my flesh and bone knew something I hadn’t yet discovered for myself. And once that flame flickered to life, I couldn’t damp it down again. That wanting haunted me all summer long, every time our eyes met, like a secret you have to tell. It was inevitable. Even I knew it. You can’t resist an ache like that, so I made a deal with myself, building up my walls so I wouldn’t be the one to get hurt. It would be simple. Clean. One night, that’s all I’d have, and then he’d be gone, back to his golden, shining life, and I’d carry on as normal. Curiosity sated. Safe again. And my plan worked—at first. I had my perfect night with him, and the next morning, I kissed his cheek and slipped away while he was still sleeping, making the long walk back to my run-down house alone in the pale dawn light. I told myself that I’d gotten everything I wanted. He left town that day with the rest of his family, and my life went on. Except nothing was the same again. That’s the dangerous thing about tasting something so perfect. I found out the hard way that once I’d had a glimpse of that beauty, even for a brief moment, it broke my heart a little every day to go without. The world shone dimmer, every kiss felt like a faded Xerox, and in the dark of the night, I couldn’t stop my dreams from taking me back through the years, to the one time I finally felt whole in somebody’s arms. “Brit!” Garrett’s yell cuts through my memories. “Get your butt out here, we’re drowning.” I haul myself up and head on out to the bar, now busy and buzzing with the evening crowd. “New girl not working out?” I ask, scooping up empty glasses from the bar. “She’s… still finding her feet.” Garrett hedges, but soon it’s pretty clear Jade won’t be sticking around any longer than the rest. Either the poor girl is a naturally lousy waitress, or she’s too busy swooning over Garrett to pay attention to her tables. I’m the one left to pick up the slack, rushing around to keep up with the crowds, refill drinks, and get food orders out from the kitchen in some state resembling what the person wanted. “Who ordered the cheeseburger?” I call across to Jade, when the plate’s been sitting untouched on the hatch for five minutes. “Because they better want it cold, with a side of soggy fries.” She waves absently. “The guy at the bar.” “That’s me. Behind you,” he adds helpfully My heart leaps. Of course he’s shown up here. That man doesn’t know when to quit. I turn. Hunter is sitting at the end of the bar, one hand wrapped around a bottle of beer. I slam the plate down in front of him. He takes one look and winces. “Damn, darlin’. I know you’re trying to chase me off, but messing with a man’s burger? That’s just low.” I shrug, but my pulse is racing. Even in the dim lights of Jimmy’s, with bad rock music on the

jukebox and peanut shells on the floor, Hunter looks like he’s stepped off a yacht—six foot two of tanned, preppy gorgeous. Don’t forget ‘way out of your league.’ “Feel free to go someplace else,” I tell him, turning my glare all the way up. I’ve sent guys running with this stare: prize street fighters and burly dock workers all wilting under my wrath. But Hunter doesn’t flinch. “Nah, I like the service here. It’s so… unpredictable.” He reaches for a fry, and I can’t stop my gaze following the elegant line of his forearm: all tanned sinew, dusted with golden hair. I stifle a sigh. He may be driving me crazy with irritation right now, but Hunter ’s body is a work of art. At least, it was when he was nineteen. And now…? “I work here,” I remind him, snapping out of my haze. “I’m not stopping you.” He grins. “I think that couple in the corner are ready to order.” I turn. They’re gesturing to me, looking annoyed. “There goes my tip,” I grumble, going over to deal with them, but when I return, Hunter is exactly where I left him—except now he’s talking up a storm with Garrett. “Your buddy here says you’ve got the day off Monday,” Hunter gives me a teasing grin. “How about that date then?” “Traitor,” I hiss at Garrett. “What?” Garrett protests, “You do. I’m not going to lie for you.” “Some buddy.” I join him behind the bar to pour some sodas, but Hunter is still watching me, too close for comfort. “Can I get you anything?” I spit, sarcastically. “Just a date,” Hunter says with a grin, “I’ll leave the rest up to you. I bet you’ve got some things you’d like to do…” I fumble under his gaze and spill soda all over my shirt. “Now look what you’ve made me do!” I exclaim, frustrated. I don’t stick around to hear his protests of innocence; I storm away, down the hallway and into the storeroom, where I know I’ve stashed a couple of spare tanks for emergencies like this. I strip off my damp shirt, cheeks hot with embarrassment. How am I supposed to focus on anything with him there, just… watching me? Every move the man makes, it’s like he’s some designer ad campaign come to life, so relaxed and easy, and meanwhile I’m acting like the stupid klutz, yelling at people and spilling stuff everywhere because I can’t stay cool knowing he’s in the building. Damn him, and his endless confidence. “Brit?” The door opens, and before I can grab another shirt, Hunter steps inside the small room. His eyes widen at the sight of me stripped to my skirt and bra. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry!”

My pulse kicks. My first instinct is to dive behind the shelves, but then I see the expression on his face. He’s frozen, drinking in the sight of me, something bright and rapturous in his eyes. It’s the first time I’ve seen him shaken since the moment he stepped out onto that rooftop last night, and I’m sure as hell going to make the most of it. “Heard of knocking?” I ask calmly. I slowly stroll over to the far shelf to grab a fresh tank top, taking my sweet time to pull it from the bag and shake it out. I glance back at Hunter. He’s still staring at me, looking like I just whacked him over the head with a two-by-four. I hide a grin. “Or, you know, giving a girl some privacy?” I finally gesture for him to turn. “Oh. Sure. Yeah.” He snaps out of his daze, spinning quickly to face the wall. I pull on the shirt, giving silent thanks I picked a cute bra today: black lace with a purple trim I sewed myself, delicate and daring all at the same time. It’s a cheap shot, getting the upper hand like this, but I’ll take any advantage I can get when Hunter can slay me with a single smile. “You can look now,” I tell Hunter, smug, but when he turns back to me, that casual grin is back on his face. He’s pulled himself back together, and my brief victory is nothing but a memory. “Cute bra,” he smirks. “Is that one of your designs?” I yank my shirt down and refasten my apron. “You a fashion expert now?” “I know my way around a pair of panties,” Hunter winks, and despite myself, I smile. “How about you give me a private show sometime?” His gaze slips over me like honey, and I can’t stop myself imagining what it would feel like for his hands to follow their same path. Slipping my lacy straps aside, peeling the soft silk over my body, easing the lace down my thighs… I shiver. I can’t. It’s too dangerous. As much as having the old charming, gorgeous Hunter back was a problem, this is so much worse. Because this isn’t just a handsome boy here in front of me, it’s a devastatingly sexy man. Who knows what pleasure he’d show me—or what havoc he’d wreak? I force myself to focus on that, the bitter aftertaste any kiss would leave. “You don’t get a hint, do you?” I snap. “I’ve told you a hundred times to just leave me alone—” “No.” Hunter interrupts me, moving closer. Suddenly, he’s just inches away, so close I can feel the warmth radiating from his body. So close that there’s no mistaking the dark intensity in his eyes. “You haven’t. You’ve bitched, and bantered, and turned me down. But you’ve never told me to go.” My breath catches. Hunter stares down at me, determined, the chiseled planes of his face shadowed in the dim storeroom light. “Say it,” he demands. “If you want me to go, just tell me, and I swear I’ll never bother you again.” I open my mouth. The words are there, so simple on my tongue, but nothing comes out. One simple lie, that’s all it would take, and I’d be free from him forever.

But it’s still a lie. I can’t do it, not to him. Not when Hunter is the only truth I’ve ever known. I exhale a slow sigh and press my lips shut in defeat. Silence. There’s a beat, and then victory blazes, fierce in Hunter ’s eyes. “Brit,” he whispers. I wait for him to make his move, breath catching in my throat, but instead of a rough hold, he reaches for me gently, lifting one hand to touch my face in a slow, sweet caress. I tremble. His fingertips softly stroke the outline of my jaw, like he’s memorizing every contour, watching me so closely that I feel more naked than when I was half-dressed. It’s too much. I try to turn my head away, but he gently takes hold of my chin and keeps my face steady in place, so I have no choice but to meet his eyes again and lose myself in that piercing blue stare. He sees right through me. I can’t fight it with a quip or a barbed comment. I can’t break away. His eyes demand everything from me, and I have no choice but to surrender. I feel naked, stripped bare, like all my fears and dreams and insecurities are right there for him to see. The worst of me, my darkest secrets. Still, he doesn’t look away. The moment stretches, nothing but the sound of his slow, steady breaths and my heartbeat, drumming faster in my ears as his fingertips continue their slow, agonizingly sweet discovery. My blood rises under his touch. Every movement, every whisper of sensation on my skin sends a new shiver through me, a ripple of something so fragile and tender I’ve never known before. I’m lost in the moment, everything around us falling away until my universe is nothing but the feel of his fingertips on my cheek and the endless blue of his eyes, and the heat of his breath whispering as he slowly, slowly closes the few tortured inches of space between us. His lips meet mine. Oh God. It’s the kiss I’ve been waiting three long years to taste again, but it’s like nothing I imagined. Sweet and soft, hot and slow. My eyes drift shut with bliss as his mouth dances softly over mine. He’s barely touching me, but the shudder of pleasure that rolls through me is enough to make my heart stop and my legs buckle. Hunter wraps an arm around my waist, holding me up, and I sway into him, lost in the darkness. I’m drowning, overcome by the sweet torment of his lips and the feel of his body, so solid and strong against me. Hunter pulls me closer and slips his tongue into my mouth, gently probing, teasing, tasting. I hear a sob rise in the back of my throat, a whimper of desire that sounds as if it’s from far away. My head is spinning, a dizzy sweetness rushing through my whole body, and with every new touch, it coils tighter, deep in the heart of me, aching for more. I need him.

I arch against his body, lost in the slow stroke of his tongue on mine, but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. More. I reach up, pulling him closer, hungry to feel the broad planes of his shoulders under my hands and the hot taste of his kiss, deeper, stronger— Hunter steps away. What? I feel a shock of cold air where his body used to be. My eyes snap open and I gasp for breath, confused to find him standing just a few inches away. He’s watching me again with that inscrutable stare, so I reach for him, but he catches my hands, keeping me back at arm’s length. “Dinner, Monday.” Hunter says, and I marvel how he can seem so composed. That kiss has left me reeling, but he barely has a hair out of place. “I’ll call you.” He turns my hands over to plant a soft kiss on each palm and gives me a smile, crooked and laced with promise. Then he’s gone, leaving me to sag back against the shelves in wonder. What the hell was that?

I couldn’t believe it, seeing her again. I should have known, coming back to Beachwood Bay, but somehow, I talked myself out of hoping she’d still be here. A girl like that, she wouldn’t stick around in a small town like this, not a moment more than she had to. A girl like that was born to be free. I liked to think of her sometimes, when I was stuck in class at Yale, listening to my boring professors ramble on about old, dead guys and their meaningless arguments. I’d gaze out the window, and imagine her off, hitch-hiking across the country, maybe, or working in a beach shack in California, or up in the mountains of Colorado. She could go anywhere. Do anything. But now here she is, looking as beautiful as the day I saw her last: still burning that angry fire in her dark eyes, still running away from me so fast you’d think I was the one who broke her heart, instead of the other way around. I walk out of that storeroom still tasting her on my lips, still feeling the curves of her body, so goddamn soft and sexy against me. Brittany Ray. Goddamn. I stand in the parking lot, feeling like someone just knocked me out for the count. A dozen questions whirl in my mind. Why is she still here? Has she thought of me, even once, during the last three years? How can a single kiss do this to me? But most of all, I realize, I want to know who the hell put that expression in her eyes: the empty, aching bitterness that she hides behind her sarcasm and smiles. All this time, I’ve been imagining her out there, happy and free. Now I know she’s anything but. Whoever they are, they better watch out. Because I sure as hell have some words for them. Words that start and end with the sound of my fists. Brittany Ray. I feel my heart pound, from shock and exhilaration and something more. The softness of her

touch, the memory of her kiss. Goddamn. I shake my head and start walking. By the time I make it back to the ranch it’s after eleven. The property sits, dark and still, the only light coming from the ranch hand’s cottage out on the edge of the field. Jake, my new hire, is probably watching ESPN reruns and drinking beer. I think about stopping by to join him, but I’m not in the mood. I’m too caught up in what just happened, with that heavy load of guilt, always sitting like iron in the back of my mind. I make the rounds, checking the horses in the stable, testing the new gates in the paddock as I go. The smell of fresh paint is still lingering everywhere, mixing with the scent of hay and dirt and horse and country air. Smells like home. I have to grin at that. My mom would flip if anyone dared suggest the great Camille Covington’s perfect Charleston mansion smelled like an old stable, but even though I grew up in that house, it was never home to me. No, home was Grandpa Earl’s ranch, out here in the country. Every summer we got to spend here was like a gift: a whole month when we didn’t have to take tennis lessons at the country club, or dress for dinner, or stand around politely at my parents’ stuffy cocktail parties. A whole month when my brother and I weren’t paraded for the guests, like a prize they’d bagged on safari, some trophy to show off to prove their status as society elite. Jace was happy to play along, he always did anything to make them proud, but I never could stand it. I was the one sneaking out the bathroom window at the Governor ’s Christmas party, or getting caught with one of the debutantes in the cloakroom closet. Hell, sometimes I got caught with two. Growing up in that house, life was full of rules and expectations and disappointment, but out here on the ranch, none of that mattered anymore. I learned it was all just static, a world my parents and brother may have bought into, but one that I didn’t need. Let Jace be the Golden Boy, stand beside our father at board meetings, and make small talk with my mother ’s DAR friends; I was happy with the land and the horses and the distant horizon—and I swore I would leave all of their bullshit behind the first chance I got. Except it didn’t turn out that way. Not even close. My cell starts ringing as I head back to the main house. I know who’s calling, but guilt makes me pick up, all the same. “Well, have you come to your senses yet?” Her voice rings with disapproval, clear down the line

from Charleston. “Mom…” I sigh, letting myself in. I flip the lights on, illuminating the homey, rustic main room still filled with grandpa’s old furniture and wood beams overhead. The main ranch house is openplan, with a huge open fireplace dominating the room, and windows that look out over the paddock and fields. “I can’t understand why you’d just take off like this, not even say goodbye.” Mom continues, “After we came all the way up for your graduation.” “I told you not to,” I remind her. “What’s the use of some stupid ceremony when I already finished the credits? It’s all just for show.” “It’s tradition,” my mom corrects, as if they’re not the same thing. “We’d planned a whole dinner, your father ’s old classmates were coming. It was very embarrassing to have to cancel at the last minute.” I make a beeline for the kitchen and take a beer from the fridge, gulping down half the bottle at once. I wonder for a moment if my parents even cared about my finishing college, or if, to them, it was just an excuse for another party, another way to brag to all their friends about their perfect family. “So tell me, Hunter,” Mom changes tacks. “How long is this little rebellion of yours going to last? The summer? Longer?” “It’s not a rebellion,” I growl, like I haven’t explained this a hundred times. “We had a deal, remember? I said I’d stick it out through school, but now I’m done. This is my life now.” “Working on a ranch?” I can practically see my mom’s lip curl with disdain. “That’s not a life, not for a Covington.” “It was good enough for grandpa.” I stroll over to the windows and rest my forehead against the cool glass. This was why I skipped graduation, and all my parents’ bullshit. The minute my last paper was done, I traded my birthday BMW in for a pick-up truck, threw some clothes in a bag, and hit the road. Eleven hours down the coast with nothing to do but think, but somehow, with every mile I felt lighter: driving away from their legacy, to a future of my own making. “My father was a fool,” Mom replies bluntly. “What are you going to do for money out there? Don’t think your father and I are going to support this foolish plan.” “I don’t want anything from you.” I state firmly. “Grandpa left me the land, and some left over, and I’ll earn the rest.” “Training horses,” there’s that familiar sneer again. “Honey, I don’t know where this is coming from. We had it all planned out: Yale, then law school—” “I never wanted to go to law school,” I interrupt, clenching my fist. This is what she does, badger you with her own plans until it’s easier to go along with it all. But not this time. I’ve had enough.

“Then business school,” my mom corrects, “Or even straight to the company, working with your dad. We’ve been talking, and there’s a seat opening up on the board—” “No, mom, stop it!” My voice rings out, harsh, and there’s silence. “I’m sorry,” I bite back my frustration, “But you’re not listening. I’m not coming home, I’m not joining the firm. This is it, mom, it’s done.” “I just can’t stand to see you throwing away all your potential. You’re not a kid anymore, Hunter. You have responsibilities.” She tries again, but it’s late, and I’m too tired for this. Seeing Brit again like that has got me on edge, too wound up to go another ten rounds with my mother and wind up exactly where we started. “I got to go mom,” I tell her. “You take care, OK?” “Hunter—” I hang up, and take a deep breath, gazing out at the dark fields. It’s quiet out there, unnervingly so. This empty space is still new to me, echoing nothing but the chirp of the crickets in the grass. Back at college, lights blazed everywhere, and noise too; late night parties in the dorm, and 24/7 takeout joints lining the streets in the student ghettos. I could always find a distraction, something to block my own thoughts, but here, the nearest property is over a mile away, and tonight, there’s nothing but silence. I go get another beer and flip the TV on to drown the quiet. Some old movie is playing, Cool Hand Luke, but I can’t concentrate. As two beers turn into four, and five, I slip into a sleepy haze and the memories start coming. The way I knew they would; the way they always do. “Bet you ten bucks.” “Dude, make it fifty.” “That’s right, I forgot, you’ve got that graduation check burning a hole in your pocket.” I laugh, passing Jace the blunt to smoke. “Or should I call it the down payment on your soul?” “Aww, man, don’t say it like that.” Jace exhales in a long sigh, smoke billowing out over the dock. He looks at the joint. “This is good stuff, where’d you find it?” I shrug. “Some guy at a bar. And don’t change the subject. I can’t believe you’re signing up to play dad’s lapdog come fall.” Jace rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I won’t even be in his department, I bet I won’t see him at all.” “Except for lunch, and client dinners, and weekends playing golf at the club…” I tease, only halfjoking. “I’m serious, man. Working in that place is like a death sentence. They’ll have your name over the door before you know it. Covington and Son.” “Sons,” Jace corrects me with a smirk. “You know he’ll be gunning for you too. Just a matter of

time.” I groan, reaching for the joint again. “You ever think what it would be like if we weren’t… us?” I ask, wistful. The ocean is dark and limitless beyond the harbor, and I wonder for the hundredth time what it would be like to sail off to nowhere. “Just two regular kids, I mean, with none of this Covington bullshit to deal with.” Jace looks at me like I’m crazy. “You want to be just another regular Joe? We’re lucky. We can do anything we want.” “Anything mom and dad want.” I correct. He laughs. “You’ll see. You’ll grow up soon, and you’ll realize people don’t get breaks like us. We can run this whole damn state one day. Congressman. Governor. “ “Why stop there?” I remark, sarcastic. “Why not make it President?” “Why not?” Jace gives me a grin so cocky I have to toss a bag of chips at him. “Douche.” “Asshole.” “Dickwad.” Jace launches himself at me, and we tumble to the dock, tussling the way we’ve done ever since he was old enough to get me in a choke hold. For years, I struggled uselessly in his grips—four years older is a lot in kid wrestling terms—but ever since I filled out and made the football team as a linebacker, I’ve given him a run for his money. This time, I nearly have him, until Jace flips me out of nowhere, and I wind up slammed facedown on the dock. “I get it, dude,” I protest, slamming the boards in defeat. “You’re still in shape—for an old man.” “Watch it, kid.” Jace offers a hand to pull me back up. “I can still take you here, or out there.” He nods at the dark water. “So put your money where your mouth is.” “I got a better idea.” Jace gives me a grin. “I win, you have to go talk to that waitress you’ve been drooling over.” I tense. “What are you talking about?” “Don’t give me that.” He punches my arm. “I’ve seen you. The jailbait one at Mrs. Olson’s, she keeps dying her hair all those crazy colors.” I shrug, as if I don’t know who he means. “Plenty of girls in this town.” Jace isn’t fooled. “Whatever, dude. I’ve heard people talk, she could show you a real good time.” “Don’t say that.” My reply comes out harsh, and Jace raises his eyebrows in surprise. “See, I knew you liked her.” “I don’t,” I answer automatically. “I just… I don’t listen to gossip, is all. We don’t know her.” “We know she wears that black dress thing real well.” Jace smirks again, and I feel anger rise up

in my chest. “Leave it.” I warn him. He holds his hands up, “Whoa, I get it. Off-limits.” He reaches for his beer and swallows back the rest of the bottle. “So, we doing this or what?” Jace nods at the water. “Sure.” I reply, glad to change the subject. “Get ready to pay, old man, ‘cause you’re going down.” The sound of infomercials wakes me. I sit up, my head pounding, and squint at my watch. It’s 4:00 a.m. and dawn is breaking outside on the far horizon. I pull myself up off the couch and go fix myself a coffee, pouring in a splash of whiskey to take the edge off my headache as I head out onto the back porch. I settle in the swing, watching the sun slowly edge up over the trees, dark skies brightening with the new day. Slowly, the ache in my chest eases. Like every morning, I wait–– wait for the shadows of the night to drift away. For the memories to tuck themselves away in the back of my mind for another night. For the world to slip back in focus. Just one more day, trying to feel human. They say it gets better in time, but I’m still waiting. Even now, I still wake to nights so dark I don’t think I’ll live to see dawn. Nights when a bottle of whiskey is my only friend, and the past is a knife, slicing through the façade I’ve built and digging deep into my heart. It’s in those darkest hours that I find myself reaching for the memory of her, like a kid grabbing at his blanket after waking from a bad dream. Brit. Funny, how the idea of someone can mean so much. It was just a few hours we spent together all those years ago, but I’ve clung to the memory of her strength and tenderness, like the only light in my darkness. A north star, guiding me on, making me believe that for all my guilt and grief, I could feel something more too. A moment of peace, some glimmer of joy. She saved me, and she doesn’t even know it. The irony makes me smile, but it’s a bitter one, edged with rueful resignation. You’re a damn fool, Hunter Covington, I tell myself, taking another gulp of bitter black coffee. I’m not crazy, I’ve known all along that the girl in my mind doesn’t exist anymore – if she ever did to begin with. It was just a summer fling. Some boy she hooked up with back when she was too young to know any better. It’s not like she even stuck around to see morning with me. But I’ve kept her with me all this time, like a photo tucked in my wallet, or a letter pressed against a soldier ’s chest, folded safely like a reminder of better times. Something to hold onto, some reason

to believe. And now, she’s real again. I think back to last night, greedily pulling apart the details in my mind. The cutoff denim miniskirt, barely covering her creamy, pale thighs. Her petite frame, lush curves straining at the edge of her bra. And that face… I’ve often wondered if my memory was playing tricks on me: if any girl could be as gorgeous as my memory of her. I figured reality had faded under my imagination, painting her more lovely than the truth. I was right. My memories were all wrong. Because Brit is even more stunning now than I thought possible. Heart-stopping. Soul-crushing. Beautiful. I feel a surge of desire and let out a ragged sigh. Yeah, I’m a fool alright. A fool for coming back here. A fool to cling on to the vision of a girl I barely even know. And a fool for wanting her so desperately, all over again. I get to my feet, and head inside, finding my phone and a scrap of paper with a scribbled number. It’s early, but the person on the other end of the line picks up almost right away. Guess I’m not the only one having a bad night. “Hey,” I start, “I’m going to need your help…”

He calls. Garrett must have given him my number, because Hunter rings the next morning, and that night, and all through Sunday too. I don’t pick up, but each time, he leaves me a message in his familiar, sexy drawl. “I don’t care if you’re playing hard to get.” I play his latest voicemail, feeling a shiver at the casual amusement in his tone. “Your kisses don’t lie. I’ll see you tomorrow at six.” I hang up, cursing myself for the scene in the storeroom. That place must have a weird power over us Ray kids, because I can’t think of a single reason why I could be so stupid as to swoon right into Hunter ’s arms. Maybe because those arms are so damn sexy…? No! I push back the dizzying memory of his lips, softly brushing mine, and hurl my cellphone across to the couch, safely out of reach. I made those rules three years ago for a reason, and not a damn thing has changed since then. Even if he makes me feel like nothing else on earth, that’s not enough. He’s still perfect and gorgeous and wealthy, and I’m still… not. Not nearly good enough for the likes of him. He’ll only break my heart. But my God, you’d die happy. I crank my music up and turn my attention back to the sketches scattered across the table in front of me. Hiding away trying to avoid Hunter has been good for one thing, at least: with the whole weekend to spend on my designs, the sketches of my dream dress are coming along at an amazing rate. The silk is still sitting in their bags, carefully folded in layers of tissue paper, but I couldn’t resist pulling out a tiny corner to look it. It spills out onto my work bench in a pool of deep, violet fabric, full of possibilities. The dresses take shape under my pencils, sharp strokes bringing them to life. Should I try this one, with a gathered bodice, or let the silk fall in a single drape? And the hemline… I work until afternoon, finally taking a break to stretch out my muscles and go fix a PB&J sandwich. I eat on the back porch, watching the ocean waves roll in to shore.

“Knock, knock.” I look up. Garrett circles the back of the house and climbs the steps. He clocks my grade-school lunch and laughs. “I haven’t seen you in days, I figured you’d starved to death by now.” “I can take care of myself,” I retort. It’s no secret I live off burgers and fries at Jimmy’s these days, grabbing a snack in between shifts and eating cold pizza for breakfast the next morning. I hold up my sandwich as evidence, “See, a fully nutritious meal.” “I don’t see any vegetables,” Garrett teases, collapsing on the porch swing. “Strawberry jam. Fruit,” I declare, and take a big bite. “Don’t blame me when you die of scurvy.” I laugh. “Says the guy who lives off of takeout and beer. You better watch yourself,” I add. “I’m starting to see a beer gut there.” “What, here?” Garrett lifts his shirt, revealing washboard abs, and the scroll of a tattoo that reads Semper Fi. “Nah, I’m good.” “Put it away.” I toss a potato chip at him. It bounces off his stomach before Garrett grabs it and crunches happily. “So what’s with you?” He asks. “I haven’t seen you all weekend.” I shrug. “I’ve been busy. I’m working on a new dress.” “Oh yeah?” Garrett raises an eyebrow. “And this busy wouldn’t have anything to do with that Hunter guy, would it?” “No.” I look down, my cheeks flushing. Garrett chuckles. “Little Brittany Ray, blushing over a guy. I never thought I’d see the day.” “You haven’t.” I snap, getting up. “Nothing’s going to happen, so just drop it.” I head back inside the kitchen and rinse my plate. Garrett follows, leaning in the doorway. “What’s the problem? He seems like a good guy.” “He is.” I admit, reluctant. Too good. “And he sure seems into you,” Garrett adds, “A feeling which is totally requited, going by the way you two were eye-fucking at the bar the other night.” “Dude!” “Just calling it like I see it.” Garrett grins. “So, where’s the damage? Have some drinks, have a little fun. It’s about time you hooked up with someone decent, instead of those skeezy assholes you like to bring around.” I don’t argue with his description of my usual hook-up type. That’s part of the reason I pick them in the first place. They’re safe territory, a foregone disappointment. If I don’t expect them to do anything besides let me down, then at least it hurts a little less when they screw me over in the end. But Hunter? I already know, I would believe every word that comes from those perfect lips. And when, in the

end, he lets me down—because they always let me down—well then I wouldn’t just be heartbroken, I’d be a fool too. And I always swore, I’m nobody’s fool. Garrett’s still waiting for an answer, so I sigh in defeat. “He’s too perfect,” I confess, leaning back against the sink. I twist the dishcloth in my hands, embarrassed. “That hair and that face and all that money… It’s too much. I end up feeling like a broken mess around him, like I’m nothing.” “You’re building him up,” Garrett argues. “Nobody’s perfect.” I snort. “Believe me, Hunter Covington is. You saw him, waltzing into Jimmy’s like he owns the place. Some people are just born with a silver spoon in their mouths. And us mere mortals should know better than to mess around with them.” Garrett shakes his head slowly, with a ghost of a smile. “Everybody’s got their secrets, Brit. Some people are just better at hiding their scars.” I pause, wondering if he’s talking about himself. Garrett showed up in town out of nowhere last year, but he always finds a way to change the subject if it ever turns to him. He hit it off with Emerson at the bar, and the two of us fell into our easy, big brother-little sister dynamic, but I’ve always understood, some things are off-limits. Like what he did before he came here, the life he left behind. “I’m just saying, some people can surprise you.” Garrett offers with a grin. “So,” he changes the subject, “What are your plans tonight? Are you going to lock the doors and pretend you’re not home when he comes to pick you up?” I groan, realization dawning. “Shit, you’re right. He’s going to show up.” And when he does… My record for resisting him is zero for two. I don’t like those odds. “What am I going to do?” I turn to Garrett, pleading. “Everyone in this town keeps telling him where I am, there’s nowhere to hide.” “Way to be dramatic,” Garrett grins, but he doesn’t understand. This is my heart on the line here. I know without a doubt that if I go to dinner with Hunter, and spend a couple of hours talking over candlelight in some romantic restaurant like he promised, gazing into those blue eyes, then I’ll have no choice. I’m going to kiss him again. And if I kiss him again, I know, soon it’s only a matter of time before I tear off his clothes, leap into his arms, and finish the job I started three years ago: falling headlong, heartbreakingly in love with him. “Relax,” Garrett takes pity on me. “I came to pick you up. There’s a county fair over in Hendersonville. A local brewery I want to check out for the bar has a stand there. You can tag along.” A way out of Beachwood Bay, with beer? “I’m in!” I declare, leaping to go grab a sweater and my keys. “Just get me far, far away from this town.”

It’s evening by the time we make it to Hendersonville, and the fair is packed: the huge grounds filled with livestock displays, fairground rides, and all kinds of stalls and games. The crowd bustles, a noisy hum of kids and families and the bursts of music as we pass. The chaos washes over me, and for a moment, I forget all about Hunter and feel like a little kid again. I make a beeline for the concession stands. “Fairground food is the best junk food,” I say, through a mouthful of cotton candy. Garrett laughs. “Just don’t barf all over me if you go on the rides.” “Please.” I give him a haughty look. “I can do six shots of tequila without losing my lunch. This is child’s play.” We stroll slowly through the crowds. Garrett checks his watch. “You need to be somewhere?” I ask. “Nope, just, want to catch that guy from the brewery,” he answers, looking around. “It’s this way, I think.” We veer off the main drag, and I follow him through the crowd. “What’s that smell?” I wrinkle my nose. “What do you think?” Garrett laughs. “Can’t have horses without a little horseshit.” We’re moving through the livestock section, where ranchers and farmers have their best cattle on display. Kids cluster around a petting pen of baby goats and piglets, and up ahead, there’s a large sand ring getting raked out from the day’s rodeo events. I drift closer to the paddock. Someone is leading a horse out into the ring, slowly circling in the enclosure. The horse is a young, spirited chestnut: she pulls at the leading rope, and shies, ducking away, but the handler doesn’t seem deterred. His face is hidden by a baseball cap, and I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I watch the way he moves with the horse, walking steadily alongside and carefully unspooling the lead, until she relaxes and is trotting in a circle around him. I never spent much time with horses. Round here, it’s like a rite of passage for some girls, the way they fall in love with their ponies as a practice run for when they fall in love with boys. Me? I skipped straight to boys. But watching the handler sweet-talk this mare into submitting to him, I can’t help but be amazed by the strange communion between man and beast, like he’s talking a secret language with his words and movements only she can understand. Whatever he does, the mare seems to be trusting him. Then suddenly, a burst of music blares from a ride nearby. The horse shies away, dragging the handler forward. I gasp, but he quickly regains his footing. The horse rears up, neighing in distress. There’s a rush of activity near me, men moving into place to go open the paddock gates and get the animal under control, but the handler motions for them to wait. I expect him to back away from the danger, but instead he moves towards the skittish animal,

palms open. The mare is showing the whites of her eyes, snorting and shifting, ready to bolt, but he walks slowly towards it, not slowing for a second. He murmurs words I can’t make out, soothing, certain, until finally the jittery animal calms, snorting and pawing at the ground. I let out the breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding in. The handler laughs. “She’s a beauty alright,” he calls over to the men watching from the side of the ring. “I’ll take her.” “There you are.” Garrett circles back. “I wondered where you…” He sees something over my head and brightens. “Right on schedule.” “What is?” I bite off another huge tuft of candy and turn to see the handler hand off the mare and climb over the paddock fence in an easy motion. He pulls off his baseball cap, and for the first time, I see his face. Hunter. My heart leaps. I almost didn’t recognize him without his preppy clothes, but dressed down for the ranch like this in faded jeans and a sky-blue T-shirt, he looks rugged and manly. Drop-dead, pantytwistingly gorgeous. Fuck. I spin back to Garrett, who’s watching me with a smirk. “This is a set-up?” I cry. “What the hell?” Garrett leaps back, hands up in surrender. “You didn’t give the guy a chance.” “But I told you—” “That you like him! I thought I’d help you guys out.” Garrett at least has the decency to look apologetic, but I can’t tell if that’s because he’s sorry about his massive betrayal, or he’s worried I’m going to take my cotton candy and choke him half to death. “This is so not OK,” I growl, advancing. “I can’t believe you’d just go behind my back and—” “This is my fault.” Hunter ’s voice comes, and then his hands are on my shoulders, holding me back from inflicting serious bodily harm on Garrett. “I asked him to get you here. I can be very persuasive, you know.” “You mean, annoying.” I wrench free from him and turn. My breath catches as I take him in, up close: the blue of his old T-shirt bringing out all the bright laughter in his eyes. I feel the shiver of anticipation and attraction rise up in me again, but I fight the pull and muster my best glare. “Other guys would have taken a hint by now.” Hunter smiles at me. “I’m not other guys.” Our eyes meet, and I’m caught again in the shock that ripples between us. Damn. Why do we have this connection, so strong, that I can’t seem to break? Why does every moment in his presence feel like it’s sending me, inch by inch, closer to the edge?

“Uh, this is probably my cue to go.” Garrett’s voice breaks through the moment. I snap my eyes away from Hunter ’s. “Don’t you dare leave me…!” I protest, but Garrett is already high-tailing it into the crowd. I’m left alone. With him. “So, you want to try the Tilt-a-Whirl first, or maybe Tunnel of Love?” Hunter reaches over to break off a tuft of my cotton candy. I slap his hand away. “Why?” I demand. “You can tell a lot about a person by their favorite ride.” Hunter replies easily. “Mine’s the Ferris wheel.” “No, I mean, why are you chasing me like this?” I cry. Ever since I laid eyes on him again, Hunter has been relentless. I’ve given him every chance to walk away—hell, I’ve tried to push him—but he keeps coming after me. Nobody’s ever stuck it out for me like this before. “Maybe I think you’re worth chasing.” Hunter grins. “I’m not one of your horses you get to break.” I reply flatly, and start walking. To where, I don’t even know, but sure enough, Hunter falls into step beside me, easily matching my steps with his long, effortless strides. “I’m serious,” I tell him, my frustration fading. Now I just feel sad and resigned. “Whoever you think I am, whatever you want from me, you’re wrong. I’m not that girl.” “Hold up a second.” Hunter takes my arm and pulls me to a stop. He frowns. “I never said I wanted anything from you—I just want to get to know you, is that so hard to believe?” “You already know plenty,” I try to stay sarcastic. “Brittany Ray, wild child of Beachwood Bay, remember?” “That’s bullshit and you know it.” Hunter says softly. My heart skips, despite myself. “Look, I roped Garrett into getting you here tonight because I knew you’d never come willingly on this date. You’ve got these walls built so high, I can’t even see over, but I’m trying here, Brit. I don’t know what else I can say.” I hesitate, looking up at him. Hunter gazes down at me, then reaches to tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear. “One date,” he says, smiling. “Give us that much, at least. Please?” The word is my undoing—and the look of boyish hope in his eyes. One date, pretending like this can be something real. One date, having Hunter all to myself. The promise is intoxicating. I nod. Hunter lights up. “I promise, this date is going to blow your socks off,” he declares. I give a rueful smile, still cautious. “It won’t have much competition.” I reply, wondering what the hell I’ve just agreed to. “In fact, make that zero.” “What do you mean?” Hunter asks, stealing more of my cotton candy.

I shrug, embarrassed. I wish I hadn’t said anything now, but there I go again: speak first, think later. “Just, you know... I haven’t really done this. Date.” I make a vague gesture to the fairground rides and ticker-tape, a picture of wholesome, all-American fun surrounding us. “What, ever?” Hunter blinks at me, surprised. I feel my cheeks flushing. “I’m not really the dinner and a movie type.” I explain, trying to sound flippant. “That’s a shame.” “I wasn’t complaining.” I reply sharply, watching his expression. If I see even a hint of pity, I’m so out of here. But instead, Hunter shakes his head, exaggerated, like he’s intimidated. “Wow, way to make a guy feel the pressure,” he jokes. “Now I’ve got to make this the best first date ever. Epic. Unforgettable.” “I’d settle for just bearable,” I can’t help but smile at his joking. But that’s the thing about Hunter: even when my stomach is tied up in knots and my heartbeat skips from the nearness of him, he still finds some way to put me at ease at the same time; my insecurity over not dating now just a memory as he slings an arm around my shoulder and steers me through the crowd. “OK, the way I see it, a good date is like an extreme sport.” Hunter begins, looking deadly serious. I giggle, silently thrilling at the touch of his body close to mine. He smells of soap and sweat and horses from his time in the paddock, and the scent is unfamiliar. Intoxicating. “What, you could die at any moment?” I reply, wondering where he’s going with this. “With you, only of happiness,” Hunter quips. I groan, shoving at him playfully. Hunter laughs, pulling me back in. “No, seriously though, dating. You’ve got to be prepared. And I’m not thinking of that,” he adds quickly, “Although I was captain of my Boy Scout troop, so I’m ready for anything.” He winks, and I can’t help but giggle. Other guys would sound sleazy. Like they’re assuming stuff about me, but to Hunter, it’s all part of his easy charm. “I’m talking about planning. Options.” he continues. “Like here, for example: I don’t know much about you yet, so I had to make sure there’d be something you liked. Maybe you’re a stroll around chatting kind of girl, or maybe you like to cheat death on the rides, or stuff your pretty face with junk food. Scratch that, you definitely like the junk food.” “Hey!” “You’re right, I’m sorry, I should have said, stuff your beautiful face.” Hunter corrects himself. I roll my eyes. “Point is, all options are open.” Hunter gestures, like this entire fair has been staged for me. “Whatever you want to do.” Looking at him, the way he’s put so much thought into what I might like, what I want is to drag him behind the nearest stand and kiss him until there’s nothing else in the world, but part of me is curious. What’s it like, to do this––date, be normal––with a man like him?

“All of it.” I decide. If this is my one glimpse of perfect, then I’m going to make the most of it. “Walking, and rides, and all the junk food. I want to try everything.” “As you wish.” Hunter winks. “The Princess Bride!” I exclaim, surprised. “That’s one of my favorite movies.” “Really?” Hunter gives me a thoughtful look. “See, I’m learning new things about you already.” “You don’t know anything.” I point out. “A tragedy which I’m doing my best to rectify.” Hunter drops his arm from around my shoulder, but before I can feel disappointment, he takes my hand instead, and tugs me gently in the direction of a rickety Tilt-a-Whirl. I feel a shiver, a bolt of lightning running up my arm from where our fingers are intertwined. “Come on, you can hold on tight and tell me what you’ve been doing your whole life.” “That could take a while,” I point out, still holding fast to my sarcasm in the face of all Hunter ’s charm. But even that’s no defense when Hunter flashes me a smile that takes my breath away. “Baby, I got all night.”

We stroll the fairgrounds until sunset, and, as promised, Hunter does everything he can to make this the ultimate date. We try out rides, eat hot dogs, watch prize ribbons get awarded to pies and piglets alike. I know I shouldn’t let myself be fooled by all this innocent fun, but slowly, I feel my defenses slip. I let the laughter and crowds wash over me, sinking into the simple joy of the moment and Hunter ’s fingers twisted casually in mine. Is this what it’s like? I wonder. For normal girls, like that blonde Trey ditched me to marry. For the first time, I’m walking in their shoes, and the simple, safe, happiness of it is almost overwhelming. Do they get to feel this way all the time, like the center of the universe, and not some lazy afterthought? Imagine how different like would be with someone holding you like this every day, doting on you. Caring. You could do anything, knowing you had a partner, somebody to rely on. I’ve only ever been able to rely on myself. “You need a prize.” “What?” Hunter pulls me out of my thoughts. He’s eyeing the shooting range with a determined gleam in his eye. “I need to prove my manliness in a show of skill and weaponry,” he proclaims, pounding his chest. I smile, taking in the row of prizes on offer. “Sure. Nothing says manly like a three-foot pink teddy bear.” “Oh ye of little faith.” Hunter hands a strip of tickets to the guy behind the booth. He takes the fairground rifle and lifts it to his shoulder. Squinting, he aims, and then fires his first shot. It goes wide, ricocheting off the back panel. “I’m still waiting on the manly.” I tease. Hunter doesn’t take his eye from the sight. “Hush you.” He fires again, and this time the bottle smashes to the ground, followed by the rest in quick succession. He lowers the rifle and blows the barrel, like he’s blowing smoke. “Real smooth,” I say, applauding. He sees my look. “Let me guess, you could hit all five?”

“Maybe.” I admit. “Ray Jay taught me how to shoot before I learned to ride a bike. Just another chapter in my redneck childhood,” I joke, but I suddenly wish I hadn’t said anything at all. Good, blonde, normal girls keep quiet and let the guy take all the glory, I bet. But Hunter doesn’t seem annoyed. He pays the guy for another round and hands me the rifle. “Show me, I want to see.” “You sure?” I check, reluctant. “Let’s make it interesting,” he decides, as I lift the rifle and take aim. “For every one you miss, I get a kiss.” My hands falter. Which do I want more––to kiss him, or not? Smash. Instinct takes over, and I hit the first bottle. Smash, smash, smash. The whole row goes down. I lower the rifle. Hunter gives me a crooked grin. “You lose, he says.” And with a pang, I wonder if he’s right. We claim our prize, a huge blue teddy bear with a ribbon round its neck. “He can keep you company at night when I’m not there.” Hunter grins, waggling the bear ’s paws at me with such a cute expression I can’t help but laugh. As we stroll on again, carrying the ridiculous toy, I see people glance at us as they pass. Older couples, young girls. I’m used to stares of disapproval and gossip, but this is different. They look affectionate, even envious. I sneak a glance up at Hunter, in the middle of telling some story about secret society initiations in college. He looks so solid and true, smiling that mischievous grin, I would probably be jealous of myself too, if I saw us in passing: the perfect guy, out with his girl. They don’t know the truth. That he’ll never be mine. “So what’s next?” I ask, with a hint of sadness. Dusk is falling, and the lights from the fairground are starting to glow neon and bright against the darkening skies. I only have a little while left of this night of make-believe, before reality sets in again, and my perfect date is over. “Ghost house?” I suggest. “More manly shows of strength? More food?” “More?” Hunter widens his eyes dramatically. “Hey!” I laugh, shoving at him. He catches my hands, pulling me close against him, and my heart skips at the feel of his body, so hard and warm against mine. He dwarves my tiny frame, and it makes me weak, just imagining those arms braced above me; those rock-hard abs pressed down against my skin... “One more stop.” Hunter ’s eyes sparkle. “Right here.” I look up. The Ferris wheel. “For real? My voice is doubtful. “Come on, I know you’re not scared of heights, the way you hide up on that rooftop of yours.” “No, it’s fine,” I answer. “It’s just, kind of dull.”

“Being alone with me is dull?” Hunter raises an eyebrow teasingly. OK, scratch that. Not dull. Dangerous. As if reading my mind, Hunter winks, teasing. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe?” But who’ll keep me safe from him? “Fine.” I agree, not seeing a way to say no without revealing my feelings. Better we’re up there in a tiny carriage than down here on solid earth, surrounded by dark corners to pull him into, and solids walls to get pushed up against… “Let’s do it.” The line is short, and soon, Hunter is helping me into the small two-person seat. He chats to the operator for a moment, shaking the guy’s hand, and then settles beside me, pulling the safety rail down into place. “So you were really serious, about the ranch thing,” I say, as the wheel jerks, and then lifts us smoothly into the air. “I saw you, with that horse before... I didn’t know you could do that.” “My grandpa taught me, before he died. I always just had a way with them.” Hunter looks bashful. “So you bought her? The chestnut.” I ask. “I couldn’t resist. She’s a beautiful animal.” Hunter nods. “She looked kind of wild to me.” He nods, but with an affectionate smile. “It’s nothing. They left it too long to break her, so now she’s skittish even taking a lead, but once I’m through working with her, she’ll be good to work, compete, whatever.” “I never pictured you out on a ranch,” I say thoughtfully. “I figured you’d go be a lawyer or doctor or something.” Something fancy, I silently add. “You and my parents both.” Hunter laughs shortly, but I can hear a bitter note in his tone. “I can imagine,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood. “A Covington, up to his elbows in horseshit. At least your brother is doing something respectable, right? He was always the good one.” “Something like that.” Hunter looks out at the view, the fairgrounds slowly getting smaller as we climb higher in the arc. “What about you? I saw your designs, the dresses. You’re really good.” I fidget with the teddy bear, awkward. “Thanks.” Hunter scooches a couple of inches closer to me, slinging his arm around the back of the seat. “You ever thought about going to design school, or sending your work out to any designers?” I shrug. I don’t want to tell him about my stack of rejections, and what a failure I really am. “Maybe, one day.” I say instead, like it’s not my biggest dream. “I like to do my own thing.” Hunter chuckles. “You don’t say.” I shrug again, not sure how to take that, but Hunter adds quickly. “It’s a good thing. Most people, they just do whatever anyone else wants. But you always go your own way. I like that about you.” I feel myself blush again, and look down. We’re nearing the top of the Ferris wheel’s arc now, the

fairgrounds twinkling below us. I force myself to let out a breath of tension, and relax. You’re on a date. You’re on a date with Hunter, and you haven’t screwed it up yet. I repeat it to myself for reassurance, trying to ignore the fact we’re pretty much alone now. I’ve kept it together so far, I just need to make it to the end of the night without doing anything stupid, and everything will be fine. Suddenly, there’s a shudder. The slow movement of the wheel comes to a stop. “What’s happening?” I ask, a note of panic creeping in my voice. I look down at the cars below us, but we’re all suspended, swinging gently in place. “Relax.” Hunter settles back, unconcerned. “Probably just a glitch. They’ll have us down safe in no time.” He casually drops his hand from the back of the booth, and starts stroking soft circles on my bare shoulder. The sensation that sparks through me is out of this world. If he’s trying to distract me, it works; suddenly, the frozen wheel is the last thing on my mind, not with the soft sweep of his fingertips sending a delicious ripple of electricity across my skin. I shiver with longing. “You’re cold.” Hunter notices my shiver. “Damn, I didn’t bring a sweater, I should have thought.” “It’s fine.” “It’s not. C’mon,” He pulls me closer, and even though my goose-bumps are nothing to do with the chilly night air and everything to do with his presence, I willingly move into the circle of his warmth. It’s a mistake. I realize right away, but it’s too late; his presence is overwhelming, and it’s all I can do just to absorb the feel of him, closer than he’s ever been before. His masculine heat radiates through the thin fabric of his T-shirt, and with his arm wrapped tight around me, I can feel the rise and fall of his every breath, the power coiled tight in those biceps. God, I want him. Desire snakes through me, and it’s all I can do to stay frozen in his arms, forcing my breathing to stay steady and not betray the dirty thoughts flooding my mind. I want to tear that T-shirt from his body. I want to lick my way down his chest. I want to feel that weight bearing down on me, surrounding me, invading me... “Better?” Hunter murmurs, oblivious to the X-rated movie playing in my mind. Of course he’s oblivious: he’s trying to keep me warm, and meanwhile, I’m using any excuse to be close to him. “You’re such a gentleman,” I tell him, guilty. And you’re such a slut, the voice in my mind adds. “I’m not.” Hunter answers.

I laugh. “Please. Taking me out, planning all this stuff. You’re like the dictionary definition of chivalry.” “Don’t say that.” Something hollow in Hunter ’s voice makes me lift my face to see him. He’s got a twisted look marring his face, a shadow in his eyes. “I’m no gentleman.” he mutters darkly. “Believe me.” “You are—” He speaks over my protest. “If I was a gentleman, I wouldn’t have picked this ride, just to get you alone someplace you couldn’t run. I wouldn’t have slipped the guy twenty bucks to stop when we reached the top,” he continues, with self-loathing expression, “And I sure as hell wouldn’t be hard right now, crazy with wanting you.” What? I blink at him, my mind reeling as I try to process what he’s just said. He wants me. He wants me. The words are like a lit fuse, igniting my ravenous desire. It’s more than I can stand. Before I stop to think, or even breathe, I reach across the booth and grab him by the shirt, pulling him across and kissing him with everything I have. Hunter freezes against me, shocked, but it’s too late to take it back. His lips taste of cotton candy; forbidden and achingly sweet. I have to have it all. I run my fingers through his hair, kissing him hungrily, delving into the dark warmth of his mouth to drink him in deeper and tease his tongue with mine. He breaks. Hunter lets out a tortured groan, and then he’s yanking me closer, kissing me with a fevered intensity that blots the world from my vision and fills my mind with stars. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. My blood sings, pounding wildly in my ears as Hunter ’s mouth devours mine. His hands rove across my body, clutching at my waist, my back, my hair, sending fresh waves of desire through me with every touch. I clutch at him, overwhelmed, dizzy with the sensation, but it’s not enough. I break away, kissing a trail down his jaw, licking daringly at the salty-sweat taste of his skin. “Goddammit.” Hunter groans again, gripping my hips and lifting me so I’m straddling his lap. The safety bar of the Ferris car digs into my back, but I’m beyond caring. All I can feel is the sweet friction of Hunter, pressing hard between my thighs, and the blazing path of his mouth as he kisses down my neck and licks across the sensitive hollow of my throat. I shudder in his arms. “You’re so beautiful.” Hunter gasps, lifting his eyes to meet mine. “Your body is a fucking miracle.”

I can’t speak. The feelings crashing over me are almost too much to take. We’re suspended here, high above the world, but if it wasn’t for the hard steel behind me, and Hunter ’s arms, gripping me close, I feel like I could take off and fly. I lower my lips and kiss him again, hard and fast, falling in the depths of him. Hunter moves his hand down from my face, sliding his palm down my neck and against the swell of my breast. Oh God. A forbidden thrill shivers through me. We’re out in the open, with people in the cars above and below us, but nobody can see his wicked touch, hidden by our bodies. I bite down on his lip, daring. Hunter pauses, then reaches for me again, his fingers dancing this time across the sensitive skin at the neckline of my tank. Shocks fly through me. I gasp for air. Hunter lets out a low growl. He pulls away from my lips and dips his head, kissing a blazing path down my neck and along the curve of my collarbone. Jesus. I shudder in his arms, trying my hardest not to make a sound, but I can’t control the whimper of pleasure that slips from my lips. Hunter ’s body clenches beneath me, and I feel him exhale in a shudder against my skin. God, he feels so good, I can’t help but rock against him, lost in the sensation of his lips blazing on my skin and his tongue—oh, his tongue—snaking lower, dipping beneath the fabric of my tank to— There’s a jolt, and the Ferris wheel begins to move again. I sit up with a gasp. My eyes meet Hunter ’s, the daze in his expression matching my own. “Fuck!” he swears, panting. “Jesus, fuck!” He lifts me off his lap, setting me back down beside him as I scramble to pull my shirt back into place. My heart races, skin burning with the memory of his touch. I smooth my hair down, reeling from the explosion of passion, and the lust still clawing at me, demanding. Insistent. Too soon, the fairground rises up to meet us. The wheel slows, passengers climbing out of the cars in front. “You good?” Hunter asks, his voice thick and ragged. I nod, wordless. “OK,” he says, still short of breath. “OK.” Our car descends the final distance. The operator lifts the safety bar with a grin. “Enjoy the trip?” he asks, with a knowing look, as Hunter takes my hand to help me out. My legs are unsteady, and I stumble, falling against him. Hunter holds me up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tells the man, before dragging me away. I’m still so dizzy from what just happened, I don’t even notice until we’re back in the parking lot beside Hunter ’s truck. It’s dark here, and there’s nobody around to see, just rows of empty cars forming a screen, hiding us from the world. I pull him close, reaching up on my tip-toes to kiss him again. “Brit,” Hunter breaks away. Disappointment crashes through me. “Not here,” he answers, as if he

can read my mind. I reach for him again, but he stays back, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. “I can’t,” he says, like he’s trying to convince himself. “If you kiss me, I won’t be able to stop, and the things I want to do to you…” Hunter takes a long breath, then gives me a crooked grin. “Let’s just say they would get us arrested in every damn state in the union.” My legs go weak again. “Then where?” I ask, breathless. “Your place,” he answers, pulling open the truck door for me. “Or…” “Or?” I echo. Hunter looks at me, eyes blazing with a dark desire. “Or I could show you the ranch.”

We ride back to Beachwood Bay in near-silence, just the radio playing an old rock mix CD Hunter throws in the player. Incubus, I recognize, from when I was a kid. Meet me in outer space… The song fills the cab of the truck, wrapping us in a restless melody. Hunter keeps his eyes fixed to the road, and I sneak a look at him whenever I let myself take the chance. His profile is shadowed; chiseled and perfect, his T-shirt sleeve riding up his bicep whenever he reaches for the dashboard. I feel a shiver. Anticipation fills the space between us, billowing larger with every breath. The dark roads fly by, a cool breeze whipping through the open windows, but the chill does nothing to soothe the hot fire licking in my veins. Desire. The fairground was one thing. However shameless we were on that ride—and it makes me flush, my stomach twisting in a delicious dance just to think of it—we were in public. There were limits how far we could go, how many boundaries we could break. But as Hunter turns the truck up a long, winding driveway, past the ranch gates, I realize how completely alone we are out here in the middle of the country. Fields and paddocks stretch on every side, dark and silent under the starry sky. No people. No crowds. No limits. Hunter pulls up in front of the large main house. To our left are stables and a barn, looking bright and freshly painted under the security lights. He gets out, and then before I can open the door, he quickly circles the truck and does it for me, holding out his hand to help me down. “I’m good,” I tell him, but he grabs my hand anyway, rolling his eyes at my protest. “Get down here.” His touch is warm and strong, and his fingers close around mine even when I’m safe on solid ground. I turn to the ranch. “So, this is it,” he says, almost bashful. “It was in a pretty bad state when I first got down here. The family pretty much just left it to rot after grandpa died, but I managed to find some guys to help out with construction and getting it back in shape. I was lucky,” he adds, glancing up at the place. “Old buildings like this are built to last.”

He leads me past the big front porch towards the stables. Everything is freshly swept and clean, the scent of hay and horses in the air. “I’ve got three right now, but when this place is fully up and running, there’ll be ten, maybe more. I’ve got my eye on a stud down in Tennessee I want to breed, he took a bad fall in the Derby, but his bloodline is the best.” “It all looks great,” I tell him, glancing around. I realize for the first time the scale of the place. This isn’t just some tiny house and a couple of horses, this is a full-on, sprawling property—a huge barn, the stables, farm buildings out on the edge of the field. And all of it brought up to date with loving care. “How long have you been back?” I ask curiously. “No way you got all this done since Friday.” “I got here a few weeks ago,” Hunter replies. “Wait, what?” I turn to stare. “That’s impossible. I haven’t seen you anywhere in town. And nobody said a word… Beachwood loves to gossip. It was all over town within hours when Emerson bought the beach house.” Hunter gives a shrug, looking away. “I like to keep a low profile. My family has a history in this town… I guess I wasn’t ready to see everyone again.” Everyone… Hunter keeps walking, past the barn and into the stables, but I fall behind, my mind racing. Does he mean me? No, he couldn’t. This is just me reading too much into things. It was one night we shared, years ago, and Lord knows a man like Hunter has had dozens of nights like that since, with hundreds of other girls. Sure, something’s happening between us now, when I’m right in front of him, but I bet I never even crossed his mind until the night he stopped by Jimmy’s and found me about to rip Trey’s cheating face apart with my bare hands. “And these are the girls,” Hunter says, as we reach three occupied stables.. The horses are resting, curled up in the corners of their stalls. “You got them on a good night, usually, there’s some kind of drama kicking off.” One of them, a sleek bay, sees us watching. She unfolds herself, and paces over to investigate. “Hey girl,” Hunter ’s voice drops as the horse pokes her nose over the stable door. He reaches to pet her, she shies back, hooves skittering on the floor. “Easy there,” he murmurs. Hunter pulls a pack of mints from his pocket, and slips one onto his palm. He reaches for the horse again, murmuring softly the whole time in a low, soothing voice. “That’s right, it’s OK. Nothing to worry about here. See? Just some candy for you. You like that, don’t you?” I watch the horse settle, sniffing suspiciously before snaffling the treat and crunching it down. Hunter pets her slowly, gently stroking the soft hair on her cheek. “She’s a good girl,” he tells me, smiling. “She’s just a little skittish, isn’t that right?” The horse snorts in agreement, nostrils flaring.

“You have a gift,” I tell him, awed. I’m watching something special here, I can tell. I remember the horse back at the fairgrounds, and how Hunter talked it down when it panicked. The way he communicates with them, it’s like a secret language, something more than words. “How does it work, the way you handle them?” Hunter pauses. “I don’t know how to describe it.” “Try,” I prompt him, curious now. I’m so used to guys just crashing around the place, leaving chaos in their wake. It’s something new to see a man so in tune with the world around him, like he can sense every shift in the animal’s mood. “OK, so… the thing you have to understand about horses, is, they love people, but they’re wild. An animal who’s been out roaming around, he’s not going to take orders from anyone.” Hunter begins to stroll again, down towards the deserted part of the stables, where the stalls are open and freshly swept, stacked with bales of hay. I follow. “Some guys, when they break a horse, they go hard. It’s like a battle of wills, you know, who’s going to submit.” “But not you?” He shakes his head. “My grandpa taught me, you’ve got to earn their trust. You have to make it so they’re curious, they want to know what you’ve got in store. First, a leading rope, so they have plenty of room. It feels like they’re still on their own terms, you know? Then when they’re used to you, you try a bridle. A bit more control. Sometimes, I’m working for months before I even try a saddle. By then, they have to trust you completely, enough to surrender.” Surrender. The word makes me shiver. I don’t know how I’m getting turned on, standing in the middle of a stable, but listening to Hunter speak sends a thick sweetness rising in my body; my nipples tightening under the thin fabric of my tank. I can’t help but imagine those hands on me, so sure and controlling; that voice whispering forbidden secrets in my ear… “What was that look?” I glance up to find Hunter watching me, a crooked smile on his face. My cheeks burn. “Nothing!” I yelp. He raises an eyebrow, teasing. “Tell me.” I shake my head, blushing furiously. Damn my dirty mind, not keeping my thoughts under control. “Not talking?” Hunter drawls. “Shame. I’ll just have to take a guess.” His eyes meet mine, a direct challenge. “You want to know if I’m still as good as I was three years ago. Suddenly, the air goes out of my lungs. I gasp, shocked by how blatant he is, but dammit, even more turned on. “Whatever.” I roll my eyes, desperately trying to stay cool. “That night was nothing special.” “Bullshit.” Hunter ’s gaze drifts lower. He smirks. I quickly cross my arms over my chest. “You loved it.”

“It was fine, I guess.” I make an exaggerated shrug. “You were just a kid. You didn’t know what you were doing.” “I knew enough to make you come.” My legs go weak. Hunter is still gazing at my body, eyes roving over my flesh with blatant desire. I know I should say something, make some kind of protest, or deny his arrogant claims, but I’m caught, frozen in his naked stare and the sexy, forbidden words coming from that perfect mouth. “So what?” I finally manage, my heart pounding in my ears. I don’t know what I’m doing, taunting him like this, I just know I can’t stop. “That’s no real achievement. I can come anytime I want.” I waggle my fingers at him in a wave. Big mistake. Hunter ’s eyes flash with desire, and then he’s grabbing my wrists, shoving me back into one of the empty stalls until my back hits the wall. I gasp. “Not the way I do it.” Hunter growls, his jaw clenched with tension. “Not the way I make you feel.” My pulse races, my gaze never leaving his. I’m trapped under his hold, Hunter ’s body looming above me, a solid mass of muscle and power. “Well I’ve got news for you, darlin’. I’m not that kid anymore.” He leans closer, so his next words are only a whisper, the rough scratch of his voice sending a rush of quicksilver to my very core. “I’m better.” I feel a shudder of desire at the promise, but before I can catch my breath, Hunter ’s lips capture mine in a punishing kiss. I moan. If our kisses before were a lit fuse, this is the inferno, wild and demanding, and raging out of control. I arch up against him, straining at the grip on my wrists, but Hunter doesn’t release me. He doesn’t need to. His mouth ravages mine, totally possessing; his tongue plunging deep in my mouth, his body smothering mine. I’m powerless against the onslaught of pleasure, every last one of my protests obliterated under the thundering force of his kiss. Jesus! I moan into his mouth, desire consuming me with its raging flame. Hunter releases my wrists in answer, moving his hands to grip my thighs and wrap my legs around his waist. He lifts me off my feet as if I weigh nothing, slamming me down against a bale of hay and covering my body with his own. I shudder at his weight, pressing me down, overwhelming. I can feel him through his jeans, pressing hard between the apex of my thighs, thick and ready, and the realization sends a new, wet ache flooding to my core. Hunter pulls back. “Take off your shirt.” He growls. I can only blink up at him, helpless. Can’t he see coherent thought is beyond me now? Hunter ’s expression darkens. “I said, take. Off. Your. Shirt.” His words are slow. Deliberate.

An order. I struggle to sit up, my heart racing. I lift the tank top over my head, breathless under Hunter ’s gaze. He watches me, not saying a word, so I remove my bra too, slowly unhooking the clasp and shrugging the straps from my shoulders. Hunter looks down at me, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes roam over every inch of my bare skin, and I shiver, feeling the hungry sweep of his gaze as if it were his touch. “Goddammit, Brit.” Hunter lets out a groan, then swoops down to kiss me again, his mouth desperate and fierce. I’m finally free to touch him, and God, I do: my hands roving over the solid planes of his shoulders, grabbing greedy handfuls of his shirt. I slide my fingers under the fabric, reveling in the touch of his bare skin, the taut, smooth mass of muscle and pure power, just waiting to be unleashed. I need to feel it on me, nothing between us, so I tug impatiently at his shirt, trying to lift it over his head. Hunter pulls back, leaving me gasping. His eyes are blazing and determined. “No,” he growls, harsh. “You had it your way once. Now we play by my rules.” He splays a hand against my bare chest and pushes me down again, so I’m laying beneath him, half-naked and panting. My way? My mind races to figure out his cryptic comment, but then Hunter leans in and lowers his mouth to my breast, and every thought is obliterated from my mind. Oh! I close my eyes, falling into the pleasure as Hunter teases his way across my skin, licking and swirling at my tender flesh until my whole body is shaking with sensation. He covers every inch, but each time he nears my nipples, Hunter slides around them: dragging his tongue down my stomach, lapping in the hollow of my belly button, moving back up to whisper kisses along the curve of my breasts until I’m aching and restless, desperate to feel his mouth on me. “Please,” I whimper, gasping. Hunter ’s mouth strays closer. I arch up against him, eager. His tongue swirls lightly around, but it’s not enough. I hear myself whimper, unable to put in words what I need but wanting it oh-sodesperately. He drags his tongue closer, the pressure so exquisite, hot and wet, and-And then he’s gone. My eyes snap open to find Hunter on his feet, a few paces away. “Do you trust me?” he asks, almost casually, walking to the edge of the stall. I gasp for air, reeling. I’m half-naked and totally undone, panting here on the hay bale, and meanwhile Hunter is fully-dressed, still completely composed. “I…” I stutter, still caught up in the desire flooding my body; my blood simmering hot in my veins. “What are you…?” He turns back. My heart skips a beat. He’s holding a leather bridle lead, flexing it between his hands.

“Do you trust me?” Hunter asks again. He moves closer, standing over me. Waiting. Holy shit. My mind races, blood pounding in my ears. I’ve never done anything like this before. Let some guy take control, completely? It’s the last thing on earth I’d ever try. But when I look at Hunter, all that fades away. His expression is hungry, and there’s something else there too: a fierce intensity that robs me of my breath and sends a light shiver of anticipation rolling straight between my thighs. I nod. “I trust you,” I whisper. A wicked smile spreads across Hunter ’s face, and I wonder if I’ve made the right call. But it’s too late to take it back. Hunter grabs my wrists, binding them together and pulling them up over my head. He fastens them to the railing that runs around the inside of the stall, looping the leather through and securing it with a sharp yank. I test the resistance, expecting an easy give, but instead, the leather cuts sharply into my wrists. Another surge of anticipation shudders through me. He’s not fucking around. Hunter looks down at me. “What will I do with you?” he muses, settling back so he’s on his knees on either side of my hips. His gaze slips over me, and I shiver, my bare chest rising and falling with each of my labored breaths. My breasts are tight and aching, crying out for his touch, but Hunter takes his time. “I feel like it’s my birthday,” he adds, trailing his hand lightly across my skin. “And you’re my present, just waiting to be unwrapped.” Hunter ’s eyes burn with desire, locked on mine as his fingertips roam across my breasts, sending tiny cobwebs of pleasure shivering across my skin. I try to catch my breath, but it’s all too much. With him straddling me, my hands bound, I can’t move; I’m totally trapped below him, powerless to do anything but submit to the restless path of his hands as they tease and stroke across my whole torso, eyes locked on mine as he pushes me closer to the edge. It’s an erotic thrill I’ve never known before, to be so completely in someone’s power like this. I can’t stop him, I can’t do anything at all except feel each soft touch, whispering, infuriating, stoking the fire in my bloodstream with a slow, relentless rhythm until I’m panting with frustration; aching and wet, desperate for some kind of release. Finally Hunter closes his thumb and forefinger around my nipple and squeezes, hard. I cry out. His eyes flare with passion. He closes his hand around my other breast, and squeezes again, rolling my nipples against his thumbs. Pleasure floods through me, thick and sweet. Oh God, yes. He dips his head, kissing down my neck as I writhe beneath him, until at last, his mouth closes over my breast and sucks, hard. I lose my mind. The pressure is sharp and sweet, and I moan, thrusting shamelessly against his mouth. Hunter rasps his tongue across my nipple, over and over, until I’m crying out from the exquisite ache, desire

clawing at my body so deep I think I’ll die. Hunter suddenly lifts his head. He yanks my buttons open and drags my skirt down over my thighs, tossing it aside as I lie there, breathless. He pauses, a grin curling at his lips as he takes in the lacy design of my panties: hot pink and edged with ribbon trim. “Cute,” he says, dipping his head lower to send a whisper of hot breath across my stomach. I shudder. “I’ll be careful not to rip them.” He looks up, devilish. “Unless you want me to?” I’m caught in his stare, my mind still nothing but a chaos of desire. He winks. “Next time.” Hunter slips down, so he’s on his knees in front of me. He takes my thighs in both hands, and slowly eases them apart. Oh God. Hunter looks up again, as if sensing my anticipation. “That’s right,” he murmurs, pausing to drop a searing kiss on the inside of my thigh. “I’m going to touch you, and taste you.” His fingers find the edge of my panties, toying with the lace. “I’m going to do whatever the hell I want, and you…” His eyes meet mine, dark with desire. “You can’t stop me.” A moan slips from my mouth. “Already, baby?” Hunter smirks. “I haven’t even gotten started.” He lowers his mouth and dances his tongue across the narrow strip of lace. I gasp. The pressure is achingly light through the fabric, but it still sends a shiver of lust spiraling through me, settling deep in my core. My panties are slick against me, and I can feel the damp between my thighs, wet and ready for him. Hunter loops his thumbs under the fabric, and eases it slowly down my hips. He drops kisses as he goes, inch by inch down my thighs, until my panties are gone and I’m totally naked, spread wide on the bale. “Fuck,” I hear Hunter swear, and I look down to see him gazing at me, blue eyes clouded with desire. “You’re perfect, Brit. So fucking perfect.” He settles back on the floor, lifting my legs over his shoulders and swirling kisses up the inside of my thighs; his stubble scratchy against the delicate skin. My breath comes fast. I’m waiting, strung out here, every nerve and sense in my body shivering to feel his touch. I think I might die if he doesn’t touch me soon. And hell, I think I might die if he does. Hunter pauses over me, barely an inch away. I can feel his breath, hot against me, in and out, in and out. It’s more than I can take. “Please,” I gasp again, not caring how it sounds. But Hunter waits, his fingers digging deeper into my thighs, like he’s holding himself back. I try and buck towards his mouth, straining, but his grip is

strong as steel on my body and my bindings are too tight. “Please,” I cry, shameless. Undone. Still, he waits. “Hunter,” I gasp. I’m arched towards him, desperate, every muscle tensed to its limit. My body aches, my eyes are pressed shut, the blackness enveloping me; my whole universe contracted to just the tender throb between my thighs and the flutter of his breath against me, taunting, relentless. “You want me.” Hunter growls. It’s not a question. “I want you,” I sob, panting. “How much?” he demands. “More than anything. God, Hunter, please!” My cry echoes in the empty stables, a desperate moan of pain. In a single movement, he drags his tongue across my clit and slips two fingers deep inside of me. I scream. The sensation is overwhelming: the gorgeous pressure of his tongue, the thick slide of his fingers, invading me. I cry his name, arching up into his mouth as he licks, ravenous, hard and fast, sending shockwaves of pleasure slamming through my body. Hunter ’s grip on my hips doesn’t let up, and now I’m trying to pull away, it’s too much, the pleasure’s too intense, but he won’t stop, he won’t let me go, he just thrusts his fingers deep inside me, over and over, stretching me, filling me up, and all the while lapping at my clit with that relentless pressure, trapping me under his onslaught of ecstasy as the pleasure claws at me, rising, threatening to annihilate me completely. I struggle against him, already mindless, but still clinging to a last distant thread of self-control. I need a moment, just a moment’s reprieve from this ecstasy, before I do the unthinkable and fall. You can’t let go, I tell myself, writhing, you can’t give in, but Hunter demands my total surrender, and he won’t be denied. He curls his fingers up inside me, stroking a new secret nub of pleasure, moving faster, plunging deeper. My body aches, screaming with pleasure, coiled tight and wanting, crying out for the end. Then he closes his lips around my clit and sucks. I shatter. The orgasm rips through me, devastating every last one of my senses. I fall, spiraling into the waves of pleasure, sobbing his name as the tide washes over me, again, and again, filling me up and emptying me out until I’m left gasping and ravaged on the stable floor.

Hunter drives me home. I’m in a daze, still reeling from the most intense orgasm of my life—and the overwhelming feelings now whirling through my body: shock and disbelief and desire and exhilaration, all tangled in a mass of confusion that I don’t even know how to process. I can’t believe I just did that. It comes rushing back to me in hot, guilty flashes: memories of me spread, naked, bound beneath him; the dark look of possession in his eyes; the desperate sound of my voice, begging him for more. It’s like it happened to someone else, some kind of out-of-body experience, because nothing I’ve ever done before has even come close to being so hot, so dirty. So fucking good. I feel my cheeks burn, and sneak a glance over at Hunter, shadowed in the headlights’ beam. He’s got one hand on the steering wheel, the other draped out the open window; his eyes fixed to the dark road as if nothing’s happened. I feel a twist of insecurity. How am I supposed to act with him now that he knows my deepest weakness? How can I even look him in the eyes again when he’s seen me, so desperate and undone? Did he like it, or—shit—was it some kind of test? My heart drops, as the realization takes shape in my mind. Maybe he never thought I’d go so far. Maybe he was just curious to see if my reputation was true. Well you sure showed him. You’re just the trashy slut everyone in this town promised him you’d be. By the time Hunter pulls into my driveway, the giddy afterglow of my orgasm is long gone, replaced with a bitter sting of disappointment and self-loathing. Way to go, Brit. Screwing things up like you always do. Hunter shuts off the engine. There’s silence. “Thanks for the ride,” I clench my jaw and try to pull it together. “I’ll see you around, I guess.” I open the door and scramble down before he has a chance to reply. I slam it behind me and stride towards the porch, biting back the sting of tears I’m shocked to feel welling in the back of my throat. Why am I so stupid? I dig my nails into my palms in frustration. This was what I wanted, isn’t it? I was just pretending to buy into that whole ‘perfect date’ bullshit back at the fairground, after all. I always knew this was how it would end, with me back right where I started. Alone. Hell, at least this way I got a mind-blowing orgasm out of it, which is more than I usually walk away with.

I hurry up the steps and scramble for my keys, but I can’t find them in my purse. I hunt again, growing more self-conscious and nervy the longer I’m waiting here on the porch. I force myself not to turn around. I haven’t heard Hunter ’s truck leave, and— “Looking for these?” His voice comes from behind me, too close. I startle, whirling around. Hunter is at the bottom of the steps, dangling my keys from his index finger. “They fell out of your pocket, back at the stables. But, you were kind of distracted…” His lips curl in a smile. “Thanks.” I snatch for them, avoiding his eyes. Hunter pulls them back, out of reach. “Not so fast,” he says. “Look at me, Brit.” I keep my gaze fixed on the dusty floorboards. I should sweep, I tell myself. I should stop being such a slob, and try harder, and be better. “Hey, Brit.” Hunter ’s voice is soft. “Where’d you go?” He closes the distance between us and reaches to gently tilt my chin up, but I keep my eyes averted, looking everywhere but him. “What’s wrong?” Hunter asks. “Nothing.” I try to pull away. “Don’t lie to me.” Hunter cups my cheek, a touch so gentle, it sends a pang right through me. “Are you OK? Listen, about what happened tonight…” “I don’t want to talk about it.” I can feel the emotions whirling, but I’d rather die than let him see I’m affected. “Tough.” Hunter insists. “I’m not letting you run away again.” “I’m not—” “You practically bolted from a moving truck,” Hunter cuts me off. “I’m tired.” I fold my arms. “Can I just have my keys?” “Not until you look at me, Brit. I mean it, look at me.” I do. Hunter ’s hair shines gold in the porch light, blue eyes clouded with concern. It’s almost more than I can take, to have him looking so gorgeous and perfect right now. I’m feeling scattered and undone, like what happened tonight shattered some hard, brittle part of me, and now everything’s just messy and raw and impossible to control. “Hunter, please...” My voice twists, and I’m dangerously close to losing it now. “Please what?” he replies, not moving. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.” “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.” I clench my jaw. Hunter shakes his head. “Don’t push me away,” he says softly. “I thought we were past that.” “Why?” I answer darkly. “Because I spread my legs and let you do whatever, like some cheap slut?”

Shock flashed across his face. “Why would you say that?” I give a bitter laugh. “It’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? It’s what they all think. And I don’t exactly prove them wrong.” Hunter takes my face in both his hands, looking at me straight on. Direct. “There’s nothing wrong with what you did tonight—what we did, together.” he tells me fiercely. “You blew my fucking mind, you were so hot. Unless…” his hands drop, uncertainty creeping into his expression. “Do you regret it? Did I push too far, is that what this is about?” he asks quickly. “Because Brit, I never meant to. I thought you were right there with me—” “I was!” I exclaim. I can’t have him thinking even for a minute that he forced me somehow. “I wanted it too.” Relief floods his expression, then a confused frown. “So what’s the problem?” he asks. “There is none.” I shut down again. “We had a great time, it’s done, so you can go now.” He pauses. “Is that what you want?” No! I swallow. “Yes.” Hunter stares at me a moment, his expression unreadable. The sad ache in me twists, sharp and painful. This is it, I tell myself. His cue to leave. I brace myself, willing him just to go, and leave me. For this to be over. Then he kisses me. I freeze in his arms, confused. The kiss is soft, slow and tender, and heartbreakingly sweet, but before I can react, he draws back, and gently brushes hair from my eyes. “You’re not a slut,” he tells me, his voice low but even. “You’re not twisted, or trashy, or used up, or broken. I don’t know why you think it, and I could kill anyone who’s ever made you feel this way.” My mouth drops open in shock, but Hunter ’s not done. He tilts his head, resting his forehead against mine, so I can feel every word, the soft whisper of breath and the sweetness of his promises. “You’re perfect, Brit. Special, and rare. And maybe you can’t believe that, but I swear, I won’t stop until you see what I do. The most incredible girl I’ve ever met.” Hunter kisses my forehead and then reaches past me, unlocking the door. “You’re working tomorrow?” he asks. I nod, wordless in disbelief. “I’ll come by the bar and pick you up,” he says. “Sweet dreams.” I watch in a daze as Hunter heads back to the truck. He starts the engine, then slowly reverses out of the drive, driving away until his headlights are swallowed up by the dark night. My legs give way. I sink to the porch step. You’re perfect. He can’t mean it. I don’t know what kind of game he thinks he’s playing; or maybe it’s not a game,

and he’s fooled himself into thinking I’m something I’m not. Either way, he’s wrong. I know it, deep inside, the way I’ve known it all my life. There’s nothing perfect about me, nothing precious or rare. He’s wrong. He has to be. But as I sit, clutching the porch railing for dear life, something flickers inside me, just a spark of hope. I feel it, warming me, slipping into my bloodstream and chasing away the dark shadows of doubt and insecurity. You’re perfect. His words whisper in my ear, long after he’s gone, more seductive than any flirtation or dirty words. Nobody’s ever said that to me before. Not even close. Sure, I know that Emerson loves me, and would do anything for me, but it’s not the same. Nobody’s ever looked at me the way Hunter just did, as if I’m something bright and good. As if I’m worth something. He sees it in me, what I sometimes can’t even see in myself. That man, who could have anything and anyone, wants me. For some crazy reason, he wants me, and he doesn’t show any signs of quitting yet. And for the first time, I realize: maybe I don’t want him to.

After I take Brit home, I’m wound so tight I spend half an hour standing under the freezing cold shower jets, waiting for my hard-on to subside. It doesn’t help. Jesus Christ. It took everything I had not to ravage her right there in the stables, to just part her soft, pale thighs and plunge deep inside of her, over and over, until we both were gasping and lost to the world... But I can’t. Not yet. No matter how much I want her, or how far she pushes me to the edge. I can’t let myself get carried away and ruin everything in one reckless night. I owe her that much. I owe her everything. The ranch is too quiet, dangerously still, so I head back down to the stables and set to work cleaning out stalls for the new horses I have arriving this week. It’s tiresome, back-breaking work, the kind of thing one of my stable hands should be doing, but tonight, I welcome the distraction. I lift, and shovel, and sweat, until the darkest part of the night is over, and my body finally aches with something other than wanting her. Only then do I let myself even think of earlier tonight, and the way Brit looked, so goddamn sexy and effortlessly beautiful... She tasted like temptation. She felt like an angel. She was my darkest fantasy brought to life: wet and writhing and crying out for me to take her. And God, I wanted her. I thought I’d die, going a single second longer not inside of her. So what the hell are you waiting for? I catch my breath, sweating hard now from the work. Maybe it’s crazy. I don’t even understand it fully myself. But I know, deep down, that Brit isn’t ready for more. Sure, she says she is. Hell, just a few hours ago, she was begging me: her pale skin flushed with desire, so wet against my mouth I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I could have taken her, hard and fast and strong, and she would have loved every damn minute of it. But it would have been wrong. She wants me, but she doesn’t want to let me in. I can give her pleasure, but I can’t give her trust. No, that I’ve got to earn, day by day, until she’s ready to let me into her bed—and her heart. She thinks you’re a good man.

I close my eyes, waiting for the memories, but it’s not Brit’s naked body that fills my mind. It’s her face: heartbreakingly beautiful, her dark eyes gazing into mine. Damn. It’s more powerful than a hundred cold showers, the way she looks at me. Even when we touch, and my desire goes from zero to five thousand in the space of a single heartbeat, it’s enough to keep me hanging on. That look in her eyes, like I’m good, and true, and perfect. I want to be that man for her, live up to her dream of me. What would she say if she knew the truth? No. I can’t think like that. I stare out at the dark fields, and feel a deep sense of rightness seep through me, as surprising as it is a blessed relief. This is exactly where I’m supposed to be. Coming here to Beachwood Bay gave me a direction, but knowing Brit the way I do now has given me something more than that: it’s given me a purpose. Because she makes me want to be a better man. From the moment I wake up in the morning to the second that sleep claims me at night, she’s always there, in the back of my mind. Reminding me that good things exist in this world, reassuring me that I can feel some hope again. I want so badly to live up to her illusions, be that man she sees in me, even if I can’t see it in myself just yet. I want to give her everything, all the things other girls take for granted: every romantic gesture, every sweet word. Right now she doesn’t believe she’s worth a man’s affection, but I’m going to show her she’s wrong. She deserves everything. And I’m going to be the one to give it to her. Because something’s telling me, if I can do that—put the past behind me once and for all and do my best to be the man she deserves—I won’t just be changing her mind, I’ll be changing mine too. It might be the only way I can find through this darkness. I finally toss the shovel down and head back to the house, stopping by the kitchen for a beer. But looking at the neon glare of the refrigerator––empty save a couple of six-packs and some leftover takeout––I pause. How many of these have I drunk over the last three years? How many nights have I wound up in a wasted haze, just to quiet the guilty whispers in my mind so I could fall into a dreamless sleep? Too many times. We all found our ways of coping. Mom’s got her society functions, scheduling every last minute in the day with charities and lunches. Dad’s working himself into an early grave at the office, driving Covington Investments to its high as one of the most profitable hedge funds in the country. And me? It was all I could do just the keep it together, numbing myself with beer and partying, stumbling through my time in college on the track they wanted for me, but hating myself every minute all the same.

I meant what I told them, I’m done with their life. Not just the parties and prestige, but the denial too: downing my guilt and pain in the bottom of another drink instead of facing the shadows head-on. I grab the six-packs, and pop the tabs: pouring them down the sink, one by one, until there’s nothing left. No crutch to dull my pain, no easy way out of this. Done. I slowly climb the stairs up to the loft bedroom and strip off my jeans and shirt, falling back onto the bed. I’m wide awake, too damn alert, and without the beer haze lulling me under, the memories come flooding back. Of Jace, and that summer, and Brit. Always Brit… 3 years ago… “You made it!” The party is already loud and buzzing when we hit the beach on the outskirts of town. A bonfire blazes in the firepit, and maybe fifty kids are drinking beers and dancing to the sound of the rock songs pumping through the speakers someone hooked up to their jeep. It’s the last night of the summer season, and Beachwood is sending it out in style. “What did you do, rob a liquor store?” One of the guys takes in our haul. Jace laughs, unloading our stash of six-packs and bottled beer. “Help yourselves.” he tells them, “Plenty to go around!” “Sweet.” They grab some, greeting me and Jace with fist-bumps and back-slaps as we move through the crowd. “Way to buy us some favor,” I murmur to Jace, amused. “Give the people what they want and they’ll love you forever.” he winks. And the people love Jace. When we first dropped by these beach bonfire hangouts at the start of summer, most of the kids gave us a wary side-eye. We’re outsiders, after all, and worse than that: rich summer kids. But they didn’t count on my big brother, and soon enough Jace had them eating out of the palm of his hand with free beers and his effortless charm. Nobody can withstand his good nature for long, not even suspicious townies. We reach a spot in the sand with a prime view of the party. Jace pops the top on a cold one and hands it to me. “Last night in town, little brother,” he says, surveying the scene. “It’s now or never.” “For what?” I ask, feeling the beer buzz work its way into my system. I needed this—to get away for one last night. Mom and Dad are already talking about my class schedule for the fall, and all the clubs and activities they expect me to take as the newest Covington ambassador at Yale. I thought that college would be a fresh start for me, some kind of freedom, but already I can see, it’s just going to be the same old story in a new town. “For your waitress,” Jace replies, pointing across the sunset beach. I see her there in the crowd, and I stop. Brittany Ray. I’ve been watching her all summer. I can’t help it. Something about that girl just screams out to be

noticed. It’s not her crazy dyed hair, or her mismatched, funky outfits. It’s something deeper than that, the furious challenge in her eyes. Danger. I’m not crazy. I know that girl is trouble through and through. So despite everything in me screaming to go say ‘hi’ every time our paths cross in town, I’ve managed to stay away, keep my distance. But here she is again: dancing in the firelight in a flimsy red dress, her dark hair falling, choppy in her eyes. Walking temptation. “I’m telling you, man up.” Jace punches my arm. “Go give her a beer. I’m sick of watching you drool every time she comes around.” “It’s not like that.” I argue weakly. Jace just shakes his head. “You’ve got to make that move sometime.” he teases. “Or one of these guys will beat you to it. Huh,” he adds, glancing back across the beach. “Looks like someone already has.” I try to play it cool, but I can’t help turning back to check out what he means. That’s when I see the two guys moving in on Brit. They’ve got her trapped between them, thrusting and horsing around. Even in the dim light of the fire, I can tell, she’s not laughing. Before I can think about it, I’m starting through the crowd towards them. “Back off!” I hear her protest as I approach them. “Get your hands off me.” Brit shoves at one of the guys, but he just catches her around her waist, pulling her in against him. “What do you say?” the meathead slurs to his buddy. He’s wearing an outsize football shirt, a red band of sunburn across the back of his thick neck. “Think she can handle the two of us?” “Fuck yeah.” He grabs Brit’s ass. “You like it crazy, don’t you, slut?” I see red. Without a word, I pull him around and smash him across the jaw, my fist connecting with bone in a satisfying crack. Someone screams, and then his buddy shoves Brit aside and comes charging at me. He lowers his head and tackles me hard, but I haven’t spent three years blocking on the football team for nothing. By the time we hit the ground, I’ve twisted on top of him: raining sharp punches down on his face and neck until an arm comes down around my throat and yanks me back up. I wheel around, breathing heavily. It’s the first guy, with a bloody nose now and murder in his eyes. He punches me hard in the stomach before I have time to brace. Fuck. The pain smashes through me, and I stumble back, bent double. I try to recover to meet the blows I know are coming, but before the guy can follow up, Jace is on him, yanking him back from me in an iron-grip headlock.

“Enough!” Jace orders. “Are you kidding? He started it! He’s fucking crazy!” The guy yells, still swinging. Jace doesn’t budge. “And you’re an asshole, but here we are.” Jace looks over at the guy I left on the ground, now groaning on his hands and knees. “You OK?” Jace calls out. “I’m going to fuck you up!” The guy splutters, then spits out a mouthful of blood. “Sure you could.” Jace rolls his eyes, before continuing in an even voice. “But then I’d have to pile in, it would get out of hand, someone would call the cops. We don’t want that. How about I get you guys some beers, and we call it quits? Hunter will behave, won’t you bro?” I growl, fists still clenched at my sides. Jace gives me a warning look. If Douche and Douchier’s buddies pile on, we’ll be way outnumbered. “Fine.” I answer through gritted teeth. “I’m done.” “See? Go walk it off.” Jace orders me, helping the other guy from the ground. “Try that way,” he adds meaningfully, jerking his head towards the shore. That’s when I realize, Brit is nowhere to be seen. While we were fighting over here, punches flying, she just walked away. I don’t give the guys another look. I take off in the direction Jace is pointing, down along the shoreline until the party is way behind us and I can see the dark shadow ahead of me. “Brit!” I call. “Brit, wait up.” She turns. I catch up, my stomach still bruised and screaming from that guy’s punch. “You weren’t even going to stick around and see if I was OK?” I ask. Brit glares. “I didn’t ask you to come flying in and rescue me.” Her tone is bitter. “I had it handled.” “Didn’t look like it from where I was standing.” I bridle. “Yeah, well maybe you shouldn’t have been looking in the first place.” Brit’s expression is angry, but there’s something else there too, a haunting sadness in her eyes. I exhale. “Hey. I’m sorry, that came out wrong,” I tell her softly. “I just couldn’t stand to see them treat you like that.” “Maybe I liked it,” Brit shoots back, sarcastic. “Maybe you just screwed up the wild night I had planned with the both of them.” “Hey, what did I ever do to you?” I demand, finally pissed. “I was trying to do a nice thing back there, and you’re trying to rip my head off.” There’s a beat, and then Brit drops her eyes. “I’m sorry.” She says quietly. “You’re right, you didn’t deserve that. Thanks.” She turns and walks away. I catch up, falling into step beside her. “Where are you heading?” I ask. “You shouldn’t be

wandering alone after dark like this.” A tiny smile tugs at the edge of Brit’s mouth. “It’s Beachwood Bay,” she point out in an amused voice. “What’s someone going to do, smother me to death in coastal charm?” I don’t point out that there are worse things lurking in the dark—especially with guys like those locals drunk and on edge. “Where are you heading?” I ask instead. “I’ll walk you.” “Nowhere, it’s fine.” Brit folds her arms, and I notice that she’s shivering from the breeze. I tug off my hoodie and drape it over her shoulders. “What a coincidence,” I say, “I’m heading nowhere too.” “You?” Brit smirks. “You’re heading straight to Yale. And then the White House, if what they say is true.” My heart plummets. I figured she must have heard of me; after all, Beachwood is such a small town. Still, hearing my résumé reeled off like that makes me feel the same way I do whenever my parents push me forward to introduce me, like my background and achievements are the only thing anyone needs to know about me. I wanted to be more than just a Covington with her. And if the look in her eyes is anything to go by, maybe Brit wants to be more than just her reputation too. I get a flash of inspiration. “I don’t think we’ve met,” I say, offering my hand with an exaggerated gesture. “I’m Bob. Bob Smith.” A giggle slips from Brit’s perfect lips. “Bob?” she repeats. “Sure,” I agree, keeping my hand out. “And you are...?” Brit looks at me cautiously for a moment, as if she’s deciding something. Then, finally, her face relaxes in playful smile that knocks the breath from my lungs harder than that townie’s punch. “I’m Susie,” she says. Fuck. I scramble for words. “A pleasure to meet you, Susie.” Brit tilts her head at me, inviting. Dangerous. “You busy, Bob?” I shake my head. Hell, I’d break my plans with the Devil himself, if it meant spending another minute with her. “Come on,” Brit hold out her hand. “There’s someplace I want to show you.”

I sleep better than I have in weeks, lost in a blissful haze of memories from the night we first met. Sweet. Innocent. Safe. But when I wake up the next morning, the fresh images come slamming back into my brain: Hunter, the stables, what he said to me on the porch… I force them aside and go downstairs to make coffee. It’s early, and I’ve got a whole day to kill before my shift at the bar. Part of me just wants to go back up to bed and replay my night with Hunter in glorious, Technicolor detail, but the other half of me knows that would only lead me further down a dangerous path. Don’t get your hopes up, Brit. Haven’t you learned by now? I reach to pour my coffee, then stop. My wrists are red: a delicate web of bruises cutting across the skin where, last night, the leather bridle bound me tight. I flush, a surge of heat spiraling down my body. No. I force myself to look away, chasing the hot, dirty images from my mind. I can’t get caught up in desire, not with my heart on the line here: a ticking time-bomb, just waiting to destroy everything I’ve worked so hard to keep safe. I take my coffee into the living room, and settle in with my sketches, but after sitting for twenty minutes staring at a blank page, I let out a groan of frustration. The dress is the furthest thing from my mind, and every time I pick up my pencils and try to conjure up a vision of the cut and folds, it’s Hunter ’s face I see instead. The chiseled line of his jaw, the vivid blue in his eyes. The ripples of power in his muscles, looming over you. Dominating you… My phone rings, breaking through my fantasy. I snatch it up, eager for the distraction. “Hey Brit-Brit,” The voice on the other end of the line is a welcome relief. “Hey Jules.” I let out a sigh of thanks, sitting back in the chair. “What’s up?” “Your brother ’s driving me crazy, that’s what’s up.” Juliet laughs, and a moment later, I hear Emerson’s voice in the background. “Hey, hands off!” Juliet tells him, muffled. “This is girl talk, get out of here.” There’s laughter, and then a moment later, Juliet’s voice is back. “Sorry about that. Em says ‘hi’, he can’t talk right now, he’s doing dishes. Or at least, he is if he knows what’s good for him!” That

last part is louder, clearly directed at him. I smile, comforted by the sound of their happiness. I can just picture them, bickering in their new apartment in the city. “Is he good?” I ask. “He’s great,” Juliet replies, her voice full of affection. “We found a space that might work for a restaurant. It’s right downtown, in kind of bad shape, but Em thinks we can fix it up, no problem.” “That’s awesome,” I exclaim. “We’ll see,” Juliet hedges, her cautious nature coming out. “But what about you? How have you been?” “Fine,” I answer cautiously. Juliet and I are friends now, but for years, I thought of her as the enemy: the girl who broke my big brother ’s heart into a thousand pieces. It’s still hard for me to get used to having her around, a new big sister figure in my life. “Really? So what’s going on with this guy?” she adds. My mouth drops open. “How the hell do you know about that?” I demand. Beachwood gossip is one thing, but they’re hours away. “You’re not even in town!” “A little bird told Emerson,” Juliet laughs. “Garrett.” I sigh. “That guy doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.” “He’s just looking out for you,” Juliet replies. “But seriously, how’s it going?” “It’s… I don’t know.” I stop. What can I even say to her? Nothing about last night, that’s for sure. “Garrett says it might be serious.” Juliet prompts. “No!” I yelp. “Well, yes. No. I don’t know,” I finish, miserable. “Does the mystery man have a name?” “Hunter.” I say it, and even just speaking the name aloud brings a smile to my lips. “Hunter Covington.” “Ooh, I think I remember him.” Juliet’s voice rises, “Blonde guy, right, with a hot brother? They summered in Beachwood some of the years I was around.” “That’s him.” “He was cute.” Juliet draws out the word, teasing. “Yeah, well he grew up into a god. A rich, perfect, faultless god.” I can’t keep the edge from my voice: a note of bitterness and regret, and the reminder of everything Hunter is that I will never come close to. “I like the sound of this.” Juliet can’t have heard my tone. “What does he do with all that rich perfection?” “He trains horses.” “OK, now you’re just messing with me.” “I’m not!” I protest. “He’s taken over his grandfather ’s ranch.” “A sexy, gorgeous horse trainer. I love it!” Juliet giggles. “I mean it, Brit,” she adds, her voice

becoming serious. “I’m glad you’ve found someone. We both are.” “I haven’t…” I try to object. “I mean, we’re not… This can’t be anything,” I finally manage, my voice leaden. “It won’t last.” “How can you be so sure?” I sigh. “I just know. I’m not like you, or Emerson. Things, they just don’t work out like that for me.” There’s silence for a moment on the line as Juliet pauses. When she speaks again, her voice is gentle and hesitant. “I know it can be hard to let go of the past. Going back to Beachwood, trusting Emerson again, it wasn’t easy for me. But sometimes, you have to decide to be happy, to give someone a chance.” I feel a lump in my throat, but I swallow it back. “It’s not the same, Jules. Trust me.” “OK,” she sighs. “You know you’re always welcome here, right? For a stay, or longer, whatever you need. This is your home too.” “I know.” This isn’t helping my emotions, so I clear my throat, and put on a bright voice. “Listen, I better get going. But say hey to Emerson for me.” “I will,” Juliet replies. “You look after yourself. And come visit soon, it’s been too long.” “OK.” I hang up quickly, cradling the phone to my chest. The house is silent and empty. I let out a breath. Emerson has said a dozen times that I can come live with them, Juliet too, but something in me always holds me back. They’re building their own life together, and as much as I know they want me around, I can’t help feeling like I’m intruding every time I drop by for a visit or pick up the phone. They’re still caught up in the thrill of being with each other, after spending so long apart. Even though I miss him, miss both of them, I know it would be worse if I was there: spending every day faced with the kind of world I’ll never know, on the edge of somebody else’s great love story. So I stay here in Beachwood, spinning my wheels, waiting for something to happen. Something to change. What if it already has…? The rest of the day is a total wash. I’m too nervous and edgy to pay attention to anything, so I clean the house instead: scrubbing the kitchen floors and sweeping off the porch as if I can sweep Hunter ’s face from my mind. His words mix with Juliet’s advice, and my own whispering insecurities, so by the time I head out for my shift at Jimmy’s, I’ve talked myself into and out of dating him so many times I don’t even know where I landed in the end.

“You look nice,” Garrett’s voice greets me as I step into the building. “Don’t mess with me tonight,” I retort, joining him behind the bar and tying on my apron. “You’re still on probation for that fair stunt. And telling Emerson,” I add. He grimaces. “He mentioned that? Anyway, I wasn’t kidding. You look nice.” I glance down, self-conscious. “Oh, thanks.” “Plans later with loverboy?” he asks, teasing. I throw a dishcloth at him. “No! Shut up!” Garrett gives me a look, like he doesn’t believe me, but the truth is, I have no clue. Hunter said he’d come by at the end of my shift, but I learned a long time ago not to believe anything a guy says. Still, that didn’t stop me fixing my hair, and picking out a cute sundress instead of my usual slobby tank. Just in case, I told myself. But now, in the dim, down-home surroundings of the bar, it’s like my outfit is a blazing neon sign confessing my secret hopes to the whole world: Brit’s waiting on a guy! Brit thinks she stands a chance! “Hell, throw on a smile too, and you might actually make us some tips,” Garrett adds, pulling me back to reality. “Charming.” I throw back at him. “You get to slouch around here all scowling whenever you like, and it’s mysterious and brooding, but when I do it, I’m a moody bitch.” “Who said I was mysterious?” Garrett perks up. “Was it a girl? Was she hot?” I shake my head. “You’re impossible.” “And that’s why you love me.” He winks. My shift goes slower than molasses, time dragging past at a painfully slow pace. I told myself I wasn’t going to get my hopes up, but every hour that passes, my nerves twist tighter, until I can’t help jerking my head around to check the door every time it opens. “You’re gonna get whiplash, if you keep that up,” Garrett jokes, watching me. I laugh it off, but I still turn to check the next time the door ringer goes. Still no Hunter. Disappointment slices, sharp in my chest. I hate myself for feeling this way, like a fresh cut every time someone who isn’t him strolls into the bar. I can’t help it. I wanted to believe him when he said he wouldn’t quit on me. I wanted it to be true, that a guy like that could want a girl like me. I should have known better. The wounds keep coming as the minutes tick by, a dozen tiny paper-cuts across my heart. I tell myself at eleven to just quit hoping, but by the time the clock hits midnight, I feel numb, used up. It’s over.

He didn’t come. The last of the regulars trails out, and Garrett bolts the door behind them. He flips the lights back on, bathing the room in a bright, neon glow. It always seemed sad to me, how the dim, smoky atmosphere could be banished with the flip of a switch: fun and revelry and seduction all wiped away in an instant, leaving nothing but empty tables and a lone beer bottle spinning across the floor. Now it feels like my hopes are lying there with it, crushed and broken. “Hey, can you grab the crates from the roof?” Garrett asks, as we’re stacking chairs. “The winds are picking up, and I don’t want stuff smashing all over the lot.” “Sure,” I mumble. “I can lock up, if you want. You don’t have to stick around.” “You sure?” Garrett checks. “You’ve got someplace to be, right?” I’m guessing there’s a girl waiting on him, and by the sheepish grin, I’m right. “Leave it to me. One of us should get a decent night.” “The night’s not over yet,” Garrett points out, but I don’t stick around to listen to his pity. I let him out, and then slowly climb the stairs. Hunter. His word echoes with every step. After everything he said to me, the determined way he chased me down, I let myself believe his promises. That maybe, this time… But I was wrong. He might tell me I’m perfect, and that last night meant something to him too, but actions speak louder than words, and right now— I open the door to the roof and stop dead. “You took your time.” Hunter is standing there in dressy pants and crisp, white shirt, his golden hair glowing in the candlelight. “Don’t tell me Garrett actually made you clean up?” he asks, his expression excited and nervous all at the same time. “Bastard. He said he’d send you right up.” I take a tentative step out, still not believing my eyes. The rooftop has been transformed. Tiny Christmas lights are strung up around the railing and old chimney stack, twinkling and bright. In the middle of the space is a table set for two, laid with a white linen tablecloth and set with real china and silverware. He’s fixed up his iPod to play softly through some portable speakers, and there are candles everywhere, and roses in glass jars, not cheap red bouquets, but wild white and yellow and blush pink, wafting a delicate scent on the night air. “My favorite,” I breathe in amazement, reaching down to touch the delicate petals. Hunter gives a bashful grin. “I remember.” I frown. “I didn’t tell you…” my voice trails off as I realize: I did, not now, but three years ago. A passing comment, I barely even registered it myself. All that time, and he remembered. “You did all this, for me?” I look around, overcome. It’s like a scene from a movie, every detail perfect with the lights of Beachwood stretching out below us. “But, it must have taken forever.” “It was worth it.” Hunter moves closer, reaching to touch my cheek. “Just to see this look on your

face.” I catch my breath, looking up into his eyes for the first time. Blue, and deep, and true. “You did this, for me.” I whisper again, still not quite believing it. Any minute now, I’m going to wake up, and find this is all just a dream. Any second now… “I’d do anything for you.” Hunter whispers, leaning in to kiss me. It’s real. The touch of his lips, cool and smooth on mine; the feel of his hand twisting in my hair; the solid mass of his body, pulling me closer. The details knit themselves together and wash over me in a wave of pure rightness. He’s for real. I sink into the kiss, unable to stop myself, unable to hold back a moment longer. He’s here. He came. For me. I reach up and pull Hunter closer, deepening the kiss until my blood shivers and I’m gasping for breath. I want to lose myself in his arms right here, up above the world where nothing can touch us, and I’m safe from all the whispers of pain and doubt. I want the kiss to last forever, but after a moment, Hunter gently pulls away. “Your food’s getting cold,” he grins, and guides me over to the table. He pulls out my chair for me, and I sink down into the seat, blinking in disbelief all over again. “What is this?” I ask, staring at the dishes as Hunter lifts their lid with a flourish to reveal waffles and bacon and eggs. “Breakfast.” He grins. “It’s pretty much the only thing I can make, so I figured I’d play it safe.” “You cooked?” My voice rises. He gives a bashful shrug. “It’s nothing fancy.” “Compared to cold pizza and a beer, this is fancy as hell,” I tell him. Hunter takes a bottle from the cooler, and pours me a glass of something light and bubbly. “Champagne,” he passes me a glass. “And a toast.” He pauses, waiting until I raise my glass to mirror his. “To you.” “Hunter—” I protest, still overwhelmed, but he speaks over me. “To you, Brit. For everything you don’t even know you do.” He taps his glass to mine, but as the delicate ring echoes, I swear I see a shadow in his eyes, just for a second. Something dark I’ve never noticed. But before I can even be sure it’s even there at all, the light returns, and Hunter grins at me, excited as a kid on Christmas day. “Eat,” he orders. “You must be hungry, running around all night. Did Garrett give the secret away?” he adds, drowning his plate in maple syrup. “I told him to cover for me. He left the back door open,” he explains with a smile. “I had to wait until you were out front serving customers, and then sneak everything up in stages.”

“I never guessed,” I tell him truthfully, picking at my food. I look around again at the rooftop, lit up and more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. “He kept your secret alright.” Hunter must have heard the note of regret in my voice, because he stops, his fork half-way to his mouth. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?” His eyes look at me, suddenly full of insecurity. “No! I mean, yes, I do, I love it,” I hurry to say. “I just…” I swallow. “I didn’t think you were coming, that’s all.” Hunter frowns. “I said I would.” I look up to check if he’s for real, but his face is clear and sincere. “People say a lot of things,” I tell him gently. “It doesn’t mean they’re actually going to follow through.” “Oh. Brit…” Realization dawns. Hunter reaches across the table and takes my hand, holding it tight between his. A delicious warmth rolls out from where he’s touching me, up my arm, enveloping my whole body. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I didn’t think.” I swallow, self-conscious. He must think I’m such a messed-up kid, not even being able to believe a simple promise. “It’s fine.” I try to pull away. “This is amazing, Hunter. Really. Worth the wait.” I give him a weak smile, mad at myself now for even bringing it up. Hunter works like crazy to set up this amazing surprise, and I go drag the mood down with all my stupid insecurities. Talk about a buzzkill, Brit. “It’s not fine,” Hunter tells me, holding tight to my hand. His eyes are creased with concern as he watches me. “You need to know, I’ll always come through for you. If I make you a promise, I’m going to deliver.” This time I do pull my hand free. “You can’t say that,” I reply in a small voice, stabbing at a piece of waffle. “You don’t know what’s going to happen. Things get in the way, all the time. It’s better just not to promise, that way…” I trail off, not wanting to finish. That way, I don’t get my hopes up. That way, I don’t wind up feeling like a fool. When I look up again, Hunter is watching me with a crooked smile. “What’s so funny?” I ask, feeling a flash of defensiveness. “Nothing.” Hunter replies, his smile broadening. “I just figured out how I’m going to make you believe in me.” “How?” I challenge. He smiles at me, so confident and cool, like he’s discovered the secrets to the universe. “I’m going to prove you wrong.” I blink. “What do you mean?” “It’s simple,” Hunter says, eyes full of certainty. “You believe that people let you down, that they leave you, and break you, and lie. I won’t. I’m going to be there for you, Brit. No matter what, I’m going to keep showing up, and proving you wrong, until you accept it. I’m not like the rest.”

My breath catches, a painful knot aching in my chest. When he talks like this, saying such sweet promises, I want to believe him, God, I do. Then I remember, every other broken promise, every other man who lied. “It’s OK,” Hunter says, as if he can see my inner battle. “I’ve got plenty of time. Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.” “But, why?” I can’t help the plaintive question that slips from my lips. I look at him, so perfect and sweet, and I just can’t understand. “Why me? All of this, the planning, the chasing… Why do all of this, just for me. There are hundreds of other girls—” “I don’t want them. I want you.” “But why?” I have to ask again. Maybe if he gives me a reason I can understand. “You just showed up here like some Prince Charming, trying to sweep me off my feet. But I don’t believe in fairy-tales, or handsome princes, or happily-ever-afters. Those things aren’t real.” “Sure they are.” Hunter says. I glare at him, but he smiles. “Magic is real. It’s the way I feel when I look at you.” I roll my eyes, but Hunter gets up, coming around the table and pulling me to my feet. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel it,” he murmurs, gently tracing his fingertips down my cheek. I shiver, closing my eyes to breathe in the sensation of his hands on me, pulling me closer; the crisp, clean citrus scent of his aftershave, laced with something deeper and musky. All him. “See?” Hunter whispers, close to my ear. He drops tiny kisses down the arch of my neck, making me tremble and setting my body alight. “Magic.” I waver. When he’s holding me like this, touching me, it’s easy to be seduced by the words that spill so easily from his lips. And maybe I should let him. As long as I know, deep down, I can’t trust him in the end, then what’s the harm in playing along, just for a little while? The idea is tempting, and so, so easy. Because even though I know it’s right, I don’t want to be stuck like this, so bitter and negative. I don’t want to keep shutting him down. Not with the candlelight dancing all around us, and Hunter ’s eyes watching me, eager and hopeful. I can pretend. I can give him that much, at least. “Magic,” I say softly, and Hunter ’s smile is like a bolt of lightning in the dark skies: bright and true, and enough to take my breath away. He pulls me into his arms, resting my head against his chest, and begins to sway; slow-dancing softly to the song playing on his souped-up iPod, the same Incubus song he was playing in the truck on the ride back from the fairground. “How do you do it? Make me feel like I do?” “How do you do it?” I whisper along with the lyrics, wishing I could keep this moment frozen in time forever. “It’s better than I ever knew…”

We stay on the rooftop for hours, just talking and laughing, sitting on the far perch looking out at the lights across the bay. I want to stay here forever, but too soon, Hunter is packing up his things and driving me home. All the way back, I try and picture the rooftop: framing it in my mind to capture every detail and moment, for all the lonely nights I know I have ahead of me. “You’re quiet. Sleepy?” Hunter asks, as he pulls out of the parking lot. I nod, not trusting myself with words right now. Hunter turns his attention to the road, one arm slung over the back of my seat as he drives through the still, silent town. He doesn’t seem to realize just how special this night was for me, but then, he’s probably used to staging amazing dinners for the girls he’s dating; going out of his way to come up with thoughtful little gifts. He doesn’t know that this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I gaze out of the window at dark shadow of the bay, trying to calm the maelstrom of emotions rising up in my chest. I’m not used to this, to feeling so much hope and awe and confusion—like my heart is just overflowing with emotion with no time to process it or take a step back from it all. I’ve spent so many years building a solid fortress around my heart, keeping everyone out with sarcasm and bitter detachment; using every betrayal and disappointment to build my walls higher, forge the steel stronger. Now, Hunter is blowing all that to pieces. When I’m with him, I can’t help but want the things I taught myself to never want, dream of a future I know is all a lie. It’s like my head knows the dark truth, that I can never be the girl who gets this life of easy, sweet affection, but my heart is falling over itself to believe him all the same. But what happens if I fall too far? What happens when Hunter slips off his pedestal, and reveals that he’s just the same as every other guy after all, and leaves me alone with nothing but my memories? We pull into the driveway at the beach house. Hunter helps me down from the truck and we walk slowly to the front door. I pause on the front porch step. Silence. “Thank you,” I say softly, trying to fit all my emotions into just two words. “Tonight was amazing.” I look up into his eyes and have to catch my breath. Hunter is standing in the shadows, looking like

a dangerous angel as the light cuts across his cheekbones; blue eyes shining so strong and true I would gladly drown in their depths. The edge of his lips quirk upwards in a playful smile. “The night’s not over yet.” I catch the glint in his eyes. My heart skips. “It’s not?” “Uh huh.” he shakes his head, reaching to trace up my arm and around the thin straps of my sundress. I shiver. “We’ve still got a while before this truck turns back into a pumpkin.” Hunter gently backs me up against the wall. “And every Prince Charming needs to kiss his princess goodnight.” He dips his head to kiss along my jaw and down my neck. “It’s way past midnight,” I point out, teasing. My pulse kicks as his tongue laps at the delicate hollow of my collarbone. “Not in Hawaii.” Hunter replies, his mouth muffled against my skin. I laugh. “Is that official fairytale time then?” “Sure.” Hunter lifts his head so I can see his expression, full of amusement. “Everyone knows.” “I must have missed that week in school,” I murmur, and then the words go out of my mind because Hunter is sliding his hand around the front of my chest, teasing and toying with my nipples through my dress. I groan with pleasure. Hunter ’s eyes flash dark, and then his lips are on mine again, but there’s nothing gentle about this kiss. It blazes, hot and hard, demanding my surrender. I’m trapped up against the wall, but I give in willingly; locking my hands up around his neck, and pressing myself to the hard contours of his body in an eager embrace. The feel of him against me is heaven. My breasts ache, crushed against his chest as Hunter ’s tongue works its wicked magic in my mouth. He licks and probes, demanding, and I arch up, desperate for more. His hands rove across my body, sending shivers of sensation rolling through me as he caresses my bare shoulders, down my chest, dragging his thumbs across my hard, aching nipples. God yes. I whimper against his mouth, loving the feel of his hands, hot and demanding as they cup and squeeze at my tender breasts. He drags my dress lower, exposing me, and lowers his head, sucking at one bare nipple. I cry out and fall back against the wall. My legs are weak, but he locks one arm around my waist, holding me up as his mouth continues its glorious assault on my breasts and his other hand slides lower, reaching between us to find the wet, aching heart of me. Oh! A sob rises in my throat. His fingers find me through the thin fabric of my dress, rubbing gently in slow, even strokes that send wildfire racing through my blood. I buck against him, mindless, but he won’t speed up his touch. His tongue lazily circles my nipple, licking in tandem with the slow pressure between my thighs, building, rising, until I’m left panting in his arms.

Hunter lifts his head and licks across my lips. “Do you feel that?” he whispers, his fingers fluttering against me. I moan. “How about now?” Hunter eases up my dress, and slips his hand beneath the fabric, his skin hot against my bare thighs. His fingers find me again, rubbing gently, just my panties between us now. “Oh god,” I whimper, straining against his touch. The heat is building in me, a thick, low ache that cries out for more. For all of him, inside me. Hard and full. “Hunter,” I gasp. “God, don’t stop.” Hunter takes a labored breath. His eyes are dazed, fixed on mine as his fingers drive me wild. “Jesus, Brit,” he groans, capturing my mouth again in a punishing kiss. “You’re so wet. So fucking perfect.” He slips his thumb under my panties, pushing them aside, and I let out another cry to finally feel his skin, hot on mine. He slides one finger up inside me and I shudder, pleasure rolling through me, heady and sweet. “I want you,” he growls, low in my ear. “God, you make me crazy.” His thumb circles my clit, stronger now, slick with my desire. I gasp ragged breaths, my whole body trembling, strung out on his touch, and his scent, and the wave of emotions rising, ready to crash, ready to drown us all. His fingers surge faster, pressing harder. “Come for me, Brit.” Hunter fixes his gaze on mine, dark and demanding. “I can’t,” I sob, “I’m not there.” “Yes you are.” Hunter suddenly slows his hand, and I’m left gasping, bereft. “You’re there because I say you are.” I writhe in his arms, desperate for his touch again. “Please, more,” I beg. Hunter slowly shakes his head. “You’re going to come for me,” he instructs, a thrilling domination in his tone, “because I’m stopping. In five seconds, I take it all away. So you better come.” I’m still reeling from his words when he starts the countdown. “Five, four…” he whispers. My body is aching, my blood boiling in my veins. I see the look in his eyes, determined, and my pulse kicks with fear. I know he’s not playing with me now. He’s going to stop. He’s going to leave me like this, so close, on the edge. He’s going to take it all away. “Three…” Hunter whispers, stilling his hand and giving one, slow sweep of his thumb. I shudder, desperate, but caught here, frozen, so close. “Two…” He pulses his fingers inside me, featherlight. Oh God. “One.” And then his hand is gone, and I’m left trembling, on the edge, staring helplessly into his eyes. I’m mindless, in agony, my whole body tense and wanting. “Come.” Hunter growls the order, taking my face in his hands and slamming me back against the wall. His hips grind against me as his tongue plunges deep in my mouth; his hard-on pressing with

glorious sharp pressure between my thighs, overwhelming. Obliterating. My body rises to his command and I break, my orgasm sweeping through my body and leaving me gasping into his mouth as I shudder and ache and he kisses me to heaven and back. I surface from the darkness, limp in his arms. Hunter kisses the corner of my mouth tenderly, holding me up until I can find the strength to stand again. How can he do this to me? My mind races as I struggle to pull myself back together again. Every time, it’s stronger, deeper; the pleasure more intense. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and I realize with a heavy heart, I’m never going to find this feeling again. “You’re so beautiful when you come,” Hunter whispers, gently tugging my dress back up and smoothing my hair down. “The look in your eyes, it’s like you’re flying.” “That’s because I am.” I take a shaky breath, still clinging to him. My body still aches, but it’s a different throb from before. This one is deeper, sweeter, thick with the echo of pleasure but still unfulfilled. Wanting him. All of him. I find my keys and open the door, then I turn to him, looping my finger down over the neckline of his shirt and tugging him towards me. “Now it’s your turn,” I say, with a seductive smile. “Come on. It’s time I pay you back for all the good times you’ve been giving me. Even the score.” There’s a pause that lasts an eternity, then something shutters closed in Hunter ’s eyes. “No,” he says softly. He squeezes my hand, just once, then drops it and takes a step away from me. “Not tonight.” My heart drops. I look up at him in confusion. He said he wanted me. That I drove him crazy. “You think I’m a gentleman.” Hunter slowly refastens a button I’ve pulled loose, and adjusts his jeans. I can see him slow his breathing, like it’s taking everything he has to get himself back under control. “So I’m going to live up to that.” “But…” I can’t find words, or sense, or anything in his denial. I’m still reeling, breathless from his assault on my senses, weak and wet and aching with desire. “I thought you wanted this.” I finally manage to stutter. “Me.” Hunter reaches out, and softly tucks a stray lock of hair back behind my ears. “I do. But not like this.” I blink at him. How else is there? His lips curve, as if he’s heard my silent confusion. “When I take you, you’re going to want it.” I try to interrupt, but he presses a finger to my lips. “Not because you think you owe me, or you get carried away, and one thing leads to another,” he corrects me, dipping his mouth closer so I can feel the shiver of his breath, hot against my cheek. “Because you want me. Because I’m all you think about.”

His voice is low and thick with desire, whispering relentlessly in my ear. “Every day, and every night, just imagining what I’ll feel like inside of you. Touching yourself, imagining your hands are mine, until you come crying out my name.” I shudder, my legs weak. I’m hypnotized by his voice, caught up in the forbidden image of desire he’s painting with his words. “I’m going to wait for you,” Hunter promises, “I’m going to take you there. And then, when you want me so much, you think you’ll die without me inside you…” He pauses, pulling back to look me straight in the eyes. “I’m going fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.” I gasp, my lips dropping open. Hunter ’s fingertip slips into my mouth, and I instinctively close my lips around it to suck. A shudder rolls through me. Hunter watches, his eyes never leaving my face. “You’re going to feel me for days,” he whispers, “I’m going to own you, every part of you. Even your heart.” His lips curl up in a heartbreaking smile. “Especially your heart.” As I try my best not to melt into a pool of pure longing right there on the porch, Hunter drops a kiss on my forehead and turns to leave, crossing the front yard in long strides. This time, I don’t wait to watch him go. I know my legs aren’t going to hold me up much longer. I stumble inside and slam the door behind me, sliding down so I’m sitting in a tangle on the floor. Even your heart. He wants more than just a fuck, I realize in a daze. He’s not like all the other guys who only want to use me up and throw me away without a second thought. Hunter wants something real, something more than desire, and the quick thrust of our bodies coming together. He wants all of me, even the dark, bruised places I never let anyone see. And he won’t let me have him—let me feel that body plunging into me the way I dream about—until I give him everything, body and soul. And that’s when I know I’m doomed. I can fight this, kicking and screaming. I can pretend I’m immune, and in control, and I can walk away any time I choose. But the truth is, I realize, I don’t stand a chance. Because Hunter Covington is the most noble, sweet, gorgeous, sexy man I’ve ever met. And I’m falling in love with him. I let my head fall back against the door, the truth crashing over me, as sweet and dangerous as the orgasm that just left me breathless. Me, Brittany Ray, in love with the golden boy of Beachwood Bay… I would laugh at how crazy it is if I wasn’t so weak with wanting him. Deep down, I still know he can’t be mine, but it doesn’t matter anymore. I’d break my heart a hundred times over, just to feel his arms around me again; taste the perfection I’d sworn was just for one night, all those years ago. My phone buzzes with a text.

Sleep tight. Dream of me. Hunter is miles away now, but he gets his wish. I fall asleep to the memory of his whispers, so sweet, and the distant crashing of the waves against the shore. I fall asleep, and I dream only of him. 3 years ago… We walk a mile along the shoreline, Hunter keeping pace with long strides next to me. My heart is pounding the whole time, a voice in my head screaming at me to get the hell away from him, but I can’t go back now, not with him so close, his sweater wrapped around me: still warm from his skin, still smelling of him. One night. That’s the only way this will work. One night, as Susie, and Bob, or whoever else we’re pretending to be. Just a game, I tell myself. It’s only just a game. Hunter reaches out, and casually takes my hand. Heat blazes through me at his touch, an inferno. I trip on a pebble with the shock of it, and almost fall flat on my face. “I got you,” Hunter laughs, pulling me up before I fall. His hand closes around mine, strong now: lacing his fingers with mine. “Thanks,” I whisper. I can barely hear the crash of the waves over my heartbeat, and I glance over, wondering if he can hear it too. Hunter catches my glance, and smiles at me: so full of golden confidence, it makes my pulse skitter with panic all over again. What the hell are you doing, Brit? Once you do this, there’s no going back. “So, Susie, tell me about yourself,” Hunter says, casual. “What brings you to Beachwood Bay?” “I’m just passing through.” I tell him, conjuring up a different life for myself. “I’m… really from the city. My parents have a place there. I’m starting fashion school soon.” “Oh yeah?” Hunter asks, like he hasn’t heard a thing about the infamous Ray family. “What do your folks do?” “My mom’s a designer, too,” I lie, ignoring the sudden ache of sadness in my chest. “And my dad… he’s just a regular guy. He works in an office, but he’s always home for dinner at night.” “Sounds nice,” Hunter takes a long breath. “My parents are pretty regular too. They’re teachers,” he adds. “We live in the middle of the suburbs, with a dog and a minivan.” “What’s your dog’s name?” I ask. “Hans Solo.” I laugh. “You’re a Star Wars geek, huh?” “Yup.”

Hunter falls silent, and I realize for the first time that maybe this game isn’t just for me. I figured he was taking pity on me, giving me a way around my reputation here in Beachwood—a way to pretend I’m someone else—but seeing the wistful expression in his eyes when he talks about a regular old life in suburbia, I can see, this game isn’t just for me. Hunter’s running from something too. “But enough about everyone else,” I say brightly. “Tell me about you. Favorite ice cream flavor.” “You know that.” Hunter gives me a sideways look. “I order it every time.” “Chocolate fudge,” I laugh. “And you like those milkshakes, with mint chocolate chip.” Hunter says. I feel a thrill. “How do you know that?” Hunter gives me a crooked grin. “I see things.” “Like what?” My voice is casual, but I can barely breathe. “Little things.” Hunter shrugs, looking embarrassed now. “Like, you always wear so much black, but your favorite color is purple. And you never keep your hair the same way for more than a week.” “Oh.” My cheeks are flaming now, so hot they could light up the beach. He’s noticed me? He’s been watching, all summer long, the same way I’ve been watching him? “I’m not stalking you, I promise,” Hunter adds in a strangled voice. “I just notice you. I can’t not.” I want to look over at him, but I can’t. Suddenly, I’m painfully aware of the space between us, and the dark, empty beach. And the sound of his breath coming, steady and slow beside me. Hunter Covington notices me. I swallow a shaky breath, part relieved and part terrified to find we’re here, at the familiar cluster of rocks right on the far edge of the bay. “This way!” I yelp, my voice coming out too loud. I drop his hand and scramble on ahead, up the rough granite and over the crest of the small cliff. I don’t look back to see if Hunter’s following me. Part of me wishes he wouldn’t. I don’t know what made me falter, and cut out my bitchy act. My sarcasm was my only weapon against him and all his perfect, gorgeous charm. But it turns out even acting like a total psycho bitch wasn’t enough to shut him down. And then he smiled at me. God, never mind Helen of Troy and all those angry Greeks we learned about in school: that boy’s smile could start a war. So open and easy, with just a hint of danger gleaming in the slow burn of those blue eyes. Nobody’s ever smiled at me like that. Face it, Brit, I tell myself as I scramble ungracefully down the rocks. You were doomed the minute he swung a punch at that asshole, Craig. Riding up to the rescue like I was some damsel in distress and

not the town slut... I was done for right then. And all of this? This is just me pretending like my heart didn’t flip over in my chest. Like his touch doesn’t make me tremble, and his smile doesn’t start a fire burning, hot and bright and hopeful behind my ribcage. “What is this place?” Hunter’s voice comes from behind me, and I finally come to a stop. We’re in a secret hidden cove, sheltered from the winds by the outcroppings of rocks on either side, with a view clear out across the bay. “It’s my place.” I tell him, feeling weirdly self-conscious. I could have taken him anywhere, but for some reason, I wanted him to see this: the place I come to, when it all gets too much. “Nobody knows about it, but I like it here. Everything’s so peaceful.” I settle on my favorite rock, worn and smooth and still warm from the summer sun. Hunter sits beside me, and watches the lights shine, bright across the shadow of the dark shore. “Just you and the ocean.” He says it quietly, and I feel something release in my chest. A tension, melting away. He understands. I reach down and take a handful of sand, letting it filter slowly through my fingertips. “So, Bob,” I say, stressing his fake name slightly, showing him I’m OK to play along. “What is it you want?” He startles slightly. “What do you mean?” I shrug. “Now, tonight, in life? What do you want?” There’s silence for a moment. Hunter stares out at the ocean, and when he speaks, there’s a note of wry loss in his voice. “I can’t remember the last time someone asked me that. Everything I do, it’s like it’s all been planned out for me, and I’m just… walking in someone else’s footsteps.” “You mean your brother?” I turn. I’ve seen them together, him and Jace. They seem close, nothing like my brothers Emerson and Ray Jay. Hunter shakes his head. “No. Maybe,” he corrects himself. “But mainly it’s my parents, and their parents, and their parents…” He sighs, such a heavy breath I want to wrap my arms around him and take the weight for myself. I curl my fingers into my palms to keep from losing my mind and doing just that. “I’m lucky, I know.” he adds quickly. “I have so much opportunity, I just… I guess what I want is for someone to ask what I want, once in a while.”He finishes with a smile. “Then I guess you got what you wanted tonight,” I tell him, glancing up. I catch my breath. His gaze is fixed on mine, so clear and piercing, I swear, he can see right the way to my soul. “Not yet,” Hunter says softly, and then he lifts his hand and slowly reaches out to touch my face. Gentle. It’s so gentle, the touch of his fingertips against my skin, that I shiver. My eyes fall shut, just so I can take it all in, the feel of him, feather-light, barely cupping my cheek. Men don’t touch me like this. They grope, and slam, and grab at me, like my body is something rough and durable. I always felt a flash of victory at their man-handling, that I’d inspired a lust so

strong it couldn’t be contained. I know now I was wrong. Force isn’t the measure of desire. Hunter touches me like I’m delicate china, like I could break at any second, but there’s nothing delicate about the look in his eyes: blazing fire, stark with need. I tremble under his touch. His thumb slides softly over the plump of my bottom lip, sending sparks shimmering in my bloodstream. I’m suspended, wanting so desperately to reach out and hold him for real, but terrified that my slightest movement might shatter this dream into nothing. “What do you want?” Hunter’s voice is a low murmur as his gaze searches mine. He’s holding himself back, waiting for me. He echoes my question again, neither of us moving. “What is it you want tonight?” I look at him, a golden angel in the moonlight, and it’s not even a question anymore. It’s certainty, as real and true as the ground beneath our feet and the waves crashing, steady on the shore. “You,” I tell him, my voice shaking with an emotion I’ve never felt before. Something so pure and bright, it almost breaks my heart. “I want you.” Hunter’s eyes widen with realization, but I don’t take it back. I don’t look away. I finally let myself reach up and touch him, stroking gently at the strand of golden hair fallen over his eyes. And then he’s leaning closer, closer, until his lips find mine in the sweetest kiss I’ve ever known. And I fall.

This time, I don’t let the shadows of doubt creep into my mind. When Hunter calls me the next day to make a date for Friday, I know deep in my bones, he’s going to show. “I wish I could see you sooner,” he says, the sexy drawl on the other end of the line making me smile despite the fact I’ve got two dozen ketchup bottles to refill. “So why don’t you?” I hop up onto the table and swing my legs, feeling like a little kid. Hunter groans. “Things are crazy here at the ranch, I’ve got two new horses arriving, and I’m trying to train Jake to pick up the slack.” “All work and no play…” I tease, sing-song. Hunter laughs. “Oh, I’m going to play. You can bet on it, darlin’.” I feel a thrill of anticipation. “So, Friday night then?” “Actually, I was thinking I’d pick you up at noon.” I pause. “Daytime?” “If you can swing the time off work,” Hunter adds. “Would that be OK?” I already know I would turn around and quit if it meant I got to spend the day with Hunter and his glorious smile, but I still tease him, sounding undecided. “Depends what for…” “Well, that you don’t get to find out just yet.” Hunter ’s voice is playful. “You’re just going to have to trust me.” “I seem to be doing a lot of that these days,” I reply, getting a sudden flash of him advancing towards me with the leather bridle flexed between his strong hands. “And it’s been worth your while, wouldn’t you say?” Now Hunter is the one teasing, his voice a delicious low rasp down the line. “Maybe,” I whisper back, but I’m already turned on, just from the memory of him. The stables. My front porch. The Ferris wheel. Damn, but he’s good. “So I’ll pick you up at noon,” Hunter says, and although I haven’t agreed yet, we both know it’s decided. “See you then.” I hang up and take a deep breath, my whole body already buzzing with excitement. I don’t know what he’s got planned for us, but it doesn’t matter. As long as I’m with him, I know, it’ll be the best

day. “Aww man, not you too!” Garrett comes in from the back hoisting a keg. He takes one look at me and sighs. “What?” I bounce down and get back to work, fueled by a new energy. “First your brother, and now you.” Garrett gives me an exasperated look. “Wandering around, looking all moony and loved up. It’s sickening.” “I’m not!” I protest, putting my head down so he can’t see the smile that won’t shift from my lips. “You so are.” Garrett isn’t buying my denials. “I can’t even look at you. And Hunter ’s probably just as bad. He seemed like such a decent guy,” Garrett adds mournfully. “I figured we could hang out, watch a game sometimes. Now he’s a lost cause.” “But this is your fault!” I cry. “You’re the one who kept pushing me at him, remember?” “And I’ll rue the day as long as I live.” Garrett is still playing dramatic, so I roll my eyes. “Whatever. And I’m not mooning over him, I’m just happy is all.” Garrett grins. “So this is what happy looks like on you? Damn, I thought the day would never come.” “Very funny.” I go to help him maneuver the keg into place under the bar, shoving him playfully as I go. “Hey, Brit?” I look up. “I’m happy for you,” Garrett says quietly. “You deserve a break.” I blush, self-conscious. “Whatever,” I brush off his comment, “It’s still early. I don’t even know what’s going to happen.” “Yeah, but that’s the fun part.” Garrett gets a wistful, distant smile. “When you’re just figuring it all out, and everything’s fresh and new.” “It is for you,” I throw back, joking. “You don’t even make it past a week with your girls!” Garrett’s faraway look drops, and his usual teasing smile snaps back into place. “That’s plenty,” he winks. “Hell, I know everything I need to know about a girl in thirty seconds.” “That quick, huh? Guess stamina’s not your strong point.” I stick my tongue out at him. Garrett roars in protest. “What the hell? I go all night, baby, all night long.” He pumps the air and howls, and I can’t help but fall about laughing, watching him parade around the bar, taking a victory lap for his supposed prowess. I laugh until my cheeks are aching and I’m gasping for air. It feels good to let it all out. The giddy skip in my stomach, just thinking about Hunter; the lightness in my chest even when I’m not. I’ve been so used to walking around with a heavy tight knot of bitterness and insecurity behind my ribcage, I never even realized I don’t have to feel that way. That maybe, I can wake up in the morning without a heavy weight crushing down on me; go to sleep at night dreaming of happy days, and not just the

faces of all the people who’ve left me behind. My phone buzzes with a text as our laughter fades away. I pull it out of my pocket eagerly. Hunter. Counting the hours. I can’t wait to see you. My stomach skips with delight, and I feel the smile take over my face. Garrett shakes his head at me and sighs. “Another one bites the dust.” I have no idea what Hunter is planning for us, so I figure I’ll play it safe and dress for anything: my pale blue bikini under cut-off denim shorts and a funky ripped crop top; my ratty old lace-up boots just in case I’m in for a hike. I’m just pulling on an armful of clattering metal bangles when I hear Hunter ’s truck pull up outside. I fly downstairs. “Hey,” I greet him breathlessly. “How are you?” “Better now.” Hunter gives me a smile. He’s wearing another of his faded shirts, a grey tee that looks so soft I want to touch it. So I do. Placing one hand on his solid chest, I reach up on my tip-toes to land a soft kiss on his lips. “So much better,” Hunter grins, pulling me in and deepening the kiss. His body is warm against mine, and my pulse kicks with a delicious thrill, soft and sweet like a summer breeze. “I just have to grab my shoes and a sweater,” I tell him, when we finally break away. “I’ll be right down.” “Take your time.” Hunter calls after me as I race back up the stairs. I get the rest of my stuff together and throw it in the purse I sewed from brightly-printed fabric scraps. When I get back downstairs, Hunter is already out in the truck, engine idling with the radio on. I scramble up beside him. “Good to go?” Hunter raises an eyebrow at me. “Hmmm, almost.” I lean over and kiss him again, reveling in the taste of his lips and the scrape of stubble against my skin. I taste him, falling gently into the slow, unhurried bliss of his mouth and scent and his tongue, gently teasing mine. There’s nothing frenzied about these kisses. We’ve got all day. And God, I could kiss him forever. Finally, Hunter pulls back. He shakes his head, like he’s shaking off a daze. “How did you learn to kiss like that?” he asks. “Wait, don’t tell me. Whatever his name was, I don’t want to know.” “Maybe you were the one who taught me,” I grin. “OK. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.” Hunter laughs. He puts the truck into drive and we head out, driving the quiet roads back through town and out

onto the highway. It’s a beautiful day, the last of the summer sun warming my bare arms as I drape one hand out the open window, feeling the wind whip through my fingertips. The blue skies dance with puffy white clouds, and as we drive the coastal road, I can see the sunlight glittering on the waves. I’ve never seen a more perfect day. Or maybe that’s because I didn’t have Hunter beside me, brightening everything, his easy smile warming my whole body from the inside out. I remember my dreams from last night, the strands of memory weaving themselves together in a fragment of the past. “You ever think about it?” I ask curiously, watching the shoreline pass. “That night we spent together, back then.” There’s a pause, and I wonder if I’ve just gone and messed things up again. We haven’t talked about what happened back then, not even once. Maybe it was the unwritten rule of all of this, not to bring it up. But when I look over, Hunter has a smile dancing on the edge of his perfect mouth. “It’s crossed my mind a couple of times,” he replies. I let out a silent breath of relief. “It seemed like a dream to me, sometimes.” I confess shyly. “I mean, it was like a moment out of time, you know? So unconnected to everything else in my life. We never even really talked before.” I pause. “And then, after...” “You made your exit.” Hunter ’s voice is matter-of-fact, but I still swear I can hear a hint of recrimination there—or maybe that’s just my guilt, whispering in the back of my mind. “I had to.” I say quietly, still trying to justify it to myself after all these years. “It couldn’t have happened any other way.” “I understand.” “You do?” I look over. He nods. “We were young. We barely knew what the hell we were doing, what we wanted.” “I wasn’t sure how you felt,” I tell him, relief strong in my veins. “Part of me wondered if you hated me for just bailing, but then, I figured you’d hooked up with dozens of girls.” Hundreds of girls. I silently add. Beautiful and perfect and way better for you than I could ever be. “None like you.” Hunter smiles. I laugh it off. “I bet you say that to all your one-night stands.” Hunter reaches over and takes my hand, lifting it to his lips in a gesture so casually affectionate it takes my breath away. “There’s never been anyone like you.” We drive for hours in an easy haze, chatting about movies, and music, and a dozen little meaningless

things that somehow seem perfect, here with him. I don’t know where we’re going, and I don’t even care, but when the city skyline rises into sight, I can’t help but bounce impatiently in my seat. “Give me a clue,” I beg. Hunter shakes his head. “Nope.” “A tiny hint?” “I’m not telling,” he declares. “And you should already know, I don’t back down.” “And you should know, I don’t go down without a fight,” I retort. “Promises, promises.” Hunter gives me a seductive look, full of dark promise, and suddenly, I could care less where we’re heading—as long as it’s private, with some kind of horizontal surface. “So how are your parents dealing with your big change?” I ask, quickly trying to change the subject to something less dangerous before I lean over and rip his shirt right off. “Is your brother taking your side, at least?” Hunter grips the steering wheel tighter. “They’re not dealing,” he replies, his voice suddenly hard. “That would mean accepting someone else’s point of view, and that goes against a good hundred years of the Covington way.” “I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “That must be tough, trying to live up to what they want from you.” “It is.” Hunter shakes his head slowly. “And the thing I just figured out is, I’m never going to win.” “What do you mean?” I ask, watching him. “It’s like I spent the last twenty-two years jumping through hoops for them. It wasn’t enough that I made the football team, I had to be captain too. Whenever I brought home an A paper, my dad would go through it and point out all the things I still could have done better.” Hunter ’s voice has a tight edge to it that makes my heart ache for him. How could anything he does not be good enough? “And Jace…” he starts. “Jace was always perfect. It wasn’t just that he did everything they wanted, he liked it too. He wanted to please them. And me…? I can’t ever live up to that, not even if I tried.” “So you stopped trying,” I say quietly, realizing that his move out to Beachwood is about so much more than just following his passion for horses and the farm. Part of me still had it down as the whim of some rich kid who’s decided to do whatever the hell he wants, but Hunter isn’t that shallow. Taking a stand against his family—and the life they’ve chosen for him—has been a long time coming for him. “I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to finally walk away.” Hunter lets out a long, ragged breath. “I didn’t like the man I was becoming,” he says quietly. “Not in their world. I need to do things right, I owe it—” he stops himself from speaking. “Owe what?” I ask, curious, but Hunter is pulling the truck into a parking spot, on a busy downtown street. “We’re here!” he announces in a bright voice, and I can tell, the conversation is over. “Ready for your big surprise?” I look around. Nothing but high-rise office buildings and the commuter lunch rush: people

jostling on the sidewalks in business dress, clutching takeout bags and briefcases. “Umm, Hunter?” I ask, climbing down from the truck. “Maybe it’s time you explain what’s going on.” Hunter comes around to meet me. He slings one arm around my waist and pulls me into an excited hug. “It’s your interview.” “My what?” I blink at him, confused, but he’s seen someone past me on the street and is striding forwards to intercept them. Or rather, her: a stylish-looking woman in a crisply-tailored dress, heading for the entrance of the nearest office building. “Hey, Alicia, great timing.” Hunter calls. “We just got in.” “Hunter!” The woman brightens, greeting him with air kisses on both cheeks. “Look at you, I didn’t believe it when your mom said you’d moved to the sticks.” “It’s not exactly the middle of nowhere,” Hunter laughs. He’s casual and easy with her, and I can tell that they’re old friends. “Just a couple of hours away. It’s a great little town, right on the shore. You should come visit sometime.” “Please, you know me,” Alicia laughs, tossing back her mane of glossy blonde hair. “I’d wither away and die without valet parking and takeout on speed dial.” She turns to me with a bright smile. “And you must be Brittany. A pleasure to meet you. Any friend of Hunter ’s here…” She holds out a hand for me to shake, an elegant gold watch dangling from her wrist that’s probably worth more than everything I’ve ever owned. “Hi,” I say slowly, still trying to figure out what’s going on. “It’s, umm, nice to meet you too.” I give Hunter a baffled look, and he jumps in. “Alicia and I were at college together,” he explains. “Now she’s head of publicity for Jacob Main,” he names a big clothing designer based here in the city. “I thought you two should meet, so I arranged an interview for you.” I stop. “You did what?” I stare at him, my confusion giving way to spine-chilling dread. He’s kidding. He’s got to be kidding me. But Hunter laughs, proud of what he’s done. “See, I said you’d never guess.” My heartbeat trips in panic, and suddenly, it’s hard to breathe. Guess that I’d be dropped into the most important meeting of my life, with no warning or time to prepare? Oh God. “I have a conference call at three,” Alicia pipes up apologetically. “So we should head on up there. Do you have your portfolio?” she asks me. My heart lifts. A chance to escape this ambush. “No, I’m sorry,” I tell her relieved. “I don’t have it with me. Maybe we can reschedule—” “I’ve got it.” Hunter reaches into the truck and pulls out my portfolio, and a book of extra sketches. He must have taken them while I was getting ready upstairs, I realize with a sinking feeling.

Hunter passes them to me. “Now you’re all set. I’ve got to run some errands, so call me when you’re done. And don’t be nervous,” he drops his tone, “You’ll be great.” “But—” My protest is lost under his kiss, and then Alicia is steering me inside, her high heels tapping on the polished marble floors. Before I can think, or turn and bolt down the street, we’re in the lobby, a huge, glass-covered atrium full of modern art. “I can’t wait to see your designs.” She chats pleasantly as we wait for the elevators. “Hunter here was raving about you, and if a guy like him can notice fashion, it’s got to be good.” I manage a murmur of agreement, but inside, I’m freaking out. How the hell could he do this to me? I’m not ready for this: Jacob Main was top of my list when it came to sending out job applications, and all I got was a photocopied rejection letter. And now, here I am, about to sit down and show them my designs? I feel a tightness in my chest, like the walls of the elevator are closing in on me. My skin prickles with panic, and I break into a cold sweat, clammy on the surface of my skin. How could he do this to me? The elevator dings as we reach the eleventh floor. “We’re right down here,” Alicia says, striding down the hallway. For a moment I’m tempted to hit the button and head right back down again, but then she turns, waiting with a friendly smile. “Great,” I whisper, following her. “We moved offices a couple of months ago, so still pretty chaotic.” Alicia leads me into a large, open-plan office. My mouth drops open as I follow her through the space, clutching my portfolio to my chest. Light is flooding in from full-length windows, and everywhere I look, there’s color and life. People consult fabric swatches strewn over a long bench, others work on computers at cool cubicles decorated with art and fashion magazine tears. Huge, over-sized photos from the Jacob Main catalogue are mounted on the wall, and all around us, there’s a buzz of activity and purpose. “We’re partnering with a major store for their summer line next year,” Alicia adds, “So everyone’s working double-time getting the designs set right now.” People look up curiously as we pass, checking me out. I feel their gazes slip over me, and can’t help but notice the looks of surprise and disapproval that follow. In an instant, I’m taken back to high school, walking the hallways in one of my hand-me-down, homemade outfits that’s so obviously not the latest fashion. My heart plummets. This ambush happened so quickly, I didn’t even have time to think about how I look, but now I’m here in the office, surrounded by gorgeous, glossy women, it hits me just as hard as the feelings of inferiority that haunted me all those years ago. I’m dressed all wrong for this. The outfit I hastily assembled for a casual day back in Beachwood Bay is way out of place here in the chic surroundings: my boots are scuffed and ratty, my cut-off shorts worn through in places, and God, I’m wearing a bikini top. In the city! What kind of hick kid must they think I am?

By the time Alicia shows me into a large office with sweeping views of downtown, I already want to curl up in a ball and disappear, but the ordeal is only just beginning. “This is Maxwell Anderson, he’s in charge of our design team.” Alicia introduces me to a sharply-dressed man in dark-rimmed glasses, waiting in one of the designer lounge chairs. “Umm, hi,” I manage, wishing my hands would stop shaking. Everything about Maxwell screams style, from the pocket square poking out of his jacket pocket, right down to the spotless white sneakers he’s wearing. He’s intimidatingly cool. “It’s great to meet you. Thanks for making time—” Maxwell snaps his fingers and gestures for my portfolio. I hand it over, watching with my heart in my mouth as he flips over the last five years of my work and sweat and tears with barely a second glance. Alicia gives me a sympathetic smile, as if to say, ‘don’t worry.’ “Where are your main interests?” she asks, taking a seat on a silk-covered couch and gesturing for me to do the same. “We’re primarily a womenswear company, although we’ve been branching out with a limited, high-end accessories line. Shoes, some handbags.” “I… Clothes.” I stutter. Well, duh. “I mean, womenswear too. I’ve been mainly experimenting with repurposing fabric,” I add in a halting voice. Damn, Brit, why can’t you pull it together? I try to swallow back my insecurities and continue. “A lot of lingerie too, the lace-work and details, if you look…” I trail off as Maxwell slams my portfolio shut. He fixes me with a slow look from head to toe that leaves me cringing. “Jacob Main is a high-end company,” he says, with a slight sneer to his voice. “Our customers are affluent women. Fashionable. Elegant.” The accusation in his voice is clear. I couldn’t be further from his ideal if I tried. I feel the blood rush to my cheeks. “If you look at my book,” I try, my voice coming out a whisper, “I’ve been working on more sophisticated designs—” But Maxwell doesn’t take his gaze off me. “Where did you go to school?” “I, ah, didn’t.” I slump lower in the seat. “It shows.” Maxwell tells me bluntly. “Your sketches are messy and unfocused. You have no formal drafting skills, and I dread to think what you’d do if we let you near the real fabric.” I feel a rush of shame. I was so proud of that portfolio, spending hours selecting my very best designs and photographs. Now, Maxwell’s words are like daggers, cutting through my foolish delusions. All this time, I was just kidding myself to think I was worth anything at all. A sob rises in the back of my throat, but I force myself to swallow it back. I can’t let him see what his words are doing to me, I can’t give him the satisfaction, but I just want this to be over, for me to be anywhere but here, with this snobby man ripping apart all my secret dreams. “She’s got a strong design sensibility,” Alicia tries to speak up. She’s leafing through my sketchbook. “See, this dress is gorgeous. Just our kind of thing. Look, Max—”

He gets up. “We’re looking for something very specific here,” he declares, giving Alicia an irritated look. “If you want my advice, I’d find something else to do with your time. When it comes to fashion, you’ve either got it or you don’t. You, my dear, do not.” My mouth drops open. “And Alicia?” he adds, turning to her. “Next time, remember I’m on a schedule.” Maxwell strides out. I stare after him. I’m numb, feeling dizzy and faint, like my hopes and dreams are laying shattered in pieces on the floor. That wasn’t an interview, it was annihilation. “I’m sorry.” Alicia looks guilty. “He’s not usually so blunt. We’re under a lot of pressure right now, with the deadline—” “It’s fine.” I manage to find my voice. I reach for my portfolio and sketchbook with shaking hands. “He was just being honest.” Honest about the fact I’m a talentless hack, who never should have even stepped foot inside the building. “Have you finished that dress yet, the purple one?” Alicia asks, as I get to my feet. “I’d love to see it when it’s done.” I shake my head. “It was just a sketch.” Why bother finishing it now, when it’s clear it’s a waste of my time? “Oh, shame. Well, thanks for coming all this way.” Alicia hovers, awkward in the doorway. “And send my best to Hunter. I saw his parents at lunch just the other week, such a wonderful family. They’re coping so well.” I nod dumbly, then grab my stuff and hurry back the way I came, through the sprawling office, full of people with actual skill and talent, living a dream that will never be mine. How could I have been so stupid? I hit the elevator button angrily, already fighting back the deja vu of every time I was rejected and left on the sidelines, every time someone sneered and whispered dirty names behind my back. She’s just a crazy slut. She’s nothing. What made me think I could ever make it in a place like this? I’m not good enough. You’ll never be good enough for them. The elevator arrives, and I step inside. How could Hunter do this to me? If he’d only warned me, I could have been better prepared. Worn something cute and stylish, rehearsed my answers, instead of stammering away like a thoughtless idiot. I could have braced myself for rejection, instead of getting slammed out of nowhere. Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference, and Maxwell still would have seen through me, written me off as the foolish kid I really am. But at least I could have been ready for it. Maybe I would have stood a chance… Hunter had no right to do this. I grab a hold of my anger, and focus on it, trying to block out the

wave of miserable heartbreak, and that too-familiar feeling that I’m not good enough. Rejection and disappointment will break me in two, but anger I can work with. Anger is my friend. By the time the elevator arrives back down in the lobby, I’ve pulled myself together, clenching my jaw to hold in the tears. My phone buzzes with a text. I know you’re kicking butt! Call me when you’re done. I stare at the text, my blood running cold. He doesn’t even realize how completely out of line he was. But why would he? Everything comes so easily to him, he’s never known what it’s like to fail, to be turned away, over and over again. He has no idea. This is my life, my dream, but he thinks he can come waltzing in and fix everything. I hit ‘delete’ and head outside. Hunter ’s truck is still parked out front, but I keep walking, on and on down the city streets, waiting for the desperate ache in my chest to subside. I don’t know where I’m heading, I just know I have to keep moving. And with every step, I fight the treacherous whispers of self-doubt lurking in the back of my mind. You’re not good enough. You’ll never be good enough. You’ll never be good enough for him.

I take the bus back to Beachwood Bay, rejection still thick in my veins. With every mile that rolls by, it hardens into resentment; Maxwell’s dismissive words beating in my skull. “You either have it or you don’t. And you, my dear, do not.” I stare out of the window, letting the world outside blur into ribbons of green and brown speeding past. He’s just some pretentious asshole, I tell myself. His opinion doesn’t matter to anyone else. He didn’t even want to give me a shot: he made up his mind about me the minute I stepped through that door, all the amazing designs in the world wouldn’t have changed a thing. And whose fault is that? I look up and realize we’re driving through the outskirts of town now. I rub my eyes and focus as I see a familiar turn-off. The road up to Hunter ’s ranch. “Stop the bus!” I yell, before I have a chance to think about it. “This is my stop, right here!” The bus shudders to a stop and I scramble down, still clutching my useless portfolio. I want to head home and collapse with a drink and a hot bath, but something pushes me on up the winding road towards the ranch. Anger, still coiled tightly in my veins—all my rejection pushed into a sharp point of bitterness. He had no right to do this to me. The sun is setting by the time I make it up the hill to the ranch, making the red paint on the barn glow, warm against the dusk light. There are a couple of horses in the paddock, and hay baled outside the stables, but everything is freshly-painted, quiet and still. This is Hunter ’s life right here: pictureperfect and serene. I feel a tight clench in my chest, thinking of the places I grew up, just a few miles away. Run-down bungalows with old cars rusting in the yard; the years living out of a trailer park; late-payment warnings like confetti in the hall. He has no idea what I’ve been through, but still, Hunter thinks he can make everything right. “Brit!” I hear my name called and look up to find Hunter riding towards me from the fields on a large bay mare. He pulls up the horse and slides down, barely pausing to loop the reins over a fence post before striding towards me. His face is stormy, jaw clenched tight. “Where the hell have you been?” He grips me by both my arms, holding me tight, surprising me with his anger. “I called your cell like a million times. I’ve been worried sick!”

“I shut it off.” I say, trying not to feel a ripple of guilt at his panic. You don’t owe him anything, I remind myself. This is his fault. “Are you OK?” Hunter demands, his blue eyes blazing down into mine. “What happened? How did you get home?” “I’m fine.” I wrench away from him. “I took the bus. You shouldn’t have worried.” Hunter ’s mouth drops open. “Of course I worried!” he yells, his voice rising. “I even went back to the office to try and find you, but Alicia said you left ages ago. I was driving around the city for hours, just looking for you!” “Well, the search is over.” I snap, sarcastic. “I’m here!” “I don’t understand what’s wrong with you, to just go running off like this. Is this about the interview?” Hunter demands, his blue eyes still dark with anger. I turn to ice. “What do you know about that?” “Nothing,” Hunter says, “Alicia just told me it didn’t go so great.” I give a bitter laugh. “That’s the understatement of the year.” “So you freak the fuck out and go AWOL?” Hunter ’s voice rises. He’s breathing heavy, his whole body taut with tension. “Did you even think about me for a second, what I was imagining? You could have been in an accident, you could have been dead!” I finally snap. I take a step back, glaring. “This has nothing to do with you!” I yell. “Why can’t you see that? This is my life! I wouldn’t even have been there if it wasn’t for you!” “What are you talking about?” Hunter looks confused. “The interview!” I yell. “The whole fucking ambush. You had no right to interfere like that, but you had to try and play the hero!” “I was trying to help!” Hunter protests. “Well, I don’t need it,” I shoot back. “I don’t need anything from you!” “Dammit, Brit, won’t you let me do one thing for you?” His voice rises. “Why do you have to keep everyone at arm’s length like this? Why do you have to make everything so hard?” There’s a sound behind us. Hunter looks over my head. One of the stable hands is lurking in the doorway of the barn, watching us fight. Hunter turns back. “Let’s take this inside,” he tells me through a clenched jaw. “I’m not staying.” I tell him, but he grabs my arm again. “Just get inside the damn house, Brit!” Hunter propels me up the steps and into the main house, his hand firm on my arm. I feel a familiar rush of heat at his touch, burning through my shirt, but I pull away the minute we’re inside. I can’t let my body betray me now, not after everything, not with all this violent emotion whirling in me, the anger I know is right. Hunter doesn’t seem to notice the charge. He ignores me, striding over to the kitchen area, and

running water from the faucet. He rinses his hands then bends to duck his whole head under the tap. He stays under for a moment, so I catch my breath and look around the space. Wooden beams, fulllength windows, a living area with cracked leather couches, a staircase leading up to the loft bedroom. Rustic and homey, clean lines and wide open spaces. It’s all so damn Hunter, I can’t take it. What the hell am I even doing here? This is what being impulsive gets me. I wanted to just unload my anger and disappear, but now I’m stranded out here with him. Alone. And he’s looking so damn good. “Take me home now.” I tell him, clenching my hands into fists at my sides. My heart pounds, my body still wired with angry adrenalin. Hunter finally lifts his head from the sink and turns back to me. “No.” “Dammit, Hunter—” “Not until you calm down.” He cuts me off. He pushes his wet hair back, clearly trying to get his temper under control. Water trickles down the planes of his face; his shirt now dark and wet in patches, clinging to his chest. He’s so fucking beautiful. And he just doesn’t understand. Hunter takes a ragged breath. “The last time I saw you, we were great, and now you’re spitting mad and screaming at me. The least you can do is tell me why. What happened?” He exhales. “What did they say at the interview?” I feel a flush of shame. I didn’t want him to see this side of me, the messy fucking failure, but now I’m laid bare, raw and hurting right in front of him. “The same thing everyone’s been telling me, my entire fucking life!” I slam the portfolio down on the rough-hewn table, watching as loose-leaf pages slip out the side. A freeze-frame photograph of all my stupid ambitions. “I’m a joke,” I tell him, my voice twisting. “He didn’t even look at my stuff for more than a second. Why would he? I’m nothing. It’s all a joke!” Hunter ’s face changes. “Brit, that’s not true!” He moves closer, but I can’t listen to any more of his lies. I grab my sketchbook, the drawings I labored over so carefully, sketching and shading long into the night. I open the book and start ripping, tearing the heavy pages from the seam. “What are you doing?” he cries, reaching for me, but I pull back. “You didn’t see the way they all looked at me!” I cry, ripping at the book again and throwing the torn piece to the floor. “He’s right, I was stupid, stupid to even think—” “Brit!” Hunter grabs me by the arms, crushing me against him. “Let go of me!” I struggle, trying to push him away, but he holds tight, solid and strong, and I’m trapped in the warmth of his embrace. “Let me go!” I feel a sob rising in me, and I try to bite it back. I can’t be the girl who cries all over the damn place, I’ve got to keep it together, the way I always do. “Shhh,” Hunter holds me to his chest as I gasp for air. “It’ll be OK, I promise you. I’ll make it OK. Just tell me what to do.”

He’s trying to calm me, I know, but his words are like salt, rubbing raw in my open wounds. Trusting him is what got me into this mess; believing even for a second I could rely on someone else. “I knew this would happen,” I wrench away. “God, I knew it.” “This is just one setback,” Hunter promises me. “You’ll see, we can try again, send out more applications—” “There is no ‘we’!” I yell. “You think I haven’t done this before? Haven’t applied to all these places, tried my hardest to make it work? I’ve been sending out letters for months now. Nobody wants me!” Hunter catches his breath. “You didn’t tell me.” “Because I didn’t want to see that look on your face!” My voice twists. “What look? Brit, what are you talking about?” He’s so confused, he doesn’t even realize. “That one,” I tell him, feeling it like a punch to my gut. “Right there, in your eyes, when you realize what a mess I am. What a fucking joke.” “That’s not true, Brit.” Hunter takes a step towards me. “You said I wasn’t broken,” I accuse him angrily. “That I was perfect.” “You are!” “Then why are you trying to fix me?” My shout rings out in the darkening room. Hunter stares at me, realization dawning in his eyes. “Is that what you think this is about?” “Do you know what it feels like, being told you’re nothing?” I challenge him. “No, of course you don’t. You’ve never failed at anything in your life.” Something flashes across Hunter ’s face. He clenches his hands into fists at his side. “This isn’t about me. This is you, trying to find some excuse to push me away again.” My mouth drops open in amazement. How can he try and turn around and put this on me, after everything? “This is all you!” I cry, “Trying to play the hero, to fix the fucked-up girl no-one else can love! And you want to know the worst part?” I demand, “For a moment there, I believed you. I believed in us. I thought we could just put all the bullshit and the real world aside, just be us. Be Susie and Bob, on that beach again. You and me.” “We can be.” Hunter comes forwards, catching my hands in his. “Listen to me Brit, the things you’re saying, you’ve got it all wrong.” “No!” I cry, furious at myself for believing in him. I snatch my hands away, even as his touch rolls through me, a glimpse of treacherous sweetness I can’t let myself surrender to. “This is crazy!” Hunter yells back, his frustration boiling over. “You keep pushing me away. I don’t understand what’s going on in your head.” “You can’t.” The space between us is a chasm, bigger than he’ll ever know. “You can’t ever understand what it’s like for me. You’re the golden boy, remember?” I look at him, golden and gorgeous even in a damp shirt with water dripping down his face. I shake my head, turning away

from his glow. “God, why did you have to be so fucking perfect?” Hunter ’s face changes. “You keep saying that.” His voice is like ice. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? Your perfect face, and your perfect family, and your perfect life.” Hunter ’s eyes meet mine, so full of bitter fury, I catch my breath. “You want to know what kind of man I really am?” he demands, his voice rasping with tension. He crosses the space between us, grabbing my shoulders. “You want to know the truth?” “Hunter,” I gasp. His face is dark, like a stranger ’s, and his fingers dig painfully into my shoulders. I try to shake loose. “Hunter, you’re hurting me!” “You keep saying I’m perfect, but it’s all a lie!” His eyes blaze into mine, tortured and bleak. “Every day, I have to pretend. Well, I’m sick of pretending, I can’t do it anymore, not with you!” “Hunter…” “Jace is gone,” he confesses, his voice broken. I gasp. “He’s dead, Brit, and it’s all my fault.”

I watch her face change as my words sink in. Brit furrows her brow, confused. “Hunter?” she whispers. “What do you mean?” Brit blinks, staring at me with those beautiful dark eyes. A moment ago they were aching with anger and hurt, I would have done anything to make it go away. Even telling her my darkest secret. But now, I wish I could take it all back, have her look at me like a hero again, no matter what the price. “I killed him.” I say it again, letting the words falls to the floor between us: the dark bitter truth I’ve been hiding so long. “My brother is dead, Brit, he’s been dead three years now. Jace is gone.” I sag back against the wall, feeling the fight drain out of my body. A moment ago, we were screaming and yelling, consumed with passionate anger. Now, everything’s changed. Nothing will ever be the same. “What happened?” Brit finally asks. She sinks down into the nearest chair—halfway across the room from me, I notice through the dull ache already blossoming in my skull. She can’t wait to get away from me. But it’s too late to take it back now. She wanted the truth, and now I’m going to give it to her. I take a deep breath and brace myself. “It was Christmas break,” I start, my voice hoarse with the words I’ve kept inside for so long. “A few months after that summer here. I was back from college, and Jace was working with Dad at the firm. We all went out to Aspen for the holidays. My parents rent a big house there every year,” I explain, feeling numb. “All their friends have places too. It’s one big parade of cocktail parties and lunches, but, me and Jace would always have a good time. Go skiing, hit the bars...” My voice falters. I look up, over at Brit, trying to see a sign in her expression, some kind of understanding, but instead her face is blank. Empty. Waiting. I clench my jaw, and force myself to keep talking. “So one night we were out, meeting some other kids in town. Jace knew some people from college. Everyone was drinking, having a good time.” The words stick in my throat, and I have to catch my breath. “Except, I wasn’t supposed to be drinking.” I force the confession out. “It was my turn to drive, and Jace wanted to cut loose. He’d only been at the

firm a few months, but already, Dad was piling on the pressure, long hours, too much responsibility. But Jace never complained,” I remember quietly. “That wasn’t his style. He just took it all, he wanted to make Dad proud.” Just talking about it, I can see his face so clearly. I feel the pain clench in my chest, that bitter ache that haunts me, every minute of every day. The darkness, so deep I think I could drown. “He was the good one,” I choke out. “He would never have...” But I’m getting ahead of myself now, so I force myself to rewind in the story. I have to be clear, I have to tell her every word, every failure. Every way I fucked things up. She needs to know everything I am. “So we partied,” I tell her, hollow. “Jace went hard, I mean, really tore things up. There were girls, there are always girls, but he was really going for it. We both were.” My voice drops and I look away. This part shouldn’t be harder, or feel more of a betrayal than everything else I’ve done, but it is. Even that night, every other girl I looked at, flirted with, or slipped my arms around in a casual embrace—it felt like I was cheating. On Brit. She’s still sitting there, across the room from me, way out of reach. She hugs her knees in to her chest and doesn’t look at me. I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking—just a glimpse of the truth—but this isn’t about me anymore. “I was... in a different place, back then.” I explain slowly. “Not like when you met me. It was my first time away from home, my parents, all their bullshit, and...” I stop. I was about to say, ’I was still hurting over you,’ but I stop myself just in time. It’s not fair to bring her into my crimes. She had no idea what the hell was going on, thousands of miles away from Beachwood Bay. I was the one who went off the rails trying to get by without her. It’s the only lie I’ve ever told her, when I said I understood her leaving me there, the morning after our night together. The truth is, I couldn’t deal with it. I didn’t even know where to start. Our night together changed everything, and waking up with her gone, it felt like the only true happiness I’d ever known had been ripped away from me. Some cruel joke, to give me a taste of something that was never really mine. The loss of her was absolute. I knew I didn’t have any right to expect more. We’d never even talked about what would happen in the morning, it was just a one-night thing. But that didn’t change the way I felt to find her gone, or my desperate, futile wishes to get it all back again. I would have laughed over it, if it didn’t hurt so bad. Imagine me, pining away over some girl when I could have dated anyone on campus. But I didn’t want them, I just wanted her. Brit haunted my dreams, until I’d wake up crazy with wanting her, the scent of her shampoo lingering in my dorm room, the touch of her skin still fresh against mine.

I told myself it was just because she was the first girl to reject me, the only one who walked away before I made that call. But the truth was, I knew, it was all about her. Brit. Only Brit. The one girl who didn’t care about my money or family connections, or even my charm. She’d seen something real in me, and once I’d known the bliss of that connection, everything else seemed like a cheap imitation, a mockery of real love. I tried to forget her, bury those memories in beer, and partying, and even other girls. But nothing soothed the ache. Those first months of college, my heart was bruised and raw and hurting: caught up in anger and confusion, and regret for wanting something I couldn’t have—something she clearly didn’t feel in return, even long enough to stick around and say goodbye. By the time Christmas break rolled around, I was desperate to get her out of my system, any way I could. “So I drank.” I pick up the story again for Brit, leaving out the reasons why. My words are hollow and bitter with self-loathing. “The one night I’d promised I wouldn’t, I did it anyway. One beer turned into three, and then there were shots on the bar, and by the time we stumbled out into the snow, I was so wasted, I couldn’t see straight.” Brit sucks in a shocked breath. “You drove?” I shake my head. “Jace wouldn’t let me,” I tell her. “He was looking out for me, the way he always did. I’d already got some tickets for speeding, and Dad would have killed me...” I trail off, realizing the bitter irony of my words. “He took the keys,” I tell her, forcing the words out, knowing the worst is still to come. “He said he wasn’t as far gone as me. He always handled his booze better. So, I let him. We piled in the rental, and headed back to the cabin. It was dark,” I say quietly, seeing the scene all over again. The moonlight on the crisp snow; the black shadows of the trees blurring by as we drove faster and faster. “And the roads were icy. A deer ran out, and Jace swerved, and…” This time, I can’t go on. The words stick in my throat, like if I don’t say them, they won’t be true. And God, I’d give everything I have—I’d lay down my life in a heartbeat—for it not to be true. For my big brother to still be here, for this pain in my chest to be just a dream. I focus on my breathing, in and out, in deep, shuddering breaths. “They said he died on impact.” I whisper it in the silence of the dark room. The sun has set, surrounding us with shadows, but neither of us move to get the light. Somehow it’s easier here in the dark, pretending like the world doesn’t exist outside. “I was knocked unconscious right away,” I add. “When I came around in the hospital, I barely had a scratch on me. Because I was so drunk,” I add, hating myself for every word, “my body didn’t brace for impact, I didn’t feel a thing.” That’s the part I can’t get over, the cruelest irony of all. My brother was dying beside me, his body crushed and bruised and bloody, and I just drifted off to sleep, like it was nothing. “He was there. And when I woke up, he was gone.” I tell her, broken. “Like someone ripped a hole in the world, and now nothing I do will ever… I can’t make it right. I can’t bring him back. He’s gone.

Jace is gone, and it’s all my fault.” A sob escapes me, desperate and rasping. I hate myself for it, for everything. I don’t get to grieve him, I don’t deserve the release. He’s my burden to carry with me, for every breath I breathe that he won’t; every beat of my heart that I took from him. “I should be dead,” I say quietly, broken. “It should have been me. Why couldn’t it be me?” There’s no reply. The silence stretches, every passing moment like a lifetime. I wait, slumped on the floor with my back against the wall. I can’t bring myself to look at Brit. I know I’ll only find the same expression I see on everyone’s face once they know the truth: the police, friends from home, teachers at school. That mix of horror and fascination; resentment and secret, bitter regret. Like they know it’s all my fault. My parents are the worst. They’ve tried not to show it, but even I can tell. They wish I had been the one to go. That makes two of us. I hear a noise, movement over on the couch. I can’t help myself. I look up in time to see Brit slowly unfold her limbs and rise to her feet. My heart falls. I didn’t expect her to understand, but that didn’t stop me hoping for a miracle. She’s been the one person to see through my faults and flaws, and if anyone could save me from bearing this dreadful weight alone... No. I never deserved her. Even before she knew the truth, I was a fool to dream, all those nights lost in memories of the past, like if I willed it hard enough, I could make her love me for real. But real life isn’t dreams and wishes. It’s the flash of movement on a dark road, the scream of breaks and shattering glass. It’s the deathly silence the moment you lose the one you love, and the deep ache of loneliness knowing you’ll never get them back—or deserve to be loved ever again. Brit walks towards me, heading for the door. I want to make her stay, try and explain better than these jumbled fragments I’ve offered her, but I can’t find the strength to fight it anymore. I’ve lost her all over again, and this time, it’s all my fault. I bow my head and count her footsteps, savoring the sound of each step on the old wooden boards —the last sound of her before she leaves my life forever. One, two, three… I wait for the sound of the door closing but nothing comes. I close my eyes. I can’t take this anymore. I know I deserve to suffer for everything I’ve done, but God, I can’t bear the thought of her hating me now. She was my light, my hope, and once she walks out that door, I know, there’ll be nothing but darkness.

Then I feel a touch, gentle against my cheek. I slowly lift my head to find Brit crouched on the floor in front of me. Her dark eyes stare softly into mine, not angry or betrayed, but something more precious than I’ve ever known before. Forgiveness. It can’t be. I blink at her, not trusting myself to speak. This is her just letting me down gently. Softening the blow before she walks out for good. Softly, she wipes away the tear I didn’t know was falling. “It’s not your fault,” Brit whispers. I shake my head, not trusting myself anymore. Another second, and I’ll pull her into my arms and kiss her—make her stay the only way I know how. “Brit, you don’t need to do this,” I tell her. “Don’t try and be nice. Please, just go.” She shakes her head slowly. “I’m not going anywhere.” I freeze. My heart starts racing, betraying me with a desperate hope. She can’t mean it, she doesn’t know what she’s saying. “Brit, no—” “It’s not your fault.” She says it again, every word firm and determined. “Look at me, Hunter.” Brit cups my cheek, forcing me to look deep into those beautiful eyes. “Believe me. It was awful, and tragic, but you can’t blame yourself. You made your choices, and Jace made his. And sometimes, sometimes people leave us, and we’ll never know why.” Her words sink through me, full of sweetness and hope. I reach up to cover her hand with mine, clinging to her, like a drowning man. “You don’t blame me?” I ask, desperate. “Oh, Hunter.” Brit’s face creases with heartbreak. “All this time you’ve been carrying this alone. Why didn’t you tell me?” “I wanted to be the man you saw in me.” I whisper, still gripping her hand—still not daring to believe. “I didn’t want you to hate me. Please, Brit, I couldn’t live with myself if you—” “Shhhh,” Brit leans in and kisses me. Light and soft, her lips barely brush mine but it’s like a ray of sunshine through the darkest storm. “I don’t hate you. I could never. Don’t you see? I love you.” What? I pull back to stare at her, wordless with disbelief. Did I just hear that? Brit’s eyes are shining brightly, the North Star in my darkest hour, guiding me to her. Guiding me home. “You’re the only man I’ve ever loved,” she whispers, as something deep inside me breaks wide open, spilling relief and heartache and pure joy into my veins. “I know I keep pushing you away, and I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so fucked up. But it’s you, Hunter. It’s always been you.”

I watch the realization roll across Hunter ’s face. The darkness in his eyes melts away, leaving something so vivid and intense, it takes my breath away. “Brit,” he growls, and then he yanks me to him, capturing my mouth in a desperate, tear-stained kiss. I can’t hold back a moment longer. I fall against him, deep into his embrace. Together. His lips crash into me, his mouth searching and pleading with a wordless question I answer with everything I have. I don’t want to run anymore. I can’t keep pushing him away. Not now that I know the darkness he’s been carrying, the tortured depths of his beautiful soul. I slide my fingers through his hair, hungry for the taste of him, our tongues sliding together deep in my mouth. Hunter groans against me, scooping his hands under my thighs so I’m straddling his lap, our bodies pressed tight together, the fire between us blazing so fiercely I could die in the flames. God, how did I think I could live without him? I couldn’t leave his side if the world was crumbling to ashes around us. He’s everything I need, strong and true and braver than I ever realized. Because now I know he’s just like me. He’s damaged, and hurt, and broken, and trying so damn hard to keep it together. But we don’t need to keep pretending, not anymore. If he can be brave enough to show me this terrible secret, then I can be brave too. I can love him, even if it breaks my heart. I take his face in my hands and kiss him slow, with everything I have: all my fear and darkness and desperate hope. I kiss him because he wants me in spite of everything, because he’s more of a man than I ever imagined. “I’m sorry,” I tell him, aching with regret. “I didn’t know about Jace. If I’d have known somehow…” “Don’t.” Hunter ’s mouth is on mine again, desperate and demanding; his hands like wildfire across my skin. “It’s just us now. It’s just you and me.” He thrusts up against me and I feel him, hard between my thighs, the delicious pressure sending shocks of electricity through my body. I gasp. Desire flashes, dark in his eyes. Hunter yanks down my tank top and kisses a blazing path down to my breasts, closing his lips around my nipple and sucking with such sharp sweetness that I let out a cry of

pleasure. “Goddammit Brit,” he gasps, as I grind against him, fevered and wild. I feel his body shake under my touch, the furious stampede of his heartbeat pounding clear through his chest. “I need you,” he gasps. “All of you.” I can only whimper in response, lost to the sensation of his tongue teasing against my breasts, and the hot, hard contours of his body crushed against mine. I want to drown in him, lose myself completely to the slide of our bodies and the ache of desire, deep in my core. I want to surrender beneath him, feel him inside me, everywhere. Always. I pull back, scrambling unsteadily to my feet. Hunter pants for breath, confused, and then I hold out my hand to him. He grabs it. In an instant, he’s on his feet again, closing the distance between us. I step back, leading him towards the staircase, but we don’t make it that far. He grabs me, slamming my body against the hard length of his, tearing my shirt and bikini top off and burying his face in the hollow of my neck with a groan. I yank his shirt up over his head, shuddering at the sensation of his bare skin on mine. “Hunter,” I gasp, as his hands close around my breasts, such a gorgeous sweet pressure that my legs buckle and I sway against him, helpless to the rush. Hunter lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist and holding me tight as we kiss our way up the stairs, our mouths hungry and devouring. My pulse is electric, every nerve and inch of skin alight as he strides down the landing and into the bedroom, slamming me back against the wall. Yes! I moan as his body shocks hard against me, the weight of him crushing me into the wall. Hunter tangles his fingers in my hair, pulling my head back to take my mouth again in a hard, hot kiss. I arch up, greedily running my hands over the broad planes of his back, following the ridge of muscle all the way down to clutch the chiseled contours of his butt. Now the layers of half-truths and pretense have been stripped away, I don’t want a single thing between us anymore. I yank his belt undone and push his jeans down, and oh, now I can really feel him: the hot, steely outline through the thin fabric of his briefs. The ache of desire twists deeper between my thighs, and my body rises up, grinding into him, hungry for the pressure of his body between mine. Hunter groans into my mouth and I reach for him, sliding my hand between us and closing my fingers around the length of his cock. Oh. The feel of him is incredible, so thick and hard it sends a fresh shiver of anticipation shooting straight to my core. I slide my hand down his shaft, and he shudders under my touch, but before I can move again he suddenly breaks our kiss, yanking my hand away and pinning my wrists against the wall up above my head. His grip digs into my skin, desire racing through me as he braces above my body, gasping for air, his blue eyes wild with desire.

“No going back,” he growls, his voice low and hoarse with lust. “No running away this time. I’m going to take you, all of you, everything. You’ll be mine, you understand? “ His words shock through my haze of lust, so demanding, it takes my breath away. I fall back, but I’m trapped, crushed against the wall as Hunter slides one hand down my body, shoving down my shorts to cup his hands against me and drag his thumb across my clit. I cry out, writhing as he strokes relentlessly, but I’m trapped under his iron grip, my arms still pinned. I gasp for air but there’s no escape from the dark friction building, rising, aching deep inside of me as his thumb circles, maddeningly slow. “I want all of you, or nothing at all,” he whispers, pressing one finger, and then two, deep into the wet, aching heart of me. I sob in his arms, my head tipped back, helpless against the wave of desire crashing around me. “Give me everything, Brit. Give it to me.” Hunter releases my wrists, clutching my jaw in his hand so I have no choice but to look at him, deep into those eyes that burn so bright with desire and possession and love. Love. My heart rises. My pulse is racing, and I know, this is the moment I step off the edge. To hell with my rules, and walls, and endless bitter defenses—I want him more than I want to stay safe. More than anything. More than air. “Yes.” I stare back, deep into his eyes so he can see the truth I’ve spent so long trying to hide. “I’m yours, Hunter. Everything, I swear. I love you. I love you!” Hunter ’s eyes flash with a primal possession, and then he sweeps me up, dragging me across the room and tipping me back on the bed. He tears the last of my clothes off, until I’m naked and gasping beneath him. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he gasps, eyes blazing hot across my body. “God, I could come just looking at you.” He claims my lips again, his tongue plunging deep into my mouth, but it’s not enough. I need him with a hunger I’ve never known before, every part of me stripped raw and aching to feel him fill me up. “Hunter,” I gasp, arching up against him. “Now…” He drags himself away, leaving my body for a moment to reach for the bedside table, but then he’s back, his body warm and solid, pressing me down into the soft mattress. I gasp for air, locking my arms up around his neck as he parts my thighs and braces himself above me. Fuck, he’s beautiful. His hair is ruffled and damp, his body arched, glowing liquid gold in the shadows. I could spend a lifetime tracing every muscle, an eternity lost in those blue eyes. But now, now I need him, God, so much. I’m wet and ready, I can’t wait another moment longer. I can feel it rise in me already, the force ready to take me over the edge, and I need him inside me, there with me. “Brit,” Hunter whispers, pausing above me. I whimper in protest, but he stills his body, reaching to gently push a damp strand of hair from my face. I look up into his eyes, and the emotion that flashes between us shakes me to my very soul. This is

it, I realize, through the low ache and pounding heartbeat and swell of desire. Hunter, my Hunter, everything I thought I’d never have—gazing down at me like I’m a goddess, holding me like he’ll never let me go. He slides into me slowly, every inch a revelation. Jesus Christ. The sensation is overwhelming, like nothing in the world. He moves deliberately, controlled, slowly filling me up until I don’t think I can take any more. But I want it. I cry out, arching up to take him even deeper, all the way, until we’re poised on the edge together; our bodies bound as one. Hunter starts to move, but I can’t join him, not yet, not when I’m still reeling from the simple feel of his body, covering me, inside me, surrounding me. “Wait,” I gasp, clutching his biceps. Hunter groans, but he stills himself, his breath coming in ragged gasps as I stretch beneath him. I inhale, sinking against his body, letting myself feel the thick fullness everywhere; a dark fire in my veins, every cell in my body molding to his shape. I tense, flexing around him, and his body shocks with the secret embrace. “God, Brit,” his jaw clenches, eyes dark and wild—for me. Only me. “I can’t,” he gasps, “I can’t hold back—” I meet his eyes, ready now. “So don’t.” I rise up, thrusting wantonly against him. Hunter ’s eyes flash darkly, and then he’s unleashed. With a low, rough growl, he slams me back against the bed, plunging hard, stroking me with deep relentless pleasure, over and over until I’m crying out for mercy in his arms. Every last doubt is ripped away; every moment of indecision is obliterated under the damp slide of his body and the fierce desire in his eyes. Everything. I want to give him everything. The thought shocks me as Hunter scoops me up and rolls, his body sliding damp against mine, until I’m straddling his lap, the steel cage of his muscle locking me tight in his arms. Oh God! A cry rips from my lips as he surges up inside of me, the pressure hitting me inside and out, slamming new waves of pleasure out through my system. I rock against him, mindless, sinking deep into the darkness where nothing exists but aching flesh and wild, craving blood; the hard rhythm of our bodies that’s beyond sense, beyond meaning, nothing but pure instinct. Hunter tangles his fingers in my hair, locking his dark gaze on mine, and I move with him, meeting every thrust with my own, lost to the shudder of friction and waves of ecstasy swelling deep inside, rising higher, calling to us. Closer. Harder. “Baby,” he groans, his blue eyes frenzied with desire as he surges up into me again, biting down on my neck in a desperate kiss. “Jesus Christ, Brit.” I whimper in response, falling into him until my forehead rests on his shoulder, my body slowing

now, overcome. I can feel the tension in his every muscle, locked tight with desperate self-control, poised on the edge, ready to explode. I sob, rocking into him. I’m almost there, but it’s too far; I’m helpless against the devastation, strung out and aching for release but too paralyzed to take another breath. “I can’t,” I gasp, clawing, desperate. “Hunter, please—” “I’ll take you there,” he swears, forcing my head up to look at him. I stare, dazed, into his eyes. “Feel it,” he orders me. “Every stroke. Feel me inside of you.” His drawl is low and hypnotic, sliding over me like honey. “I’m everywhere, baby, I’m deeper than you’ve ever known.” “Yes, God yes,” I shudder, his body rocking against me in a slick motion, hitting the pressure against my clit just right, a sweet, gorgeous rush that leaves me breathless and aching. “You’re mine now. Only mine.” He surges again, deliberate and slow, and I cry out. I can feel it build, stronger now, everything shifting hard into focus, sharp and bright. “I’m the only one who can get you there,” he growls possessively, his breath hot on my skin. “Say it, Brit. I’m the only man who knows what you need.” “Yes!” I sob. “You, it’s only you.” I thrust against him, hungry, but Hunter holds me still, locking me in place. “Don’t stop,” I beg, my voice broken and hoarse. “Hunter, please!” “Shhh,” he murmurs, pulling back from my body. His jaw is clenched, every muscle in his body strung out and quaking with tension, but still, Hunter keeps ragged control. He trails one hand down my body between us, toying and teasing with my breast. I gasp for air. Hunter gives me a dark look, eyes bright with such reckless desire I shudder from the rush. “Are you ready?” he demands. My breath catches, blood pounding in my ears, desire burning in my bloodstream. My body is crying out for him, yearning for release only he can provide. I couldn’t deny him even if I tried. “Please,” I sob, shaking in his arms. “Anything. I’m yours.” Hunter ’s lips find mine in a kiss so tender that I exhale, relaxing into him, a moment of soft bliss in the whirlwind of my desire. Then he pulls away, and before I can collect myself, he lifts me from his lap, turning me over and shoving me facedown on the mattress with my hips lifted back towards him. With a ragged groan, Hunter slams into me. I scream. The angle is devastating, the pleasure more than I can stand. I claw at the sheets, sobbing, as I feel him drive into me, hard and fast, pulling almost all the way out then plunging back, hitting deeper than ever before, a new dark sweetness that sets my world ablaze. “Brit!” I hear him growl my name like a desperate prayer, but I can’t find the words to answer. I’m mindless, lost in the tornado of sensation crashing through my body, pulling me helpless towards the edge. Hunter falls against me, bracing his arms tight under my body to hold me up, still driving so

fucking deep I could die from the pleasure. He reaches to find my breasts with one hand, squeezing and rolling my nipples in a sweet flash of pain. I cry out, over again, sobbing, aching, totally surrendered. “You’re there,” Hunter gasps behind me, a low growl against my neck. He slides his other hand lower, right to the heart of me, stroking my clit in a swift, hard caress that sends stars bursting behind my eyes. “You come when I goddam say you will, and I’m telling you, Brit, you come for me. Now!” He plunges into me one last time, crying out with the wild force of his release, and then I can’t help it anymore. I give in, I give him everything. I break apart, shattering, screaming out his name as I fall headlong into the velvet darkness that rises up to meet me, the waves of ecstasy crashing over our bodies, again and again, until the world is black and there’s nothing left but him. Hunter. Only him.

I sleep restlessly, tossing and turning, and when I wake, the room is pitch-black, no sound at all but Hunter ’s breathing, steady against my back. I’m spooned against him, his body warm against my naked skin, his heartbeat drumming a gentle lullaby in the dark of the night. I carefully lift his arm and slip out from under his embrace. I grab blindly on the floor until I find fabric, pulling his shirt over my head as I tiptoe out of the bedroom and down the stairs. The house is dark and silent, but the moon outside shines brightly through the bare windows. I flinch at the cold of the tiles on my bare feet as I scamper over to the kitchen, checking the cabinets in turn until I find a glass to pour myself some water. I lean back against the counter and slowly drink it down, letting myself think and feel for the first time since we... Since he… I have no words. What happened last night was more than sex—at least, not the crude pursuit of an orgasm I’ve known before. It was a revelation, something pure and true. When Hunter was inside me, holding me, driving me on… I was more than just myself anymore. We became more—body and soul, two spirits joined, together. I didn’t ever want to let him go. So what makes you think you won’t fuck it up again this time? Before I can stop myself, the first whispers of doubt begin to chorus in my mind. What comes next? I’ve never even had so much as a steady boyfriend, let alone kept a man like Hunter around. As much as we shared tonight—the barriers crumbling down around both our hearts—I can’t help but remember the way everything else in my life has gone; how everything good falls apart somehow. How everyone I love always leaves. I shiver, fear snaking through my veins like ice even in the warm night breeze. What if it’s not their fault? What if it’s me, doomed to screw up every good thing that ever comes my way? Hunter is, without a doubt, the best thing that’s ever happened to me, so what kind of messy, tragic ending are we heading for right now? A noise comes from behind me, interrupting my spiral of self-doubt. “Who’s there?” I yelp, whirling around. The glass slips from my grasp and smashes, loud on the floor, as I see Hunter coming down the stairs.

“Oh,” I catch my breath. “You scared me!” “Don’t move.” Hunter hurries down the final stairs. He’s naked save a pair of sweatpants. “You’ll cut yourself.” I wait in place until he reaches me, lifting me up in one easy movement and placing me to sit on the counter while he flips on the light and bends over to pick the shards from the floor. “Sorry,” I apologize quickly, “I didn’t mean to make a mess.” Hunter sweeps the last of the fragments aside. “I didn’t know where you were.” He straightens up, and I see for the fist time the uncertainty on his face, shadowed in the moonlight. He turns away from me to put them in the trash. “I woke up, and you were gone. I thought…” He stops, shoulders hunched. My heart catches with the painful truth. He thought I’d do what I’ve always done: disappear before things get too real; run and save my heart, no matter what the price. But after everything we’ve been through together, I know one thing for sure now: this time, I’m not listening to their lies. “I was thirsty.” I reach for him, pulling him into the cradle between my legs, soothed just by the touch of him, his skin so warm and smooth against mine. “I came down to get a drink.” “I know that now.” Hunter gives me a crooked grin, his hands sliding up my bare thighs. “I just…” he trails off. “I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him softly, leaning in to drop a kiss on his forehead. “I’m right here.” Hunter rests his head against my lips for a moment, just breathing in and out. I feel him relax, the tension in his body melting away, and I’m overcome with a sudden flash of gratitude. This is my second chance. How many times have I wondered what might have been? How many nights did I look back at the time we spent together, aching with a secret regret that I didn’t stick around? I have a chance now with him to set all of that right: for both of us to put aside so much of our guilt and grief, and create something new together. All our own. “Let’s go back to bed,” I whisper, finally slipping down from the counter and taking his hand, leading him back up the stairs. “Hey, Brit?” Hunter pauses a moment on the landing. I turn back to find him watching me, his lips curling in a bashful smile. “I’m glad you stayed.” He knows. My mouth drops open in surprise as I stare back, into those soulful blue pools that somehow see all the way to my darkest soul. He knows I thought about leaving, that my instincts were screaming out to run. “It’s OK to be scared,” Hunter steps closer, so I can feel the warmth radiating from his bare chest. He cups my cheek in a gentle caress, eyes full of understanding. “I know you’ve got a lifetime of disappointment haunting you, and this, right here? This is big, Brit. It doesn’t get much realer than the

two of us. Any sane man would bet against you sticking around.” I wait, heart in my chest, feeling like all my insecurities are exposed. “But I’m not a sane man, Brit, I’m crazy about you.” Hunter smiles at me, so full of tenderness it takes my breath away. “So you be scared, and freak out, and feel whatever it is you need to feel. Just promise me you’ll do it here, by my side. Because I can’t take losing you again,” he adds, determined. “If you run, I’m running after you, and dragging you right back home again. You understand?” I nod, a shy smile curving across my cheeks. He understands. He knows a part of me will always be at war with myself, but he’s not giving up on me all the same. Relief washes over me, bright in the dark hallway. I’m not in this alone: I can’t make the same mistake again, because he won’t let me. He’s on my side. Hunter pushes me gently ahead of him into the bedroom. “C’mon, it’s like, 3:00 a.m. and I need my beauty sleep.” I giggle. “Don’t you mean, I do?” “You don’t need anything,” he tells me, yawning. “Except to keep your hands off my covers. Don’t think I didn’t notice you stole them all.” “I was cold!” I protest, sliding in next to him. Hunter scoops me against his body, nestling me into the crook of his arm. “Better?” he whispers. I nod, snuggling into him. “Good,” he murmurs, sleepy. “‘Cause this time, I’m not letting you go.” Hunter keeps his promise. He holds me all night, his body curled against mine, his arms encircling me in a tender, warm embrace. I can’t sleep; I just lie there, listening to the sound of his even breaths and marveling at the contentment cloaking my body in a bone-deep haze of peace. I’ve never held a man like this; never stayed to see the sunrise filter softly through the drapes. I’ve never felt so close to anyone, so naked and exposed. So loved. I roll in his arms to face him, watching the peaceful expression on his face as he sleeps. He’s a work of art, naked and glorious right in front of me, and I can’t stop myself from reaching out and gently tracing the contours of his face with feather-light fingertips. The shock of hair flopping over his forehead; the light dusting of freckles across his nose. I trace his cheekbones, his jaw, his gorgeous full lips, memorizing every inch of skin. My heart beats faster, just to touch him like this; catch a glimpse of him so vulnerable and at peace. Hunter lets out a sleepy yawn and shifts, flinging his arm out across the bed and snuggling deeper

into the pillows. I could get used to this. The thought makes me catch my breath, my body tensing with the muscle memory of old betrayals, but I force myself to relax again, lulled by the steady rise and fall of his chest. He’s not like the others. Hunter is different, I know that now. For the first time, I can see the future beckoning me: a hazy golden promise of mornings waking just like this; long nights spent tangled up in his arms. Safe and loved, the way I’ve never even dared to dream. The possibility shivers through me, so tempting, so real. I could be this happy tomorrow, and every tomorrow after that too. I could be his, always. And he would be mine. A fierce surge of possession swells in my chest, and now my fingertips are roving further across his body. I trace over the curve of his bicep, the muscled ridges of his stomach. Mine, I think, desire rising in me. All mine. I brush my fingertips lower still, delving under the covers. I find him hard and ready for me, rising to my touch. My breath catches— “Morning.” Hunter rolls swiftly, suddenly trapping me beneath him against the sheets. I flush, caught red-handed. “Good morning.” “It’s sure shaping up to be.” Hunter gives me a lazy grin. I glance away, self-conscious. For the first time, I remember what a sight I must make: tangled hair, smudged make-up. God knows what last night has done to me. I reach quickly to swipe under my eyes, but Hunter catches my hand. “You’re beautiful,” he breathes, gently smoothing hair back from my cheek. I roll my eyes, awkward, but he laughs. “You are. Like this, just you.” He leans down and kisses me slowly. I breathe it all in, reaching up around his neck to pull him closer. I feel him smile against my mouth. The kiss deepens, long and true, as he rolls me slowly across the bed. I savor it, every moment, such a simple thing—a kiss—but oh, how it makes my heart sing. Hunter pulls back, propping himself up on one elbow and gently tracing a path across my naked shoulder. I gasp, shivering at his touch. “My turn,” he says with a wicked grin, swirling his fingertips over my sensitive skin. “You were awake?” I cry, flushing with embarrassment. “Best damn dream of my life,” he lowers his mouth and kisses down the line of my back, slipping his hands around me to rove lightly across my breasts and stomach. I shudder, letting my head fall back, feeling the silver cobwebs dance across my skin where his fingertips have touched. Hunter ’s breath comes heavier, hot against my neck, and I nudge back against him, finding him hot and hard against my ass.

Hunter groans. He turns me over, laying me out beneath him, and cradling my cheek in his hand. “I want to stay here forever,” he murmurs, dropping kisses along my neck, my chest, my lips. “Just you and me, it’s all I ever need.” “I want it too,” I whisper, rising up to meet his kiss, claiming his mouth with my own. I lick into him, tasting and teasing, feeling the wave of desire rise in me all over again. This time I’m not crying out with a desperate need, no, this is something different, a steady force curling low and deep inside of me, tripping out through my bloodstream in a sweet, gorgeous hum. “My Brit,” Hunter whispers my name, and I reach between us, opening my thighs, already so wet and ready for him. I gasp as he eases into me, his gorgeous thickness sinking deep inside, fitting me so perfectly it’s like he never left. We stay there, perfectly still, not saying a word, but feeling every heartbeat and quick, shallow breath. I pull my head back to look in his eyes and find him gazing down at me, the same expression of tender reverence on his face that sings in every cell and atom of my being. “I love you,” he whispers, moving gently inside me. My heart stops. It’s the first time he’s said those words. The first time I’ve ever heard them. Pure joy sweeps through me, rising, circling with every slow thrust, until I’m arching up against him, crying out at the orgasm that ripples through my body, sweet and pure like stardust. I feel Hunter ’s body shudder into mine with his release, gasping my name over and over until the force leaves us both and we lie tangled and breathless in each other ’s arms. “Wow,” Hunter takes a ragged breath. “That was… wow.” I prop myself up above him, a giddy grin on my face. “You mean, that’s not what it’s usually like for you?” He laughs. “What, are you crazy? Hell no.” “Hmmm,” I tease, “That’s weird, because I always—” I’m cut off, shrieking as he grabs me and rolls, tickling mercilessly at my still too-sensitive skin. “Hunter!” I yelp, shaking with laughter. “Hunter, stop!” “Not ‘til you take that back!” I struggle, playful, until the distant ring of his cellphone cuts through our laughter. He finally lets me go. “Saved by the bell,” he winks, scrambling to find his jeans where he left them on the floor. “But I’m so not done with you, darlin’.” “I’m counting on it.” I laugh, admiring the curve of his ass in the morning sunshine. Hunter finally scoops his cellphone out of his jeans and answers. “What’s up?” he says, still grinning at me. There’s a beat, and then all the laughter drains from his eyes. “Hunter?” I ask, already reaching for him, but he steps back, turning away. “No, of course.” He says into the phone. “I’ll be right there. What hospital?”

Fear clutches at my heart. I scramble out of bed and go to him, sliding my arms around his waist and holding him close as he listens to whoever ’s on the other end of the line. “I’m on my way,” he tells them, then hangs up, clutching the dead phone against his chest. Silence. “Hunter?” I ask cautiously. “Hunter, talk to me.” I pull him around to face me, inhaling with a gasp when I see the terrible shock on his face. “It’s my father,” he tells me, stumbling over his words. “He’s had a heart attack. They think… they think he might not make it.”

We drive straight to the city, Hunter ’s knuckles white with tension as he grips the steering wheel, his face set in a deathly blank stare. “They found him right away,” I tell him, desperately trying to break through the icy wall of fear that’s slammed down around him. I reach over, covering one of his hands with mine. “He’s getting the best doctors, everything will be OK.” Hunter just nods, his jaw clenched. With every mile that passes, I can see the shadows of the past haunting, darker in his eyes. I can’t imagine what this must be bringing back for him, everything he went through losing Jace… “It’ll be OK.” I say again in a small voice, praying with everything I have that it’s true. “I’m right here with you, everything will be alright.” The hospital staff direct us to a gleaming new private wing, Hunter ’s footsteps echoing on the floors as we head down a labyrinth of hallways and wards. I watch his expression get fearful; every muscle in his body locked tight with tension as he breaks into a jog. “Richard Covington?” he demands, as we reach the reception area. The nurse on duty is juggling three charts and a phone trapped under her shoulder. “Give me a minute.” She waves us away, not looking up. “We just need his room number,” I plead, but she can only offer a sympathetic smile. “Take a seat, I’ll be right with you.” Hunter doesn’t move, his body coiled with tension, so I gently tug him over to the seating area. “They’ll get to us when they can,” I soothe him. “And your mom has your cell number. She’d call if anything changed.” Hunter sits beside me, restlessly tapping his foot. I reach over and take his hand, uncurling his fist to drop a kiss on his palm. “He’ll be fine,” I reassure him again. I know I don’t have any right to make these promises, but I’d say anything to make him feel better right now; anything to take this terrible panic away. “He’s never had problems like this before, right? I’m sure he’s getting the best care.” Hunter jerks up to his feet and starts pacing. “I hate these places,” he mutters, looking around. “It just makes me remember, being stuck here, before…” He trails off, and I can see it in his eyes that he’s reliving every awful second of what happened that dark winter ’s night three years ago.

I try to think of something to say, but my mind is blank. “I’m sorry,” I whisper helplessly. My heart aches to watch him like this, so full of bleak memories. “I wish I could make it all go away.” Hunter closes his eyes, like he’s trying to block out the world. I get up and slip my arms around him, pulling him to me in a hug. I stand there, holding him, trying to take this burden he’s carrying and bear some of the weight on me. I can’t believe how quickly everything’s changed. Just a couple of hours ago, we were snuggled safe in each other ’s arms, basking in the glorious afterglow of our night together. It was perfect, so peaceful and filled with joy, and now… Now Hunter ’s shoulder ’s are hunched against my embrace, his body stiff and distant. I can tell, he’s a thousand miles away from me, like an invisible canyon has suddenly opened between us, pulling him into a private world of fear. “Hunter, thank God!” A voice cuts through the waiting room, and I turn to find his mother, Camille, heading towards us, trailed by a cluster of doctors. “What took you so long? He’s been asking for you.” “Dad’s awake?” Hunter clutches my hand. “He’s recovering in his room.” Camille directs that last part at the staff. “I’ve been telling them for hours, that shoebox is an insult. You’d think that with all the money we raise for this hospital—” “I’m sure it’s the best they’ve got.” Hunter placates her. “The room, mom. Where is he?” She points down the hallway, and Hunter takes off without another word, leaving me standing here alone. For the first time, Camille notices me. “And you are…?” She arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow. Her expression is blank, despite the fact I spent half a dozen summers serving her sweet iced tea and plain grilled chicken sandwiches. But it’s been years now, and she’s clearly got plenty on her mind. “Brit. Hi.” I swallow. Despite the crisis, Camille is perfectly dressed in a navy pantsuit and gold jewelry. She must be in her late fifties by now, but there’s not a line visible on her face, or a hint of grey in her sleek blonde bob. “I’m so sorry about your husband. Is there anything I can do to help?” “Thank you,” she answers with automatic politeness. “But we have it under control.” She looks me up and down for a moment. “I’m sorry, who did you say you were again, a friend of Hunter ’s?” “I… Yes.” I fold my arms over my chest self-consciously. In the hurry to get dressed and on the road, I threw a shirt of Hunter ’s over my tank-top and shorts; rolling up the sleeves and tying it around my waist. Now, it feels like a neon sign screaming, ‘I just screwed your son.’ “Well, thank you for… escorting Hunter here.” Camille gives a brisk nod, as if dismissing me. “You’ll understand, I have a lot to deal with right now. This room situation is impossible, and I need to talk to talk to someone about his medication.”

“Oh, of course!” I exclaim. “I’m sorry, I… go ahead.” “It was nice to meet you.” Camille’s smile is empty as she turns and sweeps away, leaving me in the hallway alone. The nurse at the station gives me a sympathetic look. “Room twenty-one.” She says. “Just that way.” “Thanks.” I catch my breath, then carefully venture in the other direction, following the way I saw Hunter go until I reach the room. I’m braced for the worst—intensive care wires and breathing tubes—but when I nervously step into the room, I find his father sitting up in bed, laughing along with Hunter, looking the picture of health. Relief crashes over me, followed swiftly by confusion. Richard looks like he just stepped off the golf course, not suffered a major heart attack. “Hey,” I knock awkwardly on the open door. Hunter turns. “Brit!” He leaps up to greet me, smiling. “Come meet my dad. Dad, this is Brit. Brit, meet Richard.” “Come on in,” Richard booms. He’s wearing a plush navy dressing gown over striped pajamas, a spread of empty deli wrappers on the bedside table. “Sorry there’s not much space, but my wife’s seeing to that. She’s on the war-path,” he adds conspiratorially. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they kick out half the ward to make more room.” “Umm, hi.” I edge forwards and take the hand he offers. His handshake is firm and vigorous. “I’m glad you’re OK. When he got the call, we thought…” “That I was banging at death’s door?” Richard finishes cheerfully. “False alarm, just a touch of angina. But you know your mother,” he adds in Hunter ’s direction. “Everything’s OK,” Hunter tells me, gripping my shoulder. I can feel the relief pouring off him in waves, the way his heart is racing with gratefulness. “He’ll be fine.” He exhales. “He just needs to watch his diet, and get more exercise—” “Lord, not you too!” Richard protests. “I’ve already had an earful from the doctors. Tell me, if a grown man can’t enjoy a good steak from time to time, what’s the point of living at all?” “I’ll certainly bear that in mind when I’m planning your funeral,” Camille’s voice comes, icy from the door. She walks past me to the bed, swiftly snatching a glass from his hand. “Tell me you didn’t drink this. Richard! You know these places are a breeding ground for infections.” “It’s alright, dear. You’re not getting rid of me just yet.” Richard pats her hand, and Camille clutches it tightly, a look of deep affection passing between them. Hunter ’s arm slides around my waist, pulling me close. “It was nothing,” he murmurs to me, as if reassuring himself. “We shouldn’t have worried.” His mother looks up sharply. “Angina is not nothing. The doctors said it’s a warning sign. And is

it any wonder? Your father has been working himself to death, all alone at that company.” “I have employees—” Richard tries to interrupt, but Camille won’t be stopped. “And you, all the way off in the middle of nowhere,” she accuses Hunter. “What would have happened if it had been a real heart attack? By the time you got here, it would have been too late! It’s not right, all this stress you’ve left him with.” She plumps up the pillows with sharp motions, barely controlled. “He was never meant to run that place alone, it was supposed to be for you boys. Well, I hope you’re happy now.” I feel Hunter ’s sharp intake of breath beside me. I turn, waiting for him to defend himself against her crazy accusations, but he doesn’t say a word, just drops his head, staring at the floor. “That’s enough,” Hunter ’s father says, his voice quiet but firm. “We can talk about all of this later. Did you find someone to help you with the new room assignment?” Camille collects herself. “It won’t be necessary, they’re releasing you. You’ll be home for dinner tonight.” She forces a smile. “I’ve already called ahead and told Marta to throw out all the butter. It’ll be steamed fish and vegetables from here on out.” “Wonderful,” Richard sighs. “You’ll be joining us.” Camille turns to Hunter. It’s not a question. He looks thrown. “I don’t know, I have work at the ranch, and—” “You can’t even take the time to have dinner with your family, after everything?” Camille glowers at him. Hunter slumps, like a kid who’s being scolded. “Of course, I’m sorry.” She gives a brisk nod. “I’ll have the maids make up your room. You can stay a few days, spend time with your father. I’m sure you have a lot to talk about.” Again, I wait for Hunter to object, but he just hunches his shoulders and accepts her plan. There’s silence. Camille is studiously ignoring me, acting as if I’m not even in the room. I understand, I feel like an intruder here in the middle of all their family drama, but at the same time, I don’t want to leave Hunter ’s side. “Did you drive?” Camille finally turns to me. “I... came up with Hunter,” I reply, self-conscious. “I’ll have someone take you home,” she replies in a clipped tone. I look to Hunter. “No, it’s OK, I can stay.” “Nonsense,” Camille proclaims. “I’m sure you have plenty to be getting back to. I’ll call our driver now.” She pulls out her cellphone and moves to the corner of the room, murmuring instructions. I feel a twist of doubt. “Hunter?” I prompt softly, tugging on his hand. He finally looks up, into my eyes. My heart catches to see the expression on his face: blank with tired resignation. “Mom’s right,” he says, pushing his hair back, distracted. “You should get back. You

have work.” “Garrett will cover for me.” I look back at Camille, watching us like a hawk. “Come outside a sec,” I tug Hunter into the hallway, out of listening distance, then take both his hands, looking deep into his eyes. “I’m staying with you, as long as you want. I’m here for you.” Hunter looks away. “You don’t have to—” “Yes, I do.” I hold his hands tighter. He’s not in this alone, I need him to understand. “You need me. That’s all that matters.” “I’ll be fine.” Hunter lets go of me and takes a step back. “You don’t need to deal with this. I promise, I’ll be fine,” he adds with a weak smile. “It’s just a couple of days, to get everything straightened out with them. Mom’s right,” he sighs. “It’s been too long. We need to talk, all of us.” I watch him, anxious, but helpless to argue. I have this terrible feeling now, like if I say goodbye, it’ll be for the last time. But that’s crazy, I remind myself. I’m just being insecure. It makes total sense for Hunter to go back and visit with his family, after everything they’ve just been through. It isn’t my place to stay and get in the way. “If you’re sure…” Hunter nods. “Call me when you’re home.” He leans to press a kiss to my forehead, but I reach up and catch around his neck, pulling him down into a longer kiss. Our bodies melt together, his mouth sweet and searching against mine, and for a moment, everything goes away. It’s just us, suspended in our own private world, with no fears or drama or demands. Perfect. Hunter pulls back, his smile stronger now. He gently traces my cheek. “Thank you, for coming with me,” he murmurs. “For putting up with them.” “Always,” I swear. “There you are,” his mother interrupts, stalking out of the room. “Perkins is waiting for you downstairs, he’ll drive you home. Hunter, come help your father with his things. He needs a wheelchair.” “I do not!” Richard’s voice calls. Camille ignores him. “And see about his medications too. They say the prescription is for two pills a day, but I’m certain I read an article saying three was best.” Hunter gives me a rueful look. “I’ll call you later.” “OK.” I swallow. “Bye.” I ride back to Beachwood Bay in the comfort of the Covington chauffeur-driven BMW, but despite the plush leather interior and gentle AC in the backseat, I can’t relax. Walking away from Hunter in the

hospital felt all wrong: like the bad dreams I get some nights, when I’m walking the halls of a haunted house. My feet keep moving, taking me towards danger, but I can’t turn back, even when I know that nothing good lies ahead of me. Miss you. I tap out a text, and then stop, my thumb hovering over the ‘send’ button. No. I hit ‘delete’ instead. Hunter has enough on his mind right now; the last thing he needs is me getting clingy and emotional. I’m not that girl. I’ve always hated those girls. It’s just a few days, I tell myself, watching the coastal road sail past. It’s like I promised him, everything’s going to be OK. Back home at the beach house, I say an awkward thanks to the driver then let myself in. I pause a moment in the doorway, looking around the empty house. Signs of Juliet and Emerson are everywhere, from the black-and-white photos she’s taken of Beachwood and her mom framed on the walls, to the old throw over the back of the sofa, passed down thought her family since when her grandparents lived here, years ago. I’ve been staying here for three months now, but this is the first time I realize, it doesn’t feel like home. Because it’s not. This place is temporary for me, like every other part of my life. Temporary job, temporary dreams. I just have to hope to God Hunter doesn’t turn out to be temporary too. I shake off the whispers of self-doubt rising in the back of my mind. I flip on all the lights and the radio too, heading to the kitchen to grab a carton of ice-cream from the freezer before I settle in at my work-station in the living room. I need to keep busy, I decide. It’s not like I didn’t know what to do with myself before Hunter came around. The fabric I bought from Emilia is still sitting there, wrapped in tissue paper on the table. I feel a bolt of self-doubt, remembering Maxwell’s cruel comments in our interview, but I force myself to reach for it all the same. I trace my fingertips over the soft silk, and like magic, the criticism seems to melt away. I left my sketchbook at Hunter ’s in the rush, but I don’t need it: I know my designs by heart. I grab a loose sheet of paper and my pencils, and start drawing again, letting my imagination take shape on the page. I see the dress clearer than ever now: the curve of the bodice, and the sweep of the long, elegant skirt, the way the fabric will drape and slither when I walk… Before I realize, it’s past midnight. I’ve broken the main design down into its component parts now: sketching out the pattern I’ll need to cut from plain canvas to test the shape. There’s nothing more I can do tonight. I stretch, my shoulders aching. I check my phone again, but there’s no messages or calls. Hope everything’s OK, I text Hunter. Goodnight.

I wait, my stomach twisting, until his reply flashes up. Sweet dreams. Thinking of you. I exhale, a long breath of relief—and regret. Never mind the logic, I should be there with him, by his side; curled in his arms, the way we slept last night. God, it feels like a lifetime ago, not just a few hours, but as I get ready for bed and slide in between the sheets of my room upstairs, I can’t help but feel the absence of him beside me, as real a force as if he were lying there himself. How can it be, that I miss him like this already? When did Hunter become so damn necessary in my life that just one night without him makes me feel lost and set adrift? When he was moving inside you, making you feel so safe, so complete. When you opened your heart and let him see everything you are, and gave it to him, despite all the risk. I reach out, tracing the empty space on the pillow, remembering his face beneath my fingertips, so beautiful and at peace. This is what I was scared about, all those years I kept my heart so protected— kept the world at arm’s length with my sharp barbs and carefree comebacks. Because now I’ve opened myself up to him, and I know what it feels like to truly connect to another soul, I’m even more terrified that something might happen to tear it all away. I stepped off the edge for him, but now I’m here in freefall, hoping so desperately that he’ll be there to catch me when I hit the ground. He loves you, I tell myself, repeating the words like a lullaby. He’s not going to leave you like the others do. He’ll stay. But still, I fall asleep with a tight knot in my chest, alone and miles from the one man I’ve ever needed to be there when I wake in the morning.

Two days. That’s how long it’s been since I held her. Forty-eight hours away from Brit, and I’m already losing my damn mind. Every minute I’m not with her is like an eternity, back in this house, surrounded by my parents’ passive-aggressive judgment and the crushing weight of my guilt. I need her with me, to taste her lips, touch her soft skin, lose myself in those kisses that somehow set everything to rights in the world. But each time I pick up my phone, ready to dial, something stops me. This is my bullshit, not hers. She’s had enough family drama in her life to last a thousand years. The last thing she deserves is all my crazy, too. But that’s not it, not everything. Because despite the bliss of coming clean to her, seeing the understanding and forgiveness in her eyes when I finally told her the truth, I can’t shake the fear that it’s not real. That once she has a chance to think about it—really recognize what I’ve done—she’ll see how wrong I am, how I don’t deserve her love. And every report about my fucked-up family will remind her, Jace is gone. I did that. Me. “You’re wearing that?” My mother ’s voice stops me as I walk through the front atrium. I turn. “It’s just dinner.” I look down. I haven’t had a chance to get my things from the ranch, so I’m stuck wearing what was left in the closet of my old room here. Jeans, a shirt—I look fine. My mother walks closer, tutting. “I laid out a suit for you, Armani. And wear that blue tie, it brings out your eyes.” I look at her, realizing she’s dressed to the nines in a cocktail dress and pearls. My heart sinks. “Who’s coming?” “Just a few people.” Mom makes an absent gesture. “The Kellermans, you know he just moved his accounts to the firm. Bitsy Tremaine, and her husband. The Feinbergs, oh, and some of the senior partners and their wives.” “You’re hosting a party,” I state, through a clenched jaw. “Well, of course I am.” My mother stares at me, like this shouldn’t be a surprise. “You haven’t been back in months, and there are important people for you to meet.”

I try and control my temper. “Unless they’re looking to sell horses, or have them trained, I’m not interested.” My mother sighs. “Honestly, Hunter, this ranch business is a fool’s errand. It’s time for you to face up to your responsibilities.” “They’re not my responsibilities!” I burst out angrily. “They’re your obligations, and I don’t want any part of them!” Her face changes. “How can you say that, after what happened with your father? Don’t you care what happens to this family?” I catch my breath. “I’m sorry, Mom. I do care. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to give up my life to live yours.” Mom’s lips press together in a thin line. “I’m not going to have this discussion now. We have guests arriving soon. Go and change, and be ready for drinks at eight.” I feel rebellion thunder, hot in my veins. I don’t want to do as she says. I want to bolt right out that door and drive non-stop to Beachwood Bay. I want to tear open Brit’s door, carry her up the stairs, rip off her clothes and not get out of bed for a week. But I’m just about ready to turn and walk out the door when my mother ’s gaze slips past me, to the framed portrait of Jace that’s hanging in the entryway. Her expression softens; her eyes watering. “I remember the day he started at the firm. Your father was so proud, I thought he’d never stop smiling.” Guilt crashes over me, a hundred-ton weight. The only reason my mother is ambushing me is that I didn’t give her any choice. They had their perfect son: the company man, my mother ’s dinner party host. They had him, and I took him from us forever. I’m a poor second choice, and we all know it. “I’ll go put the suit on,” I agree, resignation smothering my plans to get away. It’s just another night, I tell myself. You can head back home tomorrow. My mother brightens, moving to kiss me on the cheek—and smooth back my hair. “We’ll need to get you a haircut, you look like a vagrant.” “Sure,” I sigh, turning to head back upstairs. “And don’t forget the tie!” Dinner is unbearable, like every other damn party in this house. My parents laugh and make small talk with all their society friends, gossiping about local scandals and politics while I pick at my fancy food and wish desperately I was a hundred miles away, eating burgers at the bar with Brit, just hanging out, messing around to make her laugh, stealing kisses between her shifts.

Watching the look in her eyes when she comes… I feel a buzz in my pocket. I check my phone, sneaking a glance under the table. How’s it going? I miss you. Warmth seeps through my body, melting my tension for one brief, blissful moment. Even from a hundred miles away, Brit can make all this bullshit go away. I start to tap out a response. “Hunter?” my mother ’s voice comes sharply. I look up to find her giving me a deathly glare. Cellphones at the dinner table are strictly forbidden. I grit my teeth, and tuck my phone back in my pocket. “Yes, mom?” I ask in a fake-polite voice. I look at the clock on the mantle. Jesus, only 8:30 p.m.? “Bitsy was just saying her niece is in town, she’s about your age,” my mom adopts a sugary tone. “You two could get together for lunch later this week.” “Oh yes!” Bitsy claps her hands together. She’s a brittle blonde with a forehead that hasn’t moved all evening. “That’s perfect.” “Sorry,” I tell them both, not even trying to sound like I mean it. “I’m not staying. And I’m seeing someone,” I add in my mom’s direction, in case she gets any more bright ideas about fixing me up. Mom raises an eyebrow. “That girl from the hospital?” “Her name is Brit,” I reply, ice-cold. “I thought she was a hitch-hiker you picked up,” Mom smirks, turning to the table. There are titters of amusement from her friends. “Honestly, you should have seen her: shorts up to here and a shirt down to there. These country girls—” “That’s enough.” My voice is harsh over the ring of china. I scrape back my chair. Mom’s face changes. “Where are you going? We haven’t served dessert.” “I’m not hungry,” I tell her, striding out of the room before I lose it completely. I don’t know where to go, but instinct takes over: driving me upstairs, down the hallways to the back of the house, and through a door I haven’t brought myself to open in years. Jace’s room. I catch my breath, my heart pounding fast in my chest. It’s quiet up here, away from all the other bedrooms; the windows overlooking the side of the yard, with a tree in easy reach for all those times he snuck out to go fool around with a girl, or grab some beers with his buddies out at the lake. I look around. They haven’t touched a thing. It’s like a shrine to him: sports trophies still lined up on the mantle, school medals and his college diploma framed proudly on the walls. The bed is made with fresh navy sheets, and his computer is sitting there with a stack of magazines on the desk, like at any moment, he’s just going to come strolling in the door, back from playing tennis at the club,

yelling at me to get my ass in gear. I sink down in the desk chair, memories hitting me like a tidal wave. Mom never let us pin up posters or photos, but there are pictures of him everywhere, framed in heavy gilt and black. Jace with the lacrosse team, celebrating a win. Jace in his cap and gown, looking bashful up on stage. Jace and I, laughing together on the docks, that last summer in Beachwood Bay. My brother. Damn, I miss him. I feel it every day, but now—here—it’s more than I can stand. Some siblings have a love/hate thing going on, but we were always tight, even when I felt like I could never live up to him. He drove me crazy with his confidence, acting like there was nothing in the world he couldn’t get once he decided he wanted it. I used to joke that one day he’d meet a problem too big to charm his way out. I guess I was proved right, that terrible night when we both discovered that all the wanting in the world won’t un-break bones, and mend torn flesh. No amount of swagger and easy smiles will restart a heart that’s stopped beating. A noise comes from the doorway. I look up to find my mom. “I’m not coming back down,” I tell her, my voice gruff in my throat. “Dinner ’s over,” she says softly, stepping into the room. “They left hours ago.” I jolt with surprise. I didn’t notice the time pass, wrapped up in memories, but the sky is dark outside, and it must be late. My mom looks around the room, and I can see her thin body strain with tension. “You should pack all this away,” I tell her. “It’s not healthy, keeping it here.” “I know. I keep calling them to come, but then…” Mom swallows. “I guess I’m just not ready to let go.” That makes two of us. There’s silence for a minute, the two of us alone with our ghosts. I look at her, and a terrible thought creeps into my mind, the one that haunts me only at my darkest ebb. Does she wish it was me? I get up. “I’m leaving in the morning,” I tell her abruptly. “But what about the party next week?” she asks. “It’s our anniversary.” Shit, I totally forgot. “The party will go great without me. I’m sorry, I need to get home.” “This is your home.” Mom looks wounded. “Not anymore.” She moves to block my path. “Please, think of your father. He’s been so proud, showing you around, introducing you to everyone.” Guilt twists in me, hard. “Mom—” She grips my hands. “It’s all he ever wanted, to build something and pass it on to you both. And

now…” “I’m not him, Mom.” I plead. “I’ll never be him. Just look around.” “We know.” Her voice breaks. “But you’re all we have left now. We need you more than ever.” She collapses into sobs against me, and I stand, holding her up, feeling the loss sweep through her body. She’s trying to manipulate me with grief, I know—more of the same family loyalty stuff they’ve been holding over me for years, driving me through college and internships and every other milestone on the map laid down from birth. I want to fight it, Goddammit, I want so bad to be done, but all the fight has drained out of me now. The sad truth of the matter is, she’s right. I’m all they have. And whether it’s my fault or not, it’s because of me. I thought I could escape all this, and build a life of my own. Beachwood, the horses, Brit. But standing here in the wreckage of the past, surrounded by broken dreams––dreams I smashed with my own damn carelessness––I wonder if I’m ever getting out. Hell, maybe it’s what I deserve. The punishment for my crimes, to live here in his shadow forever, and never be free. “Fine,” I whisper, missing Brit more than I can stand. “I’ll stay.”

“Will you put that thing down for like, five minutes?” Garrett complains, calling over from behind the bar. I lower my phone, looking pointedly around the empty room. “What, so I can serve all our imaginary customers?” I ask. I’m perched on the empty server ’s station, drumming my heels against the cabinets. “I hate to break it to you, but summer season’s over. Lunch is going to be dead until next May.” “Which means I can get by without another waitress,” Garrett points out. I roll my eyes. “If you fire me, you’ll be stuck hanging out here all alone. You’ll die of boredom.” Garrett shakes his head with amused exasperation. “At least try and look like you’re working, instead of just killing time until you hear from lover-boy.” He pauses wiping down the surface and gives me a sympathetic look. “Still no word?” I shrug, self-conscious. “He called a couple of days ago. Said everything was fine, that he’d try and talk to me today…” I trail off. “I’m sure he’s just busy with family stuff.” “Sure,” Garrett agrees, too quickly. I look up. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Nothing,” he replies. “You’re right, I bet he’s got a ton of shit to catch up on. It’s just…” he makes a face. “I hate seeing you like this. It’s been a week now. How long does it take to send a damn text?” I grit my teeth, trying not to flinch at the sharp blade of insecurity that slices through me at Garrett’s words. He’s right. He’s right, and I wish to God he wasn’t. It’s been forever since I left Hunter in that hospital, and even though I told myself everything was going to be fine, with every day that passes, my reassurances sound more like naïve hope than the truth. He said he would call, but every time Hunter picks up the phone, he’s distracted and distant, and we barely have a chance to talk before he gets cut short by some plans he’s got with his folks. He says it’s important for him to try and build bridges with them, and I know it’s true, but every night I lie awake longer, waiting for his response to my

goodnight text to come. Last night, it didn’t come at all. “That thing works both ways, you know,” Garrett notes. He pulls out a can of Diet Coke from the fridge and slides it down the bar to me. I shrug. “I know, but whenever I do call it’s a bad time. I feel like I’m intruding.” If there’s anything worse than the nervous anxiety of waiting for his calls, it’s dialing his number, and feeling the crash of disappointment when he makes his excuse to hang up. It sends me straight down a spiral of self-doubt, wondering if all the things he told me were just pretty lines to get me falling at his feet; if he only ever liked the thrill of the chase, and now that I’ve given it all up to him… I stop that thought dead in its tracks. I believe in him, I have to. “Any plans later?” Garrett asks, blatantly trying to change the subject. He means besides waiting on Hunter to call? “Nope, nothing much.” I reply. “I’m nearly done with my mock-up pattern on the dress though.” “That’s awesome!” Garrett congratulates me, and I let myself feel a small glow of pride. With all my nervous energy to burn, I’ve made tons of progress. “I don’t know,” I hedge, “Something’s still not right with the drape. I want to get it perfect before I risk cutting the pattern on the fabric for real.” “Wanna take a break, watch a movie or something tonight?” Garrett asks. “I figure on shutting this place down early. Maybe grab some takeout.” I give him a smile. It’s clear he wants to distract me from my silent phone. “Don’t you have a girl coming by?” He shrugs. “No girl right now.” “What?” I exclaim, teasing. “There’s always a girl!” Garrett looks bashful. “I don’t know, I guess I could use a break. So many women, running me ragged,” he jokes. “A man needs some time to recover!” “Yeah, yeah,” I laugh. “More likely, they got together and decided to post a warning: Beware, manwhore!” My phone suddenly lights up, sending my heart skipping. “It’s him!” I slide down from the counter and answer. “Hey, what’s happening?” “Hey,” As usual, Hunter ’s voice sounds distant, in a way that has nothing to do with the quality of the cell line. “Sorry I didn’t call last night. My parents had tickets to the opera, and I couldn’t get away.” “That’s OK,” I swallow back my disappointment. “How’s your dad doing?” “He’s great,” Hunter says. “He dragged me out for a morning at the country club playing golf. It’s like nothing ever happened.”

“I’m glad,” I say, sincere. “So when are you coming home?” There’s a long pause. “They want me to stay a while longer,” Hunter says at last. “There’s a bunch of stuff to deal with at the company. Mom was right, he’s doing too much on his own. The least I can do is help out, after everything that’s happened,” he adds, and it sounds as if he’s parroting his mother ’s words straight back to me. “It’s family.” “But what about the ranch?” I ask, feeling a cold chill sweep through my body. “Don’t they need you there too?” “I can have my guys take care of things.” Hunter says. What about me? I want to cry. I need him, too. I swallow back my protest, I’m just being selfish. “How long do you think it’ll take, to get things figured out there?” I try my best to sound supportive. “Another couple of days?” He doesn’t answer. My heart catches. “Next week?” I try. Hunter exhales a long breath, sounding stressed. “I don’t know, Brit. It’ll take as long as it takes.” I clench my fists into my palms. “I miss you, is all,” I tell him softly. “I miss you too.” Hunter ’s voice softens for the first time. “I’m sorry about all this bullshit, Brit, I really am. My family is a fucking mess.” “It’s OK.” I pull myself together. “You do whatever you need. I’ll be here.” “Thank you.” A voice comes, muffled in the background. “Look, I’ve got to go, I have a lunch with some of the partners. I’ll try and call you later.” “OK.” I feel a stab of disappointment. “Love you.” “You too,” he tells me, and then the line goes dead. I slowly lower the phone. Garrett looks over. “I’m sorry,” he grimaces, my disappointment clearly written all over my face. I shrug, helpless. “I just wish there was something I could do. I mean, he’s just a couple of hours away, but it feels like he’s been sucked into a whole other world.” His world, full of wealth and privilege, where girls like you don’t belong. “So, if he can’t get away, why don’t you go to him?” Garrett suggests. “Take my truck.” I pause, uncertain. “I don’t know, I don’t want to intrude…” “It was just an idea.” Garrett shrugs. “Even if he’s busy, you’ll get to see him face-to-face. That’s got to be better than this, right?” I stare at him, torn. It goes against all my instincts to go chasing after some guy—especially when he’s told me he’s got it covered. But this isn’t just some guy—it’s Hunter. Even if he needed me, I realize, he would never think to ask. And to see him in person, look him in those beautiful blue eyes… I can make the distance between

us disappear, I just know I can. It’s got to be worth a shot. “You’re right,” I decide, my heart pounding. “I’ll go. I’ll take some things from his place, we left in such a rush, he’ll be needing clothes and stuff for sure.” Garrett tosses me the keys. “Drive safe.” “Now?” I pause. “But, it’s only half-way through my shift.” “Like you said, I’m not exactly rushed off my feet.” Garrett gives me a warm smile. “Go get him. And good luck!” I head out of town to the ranch. One of Hunter ’s guys lets me into the main house, and I fill a duffel bag with toiletries from the bathroom and some clothing from his closet. I pause in his bedroom, overcome with a wave of sweet, sexy memories. The bed is still rumpled, sheets tangled from our last night there, so I strip it down and put them in the laundry, making the bed with crisp new linens that smell like fabric softener and him. Hunter. I breathe it in, finally feeling a sense of peace flood through me, calming all my insecurities and fears. Just being back in this place sets me right again, takes me back to the equilibrium I haven’t felt since that night. That night, that gorgeous, earth-shaking, soul-mending night together, when I felt him moving inside of me, and looked up into his eyes, and saw stars. He was right. I have to grin at how smug he would be to hear it, as I grab the bag and head back to truck. But Hunter was right, making me wait for him. All these years of hook-ups and cheap flings, I’d become so desensitized to sex, I didn’t even know what it could be like when it mattered: sharing more than just your body with someone, when every movement is a revelation; every whisper, a song. There’s no going back now, I smile to myself, turning onto the highway. Even if I wasn’t deeply, hopelessly, irreparably in love with the man, I could never give up the way his body makes me feel. And I know that once I’m with him again, holding him close, everything will be OK between us again. It has to be. I drive for hours, following directions out to the address Hunter left with his guy at the ranch. The route takes me through the city and out to one of the richest neighborhoods on the outskirts of town. Here, sycamore trees swathe the street with a green canopy and the road winds past huge estates, the kind where you can’t even see the house, just tall, wrought-iron gates and perfectly manicured hedgerows guarding against unwanted guests.

I feel a flicker of nerves as I reach the Covington turn-off, and find a set of gates at least twice as high as the rest, flanked by stone columns with matching gargoyles. You’re here for Hunter, I remind myself. Just ignore all the rest. I approach the gates, rolling my window down to call up through the security system. A moment later, a reply buzzes. “Yes?” “I’m, umm, here to see Hunter? I’m a friend. From home. I mean, not home home, this is his home,” I hear myself babbling, but I can’t stop. “Anyway, my name is—” There’s a buzz, and the gates swing open. I catch my breath. I’m already sweating, and I haven’t even stepped foot inside! I wipe my palms on my skirt, and put the truck back in gear, slowly driving through the gates and up the winding road leading back from the street. At least this time, I’m dressed for the part. I stopped to change after leaving the bar, and now I’m wearing my most conservative outfit: a pale green 1950s sundress I cut from a vintage Vogue pattern. I usually wear it with a hot-pink bra peeping out, and chunky boots, but today I have on gold strappy sandals, my hair smoothed back in a neat braid. I look like a stranger, but I’ll do whatever it takes not to feel like a common tramp—or whatever it is his ice-queen mother thinks when she looks at me. I drive around a wide bend, emerging from the trees, and see the house rising up in front of me for the first time. Holy shit! I gape up at it, dumbstruck. I always knew the Covingtons were wealthy, but this is something else: a huge, Antebellum-style mansion with columns and balconies, and white trim running around the whole place, like icing on a cake. Perfect beds of roses line the driveway, manicured lawns rolling gently away from the house to… I blink, squinting in the distance. Is that a lake? By the time I pull up outside, my nerves have blossomed into a full-on panic. This is a long way from Beachwood, and I am so far out of my league. I put the truck in park beside a line of vans. There are people milling around in uniform, carrying trays and flowers like they’re setting up for something. Nobody gives me a second look as I get out of the cab and slowly climb the front steps. “Excuse me,” I ask a passing man, with his arms piled high with paper lanterns. “Do you know—” “Out back,” he waves me through. “And watch out, someone ordered lilac instead of mauve so Her Highness is on the warpath.” I frown. “I’m not—” I start, but he’s already hurried away. OK then. I walk slowly through the house, my eyes wide at the luxury. Everything is silk-covered and giltedged, huge rooms opening up into each other with polished floors and thick Persian rugs, like something from a glossy magazine. I can’t believe that Hunter grew up in this place. Now that I’ve

seen him in his jeans and boots, I can’t think of him any other way, but the family photos lined up in the halls show him in tennis whites and preppy blazers, reluctantly posing with his parents. With Jace. I stop to look at a picture of them together. It must have been taken right before the accident, because they both look fully grown, towering over Camille’s bird-like frame. Jace’s hair is darker than Hunter ’s, his smile wider and less strained. But they both look like a matching pair, two bookends holding the family up: solid and full of life. I swallow back a pang of heartache, and keep moving, stepping out of a long, gallery-style room to the wide verandah at the back of the house. It’s chaos. The immaculate gardens are a hive of activity. Staff in black uniforms scurry around, laying electrical wiring from the house all the way to the huge white canopy tents being constructed on the lawn. People are setting up a wooden dance floor by a half-built stage, and marking out the location of tables with ribbon and seating charts. Gardeners are on ladders up the old sycamore tress, stringing lanterns and tiny bulbs, and a dozen workers dismantle an elegant fountain in the middle of the lawn and move it to the edge of the gardens. I watch for a moment, amazed. Then my eyes land on a figure in the center of the storm. Hunter. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt and khakis, his hair cut shorter than when I saw him last. He’s holding a clipboard, directing staff and consulting with a blonde woman at his side. She shifts, shielding her eyes from the sunshine, and I see that it’s Alicia, the woman from my interview, the one Hunter introduced as being an old college friend. As I watch, she leans over to check his papers. He says something, and she throws her head back to laugh, her glossy blonde hair falling in waves around her face. She rests her hand on his arm, gazing up at him adoringly. Her feelings couldn’t be clearer if they were flashed up on a billboard in Times Square. This is why he didn’t want you here, a treacherous voice whispers in my mind. He’s got better things on his mind. I’m wrestling with the whispers, when I feel someone arrive beside me. I whirl around. It’s Camille, watching Hunter and Alicia with a smug smile on her face. “Such a lovely girl,” Camille coos. She’s wearing a linen sundress, with a bright silk scarf knotted casually at her neck. “You know they went to school together? Her family is very well-connected, and of course, she has those wonderful manners: always helping out, the first to come and greet her hostess.” That last part has a pointed tone. I flush bright red. “Hello, Mrs. Covington,” I stutter. “I’m sorry, they just waved me through. I was looking for Hunter.” “Well, you’ve found him.” Camille trails her eyes up and down my body. Her lip quirks with amusement, and in that instant, it feels like I’m wearing an old trash sack, not my prettiest sundress.

“He’s a little busy right now, with the party. Alicia is a dear to come help out.” “Party?” I echo, feeling totally clueless. “Richard and my’s anniversary. We’re throwing a big soiree tomorrow night. It’s the social event of the season, everyone’s coming.” Camille gives me a patronizing smile. “But of course, Hunter must have told you all about it.” I stare at her, an icy chill spreading through my body. “No?” Camille catches my hesitation. Delight dances in her eyes, but she quickly covers it with a sympathetic pat on my arm. “Never mind dear, I’m sure he just didn’t want to worry you. Parties like this can be so… stressful. Socializing in a different circle, wondering if you’re saying the right thing. Wearing the right clothes…” she trails off, but the message comes over loud and clear. I’m nothing, and there’s no way I’ll be able to make it through one of her fancy events without insulting a guest or accidentally flashing the crowd. And clearly, Hunter thinks it too. I feel a blade of rejection cut through me, sharp in my chest, but I’m determined not to let Camille see how much I’m hurt. “Oh, this party?” I manage to keep my voice bright, “I forgot all about it. Hunter hates these things so much, I wouldn’t drag it out for him. He’s so sweet to stick around here long enough to help before he comes home.” “Home?” Camille arches an eyebrow. “Oh, you mean that little town of yours. But Hunter ’s not going—No,” she stops, “It’s not my place to say. I’m sure he’ll explain.” Explain what? I stare at her, frozen, but Camille knows that she’s won. She breaks into a syrupy smile. “So nice to see you again, Brittany. Have a safe trip back.” And with that, she waltzes away. I turn back to the lawn, reeling over her words. Hunter ’s not going—what, back to Beachwood? Is that what she almost told me, or is she just trying to mess with my mind, drive a wedge between us any way she can? As I watch him, Hunter keeps chatting with Alicia, pausing to direct the staff that flock to him for approval. Alicia is wearing loose silk pants and a casual draped T-shirt, understated and natural. With her tan and hair, she matches Hunter perfectly. They look like they just stepped out of a magazine together, glossy and rich and perfectly comfortable. The golden boy in his natural setting at last. This is where he belongs, a voice whispers, cutting right to my very core. Can’t you see it? He’s supposed to be here, running the world, with a girl like Alicia at his side. I shiver, ice cold. All my happy anticipation at seeing Hunter is gone now, leaving nothing but a terrible sense of foreboding, thick and shadowy in my veins. Part of me wants to slink away: just turn around and go like I was never here at all, but I know I can’t do that. This could all just be Camille

trying to stir things up. I need to talk to Hunter, hold him in my arms. Then everything will work out, I tell myself desperately. Everything will be OK. I brace myself and start down the stairs towards them.

“…And if we run a dessert buffet as well as the sit-down meal, people will feel more able to mingle and dance,” Alicia is saying, when I get closer enough to hear. A couple of the staff make notes, and then hurry away to do her bidding. Hunter groans with relief. “God, you’re a lifesaver, Alicia.” He throws an arm around her and pulls her into a hug. “I wouldn’t know where the hell to start without you.” I stand behind them, frozen in place. They don’t see me there, and after an agonizing wait that seems like an eternity, I clear my throat to catch their attention. “Umm, hey.” Hunter turns, pulling away from Alicia. “Brit!” he exclaims, eyes wide with shock. “What are you doing here?” I try to smile brightly. “I figured you couldn’t get away, so I’d come to you.” I wait for him to kiss me, hug me, reach out and touch me in any way at all, but Hunter doesn’t move, like he’s seen a ghost. His eyes go to the duffel in my hand. “Are you… staying?” The horror in his voice is clear. My heart lurches in my chest. “No,” I say quickly. “I brought you some stuff from home, I didn’t know what you needed, so I just threw everything in.” “Oh. Thanks.” Hunter looks relieved. He reaches out and takes the bag from me. “Uh, this is Alicia,” he adds, like he’s just remembering she’s standing there. “I know,” I give him a puzzled look, before turning to Alicia. “We met.” “Right!” Hunter exclaims. “The interview.” “It’s good to see you again, Brit.” Alicia gives me a wide smile and moves in to drop air kisses on both my cheeks, perfectly at ease. “How are you? I have to apologize again for what happened,” she adds, looking guilty. “Maxwell’s brand of tact is blunt, bordering on cruel.” I wonder if that’s all she’s feeling guilty about. “It’s fine.” I stand up straighter, staring her down. I move in closer to Hunter, slipping my arm around his waist, but he doesn’t react, and his body is tense beneath my hand. Alicia stands there, awkward. The silence drags. “Looks busy,” I say at last, nodding at the construction site. “It’s madness!” Alicia exclaims, too bright. “I know it looks crazy now, but come tomorrow night, it’ll be looking like a fairytale.” She beams. “Hunter ’s got everything under control.”

“Not even close,” Hunter corrects her, but there’s a faint smile on his face. “Please.” She laughs. “It’s like mid-terms all over again. He wouldn’t do a lick of study until the night before,” she tells me, in a conspiratorial tone. “And he still wound up getting the best grades.” “Panic is a pretty good motivator,” Hunter remarks wryly. “So try panicking now,” Alicia teases him. She turns to me with another friendly smile. “Don’t worry, they’ll have everything set up in time. You’re going to love it.” I stand there silently, drowning in humiliation. Alicia thinks I know all about the party—and why shouldn’t she? I’m Hunter ’s girlfriend, of course she thinks I’m coming. Only I know the truth. Me, and Hunter. I sneak a look at him, but he avoids my gaze, staring at the ground. I fight to stay calm. There’s a good explanation, there has to be. “Anyway, I better get back to the office.” Alicia checks her watch. “Brit, lovely to catch you. We’ll talk more at the party, I’m sure. And you,” she turns to Hunter. “Don’t call unless it’s an emergency.” “But—” “Ordering the wrong color lilies is not an emergency.” She cuts him off. Hunter sighs. “Tell that to my mother.” Alicia laughs, then trots back up the steps to the house, leaving us alone. I turn to Hunter, my heart in my throat, waiting for his big explanation. An apology. Hell, any kind of reason at all why I’ve been going crazy missing him, snatching brief moments on the phone, while he’s been picking centerpieces and canapés. I figured he was caught up in major family drama, but now I see, it was all a lie. “Hunter?” My voice trembles, and I hate myself for it. Hate feeling this way: like I’m lingering on the edge of the cool kids’ crowd in school, waiting for someone to invite me in. I’ve spent my life watching everyone else get their happily-ever-afters, telling myself that I didn’t care. Now, I care more than ever, and I’m right back where I started: the nobody, white-trash loser with my nose pressed up against the glass of the prince’s mansion, begging desperately for him to let me in. A lifetime of insecurity whirls through my mind as Hunter clears his throat. “I wasn’t expecting you. My mom called Alicia in,” he adds quickly. “She used to help host events for the society lunches, so she knows all the people—” “I don’t care about Alicia.” I cut him short. And I don’t. Alicia’s college crush isn’t the issue here. God, not even close. The only thing that matters to me right now is shattering the wall that’s come up between us, cutting through the weird tension that’s keeping us apart. But Hunter doesn’t move. And with every passing second, the whispers of insecurity and doubt in my mind grow louder, a rising crescendo of fear. He doesn’t want you here. Any idiot could see.

You’ll never be good enough for him. No! I can’t believe that. Not after everything we’ve shared. Fear drives me on, sends me reaching for his hand. “Come with me,” I thread my fingers through his, tugging gently. “We need to talk.” But Hunter resists. “I’ve really got to figure this out,” Hunter looks around. “If you could wait even twenty minutes —” “No!” I stop him, the fear rising to a crescendo in my chest. This can’t wait, not when I’ve been sitting around in Beachwood for a week now, letting him slip further away. “Now!” I pull him away from the noise and activity, walking fast across the lawn until I find a small rose arbor around the side of the house. I push him into the shade, away from the crowd, and reach up around his neck to pull him down in a long, deep kiss. My Hunter. I sink against him, desperately tasting his lips, opening my mouth to deepen the kiss and seek out his tongue. I need him, need to quiet the doubts shouting to be unleashed; need to know that nothing’s changed between us, and this is all my imagination. My hands rove over his torso, trying to claw him closer, needing to feel more. Everything. For a moment, Hunter responds, answering my kiss with his own hunger, but then there’s a shout from the construction site, and it’s like a switch flips. He stills, unmoving in my arms, and after a moment, he breaks away. “Hey.” He steps back from me, holding me at arm’s length. “Easy there.” My heart drops. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” he says, nervously checking around. “I just… My mother ’s already on the warpath over the party. I don’t want to make it worse.” I catch my breath, feeling the icy fear settle around me and collect into something hard and sharp. He’s ashamed of me. The knowledge slams through me, triggering a tide of old memories. Every time a guy arranged to meet me out of town, after dark. The secret hook-ups, and times they’d pass me on the street without another glance. Every night I saw them out with their daylight girlfriends, laughing with their families and friends, knowing they thought I was good for only one thing. And after everything, Hunter ’s just the same. Oh God. The pain rises in me, but I bite it back, reaching for the only weapon I can. Anger. “What, are you worried she’ll catch you fooling around with the help?” My voice is brittle and sarcastic. Hunter looks up. His eyes widen. “What? Brit no. I’m happy you’re here.” He catches my hands

again, holding them to his chest. “God, I’ve missed you so bad. It’s just… bad timing. There’s a lot going on.” “Like the party.” I say, with a hard tone. “The party, Dad’s company, Mom.” Now he’s away from the crowd, Hunter ’s dropped the smile, and just looks worn out. “But I’m glad you came, really I am.” He tries to pull me against him, but now I’m the one who’s frozen in place. I’m trying to stay in control, but a wave of emotion is crashing down around me, every doubt and insecurity I’ve managed to ignore since Hunter came walking back into my life now rearing its ugly head. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper, my eyes never leaving his. “About the party.” Hunter looks confused. “It’s just another one of their bullshit events. Mom roped me into helping, guilt-tripped me all over again.” “But it’s a family event,” I say, clenching my jaw to keep back the tears stinging in the back of my throat. “Everyone’s coming, she said so.” “You talked to my mother?” Hunter ’s face changes. “Shit.” My mouth drops open. He’s more worried that I ran into his mom than the fact he’s been lying to me all week? “Is that not allowed?” I challenge him, my anger growing. “You want me to sneak in the servant’s entrance, so nobody knows I’m here?” His forehead crinkles in confusion. “Brit, what are you talking about?” “You don’t want me here!” I cry. My fists are clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms. If I can hold it together, then maybe I won’t collapse in a sobbing mess, no matter how much it hurts inside. “You didn’t ask me to come visit, you freak out now that I’m here. God, if you don’t want to do this anymore, just say so! Don’t string me along like a fucking idiot!” Hunter shakes his head. “That’s not what’s happening. You need to calm down.” “Why, so I don’t cause a scene?” I yell, the tangle of rejection biting in my chest. “You’re forgetting, Hunter, that’s what I do. I’m the crazy white-trash bitch, ask anyone!” “Brit!” Hunter tries to reach for me, but I wrench away. “What are you doing, Hunter?” I demand. “You say you want to get away from this. Build your own life, on your terms. I thought you meant it. I thought we…” A sob rises and I have to stop, but the words sit, unsaid between us. I thought we were for real. “I did mean it, I do!” Hunter ’s expression is harsh. “But hell, Brit, you don’t even know what I’m dealing with here.” “That’s because you won’t tell me!” I cry. “How am I supposed to be a part of your life if you won’t let me in?” “I’m trying to protect you!” He cries. “Jesus, you want my mom on your case all day too? All the guilt and bullshit and grief?”

“I want you to be honest,” I hiccup back, the tears finally overflowing and sliding in hot, wet streams down my cheeks. “If you wanted it to be just sex, then you should have just told me! But instead, you made all those promises to me. And I believed you!” Stupid girl. You knew it was too good to be true, and you went and fell for him anyway. “This isn’t about you!” Hunter yells, his whole body coiled with tension. “Nothing’s changed here, Brit. Jesus, if you could just leave me alone to deal with it all—” “So you don’t want me here.” I cut him off, hearing only the rejection in his words. “Well, maybe you should have said something before I came and made a damn fool of myself.” I turn on my heel to go, but Hunter grabs my arm and yanks me back. “No way,” he curses, pushing me against the wall. “You don’t get to make this my fault.” I gape at him. How can he say that, after everything? “You left me!” I scream. “You promised. You said, you would never walk away. But here you are.” I gesture around, at the manicured lawns and white-trimmed mansion, and the fancy, rich life I could never even dream about. “Do you even know when you’re coming back?” “My father—” Hunter protests, still stormy. “Bullshit,” I cut him off, sobbing. “Your daddy is fine, he was always fine. But you’re still here, running around playing at being the perfect son, even though you hate every minute of it. Or maybe you don’t.” I stare at him, realization dawning. “Maybe your mom was right, and Beachwood was just you acting out, playing at making your own choice. It was all just a game to you. I was just a game.” I feel another sob rise up in me, hollow and desperate. Oh God, I did it again. I believed him, when he told me this was for real. I gave him my heart, I gave him everything, and he’s going to leave me, just like they always do. “You don’t understand the pressure I’m under!” Hunter ’s eyes are dark with frustration. “My dad is counting on me, both of them are. You don’t know what that’s like!” I inhale in a sharp rush. “Gee, you’re right. I guess I’m lucky that my junkie mom ran off years ago, and I never even knew my dad.” Hunter looks mad. “That’s not what I meant!” “So tell me what you do mean!” I feel myself crumple, the weight of rejection too much to bear. “You’re not coming back, not anytime soon. You don’t want me here. It’s over.” “Dammit, Brit, you’re not listening to me!” Hunter yells, slamming his hand against the wall. “Your actions are speaking loud and clear.” I lift my head, one final burst of determination carrying me forwards as I stare straight in his eyes. “If you can’t say it, then I will. It’s over. You don’t want me here. I don’t belong.” I hurry away from him, tears already filling my eyes. “Brit!” I hear him call after me, but I don’t slow. I race desperately back through the house, but I’m sobbing and turned around—the rooms circle back into each other, a never-ending labyrinth of

polished floor-boards and velvet chaise. I find myself right back where I started, running head-long into Hunter ’s solid body. He grips my arms, holding me up. “You’re not leaving like this!” I choke back my tears, hating the way his touch still affects me, the heat that sweeps through my body just to have him near. “Why can’t you let me go?” I cry. Hunter ’s eyes flash with conflict. “How many times do I have to tell you, this isn’t about you? This is my bullshit, Brit. I’m trying to protect you!” “I don’t need protecting!” I shove him hard, and Hunter stumbles back, finally releasing me. A wave of grief sweeps through me, so deep I can barely stand. When am I going to learn? There are some things girls like me don’t get to keep. “I thought you were different.” I sob, wretched. “But you’re just like the rest of them.” Hunter scowls. “Don’t put that on me!” He roars. “I’m telling you, but you won’t listen. You’re too blinded by the past to see things straight!” “Me?” I reel back, “Look around, Hunter. If I’m blinded by the past, then you’re trapped by it! You’ll never be free from this, not until you realize it’s not your fault. But you won’t leave them, will you?” I sob, this time not for myself but for him. Because even in the depths of my pain and rejection, it still breaks my heart to see Hunter so tormented, trying to pay penance for sins that aren’t even his to carry. “You’ll waste your whole fucking life trying to make it right, but you never can.” Pain flashes across his face, and for a moment, my rejection doesn’t matter. I want to go to him, hold him tight, tell him that he can be strong and brave and leave all of this guilt behind. I want to heal his scars with my kisses, and chase away the dark shadows in his eyes. He would let me, I know. He can feel my body calling to him, just the way I hunger for his. But what happens come morning, in the harsh light of day? He’s still the golden boy, and I’m no-one. Nothing. I force myself to take a step away from him, using every last drop of strength I can summon. “This was doomed from the start,” I whisper. “Goodbye.” “Brit,” Hunter protests again, his voice hoarse and broken. His eyes are filled with pain. “Please.” It’s a desperate request, but I can’t hold it together another second longer. I turn and flee, the pain overwhelming me, sobs wracking my body with rejection as my heart breaks clean apart and shatters into a million tiny pieces. I find my way to the front hall and burst out of the door. I can’t breathe. The hurt is too bad, I can barely put one foot in front of the other as I stumble down the driveway to the truck. I wrench open the door and climb inside, blindly fumbling with the keys and ignition until the engine sparks to life and I speed towards the gates, the tires screeching. I wipe the tears from my eyes long enough to look back through the rear-view mirror at the

house. A figure appears on the front steps as I drive away: Hunter, staring after me, getting smaller with every passing second. And then I turn the corner and he’s gone. I fix my eyes on the road ahead, while my heart keeps on breaking.

I make it out of the house after her in time to see the truck speed away in a cloud of dust. I sink back against a column, gasping for air. It feels like Brit’s yanked my heart right out of my chest and taken it with her, like everything that matters to me in the world just up and walked away. Fuck. Fuck! I charge back inside and up to my old room, grabbing my keys and a bag to leave. I can go after her, back to Beachwood. I can get through to her, I know it. I can make her see… What? That she’s right about everything? That you’re trapped, and broken, and no better than every other man who’s ever made her cry? The truth of her words cuts through my desperation, sending a fresh shard of guilt slamming straight to my heart. I sink down onto the bed, and try to gather my thoughts. How could I have been such a fool? I never meant to hurt her, but that didn’t stop me from doing it, all the same. God, I can’t imagine how she must have felt, showing up here and seeing the preparations for a party I never thought to invite her to. I figured I was sparing her another useless night of society bullshit, but to Brit, I’m no different to that scumbag I saw on my first night in town: acting like I’m ashamed of her, like she’s just some dirty little secret. The truth is, she’s my everything. And now she’s gone. I fall back, so I’m laying flat out, staring at the ceiling. My heart feels like it just went ten rounds, raw and bruised, but that’s nothing compared with the crashing weight of shame as I realize all the ways I’ve fucked this up. I told her I’d never leave, and I did it anyway. She told me she loved me, and I broke her heart in two. I can’t live without her. Even when she was yelling and screaming at me, and I was so frustrated I couldn’t see straight, I needed her. Strong as water, true as air. I clench my eyes shut and picture her beautiful face, the depths

of sad bitterness in those crystal clear eyes. My whole body is crying out for her, not just with lust, but something deeper, like our atoms are fused together now, a bond even distance can’t break. I need to fix this. Fuck, how do I fix this? How do you fix yourself? I get up, my mind racing. I thought I was doing the right thing, coming home and shouldering whatever guilt and blame my parents wanted to throw on me, but everything Brit said was true. I’ll never be free. I can see it stretching out in front of me, years of parties and client meetings, mom’s guilt-trips and dad’s stoic disappointment. A suitable wife, a proper home. Everything I decided to leave behind. My whole life, wasted, and for what? To make amends for a past that can’t be undone? To honor the brother who would have kicked my ass to see me like this? It’s no way to remember him, I realize. Forcing myself to live in Jace’s shadow won’t bring him back to us. Hell, if he was here right now, he would be telling me to get up off my dumb ass and take back the things I love: stop beating myself up, and build a life for myself, go out and take every moment of happiness that he doesn’t get to taste; love hard enough for the both of us, until my very last breath. And God, he would knock me flat on the floor for messing things up with Brit. I feel a smile on my face, for the first time in what seems like forever. I know now what I have to do. I can only hope to God I haven’t left it too late to make things right. I’m going to make that girl see, she’s the only one for me. My light, my heart, my everything. Forever.

I drive around the city in a sobbing, wretched mess. I can’t go back to Beachwood right now, not when my heart is broken in a million pieces and every street holds a memory of him. The thought of being back in that house—on the porch where he kissed me, in the rooms we talked and laughed—is too much for me to bear. I don’t know what to do, so I go the only place I can think of, the one place I’ll always be safe. My brother. “Brit?” Juliet opens the door and gasps, finding me dazed on her doorstep, so heartbroken I can barely stand straight. “Oh God, Brit, what happened?” “It’s over,” I whisper helplessly. “He’s gone.” The grief has finally left me, now I’m nothing but numb and dizzy and aching, the pain in my chest threatening to consume me completely. I meet her eyes with empty desperation. “I wasn’t enough for him, I’m never good enough to make them stay.” “Shhh!” Juliet pulls me into a hug, stroking my hair softly, then guides me into their apartment. I follow blindly, letting her settle me on the couch, draping a blanket around my shoulders. “Emerson will be back soon,” she soothes me. “Can I get you a drink? Some tea. Tell me what you need.” “Hunter,” I hiccup, a fresh wave of tears slipping free. “He’s all I ever need.” Juliet presses her lips together. “OK then, whiskey it is.” She fetches a bottle and pours me a shot. I knock it back without flinching, and take another. I hold my glass out for more. Juliet wavers. “I can’t take it,” I tell her, pleading. “Please, just make the pain go away.” “Oh, baby,” Juliet puts the bottle aside, and pulls me against her instead, nestling my head against her shoulder, her arm around me. “I’m sorry, but the only thing that helps is time.” I stay there, crying against her, replaying every terrible word from the fight. The sight of Hunter with Alicia, the smug victory in Camille’s smile. And the worst thing of all: the moment I realized Hunter wasn’t coming back to me. That he’d made his choice, and I didn’t belong in his life anymore. I cry for what feels like forever, but my body can only take so much. Slowly, the sobs fade away,

leaving nothing but an emptiness behind my ribcage and a sharp ache in my head. “Better?” Juliet asks softly, when I finally stop. I nod, sniffling. She finds me a box of tissues, and gets up. “I’ll make you that tea.” She bustles off to the kitchen, leaving me in the bright, sunny living room. I look around for the first time, noting the fresh paint on the window frames, and new photos framed on the wall. They’ve only been living here a couple of months, but already, it feels like a home. I can hear traffic on the street below through the open windows, and in the kitchen, the radio is playing a country station Juliet loves. A sound comes, a key in the door. “Brit?” Emerson calls, striding into the room. Juliet must have texted to tell him what’s going on. He sees me, curled up on the couch, and his face changes, his dark eyes full of concern. “Oh, Brit.” I hold out my arms like I’m a little kid again, and just like he always did, Emerson comes and lifts me into a bear-hug. I grip him tight, wishing we were back in time again, and all I was crying over was some bullies at school, or my favorite dress getting ripped. Emerson could always make it right: finding a way to mend the tear, or go beat the hell out of the boys in school. “I’ll kill him.” He curses through a clenched jaw, pulling back to look at my face. “I swear, I’ll fucking kill him.” I shake my head. “No, please, it won’t help. You can’t fix this.” Emerson scowls. “I can fix that pretty-boy face of his.” “Emerson, no!” I protest louder. “It won’t, it won’t make any difference. Promise me you won’t hurt him,” I beg, seeing murder in his eyes. “Please, Emerson, promise.” “Give me one good reason why not.” Emerson folds his arms. “Because I love him.” My words sit quietly between us, and after a long beat, Emerson exhales. “Aw, hell.” He shakes his head, wrapping me in another quick hug as Juliet comes back in with a tray of tea and cookies. “Are you sure this isn’t some big mix-up?” she asks hopefully, setting the tray down on the coffee table. “Maybe if you both cool down, and have a chance to talk—” “There’s no point.” I stop her, before she can pull me into her fantasies where everything really does work out in the end. “No matter what he says, it won’t change a thing. This is what always happens,” I explain, broken and ashamed. “There’s something wrong with me. I’m just not good enough for them to love. I never have been. They always leave in the end. Hunter, Mom, Dad…” I see Emerson and Juliet exchange a look over my head. “I have to pick up some prints from the lab,” Juliet says quickly. “You guys talk, and then I’ll be back to make dinner. I’ll make up the spare room, and you can sleep here.” “It’s fine,” I reply, not wanting to impose. “You don’t need to—” “You’re staying,” Juliet says firmly. “I’ll pick up some groceries while I’m out. We can make your

favorite, lasagna.” She gives me a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek, then Emerson walks with her to the door. They talk quietly for a moment, then he leans down to kiss her goodbye. It’s a brief embrace, their lips barely touching, but the love between them is clear, so strong, it makes my heart ache all over again. I want it, so bad. What I thought I had with Hunter. What my brother shares with Juliet. That. That forever, all-in, everything kind of love. Emerson sees her out, then comes to sit beside me on the couch. “So, kid…” he sighs, pulling my legs up over his lap. “Start at the beginning.” I tell him everything, curled on the couch in the afternoon sun. Emerson listens without saying a word, as I share the story of how I was foolish enough to think it could be different this time. When I finish, I take a breath, looking around the apartment, and my brother, in the middle of it all, finally at peace. “You really did it,” I tell him, full of wistful pride. “You got out, you made it.” “It wasn’t easy.” Emerson replies. “Trusting Juliet, forgiving each other for our mistakes, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But that’s life, Brit. That’s love. You have to figure out what you want and then fight like hell. Because it’s never easy, not when your heart’s on the line. You get hurt, and angry, and scared as hell.” “So how do you do it?” I ask, desperate. “How can you tell it’s worth the price?” Emerson looks at me with certainty in his smile. “You just know. You know it like you know your own name. It’s a part of you, it’s who you are: loving them.” He looks away, suddenly bashful, but his words echo through me. Hunter. “Loving him was so easy,” I find myself telling Emerson. “I didn’t even see it when I fell. My brain was making up so many reasons for us not to be together, but my heart just went right ahead and did it anyway.” Emerson grins at me. “Like me and Jules. I fought it kicking and screaming, but man, I was done from the very first moment we met.” I swallow back a swell of tears. I’m glad Emerson got his happy ending, I truly am. Nobody deserves it more than him. But it just reminds me that I didn’t. Hunter isn’t mine to have and to hold, I’m still in this world alone. And I probably always will be. “I don’t know what I can do,” I whisper helplessly, my darkest fears slipping through this cocoon of warm belonging. I feel an ache, the same wretched pain I’ve carried my whole life. “What is it about me that makes them leave?”

“It’s got nothing to do with you,” Emerson objects, but I shake my head. “There’s no point denying it. God, Em, just look around. Mom couldn’t wait to get away from us, and Dad… I never even got to know him. He was already gone.” I look down, shredding my tissue into a dozen tiny pieces. “I guess I know now, I’ll never be enough to make them stay.” “Bullshit.” Emerson leans forwards, gripping my hand. “You deserve to be happy, more than anyone I know. Some people just aren’t cut out to be parents is all, but that doesn’t mean we’re doomed to pay for their mistakes. We can do it differently.” I look up, my mouth drops open. “Does this mean… You, and Juliet--?” “What? No! We’re not even married yet,” Emerson says, but he can’t hide his grin. “But that doesn’t mean we haven’t talked about it. Not now, but later, one day. You can have the life you want, Brit,” he adds, “Trust me on that.” I shake my head. “I just can’t help thinking, there’s some reason. That if I try harder, or act better, then they’d stay.” I swallow. “When I was little, I used to tidy my room. Do you remember? I was obsessive about it.” “I remember,” Emerson smiles. “You were so crazy about everything else, I could never figure it out.” “I thought, if I kept it neat enough, if I was good, then Dad would come back.” I whisper my confession, avoiding Emerson’s eyes. “It was all I wanted, to be like the other kids. They had fathers who loved them, they took it for granted, every day. But he never came back. And then when Mom started using… That’s when I gave up.” I shrug, remembering my teenage decision, the freedom I finally felt. “I figured if I couldn’t be good enough to make him stay, then I wouldn’t bother with being good at all.” Emerson squeezes my hand. I snap out of it. “I just… I can’t help thinking it’s me. If I knew what happened with dad, if I had some answers, maybe I could understand why he left…” I stop, and shake my head, self-conscious. “I’m sorry, I’m babbling on, I know. This is probably the last thing you need, dragging up the past.” “Sometimes it can be good.” Emerson says quietly. “Sometimes the only way to move on is to face your past.” He looks at me a long moment, then gets up and moves to the bureau. He opens a drawer and takes out a slip of paper, coming to sit back down on the couch. Emerson looks at the paper for a long moment, then passes it to me. I stare at the page. James Ray. There’s an address too, scribbled under the name. “Dad?” I breathe, shock rushing through me. Emerson nods. “Ray Jay found him, a few months back. I didn’t know if you wanted to let sleeping dogs lie. But now, I figure…” He trails off, still looking at me like he’s not sure if I’m going to break

down again. If this is the final straw to send me over the edge. I stare at the paper in my hand. “The address, it’s close,” I realize. I look over at Emerson. “This is less than an hour away.” He looks sympathetic. “He was here,” I breathe. “All this time. And he never…” I stop. He never came to see how I was; never even cared enough to call. “It’s up to you what you do with it.” Emerson sighs. “I don’t know what shape he’s in, or if he’ll have any answers for you. And maybe you shouldn’t even try—” “I’m going.” I leap to my feet. “What, now? Brit, wait a minute,” Emerson tries to calm me, but for the first time since this mess with Hunter, I have a sense of clarity—some calm cutting through the terrible ache in my chest. “No, I need to talk to him,” I insist, reaching for my purse. “You’re right. I need answers. I need to face the past.” “At least think about it,” Emerson follows me across the room. “Sleep on it, maybe when you’ve had time—” “No,” I stop him. “I have to do this now. I’ll be back before dinner,” I add. “I promise, I’ll be OK.” Emerson doesn’t look convinced, but he can’t stop me, and he knows it. “Be careful,” he murmurs, “We don’t know what he’s into these days. He could have done time, been mixed up in all kinds of stuff.” “I know,” I reassure him. “Believe me, I’m not expecting daddy dearest to come meet me with open arms. I just want to talk to him.” Emerson nods. “Call me the minute you need, and I’ll be there, you know that, right?” “I know.” I smile at him. “Love you.” “Love you right back.”

I drive fast, flirting with the speed limit as I head out to the address on that scribbled sheet of paper. I clench the steering wheel, my thoughts in a whirl, a million questions running around in my mind. Like why he left, what made him turn around and walk away from his family, his own flesh-andblood? Did he think of me the way I thought about him when I was younger, watching other kids in school get picked up by their fathers, safe in a world of belonging I could only dream about? One thing’s for sure, I need answers from him if I’m ever going to be free. I want so desperately to break this damn cycle I’m in, feeling so worthless that I can’t believe anything good will ever last. I pushed Hunter, I know it, but I can’t help myself. I’m always waiting for the house of cards to tumble and fall, for every moment of happiness to crumble into ash. It was the first thing I ever learned, what if feels like to be left, and that knowledge has colored every day of my life since. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t live like this, expecting love to leave me. I know I’ll never love anyone the way I love Hunter, but still, I have to have hope. That good things will come into my world, and they’ll stay there. That one day, someone will stay. My nerves are on edge as the miles speed past, all my emotions focused laser-sharp on the task in front of me as I dream up a hundred ways this could go. I try to talk myself down from this state of wild expectation. Emerson was right: we don’t know what James is into these days. He could be bad news, hell, he was bad news even back when we were kids. I remind myself to expect the worst. Drugs, violence, prison maybe. But when I pull up across the street from the address, my jaw drops open. Nothing I imagined could have prepared me for this. It’s an ordinary house, on an ordinary street. Safe. Suburban. The cul-de-sac curves gently past his split-level ranch house, a two-car garage by the small front yard. The grass is trimmed, a tree casts shade over the house, and through the side gate, I can see the brightly-colored frame of a kids’ bike. I feel a chill, but I don’t have time to process it before a mini-van slows and turns onto the driveway, pulling up outside the house. The doors open, and two kids pile out. A boy, maybe twelve or thirteen, glued to the gaming console in his hand, and a little girl. She’s wearing a ballet outfit: a pink leotard and leg warmers, her hair pulled up in a bun. “Jamie, help your mom with the groceries!” I hear the man’s call through my open windows, but the van is blocking him from view. I turn

down the radio and lean out, watching across the street as a brunette woman in soccer-mom athletic wear circles round to the back of the van, pulling out bags of groceries. The boy makes a big show of helping her, clearly annoyed, while his sister turns pirouettes on the lawn. I’m holding my breath. It won’t be, I tell myself. It can’t be. Ray Jay screwed up the address, or maybe he’s already long gone. I never got to know him, but the father I heard about was a deadbeat, a lazy, no-good piece of scum. I was better off without him, that’s what I’ve told myself all these years. I’m better off on my own. The man finally steps out from behind the van. My heart freezes. It’s him. He’s older, sure, but the face and dark hair are just the same as the old photos I saved. My father. Standing fifty feet away from me, reaching to sweep the little girl up in his arms. He tosses her in the air, and she lets out a shriek of delight, laughing happily as he carries her into the house. The mom and other kid follow, and then the door closes behind them all, and the house is quiet. A happy family, the picture of suburban bliss. I sit back in my seat, reeling. He has a family – a whole new life? I’ve always known it might be a possibility, but somehow, I never really imagined it. After all, he couldn’t care less about raising us, so I figured he didn’t want a family full stop, that he left us to go his own way, whatever that had been. I was wrong. I hear a strange tapping noise and look down to find my hand shaking against the dashboard. My whole body is trembling, overcome with the realization that all these years, he’s been right here: waking up in a house with his other children; fixing them breakfast, driving them to school. He’s been showing up to dance recitals and football games, fixing burgers on the grill on Friday nights, and falling asleep in front of the TV with them tucked safely under his arms. He chose this. He chose to walk away from us, and never look back. He chose to be there for somebody else, instead of me. He chose this, all over again, every single day. He chose to stay gone. I feel something break apart inside of me, cleaved clean in two. Emerson was right, this has nothing to do with me. I couldn’t change it if I tried. Whatever his reasons for leaving me this way, none of them can make a difference to the pain he’s caused, the hurt and rejection I’ve carried with me all these years—tainting every relationship, conditioning me to expect the worst. Accept the worst. No words will ever take back the nights I spent lying in bed, wondering why he didn’t love me enough to stay. No apologies will ever erase my anger, and confusion, and all the tears I’ve cried. It’s done. I realize it with a mix of sadness and relief, sweet and true. It’s been over for years now, I just couldn’t let it go. But I have to move on now. I’m the only one who can make a change. I’m the only one who can decide I deserve to be loved.

I reach for the ignition. I came here looking for answers from him, but it turns out I’ve had them inside me all along. I feel the weight slip from my shoulders, the deep, knotted tangle of my heart finally unbind. I take a deep breath, the evening air cool and crisp in my lungs, the scenery brighter outside my window. It’s like I just broke free through the surface, after spending years caught adrift in the murky undertow. I’m enough. I was always good enough. It’s not my fault they couldn’t stay. Movement comes from across the street. My father exits the house, heading for the minivan to fetch a forgotten bag. He pauses on his way back to the house, looking across the street at me. Our eyes meet for a moment, two strangers staring across the street. A world apart, sharing more than he’ll ever know. I turn the key in the ignition. The truck rumbles to life. This time, I’m the one leaving him behind.

I call Emerson and leave my apologies—the dinner will have to wait for some other visit. “There’s something I need to do,” I explain. “I don’t know if I’ve got the time, but I have to try.” “Atta girl,” I can hear the smile in his voice. “But just so you know, that’s a standing offer to smash his face in. Any time you need me, I’m there. You know that, right? I’ll always be there.” “I know,” I smile, “I can always count on you.” “Don’t be a stranger,” Juliet’s voice comes down the line. “You’re welcome here any time. And I want to talk about wedding dress designs!” Emerson groans. “I thought we were keeping it simple. A Christmas wedding in Beachwood Bay, no fuss.” “Small doesn’t mean un-stylish,” Juliet argues with him. “Anyway, Brit has things to do and boys to win. We’ll talk soon. Good luck!” I hang up, and get back on the road, heading for Beachwood as fast as Garrett’s old truck will take me. And with every mile, my brother ’s words echo in my mind, driving me on. That’s life. That’s love. You have to figure out what you want and then fight like hell. Because it’s never easy, not when your heart’s on the line. I’ve never fought for a man, I’ve never cared enough to try. But for Hunter, I’d wage war against a thousand armies, cross the world, travel to hell and back. He’s the only man I’ve ever loved, and the only one I ever want to. For all that, I can surely face down his mother. When I get home and pull in the driveway, I find Garrett waiting on the porch. “No time to explain!” I cry, flying up the steps and into the house. “I have serious work to do!” “What kind of work?” Garrett follows me. I reach the living room and look around, breathless. “The big anniversary party is tomorrow night, which means I have exactly twenty-four hours to turn this,” I hold up the lengths of purple silk, “Into this.” I show him my sketches of the dream ball-gown, the one I’ve spent months designing. The dress I’m going to wear to knock Hunter off his feet.

Garrett’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t protest. “OK then,” he rubs his hands together, “What do you need?” “I’ve got the tools, the fabric, everything, except… Coffee. Lots of it,” I tell him, kicking off my boots. “I’m on it,” he grins, “How about some burgers too?” I shake my head, already reaching for the patterns I cut, and the lengths of cotton mock-up fabric. “I’m not hungry.” I couldn’t eat, not with exhilaration thundering in my veins like this, every cell in my body vibrating with purpose. I’m on a mission, and I’m running out of time. “Trust me, you’re going to want to eat,” Garrett corrects me, grabbing his keys back from the table. “This is going to be a long night.” Garrett is right in the end; I do eat the burger, and drink down at least three pots of coffee. I work through the night, cutting and pinning until the pattern is perfect. Then, only then, do I cut into my precious silk, carefully slicing the panels that will fit together into the finished design as dawn breaks outside the window, and golden morning light replaces the glare of the bulb overhead. “What time is it?” Garrett yawns, sitting up from where he fell asleep on the couch. “I don’t know.” I don’t lift my eyes for a moment. One wrong slice of the scissors, and the whole panel will be ruined. I don’t have enough fabric to replace any of the pieces, and besides, I don’t have the time to start again. “It’s after ten, you should really get some sleep.” “No time for sleep. I still have to sew the panels, and finish the hem, and stitch the bodice…” I feel a tremor of apprehension at the mammoth task still ahead of me, but I push it down. I’ll finish. I have to finish. There’s no two ways about it. I feel Garrett approach to stand over me. “Wow, you did all this while I was sleeping?” “You snore.” “Do not!” He protests. “Mmmhmm,” I make a dubious murmur as I carefully cut the last piece of the pattern. “You think someone wouldn’t have told me by now if I did snore?” Garrett challenges me, laughing. I finally look up. “Please, like any of those girls would tell you the truth. They wouldn’t know a solid opinion if it knocked them over the head.” Garrett looks hurt. “I told you, I’m taking a break from all of that.” I pause, seeing the genuine expression on his face. “Then I guess we’re both trying something new.”

“I’m not being a manwhore, and you’re not being a destructive bitch,” Garrett agrees with a grin. “Look at us and our emotional maturity.” I laugh, feeling the ache in my shoulders, in every muscle in my body. “Gold stars all around.” I yawn, then clap a hand over my mouth. “No!” I yelp. “I can’t be tired. The party is tonight, I can’t show up in a half-finished dress!” “I bet Hunter wouldn’t mind.” Garrett remarks. “You could show up in jeans, and he’d still fall at your feet.” I shake my head furiously. “You didn’t see our fight. It was awful. The worst. He might not take me back at all. And besides, this isn’t just about him,” I add, “It’s about all of them. I have to show him, I don’t care about his family and all that society stuff. I’ll play along, I’ll make them like me. I’ll do whatever it takes to be with him.” I thought that it was a choice, between them and me, but I was wrong. Hunter needs to work through issues with his family—and I’m going to be right by his side while he does it. “If you won’t take a nap, then we’re going to need some more coffee.” “Coffee, yes! And donuts,” I add, remembering Hunter ’s surprise gift with a nostalgic smile. “And maybe pancakes.” “I’ll do a breakfast run to Mrs. Olson’s,” Garrett offers, heading for the door. “I’ll be here, losing my mind!” I call after him, but he’s already picked up his phone and is talking to someone, probably figuring out someone to cover our shifts at the bar while I spend the day sewing on my fool’s errand. No, I correct myself, before the whispers of doubt can take hold. It’s not foolish to believe our love is real. For once in my life, I have someone worth fighting for, and I’m not letting him get away, not this time. “Get ready, Hunter Covington,” I mutter to myself, setting the dial on my sewing machine to its finest thread. “You aren’t going to know what’s hit you.” By evening, I’m dead on my feet. My fingers are raw, I’ve pricked myself with pins a dozen times over, and I’m so tired I can barely see straight. But the dress is finished. It’s a dream of a dress. Everything I ever imagined, and so much more. “And… done.” I say, pulling the final thread through the bodice. I check with seams, running my fingers over the sweeping hem before slumping back in my chair, exhaustion hitting me like a ton of bricks. “Did I make it in time?” Garrett checks his watch. “You’ve got just enough time to shower and get ready if we’re going to make it into the city by eight.” I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror and let out a wail. “Look at me!” I cry. My hair is sticking out in all directions, and there are shadows under my eyes for days. “I look like a zombie!” “Then we got here just in time.” There are voices from the doorway, and I turn to find Emerson

and Juliet—and Lacey, Juliet’s best friend in tow. “What are you guys doing here?” I blink. “A little birdy said you had a party to get ready for,” Juliet beams, coming to sweep me into a hug. “Garrett!” I cry. He gives me a bashful look. “I can help with coffee, but I’m no good with all of that.” He waves from my messy hair to my bare feet. “And I am,” Lacey interrupts, beaming. “You guys…” I feel tears well up, overwhelmed by the long day and all the friendly faces around me. “Oh no!” Lacey cuts me off. She grabs my arm and propels me into the hallway and towards the stairs—surprisingly strong for such a petite pixie of a girl. “No crying. Your eyes will get all red and puffy, and believe me, we’ve got enough problems to be fixing. You got the supplies?” she calls back to Emerson. “Right here.” He answers with a grin, handing off an armful of bulging bags to Juliet as she follows us upstairs. Lacey fixes me with a look. “I’m a miracle worker, but I have only one rule. Sit down, and shut up, and do exactly what I say.” “That’s three rules,” I point out, laughing. My tiredness is fading, pushed away by the infectious enthusiasm swirling all around me. “You’re right, she is a problem child,” Lacey tells Juliet. “Hey!” “Relax, kid.” Lacey winks. “By the time I’m through with you, you’re going to look like a million bucks.”

“Can I look yet?” I swivel impatiently in my chair. Lacey’s had me sitting here for an hour now, as she applies my makeup: painting and smoothing with total concentration. “Nope.” “But we’re late, the party starts at eight—” “Sit still, or I’ll poke your eye out with a mascara wand.” “And you better believe her,” Juliet adds, perched on the edge of the bed, watching us. “She nearly blinded me once with an eyeliner.” “It was worth it though.” Lacey smirks. “I do the best smoky eye.” “That’s not what you’re doing on me, is it?” I ask, fearful. “Because this is a classy event, superfancy.” “Relax.” Lacey rolls her eyes, patting one last layer of powder on my face. “That should fix it. OK, look.” She turns me to face the mirror for the first time. I gasp. “Oh my god!” “Pretty damn good, if I say so myself.” Lacey looks proud, but I can’t take my eyes off my reflection. I look like a polished, gorgeous version of myself: the shadows are gone from under my eyes, and there’s no sign of pale tiredness, just flushed, rosy cheeks, and eyes that shimmer under expertly blended layers of pearly pink eyeshadow. Juliet fixed my hair, pinning it back in a simple updo and then teasing strands in gentle ringlets to frame my face. “Thank you,” I breathe, overcome. “Both of you. I could never have done this on my own.” “Damn right you couldn’t.” Lacey beams, then ducks back from my embrace. “Whoa, no smudging the masterpiece!” “Go put the dress on,” Juliet urges, checking her watch. “There isn’t much time.” I go to take the dress from its hanger. The other girls help, lifting the purple silk gently over my head and moving it in place until the bodice is fastened tight, and the skirt pools out in a gentle sway around my legs. “Well?” I turn to them nervously, smoothing down the bodice. I hand-stitched a hundred tiny crystal beads along the neckline and they shimmer and sparkle in the light. “What do you think? Is it too much?”

“It’s perfect,” Juliet breathes. “Fucking fantastic,” Lacey echoes, beaming. I look in the mirror. They’re right: I look like a vision, my sketches come to life in Technicolor glory. The silk hugs every curve of my bodice, curving in at my waist and then spilling out in a flow of rippling silk, delicate as a summer stream. “OK then.” I swallow. “I guess this is it.” They wait, but I don’t move, my nerves blossoming to life. “What if this is all a big mistake?” I ask, suddenly panicking. “It’s not,” Juliet reassures me, moving to my side. She steers me towards the door. “But what if he never wants to see me again, and I make a total fool of myself, right in front of everyone?” “Then you drink the free booze and make out with his college buddy,” Lacey links her arm through mine. “What?” She catches a glare from Juliet. “I mean, of course he wants to see you, everything will work out great.” I’m gathering my things to leave when a noise comes from outside, a loud yell. “Brit!” We all stop. “Brit, I know you’re in there!” My heart leaps. I know that voice in my bones. “It’s Hunter!” I breathe, rushing over to the window. Lacey and Juliet race after me, struggling for the space to look out at the yard below. Hunter ’s down there, looking devastatingly handsome in a black tux, with a stretch limo waiting behind him. Garrett and Emerson exit the house. “Hey, dude, calm down,” Garrett starts, but Hunter doesn’t listen. He looks up and sees me. He crosses the yard in a few short strides. “Brit!” he yells up at us. “I know you’re mad, but listen to me a minute, please!” “What are you doing here?” I call down, not believing my eyes. “I’m taking you with me.” Hunter calls back. He stares up at me, determination clear in his blue eyes. “I’ve got a dress, everything you need. I’m not going without you.” I’m speechless. “Hellooo…” I hear Lacey murmur beside me. “Now I get it.” “Shh!” Juliet elbows her. Hunter moves closer, until he’s right underneath the window. “Please, Brit, hear me out,” he begs. “I screwed it up, I know I did, but I’m sorry. God, I’m so fucking sorry. I promised you I’d never leave, and I won’t. I don’t care if it takes forever for you to forgive me, but right now, I need you to come with me. Please Brit, can you just come down here?” He pauses, looking lost.

“I love you.” His voice rings out across the yard, over the distant crashing of the waves. “I don’t know what else I can say. I love you,” he swears again, clasping his hand against his heart. “I always loved you, ever since the very first night we met. You’re my everything, Brit.” I stare down at him, tears clouding my eyes, and love beating like a thunder in my chest. He came for me. This man, this beautiful man, who I did everything to push away, he came for me. He loves me, even after everything. And I love him. God, I love him so much I can barely breathe. “What are you waiting for?” Juliet hisses. “Go to him!” I duck back from the window and pick up my skirts, rushing for the stairs. “Wait, your shoes!” Lacey calls after me, but I don’t slow. I don’t even stop for breath as I hurtle downstairs and burst barefoot out into the yard. Hunter ’s jaw drops. “Holy shit!” He looks at me in amazement. “That dress…” “I made it.” I explain, my heart pounding. He’s so close to me now I could reach out and touch him, but something makes me stop just a few feet away. “For the party. I was coming for you,” I explain in halting breaths. “Hunter… I’m so sorry.” His eyes flash with emotion. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.” Hunter closes the distance between us and sweeps me into his arms. Oh Lord. The touch of his skin is heaven. I sink against his strong body, a magnet drawn to my true North. But it’s not right, not yet. I place my hands flat against his chest and stare up into those beautiful eyes. “I do,” I insist. “You were right, I’ve been stuck in the past. But all that’s done now, I promise. Whatever you decide, I’m there. I love you,” I add, my voice thick with emotion. Hunter ’s lips curl into a smile of pure joy, and then the moment for talking is done. His lips crash down on mine, hungry and searching and full of sweet relief. Yes. My legs give way with the force of emotion and I fall into the kiss, reaching up to pull him closer, running my fingers through his hair and basking in the pure, gorgeous taste of him. Mine. I could kiss this man forever, lost in a place where nothing else exists, just his lips, and probing tongue, and the heavy grip of his hands around my waist, holding me to him, right where I belong. I’m never leaving. The knowledge crashes through me, as certain as my desire. No matter what happens, this is it for me. Everything I need in the world. When my head is spinning and my heart is beating through my chest, Hunter finally breaks away, releasing me. “We better get going,” he grins, catching his breath. “I, uh, think we’ve got an audience.” I turn, realizing for the first time that everyone is watching. Juliet and Lacey are beaming happily,

but Garrett and Emerson are lined up on the porch, watching sternly like they’re ready to tear Hunter limb from limb. I giggle. “Relax guys,” I call. “Everything’s good!” Better than good. Perfect. “This way, m’lady,” Hunter makes an exaggerated bow, moving to open the limo door. I start towards it. “Wait! Shoes!” Juliet cries, rushing down with my heels and tiny clutch purse. “Lipstick, fresh underwear, condoms,” she whispers with a wink. “Lacey?” I ask, grinning. “You know it.” Juliet kisses me on the cheek, then turns to Hunter. “Take care of her,” she tells him sternly. “With my life,” Hunter replies, sincere. I wave them goodbye, and then slip into the limo, marveling at the smooth leather seats and plush interior. Hunter joins me, closing the door behind us. “I forgot one very important thing,” he tells me, as the engine starts and we glide away. “What?” I ask, joy still shimmering like stardust in my veins. Just having him beside me is enough; more than I could have ever wanted. I gaze at him, dizzy with happiness. “I didn’t tell you how unbelievably beautiful you look tonight.” Hunter gently cups my cheek in his hand, staring deep into my eyes. I blush. “I mean it.” He gently traces a line down my jaw and along my collarbone. I shiver, electricity sparkling along every nerve. “Your beauty could stop time. I swear, it hurts to look at you.” “Hunter…” I whisper, hypnotized by the slow stroke of his fingertips, sweeping across my bare shoulders, over and over. “God, I love it when you say my name.” I catch my breath as Hunter leans in and gently kisses my neck, slowly running his tongue down the sensitive column of my throat. His voice hums against me. “I love it when you scream my name too.” I laugh, then gasp for air as he kisses along my neckline, over the tender swell of my breasts. Desire rises in me, hot and swift, flooding through my body as he drops tiny kisses along every inch of bare skin, feather-light, until I’m helpless and shuddering in his arms. “God, I need you,” I moan, arching up against his mouth. I fumble to find his shirt buttons, trying to pull it from his pants so I can feel the touch of his skin against me. But Hunter catches my wrists, holding me back. “Not so fast,” he whispers, a look of dark possession in his eyes. “I’m going to kiss you for every moment we were apart. Every second I was away from you.”

He pulls my hips closer, pushing me gently back at the same time until I’m laying flat on the leather seat beneath him, his body nestled between my thighs. I gasp, loving the feel of him hard along the length of me, right where he belongs. He kisses his way lazily across my shoulders, taking his sweet time toying along the beaded neckline of my gown until I’m panting, squirming restlessly below him. “How do you get this thing open?” he murmurs, fingers searching at the back of my gown. “By undoing about a hundred buttons,” I answer. He shifts between my thighs, sending a shock of desire pooling right to my core. “I guess we’ll just have to find a way around that.” Hunter looks up and meets my eyes with a wicked grin, then slides down my body, sitting up so he’s kneeling between my legs. His gaze never leaves mine as he takes hold of my ankles with each hand and slowly pushes the fabric of my skirt higher. My pulse kicks. Hunter tilts his head, watching me, the reaction that must be written clear as day across my face. “I love this dress,” he murmurs, inching the silk higher. “I’m going to love taking it off you later.” His thumbs brush over the inside of my knees, and I have to close my eyes, gasping at the sensation of the silk on my skin. “No, baby.” Hunter ’s voice comes again, amused. “You’re going to watch this, every moment of what I’m going to do to you.” His touch stills, and I have to force my eyes open again. “Better,” Hunter grins, a delicious smile of mischief and pleasure. His hands continue their path higher, until my skirts are bunched up around my hips. He looks down, then lets out a shudder of breath, seeing the pale lace of my panties, delicate and trimmed with whirls of ribbon. “Did you make these too?” I nod, incapable of words. “You’re a genius.” Hunter runs his thumb slowly along the edge of the lace, teasing me. I shudder. “I want a private show, every night.” I nod again. “I didn’t catch that,” Hunter teases, sweeping his fingertips across my panties, sending ripples of pleasure through me. “What did you say?” “Yes,” I gasp, tortured. “I’ll show you, whenever you want. Just touch me, please!” Hunter ’s eyes darken. “With pleasure.” He hooks his thumbs under the fabric of my underwear and slowly eases it down, lifting each of my legs in turn until I’m free. He leans in, kissing slowly up the inside of my thighs until I’m writhing under his touch, my head thrown back in need. “Hey now darlin’,” Hunter ’s voice pulls me back. “What did I say? Eyes on me. Watch.”

His voice is an order. My heart races as I lift my head and obey. The sight takes my breath away. Hunter is poised between my thighs, his eyes hungry with desire. I watch, transfixed, as he leans closer, and then gently laps against me. Holy fuck. It’s erotic as hell, feeling the exquisite bliss of his tongue on my clit, his eyes still locked on mine. Hunter exhales, a shudder of warm air against me, and then licks again, stronger this time. Pleasure spirals through me. I let out a moan. “You taste like ripe cherries,” he murmurs, nibbling at my thigh. “So, so sweet.” I shudder under him, already feeling my blood boil, desire twisting higher. Hunter dips his head and licks at my clit again, slow and achingly soft. I buck against his mouth, but he just smiles, bracing one hand across my hips to hold me down as he laps and swirls his tongue over me, driving me mindless with desire. “Please!” I hear myself cry, as if from far away. I beg him with my eyes, my whole body straining to feel more of him. All of him. Now. In answer, Hunter lifts his head, watching me with that sexy stare as slowly, teasingly, he slides two fingers deep inside of me. I cry out, arching up against the pressure, my eyes still locked on his. I feel the wave begin to crest through me, achingly soft, and then Hunter flutters his fingers high against my walls and sweeps his thumb firm against my clit, and I come undone, coasting through the blissful sweet ripples until I’m left gasping and dizzy on the seat. I open my eyes to find Hunter still watching me. I blush. “Why do you do that?” I whisper, selfconscious. “Watch me.” He cocks his head. “Because you’re beautiful,” he replies, undoing his belt. “Because nothing makes me harder than watching you come.” My heart skips as Hunter scoops me up in his arms and pivots, so he’s sitting upright on the seat and I’m straddling his lap, my head bent over him to keep from hitting the roof of the car. I pull down his pants and briefs as he traces his hands across my bare shoulders. I shiver against him, my body still ultra-sensitive from my orgasm. His dick is hard in my hands, hot and ready. I run my thumb over the tip, and Hunter lets out a tortured groan. Our eyes meet, electric. I move into position and then ease down slowly, never once breaking our gaze as I take his cock inside me, inch by heavenly inch. Oh God. I whimper as I bear down on him, all the way to the hilt. He’s so thick inside me, stretching me, filling me up, until there’s nothing in the world but the dark pleasure in his eyes hypnotizing, and the friction building between us, hot enough to burn the world to the ground.

I arch up against him, rocking slowly, feeling the thick sweetness boil in my bloodstream again, the gorgeous pressure of his torso pressing against my clit. Hunter thrusts up inside me and I moan, finding our rhythm now, achingly slow but oh, I’m caught in the glorious motion, lost in the shining beauty of his eyes, and the silent sway of our bodies that speaks louder than any words. The ache builds, pleasure thrumming in every sinew of my body as I rock faster against him, pulled closer to the edge. I claw at his shoulders, crumpling his shirt under my hands as each thrust drives me closer; Hunter ’s eyes are dark now, desperate, he’s gasping, braced against the seat. I lift myself up on my knees and then sink back down, and Hunter cries out, grabbing my hips and grinding me down against him, surging up inside me in a deadly sweet thrust. Fuck yes! I lift again, and he crashes into me, thrusting harder, every stroke shuddering through my body, setting my soul ablaze, hurtling me closer, closer, until with a final roar, Hunter bucks off the seat, slamming into me as his pelvis rocks against my clit. I feel him everywhere. Every nerve, every atom of my body splits apart, exploding with pure pleasure. I cry out, shuddering against him, drowning in the depths of his body, feeling him break apart under me until we’re falling, falling into each other with no end or beginning, just the endless depths of love mirrored in our eyes and the thundering beat of our hearts, racing as one.

By the time the limo pulls up outside the Covington mansion, we’ve just about pulled ourselves back together. “She’ll be able to tell,” I say mournfully, trying to smooth the crumples in my dress. “Your mother will take one look at me and know I’ve been doing unspeakable things to her son in the limo.” “Good,” Hunter declares, tucking his shirttails in. I gape at him. “You’re mine,” he growls possessively. “And I want everyone to know it.” I feel a thrill at his words. I quickly grab my compact mirror from my purse and touch up my lipstick. “OK,” I say breathlessly. “Let’s get this over with.” Hunter opens the door and helps me out of the car. I suck in a breath. The mansion was stunning enough in the middle of the day, but by night, it’s spectacular. All around us, elegant couples disembark from limos and expensive sports cars, making their way slowly up the front steps and through the house. “Relax,” Hunter whispers, his lips brushing against my ear as he takes my arm and guides me inside. “You’re the most beautiful girl here.” I try to swallow back my nerves as we emerge on the back terrace. Torches are posted in the ground, blazing light in the darkness, and hundreds of tiny tea lights are strung from the trees. The white tents billow in the cool air while the staff circulates with champagne, and a band is playing jazz by the parquet dance floor in the middle of the lawn. “Wow…” I breathe. “You did all of this?” “Me, the caterers, the florists…” Hunter ticks them off. “Don’t put yourself down,” I scold him lightly. “You made all this come together. It’s amazing.” “Well, if you like it, I know it’s all worthwhile,” he grins down at me. “Come on. I want to find my parents.” “Now?” I yelp. “Couldn’t we get settled first? Have a drink. Have two drinks.” “I’m right beside you,” Hunter takes my hand and leads me down the stairs, into the thick of the crowd. “I promise, I won’t let you go.” Richard and Camille are holding court right in the center of the crowd, surrounded by wellwishers. I gulp as Hunter tows me closer, sending up a silent prayer that I don’t fall apart in the face of

Camille’s wrath. Whatever her plans for the night, I can bet that seeing her son with me on his arm is so not on the schedule. Right on cue, Camille sees us in the crowd. She brightens at the sight of Hunter, then her gaze slides over to me. Her smile freezes, suddenly icy cool. “Hunter, darling,” she moves forward to greet him with a kiss on the cheek. “You’re late. People are asking after you.” “I had something to do.” Hunter replies, still holding my hand. “You both remember Brit.” “Of course,” Richard smiles. “How are you, dear?” “Fine.” My voice quavers. “I mean, I’m doing great. This is a lovely party,” I add. “Congratulations.” Camille shoots me daggers with her eyes. “Hunter, a word.” “Sure, mom.” Hunter takes a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “What do you need?” “In private.” She glares. “Sorry,” Hunter shrugs, totally at ease. “Anything you say, you say to Brit too.” “Very well.” Camille turns away from me, focused on Hunter like I’m not even standing here. “What are you playing at, bringing her? I thought you’d seen sense and ended things.” “You were wrong.” Hunter ’s voice is deadly calm. “Darling, surely you have to see, she doesn’t belong here.” Camille’s voice rises, but Hunter steps forward, cutting her off. “Enough.” The word comes out a growl. Camille jerks back in surprise. “That’s the last time you insult her, if you ever want me to step foot in this house again.” “But—” “No.” Hunter ’s jaw is set, determination blazing in his eyes. “I love Brit. We’re together, and you’re going to have to get used to that. She’s a part of this family now.” I turn to him, staring with amazement. Camille’s lips purse. “Nonsense.” “And I’m moving back to Beachwood,” Hunter adds. “I’ll still visit, and help dad out at the firm if he needs, but I’m going to live my own life, on my terms.” I squeeze his hand, warm with pride. I know how tough this must be for him, and it takes my breath away to hear Hunter standing his ground like this. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” Camille cries. “It’s all her fault, she’s poisoned you against us!” “No mom, you’ve done that all on your own.” Hunter snaps, then he softens, “I know this is hard, but I have to move on. We all do. It’s the only way, can’t you see?” “No!” Camille insists again, louder. People turn to stare, and I can see the ripples of whispers spreading out through the crowd.

“Leave him be.” Richard puts a hand on her. “The boy’s suffered enough. We all have. He deserves to be happy now.” I tug on Hunter ’s hand. “People are watching,” I whisper, embarrassed, but Hunter just gives me a grin. “Good, I’ve got something they need to see.” He pulls me into the very center of the dance floor, and then drops to one knee. My heart stops. Hunter reaches into his jacket and pulls out a tiny ring-box. “Brittany Ray,” he begins, looking adorably nervous. “Since the very first night I met you, I’ve known, you’re different from everyone I’ve ever known. You’re so brave, and strong, and beautiful. You make me believe in the good in the world—that there’s good in me too.” I can see the stares of amazement in the crowd: Hunter ’s parents, Alicia, everyone watching us. A sob wells up in my throat, tears of pure, overwhelming joy. I can’t believe this is happening. He’s choosing me. The girl who was laughed at, and scorned, the girl who never came first. The girl they thought was nothing. Hunter never listened, or cared what the rumors said. He saw me, the real me, right from the start, and tonight, he’s laying claim to me, in front of everyone. “I love you, more than anything,” Hunter continues. He opens the box, revealing a perfect diamond ring, twinkling under the lanterns in the dark. “I told you once that I was going to prove you wrong, that I was always going to be there for you. I want to prove you wrong every day for the rest of our lives.” His eyes meet mine, shining and true. The only man I will ever love. “Marry me, Brit. Belong to me, always.” In a daze, I nod, “Yes!” I hiccup. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you!” Hunter breaks into the biggest smile. He slips the ring on my finger and then rises to his feet, lifting me off the ground and twirling me around in a deep, endless kiss. The crowd bursts into applause. “You and me, baby,” Hunter whispers. “Forever.” I hold him tight, panicked for a moment that this really is just a dream. That come midnight, the clock will strike, and everything beautiful will fade away again. Then I look up, into his eyes, and I know it’s the truth. He’s mine, and I’m his. Forever. We’re quickly surrounded, all his family’s friends and guests offering congratulations and wishing us well. His father embraces us, patting Hunter on the back. “I’m proud of you, son,” he says, sounding choked up, and I can tell from the look in Hunter ’s eyes that it means the world to him. “We’ll have to get started on the wedding plans right away.” Camille still looks annoyed, but she seems calmed by the thought of a big social event to plan. “We’ll need at least a year, of course, and

bookings at the club are just ridiculous…” Hunter swiftly draws me a couple of steps away, turning to keep his body between me and his mother. “Thank you,” I whisper, as we’re intercepted by a fresh wave of well-wishers, this time a group of women all ooh-ing and ahh-ing over my dress. “Fabulous!” The ring-leader declares. “Where on earth did you find it?” “I, umm,” I blush, stammering, remembering the scorn of the girls in school every time I wore my own creations, but Hunter jumps in. “She designed it herself,” he says proudly. “Brit’s an amazing designer.” I wait for the sneers, but instead, the women look at me with a new admiration. “Do you take commissions?” one asks, interested. “I have a gala coming up, and it’s so hard to find something new.” “I don’t know…” I mumble. Alicia appears in the group beside me. “She has a waiting list,” she announces, giving me a quick wink. “Everything’s one-of-a-kind, you see.” “I don’t care how much it costs,” the woman adds, eager. “I have to have one.” “Me too!” One of her friends declares. “I’m not letting you have a monopoly on the new hot designers.” “And me!” I look around in amazement. These glamorous, rich women are all clamoring for a chance to wear one of my designs. I can’t believe it. “That’s enough, ladies.” Alicia laughs, shooing them away. “Let’s leave the happy couple to celebrate. Call me next week and I’ll pass on her details.” When the women leave, Alicia turns to us with a smile. “Congratulations, both of you. I’m so happy for you.” “Thanks, Ave,” Hunter embraces her in a hug. I catch sight of her face, pressed against his shoulder for a minute, and I swear, I see tears in the corners of her eyes. But when she pulls back, her smile is fixed back in place. “I won’t keep you any longer.” She tells us. “Go, dance, before anyone else pounces!” The band starts to play, and through my pounding heartbeat I realize, it’s our song. Meet me in outer space… When was it we first heard this play? It could have been a week, or a hundred years, I don’t know the difference anymore. There is only before Hunter, and now, with him. “May I have this dance?” Hunter grins at me, and just like that, the rest of the world falls away. The crowd melts back in my vision, and all I see is him, heartstoppingly beautiful as he pulls me into his arms.

We slowly sway, holding each other close in the middle of the floor. I can feel his heart beating against me, my head resting on his chest. Happiness washes over me, a wave of pure contentment. This is where I belong, forever now. No matter what it takes, I’ve been given something too precious to ever let it slip away. “You were right,” I murmur. Hunter looks down with a puzzled expression. I smile. “About fairytale princes, and happy endings,” I explain, tracing over his heart. My heart now. “Magic is real,” I tell him, “It’s you and me. Together. Always. “I believe.”

Lacey James is wild, spontaneous and up for anything. Daniel Sullivan is careful, sensible, and nursing a broken heart. It’s a match nobody saw coming, but when the unlikely pair get stranded together on the way home for the holidays, Lacey finds her long term crush impossible to ignore. And as the snow keeps falling, and the temperature inside blazes hotter, Daniel discovers that the one girl he wants more than anything is the last person he expected. But when the snow melts, will their night together be more than just a memory? And will they make it to Beachwood Bay in time for the wedding of the year? Find out December 3rd ! For more Beachwood Bay titles by Melody Grace, read on…

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USA Today Bestseller UNTOUCHED

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USA Today Bestseller UNBROKEN

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My mom always said there are two kinds of love in this world: the steady breeze, and the hurricane. The steady breeze is slow and patient. It fills the sails of the boats in the harbor, and lifts laundry on the line. It cools you on a hot summer ’s day; brings the leaves of fall, like clockwork every year. You can count on a breeze, steady and sure and true. But there’s nothing steady about a hurricane. It rips through town, reckless, sending the ocean foaming up the shore, felling trees and power lines and anyone dumb or fucked-up enough to stand in its path. Sure, it’s a thrill like nothing you’ve ever known: your pulse kicks, your body calls to it, like a spirit possessed. It’s wild and breathless and all-consuming. But what comes next? “You see a hurricane coming, you run.” My mom told me, the summer I turned eighteen. “You shut the doors, and you bar the windows. Because come morning, there’ll be nothing but the wreckage left behind.” Emerson Ray was my hurricane. Looking back, I wonder if mom saw it in my eyes: the storm clouds gathering, the dry crackle of electricity in the air. But it was already too late. No warning sirens were going to save me. I guess you never really know the danger, not until you’re the one left, huddled on the ground, surrounded by the pieces of your broken heart. It’s been four years now since that summer. Since Emerson. It took everything I had to pull myself back together, to crawl out of the empty wreckage of my life and build something new in its place. This time, I made it storm-proof. Strong. I barred shutters over my heart, and found myself a steady breeze to love. I swore nothing would ever destroy me like that summer again. I was wrong. That’s the thing about hurricanes. Once the storm touches down, all you can do is pray.

I’m doing eighty on the highway with all the windows down, my dirty blonde hair whipping like crazy in the wind. I’ve got my Ray-Ban sunglasses on, and the radio playing country classics as loud as my beat-up old Camaro will go, trying to drown out the whispers of memory that started the minute I took the freeway exit onto the familiar coastal road. 45 miles to Beachwood Bay. 45 miles to Emerson. I shake it off. We were coming here for years before I met him, I remind myself sternly. Every summer when I was a kid. Months filled with playing in the surf and reading out on our shady back porch. I should have other, better memories of this place without him. But you haven’t been back here since. I block out the treacherous voice in my head, yelling along with the radio instead. “Gone like a freight train, gone like yesterday…” The song is right, I decide. It’s gone. That summer is so far behind me, I couldn’t see it in my rearview mirror if I tried. I’m a different person to the screwed-up, headstrong girl I was the last time I drove down this sandy road. I’m twenty-two now, just a month away from graduating college and starting out a whole new life. I’ve got a perfect boyfriend back in the city, and a great career all lined up. Despite everything that happened here that summer, I made it out—made myself into the person I wanted to be—and even though coming here to Beachwood Bay makes me feel sick and dizzy, like I’m about to jump out of a plane in total freefall, this weekend won’t change any of that. It can’t. Besides, I tell myself, trying to calm the shiver of nerves in my stomach, I don’t even know if he’s still here. I don’t know anything about Emerson anymore. My idle midnight searches online always come up blank. He could be half-way around the world by now, trekking in the African jungle, or knocking back beers on some beach in Australia with a tall, stacked bikini model at his side. Tucked under his arm, the place I used to be… I crank the radio even louder, the country twang ringing so hard I don’t even hear my cell-phone, I just see the screen light up from where I tucked it in the cup-holder on my dashboard. Lacey. My best friend. I answer, struggling to turn the volume down and keep a hand on the steering wheel. I know I shouldn’t talk and drive, but way out of the city out here, I won’t see a cop for miles.

“Hey Lacey, what’s up?” “Are you there yet?” She demands. “Close.” I check the clock again, “About a half-hour away.” “I still can’t believe Danny boy didn’t go with you.” There’s a muffled noise as she gets comfy, and when she speaks again. I can just picture her, curled up in our student apartment in Charlotte, looking out of the window over the bustle of downtown. “Isn’t this the kind of thing future fiancés are legally obligated to do?” she asks, “Packing up the summer house you haven’t stepped foot in since… Well, you know.” she trails off. The silence sits in the air between us, heavy with grief. Emerson isn’t the only ghost lurking in this town. The pain he caused me was only half my broken heart. I gulp a lungful of fresh, salty air and force the demons out of my mind. “First of all, we don’t know he’s planning to propose.” I shift the phone to a more comfortable position under my ear. “Please.” Lacey snorts. “His parents love you, you’re moving in together after graduation, and he’s been dropping not-so-subtle hints about your taste in jewelry for months now.” “You didn’t tell me that!” My stomach kicks, but this time, it’s with a whole different kind of nerves. “It’s been kind of hilarious,” Lacey adds. “So, do you think Juliet prefers modern, or art deco styles?” she mimics Daniel’s careful East Coast voice. “What did you say?” I ask, curious. Even though Lacey is right—I’ve figured this was coming for a while now—it still feels strange to talk about it like this. Marriage. The future. Forever. With someone who isn’t Emerson. Lacey continues, oblivious to my thoughts. “Princess-cut, classic setting, nothing under two carats. Duh.” “Lacey!” I flush. “What? You said, you wanted to build a life with him,” Lacey reminds me. “That you could picture growing old and grey together.” “I did. I mean, I do,” I correct myself quickly. “Daniel is great. He’s kind, and sweet, and smart—” “—and perfect, I get it!” Lacey cuts me off. “So I don’t get why he’s not going with you. Not just for all the heavy lifting and packing, I mean. If my girlfriend was going back to see her ex—” “I’m not here to see Emerson!” My protest comes way too loud, and I flinch, swerving wildly on the road. Lacey whistles. “Easy there. I’m just saying, Danny boy must be super-secure in your relationship if he’s not even curious about the first guy you ever loved.” I catch my breath, trying to calm myself. The last thing I need is to wind up dead, crashed in a ditch before I even reach the county line. I slow my speed, and focus on the road ahead. “Daniel isn’t coming because I told him not to. I said I need the space to study in peace. And… he doesn’t know

about Emerson.” I admit in a rush. “What?” Lacey’s screech makes me swerve all over again. “You said you told him ages ago!” “I did,” I protest weakly. “I said there was a guy I dated, before college. But I didn’t say he was here. Or how serious it was.” “Serious?” Lacey’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. “Try, like a fucking anvil.” “What was I supposed to say, Lace?” I sigh, feeling that familiar wash of guilt that always settles over me whenever I think about the half-truths I’ve told my boyfriend. “That I had my heart broken so entirely, it took everything I had not to slash open my wrists just to make the pain stop?” My voice is light now, but the words are true. For the longest time, it felt like I was teetering on a precipice, like one wrong step could send me tumbling into the darkness. The worst part was, there were moments I wanted to take that leap, to just end the pain for good. “Oh, babe…” Lacey’s voice softens. She knows what it was like for me: as my freshman roommate, she had a front-row seat to the damage that summer left behind. The days when all I did was curl in a ball, weeping; the weeks I barely ate, or left my room at all except for classes. She was the one who finally sat me down and staged a one-girl intervention: dragging me out to parties and coffee-breaks and the campus therapist, who prescribed me a whole list of anti-depressants and antianxiety meds. The pills helped—too much, I think sometimes—but Lacey was my real lifesaver, forcing me to fake at being OK long enough that I finally began to believe it for myself. I didn’t meet Daniel until my junior year, and by then, I could almost believe that those dark days were behind me for good. The only scar I had left you could see was the tiny blue jay tattoo on my right shoulder blade. I’ve thought about getting it removed, wiping the slate clean completely, but something makes me leave it there to glimpse in the mirror every time I step out of the shower. A lasting reminder of all my dumb, fucked-up choices, and the road I swore I’d never take again. Until now. “It’ll be fine.” I say firmly, as if that old fake-it-’til-you-make-it strategy will work now, all over again. “I’ll pack up the house for the realtor, and be back by Monday. I picked up groceries in the city, so I won’t even need to go into town.” “If you say so.” Lacey’s voice is doubtful, but she doesn’t press. “Call me later, babe.” “Love you.” I hang up, and grip the steering wheel determinedly. It’ll be simple: I’ve got a plan, just like I said to Lacey. I’ll get the beach house packed up, hand the keys over to the realtor, and leave town for good this time—no mess, no fuss, and damn well no moping over old memories. I head around the next bend, and all of a sudden, the familiar sign comes into view. Welcome to Beachwood Bay. Population 5,654. Despite all my good intentions to leave the past in its dark, deep grave, I can’t help it. One look at

that peeling wooden board is all it takes for my mind to go racing back, four years ago, to the last time I drove down this road. The day when I met him. 4 Years Ago… “…And we can make s’mores in the fire pit, and cycle into town for ice-cream like we always used to. Jules? Juliet?” My mom’s voice slips through my daydreams. I’m staring out the window at the haze of grey and moss green blurring past, fiercely wishing with everything I have that I was anywhere but here. I turn. My mom is looking over from the driver ’s seat. “What?” I snap, not even trying to keep the irritation from my tone. “I was just planning all the fun things we can do this summer.” Mom glances out of the windscreen at the rain drizzling against the glass. “When the weather clears up, at least.” “We could have stayed in the city another week,” I remind her with a stab of bitterness. “I barely had time to say goodbye to everyone. I’m missing the big graduation party. And Carina gets to stay…” “Your sister has classes,” mom reminds me. “She’ll drive down with your father next week.” I sigh. My older sister is twenty-two, finishing up college at UNC. She’s majoring in publicity and marketing, and from what I can tell, that just means she spends most of her time strutting the bars of Raleigh on the lookout for an eligible bachelor. And by eligible, she means a future lawyer or investment banker from the right kind of family, earning six figures with another seven in trust somewhere. I don’t want to call her a shallow bitch, but she earns it. “We could have waited for them,” I murmur. “I mean, isn’t the whole point of this summer—to be one big happy family?” My voice is full of sarcasm. I see my mom flinch out of the corner of my eye, but she doesn’t rise to my bait. “Another few days would have turned into another week or more,” she says briskly, instead. “And then summer would be half-way done before we even arrived.” I don’t reply. One week is nothing when I’m staring down three months of my fucked-up family pretending like everything’s OK. I turn back to the rain-soaked view outside the window, lifting my beloved camera to peer through the viewfinder lens. It’s a manual Pentax SLR, a bulky old antique that my grandpa gave to me, years ago, back before he died. Everyone uses their cell-phones now, snapping digital pictures to post online and pass around, but I like the weight of the old camera in my hand, and the hours I have to

spend in the dark-room, gently coaxing each photograph into life. I carefully twist the focus, bringing the view clearer. The sea foams, restless beyond the strip of brush-land and sand dividing the highway from the shore. I press my finger on the shutter and click, praying I make it through the summer without losing my mind. “You’ll be coming here with your own kids soon,” mom adds brightly. “A tradition. You know, I came here with your grandparents, every summer since I was—” A loud bang sounds, drowning out her voice. The car swerves wildly, suddenly out of control. My chest slams against my seatbelt, painful and my camera slips from my hands. I grab for it, desperate, as we careen across the wet highway. “Mom!” I yell, terrified. I see a flash of red through the window—the truck behind us in lane. It heads straight for us, then swerves past at the last second. “It’s OK!” Mom’s knuckles are white, gripping the steering wheel as she wrestles to regain control. “Just hold on!” I cling on to the sides of my seat, thrown to the side as the car keeps spinning. We’re weightless, drifting in the road. Then, at last, I feel the tires get traction again. The car slows, until finally, we come to a stop along the side of the highway. I gasp for breath, my heart pounding. The red truck we nearly hit has gone off the road further up the highway, front wheels buried up to the bumper in mud and sand. My mom is still gripping onto the wheel, staring straight ahead, her face chalk-white. “Are you OK?” I ask in a quiet voice. She doesn’t reply. “Mom?” I ask again, reaching out to touch her arm. She flinches back. “What? Oh, yes, honey, I’m fine.” She swallows. “The tire went out, I think. I don’t know what happened. A lucky miss.” Mom gives me a trembling smile, but I feel a tide of anger rise up. “Lucky?” I exclaim, furious. “We shouldn’t even be here! None of us wanted to come this summer, and now we nearly just died. And for what?!” Suddenly, it’s like a mack truck is crushing down on my chest. I can’t breathe, I can’t even think straight. I fumble at my seatbelt with shaking hands and then fling the car door open, stumbling out onto the road. “Juliet?” She calls after me, but I don’t stop. I don’t care that it’s raining, wet and cold against my thin T-shirt and cutoff shorts, I just need to get out. I need to breathe. I stride away from the car, gasping for air. None of this was my idea. We haven’t been back to the beach house in years, not since I was a kid. We haven’t been much of a family in years either, but mom got it in her head that we had to spend one last summer there together—before I went off to college and Carina graduated, and we could all finally stop acting we were anything more than distant strangers living under the same roof, trying like hell to pretend to the world that everything was OK.

Not that we don’t have practice. After all, pretending is what my family does best. Dad pretends he’s not a washed-up academic with one failed book to his name, and a taste for vodka martinis at four PM. My sister pretends she cares about more than landing herself a rich lawyer husband with a country club membership and a six-figure bonus. My mom pretends she doesn’t regret throwing her life away on a charming British writer, or notice his late nights ‘advising’ students at the office, and the disdain in his voice whenever he does remember to stumble home. And me? I pretend it doesn’t hurt me to keep pretending. That it doesn’t eat away at me to see how much she still loves him, meek and cowering for the slightest bit of his attention. That I don’t get these awful panic attacks, every time I think about leaving her behind when I head off to college this fall. That’s why I agreed to this joke of a happily family vacation, to try and numb this sense I’m abandoning her. She wants one last summer to pretend? I’ll give it to her. But look where all that pretending has gotten us now: nearly winding up dead in a car wreck before her precious summer even begins. “Hey!” I hear a guy’s voice behind me, but I’m so desperate, I don’t slow down. My heart is pounding now, so fast I feel like it’s going to burst out of my chest. I know I just need to calm down and wait for the panic to pass, but when I’m caught up in the whirlwind, I can’t see straight long enough to try. “Hey, wait up!” The voice comes, louder, and then there’s a heavy hand on my arm, pulling me around. “What?” I gasp, violently yanking back. “What the fuck do you…” my protest dies on my lips as I stare up into the face of the most beautiful guy I’ve ever seen. His eyes are the first thing I notice. They’re dark blue, mesmerizing, the color of skies after sunset. It’s always been my favorite time, that moment when the last light of day has faded away, and the first stars come out. Now I’m looking right up into them, endless midnight constellations. Ringed with thick, dark lashes, they burn into me, intense. Full of secrets, full of scars. “Where are you going?” the guy demands, still gripping painfully onto my arm. “You can’t just walk away from this!” I pull away, still dazed. He’s older than me, but not by much, his early twenties maybe: tall and broad-shouldered, skin tanned a deep bronze by the sun. His arms are taut beneath the black T-shirt he’s wearing, damp and clinging to his muscular torso. His body is slim but compact, almost radiating with tightly-coiled power in his black jeans and beat-up workman’s boots. Rain drips from his dark hair, curling too-long around his collar, and on his right bicep, I can see the dark ink of a tattoo snaking up beneath his shirt. He takes my breath away. The world shifts back into focus, and I find that I can breathe again OK. Just like that, my panic

begins to ease. “Are you listening?” he demands, face set and angry. Then the anger fades, replaced with concern. “Wait, are you hurt? Did you hit your head?” He reaches for my face, fingers grazing against my forehead with surprising gentleness. I look into those deep blue eyes again and feel a shock ripple through me. Electric. I lurch away, startled. “I’m fine,” I manage, my heart-rate finally slowing. What the hell am I doing? I scold myself. Drooling over some guy on the side of the highway? Don’t I have more important things to worry about—like the fact I was this close to dying just a few minutes ago? Now he knows I’m not injured, the guy’s angry expression returns. “Then you’re lucky I don’t kill you myself right now,” he tells me, grim. “What the hell was that back there? Don’t you know you shouldn’t drive fast in a storm?” I catch my breath, my frustrations all boiling over at once. “First of all, I wasn’t driving,” I yell back. “And second, it was an accident! Our tire blew, it happens. How is any of this my fault?” I challenge him, folding my arms. His eyes follow the motion of my arms, and I’m suddenly painfully aware of my thin T-shirt, now wet through and clinging against my chest. I shiver, seeing a new hunger in his eyes as his gaze trails down my body, lingering on my bare legs. I feel my skin prickle, and my breath catch, not with discomfort, but something new, some kind of heightened awareness. I feel a heat pool, low in my stomach. The guy drags his gaze back up to meet mine, and then he looks at me with what I swear is a smirk curling at the edges of his perfect mouth. “How are you the mad one right now?” he asks. “I’m the one with my truck totally fucked back there.” I look past him. His truck is nose deep in a sandbank, back wheels spinning. “Yeah, well we’ve got a flat tire and no spare.” He smirks for real this time. “What kind of idiot doesn’t keep a spare? We’re miles out from anywhere.” “Maybe the kind of person who drives in the city, where we have little things like cell-phone signal and tow-trucks!” The smirk fades. “You’re summer people,” he says, like it’s a crime. “Let me guess,” I shoot back. “You’re a townie with a chip on your shoulder. Well, maybe you should save the issues until we both get out of here.” He opens his mouth in surprise then stops. He looks around at the wet empty highway, and finally, it sinks in that I may have a point. “Fine,” he says, grudgingly. “I’ll call for Norm to come get us.” “I thought there wasn’t signal out here?” I frown, pulling out my phone from my pocket again, just to check.

“I’ve got a CB radio in the truck.” He heads back towards the red pick-up. “Stay there!” “Where else would I go?” I sigh, watching him walk away. I trace the back of his body with my eyes, absorbing the grace in his gait. Then he turns, catching me. I blush, hoping frantically that he can’t see my pink cheeks in the rain. “You didn’t tell me your name.” he calls. “You didn’t ask!” I yell back. He grins, and waits, until finally I surrender. “Juliet,” I tell him, and wait for the snarky quip, but instead, he just cocks an eyebrow at me. “I’m Emerson,” he calls. Then he smiles, a flash of something true and reckless, so darkly beautiful I feel my heart stop all over again. This is what they write stories about, I realize, as if from far away. All those books and movies and poems I’ve read, this is what they all were preparing me for, the day when a strange man smiles at me, and makes me forget who I am. His eyes meet mine, and I swear, my blood sings, hot in my veins despite the cold, damp rain trickling down my back. “Welcome to Beachwood Bay.” Available now from Amazon!

I’m so grateful for all the support and encouragement I’ve been lucky enough to receive. Huge thanks to my agent, Rebecca Friedman, for her amazing guidance and 24/7 support. My copy-editor, Emilie Jackson. To my girl Lauren Blakely for the gossip and virtual cocktails. For their wisdom and kindness: Emily Snow, Monica Murphy, Kristin Proby, Kendall Ryan, and Emma Hart. Thanks to KP Simmon for being a total rock-star, EM Donnelly for being awesome in general, the LA ladies for non-virtual cocktails. JSC & NNS for yogalates and sheer brilliance. A huge, heart-felt thank you to all the bloggers who have helped get word out there, I couldn’t do this without you. And finally, to you: everyone who has read, reviewed, tweeted, rated, and liked my books! It means the world to me that my stories have found a way into your hearts, I treasure every moment of it. Xo ~ Melody