CHAPTER 22

I don’t want food, but I want an excuse to be alone. Once the bag of popcorn’s in the microwave, I lean over the island and stare out the doors at the dark pool house. It’s been hours since Timothy left and no word from him.



At first, I hoped Carla would see the ploy coming a mile away, that she’d realize there was no way he was into her. Apparently, that didn’t happen, because he would’ve returned by now. Now, I’m torturing myself with ideas of them together, looking beautiful and drinking and laughing and dancing. I didn’t think there was anything worse than the anguished feeling of watching him drive away from me. There is, and it’s the utter helplessness of not knowing what’s happening. What if everyone thinks they’re together? What if he forgets they’re not? What if he’d rather be with her than— “You fall asleep in here?” Dad hovers in the doorway. I startle, tugging on the hem of the pajama pants I changed into earlier. “Nope. I’m coming.” I retrieve the popcorn from the microwave, dump it in a bowl, and return to the living room. “Rehearsals going well?” Dad asks as he stretches out on the chaise section of the leather sectional, tugging a blanket over himself. I stare at him. In light of what’s happened tonight, the musical feels like a million miles away. I sigh. “Have you ever felt so shitty you couldn’t think about performing?” Even with my legs out, there’s an expanse between us, and I set the popcorn in some democratic middle zone. “No.“ He reaches for a handful, and I wait him out while he chews and swallows. “That’s when all you want to think about is performing.” I turn that over as we watch the movie. A few weeks ago, that seemed possible.



Realistic even. Now, I can’t imagine forgetting what’s happening in favor of my moment in the spotlight. Somewhere during the movie, Haley walks in the door. “Did you destroy ‘em?” my Dad calls. “Not that kind of meeting,” she calls back. I hear her boots land on the floor, and she pads down the hall to us. “Did I miss Paul Rudd?” Dad rubs a hand over his face. “The guy turns into an ant, Haley.” “And you turn into a musician. I get that the appeal’s inconceivable.” She winks at me as she enters the living room, but her smile fades when she takes in my expression. “What’s wrong?” Her gaze cuts toward the back doors. “Have you seen Timothy?” The lump in my throat is back, burning. “He went to prom.” Her expression fills with compassion and something I can’t read before I train my eyes on the TV again. She squeezes my shoulders. “I’m going to check on Sophia before bed. You guys need anything, let me know.” It’s after midnight when a noise outside has me jerking straight up. Dad’s fast asleep, and for a second, I think I’ve imagined the sound. Until I hear it again. The front door. My spin straightens. The light creak of footsteps has me leaning toward the hall, peering around the corner. Timothy’s in the foyer, his hair messed up. He shrugs out of his tux jacket and vest, something falling from the pocket and hitting the floor with a clatter as he hangs both in the closet. A broken crown. Fitting. He shoves the pieces into his jacket pocket. Timothy’s tie’s long gone, the top button of his shirt undone. He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt as he starts toward me. I don’t pretend I’m not watching as he crosses silently to the couch, taking in the movie, my Dad, the popcorn. I’d thought I’d be in tears, but there’s nothing, almost as if what I’m feeling is too deep to be expressed. “I got your letter.”



Timothy’s voice is barely audible over the hammering of my heart. He holds out a folded piece of paper, and after a moment, I take it from him and wad it in my fist, squeezing as if I can turn it to dust. I take a deep breath and return my attention to the TV. I pull my knees up to my chin and tuck the edges of the fuzzy blanket around me. Timothy sits on the couch next to me. “What are you doing?” My throat tightens. My Dad’s asleep on the other side of the couch, but Timothy presses closer. I can’t argue, can’t chew him out. Dad would wake up, and Timothy knows it. He uses it. Without asking, he moves under the blanket, his arm brushing mine. A shaky breath falls from my lips. That smallest touch sends a shiver through me. On screen, Thanos wreaks his well-intended-but-ultimately-misguided havoc. Whatever. I could handle the end of the world. Dealing with Timothy Adams is some next-level shit. Especially when his hip presses against mine, his bicep bumping my shoulder under the too-small blanket. I want him to leave. I want him to never leave again. When I lean forward an inch, he takes the invitation, shifting me so he can slide behind. I’m lying against his chest, feeling his warmth through my back. My heart’s hammering, ticking like the seconds. I try to focus on Robert Downey Jr. I swallow a sigh and resist rubbing my cheek against Timothy’s chest. But all I can think is how over the past few weeks, Timothy’s built me up, made me good, made me strong… Then in an instant, he tore it all away.



“Six,” I murmur when the credits roll. “You asleep?” No answer. Eddie Carlton hogs half of the sectional. I can’t be annoyed, because he’s the reason Emily’s breath warms my chest through my undershirt, that her hand’s wrapped around my wrist, that her legs are curled over mine. I stop the movie and scoop her up, blanket and all, and carry her did the right thing by protecting her. Right now, it’s hard to believe. The closet door is ajar, so I step inside. The first thing in it is a garment bag. I tug down the zipper, and the purple dress inside twists my guts another sharp turn. After spending the evening at prom with Carla, I didn’t think my night could get any worse. But the look on Emily’s face gutted me. There’s a real possibility Emily will never forgive me. She wanted to go tonight. I would’ve given almost anything to take her. Except I couldn’t take her—for a million reasons that now seem ridiculous. Her Dad, this thing with Carla—none of it matters when I cross the room and look at her. She’s rich, and I’m poor. She feels everything, and I guard my emotions. She’s aching to be seen, and I long to be left alone. My chest hurts when I’m with her and even more when I’m not, and I don’t know how the hell to live my life when it feels inextricably linked with hers. Emily shivers, and I pull the covers up over her. “I know you’re upset with me,” I murmur. “But I need things to be okay with us.


Because if they’re not, if you’re not…” I shove both hands through my hair, at a loss to finish that sentence. “What you said about me wanting to control things—you’re right. But the thing I hate more than losing control is the thought of you hurting when I could fix it.” My name on her sleepy lips has me leaning over the bed. “Did you dance with her?” she mumbles. I have a sudden urge to trace the curve of her lower lip with my finger but settle for brushing aside a piece of hair that’s falling across her face. “Yeah.” “Did you kiss her?” Emily’s fingertips graze my bicep. I swear it’s an accident until they linger. Then they drift up, over my chest. My muscles leap in response, and I suck in a shallow breath. “Yes.” Her touch moves down my chest, tracing the lines of my pecs as if drawing me through her closed eyes. The only things between us are her thin tank top and my shirt. When her fingers reach my abs, my eyes nearly roll back in my head. “Did you fuck—” “No. Never.” It’s not a statement—it’s a plea for everything to be okay, to go back to the time before I realized how much she meant, how high the stakes got when I wasn’t looking. I can resist her innocent exploration, at least until her hand finds the hem of my shirt. When her fingers graze the bare skin over my clenched abs, right above the waistband of my pants, I want to growl. Tonight’s a war of emotions. My dick has no business being in this game, but I can’t help it. It wants her. I want her. Both of us are sick of holding back. When she speaks again, her voice is steady, her words a vow. “She can’t have you.”




My lips brush the shell of her ear. I love the way she shivers. “Why’s that?” “Because you’re mine forever, Tim.” I stop breathing. I’ve told a lot of lies to survive, but the biggest one is that I can keep my distance from her. I did something tonight, and I can never take it back. I’d go to war for Emily Carlton, on this and any other day. Whatever I am, I would lay it down to protect her. Whatever pieces are left of me after tonight, they’re hers to collect, to catalog, to keep in a bottle. Silently, I cover her mouth with mine. Her soft lips part with the slightest pressure, as if she was waiting for me to ask, waiting to welcome me in. Her light, floral scent is making my senses swim, deepening the conviction that I can’t survive another second without this girl in my arms. I taste her mouth, explore her, mark her as mine. She not only lets me, she moans when I do it. You’re mine too forever My Emily. I lose it, the last of my control snapping. I unleash the need and desperation I’ve repressed for way too long. My hand tangles in her hair on the pillow, and I tear my mouth from hers to trace her jaw, the sweet arched curve of her neck. The skin that would’ve been revealed by that sexy fucking dress in the closet, the one she bought to wear for me. “Forgive me,” I bite out.




It’s not a request, it’s a demand. My teeth drag along her collarbone, and she arches against my lips. “No.” But she pulls me closer. I shift over her, straddling her while I bring my mouth back to hers as if I can persuade her with my lips, if not my words. She’s fully awake now, meeting each slide of my lips and stroke of skin with one of her own. And I sure as fuck respond. I drag the covers down and roll her so she’s on top, my greedy hands yanking her hips against mine. The softness between her thighs is torture. I want to taste her, to take her, to bury myself in her and shut out the world until I’m good and satisfied. “That feels so good. Don’t stop.”