mom left, he saw an easy way to make money, and he took it.” I take a drink of my tea, hoping to wash down the memory of the disappointment I felt when the police found the meth in Nic’s trunk. I was in high school and had always idolized him, and he let me down. But I do believe he learned his lesson, and when he was released from prison, he didn’t touch drugs. No using. No dealing. “As long as no one is arrested for this crime, people will go on thinking Nic was dealing again. They’ll think this horrible tragedy happened because he couldn’t stay out of the game.”
“I guess I understand that,” he says. “The accident reports weren’t any help?”
“Accident reports?” I ask.
He grins. “Yeah. You can get them online—assuming a report was filed.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll do it for you. I should have some free time in the next few days or so. You have a lot going on with the Woodisons and Brogan and everything.”
“Thanks. That means a lot to me.”
“I do want to help you,” he says. “I like you, Mia.”
I stare at him a long time. “I like you too, Sebastian. But . . .”
He groans. “I knew that but was coming.”
This should be easy, but it’s not. After months of feeling so little, I’m overwhelmed with emotions that seem to contradict each other. One moment, I’m frustrated with Arrow and confused about where I stand with him, and the next I’m so swamped by grief I can hardly breathe. Brogan is dying, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Even if I should give Sebastian a real chance, I don’t have the emotional energy. “No, it’s just that I like you too, but I’m not ready.”
He picks up his fork and nods. “Okay, but for now . . . friends?”
I smile, relieved. “Yeah. Friends would be great. Thank you.”
* * *
I lie in my room in the darkness and listen to the fall of Arrow’s footsteps down the hall.
When I came home from my date with Sebastian, Arrow was out at the pool with Mason, Chris, and a few others I don’t know very well. I heard everyone leave half an hour ago, and I’ve been lying here trying to convince myself not to go to Arrow. I don’t care what Gwen thinks. My reluctance to go to him isn’t about her. But every time I think about Brogan dying—about putting him in the ground in the same cemetery where my brother is buried—I feel numb all over. I’m scared. I’m the tightrope walker standing on her platform and knowing her net is gone, knowing the only way forward is to take a step.
Arrow keeps telling me I didn’t die that night, and I want that to be true, but I’m not sure it is. I’m not sure I’m brave enough to keep going.
With a deep breath and shaking hands, I go to his room and open the door without knocking. He stands by the window, illuminated by the bedside lamp. He’s in a pair of gym shorts, his chest bare.
“Did I wake you?” he asks.
Closing the door behind me, I shake my head. “I wasn’t sleeping.”
“How are you holding up?”
I walk to him. I don’t want to talk. And I know I shouldn’t, but I take his hand and slide it up my shirt, pressing it between my breasts and against my beating heart.
He draws in a ragged breath and squeezes his eyes shut. “Mia.”
I guide his hand down again, lead his fingertips to sweep across my belly and under the waistband of my shorts. Through every inch I guide his hand, his eyes lock on mine, dark, intense, as if he’s searching for truth.
“Touch me again,” I whisper. I’m reaching out, trying to take that first step. Every inch of me trembles.
He grips my hip tightly and his eyes scan my face, study my lips, then he releases me and steps back. “I can’t, Mia.” He turns back to the window and buries his hands in his hair. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”
Arrow
This is my fault. I touched her. I lied to myself and touched her when I had no right.
I want to touch her so badly, I can practically feel the slick heat between her legs, but I can’t. Not tonight.
Last semester, I tried everything to erase the memory of her from my mind. Pot, meth, alcohol binges, lines of coke—nothing