beside the bed and rolls it on before lowering himself back onto me. When he slides into me, I wince, and he stills before retreating.
“You were a virgin that night.” He grazes his knuckles over my cheek and swallows. “I wish I’d known.”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t touch me. Afraid I’d never have the courage again.” I lift my hips. He gasps as he sinks deep.
“Christ, Mia. It’s—”
“I know.”
I stroke down the side of his jaw, trail my fingers over his shoulders and chest, stopping to press my open palm against his beautiful beating heart. Something changes in his face. He drops to his elbows, trapping my hand between our bodies and burying his face against my neck.
He trails kisses along the side of my neck and over my shoulder while he moves inside me, and he seems so sad. Like this isn’t the beginning of something new but the end of something treasured.
“Roll over,” I whisper.
He rolls to his back and watches me with awe-filled eyes as I climb to straddle him.
“Watch me.”
“I couldn’t take my eyes off you if I wanted to.” He skims his hand down my chest and over my stomach and lower to find the sensitive piece of me where our bodies meet. My back arches and I move my hips faster. I’m so full. So aware of every touch. Alive.
I rock into him, letting him fill me and stroke me, and when my muscles coil and squeeze, I hold his gaze for as long as I can, feeling the pressure build until I liquefy and explode, and he comes with me.
Bringing me to rest against his chest, he knots a hand in my hair and I count his slow, ragged breaths.
I am alive, but today killed Arrow a little. Maybe I’m not the only one who needs answers about that night. Maybe answers will bring Arrow peace as well.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Tomorrow Sebastian’s going to get me the police reports. I’ll follow every clue I can until I find the truth.
Part VIII: Before
New Year’s Eve, the night of the accident
Arrow
It’s New Year’s Eve, and I’ll be fucking glad to say adios to the year from hell. I shouldn’t feel that way. Not everything about this year sucked. Football was good, so good in fact that Coach wants me to enter the draft this spring—take an offer while I’m hot, because next year’s never a sure thing. But everything with Mia leaves all that in a shadow of loneliness and frustration that makes me feel like a fool.
You know how I want to spend my New Year’s Eve? I want to spend it with Mia. Just the two of us in my car by the lake. I’d let it idle for hours so we could sit in the back together, watching the stars twinkle across the ice.
Instead, I volunteered to help set up for the party at West High School. There’s a big initiative to keep students off the roads on New Year’s Eve, and the high school is hosting an overnight party as part of the effort. I don’t have to be there all night, but I promised to help set up the food stations. I’m borrowing Coach’s SUV so I can pick up the ice and root beer keg, and I should be done by nine, ten at the latest.
I pull on a hooded BHU sweatshirt and shove my keys into my pocket to head out the door, but when I step into the common space, I hear a weird sound from Brogan’s room and stop. It sounds like someone crying. A girl.
“This is the last time,” Brogan says. “I mean it. This is a mistake I’m not making anymore.”
“What makes her so much better than me, huh?” the girl asks. The voice is familiar, but I can’t place it.
Brogan murmurs something I can’t make out.
“You never complained when my mouth was on your dick,” she says, and I know I should leave but I’m frozen in place, rage dripping into my blood like so much potent poison.
There’s a sharp crack—like an open palm across a cheek. “Fuck, Trish.” Brogan groans. “That hurt.”
“Good. Do you understand that if I walk out that door, I’m not coming back? When she breaks your heart, you’re on your own.”
“I love her.”
The bedroom door swings open, and Trish storms through. She spots me and pauses only briefly before charging out the main door and slamming it behind her.