never going far, hovering in shock somewhere around her shoulders until I regain control over them. I move them to her neck, burying them in her hair, my fingers curling at the sensation of her silky hair between them. I’ve dreamt this exact feeling.
Her mouth is salty from tears and her lips are soft and quivering, but they don’t back down. I coax her head to the side to deepen our kiss, and our tongues connect when she opens to me. A sweet hum escapes her throat, and it makes my lungs crash in disbelief that this is happening. Her hands have moved up my body to my neck, gripping at my shoulders to lift herself higher, to bring us closer, and then without warning, she falls several steps away and covers her mouth with the back of her hand.
Her chest is heaving with labored breaths. Mine is too. That kiss, it was forbidden. We crossed the line that took us from good people to the selfish kind. She was weak, and I took advantage. I should have told her no; I should have stopped her. But I wanted it, too. I wanted to kiss her even if that kiss was only about making her feel better right then, for a moment. I wanted to be her medicine, to be the thing that made her smile and made her believe she really is all of those things I said she was.
She is. But now, she’s not going to believe it. One kiss took it all away. She’ll think I said it solely for the outcome, which, while I’d kiss her back time and time again, my intent was only to give her back her fire.
“I’m sorry. Abby . . . I’m . . .” I hold out my open palm, the sting of my bruised eye burning more than before. Her lips are puffy and smeared with the same pink that’s probably on mine. I run my wrist across my mouth to erase it, so she doesn’t have to see what we’ve done. Still, she turns away.
“I’ll let you go. I hope you have a happy birthday.” My gravelly voice betrays me, and there’s no way to hide the hurt.
June was right, and I get my phone out to call her on my way back to my car. I can’t do it, though, and while I drive away, I toss my phone into the passenger seat and stew in my own shame. I’m no better than Hayden. He took something from me, and I just took something from him.
16
Abby
I’m such a fake.
Hayden is standing in my doorway, dressed so nice—in a suit! He told me to wear something fancy, so I put on my last awards show dress. It’s black and plain, and feels kind of simple now that I see him downstairs, clutching the rest of the roses meant for my birthday.
I kissed his brother.
I suck in my bottom lip at the memory; the tingle hasn’t left for hours. It was wrong to kiss him like that. Things were so raw and he was saying all those words that just made me feel.
I’m going to break his brother’s heart.
I can’t hide up here all night, and maybe I’ll go downstairs and feel differently. Maybe my heart will swell, Hayden’s kiss suddenly feeling different—feeling like Tory’s.
Nothing has ever felt like Tory’s kiss.
My mom left Hayden in the doorway while she got back to her work, and he’s fidgeting. My dad’s news about moving back to Allensville really threw things into a frenzy for her. It’s easier to have hope when the problem is several hundred miles south of you.
My father will hate it here. He’ll leave, eventually. This is the best plan I have come up with so far—wait him out. Some plan.
Unable to avoid my fate much longer, I make my way down the stairs, catching Hayden’s gaze about halfway down. He looks at me like I’m something special. Why can’t it light me up inside?
“Wow,” he mouths. I tighten my smile.
“You sure this is okay? You’re in a suit, and this thing was on double clearance at Boutique Bin,” I say, fanning out the skirt to one side.
“You could make a paper bag look good,” he teases, tipping my chin up with light pressure from his thumb. His lips hover over mine for a beat, and he smiles just before kissing me. It’s sweet. It isn’t Tory’s kiss. I need to stop comparing.