Copyright © 2020 by K V Rose

All rights reserved.

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

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

For more information, please contact authorkvrose@outlook.com

Cover design © Ashes & Vellichor / Ashlee O’Brien

To all the things that changed me.

If I touch you before you go.

Would you hold onto me for one more moment?

Bury me down and cover me with lies?

Leave me airless and dying.

If you’re going to break me, why don’t you own it?

Ashlee O’Brien

PLAYLIST

Available on Spotify.

“The Way That You Were” - Sleep Token

“Lovely” - Lauren Babic, Seraphim

“Always” - Sativa

“Torn Apart” - The Compromise

“Float” - Call Me Karizma

“Scars” - Boy Epic

“Bullets with Names” - mgk, Young Thug

“THICC THICCLY” - Bilmuri, Caleb Shomo

“Chokehold” - The Almost

“Witch Hunt” - Rain City Drive

“Falling” - Living in Fiction

“Passenger” - Deftones

“Houdin” - Layto

“Black Honey” - Thrice

“Heartless” - Dermot Kennedy

“Young & Free” - Dermot Kennedy

“Scars of Love” - Fame on Fire

“Erase Me” - Kid Cudi

“Can You Feel My Heart” - Bring Me The Horizon

“G.O.A.T.” - Polyphia

“el Diablo” - mgk

“Calloused” - The March Ahead

“Pardon Me” - Incubus

“Fuck ALL the Pain” - KAMAARA

“Headspace” - Fame on Fire, POORSTACY

“Bad Habits” - Nerv

“Set Me on Fire” - Birdmask

“Sentimental” - Dream on Dreamer

“lights (4444)” - nothing, nowhere., Lontalius

“Someone Else” - Loveless, Kellin Quinn

“Bulletproof” - Brennan Savage

“Sweet Home Alabama” - Lynyrd Skynyrd

“Dirt Road Anthem” - Jason Aldean

“Crazy for Your Crazy” - Fame on Fire

“Crimes” - Picturesque

“Come Over” - Kenny Chesney

“Cop Car” - Keith Urban

“Don’t Stop Now” - Sam Riggs

“Until My Heart Stops Beating” - Sam Riggs

“Genesis” - Deftones

“Every Time You Leave” - I Prevail, Delaney Jane

“Moments Passed” - Dermot Kennedy

“Kumbaya” - Hopsin

“Watch Over You” - Alter Bridge

“ALPHA” - Layton

“Know Better” - Brennan Savage

“Think I’m Crazy” - Two Feet

“forget me too” - mgk, Halsey

“Nails” - Call Me Karizma

“Iris” - Flight Paths

“Move Me” - Badflower

“6 God” - Drake

“THE SOUND” - The Plot In You

“I Fall Apart” - Living in Fiction

“You’re the Reason” - Ky Rodgers

“Hanging by a Moment” - Lifehouse

“You Should’ve Known” - Hopsin, Dax

“Sleep on the Floor” - The Lumineers

“Say When” - The Fray

“Hear Me Now” - Framing Hanley

“Selfish Love” - LOWBORN

“Prayers” - Rain City Drive

“Just Breathe” - Thrice

“Cringe” - Matt Maeson

“Eye Opener” - Rain City Drive

“The Break Up” - mgk

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This is a dark romance.

If you are sensitive to themes of self-harm, suicide, graphic violence, sexual assault, rape, noncon, or dubcon of any kind, proceed with caution, if at all.

PROLOGUE

REMI

ONE YEAR AGO

No, no, no.

Cortland’s mouth is on mine, his hand on my throat, and I taste the whiskey on his lips. It’s on my tongue, too, making my words slow. Sluggish. Stuck in my head.

“That’s fucking hot.” Chase’s voice, somewhere in the dark.

But I can’t see him. My eyes are closed, my fingers curled into fists by my side, my pulse thrumming too fast.

The humid air of North Carolina’s mid-July causes sweat to drip down my back, strands of hair that came free from my braids sticking to my face.

Cortland pushes me further against the tree, his body engulfing mine, my spine jammed against the bark.

Pulling back to catch his breath, he presses his temple to my own. “Come on, baby,” he whispers, the scent of alcohol flooding my nose, drowning out the way he usually smells like fall. Cedar. A good night.

This is not a good night.

“Let me fuck you.” One hand still on my throat, he trails the other down my black tank top.

Tonight’s the first night I’m wearing it.

For him.

Clothes hidden in a bag in the back of my closet, so my stepdad wouldn’t see.

Cortland’s hand comes to the button of my jeans as I knock my head back against the tree, my knees shaking beneath me, nails digging into my palms.

I should tell him no.

The zipper comes down.

He kisses my neck, tilting my head to the side with his hand. His teeth prick along my skin as he yanks my jeans down.

I shouldn’t have taken those shots.

I should have slowed down when he told me to.

I shouldn’t be here.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, his breath dancing along my neck, his hand down the front of my underwear.

I feel the others coming closer.

Wolves.

“Yeah, she is.” Brinklin’s words.

Cortland’s forearm pins me to the tree, barred across my chest.

I can’t breathe.

I keep my eyes closed as he curls his fingers up, pushing into me, groaning with his brow to mine, his breath dancing along my skin. My body reacts, and warmth floods my core, followed by chilling cold.

My stomach churns.

“So fucking wet, pretty baby.”

I try to press my thighs together, but his hand is there. “Cortland,” I manage to whisper. “Should we be⁠—”

“Oh, too late for that now,” Chase says, his words causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. “And it’s not just going to be him, Remi. He’s going to share you.”

Pressure builds behind my eyes.

I keep them closed.

Cortland drags his fingers out of me, up along my stomach, beneath my shirt as he shifts his arm, grabbing my hip instead. His other hand continues its path upward, fingers slipping under my gray bralette, circling my nipple.

I take a shaky breath in.

He slides his hand out of my shirt, presses his finger to my lips, tracing my mouth.

I can taste myself. Earthy. My face flushes red, and I’m thankful for the night.

“Let me fuck you, baby,” Cortland pleads, hand tightening around my hip, my jeans to my knees. I couldn’t run if I tried.

Not without falling on my face.

He kisses my neck again, sucking my skin between his teeth, pushing his finger into my mouth. “I deserve it.”

A flash of indignation and something else twists in my core as he nearly gags me with his finger down my throat.

A month. We’ve dated since graduation. Fooled around in his truck in Hyde Park. He’s had his hand up my shirt. His lips on my mouth, tongue down my throat. We’ve seen each other a handful of times, when my stepdad is away for work.

We went to West River together for two years, since he moved from West Virginia to Ellicottville, North Carolina. Star quarterback, I was the quiet cheerleader. We rubbed elbows, talked a lot. But he waited until graduation to ask me out.

Why didn’t I see this coming?

I start to shake, even with my fists clenched at my sides.

Another hand comes to my jaw, and it isn’t Cortland’s.

Chase’s words are in my ear as he forces my head up, my neck arching while Cortland’s head dips down, his mouth along my breasts.

“Let us fuck you, Remi, or we’ll just…” Chase’s fingertips dig into my jawline, and I feel the inside of my mouth pressed painfully into my molars. “Make you.”

Unbidden warmth churns in my gut.

“Be careful.” Storm Leary’s voice chills my bones. Storm is quiet, brooding darkness. When he speaks, people listen, but I’ve always done my best to stay away from him.

Now, though, no one is listening.

And I heard it, even underneath his warning. Something like desire. A perk of being the quiet one is hearing the things people don’t say. Even with my mind spinning, my brain stalled, I heard it.

He’s going to do this, too.

I whimper again as Cortland tugs down my tank top with his teeth, his mouth over my nipple, biting and pulling at me.

My stomach flips.

Brinklin laughs, a soft sound. “She’s not saying no,” he seems to taunt me.

Then he’s closer.

I sense him, and his fingers come to my underwear, pulling them down. A second later, he must be on his knees because his mouth caresses my thigh.

“And she smells so damn good.”

Chase bites my earlobe as Cortland’s ravenous mouth takes my other nipple in, sucking and bruising me.

Hurting me.

He knows I’m a virgin and I’m not ready.

He wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t do this.

I do want him, but…

“Cortland,” I whisper, my mouth dry. I feel frozen. Like I can’t even take a breath properly, and my face feels numb and I drank way too much and I rarely ever do.

Stupid child.

My stepdad’s words, reinforced in my head. I’ve never believed him as much as I do now.

“Yeah, baby?” Cortland murmurs against my skin before he closes his teeth around my nipple, tugging hard.

“Come on, Remi, get on your knees for us.” Chase’s words are chilling, but Brinklin’s rubbing something against my thigh that’s hard and hot and…

Another whimper.

“Don’t hurt me,” I whisper.

“Wouldn’t fucking dream of it,” Chase bites back, his hand still painfully gripping my face.

Cortland bites my breast, then straightens, his hands on either side of my hips, under my shirt as he pushes the material up higher, and higher… and higher.

It’s around my throat.

Chase lets go of my face only to grab my arm, force it through my tank. “Get her other one free,” he whispers.

Cortland’s fingers are calloused but gentle as he lifts my other arm up, slowly drags my shirt over it, so it’s only around my neck.

Chase grabs the shirt, twists it hard, so it’s choking me as he yanks me toward him, his mouth again at my ear.

Brinklin is still running his erection over my inner thigh and Cortland’s hands are kneading my breasts, slipping under the cups of my bra.

“On your knees, pretty baby,” Chase sneers, using Cortland’s name for me.

I don’t move.

Cortland runs his thumbs over my nipples. “I want you so much,” he whispers, leaning closer again, and I feel Brinklin’s hand on my ass, grabbing my flesh as he groans. “I want you, baby, I’ve wanted you for so long.”

He presses his lips to mine, his lip ring scraping against my mouth.

I open for him, as if this kiss could save me. As if he’ll remember the hours on the phone. Falling asleep on the line with me when my stepdad was away. Listening to me react to scary movies while he laughed and comforted me.

That’s the Cortland I know.

But do you know him at all? Another voice through my drunken thoughts.

“I’ve waited so fucking long, Remi.” Cortland is pleading, his Southern drawl more pronounced now that he’s drunk and desperate for me.

But he can’t be too desperate because he’s not going to stop.

He runs his mouth over mine, and his hands become more aggressive as he latches onto my upper arms, pulling me away from the tree. I nearly stumble as my pants slip down to my ankles. My eyes fly open but I can see nothing but the gleam of his gray eyes in the dark.

“I need you, baby,” he says again, one hand coming to my wrist as he forces mine to his pants, over his erection. “See?” he whispers, yanking me closer. Chase’s hands are momentarily off of me, but Brinklin is still grabbing my ass behind me, groaning into my ear. “I need you so bad, Remi.”

I try to move my hand, but I’m barely upright.

I feel dizzy, and sick, and my pulse is thrashing in my ears.

Say something. Fucking say. Something.

I open my mouth, then Cortland throws me down. I trip over my own pants, my palms landing in the dirt, breaking my fall, elbows locking up tight, but I don’t feel much at all, as numb as I am.

Still, I see I’m at someone’s feet as I try to catch my breath.

Slowly, my stomach twisting into tighter knots, I look up.

Into Storm Leary’s light blue eyes.

He’s just watching me. At his feet.

I open my mouth to speak, but Cortland’s hand comes around my throat, jerking my head back, and the words leave me.

His other hand is fumbling with my shoes, and his body is so much bigger than mine, longer and stronger and he’s fucking with my laces and I want to tell him to stop, that it doesn’t matter, that he should just get it over with, but I can’t speak.

And when he decides to leave my white Chucks alone, his cock pushes against my entrance.

My entire body is trembling.

My nails dig into the dirt. “I don’t think we should—” Chase’s hand over my mouth cuts off my words as he gets in between me and Storm, palm slapped over my lips.

“We don’t need you to think, Remi,” he whispers, grabbing my face, hard. “We just need you to shut the fuck up.”

“Hey,” Cortland snaps, but that word is so slurred, and his fingers are still tight around my throat, his cock still nudging against my entrance but it’s so dark and he’s so drunk and I’m so… fucking. Confused. “I need you to be a little fucking nicer,” Cortland finishes, his words to Chase.

But then he’s pressing into me.

I try to twist my face out of Chase’s grip. Out of Cortland’s.

They don’t let go.

Pain.

There’s pain.

Tears in my eyes.

Then Cortland’s groan of pleasure, his head pressed to my spine. “Fuck, baby, you feel so damn good.”

Chase grips my face harder, a whimper slipping past his palm.

Cortland doesn’t hear it. He’s fucking me, hard in the dirt. He’s rough and big and uncomfortable as he stretches me and I don’t know what I’m feeling. What I’m doing. What I want.

“Chase.” Storm’s words. I open my eyes.

He’s leaned against the tree they had me pinned against. Watching me. “Let go of her face.”

Chase doesn’t.

He grips me harder.

Cortland groans again, his mouth along my back. “You’re so good, baby. You’re so fucking perfect.”

“Yeah,” Chase sneers, shifting his grip to cup my jaw again, forcing me to face him. “A perfect fucking slut.”

Tears stream down my face.

Cortland doesn’t let up.

I hear the slick sounds of him fucking me and humiliation burns hot in my face.

Chase laughs. “That’s what a slut sounds like, Remi. Dirty and disgusting.”

Cortland runs his tongue over the side of my face, and Chase releases me as Cortland jerks my head to the side so he can kiss my cheek, his chest nearly to my back, the pressure painful. “You’re so good to me, pretty baby.” He licks a line along my jaw. “So fucking good.”

“I wanna know if you made her bleed,” Chase asks as he gets to his feet, pulling down his zipper. “And if you did, make her taste it.”

I look up at him, see his teal and black hoodie.

A wolf on it.

West River High.

And the words beneath it. “Welcome to pack territory.”

CHAPTER

ONE

REMI

Stupid fucking skank should go ahead and off herself.

What a waste of a scholarship. Give it to someone who isn’t fucked in the head.

Sympathy for her? What about THEM!? She ruined THEIR LIVES!!!

“How many times have you checked your phone today?” Dr. Ravi asks me, her tone gentle. I almost wish she’d scream it at me. Then I could tell her the truth.

That I’m a weak bitch.

“Not many,” I lie in answer, my tone flat. I lean back in my chair, popping my gum, my chewed, black-painted fingers clenched tight around the phone in the pocket of my hoodie. Despite my lie, I can see the messages in my head. It’s funny, the ones with all caps are the easiest ones to swallow.

The other comments, those delivered with a sort of calculating coldness, they make my spine stiffen, my throat close up. And the ones with the appropriate grammar, for some reason, those get to me, although I’d never admit it out loud.

If someone can’t bother using correct spelling when they attack people in cyberspace, it’s easier to dismiss them. It’s the rational person behind the keyboard that really guts me.

Dr. Ravi’s brown eyes, a few shades darker than mine, soften as she leans back in her office chair, picking up a pen and tapping it against a notepad. Today, she hasn’t scrawled anything down. I don’t feel much better about that.

“Just over a year, huh?” she asks softly, letting the phone thing go.

For a second, that night flashes in my mind, the box of memories I keep buried in a basement in my brain opening up. But I force it all back inside that box.

And I run far the fuck away from it.

“Yep, just over a year,” I agree with Dr. Ravi.

My second year at Ely U starts on Monday, and even though over three hundred and sixty-five days have passed since that night, I’m not sure I’m any better.

At least I found a way to stop feeling numb.

Shifting in the leather chair, I absentmindedly run my fingers up the sleeve of my hoodie, just grazing my wrist. I feel the split skin, and some sick satisfaction in knowing Dr. Ravi has no idea what I do in the dark.

“Are you still keeping away from horror?” she asks, bursting through my smugness.

I run my tongue over my dry lips to buy time. For a second, I’m running through the woods again. I was drunk. It was dark. Hot. Cortland was so close to me, laughing, nudging me with his shoulder.

I felt so alive. So safe with him.

Until I didn’t.

“Yeah,” I answer truthfully. “I don’t even know what’s out anymore.” I shrug, glance down at my white Chucks, see one of my laces is untied.

I remember how he tried to yank them off of me that night in the woods.

They were tied too tight, though, and when he was fumbling around with them, they only knotted tighter. He gave up, in the end. My jeans were around my ankles and he shoved my underwear to the side.

The shoes didn’t really matter at that point.

The box of memories threatens to burst again.

“Did you say no?” the detectives asked me. “Because Chase McGowan says you said yes.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks with that thought. It wasn’t even, technically, a lie. I had said yes. Before the woods. As a joke. Trying to fit in.

“Would you let us all fuck you, Remi?” Chase had asked me at that table as we took shot after shot.

I hitched up one shoulder, glanced at Cortland directly across from me. My heart had fluttered in my chest. I was a virgin and he knew it. I wasn’t supposed to think about fucking. My stepdad would kill me. But he was out of town. That night, I was free. Free, and buzzing from a few too many drinks. “Yeah,” I’d answered Chase, eyes on Cortland. His had narrowed with my answer. “Sure.”

Everyone but him had laughed. Storm. Brinklin. Chase.

But Cortland’s jealousy made him even more possessive. It felt kind of like love.

I sit up straighter, trying to blink the memory away. Of that night, and all the ones after. The next morning.

My stepdad, Silas, waiting by the door with a Scotch in hand.

I skip over that in my mind. The glass. The call. All of it.

Charges were filed. Due process forged ahead.

Not long after, it was all dismissed. “You may not have said yes, but there’s just not sufficient evidence that a crime was committed.”

If the emptiness I felt that night, the morning after, and the weeks after that counted as evidence, they’d be behind bars.

But they’re not.

Don’t think about it.

“Well,” I sigh, desperate to talk about anything that isn’t that, “I don’t mean to cut this short but my roommate⁠—”

“Sloane?” Dr. Ravi prods, still tapping her pen against the notepad. She arches a brow, her dusty pink lips pulling into a soft smile. I know what she’s doing. Reminding me that she remembers me. That I’m not just another trauma walking into and out of her office.

I mean, I’ve been coming here since a few weeks after it happened. Since Sloane attends EU, too, I’m not surprised she remembered. Besides, Sloane is one of my only friends. Best friends since middle school, when her family moved to Aben, my hometown, just ten minutes from here. We were cheerleaders together at West River.

We both gave that up once we got to Ely.

Her, for more of a social life.

Me, because I was never really invested in the first place. My mom wanted me in it and after she passed, it was a nice distraction. A way to get out of my house. Put more distance between me and my stepdad.

My stomach twists into knots.

“Yeah, Sloane,” I say, taking one hand from my pocket and shoving a lock of orange hair behind my ear.

“How is she these days?” Dr. Ravi asks, dropping her pen and settling into her chair. A tactic she uses when she doesn’t want me to go so soon.

I sigh, running my hand down my jeans.

“She’s great,” I tell Dr. Ravi. “I stayed with her over the summer.” Worked at the only coffee shop in Aben. Saved it all, because aside from work, I rarely left the guest room the Stevens let me use.

“Get up to anything fun?” Dr. Ravi asks, as if she knows that I definitely did not.

I slept with a nightlight. Had nightmares. Woke up sweaty and sometimes, screaming. I’d gasp in the night, remembering their hands all over me. Them, inside of me. And that hollowness I felt in the aftermath.

Thinking that’s all I was good for. Being used.

“Nope,” I answer Dr. Ravi. “Not really.” I stand, tugging down my black hoodie, clenching my phone again. My palms are sweaty, and I know it’s going to be hot as hell on the ten-minute walk back to the dorm, but I made sure I couldn’t take this hoodie off.

I don’t even have a bra underneath it. It’s baggy enough that no one could know that by looking, but I know.

I grip my phone tighter.

And for a second, I’m looking for it again. Crawling on my hands and knees, in the dirt and bramble of the woods. I’m trying to find where it dropped, but everything seems to spin around me. I was numb from the pain then, numb from everything. Then he’s there, dangling my phone in front of my face.

“Looking for this, pretty baby?”

I grip my phone tighter. I don’t think I’ve been without it once since that night. Not for a second.

“I’m going to go,” I tell Dr. Ravi. “See you next week.” I turn to leave, not bothering to be dismissed.

I’ve started to dread these sessions.

I used to find them cathartic. This was a room I could escape to and cry in.

Now, it’s just a place I relive the trauma I want to forget.

“Remi?” Dr. Ravi calls softly as I get to her door.

I close my eyes tight, steeling myself. But I don’t have to say anything, because she keeps talking at my back.

“You have my number in your phone?”

I don’t like the way she asks that question. As if she thinks I’ll need to call her or something. We’ve discussed this. I’m not going to do that. Ever.

I turn to stare at her. She hasn’t brought this up in months. Not since the last time I broke down in her office and cried so hard my nose started to bleed.

Thinking about it makes my face burn.

“Why are you asking me that? You know I do.” And you know I’m not going to call you.

She bites her tongue, literally, her white teeth flashing as she does so with an open mouth. Then she drops her gaze, looking down at her empty notepad. “Just checking,” she says softly, and I know she’s lying.

My blood runs cold.

But I decide to ignore it.

There’s no way… just no way.

I shrug. “Cool, see you next week.” Then I turn and walk out, my head down, my fingers tight around my phone.

There’s no fucking way.

CHAPTER

TWO

REMI

When I get out of the student services building, I pull my phone from my hoodie pocket, and I ignore the emails indicated with red numbers. My stomach squeezes looking at them and I think about the most recent one I read.

A variation of something I’ve been told by anonymous keyboard warriors many times.

Ever feel like a cunt for ruining their lives?

I check my text messages, glancing around as I do, checking for anyone.

There are a few people strolling around, but the campus is relatively dead. Typical for Thursday night before classes start on Monday. Students are either moving in, or out partying to get ready for the return to school. When I see that Sloane has texted me, I just roll my eyes at her message.

Sloane <3

Come to Hyde Park with me tomorrow night.

It’s not the first time she’s tried to get me out of our dorm.

And every time, I said the same thing and encouraged her to go without me. My fingers fly over the keyboard, about to answer in the same way I did each time before.

But then someone shoulder checks me, and I drop my phone, my thumb poised over the N key.

My phone lands on the screen on the sidewalk, but I barely spare it a glance before I look up, my hands clenched into fists, brows pulled together. Like, maybe I wasn’t paying attention, but I was on the correct side of the damn sidewalk, and it’s big enough for me and a herd of fucking elephants so⁠—

No.

Fuck no.

That one word I was going to text to Sloane is blaring over and over and over in my head.

My mouth goes dry, and my brain is screaming at me to turn and run. But those screams are locked inside my head, not traveling to my nervous system, because I can’t move.

My pulse is racing, fear like acid in my mouth.

Two of them.

“Happy to see me?” Cortland asks, his voice soft and low, a smile on his face. His lip ring, off to the side of his bottom lip, glints in the waning sun at my back. I remember how it felt against my face. My mouth. My chest.

I remember all of it.

Those memories jolt my mind into functioning again, and I take a step back. But before I can take another one, his hand darts out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist and yanking me toward him, to his chest.

Storm—with dark hair, blue eyes, and a nose ring—steps behind me, trapping me.

My body is tense as my free hand flies up on instinct and my palm is pressed against Cortland’s white T. His skin is hot, even from beneath his shirt, his muscles coiled tight, as if being this close to me does horrible things to him, too.

But only one of us is shaking.

I swallow, one arm forced between us by his hand on my wrist, the other pressing against his chest.

“You wanna run, Remi?” Storm asks, his words low. He’s fucking scary. He was always scary, never spoke much in high school. Having him at my back, Cortland in front of me, it reminds too much of that night.

I need him off.

I have to get away from them.

I can’t do this again.

I push harder against Cortland, but he doesn’t move.

It’s like I’m right back there, the memories bursting again.

He’s pushing his way into me, gripping my throat, telling me it’ll be okay. I’ll be fine. “Shh, pretty baby, I’ve got you,” he murmured in my ear while his friends all laughed, save for Storm. He was just watching, leaned against a tree, looking bored as he stared at me.

I didn’t speak.

I didn’t fight.

My stepdad asked me about it so many times. “It’s almost like you wanted them to use you, Remi.”

But I’m not that girl anymore.

I’m not that fucking girl.

“Let go of me,” I say, my voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. But at least I’m fucking saying it.

“Ah,” Storm says with amusement, “she does want to run.”

“She’s not gonna run.” Cortland’s voice is low as he tightens his hold on my wrist. “Are you, Remi?”

My hand is still trembling against his chest. “Let go of me,” I say again. “Let go of me or I’m gonna fucking scream.” I sound far braver than I feel, but I think he knows it’s a façade, the way his smile widens as he stares at me.

“Go ahead,” he taunts me. “Make it loud, too.”

I grit my teeth and twist my head to see Storm. Maybe make an appeal to him to let this shit go. Questions whirl in my mind. Why the fuck are you here? What the fuck are you doing?

But I don’t ask a single one.

I meet Storm’s eyes, only to find him staring back at me, expressionless, his hands in the pockets of his black pants. “Why don’t you turn around?” he asks quietly. “Look at him. I’m not gonna save you.”

A chill slides down my spine.

I see the edges of a tattoo up his neck, and I don’t know what it is. I never saw them completely naked that night, even though they saw too much of me.

Cortland laughs, a low, husky sound. “Turn back around, Remi.”

I swallow down my terror, slowly turn to look at Cortland.

But I can’t face him.

Instead, I’m staring at his clean white T-shirt. At my fingers, pale even set against the starkness of the material. I don’t spend much time in the sun. Only my runs, when there’s plenty of daylight. I see my chewed-up nails, picked black polish.

The girl I’m trying so fucking hard to be. He’s ruining it.

“Can’t look me in the eye?” he whispers.

Because I don’t know what else to do, I tip my head back to meet his gaze.

Cortland Adler was always tall. When he first moved to Aben from West Virginia, it’s the first thing everyone noticed.

I didn’t bother trying to get his attention. Maya, the cheerleading captain, snatched that up all on her own. She was a fucking piranha, and she got her teeth into him and his dick into her the first weekend after he moved.

Besides, people gravitated toward him. And even before he came around, I preferred my own company over anyone else’s. When I wasn’t with Sloane, I was home, watching horror movies under my covers and writing in my fucking journal. Silas was rarely there, and when he was, I tried my damnedest to avoid him at all costs.

I was good at it.

When I wasn’t, I paid for it.

I wonder, if he knew this, if he knew Cortland was here, would he have warned me?

“What are you doing here?” I ask quietly, amazed at the calm in my own voice. My nostrils flare and I smell him. He smells like the woods, and some kind of dark cologne that I remember so well, even being pressed against that forest floor.

I smelled fresh earth then.

Dirt, and his cologne.

Then… theirs.

My stomach churns and I think I’m going to puke. I try to step back, but he tightens his hold on my wrist, then I feel Storm’s chest against my shoulders.

Bile burns up my throat. Leave me the fuck alone. You’ve done enough. Those words are in my head, but I don’t say them. If I get this over with, let them intimidate me in this moment, it’ll pass. Maybe they’re here for football or Cortland is visiting his parents and stopped by for who the fuck knows.

Just leave me alone.

His dark gray eyes spark as he keeps staring down at me. I remember seeing him on the news. His girlfriend—Maya, the ex he’d ran back to—standing up for him. Women batting their eyes his way. Him, Brinklin, Chase, and Storm.

They fawned over Cortland. Of all of them, he looked the least like a monster. He didn’t talk like a monster. Didn’t act like one. He was a golden boy.

But that night, he was… something else. Something the courts tossed out, but we both know what he did. What they did.

Something like a scream bubbles up from my lips, but I try to bite it back as his eyes narrow.

“Go ahead,” he coaxes me. “Scream as loud as you fucking want.” His words are hushed and my skin crawls as he glances around us, watching a car pass by. “But I’ll tell you something, Remi.” His eyes come back to mine. “You can’t cry wolf twice.”

I physically recoil with those words, but his hand on my wrist doesn’t let me get far even as I shove at his chest again.

And I can still sense Storm behind me. I see Cortland glance at his friend just before I feel Storm’s breath against my skin. “And you can’t run from wolves either, Remi. I thought you’d have figured that out by now.”

A full-body shudder runs through me as I shake my head, blinking, trying to think, to block out Storm’s threat.

“Why are you…” I’m stammering. Losing my words. Just like I did in the months after it happened. It’s like I couldn’t speak. Words didn’t come naturally, just like they aren’t now. Silas asked if I lost my voice when I lost my virginity. I push all of that aside, take a deep breath even as my heart races. “Why the fuck are you here?” I snarl, thinking of Sloane, late for move-in today because she was meeting a boy for coffee that she’d started seeing over the summer.

Don’t you know boys are shit, Sloane.

Cortland’s hand comes to my back, slipping under the edges of my hoodie.

My entire body trembles.

I try to jerk away from him, hitting at his chest with the heel of my hand, but his gaze hardens. “Since when did you get your tongue pierced, Remi? Not so scared of pain now?” He rakes in my entire body, from my white Chucks to my oversized hoodie, to my mouth, which drops open as my knees shake, my stomach hurting. But I freeze with his words.

That’s what he wants to fucking ask me?

I hear Storm laugh, still feeling him right at my back. “Little Remi is all grown up. Maybe now she knows how to handle big girl decisions.”

My stomach convulses.

Cortland slides his hand down, over my ribs. I shiver, biting my lip as his palm comes just under my breast, his thumb grazing the slight swell of my flesh.

“Get your fucking hands off of me,” I growl under my breath, trying to breathe through my nose. To stay upright. I feel dizzy, panic exploding through me.

Running his tongue over his lip ring, he arches a brow, still stroking his thumb over the underside of my breast. “So mouthy now.” His eyes drift down my body and he slides his hand up higher, covering my breast. He meets my gaze. “But for all that mouth,” he says softly, “why are you shaking?”

I can smell his breath, his head is dipped down so close to mine. It smells like mint. That night at the party, it was whiskey. On his and mine. I still can’t stomach the smell of alcohol. The anxiety coursing through my veins when I’m around it makes it hard to breathe.

But he’s not drunk right now. And he’s still doing this.

“What do you want?” My voice is too calm, and my nipple hardens under his palm, revulsion rolling through me but I ignore his touch. “Why are you here, Cortland?”

He shakes his head, his eyes searching mine. “You never used to call me that.” He looks down again, at what I’m wearing, then my hair, bright orange. A big change from the dark blonde he used to know. He squeezes my breast in his hand, murmuring under his breath as he does. “You’re so fucking different.”

I feel Storm’s fingers brush against the back of my neck, and I start shaking all over again. Then he closes them around me, his fingertips digging into the side of my throat. “But maybe one thing’s the same,” he says quietly as Cortland stares at his friend’s hand on me. “Maybe she still likes to be⁠—”

“Storm,” Cortland says softly, still staring at my throat. He slides his hand back down my ribs and I hate that I feel relief. His voice drops lower. “That’s enough.”

Storm laughs, a low, raspy sound, but he drops his hand from my neck, and I can breathe a little easier.

But only a little.

Cortland jerks me closer, sliding his fingers around to my back, and my knees feel as if they might give out beneath me. But I push back against him, trying to get away from him.

His breath doesn’t even hitch. It’s not a struggle for him to hold me in place.

“Listen, Remi.” He leans down closer, his eyes darting to my mouth then back up. “Nothing bad is going to happen to you.” My throat gets tight. “I’m not here for you.” He gives me another once over. “Although you look even better than you did then.”

The fear in my skin feels like pins and needles. I shove against it, trying to fight him.

But it’s not a fight.

It’s nothing. My efforts are wasted. That night, paralyzed with fear, I didn’t fight at all, but I realize now, I don’t think it would have mattered.

He’s going to get the last word again. Like when the case was dismissed.

Like when he got away with it. All of them got away with it.

His hand slips higher up my hoodie, his entire palm over my shoulder blade, pulling up the thick material, a light breeze grazing my exposed flesh.

I’m shaking in earnest now, and if my palm wasn’t against his chest, I’m not sure I’d still be standing. As if I need him to hold me up.

The thought makes me hate myself a little more.

“Not so innocent now, huh?” He smirks, and there’s this look in his eyes. Like that night was my fault. “But I don’t think you ever really were.”

I’ve spent a year trying to convince myself otherwise, but he decimates all the work I’ve done in one sentence.

But it wasn’t my fault, I tell myself.

It couldn’t have been.

I was falling for him, and I looked up to him, but he knew I was a virgin. He knew I wasn’t ready. He’d never cared. Never pressured me.

I’d gone outside in the woods with the rest of them, ready for a drunken game of hide-and-seek. He claimed me to be on their team. He’d taken my hand. We’d run into the darkness. I had been drinking, and I relished in their attention for a few moments, including at the table when I answered Chase, but I… I didn’t want that. I didn’t want what happened.

I thought we were playing. I thought it was a fun night before we started college. He was going here, too. We’d start a new adventure together, and he’d stay the shelter from my stepdad that he didn’t even know he was. But I thought wrong.

He broke my heart in a very different way.

He’d grabbed me, and his fucking friends…

“So, this time, you’re not going to fuck shit up for me.” He tilts his head, his lips going to my ear. “And you’re going to keep your pretty little mouth shut about me, huh?”

His short nails scrape down my back, and I’m not breathing, my pulse pounding a painful rhythm in my chest. The trembling in my legs is so violent, I have to lean my weight into him to keep upright.

“And next time you go out in public, why don’t you wear a goddamn bra?” With those words, reminding me of my stepdad, he lets go of me. He slips his hand out from under my hoodie, and shoves past me, nearly making me stumble as his shoulder knocks into me again and I lock my legs up to keep from losing my balance.

But it’s Storm that catches me, his arms wrapped around my body.

For a moment, I can’t breathe.

It’s like time stands still.

I smell Storm’s leather scent, and I can practically feel the anger in his body, me so close to him.

“So scared,” he whispers, his breath on my ear. “So fucking brave, going to the cops then, and now…” His nose runs down the length of my jaw and a whimper leaves my mouth. “I think I could still eat you alive, Remi.”

“Let her go,” Cortland says.

For a second, he doesn’t, his mouth close to my own.

I close my eyes tight, fear wrapping like a vise grip around my heart.

“Storm.” Cortland’s voice is low.

After a second, Storm releases me, shoving me forward as my eyes fly open.

I stumble again before I right myself, trying to breathe.

Then I glance at my phone on the ground and have the sudden urge to sink to my knees, my head in my hands as they both leave me here.

I deserve this.

The same voice that’s haunted me since that night.

It’s all I’m good for.

I press the heel of my hands over my eyes, swallow the lump in my throat as I spin around on the sidewalk, chest heaving as I think about how their lives haven’t changed.

How he has the nerve to come here after what he did to me.

Stupid fucking skank should go ahead and off herself.

She ruined THEIR LIVES!!!

I ruined mine too.

I should’ve kept my fucking mouth shut, because I ruined mine too.

CHAPTER

THREE

REMI

My mind races as I slam my locker door shut. I can’t remember if I made my bed this morning. I’d stayed up late reading, and when my alarm went off, I just meant to snooze it once.

But once became twice became three times and... Silas will be back today. At noon. Which means if I didn’t make my bed, he’ll see and⁠—

“Remi?”

I jump, startled, clutching my books to my chest as my face warms.

A pair of gray eyes and a soft smile are staring down at me.

And I do mean down.

Cortland Adler is easily the tallest boy at West River High. He transferred last year from the middle-of-nowhere West Virginia, to here. The middle-of-nowhere North Carolina.

He’s the golden boy at West River. I’m not sure why he ever bothers talking to me.

“Yeah?” I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear that slipped free from my braids. My palms are sweaty and as Cortland’s gaze slips from my eyes to my body, I hug my books tighter.

I’m in jeans and an oversized T-shirt. Because Silas will be home.

I think about the stash of clothes I’ve got in Sloane’s locker down the hall. I might not have made my bed but at least I remembered to put those secrets away.

Cortland clears his throat, then swings his backpack around to his chest. He tugs at his zipper, and I glance at his hoodie. Black, with a wolf. West River’s mascot. Beneath it are the words, “Welcome to pack territory.” I have one of those hoodies. All the cheerleaders got them.

I’m still staring at the way the soft black material frames his broad shoulders when I realize he’s saying my name again.

I blink, straightening as my face flushes hotter and sweat pricks on the back of my neck.

He’s offering something to me.

Beat up and worn with a cracked spine. A book.

Pet Sematary.

I swallow hard.

“I uh, I just found it at the library and Ms. Jones said they don’t offer this kind of material at West River.” He mimics her stern voice and I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “So, I figured it was yours.”

He adjusts his backpack on his shoulder again, still extending the book to me.

I stare at the cat on the worn cover. No, they certainly do not offer Stephen King at West River. I got it from the thrift store one day after practice. There are no bookstores in town, so when Silas won’t be home, I check out the used books at Thrifty’s, using the money he gives me after every fight. Guilt money.

Cortland gestures toward me with the book. “But maybe it isn’t yours, sorry, I just thought…”

My stomach flips and I clutch my books tighter to my chest to reach for the novel. For a second, our fingers brush against one another and a shiver slides down my spine.

Then he releases the book and I add it to the stack in my arms.

His smile widens, his lip ring moving as it does.

“How’d you know it was mine?” I ask, my heart skipping a beat at the thought of him seeing it and thinking of me. I don’t remember leaving it in the library yesterday but I was in a rush to get home. To clean the toilets, take out the trash. Silas has been gone four days and I’ve reveled in every hour of his absence.

Cortland slides his hands into the pockets of his pants, his long lashes nearly grazing his cheekbones as he looks down between us.

“I think you’re the only girl in this school who reads horror.” His eyes flick to mine. “Or only person at all, to be honest.”

I laugh at that, thinking of Sloane. She likes painting her nails and watching romcoms. Horror has her squealing like a kid, half-hiding under the covers. That’s the point, I’ve told her. To get freaked out.

Just as I open my mouth to say something, Chase McGowan and Maya Bell come up behind Cortland, shoulder-to-shoulder with him.

“Ah, Remi Ocean. You’re looking mighty fine today,” Chase says, his gaze lascivious as he rakes his eyes down my body. He slaps Cortland on the back, and I see Cort’s jaw tense.

Maya flips her long, dark hair over one shoulder and loops her arm through Cortland’s. “Don’t be late to practice today, Remi,” she says, glaring at me. “Your performance sucks as it is.” She glances at her nails as my flush spreads down my neck, to my chest. “That pawprint you paint on your cheek can’t make up for talent. There are so many other girls who’d kill to take your spot.”

I don’t doubt it. Cheerleading is okay, I’m decent at it, and being on the team helps me pass as someone who belongs. But I only do it because Mom got me into it, when I was a kid. And it keeps me away from Silas.

I take a step back from the three of them, Cortland glancing at Maya with a furrow between his brow. But Chase still has his arm on his back and Maya has hers looped through his. They’re flanking him.

I know what they’re really doing. Claiming him.

From a wealthy family, athletic and good looking, Cortland was always going to be theirs.

My stepdad is wealthy, too. I’m not ugly. But where Cortland has an easy smile and polite, Southern manners, able to converse with everyone from the principal to the janitor, I don’t know how to socialize well.

I’ve always been this way.

My stammering words and standoffishness don’t endear me to anyone. Silas. Chase. Maya.

I nod once in Maya’s direction. If I get kicked off the team, I’ll be home more and my comfortable social status as someone just above rat in these hallways will slip. I don’t wanna do that to Sloane. She could be so much better than my friend. Do so much better. But I love her.

“I’ll be there,” I say, shifting my gaze from Maya to Cortland.

He’s smiling at me, a dimple flashing in his cheek. “See ya, Remi.”

“See ya.” I turn around, feeling Cortland’s eyes on me.

Then I hear Chase snicker. “I wouldn’t mind fucking her once to see if she’d actually moan.”

My ears grow warm and I’m glad I’m walking away from them. Maya makes a disgusted noise. “She looks like she hasn’t washed her hair in weeks,” she hisses. “Wonder if she’s got any running water in that big house.”

Pressure builds behind my eyes. I didn’t shower this morning. Or yesterday because I’d already cleaned the bathrooms and didn’t want to risk them seeming anything but spotless.

I’m about to turn down the hall when Cortland speaks, his voice soft and low.

“She’s still hot as hell.”

And despite the humiliation burning through me, a smile graces my lips.

Sloane whirls around as I walk into our dorm, dropping my backpack to the floor. I inhale, trying to steady myself, catching the strawberry scent that seems to drift around her, infecting every space she occupies. It’s comforting, and right now, I need the comfort.

“Finally,” she says with a smile, a hairbrush in her hand.

I swallow, forcing myself to meet her gaze as I glance at her side of the room. I moved in yesterday, loading up all the things I’d kept at her house over the summer into my little blue Corolla. I wanted a night away from her.

Not because of her, because of me.

She’s got her purple bedspread made up, her lofted bed mirroring mine, against the wall. Our desks are beside our beds, adjacent to each other.

There’re dresses draped over her purple desk chair, a couple of boxes labeled BATHROOM on her bed, but otherwise, it looks like she’s mostly done unpacking.

“You get my text? About the party tomorrow night?”

I take a step into our little room, then another. I force myself to sink into my own black desk chair, pulling my knees to my chest, my Chucks on the seat.

“Yeah,” I tell her, my throat dry. “I⁠—”

“And before you say no,” she scolds me, hopping up on her bed, her legs dangling off as she keeps brushing her bright blonde hair, “Van is gonna be there too.”

At that, I’m able to blink away the memory of Cortland’s thumb stroking my breast.

I look up at her, shoving my hands into the pocket of my hoodie as I take in her beige crop top and high-waisted jeans. Her green eyes meet mine, accentuated by lash extensions. She tried to convince me to get them, too, but it’s all I can do to put on eyeliner. I couldn’t handle the upkeep.

“You talked to Van?” I ask, dipping my chin.

Van Cross is, technically, my cousin, but not by blood. He’s the son of my stepdad’s stepsister, whom he never speaks to. They don’t get along—what a surprise—and aside from a few odd holidays growing up, we weren’t close. He has no idea what Silas is like. But we coincidentally reconnected in an art history class last year, and when he offered me a joint as soon as we walked out together, our connection was instant. He’s attractive as far as distant cousins go, with buzzed hair, tanned white skin and deep blue eyes, plus those tattoos all up and down his arms. But our relationship is strictly platonic, and not just because we’re vaguely related by marriage. He’s not into me. It’s another reason he’s my friend. He feels safe.

And besides that…

“He wouldn’t come,” I continue, frowning at Sloane. “Van is asocial.”

She laughs, rolling her eyes, tossing her brush down onto her bed. “You could just say antisocial like the rest of us,” she jokes.

“That’s wrong, though. He’s not a psychopath.” I’m an English major. Words matter. “Anyway, are you lying right now, Sloane?” I force a lightness into my voice that I don’t feel, memories of Cortland and Storm surrounding me blaring in my brain.

But I’m just teasing her. Sloane and I don’t keep secrets.

Then I think about the scissors at my back, in the cupholder on my desk.

Except that one.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sloane says, waggling her brows. She shrugs. “You gave me his number last semester in case I couldn’t find you.” She narrows her eyes, because that happened a few times. When I went off to the library, holing myself up in a study room for hours.

And not to study.

To just… be.

“Anyway.” She shrugs. “I texted him. He’s coming.” She glances down at her ankles, still crossed over one another. “I think it’ll be good for you,” she says quietly. “To start this year differently.”

I almost balk at those words, thinking of the feel of Cortland’s hand over me. Storm circling me.

I know I should tell her, but as I open my mouth to do just that, the words get stuck in my throat. We don’t talk about him. When I wake up crying in the night, she asks if I’m okay. Gives me a hug in the morning.

But we don’t talk about this.

That’s a memory in the basement, hidden for the rest of my life as far as I’m concerned.

I clench my hands into fists in the pocket of my hoodie, biting my lip.

She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and I catch sight of her cartilage piercing. She got that done at the same time I got my tongue pierced.

After the case was dismissed.

A fuck you to everyone who fucked me.

She’s been there, more than anyone.

After the charges were filed, most of the few people I talked to at West River dropped off. It was a “he said, she said,” case, the defense told us.

And there were four hes. Only one she.

I never really stood a chance. I knew that. I had cheered them on at every game and saw how much everyone adored them.

Once upon a time, I had adored Cortland too.

But Sloane stood by me. Never once doubted me, and she cried when I told her what happened. She’d been away, at the coast visiting her older sister.

Before that night, we had gushed over Cortland together. The few dates we went on. She was happy for me.

Then her heart broke for me, too, right alongside mine.

“Okay,” I finally say, taking a breath. “I’ll come.” I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth, but Sloane’s grin nearly splits her face and she leaps down from the bed, throwing her arms around me.

I hug her back, but my skin is still crawling with Cortland’s touch.

“This year is going to be the best one yet,” Sloane says in my ear. Then she pulls back, still holding on.

A strand of her hair sticks to the gloss over her plump lips, and she tries to blow it away, making me laugh with the noise.

I still have my hands on her sides, and hers are around my neck. She presses her temple to mine.

“You deserve to live, Remi,” she says. “You deserve this.”

CHAPTER

FOUR

CORTLAND

I hear Mom sigh as I come into the kitchen, Tristan with his head bowed at the table, a bowl of cereal in front of him.

Nothing really seems wrong, but the tension is thick in the air. I open up a cabinet as Mom closes the fridge, a jug of juice in her hand.

“What’s wrong?” I ask quietly, pulling down my own bowl. I glance at the time. Just after sunrise on a Saturday, and Mom is going into the office because of course she is. I wanted to run at Hyde Park before I met Brinklin for a movie.

Mom pours her juice as I reach for the cereal under the cabinet, and Tristan stays silent at the table.

“Your brother has a cavity. Just told me this morning, too.”

I frown at that, shaking out the cereal, glancing at the multi-colored flakes, before I roll down the bag, close the box, and put it back under the cabinet.

“Yeah,” I say. I’m the one who took him to the dentist last week. “So? He’ll just get it filled, right?”

I turn to the fridge as Mom shoves the juice my way and I take it, meeting her eyes for half a second. Then I set it on the shelf and grab the milk, glancing at Tristan, still staring into his full bowl, but he’s not eating.

My stomach twist into knots, but I close the fridge and pour my milk.

“So he’s not to eat anything with sugar until he can learn to keep his teeth clean,” Mom says, shrugging as she sips from her own juice, leaning back against the sink. She nods to Tristan as she lowers her glass, her manicured nails tapping against the counter at her back with her free hand. “Isn’t that right, baby?” she asks him, her tone condescending.

I see his face flush red beneath his cloud of hair.

I tighten my jaw as I fling open the fridge, put away the milk and shut the door before I snatch a spoon from the drawer.

“It’s okay, Tristan,” I tell him, plopping my spoon in the bowl.

I wish Dad was here.

Not the first time I’ve thought that since he’s been on the road. But I let it go, coming to sit across the table from my brother. I jerk my chin toward the kitchen adjacent the dining room. “There’s a lot of fresh fruit in there⁠—”

“Sugar,” my mom says in a singsong voice.

I clench my hands into fists as Tristan keeps staring down at his bowl.

He’s ten.

I glare at my mom, wanting to say exactly that, but not wanting to embarrass him further. “Then what the hell should he eat?” I snarl, leaning back in my chair and refusing to touch my own cereal.

Mom’s eyes widen as she turns and rinses out her juice cup. “Watch your language, Cort.”

“And why’s he got a bowl of fucking cereal in front of his face if you don’t want him eating sugar?”

Mom drops her cup in the sink and turns toward me, her eyes narrowed.

She takes a step closer, and I grit my teeth, staring up at her.

“He’s learning self-control,” she snarls. “I put the bowl there so he can figure out how not to give into temptations.”

My pulse pounds in my ears and I dig my nails into my palms, wanting to run them down my skin.

“And if you don’t watch that mouth, Cort, I’ll have to teach you some self-control, too.” Then she turns from me, stalking off, snatching up her keys from the island. “If he so much as eats a single bite of that, he can fast for a week.”

She leaves, slamming the door closed behind her.

Tristan finally looks up, his eyes rimmed with tears.

There’s a lump in my throat, but I swallow it down. “Eat the cereal, buddy,” I tell him softly, finally grabbing my own spoon even though my appetite is gone. “I won’t tell her.”

I wipe my wrist over my brow, the late-summer heat getting to me as I finish my last mile at Hyde Park.

I shake out my hands by my sides, relishing in the release after a hellish morning at home. Tristan ate the cereal, but he went to his room and cried afterward, which is never fun to listen to.

The older he gets, the more Mom is on his case.

God, I hate her.

I round the corner of the park, some of the leaves already changing colors, the reds and yellows beautiful. So much like West Virginia my heart aches, thinking of it.

Mom moved us for her job.

I wish she’d have left us, instead.

And just as that thought leaves my brain, I nearly collide with someone, my hands darting to their shoulders as we both stagger a little, trying to avoid a full-on disaster.

I hear something hit the paved path, and when I look down, there’s books strewn across the walkway and a DVD case, too.

“I’m so sorry,” a girl’s voice whispers, and I snap my head up, my hands still on her shoulders.

Remi Ocean.

My pulse accelerates all over again, and it has nothing to do with my run.

For a second, her golden eyes are locked on mine, her dark blonde hair pulled back in braids.

Her hands are out in front of her, like she’s still trying to hold me back even though she’s not touching me.

Speaking of… I release her, then hastily retreat a step.

She’s in leggings and a T-shirt, her pale arms visible beneath as she squats down, stacking up her books.

I take a breath, trying to calm my heart.

Remi is a cheerleader so I’ve seen her a lot, but she never really seemed to want to talk much to me. Or anyone, save for her best friend, Sloane. She’s always got her nose in a book during free time in class, but anytime I have spoken to her, she’s been so nice.

She just doesn’t like to talk a lot, I guess.

Wish my mother abided by that shit.

I realize she’s stacking up her books that I made her drop by herself, and I quickly sink down to the ground, reaching for her DVD.

She stills, glancing up at me, and we’re close enough to touch.

I can see the flecks of chestnut in the gold of her eyes, and each one of her long, dark lashes.

I remember to breathe, and I catch her scent.

Like… coconut.

I lick my lips, swallowing the tightness in my throat down as I snatch up her DVD and offer it to her, glancing down at the cover. It has a yellow circular sticker with $5 printed inside it. She got it used, it looks like.

“You and your horror,” I say with a smile, my eyes back on hers.

She’s still squatting down beside me and she takes the movie, her fingers brushing mine for a second.

My heart flutters.

What is wrong with me?

“Yep,” she finally says. “I Know What You Did Last Summer, that’s my favorite movie.”

I glance at the cover again as she piles it on top of the books against her chest.

“What’s yours?” she asks softly, getting to her feet.

I stand, too, looking down at her.

She’s short and she has to tilt her head back to look up at me.

I smile, shrugging. “I don’t really watch movies. I like football.”

She laughs, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, shaking her head. “Yeah,” she says quietly, “I could’ve guessed that.”

“You come here a lot?” I ask her, looking around the park. It’s quiet, just after sunrise. I usually don’t see anyone here.

She bites her lip, averting her eyes for a second. “Not a lot,” she finally says. “I stopped by Thrifty’s and it’s just up the road. I only really come here when my stepdad is away.”

“You like spending time with him? A family girl, huh?” I realize belatedly that her mom died and maybe that was not the right thing to say.

And the look she gives me confirms that.

She takes a step back as she holds my gaze. “Something like that,” she mutters under her breath.

I feel like an idiot and I rake my hand through my hair before I drop it to my side. Grasping for something to change the subject, I ask, “Where you going with all those books?”

She glances down at her stack and for the first time, I notice a pen tucked behind her ear. “To the bench,” she answers me, jerking her chin just beyond us.

I know what bench she’s talking about.

I sit on it after my runs sometimes.

“Cool,” I tell her. I want to ask if she wants company, but she never really seems to want that, and she’s taking another step back from me. Toward the bench I was going to take a breath on.

“I’ll see ya around, Cort,” she says, and I smile when she calls me that. Like she knows me.

I nod once. “See ya, Rems.”

And just before she turns her head, I see it too. Her smile.

“Brinklin, Storm, Chase.” Maya flops back on my bed, holding her phone over her head, thumbs flying along her screen. Her chocolate brown hair is fanned out on my orange sheets. “They’re all gonna be there,” she continues, angling her phone further away, extending her arm as she purses her lips together. I see the screen flash across her oval face, watch her mouth pull into a smile as she posts the selfie to wherever she’s posting shit.

I don’t have social media.

After last year, I’ve done my best to stay off the internet altogether.

I run my hand through my hair, turning away from the mirror hung opposite my bed to face her. “Chase and Brinklin are⁠—”

“They drove up from ECU,” she says, shrugging with a smile on her face. As if this is the best news of the century. “And I already promised Storm he could watch me suck your dick if he comes.”

I stare at her. “Oh, did you?”

She laughs, tossing her phone beside her on the bed, planting her palms on my mattress and leaning back, arching her spine, spreading her thighs so I have a clear view of her thong as she hikes her dress up. “Calm down, babe,” she says with a pout. “You know this is just for you.” She runs one hand up her thigh, slipping her fingers beneath the hot pink of her underwear, rubbing herself with a soft moan.

My skin feels tight, watching her. Imagining Remi, bumping into her yesterday on my way to the student service’s building to make an appointment. To see a fucking therapist.

I’ve avoided going for a year now, but I can’t anymore. There’s nothing but darkness in my head. Morbid thought after morbid thought. Monster. That’s how she sees me, and I’m not sure she’s wrong. It felt a little good yesterday, touching her, just giving in to what she thinks I am. Now I’m sure I met all of her expectations.

I watch Maya’s fingers, my throat constricting. She pulls aside her panties, exposing herself to me and I clench my teeth, forcing myself to meet her gaze. Think about what she just said. “Why did you invite them?” I ask her. “You know Chase and I aren’t exactly friends anymore.”

She sighs, snapping her legs closed and smoothing down her dress with her hand. “Yeah, because of a dumb slut who tried to ruin⁠—”

I close the space between us, grabbing her neck and tipping her head up. “Shh.” I run my thumb over her bottom lip. “I don’t want to hear about her.”

She swallows beneath my hand, and my dick gets hard with the feel of it. “I never see her, you know,” she whispers, her eyes on mine. She runs her tongue over her lips, and I wonder if Remi would ever get turned on by something like this.

I grip Maya tighter. “She won’t be here tonight?”

Maya shakes her head. “No, baby.”

I think about seeing Chase. Brinklin. All of us together again. At West River, we were the wolves. Welcome to Pack Territory was our school’s motto. And it was ours. Together, we could get away with anything.

But I think about Storm behind Remi yesterday.

His hand on her neck.

If she’s there tonight, things could get messy.

“She won’t be there,” Maya reiterates, and she thinks I don’t want to see her for a very different reason than the one that’s in my head. “I wouldn’t fuck you over like that, Cort.”

Yeah, you would, baby. Maya comes from a big, middle class family. She’s a social climber, and I know she’s only with me because she likes my money—my mother’s money—and my attention.

The idea of being comfortable.

For now, our relationship is symbiotic. Since I transferred to Ely to be near my brother, Tristan, Maya is like a shield.

She helps maintain my innocence.

From a girl who tried to ruin my life.

Again, Remi’s golden eyes flash in my mind.

She’s so fucking different.

Her hair. Her clothes. That piercing.

I wonder if she’s trying to hide.

As if she could ever hide from me. Her face is implanted in my mind.

So are all of the feelings I want to forget. All the memories.

A cold chill runs down my spine and I remember what it was like in the aftermath. Not sleeping, not eating. Unable to get out of bed even though no matter how many hours I laid with my head against the pillow I couldn’t fall asleep.

I remember Mom taking it all out on my father. On Tristan.

My nostrils flare but I bite back on that rage.

I drop my hand and step back from Maya.

She runs her manicured nails through her hair, tossing it over her shoulder. She’s bitched every day we’ve been apart this past year, wanting me to come visit her more from Texas.

Now, of course, I’m here, and since yesterday when she came over, all she really cares about is posting selfies of her, of us. Of bragging to everyone that I’m back in her clutches. Getting all my old friends here to recreate what we had in high school.

I think about her on her knees fifteen minutes ago, my dick in her mouth.

And unbidden, I think of that night. The four of us surrounding Remi.

Wolves.

Then the next morning, her stumbling out of my bed. Panic. She panicked.

My hands start to tremble like they did in the weeks before I had to get on that plane to Texas, head toward the future Mom wanted for me, away from the rape allegations and sexual assault charges I’d narrowly escaped.

Away from Remi.

I clench my hands into fists, take a breath. Force it all away.

The tremors let up.

“What’s Storm do anyway?” Maya asks, glancing at her nails. “Haven’t seen him in town all this past year.”

“Since you’re so concerned with him, why don’t you suck his dick tonight, huh?” I ask her.

She looks up with a smile, dropping her hand. “You feelin’ jealous, Cort?” she mocks me.

No. Storm isn’t interested in her because of the simple fact he isn’t interested in anyone.

“Nah. You can suck his cock if he’ll let you get close enough,” I tell Maya truthfully. She has no idea why I left her here alone yesterday while I walked with him to go book my appointment. The last thing I wanted was her by my side as I tried to adjust to being in a place that Remi orbits, too.

I lean down, grab my undershirt from the bed, shove it on, then snatch up the plaid long sleeve and put my arms through it.

Maya sighs in what’s supposed to be disappointment behind me. I’m not sure how the fuck we made it this past year, but then again, it’s not like I’ve been faithful to her. Sex is the only thing that clears my head of all the bad.

But with the photos Storm sent me last year of her sidling up next to EU’s basketball players after their championship game, I don’t think she’s been faithful to me, either.

We spent most of the summer apart, too, and I know she probably fucked her way through the beach town she stayed with her sister at.

I don’t really care.

Maintaining a relationship with her makes me look innocent. In the aftermath, she was the one who was there. For her own purposes, maybe, but still, she was there.

I hear a knock on my bedroom door and as I turn my head, the devil himself steps through. Storm doesn’t spare Maya a glance, his light blue eyes locked on mine.

“You ready?”

So much more in that question, and those unspoken words pass between us.

He was the first friend I made at West River, right after he punched me in the face for accidentally stealing his lighter. I’d found it on the sidewalk, snatched it up. Apparently, he’d just dropped it. I swung back, cracked his nose. After that, we were close. He marches to the beat of his own drum, which is more or less dark silence, but I like it. When I was looking for peace and quiet from my mom’s shit, he didn’t ask questions. Didn’t pry. He just let me sit in his car and get high, listening to Deftones with the windows down.

When he knew I was transferring here, he offered to move in, help me pay rent. He was living in a rundown apartment anyway. He doesn’t go to school. He’s a dealer.

I imagine my mom’s horror if she knew that. But she didn’t argue with me wanting him as a roommate. She’s in the business of pacifying me, as long as I do the same for her. A little like me and Maya that way.

I nod once in answer to Storm’s question, open up my closet door and step inside. I snatch a hat from the top shelf, put it backward on my head and close the door as I walk out. I glance in the mirror, running a hand over my black and gray plaid shirt.

I catch Maya’s eyes in the mirror and see her smiling at me, leaning back on the bed, her knees parted.

Storm is still in the doorway, and I shift my gaze to him to find him staring back at me.

What will we do with her, if she is there?

I drop my hand, a slow smile curving my lips.

I’ve got the whole year to figure that out.

I never really thought I was a bad person. I didn’t hate people or hurt them. I looked out for my brother, had a good relationship with my dad.

But that night, Remi broke everything into pieces.

And turns out, we’ve all got monsters inside of us.

When the three of us are walking in the dark to the park, Storm offers me a cigarette and I take it, even as Maya complains about the smoke. But my hands are shaky again, like they were in the aftermath of the charges.

If you know what’s best for you, baby, you won’t be here.

Remi didn’t go to many parties back at West, even though I looked for her at every one.

But that bright orange hair and tongue piercing, combined with that I don’t give a fuck attitude she had before I knocked into her, I don’t know her anymore.

I think about her skin under my fingers, the fact she wasn’t wearing a bra.

That night, I remember wanting hers off, but I was too drunk and it was too hard to rip it off and… fuck.

I bite my cheek hard enough to taste blood, and I remember that, too.

The taste of hers.

CHAPTER

FIVE

REMI

Paranoia steals the joy from everything.

I glance at the clock on the center touchscreen of Cortland’s blacked-out truck. It looks like a spaceship and it’s so big in here, I feel like a kid in the black leather seat.

It’s only ten at night and the darkness outside of the tinted windows gives us an illusion of privacy. And in reality, we’re pretty secluded. He parked at the far end of Hyde Park in Ellicottville, where the mountains can be seen jutting up into the night sky beneath the full moon overhead.

My heart flutters as I glance at the pale sphere through his windshield.

But even still, with the night, the stillness, the mid-July air drifting in through the cracked windows, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end because… he could be here.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Cort asks me, his thumb trailing over the back of my hand, ours entwined together over the giant center console.

Another flutter of my heart. Butterflies in my stomach.

For a second, I can’t even look at him.

How did I get here?

I inhale, catching a heady combination of the leather interior of the truck and Cortland’s woodsy scent. Like cedar. Or fall.

Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t hide my smile.

I turn to look at him, his face lit by the dash lights, making the piercing in his lower lip gleam and his charcoal eyes nearly silver. He smiles too, and I see a dimple flash in his cheek as his plush lips curve upward.

He’s the epitome of boy-next-door with a hot as hell edge.

He tilts his head and my heart thrums too fast in my chest as I realize I didn’t answer his question, because I’m too busy staring at his lips.

Embarrassed, my eyes drift up to his.

“I know you’re quiet, Remi, but I can see it in your eyes.”

Heat rises from my neck up to my cheeks. I squirm in my seat, aware that I’m showing all signs of my discomfort, but I can’t seem to stop. “See what?” I ask him, my voice hoarse.

He flashes a smile and I note the imperfections of his teeth. They’re so white, but slightly crooked, which always struck me as odd. His mom works for one of the wealthiest law firms in the state, and I’ve seen the Adler mansion. It’s where we’re headed, after this.

Wolves territory.

Nerves cause sweat to dampen the back of my neck, and I run my hand through my dark blonde hair, trying to cool myself off.

Just relax, Rems.

“Everything,” he answers me, shifting in his seat to face me more fully, his seatbelt off. He has one hand on the wheel, and I note the veins over the back of it, leading up to his corded forearms. His skin is tan, evidence of all his time spent outdoors. There’s a splash of freckles across his face, over his nose.

I stare at them as I try to think through what he just said, but I keep wondering the same thing… how did I end up here? Cortland isn’t loud, never commanding the center of attention, but everyone at West seemed to orbit around him. Maya, the cheerleading captain, was the first girl he dated when he transferred.

But I saw his lingering looks.

Maya did, too, and she made sure I knew it.

I wince as I think about when I dismounted at practice, the day she caught him staring at me during lunch when I was sitting with Sloane, my nose in a book. She “dropped” me, and my other two spotters couldn’t keep me upright.

I twisted my ankle, but it could’ve been so much worse.

I never told Cort that. They broke up soon after, and it seemed like karma was working in my favor for once.

And after graduation, he asked me out.

I don’t know what he sees in me, but this summer has been magic. At least, in the few stolen moments Silas has had trips to handle business for his construction equipment company and I can sneak out. Only a handful of times, and never long enough, but Cortland never seems to complain.

Next week, we go off to college.

And there are still things we haven’t done. Things that might indicate we could be together long-term. I’ve never met his family. He’s never met mine—thinking of my stepdad finding out I have a boyfriend makes me want to vomit.

And we haven’t had sex.

Nothing more than making out.

Mainly because of how we choose to spend our time. In his truck. At the park. Movie theater, hole-in-the-wall restaurants that I choose, knowing Silas nor his connections would ever go there.

“No boys. No sex. Don’t be fucking stupid, Remi.”

I swallow down the tightness in my throat and glance down at our hands. Silas won’t be home until tomorrow night, well after I’ve gone to bed. I have his flight itinerary in my email.

Still, my nerves feel raw as they do every time I lie to Silas.

Tonight, he thinks I’m with my best friend, Sloane. But Slo is down at the coast; her older sister due to give birth any day now. Silas doesn’t care much about Sloane because her family is middle class and anything that doesn’t bring my stepdad connections is worthless to him.

Including, for the most part, me.

“Baby,” Cort says, and my breath catches with that word. I look up, feeling my cheeks heat again. I run my clammy palm over my destroyed blue jeans, hidden in Sloane’s locker because the only time Silas thinks it’s appropriate for me to show any skin is in my cheerleading uniform.

“Boys don’t like used goods, Remi.”

A chill crawls down my spine.

Another memory surfaces. His lingering looks after Mom passed.

I push it back.

“Yeah?” I ask Cort, forcing a smile.

“What’s wrong?”

You’re leaving me soon. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m sorry I’m pathetic. I’m sorry I’m not outgoing like Maya. That I can’t spend much time with you because of my stepdad. I’m sorry I’m not good enough to meet your parents.

“Nothing,” I lie, a lump in my throat.

“You sure you want to go to this party tonight?” he asks me, his brow furrowed. “We could skip it.”

“It’s at your house,” I tell him with a small smile. His family is out of town. His dad is a trucker, his brother is staying with his uncle in West Virginia before school starts, and his mom is working, I guess.

Three people in his life that he shares the most space with. Three people I’ve never met, just caught glimpses of from afar at football games. I’ve had boyfriends before, but nothing as serious as this. A little sad, considering he probably doesn’t think this is very serious.

He lifts up one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “I don’t give a fuck. I only want to be with you.”

Such pretty words. I smile despite what I know them to be. Just words. “No, we can go.” I think of who will be there. Chase, Brinklin, and Storm, his closest friends. They walked around West River like they owned the place, and I guess, because they were on the team, they kind of did.

I’m glad I’m dropping cheerleading. I hope Mom won’t be disappointed, if she’s watching me from somewhere. But she’s been dead for almost a decade now.

Suddenly I feel heavy with grief, but I try to let that memory go.

Cortland sighs, nodding toward his lap. “Come here,” he says.

My blood heats, and for a second, I don’t move. “There?” I ask him, eyeing his long legs, clad in black pants that mold to his muscular thighs.

He smiles, tugging my hand slightly. “Yep.”

I swallow down my nerves, glancing at the console between us. He reaches his hand from the steering wheel to move his seat back, giving me plenty of room to sit on his lap.

“Come on, Remi, I want you in my lap.” His tone is low, that husky, slight Southern drawl to his words stealing my breath.

I bring one leg up to the seat as I turn toward him, my white Chuck leaving a print on the black leather.

I glance at it, fear washing over me in a hot, uncomfortable wave.

He laughs, setting me at ease. “I don’t give a fuck if you get my truck dirty.” There’s an insinuation in those words that has my pulse flying, my face burning.

I awkwardly climb over the console, his hands on my hips as he helps me. My knees sink into the seat, on either side of him as I straddle his lap, my arms around his neck.

I inhale, trying to catch my breath, and his woodsy scent hits me hard as his hands slip under my thin, black shirt, his fingers hot on my skin.

My nipples pebble and he jerks me closer, my brow to his as he looks up at me through long, dark lashes.

“God, you feel so good,” he says quietly, his lip ring brushing against my bottom lip.

I’m sweating, nervous as his hands trail higher under my shirt, brushing against my grey bralette.

“Yeah?” I whisper softly, feeling clumsy but not knowing what else to say.

He shifts his hips and I can feel his erection under me.

I’ve always wanted to make him feel good. I’ve watched porn. I know about sex and blowjobs and guys going down on girls. I’ve just never done it.

And I know he and Maya have “fucked like rabbits” as she made sure to tell me when she stalked off from graduation, her blue eyes narrowed on mine, middle finger in my face. He told her to fuck off, and she did, but not before she said what she wanted to say.

It’s a good thing my stepdad didn’t bother to show up. He was working.

“Yes,” Cortland answers me, and I smell mint on his breath. I wonder what my own smells like. His fingers brush the unlined cups of my bra and my core heats. “Kiss me.”

I smile at his command, my fingers in the slight wave of his thick, dark hair. I do as he asked, but it becomes a different kind of kiss as his lips part, his tongue on mine. His hand winds in my hair, his other squeezes my breast and I gasp against him, shifting my hips on his erection, a small whimper leaving my mouth.

He smiles against my lips, his piercing brushing my bottom one, his tongue twirling around mine.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he says, his words echoing on my mouth. He pulls back, nipping at my bottom lip, tugging it between us.

That warmth in my core turns to molten lava as he bites me, my eyes wide, but I don’t want him to stop.

His hand comes to the back of my neck, and he’s still kneading my breast. I know my nipple is hard beneath his fingers.

“You’re absolutely sure you want to go to this party?”

I’m panting, my face flushed, but I push myself closer into him. “I’m sure,” I tell him, breathless.

He laughs, his nose lined up with mine. “But you’re staying tonight, yeah?”

I nod, trying to force the fear of Silas finding out from my mind. But the idea of sleeping with Cortland, of being wrapped up in his arms, in his bed, it’s too good to resist. Besides, our lives change next week.

Who knows what’ll happen when he has more girls fawning over him in college?

But maybe I can convince him to stay with me.

It’s a girlish thought. Maybe a naïve one. But I can’t help but cling to the magic of this moment.

“Good,” he says, his tongue tracing the outline of my mouth as his palm glides over my chest, gripping my other breast while I whimper again. “I don’t want you out of my fucking sight tonight.”

“One shot, Rems.” Van holds out a red plastic cup, flashing a white smile. “Just one.”

Sloane tips back her own cup, swallowing everything in it down. Then she raises it in the air, doing a little dance, her black skirt twirling as she spins. She tosses the cup into a big black trashcan in the clearing of Hyde Park, then turns back to me.

“Take it, Remi,” she says, planting her hands on her hips. Her hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, accentuating her cheekbones. She darts her eyes from the cup Van is offering up, to me. “Right now. Take it!”

“Take it, take it, take it,” Van chants, pounding a fist against his thigh with the cheer.

I swallow down my nerves and run a hand over my braids, shooting my gaze around the clearing.

There are a lot of people here. Probably a hundred or so, and the music is loud, so they’re louder. I see a lot of orange and black—EU colors—but I don’t see him.

Haven’t seen him since after therapy yesterday.

And I still haven’t told Sloane I saw him. She hasn’t mentioned him. Van probably wouldn’t notice. He hates sports, and although I confessed everything to him when we got high in the cemetery one night last year, he’s from Pennsylvania. If Cortland Adler walked right by him, he wouldn’t recognize him.

I reach for the cup and swipe it from Van’s hand.

I’ve had a couple of drinks since that night, in the dorm with Sloane when she sneaks alcohol in. But the smell of vodka splashed with pineapple juice makes my stomach flip.

Even still, I know I won’t enjoy tonight if I don’t get a little buzzed. And I don’t want to ruin this for Van. Or Sloane.

Van’s talking to some chick named Ryann he met in his biology class last year who “accidentally” DM’d him some nudes over the summer while he was in Greece. Sloane keeps glancing over her shoulder, looking for the boy she’s seeing, Asa.

I tip my head up and glance at the canopy of trees over the park.

I think of Cortland.

Me in his lap.

Letting him kiss me.

I take a breath and down the drink.

Fuck him.

Van turns his dark blue gaze to me, his mouth wide open. “Damn, Remi,” he says with a smile, running a hand over his shaved head. “Do it again.” He takes the cup from my fingers, placing it on the picnic table at our side and reaching for the bottle of vodka.

Sloane claps her hands, then throws her arms around me and I stagger backward, inhaling her strawberry scent. “I’m so proud of you,” she says with a laugh, and I can smell the alcohol on her own breath.

I feel my drink burn down my throat, to my empty stomach. My appetite was bad before, but after seeing them, it’s worse. Me and Sloane are nearly the same height, with similar builds. We used to be able to share clothes.

Now, though, I only wear these hoodies, and I’m a few sizes smaller than her.

She releases me, then slides up the strap of her white cami that slipped down her arm. It’s a little chilly out, but she doesn’t seem to mind. I see her glance over her shoulder again and I smile as Van pours me another drink.

“Slo,” I say, and she turns back to me.

I grab her shoulders, already feeling the alcohol in my veins. “Go find him.”

Sloane smiles, pulling a strand of hair from her glossed lips. “No way, I’m not leaving you.”

Van pushes the second drink into my hand, and I take it, releasing Sloane. The woods are at my back and I have this strange urge to look over my shoulder, but I resist.

They’re not here.

I tip the cup back, swallowing down half of it before I lower it, flexing my fingers around the plastic and giving a silly bow.

“Seriously,” I dart my eyes between both of my friends, “go find who you need to⁠—”

“Nuh uh, Rems,” Van says, folding his arms over his chest. I see the tattoos on his arms flex as his muscles do. “We’re not leaving you.”

I roll my eyes, tip the rest of the drink back, and when I toss it into the trash behind me without looking, I point at Van, then Sloane. “It’s not leaving me,” I tell them, dropping my hand. I feel my buzz coming on already, and my lips pull into a smile. “I’m telling you to go. Bring them over here to me,” I suggest, glancing at the crowd of people at their backs.

I don’t want to walk through that but I’d love to spend time with the people they’re dating.

Both Van and Sloane eye me skeptically, but I flop down on the bench seat and shove my hands into the pocket of my hoodie, circling my fingers around my phone. I nod my head. “Go on. I don’t need a babysitter. I’m an adult.” That word comes out a little slowly and I start laughing despite myself.

Sloane giggles, running her fingers through her hair. “Oh my god, Rems, are you already drunk?” she asks, excitement splashed over her words.

“Yep,” Van says, shaking his head, “not leaving you.”

I stick out my tongue and see Van’s eyes narrow in on my piercing.

“Put that thing back in your mouth before I teach you how to use it.”

My mouth drops open and my face flames as Sloane hits Van on the arm and he smirks at both of us. “Van, you’re a nightmare.”

My heart thrums a little faster in my chest and I feel light.

“Come on,” Sloane says, offering me her hand, “let’s go find Asa.”

Van pulls his phone out of his back pocket and glances down at the screen, lit up with a message. I see the spark in his eyes as he reads it.

“Van. Go get her,” I admonish him, hiccupping and clapping a hand over my mouth as I do.

He starts typing, glancing up at me with his fingers still flying over the screen, a smile on his face. “Are you sure you’re good Rems?”

“I’ve got her,” Sloane says easily, her hand still extended out to me. “Go get laid.”

Van laughs, but he starts walking backward, still texting. Probably to Ryann. “All right, all right, if you ladies insist.” He pockets his phone and holds my gaze. “Text me before you even think about leaving.”

I narrow my eyes at him and finally swat away Sloane’s hand. “Yes, Daddy,” I tell Van, then look to Sloane as he laughs, walking off. “Go find Asa. I know you want to.”

Sloane circles her fingers over my wrist and tugs, but I plant my Chucks on the ground, not letting her haul me to my feet. “Just come with me.” She looks over her shoulder at the thick crowd of people, the music growing louder, a vape cloud hanging over the clearing. Sloane’s green eyes find mine. “I don’t want to leave you.”

If they say that one more time I might scream. “Seriously, Slo,” I yank my hand from her grip, not wanting to step foot in that crowd. “Go find him. Squeeze your tits together,” I glance down at her low-cut cami, “and bring him back over here when you’re done jamming your tongue down his throat.”

Sloane rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t even know if he’s used his dick before,” she mutters.

“Exactly the kinda man you want,” I tease her, only I’m not sure I’m really teasing.

I think of Cortland and Maya. How I was so ignorant to think he’d actually been interested in me. We talked a lot in high school, occasionally had a class together. He’d ask me about what I was reading, nod to me in the halls, helped me pick my Thrifty’s haul up once in this very park. But where he seemed to relish in being surrounded by admirers, I found comfort in blending in.

And that night, in those woods, I’d wanted to do just that.

He made that impossible.

I blink those memories away, looking into my best friend’s eyes. “Go,” I tell her, meaning it. I want to catch my breath anyway. Being around so many people, whether I’m talking to them or not, it feels like a chore.

Sloane plucks her phone from her bra and waves it in front of my face. “Where’s yours?” she asks, arching a brow.

I slide my hand out of my hoodie pocket and show her I’m already clutching my phone tightly in my fingers.

Reluctantly, she nods. “All right,” she finally says, stepping away from me. “Look, Rems, I’ll be right⁠—”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I cut her off, waving my hand. “The dorm is like five minutes from here. Worst case scenario, I just go home.”

She narrows her eyes, phone still in hand. “This is all a ploy isn’t it?” she accuses me, the corners of her beige lips turning up in a smile. “Get us out of your hair so you can walk home?”

Maybe. I shake my head, holding up three fingers. “Is not, scout’s honor,” I lie, considering doing just that when she leaves.

She sighs, as if she’s exasperated, then glances at the vodka bottle at my back, the sodas and mixers. “Just take it easy if you really are walking home, and text me before you do, okay?”

I nod once. “You got it, Mama.”

She steps closer, throwing her arms around me. “Smart ass,” she whispers in my ear before she pulls back. “I’ll be back soon.” She gives me one last lingering look before she turns and walks away, her calf-high boots clomping in the grass of the clearing as she sets off to hunt down Asa.

I exhale as I watch her go, relishing in the moment of solitude, even among all these people.

Then I stand, feeling a little lightheaded as I do from the alcohol.

A smile curves my lips with the feeling. It feels pretty good. And it helps me not think about them.

I reach for another cup from the sleeve of them, flip it over and grab the bottle of vodka by the neck. I only splash in a little, but then reconsider and add a tiny bit more.

Capping the bottle, I set it down, take a breath, and chug it all back, all on its own.

Gross, that’s nasty.

When I toss the cup in the trash, my face starts to feel pleasantly tingly, and I stare into the woods. Darkness, and silence beyond the next song. MGK playing in the clearing. “The Break Up.” And for one second, I’m back there again.

Alive. Whole. I’m running with Cortland. We’re both breathing hard, and it’s hot out. Humid. Warmer than it is now, even though it was a year ago. Just a little more.

I feel Storm watching us, behind me. He’s like a hunter.

But he’s safe, because I’m with Cort.

Then Cortland is pushing me against the tree, his mouth on my neck, and Storm is watching us, and I hear Chase and Brinklin coming closer and⁠—

I blink, stepping further into the woods, away from the crowd.

It’s not safe. A voice in my head. You shouldn’t have had so much to drink.

Silas made sure to tell me that was my fault. I was to blame.

The drinking, my outfit the cops categorized as evidence, hanging out with boys like Cortland Adler and his friends. “What did you expect, Remi? That your smile and your brain were what they saw when they looked at you?”

My fault.

I take another step into the dark.

Before I know it, I can barely hear the music. I can’t see anything.

It’s pitch black, and I’m facing my fears.

There’s no one here. I’ve already seen the scariest monsters in the forest. Nothing could be worse than that. Wild animals? I met them, too.

I shiver in the dark, but I’m almost proud of myself. Of those drinks I took.

And as I think about that night, staring off into the darkness, I wonder, like I have so many times before, what would happen if he apologized.

Then, what part of the night I regret the most. The detectives asked me about it. My regret. About when I started to cry. When it became a crime.

My stepdad’s hands were in my mind.

I told them I didn’t want any of it. I didn’t want that.

Is he sorry? Does he regret it? Would he do it differently? That’s what I wanted to ask the detectives. I didn’t care about the position of his hands, or what I was wearing, or how many drinks I had and how far apart.

Does he feel bad? That’s what I want to know.

I think of his hands on me yesterday, and I think I know the answer to that question. Anger thrums through me, but it doesn’t last long. I’m tired of being angry.

I just want life back.

As I lean against the tree beside me, the alcohol making my exhausted body feel heavy, I start to think Storm and Cortland were a bad dream. Maybe they weren’t really here.

The flashbacks came that way sometimes.

Like I was hallucinating. My drunk brain tries to tell me just that. It was a dream.

But then I hear something at my back. The snap of a branch.

Footsteps.

A low laugh.

And I feel something undeniably real.

A hand around my throat, someone’s body pressing against mine. Words in my ear.

“Why do you make it so easy to fuck with you, Rems?”

Before I can react, Cortland’s other hand comes over my mouth, pulling me back into him.

“Save that mouth for later. You’re gonna need it.”

CHAPTER

SIX

CORTLAND

“What the fuck are you doing out here all alone?” I ask her, my mouth to her ear. I can smell the alcohol on her breath and my stomach flips, thinking of that night. The shots she took at the table.

She was wasted before I had her come sit in my lap.

I saw Chase staring at her. Storm watching me, like she was my responsibility.

And she was.

She fucking was.

Just like tonight. Her, out here, alone, drunk and looking like prey. I hear Brinklin’s voice, Chase’s laugh, and I feel Storm at my side before I see him. Before Brinklin and Chase circle in front of her, and she stiffens, stepping back toward me.

I laugh, my hand still over her mouth, one still around her throat. She takes another step back into my arms as Chase stares at her.

“Now you wanna run to me?” I ask her, feeling her tremble in my arms as Chase looks her up and down, a cup in his hand. Brinklin has his hands in his army jacket, and he just looks annoyed.

I wonder why he even decided to come. To protect his reputation? He wants to work for the government. Go into politics. It’ll already be hard, because the charges were filed. The case might’ve been dismissed, but there’s still a paper trail. His face still in the news, just a few keystrokes away on anyone’s computer or phone.

Chase steps closer, and Remi’s hands come to my forearm as she drops her cup, her fear palpable. She’s shaking so hard, I drop my hand from her throat and band my arm around her body, trying to keep her still.

Trying to give her strength to face fucking Chase McGowan.

“Looking good, Remi,” Chase drawls. “I really like what you did with your hair.”

Brinklin rolls his eyes and I hear Storm huff a laugh. “Good pickup line, Chase. Gotta hand it to you, man,” he exhales from his vape, dipping his chin, “you really know how to fucking charm them.”

Chase’s fingers squeeze his cup, the plastic flexing beneath his hand as he shoots a glare to Storm. “You’re a dick.”

“You wanna get out of here, Remi?” I ask her, my mouth still to her ear as Storm pisses Chase off. He’s got such a fragile ego, it’s not hard to do.

Again, that night flashes in my mind.

The branch. Chase’s words. “Fucking slut.”

My skin crawls. I draw Remi closer.

“Cortland,” she whispers, and I see Brinklin staring at us both as Chase and Storm keep bantering. I think Storm is doing it on purpose, distracting him from Remi. When we spotted her at the edge of the clearing, I didn’t say a word, hoping they wouldn’t recognize her. I’d already tormented her enough yesterday and having them all circling her didn’t make me feel good.

But then she turned to the side, smiled at some guy.

I’d recognize that smile anywhere. It was contagious back in high school. Before I fucked it all up.

Chase spotted her and wouldn’t let it go, her being here, and when Maya got distracted by one of the girls on the cheer team, I couldn’t get him to stop talking about her, making his way over here. Thinking about his hands on her like mine were yesterday, I had to walk with him.

“Yeah, pretty baby?” I whisper in her ear.

She’s not trembling anymore, but her nails are still embedded in my forearms. She hiccups, and I smile despite myself. Despite knowing she’s drunk, and she’s being really stupid, coming out here alone. “Don’t let them⁠—”

“Don’t let us what?” Chase sneers, his argument with Storm apparently done. He steps closer, and I drag Remi a step back. His pale eyes shoot up to me, a smirk on his face. “Oh, come on, Cort, you didn’t mind sharing her before.”

Remi starts shaking again. “Let me go, Cortland, I⁠—”

I laugh, cutting off her words. “Sure thing, baby.” I squeeze her tighter.

She stiffens with those words and the feel of me, her nails pressing harder into my skin as Chase laughs. “Fuck you.”

“That’s exactly what we want⁠—”

“Chase,” Storm says slowly, and Chase’s eyes dart to him again. “Learn when to shut the fuck up.”

But it’s not Chase that speaks up again.

It’s Brinklin.

He hasn’t taken his eyes off of me and Remi, and I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder what the fuck we’re all thinking. If anyone saw us with her, we could get fucked all over again. But we’re far enough away from the party, deep enough into the woods where she walked out alone like she’s the same naïve girl she was back then, that I don’t think anyone will notice.

Even still, it’s not a good look, us all being with her out here.

And when Brinklin says, “Let’s take her back to your house. We need to talk,” I think that’s the worst possible idea in the world.

But Storm seems to disagree with me. “He’s right,” he mutters, his words quiet. “With you here, and her here, there are some things we should discuss.”

Remi scoffs in my arms and I inhale her scent, feel her warm body pressed against mine.

I think of Maya, somewhere beyond me. What she’d do if she knew I took Remi Ocean, girl who tried to ruin my life, to my house. But maybe they’re right. Best to just get this shit out of the way. Discuss how things are going to go.

“What do you say, Rems?” I ask her, my heart racing, thinking of all of us alone with her in a house. “You wanna work this out tonight? Talk about boundaries?”

Chase narrows his eyes, crushing the cup in his hand and dropping it. Brinklin looks like he’s holding his breath, his green eyes just visible in the dark. At my side, Storm is quiet. Waiting.

“No,” Remi says, her voice soft. She tries to shrug out of my grip, digging her nails in deeper. “No.” Louder this time, like she’s found some fucking guts.

I hold her tighter. “Looks like you figured out how to say that word, huh?”

Chase’s lips kick up into a smile, and the look in his eyes makes my blood heat. Hearing the things he did to her, things I didn’t even realize, that drove us further apart.

She tries to twist out of my arms. “Let me go,” she says softly, then louder. “Cortland, let me go.” She thrashes her body and unlike Maya, she’s in sneakers.

She finds her footing well enough and I let her think she shrugged me off. I release her, only to have Chase grab her, wrap his forearm around her throat as he spins her around, her back to his chest.

I can feel my pulse pounding in my head. Looking at the muscles in his forearm flex, thinking of the stitches in Tristan’s…

“Chase.” I swallow, hard, as Remi freezes in his arms.

He squeezes his forearm tighter around her throat, her hands flying up to pry him off. Dipping his head, his mouth comes to her ear. “What?” he whispers. “You think this little bitch actually has a say?” He laughs and Remi’s eyes hold mine, her chin tilted upward by Chase’s arm lodged between it and her neck. “She tried to put us in prison. Blame us because she’s a little whore.”

I take a step toward them. Chase lifts his head, a lock of blond hair flopped over one eye. He arches a brow. “She’s coming back with us.”

“Let her go.” I circle my hands into fists.

Storm steps closer, too, shoulder-to-shoulder with me.

Then Chase grins, and shoves her into my arms. I wrap them around her, holding her to my chest. She doesn’t move but I can feel her pulse flying with her body pressed against mine.

“My friends are here,” she says, her words rushed. “You can’t drag me out of the woods. My friends are here.”

Chase laughs. “Ah, you hear that? Her friends are here.” He mimics her voice, soft and low, adding a scared inflection. “You think we’re scared of your fucking friends, Remi?” he snarls.

“Whatever you have to say to me,” she says, pulling back from me, but I don’t release her, “you say it here.”

I smile at that, shaking my head. “You don’t get to call the shots, Remi. I think you’ve done enough of that.”

She shoves at me again, and I spin her around, wrapping my arm around her throat just like Chase did.

She’s frozen against me, and with my back to the party, no one can even see her.

“Yeah,” I whisper in her ear, “stop fighting me, Rems. You don’t want to get dragged out of here, then listen to what we have to say.” I glance at Brinklin, then to Storm, who is staring at me.

“We’ve missed you, Remi,” Chase starts with, leering at her as he steps closer, all of us forming a tight circle around her.

I feel Remi shiver, but I keep my arm around her throat, one wrapped around her waist.

“And now that Cort here has decided he can’t stay away, we need to set up some ground rules.”

I feel her swallow, but she picks her head up, staring right back at Chase.

“Why are you here?” she asks quietly, and I loosen my hold on her throat so I can hear her better.

Chase smiles. “I think she’s asking you, Cort,” he says, flicking his gaze to me.

I don’t answer her. Instead, I think about her cheering at every game. How my little brother would tell me afterward that the short girl with the blonde hair and the pawprint on her cheek was the cutest one. Remi was the only one who had the pawprint. Maya thought it was tacky and she told the rest of the team not to do it.

“Yeah,” I always agreed with Tristan. “She is.”

Then another memory flashes.

Tristan in a hospital bed.

An angry, red wound.

My stomach churns.

“Anyway,” Chase continues, sliding his hands into the pockets of his khakis, “you stay the fuck away from him.” There’s a hard edge to his words and Remi starts to tremble again. “And he’ll stay away from you, and we’ll all live happily ever fucking after.” He snarls the last words as he glares at her, not once looking away.

“Seriously, Remi,” Brinklin adds from beside Chase. He rakes a hand over his close-cut hair, drops it back by his side. “He doesn’t want to cause any problems. We don’t want any problems. We just⁠—”

“Why does it matter to you, Brinklin?” she demands, and I feel her lurch forward, trying to step closer to them.

Don’t be stupid Remi.

I haul her back, my fingers splaying over the soft material of her hoodie.

“You don’t even go here, unless you all idiotically transferred,” she continues, twisting her head to look at Storm, too. He arches a brow but doesn’t say anything. “You all get together so you could intimidate me?” she demands.

“Remi,” I warn her quietly, and she tries to twist in my arms, but I hold her tighter, afraid to let her go.

“What?” she snaps. “What makes you think I want anything to do with any of you? I want this to disappear just as much, if not more, than you do.”

My pulse pounds loud in my ears. Then why the fuck did you ever even go to the fucking cops?

Brinklin looks down at the ground, and I watch his throat bob as he swallows. “Remi, I’ve heard about your dad.”

I feel her stiffen against me. She even steps back into me, and my dick grows hard at how close she is, but I wait, wondering what she’ll say to that.

“He’s not my dad,” she spits out.

Chase laughs. “Daddy issues, Remi?” he sneers.

I’m not even sure what happened to her real dad. I know her mom is buried in that cemetery in Aben, which is why I’d spot her out there sometimes, all alone in the graveyard like a psycho. A psycho hidden with blonde hair and soft-spoken words.

I liked that about her.

“Just leave us out of your personal shit, and we’ll leave you out of ours,” Brinklin continues, meeting my gaze, his jaw ticking.

“Let me go,” she hisses, her voice full of venom.

I glance at Storm, still just watching us. He shrugs.

I release Remi, and she stumbles forward a step, only to have Chase yank her by her hair.

She whimpers as he drags her forward, and I tense, my hands curled into fists at my side.

“Chase, I don’t want any trouble,” she says softly, the fight leaving her, one orange braid down her back, the other in Chase’s fist. “I just want to go.” Her words are kind of slurred, but she gets them out.

I hear the music from the party at my back, but my heart is pounding so hard in my fucking chest, I can’t even tell what song is playing.

Chase leers down at her, cocking his head. “We didn’t want any trouble that night, either, Remi,” he says softly.

She tries to step back, but his knuckles blanch as he grips her braid tighter. “I just want to go.” Her voice is hoarse. “Please just let me⁠—”

Chase takes a step closer, cutting off her words.

She has to crane her neck back to look at him. I see amusement on his face, his lips pulled up at the corners. He was always a fucking shit.

“Why don’t you do me a favor, Rems, then I’ll let you go?” he whispers, leaning down toward her. His lips come to her ear, and I glance around at Brinklin watching them. Storm watching me. I force my gaze back to Chase.

“Why don’t you,” he’s saying, his hand coming to her hip, over her jeans. “Get down on your knees,” he shifts his hold from her hair to her face. “Open your fucking mouth,” he slips his hand to the edge of her hoodie, and my mouth goes dry. “And show me what you learned from that night⁠—”

“Chase,” I say, the word quiet.

Silence between the five of us rings out.

Chase doesn’t let go of her, or move back, and I have to work hard not to cross the space between us and break his fucking neck.

“That’s enough.”

Chase laughs, then he pulls back, dropping his hold on her and glancing at me, holding up his hands in innocence. “I’m gonna get back to the party,” he says, winking at me. “I think I took care of her for you, Cort.” Then he walks past me and Storm, shoulder checking me as he does.

I grit my teeth as Remi’s hands cover her face, her head bowed.

Brinklin glances at her. “I’m out,” he mutters, nodding behind me. “I think we made our point. I’ll see you at the house.” Then he walks away, and Remi is left with me and Storm.

She drops her hands from her face and turns, her eyes meeting mine.

For one second, I’m back in my truck before that party. She’s in my lap. She feels so fucking good and she smells so goddamn good and her laugh makes me feel drunk.

The second passes.

I feel cuffs on my wrist, cold metal. My mom is on the phone, calling an attorney. One herself, she knew exactly what to do.

Dad is just staring at me, his face pale.

Tristan is still sleeping.

The officers read off my charges.

Now, in this moment, Remi turns away from me and does what I wanted to do then.

She fucking runs.

CHAPTER

SEVEN

REMI

My head is spinning, the taste of alcohol heavy on my tongue.

I run in the dark, but I know where I’m going. There’re bathrooms here, tucked away in the woods along one of the hiking trails.

My stomach convulses, bile burning its way up my throat.

I can still smell Chase. Beer and too much cologne. I can feel the sting of my scalp from his hands in my hair.

And I see Cortland, watching it all.

Doing nothing, until the last minute.

Anger takes over my fear, and I see a soft glow as I hit the trail. I used to run here in the mornings, taking in the view of the mountains when it’s light outside.

I grew up ten minutes from here, mountain ranges in my backyard. Still, every time I see those peaks, I feel weightless. Full of awe. Mountains are strength, and sometimes, I wish I could borrow just a little from them.

It’s why I love camping so much. My favorite part of being on the cheer team was the camp outs.

It almost feels like you can steal from Mother Nature when you’re drenched in it.

But I couldn’t that night.

And tonight, my hands trembling as I push open the door to the bathroom, I don’t think I can either.

The bathroom building is small, with two stalls, and the door swings closed loudly behind me.

But there’s no music from the party here. No voices.

I stand in front of the mirror, dirty and cracked, a dim light buzzing overhead as I take in my reflection. My pale face, golden eyes. The eyeliner smeared under them, morphing with the shadows from the lack of sleep I’ve had this past year.

I ball my hands into fists, my chest heaving.

I slam my fist against the dirty counter, my shoes slipping in the grime of the bathroom floor with the movement.

I keep myself upright and smack my fist again, and again, letting it hurt. It’s not as good as taking those scissors to my wrist, but it’s pain all the same.

I’m alive.

I survived.

I hit my hand another time and another, a low snarl working its way up my throat as I stare at my pale skin against the blue counter.

Fuck you, Cortland.

Why didn’t you stay away from me?

I don’t stop hitting the counter, gasping with the feel of it. Even the alcohol can’t numb the pain. The way the edge of the sink juts into my skin with every hit.

Again.

The door swings open at my back and I spin around, my heart dropping to my stomach. And before I can breathe, Cortland is in my face, crowding me against the wall, my spine jarring along the tile.

The adrenaline is still spiking through me and I push at him, hitting my injured palm against his chest. “Back up, Cortland.” My shoes slide on the dirty floor, and he doesn’t touch me, but he’s too close. I shove at him again, but he’s like a wall.

“Stop fighting me,” he whispers, looking down his nose at me, “or I’ll just fucking kill you.”

Something in his tone has me dropping my arms and pressing my aching palms to the tile wall.

But I don’t look away from him.

Every breath I take brings my chest that much closer to his core, and his nostrils flare as he stares at me.

“Good girl, baby,” he says softly, but his tone is still chilling. He flicks his gaze up and down my body before he asks, “Do you not remember the last time you got drunk in the woods?”

I clench my teeth together. That isn’t a real question and it doesn’t deserve an answer.

“And now you’re doing it all again so Chase can grope you?”

Wow. “I didn’t see you try and stop him. Don’t blame me because you and your friends are incapable of self-control.”

He smiles but it’s not nice. “Are we?” he asks quietly. He steps closer.

I can’t go anywhere else and he knows it.

But he still keeps his hands by his sides. “You look scared now, Remi. You think I’m gonna fuck you in this bathroom? Due to me, what is it?” He tilts his head. “Being incapable of self-control?”

I inhale through my nose, trying to catch my breath. “Cortland, please.” I narrow my gaze. “Fuck off.”

“I don’t think I will, Remi.” He glances down at my body again. “You like teasing Chase?”

My blood runs cold. I clamp my mouth shut.

“You didn’t even tell him to move.” He plants one hand beside my head and looks into my eyes. Beneath his backwards hat, somehow, they seem more menacing than they ever did before. “You didn’t even push him away.” He cages me in now, with both hands. “You didn’t learn any lessons that night, Remi?”

I take a shallow breath in and out, uncomfortably aware of my nipples hardening into sharp points beneath my hoodie. Of the way he’s blaming me for all the things I’ve spent a year blaming myself for. But I’m not going to tell him that. I don’t want to talk about any of this with him.

“I need to go,” I say, my fingers throbbing as I try to pretend he doesn’t affect me at all.

I think of Sloane and Van and wonder if they’re looking for me yet.

He tilts his head, smirking. “Do you?”

“You can’t do this. Not again.” I try to sound far braver than I feel.

He laughs at that, cutting off my words. “Cute, Remi, but here’s a little secret, since you haven’t figured it out yet.” He dips his head, so he’s level with me. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

My knees feel weak. I know I can’t fight him off. And this time, we’re both angry.

“Let me leave, Cortland.” My words are hoarse.

“Why didn’t you say that when it mattered, huh, pretty baby?” He nudges his nose to mine and with our mouths so close, I have to resist the urge to kiss him, to open my lips for him. Let him destroy everything I’ve been working so hard to build.

Higher walls.

Self-respect.

Boundaries.

It’s all crumbling, being with him again.

Because that night, I wanted him. I wanted him. I just didn’t think he’d pass me around. I didn’t think I was a toy. I didn’t think we’d ever get to a point where he’d let Chase nearly take photos of me while I was naked, and drag a branch down my spine, threatening me with it.

That thought has me angry all over again, and I feel a little braver. I dart my hand out, gripping his shirt in my fist, and my mouth does open, my lips parting, but it’s my teeth I sink into his bottom lip, sucking his piercing into my mouth.

This time, he whimpers, his eyes wide.

It feels good.

A rush of power.

I grip his shirt tighter, yanking him closer, and he leans into his hands on the wall as he stumbles forward, like he has to steady himself.

I keep pulling on his lip ring until I taste iron in my mouth.

I remember how much he liked the taste of my blood.

He was so proud of that.

I grab his throat with my other hand, my nails digging into his skin.

It’s a little euphoric, treating him like he treated me. I know in the morning when I’m sober, I’ll be scared all over again. Paranoid. Even tonight, I’ll sleep with the nightlight on, hiding under my covers. But right now, in the woods, with his blood in my mouth, I’m in control.

I clench my teeth around his lip, then release him. He doesn’t pull back though, his temple still pressed to mine. “I can say a lot more now,” I hiss, my pulse loud in my head.

“I like this,” he whispers, his hands still on the wall beside me, his mouth still hovering over mine. “You sticking up for yourself for once.”

“You have no idea what I can do,” I lie. I lick the blood from my lips, then dig my nails a little deeper into his neck, feeling the flex of tendons beneath my fingertips. “You made me like this. You broke me, Cortland. Now you have to deal with the pieces.” I flick my tongue over his piercing, something he used to love back in those few fleeting moments we had together. “And watch out,” I whisper, “because they’re fucking sharp.”

He smiles in amusement with those words, and some of my confidence wanes. “So cute, baby.”

He snatches my hand from his throat, yanks out of my grip, slamming his hands back beside my head. “But do you ever play with knives?” His words caress my ear.

I think about the scissors at my desk.

“You ever wanna die, Remi?”

I think of those moments of sleep. The only time I don’t want to die somedays.

“I’m not that boy you fucked over anymore. You fucked me up.” I try to duck out from under his arms, but he puts his palm on my face, twisting it so I’m forced to look at him. “You wanted to put me in prison for some shit that never happened?” His fingers dig into my jaw, and I can’t breathe all over again. “This time, you try to send me there…” He drops his hand from my face but doesn’t back up. “I’ll make sure I deserve it.”

CHAPTER

EIGHT

CORTLAND

“Don’t talk, and I won’t make it hurt.” The man’s voice is low, almost soft, even though his words are not.

My fingers circle my cock, pumping myself as I keep my eyes on my laptop screen, leaning back in my chair. My throat is tight as I think about Remi’s face beneath my hand last night. Heat rushes through my body. I have my sweatpants pushed down, my shirt off. Feeling nervous, I dart my gaze to my locked bedroom door.

Storm is here, and while I’ve got my headphones on so he can’t hear what I’m watching, I still feel some sick paranoia he’s going to catch me.

I know he probably watches worse, but even still…

I stroke myself faster, run my thumb over the bead of precum on the tip of my cock.

“Good girl,” the man is saying, slipping his hand between the girl’s thighs. She’s whimpering, bent over a kitchen counter, looking over her shoulder at the man. While she’s completely naked, he’s got his jeans shoved down, but his shirt is still on. He’s wearing a burglar’s mask and he slips his fingers inside her pussy, murmuring about how wet she is. Then he slides his fingers out and puts them to the girl’s mouth.

She presses her plump lips together, shaking her head slightly. Her acting is pretty convincing, but I see the slight smile on her lips.

The man knots her long, blonde hair in his hand, jerking her head back as his mouth comes over her ear. “Open your mouth or I’ll crack your fucking teeth.”

The girl’s eyes close, mascara tracking down her cheeks as she shivers. Seeming reluctant, her hands white knuckling the counter, she parts her lips, and the man groans, shoving his fingers into her mouth.

“Suck yourself,” he says against her ear.

I stroke myself faster as my muscles tense, my breath caught in my throat. He pushes his fingers further into her mouth and she gags, her eyes flying open.

They look golden brown.

Just like Remi’s.

At that thought, I close my eyes, leaning back in my leather chair as I get myself off imagining her underneath me that night. Her face pressed against the forest floor. Her little whimpers as I pushed myself into her.

I think about afterward, when I finished inside of her, stepped back and let everyone else take their turn. I could barely stand at that point, but I remember she was smiling up at me, her lips parted, a lock of blond hair over one eye.

“God, she’s fucking tight as hell,” Chase had said, and my dick had gotten hard all over again, watching her take it, her fingers clawed in the dirt as she stared at me. There was blood on my dick, and I remember I was happy I got to be her first.

I’d run my thumb over the blood, stepped around my friend fucking her from behind.

I’d squatted down next to her face, my eyes locked on her honey-colored ones.

They were glassy, and I remember thinking I needed to get her inside before both of us passed out. “Cortland,” she’d whispered, gasping as my friend thrust deep inside of her and we all laughed. That was what she wanted. “Don’t hurt me.” But it was a game we were playing. A dangerous fucking game.

“Be careful.” Those were Storm’s words, before we started. Low and quiet. I didn’t pay attention to them then. I didn’t know what he meant. Besides, he’d had her just like we all had.

“Don’t hurt me,” she’d whispered again.

“I’m not,” I’d promised her. “Just open your mouth, baby.” I’d leaned down close to her, pressed my lips to her brow. “I want you to taste what I did to you,” I had murmured against her skin.

And she had.

Her lips around my finger were warm and wet and…

I finish, biting my lip, catching my lip ring between my teeth as I do, tasting blood in my own mouth as I come, just like I did that night.

Because after she’d sucked my finger, I’d brushed my thumb over the blood still staining my dick and tasted her too.

The iron taste in my mouth always brings me back to that night. I think again about her face beneath my hand in the bathroom yesterday. Her biting my lip.

I can’t help but wonder, what brings her back?

CHAPTER

NINE

REMI

“How are you sleeping?” Dr. Ravi asks me Thursday afternoon.

Almost a week has passed since they cornered me in the woods.

Since he trapped me in the bathroom.

And I haven’t seen him again.

I glance down at my lap, my fingers curled into fists over my thighs, the sleeves of my hoodie pulled down to my palms. “Fine,” I lie.

I haven’t gotten more than a couple of hours a night since I saw him.

I can still feel his hand on my face.

My throat feels constricted, and pressure builds behind my eyes. Those memories in that basement in my head are threatening to flood the whole house once more.

You’re not going to ruin me again, Cortland.

I won’t let you do that.

I haven’t heard anything about him around campus, which isn’t saying much. Considering I only regularly speak to Sloane and Van, it’s not like people would be dying to tell me. Besides, I was never named in the news. A small blessing as a “victim,” even though, in the end, I didn’t get the justice of being that.

I met up with my cousin and my roommate after I had a breakdown in the bathroom when Cortland walked out. I took more shots. Got wasted and puked when Sloane helped walk me back to the dorm as she told me all about Asa.

Maybe she won’t invite me to any more parties.

“Really?” Dr. Ravi counters, and I shift my gaze to her brown eyes.

I have my mother’s eyes.

Sometimes I feel the ten years of memories I had with her are slipping away, no matter how tightly I try to hold onto them. Funny, because those chained-up memories in the basement of my mind have no problem rattling around when I don’t want them to. But Mom, she fades without my consent.

I still remember her eyes though. If I close mine, I can see hers. I can see them when she was high, too. The pinched look of her face as her addiction got worse.

The fighting.

Silas and I never got along, even though Mom married him when I was three. But when she spiralled, lost her job as a teacher and her grip on that slippery slope of addiction, my relationship with Silas deteriorated.

After she passed, I made myself small. Holed up in my room, staying with Sloane, or visiting the graveyard.

Most of the time I spent with my mom was at the cemetery where she’s buried in Aben. Heroin laced with Fentanyl put her in that grave. That was after the years of pills. First they were prescribed to her, then they were stolen or bought.

I shift in my seat as Dr. Ravi’s eyes stay on mine. “Really,” I say, but my voice is hoarse. I know she knows I’m a liar.

She pushes her glasses down the bridge of her nose, sets them on the desk between us and rubs her temples, like she’s tired or frustrated or just sick of my mess. “Remi,” she says kindly, but I hear the exhaustion in that one word as she drops her hand. “If you’re not sleeping well, you know there are medications we can temporarily⁠—”

“I’m not taking pills,” I interrupt, sitting up straighter and crossing my arms over my chest. I glance at my backpack at my feet, wanting to get up and walk out. But I like Dr. Ravi. I know she wants to help.

She holds up a hand as if to calm me, and I glance at the window behind her back and see the sun sinking behind the mountain range that edges campus.

I’m not in a hurry to get back to the dorm. Sloane has a night class, and the way those scissors have been beckoning, well, my arm itches just thinking about it. I’ve got four fresh cuts from yesterday morning as I pretended to oversleep, and Sloane had to leave before me to get to class.

Dr. Ravi has asked if I’ve “engaged in self-harm.”

But this is my little secret. Like those memories in the basement.

“It could be for a few weeks,” she insists, folding her arms and fixing me with a look. I know there are shadows beneath my eyes. I know I never really sleep that well because of the nightmares, but I don’t want to take medicine. It’s not that I’m against pharmaceuticals in general.

It’s that I’m worried about the numbness I felt in the aftermath of that night. For months.

It was like throwing a rock into a well and it just never hits the bottom.

I felt nothing. Heard nothing. I was nothing.

“Just until you get on a better schedule and⁠—”

“My schedule is fine.” I’m in bed at a reasonable hour every night. I don’t consume caffeine four hours before I lie down. I turn off my electronics. I do everything right.

But when I close my eyes, those memories burst free and I’m right back there.

At their mercy.

And Chase…

He doesn’t go here. He came to intimidate me. That’s all. I know. I checked his social media. Still at ECU with Brinklin.

I bite my tongue, refusing to let Chase out of the basement. He can haunt me at night, but he’s not getting my daylight hours, too.

Dr. Ravi nods, and I see in the way she shrugs her shoulders she’s giving in, despite the fact that she definitely doesn’t want to. “Okay,” she finally says. Then she stares at me for a second, an unreadable expression on her face.

I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and I wonder if she knows he’s back, the way she asked me about having her number. But I don’t dare ask.

I don’t want to talk about him. Think about him. I want to pretend he doesn’t exist.

I glance at the clock adjacent the window and see our session is coming to a close. We discussed my creative writing assignment this semester. A memoir on a pivotal moment, and I told her I was definitely not writing about that moment.

We went over Sloane and casually discussed Asa. Sloane made out with him last Friday. While I was cornered against a wall in the bathroom.

I mentioned Van and Dr. Ravi asked if I was smoking pot, so I changed that subject fast.

Which, I don’t. Not very often anyway.

But maybe I should do it a little more. Might help me sleep.

Then I hear the detectives in my head, questioning my habits.

It’s like in order to be believed, I had to be blameless.

I reach down and swipe up my bag, slinging it over one shoulder as I scoot to the edge of my chair. “I’ll see you next week,” I say without waiting to be dismissed, standing and circling my fingers around the phone in my hoodie pocket.

Then I’m on my hands and knees again.

My stomach churns.

Get back in the basement.

I force a smile at Dr. Ravi, who’s watching me curiously.

“All right, Remi,” she says, brushing back a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear that fell from her bun. “If you need me between now and then,” she nods to the door, “you know where to find me.”

“Yep,” I tell her. “Have a good rest of the week.” Then I head to the door, snatch it open and step out into the narrow hallway on the second floor of the student service’s building, letting the door fall closed behind me.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, leaning against the wall a second.

Telling myself the lie I need to believe. He’s not really here.

I haven’t actually seen him going into classes. Chase confirmed he was here with his little pep talk in the woods, but maybe it’s a sick prank. Maybe he dropped out of school.

I couldn’t find him on social media, and I didn’t work up the nerve to check the football roster, or look at stats for the game last weekend.

I open my eyes and force one foot in front of the other, walking down the empty hallway. I hear a voice as I get to the main room on the second floor reserved for student transfers.

It’s the receptionist speaking in a loud, overeager tone like she’s kissing someone’s ass. I roll my eyes, adjusting my bag over my shoulder and walking through the open area, skirting around the little couch and table set for people waiting.

But when I throw a glance over at the counter, my heart leaps to my throat.

I stop as Cortland’s gray eyes connect with my own.

He has one hand on the counter, sliding over some papers the receptionist is pushing toward him, and his other is gripping his black backpack, the same as I am.

A slow smile curves his lips, that piercing tugging upward.

My stomach flips.

He takes the papers in his hand and turns fully to face me.

I start walking again, my pulse erratic as I head for the stairwell, but he doesn't come after me.

I feel a moment’s relief, but my gaze drops to what he’s wearing.

A black hoodie.

With an orange tiger print.

And the words “Ely University Football” printed across it.

A reminder that I can only lie to myself for so long.

I tear my eyes away from it and nearly break out into a run toward the doors that lead to the stairs. I crash through them, letting the heavy door fall closed behind me as I race down the steps, glancing up at the top to make sure he isn’t following me.

But I don’t slow down until I’m out of the student service’s building and crossing the street to my dorm, my pulse flying too fast in my chest, pressure building behind my eyes.

My fingers tighten around my phone as I run up the stairwell. When I get my key card from the side pocket of my backpack, it takes me three tries to unlock the door to get into my dorm because my hands are trembling so bad.

I race down the hall to my dorm, unlock it and throw down my bag. The room is empty and I flick on the lights, running my hands over my braids as I cross the floor to my desk, edged up against Sloane’s.

She’s still in her night class.

I snatch the scissors from my cup holder without thinking, shoving up the sleeve of my hoodie.

I close my eyes tight as I splay the scissors, holding the blade to my inner forearm.

And I dig it in deeper than usual, savoring in the sting.

It’s not enough.

I do it again, and again, and again, until it really starts to hurt, going over the same wound each time.

He’s here.

He’s here.

Nothing even happened to him.

He broke me into pieces, and he stayed whole.

I dig the scissors in one more time before I drop them, my breath leaving me in a rush as my eyes fly open. I stare down at my bleeding arm, feeling nearly euphoric.

Release.

And that’s what I need.

I need him to release me.

I bury my head in my hands, leaning back against my bed, feeling my pulse beating in my arm.

Tears sting my eyes and the back of my throat burns but I don’t give in.

Not anymore, Cortland.

I’m not crying over you anymore.

I’d take that vast pit of emptiness I had in the aftermath over the tears. The tears feel like a weakness. The numbness feels like nothing at all. And sometimes, nothing felt like being strong.

I drop my hands, a low scream stuck in my throat as I look at my bleeding arm.

Does this make me strong now, too?

CHAPTER

TEN

REMI

I text Van that I’m fine in response to his message from last night, and add I’ll see him for lunch before I heave into the toilet again, on my hands and knees in the bathroom I share with six other girls.

It’s not even five in the morning.

I barely slept over the weekend and I couldn’t bring myself to run at Hyde Park again. It’s Monday, four days since I last saw Cortland, and I’m exhausted.

I’ve tried my best to sleep. Sloane and I watched The Office last night. Ate popcorn. Settled in for the night. I saw the soft glow of her phone as she texted Asa, giggling every now and then and telling me he’s into “the nerdiest things.”

My stomach churned. I flipped away from her, on my side.

Sleep didn’t come.

I thought about Cortland’s blood in my mouth. His hand over my face. The EU hoodie he was wearing after my therapy session.

Chase’s threats in my ear.

Now, I press my brow to the cold porcelain which smells of bleach, like the entire bathroom, freshly cleaned.

Last night when I finally drifted off, unable to hold on any longer, I dreamt of them.

Of Chase’s fingers in my hair, jerking my head back. His stinging palm against my back. That branch down my spine.

“Do you ever play with knives?”

I woke up feeling sick, and I hauled ass to the bathroom.

I haven’t puked from nerves in a long time.

Not since the nothingness.

Shaking those memories away, I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth. The tile beneath my knees is hard, and I’ve got on sleep shorts and a hoodie, sleeves pulled down over my palms. I set my phone on the ground, knowing Van is sleeping and won’t see my message for a few more hours.

“Remi, I’ve heard about your dad.”

Brinklin’s words echo in my head and I heave again, bile churning up my throat. But despite my gagging, nothing comes out, and I just spit in the toilet, my heart racing as I rise unsteadily to my feet, reaching with shaky hands for the silver handle. I flush and bend down to retrieve my phone, feeling a little dizzy as I straighten again.

I turn from the toilet as the plumbing vacuums down my mess, then rest my head against the faded blue stall door.

I knock my temple against it, relishing in the pain as I squeeze my phone in my palm.

What would Sloane think of me? I haven’t even told her he’s back. Haven’t discussed it at all.

I laugh wryly alone in this stall, head still resting against the door.

For a split second, I think about Cortland back in school. His easy smile, quiet nature. People gravitated to him. Including me.

And when he set me in his sights, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

I’d lived in my head most of my life. I used to daydream I had superpowers in elementary school, could fly up to the ceiling, where everyone would watch me, cheer for me, love me. And when I was home, I could fly away, too. From my stepdad.

To my mom.

Maybe I could have saved her, if I knew how much I’d need her.

Sloane’s parents filled in where they could, but they have a big family and their own issues and it’s just not the same.

The escape I had in horror movies and books, getting lost in imaginary terrors, that was ripped away from me after that night, too.

I shudder, thinking of the movie Cortland put on after it was all over. Like nothing was wrong. Like he hadn’t done a single bad thing.

In the end, the courts confirmed just that.

I clench my fists and I try to push the image aside. Men with good looks and money always get whatever they want.

I’m not sure anyone has ever told my stepdad no before in his entire life.

I slam my head one more time against the stall door, then I hear a feminine voice ask, “Are you okay in there?” and my face flushes red.

Fuck. Me.

I take a breath, snatch open the metal lock on the stall and walk out in my black flip-flops, only to make eye contact with a half-naked girl standing in front of the mirror doing her makeup, her onyx hair in a bun on her head.

“Great,” I mutter, walking to one of the sinks adjacent hers, turning on the rickety faucet and absentmindedly washing my hands after I shove my phone in the pocket of my hoodie.

“I’m Lyza,” the girl says, making small talk before the sun rises.

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye and see her smiling at me. Her eyes are deep brown, and she’s in black booty shorts, a low-cut black lace bra, the swell of her tits making me cross my arms over my own small ones.

She’s pretty and warm, and in another lifetime, where I could talk to strangers without wanting to disappear into the floor, we might be friends.

Now, though, I swallow down my nerves, feel that familiar flush of heat that comes when I try to connect with anyone at all. I have no idea how I was a cheerleader. How I forced the pep and the bullshit and wore that mask for so long.

I realize Lyza is staring at me, waiting for me to respond. I notice she has a streak of dark purple in her hair, and her eyes are taking in my own orange locks.

“Remi,” I murmur to the girl, snatching paper hand towels from the metal container, drying my hands and balling the napkin up, tossing it in the trash in the center of the sink. “Nice to meet you,” I lie, then turn and head out the door while Lyza scoffs at my back.

Yeah, I don’t think we’re going to be friends, and I don’t blame her.

I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth and realize after my mini-vomit session I didn’t even bother to brush my teeth.

“Can’t you ever do anything right, Remi? Just one goddamn thing?”

No, Silas. Guess not.

I squat low, weight in my heels, dumbbells by my sides as I check my posture in the mirror of the gym. I’m in a hoodie, with tight, black leggings on, and my white Chucks. I straighten, setting the weights on the rack and tossing one of my long French braids behind my shoulder. Sloane taught me how to braid, and now since I’ve got plenty of time when I get up before the crack of dawn, I do it as often as I can.

I take a deep breath, meeting my golden gaze in the mirror in front of me.

Sloane drops her own weights, dusting off her hands. “Nice ass,” she says with a laugh.

I smile at her, thankful I was able to puke this morning before she woke up.

My first class of the day is in two hours at eight, and I’m not sure how I’m going to stay up for it or manage to meet Van for lunch because I’ve been up all night.

Sloane asked me how I slept.

Great, just dreamt about my rapist.

But he isn’t a rapist.

Legally, Cortland Adler has never done anything wrong in his life.

But we both know what the law turned a blind eye to.

That night starts to play in my head again.

I breathe in through my nose. Out through my mouth, darting a glance to the raven-haired attendant at my back, looking down at her phone.

I’m always paranoid someone will see those memories playing in my head. They’ll see me for what I really am. Nothing.

But she’s not paying attention and Sloane is on to her next set. I take another deep breath, then flex my fingers, grabbing the dumbbells again, using my anger as fuel. Working out, getting sweaty, it’s the only time it feels like my mind is clear. Like I can breathe; escaping all the damage, even if just for a moment.

I squat low, getting in one more rep as my legs shake.

I take a breath as I rise, lugging the weights to the rack again.

Sloane finishes beside me, putting her weights down and tightening her high ponytail. She tugs down her loose, teal workout shirt, and the color reminds me of West River.

Frowning, she reaches into her shirt and pulls her phone from her bra. It’s lit up, and as she sees the name across the screen, her mouth pulls into a wide smile.

“Oh my God,” she says, “he’s calling me!”

I widen my eyes at her excitement. I hate calls. “Yippee,” I tell her, my voice deadpan, but I’m smiling, too.

She sticks out her tongue but swipes to answer the call, holding it to her ear, her eyes on mine. “Hello?”

I pull out my own phone as she talks to who I assume is Asa, and I see Van has texted me back.

Van

I’ve got some good things for you today. Also. Friday. Ryann wants to meet you.

I briefly consider it for Van’s sake but still really want to say fuck no because he probably wants me at another party, when Sloane ends her call and nudges me with her shoulder. “He asked me out for coffee,” she says, gushing.

I glance up at her. “Go,” I tell her, jerking my chin to the door.

I don’t know much about Asa except he has a stepsister, is really hot in a nerdy way, and he’s a pre-med major. All good things in my book. He also likes ice cream and his parents own the little shop Sloane did her first marketing internship at over the summer, and that’s a bonus.

Sloane tucks her phone back into her bra. “I gotta get a shower,” she says, glancing down at her shirt, stuck to her skin with sweat.

Yeah, I need one too. I’m wearing a sweat trap of a hoodie.

“Okay, I’ll see you tonight,” she tells me. “I’ve got that noon chem class.” She wrinkles her nose, because she hates science. I do too. She knocks her shoulder into mine as I glance down at my phone, reading Van’s next message. “Why do you look like you wanna kill a bitch?” she asks, her brows pulling together.

“Van invited me to another party Friday⁠—”

“But you had so much fun at the last one,” Sloane says, shaking her head and planting her hands on her hips.

I almost die laughing, thinking of Cortland’s hand on my face, but I don’t say a word.

“I’ll come, too.” Sloane shrugs. “Where’s it at?”

I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again. “Sloane, I don’t want to go,” I tell her, stuffing my hand in my hoodie pocket, fingers around my phone. “It’s at some frat house anyway and uh, no thanks.”

Sloane’s eyes soften. Guilt seizes through me that I can’t be the friend she deserves. I wasn’t even it before. Introverted, quiet, lonely. Sloane is outgoing and funny and better than me.

You deserve better, Sloane.

“I’ll think about it,” I tell her quickly, and I see her lips pull into a smile as she walks backward, headed to the attendant check-in to grab her ID.

“That’s all I want!” she says, flashing a smile. I turn back to the mirror and grab my weights again as Sloane gets her ID and walks out with a little wave.

I nod my head and grit my teeth. Squatting low again, weight in my heels.

I get in another set, then lug my weights back to the rack, feeling spent.

After I tighten my unraveling braids, I think about heading out. I’ve got ten minutes of cardio I’m supposed to do to finish out my workout, but no one is keeping me here. Just as I make up my mind to leave, I see the door open at my back.

And he walks through, confirming the truth all over again, as if having his blood in my mouth wasn’t confirmation enough. His hand on my face. Seeing him in the student service’s building.

I wonder if Sloane saw him.

I hope he stays far the fuck away from her.

My heart races as our eyes meet in the wall of mirrors, and for a second, he pauses.

The attendant turns, her mouth pulling into a dazzling smile at the sight of him, and I want to grind my phone into dust.

My pulse pounds in my ears, and I have to clench my hands into fists to stop them from shaking.

I blink, and I realize that Cortland has handed his ID to the attendant and he’s now striding toward me.

No.

The attendant watches him, still smiling, typing something in her phone as she does, no doubt messaging her friends. Does she know his name? Does she recognize it?

A local news legend, ladies and gentleman, making his way home.

The prodigal son returns.

Maybe she had the luxury of not watching the news. Oftentimes, I got faster updates through there than prosecution.

Maybe she just doesn’t care what he was accused of.

After all, he’s innocent.

I’m holding my breath as he approaches, still looking at him in the mirror. He’s wearing a fitted black T-shirt with a teal West River High wolf on it. Welcome to Pack Territory. It shows off the tanned muscles of his biceps, and he’s in gray jogging pants that show the outline of his…

I taste bile in the back of my throat and I bring my gaze back up, to his eyes.

He’s right behind me.

I can smell him. Cedar and pine.

Dizziness courses through me.

We stare off in the mirror, and I see he’s got a foot over my five three. I come up to his shoulders, and just barely at that.

I can feel his heat at my back as neither of us look away. I won’t make the first move.

“Do you ever want to die?”

He says my name now, in the present, and it sounds cold coming from his mouth.

I swallow the lump in my throat, fist my hands tighter at my sides. “What?” I snarl, feeling helpless again. Like I did that night, when he was cupping my face and his friends were touching me and it was like his gaze tethered me, helped me endure. In the morning, aching and sore and bleeding, I tried to convince myself I had wanted it.

And as I had looked at him, his arm flung out where it had been around my shoulder while he slept, I almost did.

I almost didn’t say a word about it.

But I went to pee.

It burned and I cried, trembling in his bathroom. And I remembered the flash of a phone in my face, and my heart began to race. If Silas saw any images from that night, if he thought I did any of that and let myself be photographed…

I’d wiped the blood away, left the bathroom, put my shoes that had somehow come off in the night back on with trembling fingers. He’d woken up, called out my name as he scrambled from the bed. But I ran. I’d left, my Corolla waiting on the curb where I’d parked it when I had driven over before he took us to the park. Before the party.

He called me all day.

Sent messages.

The day after, it all stopped.

The police had come to him.

“How’s it going, Remi?” he asks now, his voice quiet, his eyes fixed on mine, his jaw clenched.

I catch his woodsy scent as my nostrils flare. “Fuck off,” I snap back. I go to spin around to walk away, feeling braver now with a witness, but he clamps a hand on my shoulder, keeping me still, and every muscle in my body is tense.

I inhale, grit my teeth, close my eyes.

I hear him laugh, a low, soft sound.

Then his breath caresses the back of my neck. “You look tired. Are you not sleeping well, is that it?” he taunts me. “Having nightmares?”

My throat feels tight. It’s not fear that rolls through me. It’s anger.

He really doesn’t think he did anything wrong.

I keep my mouth shut out of defiance.

He sighs, his fingers crawling up my shoulder, coming to my neck, closing around the back of it. “My girlfriend wouldn’t really like me being here, so close to you.”

I tense, my eyes flying open as I meet his in the mirror.

Immediately, my thoughts flash to Maya.

To him watching her drop me that day in the gym.

I think about his lips over mine in the bathroom. His blood on my tongue. “Your girlfriend?” I blurt out, annoyed there’s so much anger in my tone.

His hand closes tighter around the back of my neck as he keeps his eyes on mine in the mirror. “I think you might know her, pretty baby.”

Those words cause my chest to tighten. I used to love when he called me that. I thought that meant he cared. My sick brain thought his soft words were kind.

But I was naïve. A young girl with daddy issues and only the worst kind of attention at home. I was stupid.

I’m not that girl anymore.

“Maya Bell ring a bell?”

My stomach flips. “You’re still with her?”

He smiles at me in the mirror. “You sound surprised.”

I shake my head. “Get off of me, Cortland.”

His hand squeezes tighter. “No, thanks.”

I grit my teeth. “You’re disgusting.”

At this, his eyes narrow. “Says the girl who has slept with literally all of my friends.” His fingertips sink into my flesh, and he jerks me closer, so I can feel him at my back.

I feel his dick, too, how hard he is against me.

My skin prickles.

“You know I didn’t want them,” I tell him, meaning it.

He arches a brow. “Huh. Well, it would’ve been nice if you’d have said so that night.”

My face flushes pink in the mirror and I know he sees it too.

“But I gotta say,” his hand slides around to the front of my throat, gripping me tighter. I know the attendant can’t see what he’s doing, because his tall frame blocks her view.

My breath hitches, and I see his fingers curled around me.

“I kinda like the new you. That piercing, your hair. Covering yourself so no one else can look at you like I did.” He shrugs, pulling me even closer, my shoulder blades against his torso. “I don’t remember you being so damn feisty, either, Remi.” His fingers tighten again, and I close my eyes, trying to breathe.

“You know how I remember you, Cortland?” I ask him, still keeping my eyes closed. Like hiding under the covers. If you don’t see the monster, is he really there?

His fingers splay along my collarbone, under the edges of my hoodie. “Tell me, baby.”

“I remember you as the cruelest thing that ever happened to me.” My breaths are shallow, my mouth so dry. But I’ve wanted to say these words to him for a long time. “I remember you as a criminal, and we both know your current view shouldn’t be these mountains.”

His nails dig into my skin, dragging down further, over my chest.

I keep talking. “It should be a prison cell. Bars on a cage.” I take another breath. “You did deserve it, Cortland,” I tell him, throwing back his words from the bathroom. “You do deserve it.”

He digs deeper and I wince, although I don’t open my eyes. My heart is racing, and it feels good to say those things, to stand up for myself for once. Because it’s been bullshit this past year.

Nothing is fine.

But then he nudges my hair away from my neck with his nose, his piercing gliding against my skin, and I’m shaking all over again, pressure building behind my eyes. He slams through all of my progress, all of my defenses in that one motion. Violating my space, just like he did that night.

My eyes snap open and connect with his, his face beside mine, his fingers still on my skin. He doesn’t dig in his nails anymore; he lightly traces the slight swell of my breast beneath my sports bra, and I keep shaking at his touch as he stares at the two of us, side by side, him leaned down to my level. “My current view should be you on your knees, apologizing for everything you did to me.”

I suck in a breath, my spine straightening.

“Don’t get so damn brave, Remi.” He turns his head, his lips against my ear with his next words. “Wolves have teeth.”

He releases me all at once, straightening. His eyes linger on mine a moment before he walks away, down the corridor to the change room.

He was already in workout gear.

I take that as my sign to get out. Away from my living, breathing nightmare, brought back to life.

Wolves have teeth.

I grit my own. So do I, fucker.

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

REMI

I slide my tray down the line at the café on campus, painfully aware of the new wounds on my wrist from yesterday, after he cornered me in the gym. My hoodie sleeves are yanked down over my hands, but it’s hot in the little building and sweat pricks under my hood. Van has a sculpting class today and can’t meet me for lunch and Sloane has an appointment with her academic advisor to place an internship next semester.

I’m almost grateful I’m alone, so there’s no way they can see what I did yesterday. After the gym, I skipped my class.

I know I’m letting him mess with me again, but it’s really hard not to. It doesn’t feel like he should be allowed to be so close to me, but I know no one is going to protect me from this.

I swipe my ID card for my meal plan, stuff it in my back pocket and keep my head down as I turn around, both hands back on my tray.

Only to almost collide with Maya fucking Bell.

She’s got her arms crossed over her chest and her chin dipped down as her pink lips pull into a wicked smile.

My hands shake and I white-knuckle my tray. An apple, a salad and a pack of Reese’s shift slightly as I tremble.

I haven’t seen Maya since it all happened. Before that, actually. Graduation.

We’ve had no classes together and never ran into each other on campus. My face heats, thinking the reason I’m seeing her has little to do with coincidence and everything to do with Cortland.

I try to step around her, darting my eyes to a tiny booth tucked away in the back of the orange-painted building.

But she sidesteps me.

I grind my teeth, take a deep breath, and meet her blue gaze. “Hi, Maya.”

She flashes a white, straight smile. Students jostle around us because I’m still by the register, but Maya doesn’t care. “You’re not looking so great, Remi,” she says, not bothering to lower her voice.

The café isn’t crowded—it’s a little early for the lunch flow—but a few heads turn our way. I feel the warmth in my face travel down to my neck. “Right, well, I’m just going to⁠—”

She takes a step toward me.

I inhale sharp through my nose, my pulse raising as I think of her on the local news, defending Cortland against allegations she wasn’t there to witness. “I was friends with the victim. She’s a weird girl. I think she’s just feeling guilty for sleeping with my boyfriend. They both made mistakes that night, but there was no crime committed.”

She drops her hands, glancing at my tray with disdain, then tosses her sleek, dark ponytail over one shoulder. “Haven’t seen you around, but I heard you and Cortland got reacquainted.”

My stomach twists into knots but I can think of nothing to say that isn’t damning either way. How does she know? Did he tell her?

She steps closer, and the tray I’m holding between us grazes her chest, the burnt orange wrap dress she’s wearing. “Don’t embarrass yourself, Remi.”

My palms grow slick against the plastic of the tray. “I don’t want him.”

But it’s like she doesn’t hear me. “He didn’t like you then. You were a pity fuck. The shy girl got thrown a bone. If he’d cared, he wouldn’t have passed you around.” She lowers her head so her eyes are inches from mine. I’m painfully aware of people watching us, and I feel sick. “He would never share me. And he definitely doesn’t want you now, so don’t be desperate and throw yourself at him and his friends again.”

Anger and humiliation burn hot under my skin but she’s already straightening, her arms back over her chest.

“Leave my boyfriend alone. And do something with your hair. It looks horrible.”

Just as she goes to turn around, I see someone walking toward us. The only person who isn’t currently staring at us, this one is propelled into action. I hold my breath, shifting my gaze from Maya to this person out of the corner of my eye, only to see it’s him. Cortland’s hand slides down Maya’s back and over her ass, squeezing as he does.

I feel lightheaded as I lift my gaze to his and watch Maya lean into his chest, her palms splayed on his EU T-shirt.

His gray eyes hold mine.

I think of his hands on either side of me in that bathroom. His nose to mine. His blood on my mouth. My nails in his skin.

His big hand squeezes her ass again, and I feel like I’m going to be sick. But I don’t look away from his eyes.

“Hey, Rems,” he says softly, glancing down at my tray. “Not much of an appetite today?”

I see more than a few people still staring, and I wonder how many of them know who he is. Who I am. They can’t all be clueless. Ellicottville edges Aben. The case rocked the small town news. Silas made sure to tell me how embarrassed he was that he saw all four of these boys on the TV every day.

I grit my teeth and turn away from them, but Cortland’s free hand—the one not currently parked on Maya’s ass—comes to my tray, halting me. He yanks the tray close, unwinding his arm from around Maya to glare down at me.

I hear Maya laugh.

His eyes narrow.

But he isn’t looking at me anymore.

He’s staring at my wrist.

Mortification courses hot through my blood as I realize my hoodie sleeve must have ridden up when I put my ID in my back pocket.

I can see the red lines, stark against my white skin. Just over those blue veins at the base of my wrist.

“What’re you doing Remi?” he whispers, and when I shift my gaze back to his, I’m surprised to see anger on his face.

My heart thrums too fast.

Please don’t say anything about it.

Please don’t say anything.

His jaw is clenched as he shifts his hold on the tray from the side opposite me, to my wrist. I suck in a breath as his thumb covers the wounds.

“Don’t touch me,” I plead, aware Maya is watching our entire encounter.

He strokes his thumb over the cuts, his touch gentle. His brows draw together. “Don’t do this again.” He shakes his head. “Seriously, Remi. Don’t⁠—”

“What did she do?” Maya asks, apparently not having seen what Cort did. Her voice sounds giddy with excitement. “What did the little freak do?”

Cortland brushes his thumb over my wound one more time, then straightens and drops his hand. He wraps his arm around Maya. “Nothing,” he says, locking eyes with me. “Let’s go⁠—”

“I want to know what she did,” Maya complains, her eyes sparking at the promise of my humiliation. “What did she do?”

Cortland rolls his eyes. “I said let’s go⁠—”

“No, I want to know what the little slut⁠—”

Cortland wraps his hand over her mouth, tugging her closer to his body. He looks down at Maya with a smile, but I can see it in his eyes. He’s not happy. “You sound like a cunt when you say things like that.” Then he spins her around, away from me.

I try to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

He glances over his shoulder, his eyes finding mine. “And I don’t like cunts.”

CHAPTER

TWELVE

CORTLAND

Maya’s arms are around my neck, her thighs straddling me. I grip her neck, bite her bottom lip. She whimpers, pulling back, her hands on my chest.

“Don’t,” she says quietly, staring up at me through her long lashes. We’re both sweaty from our practices, and she walked back with me to the house. I only wanted her here to fuck her. I’ve avoided hanging out with her most of the week, but Fridays we have a class across the hall from one another that lets out at the same time.

Me, history for my undeclared major, and her, ethics, which is kind of fucking hilarious considering she’s the least ethical person I know. She’s still in her cheerleading skirt, orange and black for Ely’s colors, a tiger across her chest.

Her underwear is on the floor of my room, my door closed at her back.

“Don’t what?” I glance at the clock on my nightstand. Dad wants me over for dinner. Tristan’s texts have been despondent, and he’s not yet back in school. I don’t like him spending so much time alone, by himself.

I rush into the room at the hospital. Dad is coming as fast as he can.

Mom isn’t even here. She called 911, and she’s not here. She’s working.

Tristan is sipping from a straw, his face pale, but he grins at me when I walk in. Then he sees it.

The panic etched into my own face.

His expression falters.

He flips his arm over, so I can’t see the inside of his wrist.

His broken glasses are on the table he sets his drink on, refusing to meet my eye.

“I didn’t want to die,” he says softly, as if to reassure me.

I stop, a step into the sterile room with that medicinal smell every hospital on earth seems to have.

“I just…” His eyes close tight, his face screwed up like he’s in pain. He brings both hands to his eyes, covering his embarrassment.

My chest hurts, my throat is tight.

I take a step toward him.

His narrow shoulders shake. “I just wanted her to want me, Cort,” he whispers, and a choked sob leaves him as his entire body is wracked with grief.

“I don’t want you to be rough,” Maya whines, bringing me back to the present, my hand still on her neck, the other parked on her hip.

“Then get off of me,” I tell her.

Her mouth drops open, then her eyes narrow. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she snaps, sliding her hands down to my bare chest. “You’ve avoided me all week aside from lunch, blew me off after the game last weekend, and the weekend before, you just fucking disappeared. Storm said you’d be back.”

I roll my eyes, dropping my hands by my side, not touching her. “Get off me.”

Her brows hit her hairline. “Is this… is this about Remi fucking Ocean?”

Is it that obvious? I can’t get her out of my head. She’s taking up valuable space that should be occupied by my brother. My dad. Anyone but her. The girl who fucked me over and almost ruined my life.

I can’t stop thinking about her. Those cuts on her wrist. I don’t know if I want to hurt her. Fuck her. Help her. I don’t know.

And I see her, everywhere.

Maya promised she never did, and maybe I’m just looking for her, but I’ve watched her walk across campus with some dude that looks like a pothead wannabe artist. I’ve seen her head toward the cemetery with him, disappearing beyond the treeline. I remember watching her back in high school at the graveyard in Aben, where her mom is buried. I assumed she went there to talk to her, but nope.

She just likes graveyards.

Crazy bitch.

There were so many layers to her I never got to peel back, because she fucked us up before I could.

And this past year, I’ve always wondered what she regretted most. What the hell she wanted from me that night. Why she didn’t try to stop it. I never stop dreaming about her.

In some of my dreams, I almost kill her.

In others, she almost kills me.

“No, Maya. It isn’t. Get. Off.” I clench my fingers into fists at my side, that familiar wave of anger sweeping through me. I’ve lived with it for over a year now. Anger at myself. My friends. Her.

It still haunts me. Did I do the right thing? Of course not. But it wasn’t as bad as she said it was.

The legal system agreed with me. But we all know how fucked that is, her most of all. It was four against one, our word against hers. She was a cheerleader and her stepdad is wealthy, sure, but his business is international. He doesn’t work in the community.

My mom does. Chase’s dad owns half of the fucking state, running the largest privately-owned auto dealership company in the nation. A rich redneck that inherited all of his wealth from his father, it doesn’t matter that Greg McGowan can barely string a sentence together.

Brinklin’s dad is in politics, and Storm, well, I don’t even know what the fuck Storm’s family does, but I know they’ve got more money than they know what to do with. Storm doesn’t touch it, which is why he’s my roommate, but still. They helped him out when he needed them.

But that’s not why I got off, was it?

It’s because I’m not what she said I was. I’m not a monster. But now, I kind of feel like I’m turning into one.

“It is her,” Maya insists, and her face turns red with anger. But she doesn’t budge, crossing her arms over her chest and staying in my lap. “What? You want to fuck with her?” she presses. “Your mom told me to tell her if⁠—”

I stand then, and she nearly falls to the floor. But she rights herself, stumbling back in her bare feet, tugging down her skirt, her eyes wide.

“You’re talking to my mom?” I ask her quietly, my pulse ticking in a vein in my neck. I can feel it. My chest hurts, too, my heart pounding too hard.

Maya snatches up her underwear, yanking them up her legs, averting her eyes. She’s scared. She should be. She knows what happened to Tristan.

“She wanted me to keep an eye on you,” she mumbles, pulling on her socks, standing on one foot for each one. “She wants to make sure you don’t wind up in prison, Cort.” She stuffs her feet into her sneakers, finally looking up at me, her ponytail falling over one shoulder. “And if you keep fucking around with her,” she sneers that word, and I think about watching Maya drop Remi in the gym and my blood heats. “That’s exactly where you’ll end up.”

I jerk my chin to the door. “Leave.”

She laughs, running a hand over her hair, smoothing it back. A nervous gesture. I can see it in her eyes, the fear. She doesn’t want this to end. She doesn’t want the idea of becoming Mrs. Adler snatched away from her.

But I’d never marry her even if Remi wasn’t currently taking up too much of my brain. Maya was a defense. In high school, she was a distraction. We were supposed to be together, and besides that, I didn’t much care how my mom belittled her. She was a bitch. So was Mom. They could deal with each other.

But now… “Seriously. Leave.” I point to the door, wanting to shove her out of it.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she snaps. “We’re going to that party together⁠—”

“I’m not going anywhere with you and if you know what’s best for you, you won’t fucking go either. Get the fuck out of my room.”

Before she can move, the door flies open from the outside, and Storm stands there as Maya spins around.

He’s got his shirt off, and I take in the tattoos all over his torso, his arms crossed as he leans against the doorway, his eyes lined with red like he just smoked a joint. I smell the marijuana trailing into the room and I feel a stab of envy that I’m not currently high. Might be a hell of a lot easier to deal with Maya, and Remi in my head, if I was.

“Careful, Maya,” Storm says softly, his light blue eyes locked on hers as she crosses her arms tighter over her chest. “Cortland has a really bad temper these days.” His gaze trails over her body. “I’d hate it if you broke something while you were in my house.”

She glances at me, looking for me to save her.

I’m done saving bitches.

I just stare right back at her, then she finally stomps out, skirting around Storm as much as she can.

We hear her clomp down the stairs, slam the door shut behind her so hard the house shakes.

I curl my fingers into fists.

Storm meets my gaze. “You wanna fuck her.”

I blink at him, thinking he’s talking about Maya. “I beg your pardon?” I ask him, my voice hoarse. “I could’ve done just that⁠—”

He clears his throat to interrupt me. “Not her.”

My heart picks up speed in my chest.

“Remi.”

I open my mouth to deny it, but he cuts me off.

“Probably shouldn’t do that,” he says lightly, straightening from the door, the hoop in his nose catching on the dying light from the sun streaming in through the window by my door. “Let’s go out tonight. You can find some other ass that isn’t gonna put you in jail.”

I shake my head, even though I planned to do just that. “Since when do you want to go to college parties?”

He shrugs. “Since I see you thinking about a girl who almost ruined both of our lives.”

I don’t say anything and instead I think about those cuts on her wrist. Did we ruin hers, too?

“I’ll be waiting downstairs. Hurry up.” Without another word, he turns and walks down the hall.

I stare after him a second, listening to his footsteps grow quieter. Then I hear my phone vibrating from my nightstand, and I snatch it up, swiping my finger across the screen to answer Tristan’s video call.

A second later, my baby brother’s face appears, sleepy gray eyes like mine, a lighter shade of hair fluffed on his head, he looks tired.

“Hey, buddy,” I say with a smile, taking a breath and sinking down to my bed.

I hear my dad in the background before Tristan speaks. “You coming for dinner?”

I tense with Dad’s words, guilt coursing through me as I think of Remi’s cuts. Of my brother.

“It’s okay if you can’t,” Tristan says quietly, stifling a yawn with the back of his pale hand. “I’m tired anyway.”

I hear my dad laugh but there’s a nervous edge threaded through it. “Buddy, you slept all day.”

My heart sinks but I flash my brother a smile, cradling the phone in my hand like it’s fucking precious. “You going to your appointment next week?” I ask him quietly.

If Remi had sent me to prison, who would look out for him?

He doesn’t answer at first, and the background blurs around him. He’s walking away from Dad, down the narrow hall of the small house he rented for them to get away from Mom. It’s just a separation, and I don’t know if my dad will hold out. I’m not convinced he’ll do what it takes to get custody, and file for a divorce from Mom.

But it’s a step.

“Yeah,” he finally says, sinking down onto his bed. “I’m going.” He flops onto his back, holding the screen up so I can take him in. His white T-shirt, the shadows beneath his eyes. “I don’t wanna go but…” He shrugs, glancing away from the screen for a second. “Guess I will.”

My brows draw together, and even though it’s hard, I offer him what I can. “I’m going too, to an appointment. Next Thursday, actually. Probably around the same time as you.”

He blinks. “Really?” he asks, a slight smile kicking up at the corners of his lips. He’s just thirteen, and his voice breaks with the question which makes us both laugh.

“Really,” I assure him. “I’ll call you after? We can discuss how it went?”

He grins, and it seems real. “Yeah,” he finally says, nodding. “Call me after.”

“All right, buddy. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, too.”

“Bye, Cort.” He ends the call first, disappearing from the screen. I drop my phone on my bed and run my hand over my hair. He didn’t even ask why I was going to therapy. I’m sure he knows.

But I think of those cuts on her wrist and wonder just how much I don’t know.

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

CORTLAND

“Jesus, this is a wreck,” I tell Storm at my side, darting my eyes around the foyer, down the hall and up the stairs of the frat house. People line the stairwell, making out, getting high and double-fisting red plastic cups.

The music is loud as hell in here, and the lights are dim, the scent of marijuana heady as we step inside.

There are easily fifty people here, and someone tries to jostles me and Storm out of the way.

I turn around, staring into the eyes of a kid who looks like he might piss his pants now that he’s realized he bumped into me. He has to crane his neck back to see me and he says, “Sorry, man, sorry.”

I ignore him, shaking my head.

“You played well last weekend,” he continues, sounding a little nervous.

“Thanks,” I mutter under my breath. Yeah. I know I did. Mom does, too, because she’s the only one in my family who came to the game. Dad and Tristan don’t want to be anywhere near her.

Poison. She’s fucking poison.

My fingers curl into fists and I have the sudden urge to dig my nails into my forearm, but I bite my tongue and resist as the kid scurries off.

“God, I miss that,” Storm says at my side, his tone laced with amusement. “Little fan boys drooling over my nuts because I could hold a ball.”

“Thanks to me, you didn’t have to hold it too often,” I shoot back, scrubbing a hand over my jaw. “Let’s get a drink.” I nod toward the hall and Storm heads that way.

I follow, eyes on his black hoodie as he nudges people aside while we prowl through the house. A few more people dart glances my way, throwing up their hands. I don’t know anyone at EU aside from Maya and the team, but people sure as fuck want to act like they know me.

I wonder how many of them think about my face in the news.

How many of them actually think I’m a rapist?

“Ah, fuck,” Storm mutters. “There’s Sloane.”

I follow his line of sight and see Remi’s best friend sitting in some dude’s lap, her arms wrapped around his neck on the couch in the living room, a cup dangling from her fingers by his face.

She’s wasted from the looks of it.

But Remi would never come to a party like this.

I never really knew Sloane, but she was nice enough. She wasn’t at that party, though, but I know she’s probably heard all about it. At least, one side of the story.

I swallow that down, pushing it under the surface, then glance around the living room, but of course I don’t see Remi. “I don’t give a fuck about Sloane Stevens.” I jerk my chin, seeing the kitchen ahead, drinks and mixers lining the cabinets. “Keep going.”

Storm’s eyes lock on mine, another mocking smile pulling on his lips. But he doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head and we finally reach the kitchen.

The girl in my lap spreads her thighs wider, her skirt sliding up her hips. She’s talking to another chick across from this outdoor table set up by the pool, but her spine is pressed to my chest. My cock is throbbing beneath her ass, and I tip the beer bottle in my hand back, swallowing a drink. I don’t touch her, but I don’t tell her to get off either.

At my left, Storm is on his phone, ignoring everything happening around him. Including me and my new friend. I don’t know the girl, but she’s got short, dark hair, and this look in her eye like she wants to get fucked.

At least, it seemed that way when she pranced over to me a few minutes ago and informed me she watched the game last weekend and thought I was hot.

Good enough for me.

All around us, there’s so much noise. People jumping in the pool, loud music thudding from different speakers, all different songs. Girls laughing loudly and dudes over talking each other. I’m just glad Maya listened to me and didn’t come.

The last thing I need is her bullshit about my mom and Remi again.

The girl in my lap—Anna, I think she said her name was—spreads her legs even wider.

But I don’t do anything with that. Not here, not in front of all these people.

I take another drink and cast my eyes around the backyard. There are a few couples just beyond the reach of the porch and pool lights, making out and doing more. Shrubs line one back corner, and it’s a perfect spot for a quick fuck.

The girl in my lap leans back against me and looks up at me with dark brown eyes. “Touch me,” she says, a little breathlessly.

I flick my eyes across the table to find her friend staring at me with heavy eyes and a smile on her face. Maybe she wants to join in, too. But I don’t give Anna what she wants. For some reason, I feel distracted.

I look over at those bushes again just as Anna starts sucking on my neck.

But my entire body goes rigid with what I see.

A flash of orange hair. Two braids.

Then Remi disappears into the bushes, some guy yanking her in.

But maybe it wasn’t her.

I clench my jaw, staring after them, Anna’s lips on my skin.

It probably wasn’t Remi.

She didn’t like parties. It’s why she got so drunk at that one.

I grit my teeth, thinking of that night. Of anyone touching her like I did.

I have to make sure it’s not her.

“Get off.” The words come out before I can think.

Anna picks her head up, her mouth dropping open. I drop my hands by my sides, the beer on the table.

“What?” she asks, giggling. “What do you⁠—”

“Get off,” I say again.

I feel Storm’s eyes on me. He’s finally paying attention. Anna frowns, winding her hands around my neck.

My blood heats and I glance at those bushes again. I don’t see anything but movement.

I stand, and Anna backs up, her smile turning to a glare.

Storm is on his feet too and I don’t say anything to him or Anna yelling after me as I make my way down the steps. Off the deck. I’m striding through the backyard when Storm speaks.

“You see Remi?” There’s amusement in his tone but I don’t give a fuck. And I don’t answer him.

I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one I know is following me. There’s no Anna and more importantly, no Sloane or Maya.

I turn back to the bushes and I hear a, “You good, babe?” from some dude who probably has his hands all over Remi right now.

That night flashes in my mind.

My head was spinning.

She tasted so good and felt so good and...

I see her as I edge my way through the shrubs. Some fucker has her pinned against the fence, his hand slipping under her hoodie.

I don’t think.

I don’t even look to see if she’s enjoying it. I grab the back of the guy’s neck and rip him away from her.

I shove him against the fence, my hand planted on his chest. “The fuck are you doing?” I snarl, his wild eyes meeting mine as he holds up his hands, his white face pale.

“Yo, sorry, is that your girlfriend? I didn’t⁠—”

My fingers circle around his throat as I think about him touching Remi. He smells like a brewery and as I hear Remi giggle beside me, I imagine she smells much the same. She never drank this much in high school. Did I do this to her?

“You like taking girls into the bushes to fuck ‘em?” I ask, wanting to deck this guy.

“Nah, man, she wanted to come back here⁠—”

I slam his head against the fence, clutching his shirt in my fist. And just as I lift my other fist to swing at him, Remi’s arms come around my waist, tugging me back.

“Take me home, Cort,” she whispers behind me.

I freeze, my heart pounding a painful rhythm in my chest.

She’s touching me.

Which means she’s really fucking wasted.

Storm laughs, deep and low, somewhere beside me. “Let him go, Cort,” he says softly.

The guy looks from me to Storm, and swallows audibly. “I’m sorry, man, I didn’t mean to start anything.”

I press my fingertips into his skin and he winces. I think about Chase. The branch he trailed down her spine when we were all done, taunting her. His spit in her hair. Brinklin’s cock in her mouth. The woods spinning around us.

I tighten my hold on the guy.

He whimpers.

I hear that, too. Remi’s whimpers.

“Cortland,” Storm barks out. “You’re going to kill him.”

I take a breath, blinking, and finally, I back up, dropping my hand to Remi’s forearm, banded around my waist. “Get the fuck out of here,” I tell the guy, jerking my head.

He runs, ducking under the bushes and disappearing to the party.

I spin around, and Remi’s golden eyes are on mine as she stares up at me, clearly intoxicated.

“Hi,” she mumbles, and I hate that it does, but my heart skips a beat as I wrap my arms around her, my adrenaline still wild from throwing that guy off of her.

What are you doing to me, Rems?

“Hi,” I tell her, glancing at Storm, watching with an unreadable expression on his face. A cool breeze blows through the night and I hear the splash of more cannonballs in the pool.

“Take me home,” she whispers again.

“Where’re your friends?” I counter, my jaw clenched as I think about Sloane wasted inside.

Remi lets her eyes flutter closed, her temple to my core. She’s so much shorter than me, it’s like she’s a Koala holding on. “I dunno,” she slurs.

I close my eyes tight, inhaling her.

I should really fucking hate you.

But I see Tristan in the hospital bed again.

The way that knife sliced through tendons, nearly hitting bone. He could’ve lost the use of his hand.

I see Remi’s cuts in the cafeteria.

Chase fucking her from behind.

I hate that I don’t hate you.

“We can’t leave her here,” Storm says quietly. Which is something, coming from him.

But I can’t take her home.

I can’t walk her to her dorm, either, because I don’t know where it is.

Remi leans entirely against me, her body nearly limp.

I curl my fingers into the soft material of her hoodie and wonder if she ever wears anything else. In high school, she did. Modest clothes most of the time, but she had an actual wardrobe.

What did I do to your head, Remi, baby? The same shit you did to mine?

“Let’s take her back.” Storm’s words. “Maybe we can talk some more.”

I almost laugh out loud, but my heart flutters and my stomach twists into knots. I don’t think we’re going to be talking tonight.

Before Storm turns to leave, I call out after him. “Make sure her friend is good.”

His eyes meet mine. “I thought you didn’t give a fuck.”

Remi’s arms tighten around me.

“I don’t,” I tell Storm honestly. “But she does.”

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

CORTLAND

I shoot Storm a glare as we walk into our white, two-story house just off of campus. I had my arm around Remi the entire time and as we walked, she slumped against me, stumbling near the end to the point I practically had to carry her ass in here. Now, she stands by the doorway, leaned against the wall, her palms pressed behind her, a drunken smile on her face.

She hiccups, kicking off her white Chucks, and for a second, as I glance at them, my heart stops.

I remember them that night.

Pulling at the laces.

Storm closes and locks the door behind us before he comes to the foot of the stairs, just in front of me and Remi.

She hiccups again, then clamps a hand over her mouth and I glance at her, see her golden gaze on mine.

A smile curves her lips as she drops her hands.

She shouldn’t be drinking so much without supervision.

Storm covered my ass as I dragged her out of the party, ensuring Sloane didn’t see her and checking on her as he did. She was still straddling that boy in the living room. Shitty friend.

I turn my head to Storm. “How do you think that talk is gonna go?” I ask him.

His eyes are locked on mine. “You know you didn’t want to talk,” he says quietly, sliding his hands in the pockets of his black pants. His black hoodie is etched with a skeleton, and I think about him at West. The running back, he never really loved the game. But he was a wolf all the same, and in high school, we got away with everything.

We could probably do the same still.

That’s exactly what Storm’s light blue eyes seem to be saying as he stares at me now. I glance at Remi, and just as I do, she stumbles toward me, her hands coming to my chest.

I open my arms and let her rest her head against me, hugging me tight.

My entire body tenses.

I think of her in my truck, just a few hours before everything went to hell.

When we were both sober.

Mom was away for work that night. Dad was on the road, like usual. Being a trucker meant we got very few nights together. Tristan was back up in West Virginia with Dad’s brother, my uncle, Clave.

And Remi’s stepdad was gone, too.

It was the perfect setup. We didn’t get many entire nights together. Dating her was a challenge, because she was always scared of asking her stepdad to go out. It’s like she hid our relationship.

I didn’t mind. I’d take her any way I could get her. I loved her quiet disposition, her golden eyes, that easy smile on her face. She never relished in the spotlight, unlike Maya, and she was just kind.

I’d always planned to sleep with her that night.

It didn’t go quite how I wanted it too, but it definitely didn’t go how she said it did.

She giggles against me, and my throat constricts as she picks her head up, looking up at me through her long lashes. “We gotta tell Sloane,” she mumbles, “Sloane and Van.”

I arch a brow, looking over at Storm, who shrugs.

Van?

Still, her words register in my brain.

If her friends report her missing, I’ve got another problem on my hands and Remi Ocean has already given me too many fucking problems.

“Where’s your phone?” I ask her quietly as Storm watches.

She pulls back but keeps one arm around me as she shoves her other hand in her hoodie pocket and produces her phone, slapping it into my open hand.

I tilt it up and the screen brightens, a still from I Know What You Did Last Summer as her background. Dawson’s Beach.

My pulse picks up speed as I stare at it, remembering the last time I watched that movie.

A sour taste coats the inside of my mouth as I think about the taste of her blood. Her spent body tucked up next to mine in my bed.

I shove that all aside.

The phone is locked. I turn it toward her, and she looks at the screen, knowing what I want. It unlocks with her face.

“Sloane and Van?” I prompt her, opening up her messages with one hand.

There aren’t many. Sloane. Van. Silas.

Someone labeled “Guy in history class,” which I don’t really like because the last message he sent to her says, No problem, babe.

I push that all aside. Who she’s fucking isn’t my business.

“Yeah,” she answers me, that word slurred. “Slo and Van.”

I open up the group chat with both of them. “What do I tell them?” I ask her, flicking my gaze to her gold eyes. They’re mesmerizing, and for a second, I can’t stop staring at them, even as she sways in my arms and tries to give me input.

“Tell them I drove off a cliff.” She laughs with those words, but I glance at her wrist, hidden by her hoodie sleeve.

My stomach churns.

“Cute,” I tell her, “but for some reason, I don’t think they’re gonna believe that, baby.”

Storm shifts his weight at the bottom of the stairs. “Baby, huh?” he asks softly.

I don’t look at him and just keep staring at Remi. But as I do, a text comes through, brightening the screen again, and I see it’s a message from Sloane.

Sloane <3

Rems. Where r uuu? I think I’m going home with Asa don’t judge me.

A message from Van pops up not long after.

Van

Judging.

I roll my eyes, but I feel relief flood through me all the same. “Looks like your roomie won’t be home tonight.”

Remi grips my shirt in her fists and leans back. I don’t stumble, but it is slightly uncomfortable. I’m over a foot taller than her, and she’s skinnier than I remember, but she’s still using me like I’m a jungle gym. She tilts her head back, her throat exposed, and I think about the porn I like to watch.

The way I like to fuck.

My dick gets hard thinking about it, but I look down at her phone and type out a reply with one hand.

Leaving now to the dorm, going to bed.

I scroll up and see what Remi usually signs her texts off with and I grit my teeth as I add, xx in a new message. There’re no mentions of me that I see, and I don’t know how to feel about that.

I pocket her phone as she sticks her tongue out, neck still arched. I catch a flash of her tongue ring and I grip her hoodie, yanking her to me, her head dipping down as I do.

“I’m not a playground.” I nod toward the stairs that Storm is still standing by. “Let’s go.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Bad, bad idea,” she slurs, but she turns anyway, headed for the stairs.

I wrap my arm around her shoulders and Storm folds his across his chest, moving out of the way.

“Bad, bad idea,” he repeats as we go up the steps and he just watches.

My hand drifts down to her round ass and I squeeze her, hard, making her laugh. Feels good to me.

After I close my door and flip the lock, glancing around my room, thankful it’s clean, Remi spins around and bursts into a fit of giggles.

I freeze, wondering if she’s faking her drunk and this was some kind of weird plan to get me in prison, where I’m sure she thinks I belong.

But she just wraps her arms around me, standing on her tiptoes, pressing her body to mine.

I stand with my hands by my sides, still. Grabbing her ass was one thing. Imagining all the ways I want to fuck her is, too. But now we’re actually in here. Alone.

And I’m not so sure I can do any of those things.

My heart is thumping in my chest and my lungs feel like they’re burning. I glance at my computer on my desk, think about the porn, and that night, and…

“Remi,” I swallow down the tightness in my throat, “what are you doing?”

I want to touch her. I want to fuck her. I want to make her tell me she lied that morning, when she went to the police.

I want her to beg for my fucking forgiveness.

But there’s another truth, too.

One I don’t want to face. And that one has my hands by my sides. It’s a little voice in my head saying I fucked up, too.

She presses her body into mine, and for the first time tonight, I’m thankful for that hoodie she’s wearing. I can still feel the swell of her breasts on my core, but with the layer of fuzzy material between us, at least I can fucking breathe.

She cocks her head, and her eyes look almost as if they match her hair, the way the overhead light reflects on them. Her lips are pulled into a playful smile, but she’s swaying with her arms around my neck, still on her toes.

I clench my teeth together, thinking about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t seen that guy in the bushes. “Come sleep with me,” she says, then she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.

All the blood seems to rush to my dick, and I curl my fingers into fists to keep my hands by my sides. I don’t even glance at the bed at her back. Orange sheets, team colors. A superstition my dad put in my head since I was a kid. Team colors for my bedding, no matter what. He’d already bought and washed them before I’d left the hospital with Tristan in my passenger seat and I’d told Dad I wasn’t leaving Ellicottville.

But instead of lingering on any of that, I reach up, grab Remi’s wrists and pull her hands off of my neck.

“Remi,” I say, dipping my chin and staring into her eyes, holding her hands down between us, “why don’t you get in bed? I’m going to sleep on the couch downstairs.”

She frowns, hurt flushing across her fair skin in blossoms of pink. There’s a bead of sweat on her temple probably from our walk back, making the baby orange hairs stick to her forehead.

I want to pull this hoodie off of her, but if I do, I’m not walking out of here.

So I’m relieved when, instead of begging me to sleep with her again, her words sound angry as she says, “Why do you hate me, Cort?” She chews the inside of her cheek, rips her arms from me and stumbles back a step. Jerking her chin up to meet my gaze, she says, “You know I didn’t mean to hurt you.” There’s conviction in those words. It makes my stomach twist into knots.

“Remi, what are you talking about?” I take a step toward her, and she takes one back. Suddenly, some of my trepidation about fucking with her is leaving me.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she says again, her voice breaking on a sob. She stumbles back another step, then sinks down onto my bed, burying her head in her hands.

My blood runs cold. What?

She picks her head up, hands balled into little fists on her thighs.

“Why did you let them do that?” she asks, her words hoarse, eyes red.

I feel like I’m getting whiplash, the way this conversation—this entire night—is going. I should be asking the questions. I should be cornering her.

I close the space between us and stand between her thighs.

She doesn’t shy away from me, so I take it a step further. Put my hands on her shoulders.

“Why did you let them hurt me, Cort?” she whispers, tipping her chin up, holding my gaze. Her eyes are red and bleary.

My fingers dig into her narrow shoulders. “Who?” I ask her, knowing the answer. Knowing I can’t think about what I let them do without wanting to vomit. No matter that I believe it was consensual, I should have protected her.

Her bottom lip trembles. I want to bite it. I try to push that aside.

But she doesn’t answer me with words. She just flops back on the bed so she’s lying on her back, her arms above her head, eyes closed.

Her hoodie and shirt ride up, exposing a pale patch of skin on her lower belly. I lick my lips, forcing myself to stand exactly where I am.

“Lie with me, Cort,” she says quietly, letting her earlier train of thought go. She twists her head to the side but keeps her eyes closed. “Come lie with me.”

I shake my head. My mouth opens, and I’m about to say it. To say exactly what I should say. But then she crosses her arms over her chest, leans up a little, just enough, and yanks her hoodie and her shirt over her head, dropping it backward, off the other side of the bed.

Then she reaches behind her and unhooks the black studded bra she’s wearing, flinging that off the side of the bed, too.

I can’t move as she lies back down.

Her chest is heaving, her pale pink nipples tight little points, probably from the fan spinning overhead. Her tits are smaller than I remember, which is the first thought I had when I slipped my hand up her hoodie on the sidewalk the other week. But they’re still big enough for me to grab in my hands and…

I run my tongue over my lip ring and think about sucking on them that night. I left bruises. More than just there, but the bite marks were very clear there. My mother was furious.

“You never leave visible marks on any girl you’re having sex with, Cortland.”

My father said nothing.

Tristan didn’t hear any of that. I never want him to hear any of it.

I push that all aside as Remi’s hands come over her tits and she starts rubbing them. I don’t think she’s trying to be sexy. She doesn’t make a sound, she just seems to like how it feels.

And I know, when she says, “I’m starting my period soon and they hurt,” she definitely isn’t trying to tempt me, although it is tempting because we know how I like blood.

Seeing her palms squeeze her pale flesh, catching glimpses of her nipples through her slender fingers, my dick is hard all over again.

Then I see something else.

On the inside of her wrist.

It feels like all the air has gone out of the room.

I step closer to the bed and grab her arm, unraveling it from her chest and exposing her tits to me.

But it’s the inside of her wrist I look at as I flip her palm.

I didn’t see them well in the café, but now, underneath the light on above us, they’re very fucking clear.

Vivid red cuts, like they’re fresh.

Scars, too. Pale white, like ribbons.

She tries to yank her arm from my grip, but I circle my fingers tighter, not letting her go.

I’m running down the hall of the hospital.

I see him.

“Tristan?” I whisper in the room, scared to step closer to his bed. Scared his closed eyes and small body and pale skin means…

“Let go,” Remi whispers, and my eyes fly open.

I drop her hand like she burned me.

She looks at the marks on her arm, holding her hand above her head. Her brows pull together, like she’s confused on how they got there.

Then she darts a shy glance my way.

I hold my breath, waiting.

But instead of saying anything, she just brings her hand back to her breasts, letting her eyes flutter closed as she massages herself.

My heart is racing, and my blood heats.

I should get the fuck out and shut the door and sleep downstairs.

I should take her ass home.

She’s fucked up.

In more ways than one.

But so am I.

You did that to me, Remi.

I take a breath, debating. I cornered her in the woods, chased her to the bathroom. Meant to scare her. To make sure she doesn’t fuck with us. Make a big scene or start some petition to get me thrown off the team.

But why did I intervene when I saw her in the bushes tonight? Maya could’ve showed up at anytime. Could have seen me leave with her.

I didn’t give a fuck.

Now what?

“I’m just going to take off your pants, Rems, okay?” I ask her quietly. Her eyes are still closed, her head angled toward the headboard. Her hands go still on her breasts.

“Okay,” she says softly, barely a word at all. Just a breath.

Intoxicated people can consent in North Carolina, as long as they’re voluntarily drunk. I learned all of that last year. She’s underage, which is a crime for her, but it doesn’t really matter. I didn’t give her a drink.

She’s not unconscious.

And I’m just taking her pants off.

I step forward, my thighs hitting the bed, then I slip her button free on her jeans. My fingers tremble as my knuckles graze her bare skin, but I’m thankful her hands are still covering her tits.

Even if it kind of makes it all hotter.

I pull down her zipper, then tug on the waistband of her jeans. Inch by inch, I see her toned thighs, a few freckles along her white skin. She shifts her hips to help me pull her pants all the way down, and I force myself to focus on her knees, her calves, her ankles. Not her black, silk underwear.

Fuck.

I step back, letting her jeans fall to the floor. She sighs, as if she’s content, then turns her head and opens her eyes, staring at me.

“Thanks, Cort,” she says softly.

My eyes go to her panties, and I don’t see any hair around her bikini line.

Something hot flares in me, and it isn’t pleasant. Who has she fucked since me? I hate that thought. It makes me want to puke.

I unbutton my shirt as I keep my eyes on hers and she bites her lip as I pull my shirt off, tossing it on the floor.

I rake my hand through my hair, reach up toward the ceiling fan and catch Rems staring at my arm as my fingers find the dangle for the light.

A slight smile curves my lips and I flex my bicep more than I really need to, pull the cord, casting us in darkness.

I kick off my shoes, my own pants, but leave my undershirt and boxers on.

Then I plant my hands on the bed, crawling over her body.

A little breathless whimper escapes her lips as the mattress dips beneath my weight, and I find the gleam of her eyes in the darkness.

She doesn’t touch me, but she doesn’t move either.

“You doing okay, Rems?” I ask her quietly, lifting a hand to her brow, brushing aside a lock of her hair.

“Are you going to sleep with me?” Her words sound hopeful.

“You wanna sleep?” I ask her, dropping my forehead to hers.

Her hands come to my ribs. I hear her swallow, smell the alcohol on her breath as she answers me. It’s like a warning.

But I’m not too good with those.

I think about the trembling girl I bumped into on the sidewalk when she first realized I was back.

That Remi is terrified of me.

This Remi is compliant.

That should scare me off, but I don’t think she’d be stupid enough to put us through what we went through last year twice.

And when she asks, “Kiss me?” I know I’m not going to do the right thing here. I’ve spent the past year defending myself against being a monster.

It feels kind of good to just give into it. To become what she tried to make me out to be.

My body flushes with heat and I cup her face with my hand, angle my head, and brush my lips against hers.

They’re soft, and even with that alcohol, she tastes good. It’s almost like getting drunk, tasting the vodka on her mouth.

Her nails dig into my ribs.

I’m still on my knees, but I want to be flush against her.

I want to reach between us and push my fingers into her. Remind her what I feel like.

“Who have you slept with?” I ask her, our lips brushing. I hear her sharp intake of breath, and her grip is painful against my ribs, but I don’t care. “Since…” I close my eyes a second, even though she can’t see me in the dark. “Since that night?”

She’s silent, and I hear my pulse pounding in my chest. So loud, I wonder if she knows how nervous I am.

“Never let them see you sweat, Cortland. That’s a sure sign of weakness.” My mother’s words echo in my head, and I feel exactly that—sweat—beading along my temple, but it’s too late to take my question back now.

Still, I find myself tensing, as if I’m bracing for her to slap me or scream.

But with her nails still lodged into my ribs, so painful I swear she must have torn through my shirt, she just says, “No one,” and I can hardly hear those words even as I feel her breath on my mouth.

My core tightens, everything hot all over again. “No one?” I wonder if she can hear the restraint in my words. If she knows what she’s doing to me with that admission.

I hear something in the dark and feel her lips move against mine. I think she’s shaking her head. “No one,” she confirms, and I feel as if I’m going to fucking explode. “Just you.”

I think about the pack. Chase, Brinklin, Storm.

It wasn’t just me. Maybe she’s lying about every other night after, too. But for some reason, I don’t think so.

“Can I touch you, Remi?”

My nose is lined up with hers, our foreheads still touching.

“Yes,” she answers me, then her tongue darts out to my lip ring, running along the metal and over my mouth.

I suppress a groan, drop to my elbow, planted beside her.

With my other hand, I run my palm over her breast, feel her hard little nipple against my skin. She lets out a breathless whimper that sounds almost like a moan.

Don’t be stupid. Those words are in my head, but her skin is so soft and smooth, the curve of her hips so fucking feminine, that by the time my fingers are on her inner thigh, I don’t think anything could stop me.

I nudge the soft material of her underwear to the side with my thumb, and she’s so hot against my skin, I can’t help myself.

I glide my index finger down her cunt, feel how wet she is for me. How she nudges her thighs to the side, her tongue on my lips again.

I push my finger into her pussy, and we’re both moaning.

She’s so hot. Wet and tight, I want to slip another finger inside of her, but I think she was telling the truth. As tight as she is, I don’t even know if she’s fingered herself since that night. I know that’s not how any of this works, but she just feels so perfect.

Her hands slip further down, then slide up underneath my shirt, and feeling her fingers on my hot skin, I want to fill her up more. I want more of me inside of her.

I push another finger beside mine and she whimpers. I’ve always dreamed of doing these things with her. Not like this, with our history so ugly between us, but it still feels good all the same.

“It’s okay, baby,” I assure her, running my mouth over hers as she breathes into me. “I’ll be gentle.”

Her nails rake down my ribs, then come around my back. She shifts her hips and I pull my fingers out slowly, then plunge back into her, claiming her mouth with my own.

I adjust my fingers, use the pad of my thumb to circle her clit. It’s swollen already, and I wonder if she’s ever had an orgasm before.

That night I was too sloppy, too fucking drunk to give her what she deserved.

“Cortland,” she gasps out, and I don’t mind it. My full name, not when I’m inside of her. No one calls me Cortland, unless they don’t know me.

But hearing it on her lips, against my mouth, I love it.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t stop,” she pleads with me. As if I would.

I laugh against her mouth, then turn my head and bury mine in her neck. I bite her skin, feel her lurch beneath me as her walls tighten around my fingers. Circling her clit faster, I hear her breathing turn into heavy pants. Her arms wrap around my back, and just as she starts to moan, I bite her again, harder, sucking her skin between my teeth.

Her nails rake down my back as she gasps my name, and it’s almost enough to send me over the edge.

But I don’t stop pumping my fingers in and out of her slick walls, don’t stop circling her clit until her grip loosens on me and she sounds spent, her breathing labored, less needy.

I lick where I bit her and she shivers as I pick my head up, slowly slide my fingers out of her and bring them to my mouth, between us.

I suck her off of me, and while I miss the taste of iron from that first night, she still tastes so good.

I trail my wet fingers down her neck after I pull them from my mouth, and I kiss her again.

She lets me, her tongue lingering on my lip ring.

“You taste yourself?” I ask her as I pull back, resting my brow to hers.

She says, “Mmhmm,” and it sounds sheepish.

I circle my fingers around her throat, run my tongue over her lips. “You taste so fucking good when you come all over my fingers, Remi.” I increase the pressure on her throat, and she stills, her grip tight around my back again. “But make sure it’s just me.” I brush my nose against hers. “Don’t give anyone else this, okay?”

There’s a moment of silence, and I know I can’t hold her to it. I know when the sun comes up, she’s going to regret this, if she even remembers it.

She’s going to hate me all over again.

But it’s worth it in the moment, when she whispers, “Okay, Cortland.”

I wrap my arms around her, pulling her to my chest as I situate us both at the head of the bed, tucking us inside the covers, her back to my chest as I hold her close. My cock is aching between us, and as her breaths turn steady, and she goes limp in my arms, I can’t help thrusting my hips against her back.

I can’t help reaching down and slipping my dick from my boxers, pumping myself and biting my lip as I come on the sheets between us.

I need to clean it up. I should do something about it. But I’m spent, and she’s here, and I don’t want to move.

Yeah.

In the morning, she’s going to fucking hate me.

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

REMI

My head is pounding.

It’s the first thing I notice, but the second thing, the second thing is so much worse.

When I blink my eyes open, my brows furrowed and tongue dry in my mouth, I realize I’m looking at a sliver of light beaming through a dark curtain. That doesn’t belong to me.

I clamp my teeth together, unwilling to make a sound. Wherever I am, whoever I’m with, I shouldn’t be here.

My eyes drop down to the unfamiliar sheets, my own hand spread over the top one. I flex my fingers, watch them move, but I still keep expecting this to be a dream.

I feel heavy.

Heavy, and hot, the sheets sticking to my thighs.

And when I go to turn, so slowly, still holding my breath, I realize someone’s arms are draped around me.

Someone is breathing softly behind me.

There’s sweat on my back, damp and connecting me to whoever it is. Like something is joining us together.

A sick feeling rolls through my stomach.

I think I’m going to throw up, and in a moment of panic, I remember my stepdad, waiting for me the morning after everything.

I retch, dry heaving, my chest expanding, deflating, and when I feel the warm bile rising up the back of my throat, I scramble out of bed, out from underneath his arms.

His arms.

The air of the cold room fans over my chest and I realize I’m only in my underwear. I stumble back on the wooden floors, staring at Cortland as he rubs his fists over his eyes, yawning before he drops his hands.

Sits up slowly.

And as I cover my chest with my arms, his wary gaze meets mine, his lip ring sucked between his teeth as he stares at me.

Instead of vomiting all over his floor, I can’t seem to move.

I can barely speak. I just get one word out. “You.”

His response is instantaneous, like I screamed. He moves just like a skilled athlete.

He’s off the bed in a second, backing me against the wall beside a door, his hand planted above my head.

“Don’t panic,” he says, glancing at his bedroom door.

I shake my head, wanting to push him away but then I’d have to drop my arms from my bare chest, and I can’t do that.

What did we do?

The room seems to spin as I think about last night. Try to collect my memories.

I went with Sloane and Van to a frat house.

We had drinks. Got separated. I think Van was leaving because Ryann didn’t show; I never ended up meeting her.

I had more drinks. Outside, by a pool.

Everything hit me fast.

The night was spinning, and my face was numb, and I felt heavy. I was going to go home.

I stumbled toward the pool.

Someone’s hands were on me.

Then nothing.

Like the tape stops playing in my head.

I feel that sticky, tacky sensation against my back, and I suddenly freeze, Cortland still there, not touching me. I drop my gaze, see his black boxer briefs. The outline of his erection, as big as I remember it. And he’s in a white shirt.

My skin crawls, but I try to reason with myself. Maybe it’s not that.

But I know what cum on my back feels like.

They didn’t all come inside of me.

In fact, only Cortland did that, and I had to recall all of it to the police, in every painful detail.

The feeling of Chase’s cum on my back.

How Cortland wiped it away with a washcloth, when they were all through. He was so quiet, so gentle when I was in his bathroom.

My heart races as I drag my gaze up, forcing myself to meet his.

His eyes look nearly black, even with the light streaming in.

His room is big, spacious, neat and tidy, and I wonder if I’m even at EU anymore. How did we get here?

I can’t remember anything. Panic seizes through me and Cortland watches me, like he’s waiting for something.

“What happened?” I gasp out, the icky taste of alcohol on my tongue. The wall is cold against my back and that feeling of something stuck to me… No.

He arches a thick, dark brow, then his eyes drop to my neck.

Something in his expression shifts. His full lips pull into a soft smile, and I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as he drags his gaze back to meet mine. I’m being photographed again in the hospital, the bruises on my breasts, around my throat, my thighs. My arms.

It’s like all the air in the room is gone and I’m choking on memories.

Did he leave a mark?

“What do you remember, Rems?” he asks, bringing me back to this nightmare. His words are whispered, and there’s no regret in his tone. Nothing apologetic.

He’s like he was when I ran into him before classes started. When I realized my worst nightmare was back.

Anger builds in my veins, and I squeeze my arms tighter around my chest. It feels so hard to breathe.

“Where are my clothes?” I ask through gritted teeth, sweeping my gaze over the floor of his room. I see my hoodie then, on one side of the bed.

But my jeans are on the other.

My stomach flips as I look back up at him. He looks amused.

“What did you do?” I whisper, knocking my head back against the wall. I press my thighs together, and unlike the last time Cortland had his way with me, nothing really hurts, but I don’t know if that means anything. I don’t know if every time is supposed to be so painful.

He glances between us. At my thighs.

All my muscles seem to vibrate with nerves. “Cortland.” I hate that it sounds like a plea.

He steps closer, his body nearly touching mine as I press back further into the wall. “Do you want to call the cops again, Rems?” he asks me softly, still smiling, a dimple flashing in his hollow cheeks. “Or maybe you wanna call your daddy?”

Real fear is like ice in my veins as I think about my stepdad. But underneath that sensation, I hate that I feel the smallest amount of relief that this is with Cortland, and not someone else.

“Did we…” I close my eyes. I can’t ask him while I look at him. “Did we have sex again?”

He’s quiet a moment before he speaks. “Are you saying the first time, that’s what we did? Have sex?” His tone is venomous. Angry.

I swallow down the lump in my throat, keep my eyes closed tight. “No. I mean… yes. But I didn’t… I didn’t want it.” Those words are hard to get out and my face feels like it’s on fire.

He exhales, loudly. “Would’ve been nice if you had said so that night. And you know what? It’s a fucking shame. It was good for me.”

Psycho. “What did we do last night?” I try to ignore his last words. Try to ignore thoughts from that night worming their way into my brain.

“Open your eyes, pretty baby.”

I don’t want to, and my skin crawls when he calls me that, but I open my eyes, looking into his dark ones.

He jerks his chin, toward the bed.

I furrow my brow, confused as I glance at his sheets, only half on the bed from where I leapt off the mattress. He slowly reaches out for me and I don’t flinch as he grips my chin, then turns my head to face him, his thumb running along my bottom lip.

“You don’t remember?” he asks me. There’s something raw in his words, the way he’s looking at me.

I shake my head, swallowing down the lump in my throat.

His brows pull together, but then his expressions clears. “I fingered you,” he finally tells me, and my insides knot up. He pulls my bottom lip down with his thumb. “You seemed to really like that, Remi.” He drops his head to mine.

I hold my breath, my arms growing slick against my chest. I can’t move my hands though, not without uncovering myself, and we both know it.

“You also told me you hadn’t fucked anyone else since me.”

I feel warmth on my chest.

“Is that true?”

That flush spreads down to my neck.

He laughs, his eyes scanning my face. “Don’t be so embarrassed.” He angles his head, his lips inches from mine, thumb still on my mouth. “I like that I’m the only one.”

White hot anger floods my veins. I want to slap him. But I just stand taller and he rears back a little. It’s easier to breathe with his lips further from mine.

“You weren’t, though, remember?” I speak through gritted teeth. “You weren’t the only one. Storm. Brinklin. Chase.” Their names make me feel faint, especially Chase’s. He was the cruelest.

I can almost hear it in my head, their hips against mine. I can see my tangled laces. Feel Cortland’s hands cupping my face as he let his friends have their way with me and I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

“It was never just you.”

His eyes narrow.

“And I don’t remember anything from last night, Cortland, and you know what that means?”

He cocks a brow, waiting, but he drops his hand from my mouth.

“That means I wasn’t able to consent.” Even as I say the words, I know I’m bluffing. I’d never do this again. I’d never drag this out again. Never give Silas another reason to hate me so much. I’d rather slit my wrists than go through that humiliation.

With that thought, I think about the cuts on my arm. Did he see them again?

But before I can finish talking, before I can think that through, Cortland shakes his head. “No, Remi, that’s just not true.” He steps back, raking a hand through his hair. I see his bicep flex before he drops his hand. He glances back at the bed again and I have a sinking feeling in my stomach when his eyes land on mine, a smile pulling on his lips. “You see, I thought you might do something like this.” He shrugs, his T-shirt pulling tight against his muscular chest, the tendons in his neck flexing. “I made sure I recorded it all last night. And I’ll have to check the video, but I’m pretty sure there were quite a few times when you said…” He steps close again, placing his hand on my ribs, hot and heavy against my skin. The gesture is soft, but I know he doesn’t mean it that way especially as his warm, calloused palm travels down toward my hip.

He leans in close, his lips over mine, the metal of his piercing hitting my mouth. “Don’t stop, Cortland.”

He stares at me a moment, then he reaches for my hand, moving so fast I don’t have time to fight him back as he yanks my arm away from my body. I cry out, trying to cover myself with my other arm but I can’t. He flips my palm as he pushes his index finger against one of my cuts.

I tense and stop struggling, staring at his tan fingers against my pale skin.

He laughs. “You playing with knives, Remi?” He brings my wrist to his mouth and licks a line over the newer wounds.

It stings and bile burns up the back of my throat.

He presses a kiss to my wrist, then drops my hand. “Stop, or I’ll make you pay for it,” he says softly, then turns around. And walks out.

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

REMI

My stomach churns as I unlock my dorm room door. What if Sloane is here? My phone died overnight so I have no way to know if she’s tried to reach me. I walked back to the dorm, darting glances over my shoulder the whole way.

Like someone would catch me. Like I did something wrong.

I take a breath and push open the door, excuses on the tip of my tongue. But the light is off, and I slept late. With Cortland.

His arms around me.

His cum on my back.

My skin crawls, and the door closes behind me as I stumble into the room, my head still pounding.

I see the mini fridge tucked under Sloane’s lofted bed and I stagger toward it, sinking to my knees, trying to put last night in the basement of my memories.

But his fingers were inside of me.

He came on my back.

I taste bile in my throat, and I yank open Sloane’s fridge door, grabbing a bottle of water from the case we share.

I twist off the cap and slam the door shut, leaning against it as I gulp down the cold liquid. I close my eyes and squeeze the plastic of the bottle between my fingers. I drink until I can’t anymore, and I bring the bottle down, my knees to my chest. I’m in my jeans and hoodie from last night, and I smell him all over me.

Cedar. Pine.

A good night.

That’s what he used to smell like, anyway.

I cap the bottle, taking another steadying breath.

I’m going to take a shower. I’m going to go get coffee. One thing at a time.

Again, I feel that cum on my back.

Shower. Now.

I stand, taking the bottle with me, and walk to my desk, pulling my phone out from my hoodie pocket then plugging it into the charger. I set down the bottle, and I feel weak. Dehydrated.

Disgusting.

That hollowness is threatening to burst forth again, obliterating all the feelings of shame and anger. I sink down into my desk chair while my phone lights up, and I cradle my head in my hands.

“Don’t stop, Cortland.”

Did I say that? Would I say that?

But the truth is, I haven’t done anything with anyone since that night. Save for myself. And I like the idea of sex. I like getting myself off. If I hadn’t been so drunk, would I have even stopped him?

I slam my fist on the desk and the scissors jump in my pen cup. Closing my eyes, I can feel his tongue on my wrist.

Why are you even here, Cortland? Here, of all places?

And he’s with Maya.

He has a girlfriend and he brought me to his house. Why?

Nerves coil tight in my gut, twisting into knots.

I hear my phone vibrate against my desk and I pick my head up, reaching for it. I have a text from Sloane.

Eager for a distraction, I unlock my phone and read her message.

Sloane <3

Be there around lunch! I didn’t fuck him yet! YAY!

Despite myself, the corners of my mouth lift into a smile. If I throw myself into conversation about her, with her, I can forget last night ever happened.

But I know that’s not really going to work.

I can’t stop thinking about it.

Why did I even go?

For my friends. And then I left Sloane. Shitty friend.

Why did I drink so much?

Maybe that’s a question I don’t want to answer.

I bite the inside of my cheek, about to reply to Sloane, but before I can, another message comes through.

My heart nearly stops.

Cortland’s name shows up at the top of my screen.

I never changed my number. Never deleted his. Didn’t block him, either. The cops just showed up at his house and I let it go. Let him go.

I don’t take a breath as I open his message.

Cortland

Be a good girl. Put the blades away, and keep your mouth shut.

I inhale through my nose.

Out through my mouth.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

I drop my phone and stand, swiping my hand across my desk, the pen cup spilling with a clatter onto the floor, my pens and scissors scattering beneath my desk. My water bottle rolls to the edge and falls off, too, the cap bursting off and water splashing up my jeans.

I run my fingers through my hair, turning away from my desk. Pressure builds behind my eyes and I don’t want to cry for him.

I won’t.

Not again.

A full body shudder courses through me.

He touched me again.

I woke up in his arms.

A scream bubbles its way up through my mouth and I pull my hair, hard enough to make my eyes water.

At least I’m not crying because of him.

It’s from the pain.

And at least I’m not crying because last night, I slept good for the first time in a year.

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

REMI

“Lunch. Me, you. Now.” Van wraps his arm around my shoulder, whisking me off the steps of the English building.

I laugh, leaning my head against his arm. The third week of classes is to the midway point, and I’ve yet to tell Van or Sloane about Cortland.

About my habit.

How my nightmares have turned to dreams that make me feel sick. Because sometimes… I start to miss him.

I haven’t seen him again, since I walked out of his house. I know Tigers won the game this weekend, and I’m sure he had something to do with it, but I didn’t look up his stats. I didn’t want to know how well he played the day after he was inside of me.

My stomach twists into knots thinking about it, but I push the thought aside.

“Fine,” I concede to Van. “But Sloane is going to come too.” I already told her I’d be meeting Van in the cemetery and she’s blowing off her class to eat with me.

“I like threesomes,” Van says, and I elbow him with a laugh.

“How’s Ryann?” I ask.

He pulls me closer as we walk along the brick pathway to the cemetery. I play with the end of one of my braids, darting glances at all the orange and black surrounding us. Students in EU’s colors. I keep hoping I don’t see Cortland.

At least, that’s what I tell myself I’m hoping.

“Great,” Van says. “For your birthday, she’s coming to the cabins at Grim.”

I laugh at that, shaking my head. “That’s not for my birthday,” I tell him, even though my birthday falls on the annual fall retreat of EU students to Grim Mountain, which is in two weeks. Van is renting a big cabin. Last year, I went with Sloane and stuck to my room when the partying went down. But I liked walking along the trails. Going for hikes. Reading surrounding by changing leaves. This year, Sloane is going to the coast to visit her sister because her birthday is the day after mine. She pleaded with me to come with her so she didn’t feel guilty, but I’m the one feeling guilty, keeping secrets from her.

It’s selfish, but I’m grateful that weekend I can have time to myself.

To think. To worry in peace.

“Semantics,” Van says, digging in his pocket no doubt for a lighter and a joint. One of these days, he just might get arrested on campus. But in the mountains, and especially here, at a school renowned for its art program, no one really seems to care. “At least I’m not ditching you like some other so-called best friend of yours I know.”

I open my mouth to say something smart back to Van, but just as we walk past the fountain across from the graveyard, I see him.

My heart races in my chest, and I stumble over my own two feet.

Van slows, glancing down at me, his brow furrowed. “You good?” he asks, joint between his lips. He unwinds his arm from around me to grab his lighter, flicking it as he inhales, lighting up the tip of the joint.

I glance past him, hoping Cortland hasn’t seen me.

But his eyes are on mine.

He’s in a black sweater, a white collared shirt underneath it. His style was always either Southern prep or athletic back in high school, too.

Some things haven’t changed.

But between us… everything changed.

Beside him, some guy I don’t know with an EU hoodie on is talking, but Cort doesn’t appear to be listening. His fingers are flexed around the strap of his backpack and he runs his tongue over his lip ring as he flicks his gaze from Van, getting high right here in the middle of the walkway, to me.

I swallow down the lump in my throat and turn to face Van. “I’m good,” I say, “I just thought I saw someone I knew.”

Van exhales smoke through his nose. “You know people?” he asks with the hint of a smile.

I slap his chest with the back of my hand, and as Cortland gets closer, I see him still staring at me. I can hear the voice of his friend beside him, low and deep, talking about football.

Of course.

I think about my head in my hands in my room on Saturday. When Cortland would be getting ready for the game.

Fuck you.

I stand a little straighter and loop my arm through Van’s, tugging him toward the cemetery. I have no desire for him to find out right now that Cortland is back. That could lead to questions I don’t want to answer. “Let’s go.”

Van starts moving, pinching the joint between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it away from his lips.

Cortland is still watching me, his jaw clenched as his eyes narrow in on my arm looped through Van’s.

I hold my breath as we pass him by, and thankfully, he doesn’t say a word.

When me and Van disappear through the treeline, the white tombstones seeming like a refuge in the sun, I breathe a little easier.

“You sure you’re good?” Van asks me as I drop my bag in the grass and look over my shoulder, ensuring Cortland hasn’t followed me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

With those words, I almost laugh out loud, plopping down into the grass. Ghost of the past.

“So, tell us about Asa. How are things?” Van is the one to bring it up, the three of us sitting in the cemetery on an orange blanket he packed in his bag. He’s also the one who brought the food: Cucumber sandwiches, which are honestly delicious.

Sloane tilts her head, the soft white bread clutched in her hand as she swallows and her cheeks turn the slightest shade of pink. “I went home with him the other night.” She glances at me as I stuff the sandwich in my mouth, relishing in the taste of cucumber and cream cheese, and I smile but don’t speak, letting her share what she wants. “But I was so drunk…” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, as if at herself. “So we didn’t… do anything.”

I think of how that same night went for me and don’t know if I want to laugh or cry. I take another bite of my sandwich instead, but I can feel Van’s eyes on me.

I almost want to take a pull from that joint he offered me earlier but I don’t want to speak so I don’t ask.

“Have you two slept together… at all?” Van pries.

Sloane shakes her head, her baby blonde strands falling around her face. She has to tip her chin up and rake them back, the late summer sun making her cheeks glow. “No. But I want to.” She takes another bite, probably to save herself from Van’s interview.

“You never told me. Where’s your internship next semester?” I ask her, changing the subject. I don’t want anyone to ask me about sex.

She shifts on her palm, her legs crossed like mine but she’s leaned back on one arm. After she swallows, her green eyes flick to mine. “I’ll be helping out with marketing at… wait for it.” She comically widens her eyes. “Reptilia!”

“I’m not really into lizard people.” Van chimes in, and I glance at him across from me as he grins, his dimples popping while he drops a dangling cucumber into his mouth. He’s the only one of us leaning on one hip, his loose black jeans ripped and boots polished. He looks too cool to be here. But Sloane looks like a supermodel, so maybe I’m the only odd one out.

“Are you jealous they run the world?” I shoot back at Van.

He actually laughs, white teeth flashing.

Sloane snorts and shakes her head. “Thankfully, I won’t be handling the lizards. Just the people.”

“Do you have to do an internship, Rems?” Van asks me.

I finish my sandwich and ball up the plastic wrap in my fist. When I swallow, I shake my head. “No, but I have to have a completed manuscript before graduation if I continue the Creative Writing track.”

“What genre are you thinking?” Sloane asks.

“Does it have to be literary fiction?” Van says the words with a mock British accent which makes me and Sloane both laugh.

I look between both of my friends, waiting for me to speak, and have a sudden surge of gratitude toward them. For treating me normally. For letting this all be normal. If either of them know Cortland is here, they’re certainly not acting like it, and I’m grateful. “Can be anything,” I say, locking eyes with Van’s deep blue ones. “Maybe I’ll write a romance.” I have to clench my teeth to stop from laughing. The idea of me knowing anything about love enough to write it is hilarious.

But Van just shrugs and even Sloane doesn’t laugh.

“You’re the sensitive one,” Van says quietly. “They make the best lovers.”

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

CORTLAND

Wednesday night, I slow to a jog, ending my run near the cemetery that’s just off campus, surrounded by a thick grove of trees. It’s where I saw Remi earlier today disappearing with that friend of hers. I grit my teeth and try to shove the thought away.

Game day is coming up, and last weekend I played horribly.

I haven’t really been focused in practice either.

I haven’t been focused at all.

I can’t stop seeing those cuts on Remi’s wrist. That kid pushing her into the bushes. Then before that, Chase’s hand on her hip.

My phone vibrates in the pocket of my running pants and I grab it, wiping my forearm over my brow as I slow to a walk. I clench my jaw when I see my mom’s name.

Linda.

Swiping my finger over the screen, I hold the phone to my ear.

“Have you seen her?” Her first words to me.

I roll my eyes, trying to bite back my temper as I glance up at the moon overhead.

“No,” I lie to my mom, looping back around on the sidewalk across from the cemetery, pacing to cool down.

There’s a pause, and I think about Maya as I bite my lip, swallowing a groan. I blew her off after the game and I’ve done my best to avoid her. I don’t even know why.

Remi hasn’t been in my bed since Friday night and she’s obviously going to keep her mouth shut.

Maya is a shield.

“That’s not what I’ve heard, Cortland,” Mom says, her tone laced with anger.

Fuck you. I hold the phone away from my ear a second, think about throwing it in the fountain at my side.

“How’s Tristan?” I ask Mom, ignoring her bullshit, but spiting her anyway. Like she would know how he is. I went to Dad’s after the game and had dinner with him and my brother.

He’s quiet, and still seems exhausted, but away from Mom, he’s doing so much better.

I close my eyes and think about when I got out of the cab at the hospital. After I saw Tristan in that bed.

“What happened?” My words are hard, my back against the wall just outside of Tristan’s room.

Mom sighs. I hear people talking in the background on her end of the call. “I don’t have time for this, Cort⁠—”

“Don’t have time for this?” I glance at a nurse who eyes me as she walks past, pushing a patient in a wheelchair. Closing my eyes, I knock my head against the wall, gritting my teeth. I’ve got one arm crossed over my chest and I dig my nails in below my sleeve on my opposite forearm.

I think about what Tristan used.

A hunting knife. Dad took a picture of it when he went back to the house to clean up. Tristan is on a seventy-two-hour hold, but I saw that picture.

It’s saved in my phone.

Blood slick over the metallic blade, bright red flecked across the white porcelain of Tristan’s bathroom.

He didn’t cut deep enough to bleed out, but he tried.

I swallow hard, listening to my mom sighing on the phone. I think about the weeks after Remi filed charges. I stayed in my room. Never came out. I heard Mom yell at Tristan, berating him for his grades, his choice in friends, his clothes.

I usually got in between them; took Tristan out of the house.

But while I waited to see if I’d be sent to prison for a night that was nothing but flashes in my mind, spotty pieces sewed together with drunken thread, I didn’t have the energy.

I put in my headphones.

I tuned my brother’s pain out.

“He just needs to see a therapist or⁠—”

“You got into an argument. Before he did it,” I tell my mom, guilt turning to anger as I keep my eyes closed, trying to lower my voice. I don’t want Tristan to hear me.

“If you think that was my fault, Cort, you don’t understand how mental illness works.”

“As if you do,” I bite back, eyes flying open as I dip my chin, digging my nails deeper into my skin. It feels good, but sometimes, I wonder what that blade would feel like. Seeing crimson on my skin. It’s almost euphoric, imagining it.

I don’t want to die.

I just want a release.

“What did you say to him?” I press Mom. “Before you went to meet a client while your son lay bleeding out in a bathtub, what did you say to him?”

“Watch your tone, Cort,” Mom warns. I hear more people in the background, then what sounds like a door closing. Silence. Another sigh from my mother, always content to play the victim when it works in her favor. “It was a usual fight,” she confesses, her tone one of helplessness, like she couldn’t possibly have anything to do with this. “About too much time playing video games. I just want him to make something of his life⁠—”

“What did you call him?” I interrupt her, pacing in the hall, my nails still digging into that spot just at the crease of my elbow. “Did you hit him, Mom?” His glasses were broken, on his bedside table. But I wonder if it was that or the names. The verbal abuse.

I think of the words Chase spoke to Remi. “Fucking slut.” I don’t know why I didn’t care then. She overwhelmed me, and I lost myself in her. Everything else was noise.

I look down at the tile of the hospital floors as I walk.

“What did you say to him, Mom?” My voice is broken as I gaze out at the grounds of the hospital, teeming with people.

Another sigh. “I have to go.”

“Mom. Did you hit him?” I clench my fingers tighter around my phone, digging my nails in deeper.

“Goodbye, Cort.”

“We’re talking about you,” Mom counters in the present.

I think about my brother. He’s tall, like me, but all gangly arms and limbs from… not eating enough.

He likes video games and fashion and wants to be a model and that doesn’t go over well with Mom.

“I saw her at a party,” I concede to Mom, rolling my eyes in the night as I do, wondering what exactly she heard. Wondering if Maya found out and told her herself. “Nothing happened.”

Mom laughs, and I hate her laugh. It’s bitchy and dark and always makes you want to scream instead of laugh with her. Like she’s holding onto secrets that’ll rip you apart and she finds it amusing that you don’t know what they are. I tighten my fingers around the phone, feel a light breeze wick at the back of my neck, through my damp hair.

I pause beyond the trees of the cemetery, along the brick path.

“Funny, Cort, because Maya sent me a message. Let me know you’re blowing her off and acting distant.”

“Whatever,” I tell Mom, barely paying attention as I stare into the thick of the trees edging the cemetery. Turning my head, I glance around me. While the gas station across the street is lit up, a few cars parked at the pumps, there’s no one else out here.

“We got in a fight. That’s it.”

“Well fix it,” my mother says, her words causing me to grit my teeth and tear my eyes from the trees as I look up at the sky, imagining what it would be like to be anywhere but here. “Be man enough to admit when you make a mistake and get back with her. With your insistence on going to the same school as that girl, you need protection against any slander she might⁠—”

I laugh out loud, tuning her out. “You broke your son’s glasses off his face when you hit him, let him cry in his room before he took a knife to his wrist and haven’t once gone to see him, but you want to talk about slander?” I know she’s going to lose her goddamn mind, and I know that house I’m in is being paid for by her, but I don’t care when I say, “I don’t have time for your bullshit right now, Mom.” I end the call, pushing my phone into the pocket of my black pants.

I stand there for a moment, breathing hard, regretting my words already. She could take it out on Tristan. On Dad. She’s manipulated and controlled him for so long, he doesn’t know how to stand up to her either. I’m just learning, and it’s hard. I want to call her back, tell her I’m sorry, even though I’m not.

I feel like screaming. I dig my nails into my inner forearm, as hard as I can, hoping to draw blood, letting the pain calm my thoughts.

I started doing this after what happened with Remi. When my fingers reach the inner crease of my elbow, I pinch my skin instead, the irritated lines I dug into my arms.

It hurts.

It feels fucking good.

I wonder what Remi would think, if she could see me now. I imagine her biting my lip in the bathroom, the blood in my mouth. The accusations she hurled my way in my bedroom.

She wants to hurt me. Yeah, I wanna hurt me, too, baby.

When my arm feels like it’s on fire, I finally drop my hands, catching my breath.

I close my eyes, thinking about seeing Remi at that graveyard in Aben when I drove by in my truck, windows down, wondering what it’d be like to go sit with her.

She’s not there.

And if she is, I need to stay away from her.

But I can’t get that look out of my head. The one she gave me when I told her I recorded her in my bed.

I didn’t actually expect her to believe me, but I forgot she really does think I’m a fucking monster.

I open my eyes, biting the inside of my cheek. Then I head toward the trees anyway, rubbing my palm over my arm to soothe the sting.

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

REMI

I wrap my arms around my shins and stare up at the night sky. The moon is full overhead, not a single cloud that I can see. A breeze rolls through the cemetery and I shiver, even in my hoodie. It’s a perfect night to hang out in a graveyard, and I wonder if my mom liked to do things like this when she was younger. Or if I only picked up that hobby because her tombstone was the one place I could see that she’d ever been alive at all. Silas hated talking about her after she passed, and he threw out most of her photos.

He didn’t want to see evidence of her addiction spiraling out of control.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The pot in my system I smoked out here with Van after all of our classes were done for the day helped calm my nerves. When he offered to walk me back to my dorm before he went off to meet Ryann, I felt safe telling him I’d be fine here alone.

And I do feel it. Fine. I nearly finished a book sitting amongst the tombstones; a horror romance with rich kids dying off one by one.

There are very few ways I love more to spend my time.

Besides, Sloane is in a night class, so no one is missing me, and no one is worrying about me and it feels good just… existing.

Until I hear footsteps.

My eyes fly open and my Chucks hit the grass, my hands in fists by my sides as I sit up straighter, every sense on alert. I cast my eyes around the cemetery, the single light pole glowing pale orange over the green grass and white grave markers.

Standing, I spin around, my pulse picking up speed even through the haze of marijuana.

Then I see him, a smile on his handsome face as he rakes a hand over his hair.

I run my tongue over my teeth. “What are you doing here?” I whisper, taking a step back from the bench between us. But my phone is in my bag—along with my book, my escape—and I dart a glance at it now. The soft haze of my high seems to leave me completely with his presence.

“Always so happy to see me,” he says quietly. His gray shirt is damp, sticking to his skin, outlining the hard muscles of his chest.

I take a step toward the bench, intending to grab my phone, but he beats me to it, reaching over the seat, snatching up my bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

I ball my hands into fists. “No,” I tell him, shaking my head. “Give me my bag, Cort.”

He adjusts it on his shoulder, clenching his fingers around the black strap. “Nah, come on.” He jerks his chin, like he actually thinks I’m going to listen to him.

I walk around the bench but keep my distance as I dart a glance at my bag. “Give it back to me.”

He smiles, his teeth flashing. I notice the slight imperfections and the familiar sight is, for one single second, oddly comforting.

Why are you thinking about his teeth, Remi?

“Things will be so much easier for you if you just listen to me.” He says the words softly enough but then his eyes flick to my arm, hidden by my hoodie.

I jam my hands into my pocket.

“You been staying away from that?” he asks quietly.

My pulse pounds in my head. “For once, don’t be a psychopath,” I say. “Give me my stuff, and leave.”

For a moment, neither of us speak.

A cool, late summer breeze flutters through the graveyard and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I wish I’d taken a shot with Van.

He’d had some vodka in a Diet Coke bottle.

I passed, thinking about last weekend.

I shouldn’t have. I should’ve asked to keep it when he left.

I realize Cortland has closed the space between us a second too late. Just as I go to step back, he grabs my arm, keeping me still. “You’re not doing that anymore, that right, Remi?” he asks quietly, leaning in close. “Hurting yourself?”

I can smell his sweat, and beneath that, his cedar scent.

I close my eyes, my head close to his chest, the way he has me yanked toward him. “Give me my⁠—”

“All you have to say is, that’s right, Cortland.” His hand tightens on my arm.

Warmth flushes through my cheeks.

“And you’ll give me my bag?” I ask, eyes still closed.

He glides his palm up my arm, then my shoulder, until his fingers curl around my neck as he pulls me even closer. “Yeah, baby.”

I swallow with those words, the softness in them. But I think of waking up in his room and I feel sick.

I just want to get out of here. Safe.

Reluctantly, I do what he asked. “That’s right, Cortland.” As I say the words, my body feels warm all over.

He pulls away from me, not moving his hand from the back of my neck. I open my eyes and look up into his, staring down at me.

“Have you been smoking pot?” he asks me, arching a brow.

I look at my backpack still on his shoulder. “You said you would⁠—”

“That was before I knew you were being stupid, Remi. Getting high in a cemetery, alone, what the hell is⁠—”

“I wasn’t alone,” I bite back, shoving my hands down further in my hoodie pocket as I lift my chin. “I was with my best friend.”

He glances around the cemetery. “He a ghost?”

I roll my eyes but despite my annoyance, I almost laugh. I bite it back, but when Cortland’s eyes come to mine, I think he saw it because his own full lips tip up into a smile, that lip ring gleaming under the moonlight.

“Yeah, you remember that?” he asks quietly. “I’m funny sometimes, huh?”

More of that unbidden warmth rolls through me, and I have to look away. I see our feet, toe-to-toe, my white Chucks and his black sneakers. “No. You’re an asshole.”

His fingers flex around the back of my neck. “I’m trying not to be one now. Let me walk you back.”

“No,” I tell him, shaking my head. “You never learn, Cortland.” I meet his gaze, that sickness and self-loathing thick in my blood.

A bone in his jaw jumps. He knows what I’m talking about. “You asked me to. You wanted me.”

“I was drunk⁠—”

“Yeah, you know, that’s a funny thing, Remi.” He yanks me closer and I stumble forward, my palms splayed on his chest as I tilt my head to look up at him. I can’t tell if he hates me, wants to bury me in this cemetery, or both. “I was drunk that night, too.” He laughs, shaking his head. “No one ever let me use that as an excuse. Especially not you.”

My blood runs cold. “You said you recorded⁠—”

“You really think I’d do that?” His eyes narrow.

I scoff, shock replacing my fear. “You’re serious?”

He runs his tongue over his lip ring, looking up at the sky a second. “This is pointless.” He jerks his head. “I’m walking you back⁠—”

“You’re not walking me anywhere.” I start to grab my bag from his shoulder, but he releases me and steps back.

“Stop fucking with me, Remi. I’m taking you back and⁠—”

“Give me my fucking bag.” My hands are fisted by my sides as I stare at him, a cool breeze running over the back of my neck. “You’ve messed with me not once but twice now⁠—”

He steps toward me, cutting off my words, and some of my bravery ebbs away. He stares down at me with a clenched jaw, a vein ticking in his neck. “Keep your voice down, Remi.” He glances around us, and for a split second, I see worry in his gaze.

It doesn’t make me feel better, even though I know it should.

He comes closer, and I try to take a step back, but he wraps his arm around me, tugging me close to his hard body. “You know what happened before I took you to my house? You remember that, Rems?”

My heart thuds too fast in my chest and I try to think, as I’ve done all week. But I can’t. I don’t know. The tape cuts off in my head and it’s more definite than the memories I keep locked away in the basement of my brain. I can’t ask Sloane either; she’d know I didn’t look out for her. That I left her before she decided to go to Asa’s.

“Yeah, you don’t.” He huffs a laugh, his fingers digging into my side over my hoodie. “Some guy pushed you in the bushes.”

My blood runs cold.

“I assume you have no idea who that might have been?”

I know Van would never do that, and besides, he was with Ryann. There are no other guys I’d willingly kiss.

My stomach twists into knots.

He leans closer, his brow to mine. “So would you rather me touch you, or some fuck boy whose name you can’t even remember?” he whispers, his breath caressing my lips.

“Neither a fuck boy nor a psychopath,” I say back, but it lacks conviction.

“So fucking stubborn. So goddamn mouthy.” He tilts his head and my breath hitches, thinking he’s going to kiss me.

Please don’t.

Please don’t, because I just might kiss you back.

“I’m not even sure you’re telling the truth, baby. I mean, you lied once already.”

My stomach somersaults at his words—the truth in them—as I think about the morning after that night. The glass shattering. Silas’s bleary eyes. His cold words.

Cortland arches a brow but he says nothing for a moment, just watching me. Then he leans back and shifts his arm so it’s around my shoulders, adjusts my backpack with his other hand. “Let’s go before I bury you out here in this graveyard.”

I furrow my brows, wondering if he really does know the truth. But he wouldn’t. How could he? “When you say things like that, just so you know, you sound more like a psychopath and not less.”

He shrugs. “Good thing you already know I’m the worst.” He pulls me closer.

I let my feet shuffle toward him, not resisting. Then I turn my head to look up at him as he squeezes me to his side and try one more thing.

“Maya wouldn’t like this.” There’s jealousy threaded through my words, and I hate that.

He stares straight ahead, adjusting my backpack over his shoulder again, like a nervous habit. “Yeah,” he agrees. “But despite your bullshit, I do.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY

CORTLAND

I toss and turn hours after I walked Remi to her dorm.

I don’t even know why I did it but seeing her in that cemetery all alone, there’s no way in hell I was going to leave her.

I slide my phone from under my pillow and stare at my background. Mountains at Sandstone Falls up in West Virginia. I think Remi would love it there. Gritting my teeth, I close my eyes a second.

The house is quiet, and I have class in the morning, but I just. Can’t. Fucking. Sleep.

She walks all alone at night, hanging out at parties drinking too much, sitting around in cemeteries without paying attention to her surroundings. Ely is supposed to be safe, but so was West River, right? So were we.

Ever since I watched my friends do one of the worst things we could do to a person, I can’t help but see monsters everywhere.

Including in my own fucking mirror.

I think about my first session tomorrow and wonder if Dr. Ravi will know what I did. Who I am.

I think of Tristan going to his session. I know it’ll go well. What’s not to love about him? Nice and polite, smart as a whip. He should be the golden boy. But Mom doesn’t see that. Just like Maya, it seems only the worst women idolize me.

But not her.

I open my eyes and before I know what the fuck I’m doing, I’m opening up a text to Remi. I don’t even know if it’s her number anymore because she never responded to my last text. I don’t know if she’s blocked me.

But I can’t help it. I text her anyway.

REMI

As the night fades into Thursday morning, I hold my phone in my hands, Cortland’s message staring at me in the dark.

Cortland

How do you sleep?

I think about not answering him as I let my eyes flutter closed. After he walked me back, Sloane wasn’t done with class and I washed my face, brushed my teeth and changed into my pajamas, and with the marijuana still in my system, I feel relaxed.

Sloane will come in soon and I don’t want to hide this from her. I can’t be texting him after what happened. I’m already keeping too many secrets from my best friends.

But his arm around me as he walked me over here like he already knew the way, seemingly uncaring if anyone saw us… I blink my eyes open, holding the phone over my face.

I don’t.

He doesn’t take long to respond.

Cortland

Because you miss me?

I have to bite back a smile, and I know I should hate that. I know I should block him. I should’ve done that after that night, but I just never did. I should’ve done it last weekend, but I didn’t. Still, I should put my phone down. This will go nowhere. This can be nothing. But in this cocoon of marijuana-laced safety, snug in my bed, I reply anyway.

No.

My heart picks up speed in my chest as I see him typing, and I wonder if I should just slip my phone under my pillow. Let this go.

He’s with Maya.

He doesn’t care about me.

He took me home, drunk, and fingered me.

He could’ve done worse and I’d never know.

But I think about what he said. That I was with some guy in the bushes. He could be lying about that, too. He’s obviously good at it by now.

And that’s exactly what he calls me.

Cortland

Liar.

I don’t respond for a long moment, and his next text comes through.

Cortland

Staying away from blades tonight?

I swallow, hard, thinking of him knowing about my habit.

You don’t care.

It takes him a long time to reply, and I wait for him to cut me down.

Cortland

If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked.

Something warm runs through me with his words. I roll over in bed so it’s easier to look at my screen.

Yes.

Cortland

Promise?

I smile despite knowing he really doesn’t care.

Does it matter? You just said I’m a liar.

Cortland

Then tell me the truth.

I take a breath and try to convince myself again to put my phone away. But I don’t. I can’t.

Yes.

Cortland

Good. Your skin is too beautiful to carve up.

I burrow further under my blankets, like I can hide from the world in here.

Shut up.

Cortland

…

I laugh out loud, but don’t say anything because he’s still typing.

Cortland

I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.

I’m smiling so hard my face hurts, and this reminds me of before. When he wasn’t so angry and so damn bad. When he was my safety. My shelter.

I’m going to pretend a lot of things.

The heaviness comes back with those words. All the things I don’t want to be true. All the ways he wrecked us. Ruined us.

I wonder if he’ll reply at all, and I grip my phone tighter, staring at my screen, waiting for him to type.

After a long moment, he does.

My heart beats too fast in my chest while I wait for his response.

Cortland

Me too, baby.

I don’t smile with that message, because we can pretend all we want, but it won’t take us back in time. Before I can respond, he’s already texted me again.

Cortland

I have a game Saturday. Come.

I shake my head at that. The last place on earth I want to be is a football stadium.

You’re delusional.

Cortland

You love football.

Not anymore.

That truth slices through my cocoon, like leaving cold air in its wake. But I keep staring at my phone, waiting for his thoughts on that. Wondering why I care what his thoughts are.

After a minute, he finally replies.

Cortland

Let me make you love it again.

I know it’s the night making him say things like this. Maybe he’s lonely or feeling guilty. I know he doesn’t mean anything he’s texting me. And I know I shouldn’t be talking to him.

But he’s not the only one who’s lonely. I have two great friends, but neither of them were there that night. Neither of them understand.

And Cortland doesn’t either. Yet out of everyone in the world, he was there. Sometimes I like to think, the next morning when he realized what he did, his heart broke too.

No, thanks. I’m over boys and their balls.

I almost make myself laugh with that one.

His response is nearly instantaneous.

Cortland

Good. Stay away from them. Unless it’s me.

I chew the inside of my cheek, addicted to his words and hating them all the same. But it’s easier, texting with him. I don’t shake and I don’t tremble, and I know he can’t hurt me through a screen.

What are we doing?

After I send that text, nerves run through my body, fighting against the haze of my high.

He takes a minute to reply. Typing, then not. Typing again, then stopping. I close my eyes, my screen going dim.

Then it brightens, and I blink in the dark, staring at his message.

Cortland

All the things we shouldn’t.

But then I hear Sloane’s key flip the lock in the door. Hear her breathy voice say, “Honey, I’m home,” followed by a peel of laughter.

I think about her and Van both staying up with me last year when I couldn’t sleep. They don’t even love each other very much but for me, they came together.

And they’ve both seen me cry over him. Over them.

Because he’s one of them, whether I want that to be true or not.

He isn’t exempt.

As Sloane walks in, I send Cortland a message, then I flip over my phone and sit up in bed, smiling at my best friend, wondering how he’ll receive my words.

No. We’re not. We can’t do this. Goodnight, Cortland.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

REMI

I have to climb up on the counter to snag the whiskey. Someone calls my name down below with amusement laced through their tone, and other people are clapping, whistling loudly. I know they can see part of my ass, a slice through the denim just below my cheek. Something Silas would rip to shreds if he ever saw them.

But I keep them hidden until he’s away. When I can breathe a little easier. Whenever I’m with Cortland.

He’s the only reason I’m at this party.

And as I circle my fingers around the bottle, close the cabinet and hop down from the counter, my Chucks thudding on the floor, I’m glad I’m here.

I give a shallow bow as some guys from the football team and a few of their girlfriends clap and holler for me, sitting at the table in the dining room.

“I could’ve gotten that,” Cort says, his voice deep and low.

I roll my eyes as I meet his. He’s sitting at the head of the table, his arm hooked around the back of his chair, beer bottle in one hand, his other resting on the dark wooden table. It’s the informal dining room. The Adlers have an official one that’s long and narrow with dim lights and a rectangular table covered with a burgundy runner that could seat like, sixteen people. I’ve got much the same at my own house.

But it’s never held that many people. No one but me and Silas, when he decides to grace me with his presence.

I hold up the bottle, shaking it a little, whiskey sloshing up the sides. “I think I did fine,” I tell Cort with a small smile.

He rolls his own eyes, mocking me as he takes a pull from his beer, his lip ring clinking against the rim of the bottle. For a second, as everyone gets back to drinking and smoking pot and making out, Cortland holds my gaze and I don’t move.

His eyes are lined with red, hooded and a little unfocused. I glance at the table, reluctantly breaking our eye contact, and see a few empty bottles lined up together. One has a joint in it. Cortland is a little high, and it makes me feel nervous.

In a good way.

Since our time together has been so limited, I’ve never really seen him let go. Always so easygoing and calm, I’ve often wondered what he’d be like if he just… lost it. Just like I’ve often wondered why my brain is so fucked up. Maybe all that horror has gone to my head.

Breaking me from my thoughts, someone starts yelling at the table, “Shots, shots, shots!” pounding their fists in time with the words. I see Chase is leading the cry. He snags a bottle of rum from the center of the drinks on the table, and Brinklin, across from him, pushes the plastic shot cups his way.

Chase is a little shit. He treats girls poorly, slaps their ass and grabs their tits in the hallway, crowds them up against lockers. I don’t know why Cortland is friends with him.

“Come sit with me, baby.” Cort’s words stir something in me. He doesn’t raise his voice, just jerks his chin to his lap from across the room.

No one even looks up.

“Let’s do this shit,” Brinklin, across from Chase, is saying, raking a hand through his brown hair. Then, sensing his friend isn’t paying attention, he turns to me, where I’m still holding the whiskey Cortland told me about and I wanted to try. “Wanna play, pretty baby?” Brinklin taunts me, arching a brow.

I see Cort’s gaze shoot to his teammate at that nickname.

Then someone knocks into me, sending me flying a few steps. I whirl my head around just as Cort says, “Watch where you’re fucking going.”

Storm Leary, his light blue eyes flashing with amusement as he brings his joint to his lips, inhaling, the cherry glowing bright. “Sorry,” he says, exhaling through his pierced nose, not sounding sorry at all. “I’m kinda fucked up.”

My heart skips a beat as I take him in. He looks fucked up. His nose looks swollen, there are deep circles under his eyes. I know he’s got a weird home life. The rumors about his family are insane. But then again, him running into me… he’s always kind of a dick, so I’m not entirely surprised.

“Come take shots with us, Remi,” Chase croons as Storm walks around the table, taking a seat as Cort shoots him a glare.

My face flames as I see Chase staring at me. I hold up the whiskey. “No, I’m good. I’m sticking to this.” I toss them all a smile, feel Cortland’s gaze shift to me.

“I don’t wanna tell you again,” he says softly, and his friends whistle, Storm smirking as he gets high.

I’m both annoyed and turned on with Cort’s voice. His command. But maybe this is what I’ve been wanting to see. Him letting go.

Still holding the bottle, I sashay over to the table, trying to remain calm, but my stomach is flipping. Then I plant my ass in Cortland’s lap, and he rests a possessive hand on my hip, squeezing me hard enough to hurt.

Just a little.

“Why don’t you slow down, pretty baby?” he whispers against my neck, planting an open mouth kiss just above my collarbone.

A chill runs down my spine.

But I don’t listen.

I don’t slow down.

By the end of the night, I’m wishing I had.

“Did you know?” I ask Dr. Ravi, deciding to stop beating around the bush. Ten minutes I’ve been sitting on this plush, cream-colored leather chair and ten minutes Dr. Ravi has asked me everything but the important questions behind her desk. And now that I’ve woken up in his bed, let him walk me to my dorm, texted him in the night, and can’t get him out of my head, this is important.

She’s scribbled a few things down on her notepad, but now she drops her pen, her eyes coming to mine as she clasps her hands together over the notepad. She doesn’t have a ring and although we’ve never discussed it, I don’t think she’s married. I’d guess she’s in her late thirties, maybe early forties, and I wonder if she ever wants to be married or doesn’t give a fuck.

I wonder if I’d ever get to that point.

Trusting someone enough to bind myself to them in an official ceremony with a ring heavy on my finger. When I was stupider, I’d entertained that idea, with Cortland. Thinking he’d whisk me away from my stepdad and all of his bullshit.

It was just a pipe dream. One I knew, even then, would never come true.

“Know what?” she asks me.

I sit up straighter, glance at my backpack between my feet. I think of last night, his arm around my shoulder. How I told him we couldn’t do this. He texted me this morning but I’ve tried to avoid him the best I can.

I can still feel him. Still smell him. I felt safe walking with him.

And that night in his bed, I slept so good.

I haven’t discussed him at all with Dr. Ravi.

Haven’t talked about the party before school started. How I faced all of them. How I made Cortland bleed. How he got me back. His cum stuck to my skin.

I swallow it all down as I bring my gaze to hers. “That Cortland was back.” Saying his name makes me squirm.

Dr. Ravi doesn’t visibly show any sign of discomfort, but she takes a few moments to answer, and I know that’s her way of ensuring she says the most appropriate thing. I keep staring at her, itching to get out of this room and wanting to hear what she has to say all the same.

“Yes,” Dr. Ravi finally concedes. I knew she did, the way she reminded me of having her number the session before last, and how I ran into Cortland right after. But still, hearing her confirm it feels a little like a betrayal. Before I can say anything, though, she keeps talking. “I did know, but I couldn’t disclose it to you at the time, as he isn’t a...” She takes a breath, dropping her gaze for a moment, her brows furrowed together, a line forming in her forehead. “An offender.”

I force myself to laugh and she looks up again, apprehension in her eyes. “Right,” I say, clenching my thighs with my hands. Again, I feel him on my back.

So similar to how Chase felt.

But different, too. And that’s what I don’t like most. To me, they’re different.

“Maybe I could transfer?” I throw out, even though I have no intention to do so. The academic scholarship I have is too good to throw away, even for him. Besides, my stepdad would never agree to fork over more money for me to abandon the year I’ve been here. He’d see it as another failure. “Don’t be like your mother, Remi.” The problem, I think, is he wanted me to be just like her.

“Or maybe I could drop out altogether.” I shrug, still holding Dr. Ravi’s gaze, the anger growing under my skin as I think about last night.

What I said about Maya.

Fucking Maya. I relapsed this morning. Looked up her social media, and saw she posted photos of them together the Friday night before school started. The Friday night he cornered me in the woods.

I’m so stupid. And so is he.

Dr. Ravi is staring at me, and it’s like she can read my mind, the way her gaze is so intense.

But she can’t know: I haven’t told anyone what I’m doing. How he keeps following me around. And I keep letting him. Why am I keeping his secrets? Since when did they become mine, too?

“I mean, he always wins in the end, doesn’t he?” I bite out.

Dr. Ravi shakes her head. “He doesn’t have to, Remi,” she says quietly. “Don’t give him that satisfaction. Letting him uproot your life all over again.”

I don’t think she’s supposed to say things like this, but I’m not going to stop her.

“You were here first,” she presses. “You’re majoring in English.” She folds her arms over her chest and leans back in her chair. “He isn’t. It’s both of your second years, you probably won’t see much of him as it is. You two can orbit far from one another.”

I chew my lip, looking down at my hands, wondering why I don’t just tell her about what happened.

“What are your thoughts on it?” she asks softly.

What would she think if I told her my thoughts? If I told her where I was last Friday night? The Monday before that at the gym, letting him touch me? And last night, texting him in bed?

“I don’t know,” I answer her truthfully. Sighing, I snatch up my backpack, toss it over my shoulder as I stand. I glance at the clock beside the window at her back. “I gotta go,” I mutter, seeing I’m only cutting our session five minutes short. “I’m meeting Sloane…” I trail off with my lie and turn from her, heading to the door.

This time, she just lets me go.

But after I open the door, close it softly behind me and start to head down the narrow hallway of the student service’s building, I collide with someone, stumbling back a step.

Their hand comes to my shoulder, steadying me, and when I look up, an apology on the tip of my tongue, my eyes connect with Cortland’s gray ones. Before I can think it through, I’m blurting out, “What are you doing here?”

There’s nothing past Dr. Ravi’s office. It’s like a private island in this two-story brick building, great for therapy sessions.

But there’s no way Cortland is coming to see her for…

He nods toward the door behind me, dropping his hand and stepping back. I take in his black and teal West River long sleeve shirt, fitted gray pants, black Vans.

And his face… there’s a red mark. Like something hit him. A handprint, maybe?

I can’t stop staring at it, feeling a little unsteady on my feet. What happened?

Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe he popped a pimple. Maybe he got into a fight, or Maya slapped him. I haven’t seen her around campus since the café, and I hope I never do, but still.

He would deserve it.

A cold chill runs down my spine as I think about what she might know. My heart skips a beat. But no. He’d never tell her. I’m a dirty little secret.

That’s all I’ll ever be.

I tear my eyes away from his face, perfect save for that one blemish. He has one hand in his pocket, backpack slung over one shoulder. He bites his lip, avoiding his lip ring as he stares down at me, his eyes expressionless. He’s got the whole brooding pout thing going on, his chestnut hair tousled like he’s run his fingers through it too many times.

As he shrugs, I watch the muscles in his neck flex. “I have an appointment.” He grits those words out, like I’m pissing him off standing in front of him.

I should take the hint and move but my mouth drops open and I blink. “What?”

He smiles cruelly, looking down between us. “Can you move?” he asks, an edge to his question. “I need to get in there.”

I tighten my fingers around the straps of my backpack, hesitant to move and I don’t even know why. I feel that sense of betrayal again with Dr. Ravi, even though, logically, I know it’s irrational. Cortland is a student now, he has the right to access the therapist, too.

But… why?

“Are you like, fucking her?” I don’t know why I blurt that out, but it’s the only thing I can think to say. And maybe that’s why he got slapped. Maybe he’s not just following me in graveyards. Taking advantage of me when I’m drunk. He’s sleeping with his therapist. Fuck. My mind goes wild with different scenarios, each more implausible than the last. Then again, Cortland is a nightmare, but I can see his appeal. And sure, Dr. Ravi was on my side in there, but that doesn’t really mean anything.

He laughs, dipping his chin as he raises a brow, disbelief etched onto his handsome face. “I beg your pardon?”

I step toward him, ducking to the side, intending to walk around him and let this go. But he sidesteps me, blocking my path, crowding me against the wall, his hands planted on either side of my head.

My heart stutters in my chest as I freeze, inhaling deep. I catch his scent, reminding me of camping. Fall nights. Morning jogs.

I feel alive in the woods. Free.

Just like I do in the cemetery.

Just like I did when Cortland and I went to the park for dates.

But inhaling his scent, it kind of ruins those memories, too.

“You think I’m fucking my therapist?” he asks quietly, flashing his teeth in a smile. The imperfections of his white teeth make my thighs clench and…

Stop.

I cross my arms over my chest, try to step around him again, but he doesn’t drop his hand. “Forget it,” I mutter. “Doesn’t really matter what you’re doing⁠—”

“You wanna know something, Remi?” he asks, dropping his voice, stepping closer, so his body is nearly flush with mine, his mouth over my neck.

I lean my head back against the wall.

“You’re not the only one who can’t get that fucking night out of their head.” He runs his tongue down my throat and a breath escapes me as his fingers tangle in my hair. “I can’t get you out of my head.” Butterflies flip in my stomach. “Your scent is still all over my fucking sheets, Remi.”

My heart pounds too hard in my chest as his breath fans my ear, his fingers against my scalp.

“You can keep ignoring me, blowing off my texts, but it’s never gonna work. You can’t run from me.”

Something in that threat rings true, but I shake my head anyway. Before I can speak, he keeps talking.

“I wanna see you again.”

“No.” The word is a reflex. Nothing more than a whimper because Dr. Ravi is just a few feet away, beyond that door. She could open it at any time. What would happen then? What would she think of him? Of me?

“Why?” he demands, angling my head so his brow is pressed against mine as he looks down at me. He still has one hand planted beside me on the wall.

“You have a girlfriend,” I tell him, my throat tight.

“That’s the only reason?” he questions, and he doesn’t mock me. He looks like he really wants to know.

I laugh, rolling my eyes, trying to pull away from him, but his grip on my skull tightens. “It’s a pretty big one,” I tell him through gritted teeth. “But maybe I can get a boyfriend, then we could⁠—”

“You can try. I’d probably kill him, and given my track record, I’d get away with that too.” He lets go of my hair, runs his thumb over my bottom lip between us, tugging it down. “Let me see you.”

“That first night in the woods, we agreed we would stay away from⁠—”

He cuts me off as his fingers dig into my jaw, my skin against my molars. “Last weekend, I felt certain that agreement was fucked into pieces, Remi. Don’t you?”

I reach for his shirt, twisting the fabric in my hands as I stare up at him, see him pull his head back, relax his grip on my jaw.

“Thanks for the orgasm when you assaulted me,” I tell him, my words low. “But I can manage that all on my own. The agreement is back in place. A rapist shouldn’t harass his⁠—”

His hand comes to my neck, pushing my head back softly against the wall.

I slip my hands under his shirt, my nails raking down the hard muscles of his core. I want to fight him. I want to hurt him. I want to… hurt.

“I didn’t rape you,” he snarls, in my face. “Get that through your fucking head so I can get you the fuck out of mine.” Then he releases me, making to step away, but I dig my nails in deeper.

His eyes narrow. “Get your fucking hands off of me, Remi.”

“Say that a little louder, Cort.”

He glances at the door at my back, a smile pulling on his lips. “You think I won’t? It might be nice, fucking you over for a change.” He looks down at my hands under his shirt, my nails close to breaking his skin. “But I prefer to fight fair, not bring police into shit I can handle myself.” He runs his tongue over his lip ring, still staring at my hands on his body.

I realize I’m not breathing, waiting to hear what else he has to say.

Finally, his charcoal eyes meet mine. “I mean, you never heard of a cop declawing a cat, did you?” He grabs my wrist, yanking one hand off of him and holding it up between us, his grip bruising. I drop my other hand from his core, try to yank my wrist from his grip, worried he’ll see what I did but he just pulls me to him, my hand between us. “Where I’m from, you have a problem with someone?” He sucks the tip of my index finger, then bites it, hard enough that I have to bite my own tongue to stop from gasping out loud. “You talk it out.” He slides up my sleeve with his teeth and my heart thunders too fast in my chest. “And if you can’t?” He shrugs. “Someone usually ends up in an unmarked grave.”

He flips my palm and I am perfectly still as he looks down between us at my newest wound. I didn’t want him to see. It was just a moment of weakness. This morning, when Sloane left for class and I was pretending to sleep in bed. When I could still smell him all over me.

No, no, no.

He frowns, his jaw clenched tight. “I’m disappointed in you, Remi.” He brings my arm to his mouth, his piercing cold on my skin as I struggle to breathe. “Vertical,” he whispers, his breath across my wrist. “Otherwise, you don’t really want to die.” He presses a kiss to my cut, dropping my hand between us but not letting go, then linking his fingers with mine. “You just want attention.” He leans down close to me, his lips over my own. “I can give you that without you trying to hurt yourself.” He releases our hands, then steps around me, his palm on the door to Dr. Ravi’s office.

“I’ll see you around, Remi.”

Then he disappears inside, and I lean against the wall, trying to catch my breath, my eyes closed tight.

“I can’t get you out of my head.”

I can’t either, Cortland. I fucking can’t either.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

CORTLAND

By the end of our session, I’m pretty sure Dr. Ravi hates me even more. Turns out, she does know about me. I know what she sees. I’m a spoiled football player who got away with a felony and ruined a girl’s life in the process.

I guess that sums it up.

Even still, I’ve spent the past year fighting back my own urge to pity myself for everything that went down. I think we all have, save maybe for Chase. At first, we banded together. We had the same stories. The same defense. Consensual. That word was tossed around so many fucking times, it started to kind of blur in my mind. Like when you write a word over and fucking over and you start to think you’re misspelling it. I started to think maybe… it was.

The truth is slippery inside my head.

Because you really can believe your own lies.

But then the truth started to eat at us. At me.

Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was all… gray.

But we stuck with it.

We were—are—a pack. And more than that, she was fucking us all over. It wasn’t just Brinklin. Storm. Chase.

She was going after me, too.

I walk out of Dr. Ravi’s office feeling worse than I did when I walked in, which is saying something considering my mom came by the house to “discuss” how I hung up on her last night before I got here.

That ended with her hand against my face.

Should’ve ended with my fingers wrapped around her throat, but I can’t do it. Putting my hands on my fucking mom, it’s just… I can’t.

I check my phone as I walk out, thinking about what I told Remi. I want to see her. I have a game in two days, and fucking her would get my head on straight, but I know, the way she dug her claws into me, that’s unlikely to happen.

A message from Maya comes up on my phone and all thoughts of sleeping with Remi leave my head.

Maya

I know you saw her. Do you WANT to go to prison???

Fuck.

My stomach flips, but at the same time, I hear Dr. Ravi’s door creak open at my back and she says, “Cortland?”

I tear my eyes away from my phone screen to glance over my shoulder as I arch a brow, my heart beating uncomfortably fast in my chest.

“Did someone hit you?” She touches a manicured nail to her cheek, standing in the doorway right behind me. “Here?” Her voice is gentle, and I hate that.

Her fucking pity.

Just like Remi’s.

As if they both don’t believe I deserve it. What the fuck is wrong with women? They hate you one minute, want to coddle you the next? Just like my goddamn mom.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I answer Dr. Ravi, my tone even. I turn away from her and walk down the hall, not bothering to turn back when she calls my name again.

“Why would you want to be anywhere near her after what she did to you?” Maya demands, her arms over her chest as she paces in front of me, anger carved into every inch of her oval face. Her dark hair is a mess and she looks like she needs to sleep. I figured out one of her cheerleading friends saw me walking to the graveyard and followed me, saw I was talking to Remi. She had a dick appointment, so she conveniently forgot to tell Maya until today.

Amazing.

“Calm down, Maya,” I say, leaning back against my pillows, my laptop on my lap. I’m messaging Tristan, only half-listening to my ranting girlfriend.

I think about Remi’s words, about getting a boyfriend.

I clench my jaw, blanking out as I stare at my screen, imagining what it would be like, knowing she was fucking someone else… Fuck.

But my dick grows hard, knowing she hasn’t. At least, that’s what she said.

I reach under my laptop and adjust myself through my sweats, then force myself to focus on Tristan’s messages.

Tristan is the Best

Mom isn’t good for us. Session was good today. Therapist said he’d talk to Dad. I think maybe I should keep staying with him, don’t you?

My heart sinks, staring at my brother’s text message on my screen. He’s right. Of course he’s right. He should never go back to Mom. But she makes the most money in the family, and she’s the woman. Those two things will not work well in Dad’s favor for getting custody.

Then again, Tristan is thirteen. Maybe he’d be able to decide for himself. Either way, it’s why I’m here. To help.

He begged Dad not to bring the cops or social services into the fight he had with Mom after we figured out she did hit him, and I can’t blame him.

Thinking of the questions the detectives asked me, the shit my lawyers told me that Remi was asked, it makes me feel hot all over, uncomfortable. Thinking back to that time at all makes me feel sick.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember. I can’t recall.”

That’s what I said to nearly every question. Except a few key ones.

“Did she say no? Did she fight back? Did she tell you to stop?”

No. Not one fucking time.

And neither did Tristan.

I don’t want him to go through that.

You’re right, bud. I’ll talk to Dad, too. Don’t worry, you don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to.

I know that isn’t true, and I know Dad is barely hanging on with finances over the little place he’s got. He took some time off work to stay home with Tristan, but he’s going back soon and that doesn’t make me feel much better.

I have a trust fund that Mom’s hanging onto and a little money in savings my grandpa passed on to me. I know the way things are between Mom and me now, I’ve got about as much a chance of getting her money as I do of getting Remi to let me knock her up and take her to West Virginia for the rest of my natural life.

I close my eyes a second, flexing my jaw. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Are you even listening to me?” Maya demands.

No. I snap my eyes up, close my laptop and reach over to set it on my dresser. Maya stops her pacing, her hands fisted at her sides. She’s in tight jeans, a halter crop top in EU colors.

Her eyes look bleary, and I know she’s really upset about what she heard about Remi. If she only knew the truth.

I bite my lip, sitting up straighter, my legs stretched out on the bed. “Maya, we were just talking,” I say, not wanting her to have an excuse to go after Remi. “I was running, and she was⁠—”

“You should know she’s always in graveyards, talking to her dead fucking mom or something.”

I stare at Maya, my hands on my thighs. She crosses her arms again, looking down at her heels.

“She’s a bitch, Cort, and she already fucked you over. She almost sent you to prison. You need to stay away from her.”

I don’t say anything, just keep staring at the girl I never really liked in the first place. She was a shield, and that’s about it.

Storm told me I needed to cut her off after I fucked her the first time, but I’ve always liked steady sex. It’s just easier.

With Remi, I was content to wait.

I didn’t know what would happen when we went off to college, but before that night, if she had asked me, I would’ve told her we would try to make it work. I was halfway in love with her quiet ass back in high school, and Maya knew it before I did.

Maya comes closer to the bed and gets on, sinking her palms down on either side of my hips, crawling up my lap, her eyes locked on mine.

I inhale her strong perfume, something floral, and watch her bite her lip, her halter low-cut, showing off her full breasts.

“Let me take care you of, baby,” she whispers. “You don’t need to deal with her shit.” She sinks back to her heels, reaching for the waistband of my sweats.

I let her, my dick growing hard at the sight of her tits, but I keep thinking about what I said to Remi. About her getting a boyfriend and how I’d kill the fucker.

I think about her eyes in the gym, when I told her I was dating Maya.

She was... hurt.

Just as Maya goes to stick her hands down my pants, I catch her wrist in my fingers, jerking her closer.

Her breath leaves her in a rush, and she thinks I want to play with her, the way her other palm comes to my chest and she laughs against my neck.

But I grip her tighter, and she stills.

My mouth is at her ear when I speak. “You don’t own me, Maya,” I tell her, my voice low. “You don’t tell me who I can and can’t see. What I can and can’t do.”

I hear her suck in a breath, no doubt ready to speak again, but I don’t want to hear what she was to say.

“I think you should go home now.”

She scoffs and tries to pull her wrist from my grip, but I don’t let go.

“And if you think about texting my mother about this, think again, and grow the fuck up.”

I release her and she pulls back like I burned her, her eyes shining with unshed tears. But I think about her dropping Remi in that gym, the cry that left Remi’s mouth, and Maya just flipped her hair over her shoulder, turned away while the other spotters helped Remi limp over to the bleachers in the gym.

“I’ve got shit to do,” I tell her, crossing my arms over my chest, nodding toward the door.

“Cort,” she whispers, her bottom lip quivering. She glances at my pants, her hands coming to my thighs again as she leans in toward me, making that anger under my skin grow brighter. “Please just let me make you feel good.”

“Stop touching me, Maya.”

She doesn’t. Instead, she keeps running her hands up me, palming my dick over my sweats. “Baby, please⁠—”

I move before I even think it through as I flip her on her back so I’m on top of her.

Her eyes widen, but she’s not surprised. She knows how I like to fuck.

But that’s not what I want.

That’s not⁠—

Her hand closes around my dick in my pants, running up and down the length of me, my palms on either side of her head.

“Cort,” she whispers, “she’s got you all fucked up.”

Yeah. She does.

Maya’s blue eyes are wide, her grip sure. “Let me help you.”

I close my eyes tight as Maya strokes me.

No.

But she’s insistent, her hand slipping under the waistband of my sweats. Her fingers curl around my cock, and it feels good.

I keep my eyes closed.

Don’t let her do it.

I repeat it over and over in my fucked-up brain, but I think about the porn I like to watch. The shit I like to do. How Maya would let me choke her fucking black and blue if I wanted, and never complain, so long as I stayed with her.

I was always sweet with Remi. But she fucked me up all the same.

When Maya whispers, “Lie on your back,” I still have my eyes closed, but I do as she says. I feel her tugging at my sweats and I grip her hair tight, then hear her whimper.

But it’s Remi in my head.

And if she did something like this with someone else…

Before Maya can get my pants down, my door creaks.

My eyes flash open and Storm walks in without saying a word.

Then he stops dead.

Looks from Maya, staring up at him like a deer caught in the headlights, to me, his face expressionless.

Then he sighs. “You’re fucking stupid,” he mutters before he walks out, closing the door behind him.

Yeah.

I am.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-THREE

REMI

“You good?” Sloane asks, looking over at me from her desk.

I’m sitting on my bed, leaning against a stack of pillows with my laptop on my lap, going through directions for an assignment for one of my psych courses. I decided to minor in it because it’s fascinating. As long as I don’t think about my own fucked-up head too much and why I am the way that I am.

With Sloane’s question, I look up, my heart racing. “Yeah,” I say, and my voice sounds strangled, even to my own ears. “Why?”

Sloane pops a Hershey’s Kiss into her mouth, and I glance at the Reese’s by my side. My favorite candy, we used to sneak entire bags into the movie theater back in Aben.

That was before I was lying to her about everything.

She shrugs, her cream-colored sweater slipping over her arm. Absentmindedly, tossing the little foil wrapper from her candy down on her desk, she pulls up her sweater and scoots her purple chair back, resting her bare feet on her desk, crossing her legs at the ankle. “You’ve seemed a little off.”

Guilt flares through me.

Another weekend has nearly passed, and the fourth week of classes is coming up tomorrow. I’ve seen Cortland once since we collided after therapy, when I was walking with Van to eat lunch in the cemetery on Friday.

He glared at me but kept his mouth shut.

He hasn’t followed me anywhere.

I’m grateful.

Sweat beads on the back of my neck as I try to hold Sloane’s green eyes. I glance out the windows at the darkening sky and swallow down my nerves. “No,” I tell her, “I’m good.”

I don’t dare look at the scissors on my desk.

It’s becoming a daily habit. It’s like getting coffee. Or brushing my teeth.

Scratching an itch.

Cutting any moment I’m alone.

I cross my arms over my chest, my laptop screen dimming in front of me. The keys are sticking which makes typing hard anyway. The thing is ancient but I’m not going to ask Silas for anything more than he gives me on a weekly basis. He’d just laugh in my face.

Sloane tilts her head. “Are you sure you’re not…” She trails off and my skin crawls. She can’t know. She hasn’t brought Cortland up once, which, if I think about it, is a little odd. He’s the quarterback. Sloane doesn’t cheer anymore, but she enjoyed football. I know she hasn’t gone to any games and she’s been spending time with Asa, but… I wonder if she’s not talking about it for my sake.

A hot wave of guilt flushes through me again.

She takes a deep breath.

I hold my own.

“You’re not mad I’m going to my sister’s instead of Grim are you?” she finally blurts out.

I blink at her. Then relief cools away my discomfort. Oh my God. She thinks I’m mad at her.

I should feel sickened by that, since I’m fucking up our friendship, but instead, I can only laugh. “Sloane, what? No.” I shake my head, feeling my shoulders relax, my entire body less tense. “No, not at all,” I tell her honestly.

She seems to relax too, sinking back into her chair as she tilts her head back, staring up at the ceiling. “Oh, thank fuck, because I was worried you were secretly hating me because I’m going to miss your birthday.” She dips her chin. “And by the way, I’m not going to. I have your gifts planned, okay?” She glances at the poster from I Know What You Did Last Summer pinned above my desk. A scene from Dawson’s Beach, it was a gift from Van. Her nose wrinkles but she looks back at me with a grin. “I have them and you’ll get them before I go.” She brushes her fingers through her hair. “And Van can suck my dick because my presents are gonna be better than his.”

I laugh, a real laugh, for the first time in a long time. “I’ll be sure to tell him. You know he swings both ways.”

Sloane shakes her head. “I thought so.” She shifts her legs off her desk and scoots closer to it, opening up her laptop. “I’m glad I got this off my chest, Rems.” Her voice is quieter, and she taps her keyboard, waiting for her computer to light up. “You know…,” she glances at me, and I breathe in. Out.

In. Out.

“You can talk to me about anything, right?”

I look away, suddenly finding a spot of lint on the sleeve of my black hoodie very interesting. “I know, Slo,” I tell her, the words thick in my mouth. The lie heavy on my tongue.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FOUR

CORTLAND

I bite back a smile, glancing up at the graveyard across from me even as I read the text on my screen.

Fuck yourself, Mom.

Linda

You seen her again?

Nope.

I pocket my phone and walk through the treeline. It’s been almost a week since I’ve talked to Remi, and she hasn’t responded to my texts either, but now I know her schedule, her routine.

I think about the newest cut on her arm I saw last week after therapy. Someone has to take care of you, Remi, because you suck at taking care of yourself.

It doesn’t take but a second to spot her.

There’s one streetlamp out here, and the light is dull, but since she’s the only person here, it’s enough.

Her orange hair is piled in a messy bun, her knees to her chest, back to me. Just like last time. Almost as if she’s waiting for me. She’s sitting on a bench that faces out toward the cemetery, silent, a book at her side. As my sneakers sink into the soft grass across from the paved path that circles the graveyard, I think about turning back. Disappearing into the trees and leaving her alone, or watching over her, unseen.

I flex my jaw, closing my eyes a second, facing a hard truth.

I can’t stay away from her.

I want to dig my nails into my skin again with the thought. She’s bad for me, just like that pain is. Because being near her, seeing her fear, the way she fights against wanting me, I have to face other hard truths too.

That maybe that night didn’t go how I thought it went.

Besides that, right now, she looks like prey. I told you wolves have teeth, Remi. And I’m actually not the worst one.

I say nothing at all as I walk around the bench, coming to stand right in front of her.

She sits up straighter, her golden eyes staring up at me.

Her phone is in one hand, a black backpack beside her on the bench, the book splayed open next to it.

For a moment, we just look at each other.

“Why am I always finding you alone in stupid positions?”

She extends her legs, her white shoes on the ground, phone clenched tight in her hand as she grabs for her book. She shoves it into her backpack but not before I see there’s blood on the cover art. She starts to stand, but I step closer, push her back down, my hand on her chest.

She glares up at me, her lips pressed together. I can feel her pulse flying beneath my palm.

I smell marijuana as I lean down close to her. “Do you just enjoy me stalking you?”

The new fire flashes in her eyes. “Is that a confession?”

I laugh, pressing her further against the bench. “No.”

I feel her chest heave beneath my hand. “I want you to leave me alone, Cortland,” she says fiercely, even though her voice is hoarse. “I don’t know why you’re here, and I don’t care, but I want you to leave me alone. I promise I won’t cause a scene and I won’t try to…” She swallows down emotions, her voice breaking. “I won’t try to do anything, okay, Cortland, just please…” She closes her eyes, and my chest tightens, seeing her like this, pleading with me, some of that fire going out. “Whatever you think we’re doing, we can’t do it anymore.”

For a minute, there’s just the sound of the traffic past the barrier of trees surrounding this place. She doesn’t make another sound, and neither do I.

But then I step closer, and her eyes fly open.

I drop to my knees, place my hands on her jeans. They actually fit, even though she’s still wearing that baggy hoodie. Like she’s drowning in clothes, trying to hide.

I feel her tense beneath my palms, and she rears back, still clenching her phone and her backpack by the top strap.

“You smoking out here by yourself with your ghost friend?” I ask her softly.

I think about when I first saw her outside of the student service’s building and realized… she goes to therapy, too. And it still isn’t enough. It still isn’t helping.

Just like it doesn’t help me.

My fingers flex against her thighs and her breath leaves her in a rush. “You want to forget about me?”

She bites her lip, her eyes on my hand.

“You all fucked up, baby?”

She says nothing.

“Answer me.”

She doesn’t say or do anything.

Until she does.

She snaps her head up, drops her phone through a crack in the slates of the bench, her arms shooting out, colliding with my shoulders, shoving me away from her.

She stands to sidestep me, but I get to my feet, too, and grab her wrist. She claws at my arm, trying to get me off of her, and her nails line up against the wounds from my own. I wince, letting her go from the surprise of the pain. She turns, like she’s going to run.

“Stop, Remi,” I tell her softly, rubbing my hand up my arm.

Her shoulders heave as she faces away from me, into the darkness of the graveyard.

“Where you gonna go, huh?” I step closer, a foot away, dropping my hands by my side. “How long are you gonna run from me? From this?”

She stiffens, her own hands clenched into fists, her golden eyes glimmering with anger as she spins to face me. “Forever,” she answers, her voice low. “I want nothing to do with you. Don’t you get that?” She closes the space between us, brave all over again. She slaps her hand against my chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I was here, alone. I wanted to be alone.” She hits me again, and that anger grows under my skin. “Haven’t you done enough to me?”

“When did it become rape, do you know?” I counter, arching a brow as I step closer, staring down at her. “In your head, what moment was it? Because in my truck, you were in my lap, and you sure as fuck seemed to like what I was doing⁠—”

She slaps me. In the face.

Hard.

It triggers something in my brain, and I’m imagining my mom with Tristan, and his glasses, his hand over his face, his freckles livid, his eyes filled with tears.

I react on instinct, my palms out, knocking her to the ground as I fall on top of her, cradling her head. Her breath leaves her in a rush, and for a moment, we’re both frozen as my body covers hers, and I shift my palms to either side of her head.

Then she’s thrashing beneath me, hitting my chest, twisting her face, trying to push me off.

I grab her wrists in one hand, pin them over her head so her body is elongated beneath me, my other hand on her face, keeping her still.

“Shh, shh, shh,” I tell her as she cries out underneath me, her eyes screwed up tight, that tongue ring flashing as she tells me to fuck off. “Stop fighting, baby. Stop fighting me.” I whisper the words, pressing my brow to hers, my fingers splayed on her face.

She stills, holding her breath, chest heaving beneath me, but she doesn’t open her eyes.

Her body is trembling, and tears track silently down her pretty face. I inhale her coconut scent, my fingers still pinning her wrists to the ground, her chest brushing mine with every breath she takes. She’s always smelled like a beach, which is a little funny, because that’s the last place I’d ever expect to see Remi Ocean, despite her last name. She was more suited to a cabin. A tent. Secluded away in the woods. She came alive when we went to the park those times. Just a handful, but it was enough to see her spark. I always thought she’d love where I grew up, in West Virginia.

Now, it’s like her spark went out. Like she’s disappeared into herself. Trying to hide.

Because of me.

“It’s okay, Remi,” I whisper, knowing it isn’t as my mouth brushes hers. “It’s okay, baby.”

She makes a whimpering sound, every muscle in her body that I can feel pressed against me coiled with tension. Pain. Anger.

I kiss the top of her head, the little hairs that came free from her bun tickling my face.

Those tears flow freer, and I kiss one. Another.

She shakes harder beneath me. I run my tongue down her jaw, taste the salt of her heartbreak.

“You ruined my life,” she whispers, her eyes still closed. She tries to lift her arms, tries to free herself, but I don’t let her go.

Her eyes fly open, liquid gold staring right at me. “You ruined my fucking life, Cortland.” I can feel her breath on my skin. Her words are harsh, but her voice is so fucking small.

Still, her words make me bristle. “Did I?” My fingers tighten on her wrists as I stare down at her. “Because I’m pretty sure you ruined mine, too.”

She keeps glaring at me, those tears still falling, but she doesn’t look sad. She just looks pissed.

Then she leans up, and before I know what she’s doing, she spits in my face.

For a second, as she lays her head back down, I can only stare at her. I feel the warmth of her spit on my cheek, sliding down toward my chin.

I see something like a satisfied smirk on her face. Yeah, I probably deserved that.

My fingers still around her wrists, I push my hips against her, my dick growing hard as I feel her saliva on my skin. “That wasn’t such a good idea, baby.”

She’s still glaring at me, but I see her swallow. She’s nervous.

I smile at the realization, leaning down closer. “Tell me you’re sorry, Remi.”

“Fuck you, Cortland.”

I tilt my pelvis further against her, nudge her head to the side with my nose, my teeth against her neck. “What was that?”

“I said, fuck. You.” Her breath caresses my ear, causing the hairs on my neck to stand on end. My cock to grow harder, aching from being so close to her.

“You wanna fuck me?” I ask her, running my open mouth over that spot just below her ear.

I feel her stiffen under me, silent now.

Keeping my hand around her wrists, I reach my other down between us, to the top of her jeans.

She’s perfectly still.

“Is that what you want, baby? You want me to fuck you?” I pull her lobe between my teeth and she shivers underneath me but doesn’t say a word.

Picking my head up, my own heart racing, I stare down at her. She has her eyes closed. I can still feel her spit on my face and I like the feeling as I undo the button on her jeans, pull down the zipper and slide my hand into her pants, cupping her hot cunt over her underwear.

She still keeps her eyes closed.

Says nothing.

“God, you’re so wet, baby.” I hook my index finger into the side of her underwear, slipping it underneath, running my finger down her slit. “So fucking needy.”

She’s barely breathing. I’m on my knees now over her, and I let go of her wrists, tug down her jeans until they’re to her hips. She keeps her hands over her head, clenched into fists, still refusing to look at me.

I shove her underwear to the side, drinking in the sight of her as I play with her, running my knuckles down her, watching her shiver.

“Look at me, Remi.”

She doesn’t.

I grab her hip, pulling her closer to me through the grass as I sit back on my knees, propping her leg up on my thigh, yanking her jeans down further, bending her knee so I have more access. I keep running my knuckles up and down her slit, watching her body react, feeling how soaked she is, even as she refuses to acknowledge it.

I dig my fingertips into her hips. “If I’m going to cheat on my girlfriend for you again, I need you to thank me for it.”

Her eyes fly open then, glaring up at me, her arms still over her head. “You are psychotic,” she whispers.

I let go of her hip, pull down her underwear, and she shifts her body, letting me. Like she’s needed me. My hand comes to her inner thigh again, twisting so I have a better view of her. “Yeah, so you’ve said, baby,” I tell her, staring at her perfect pussy. The slight swell of her hips. I push a finger into her, feeling how tight she is around me. “God, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this. About you.”

She whimpers and I look up, smiling down at her.

“You hate me?” I ask her. “You hate this?”

She doesn’t answer, but she blinks up at me and says, “Don’t hurt me, Cortland.” Just like she did that night.

My breath catches, my pulse accelerating.

Is this a game?

Does she mean it?

“I’m not, baby,” I tell her, the same thing I said that night as I finger her slowly, loving how her walls squeeze around me. “I won’t.” I go to add another finger inside her, and she bites her lip, holding my gaze.

I lean down over her, repositioning myself, my hand between us, my knees on either side of her hips.

She spreads her legs wider, giving me more access. “I don’t want to hurt you,” I promise her, speaking over her mouth, my lips brushing hers. “No one will know.”

Slowly, she nods, her hands coming to my shoulders, one running through my hair as I add another finger inside of her.

“Fuck,” I whisper against her mouth. “You feel so fucking good.”

She bucks her hips, giving in, running her tongue over my piercing.

“Has anyone else been here, since you were in my bed?” I ask her quietly as I finger her, my thumb finding her swollen clit.

She doesn’t answer me, her jaw clenched tight.

I add another finger, and I can barely move inside of her. She stiffens, making it harder to push in and out of her. “Hey, relax. Open up for me,” I tell her, kissing her while she’s somewhat sober for the first time in over a year, a gentle kiss until her tongue is in my mouth and I pull on the ball of her piercing. She cries out and I taste blood before I release her. “Relax, and it won’t hurt,” I warn her.

Slowly, she takes a breath in. Out. Her walls grow wetter, stretching around my fingers. I keep running my thumb over her clit, kissing her again, hearing her moan into my mouth.

“Tell me,” I command her, pulling away, both of us breathless as I keep circling her, keep finger fucking her. “Tell me who’s touched you.”

Her nails dig into the back of my neck as she stares up at me like I’m god and she can’t stand being a believer. “You,” she whispers. “Storm.”

I finger her harder, her body jolting with every thrust as she says my friends’ name.

“Brinklin.”

I bring my free hand to her neck, softly circling her throat.

“Chase.” She whispers his name and then her walls tighten on my fingers and she’s tipping her chin up, her neck arched, lips parted as she moans my name.

I lean over her, spit in her mouth as she comes to pay her back for spitting on my face.

Her cheeks flush pink, and she’s breathing hard, her nails so deep into my skin, but she swallows it all down.

“You like coming all over my fingers with my friends’ names in your mouth, pretty baby?” I ask her, feeling her relax, her hold on my neck loosening.

When I know she’s done, I drag my wet fingers up her body, over her hips, then to her mouth, tracing them over her lips.

She swallows, staring up at me with her lips parted.

“Yes,” she whispers, and my stomach flips.

“Yeah?” My fingers are between us, and I push the three that were inside of her into her mouth, loving the feel of her tongue ring on the pad of my index finger. “Who’s psychotic now?”

She sucks my fingers, and my eyes almost roll back in my head and she hasn’t even touched my dick.

I pull my fingers out, tugging down her bottom lip with them as I do. I lick her top one, and she whimpers into my mouth again.

Then I grab her jaw, fingers splayed on her cheek as I kiss her so fucking hard, neither of us are breathing. Her nails slide to my arms, digging into my biceps, and I just kiss her harder, wanting to fuck her right here but knowing, somewhere in my brain, it’s not a good idea.

Finally, I pull away from her, letting her go as I sink back on my heels.

She looks away, pulling up her underwear and her jeans, buttoning them before she sits up, running a hand through her hair, staring at the ground.

“You know something, Remi?” I ask her without looking at her. I turn from her, snatch her phone from where it fell under the bench and hand it to her, our fingers brushing against each other before I drop my hand.

“Don’t feel too fucked up over this. You’re not the only one who gets off on reminders.” My eyes roam over her body. “Grab your shit. I’m not leaving you out here by yourself.”

She takes her phone and gets to her feet, but then she glares at me, dusting off the back of her pants. “You can’t keep doing this to me.”

I laugh and bring my fingers to my mouth, sucking her off of me before I drop my hand.

Her face flushes red and I relish in it. “Sure tastes like you didn’t mind.”

She steps close to me, her eyes narrowed. “I mean it.” She stands on her tiptoes, her hand smacking against my chest as she gets in my face. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

My blood heats. “Don’t hit me, baby.” But I keep my hands by my sides.

She hits me anyway, not backing down. I know what she’s feeling. She hates herself for letting me touch her and she’s taking it all out on me. “I don’t want you,” she says, like she can convince herself.

For a second, I just stare at her, my chest heaving. I let her hit me again. And again. Then I reach out and grab her arm to keep it still, a startled gasp leaving her lips.

“We never got to talk about this, you know,” I tell her quietly. She tries to hit me with her other hand but I grab that one too, both of her wrists pinned together between us. “We never got to really work this shit out.”

She stops squirming. With her eyes searching mine, she whispers, “There’s nothing to work out.” I loosen my grip on her wrists but don’t let go as she sinks back on her heels. “You got away with a crime and I have to live with it while you get to do whatever the hell you want to.”

I shake my head, smiling small at her. “You think I don’t think about it?”

“What’s there to think about, Cortland?” she demands. “For you, what do you play in your head when you think of that night? Do you think about pinning me to that tree?”

Yeah. I do.

“Do you think about yanking down my jeans, your forearm pressed against my heart?” Her voice breaks, but she takes a steady breath, not letting me see all of her pain.

I think about my mouth on yours. My tongue on your throat. My teeth against your skin. How good you felt when I got to fuck you for the first time.

“Do you think about how much I thought you would never, ever hurt me?” Her lower lip trembles.

I feel my stomach curl into knots but look into her eyes when I say, “Baby, I didn’t hurt you.”

She twists her hands and this time I let her go. She steps back, putting space between us. “Do you think,” she closes her eyes a second, breathing in. Out. “About how your friends got to feel everything you felt? Every inch of my body that you used,” my heart pounds too hard in my chest, “they used?”

For a moment, we just stare at each other in the dark. “What do you want me to say, Remi? That I hate that part? That I regret letting anyone else touch you? That if I could change one thing, it would be that I protected you?”

Her eyes are big and sad. Both of our chests heave.

“What do you want to hear? To make it all better for you?”

She reaches out. Her palm presses close to my chest, over my heart. That gesture alone makes me want to cry. I wonder if she can feel how fast my pulse is beating.

I slide my arms up her forearms, then to her side, down her hips. Slipping my fingers under her hoodie, I yank her closer to me, loving the feel of her body pressed up against mine.

“Tell me how to fix it, baby. Tell me what you need, Remi.”

“I need…” She trails off, resting her forehead to my chest.

I kiss her ear, then lower, on her neck.

“I need you to let me go.” Her voice is little more than a whisper. “I need you to let this go. I need you to release me.”

I slide my hands lower down her back, my fingers brushing the waistband of her jeans. “Let you go?”

“Yes,” she pleads with me. “Yes.”

“I don’t think I can. You ruined that possibility. Of me ever letting you go.” I speak those words against her ear, and feel a shiver run through her body with my breath on her skin.

“You can’t get it out of your mind either? You replay it over and over and over and wonder where the fuck you went wrong? When it all went to fucking shit?”

I hear her swallow in the darkness and quiet of the cemetery. “Yes,” she whispers. “It’s on a loop in my head.”

I nudge her head to the side with my nose and she lets me, my lips opening over her skin. “So are those cuffs around my wrist. The cops in my goddamn house.”

She stiffens but doesn’t move away.

“You deserved that,” she breathes, and she presses her body close to mine. “You deserved worse.”

I laugh against her skin. “You deserve what you claimed I did to you.”

“You don’t mean that,” she whispers.

No. I don’t mean it. And if anyone ever did that to her, I’d kill them.

But I don’t say anything. Can’t say anything.

“I hate you so much,” she says in my silence, choking on the words.

She doesn’t. She can’t. Because I can’t hate her either. “Come home with me.”

Her answer is immediate. “No.”

“Are you with anyone, Remi?” I ask her, changing the subject, making her mad instead of sad. I know from experience anger is easier to deal with. I nudge my nose over her neck. “Is someone missing you right now? Is someone going to be pissed I touched their property?”

“I’m no one’s property.” But despite the real anger in her words, she doesn’t back away.

I groan, sucking her skin between my teeth and listening to her whimper.

“You’re right,” I whisper, “because if you were anyone’s but mine, I’d kill him, baby. Because you’ve been in my head for a year. You never left.”

She’s so still.

But only for a moment.

Then she’s squirming in my arms, pushing hard against my chest. “Cortland,” she gasps against my shirt, “let me go⁠—”

“Shh, shh, shh, baby.”

She’s still fighting, thrashing in my arms.

“Who is he? Someone in your phone called you babe.” She starts going wild, indignation in her gasp. But I hold her tighter and her cries are muffled as much as I’m smothering her, my chin on her head as I stare out at the tombstones, imagining burying anyone who’s ever touched her like I have. “Who do I need to kill, pretty baby?”

She keeps fighting, her nails digging hard into my skin now, and it’s painful, but I just close my eyes and squeeze her tighter.

After a minute, she stops fighting me, breathing hard in my arms, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Please,” she whispers in the dark, “please let me go.”

“Tell me it’s only been me.” I want to hear her say the words.

“You’re sick.” Her voice is so quiet, and she’s so still. “You’re so sick.”

“Tell me, baby.”

“You’re fucked up, Cortland.”

I hold her tighter, forearms locked around her back as I inhale her.

I wrap one hand around the back of her neck gently, still keeping her pinned to me. I think about those cuts on her arm.

“And now, so are you.” I shift my hand to the front of her neck, pushing her back so I can take in her eyes as she glares up at me. I lean down close, in her space. “Isn’t that right, Remi?”

She closes her eyes tight, her full lips pulling down at the corners. I remember them wrapped around Brinklin’s cock. She had no idea what to do with it. He gave up after he pushed into her mouth once. Twice. He jerked himself off before he came in her mouth. I thought she enjoyed trying, though.

She was so innocent.

So, so beautiful.

“Say, ‘that’s right, Cortland,’” I whisper, brushing my mouth over hers.

She swallows, the sound audible in the night as we both hold our breath, waiting. But finally, she gives it to me.

What I need.

“That’s right, Cortland.”

And as I grab her shit, slinging her backpack over my shoulder, my arm wrapped around her while I walk her back to her dorm once more, grateful Maya showed me the way before, I know what she said is true.

I’m so fucked up.

She fucked me up.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

REMI

Cortland

I’m sorry for being a dick. But I meant what I said. I can’t stop thinking about you.

I’ve gathered that.

Cortland

Smart ass.

Not very smart since I’m hanging out with you.

Cortland

I don’t want you to see anyone else. Until we figure this shit out.

I think about his words from hours ago in the cemetery. We aren’t dating. That’s not what this is. I know that. And he is a dick. But his anger... it kind of matches mine. Angry at the same thing, on different sides of the table.

But once again, his possessiveness from earlier, it makes my sick heart feel… good. It can’t be one-sided, though. That’s not enough for me.

What about you?

Cortland

What about me?

I glare at my screen in the dark, listening to Sloane’s soft snores. Finally, he texts me again when he must realize he pissed me off.

Cortland

For now you’ve got me, pretty baby.

“Were you up late last night?” Sloane asks as she fluffs her hair in the mirror on our door.

I stretch my hands overhead, yawning, then roll over, slapping a pillow over my face so the morning sun doesn’t hurt my eyes. “How can you tell?” I ask, speaking loudly so she can hear me.

She laughs. “God, one day we’re gonna get coffee together again. I thought I stayed up late, texting with Asa.” She smiles when she says his name. I can hear it in her voice. “Who are you texting? Is it that boy in your history class?”

I think about Cortland’s words last night. “Someone called you babe.”

I’d seen the texts I’d sent to Van and Sloane the night he took me back to his house. The night he claims he saved me. But maybe he sent those.

My face flushes under my pillow and sweat forms on the back of my neck. “No one,” I mumble. “I was just scrolling through the news.”

“You don’t even like non-fiction,” she shoots back, which is a direct quote from me.

But I start laughing over how ridiculous that is and sit up, my pillow tumbling down to the floor as I rub my fists over my eyes. “Sloane. It’s the fucking news,” I say with a laugh.

She doesn’t return it.

I drop my hand and meet her gaze, but when I see where she’s looking, my stomach drops.

Fuck.

I swoop my arms under my comforter, my face flushing hot.

Her eyes travel up to mine. “You okay?” she asks quietly. “Looks like you got attacked by a cat.”

My pulse thrums too fast in my chest and it’s suddenly hard to breathe.

Just go, Sloane. Please don’t press this.

I swallow, holding her gaze, my mouth already dry from the morning but worse now with her insinuation.

Only Cortland knows this.

Only he can deal with how messed up I am.

“I fell,” I lie to her. “Those bushes outside of the gym?” I laugh, balling my hands into fists under my blankets. “I tripped. My shoes were untied.” I close my mouth, because the more someone talks the guiltier they are.

Sloane arches a brow. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shake my head, like she’s the crazy one. “Because it’s embarrassing, that’s why.”

She crosses her arms over her body, jutting out one hip. Biting her lip, she looks down. “Look, Rems, if you⁠—”

“I fell.” My tone is flat, a bit of a bite beneath my words, and I know that’s not fair. I know I’m being the shitty friend.

But I can’t tell her this.

I can’t tell anyone.

She nods, her gaze coming to mine. But I see her shift from foot to foot. “Okay,” she finally says, shrugging. “You want to meet me for a late lunch?”

“Yes,” I lie. “That’d be great.”

She offers me an uncertain smile, glancing again at my arm hidden under my comforter. Then she pulls open the door, adjusting her purple backpack on her back, and she walks out, the door falling closed behind her.

I hear her lock it, and only then do I let myself breathe again.

I fall back on my bed, my hands over my temples as I stare at the ceiling.

I can still smell him. Still feel him.

What am I doing?

I’m going to be late to class, that’s what I’m doing.

I sit up fast, flinging my covers off and hopping down from the bed.

I head to the closet, thinking to wear my usual jeans and hoodie, but I pause, thinking of Cortland’s words. “God, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this. About you.”

My phone vibrates on my desk and I turn to grab it, seeing his name on the screen.

Cortland

Good morning. I’m still thinking about you.

My pulse flutters as I hold my phone, but before I can respond, another message comes through.

A picture.

My heart jumps to my throat as I blink, squeezing my thighs together. It’s him, without his shirt on, his tan six-pack on display, his gray sweats pulled down low on his hips so I can see that deep V.

His lips are in the photo, his tongue just over his lip ring, but I can’t see his eyes. Nothing above his mouth.

My stomach flips as I realize his hand is under the waistband of his sweats.

I bite my lip, then run my tongue ring over my teeth.

Why are you so fucking hot?

But before I embarrass myself completely and actually say that, he sends another text.

Cortland

Send me a picture.

Then another, right after that as heat flashes through me and I start to get annoyed.

Cortland

It can be anything, I’m not picky. I just want to see where you are.

My heart beats too fast in my chest.

I set my phone down and turn toward my closet.

Then I get dressed.

A few minutes later, after I’ve washed my face and brushed my teeth, I pull up my fishnet stockings. I run my fingers through my fading orange hair, smiling at myself in the floor-length mirror on the back of the door.

An outfit I bought over the summer with Sloane on one of the few outings I’ve taken. I just never worked up the nerve to put these clothes on.

It’s still mild outside, but I think this will work. I’m in a dark blue, plaid skirt, black combat boots, and an off-the-shoulder gray, knit sweater. Light, cute, and showing off the studs in my black bra.

I think about wearing it next weekend to Grim, too, and maybe even joining Van in his partying.

I kneel down, retie one of my laces on my combat boots that came undone, and just as I finish, ready to take photos before I head to my British Lit class, my phone buzzes on my lofted bed, made up nice and tidy. Old habits die hard, and if I didn’t make my bed back at home, it just gave my stepdad another excuse to belittle me.

Thinking the call must be Van or Sloane because they’re the only people that call me, I snatch the phone up and answer it without looking at the screen.

“Hiiii,” I say, drawing out the word, smiling as I do. It’s like seeing Cortland again, facing the monster, it made me stronger. He already did his worst, anyway. All the other shit he throws in my face, nothing could be as bad as that night. The days afterward.

“Remi.”

My stepdad’s voice erases my confidence, and my throat feels tight. My posture stiffens, hand fisting at my side as I glance at my dorm room door, making sure the lock is flipped. Like he’d ever bother to come here.

That basement lock on my memories is getting weaker. It always does at the sound of his voice.

“Y-yes?” I whisper, trying to breathe.

There’s silence on the other end of the line and I think back to how I answered the phone. Like an idiot. Can’t you do anything right?

I stare at the poster taped up over my desk; my gift from Van. A reminder. A way to put into perspective all the other monsters in human skin. It’s the same reason I like reading and writing.

Getting all the big, bad wolves out on paper makes them seem… a little less powerful.

“I need you to look at a calendar,” Silas says, and I try to breathe. Try to remember he’s only human as I stare at Dawson’s Beach over my desk. Silas can’t hook me over the phone.

But at his words, I frown, surprise breaking through my fear. He never calls. Ever. But he also never asks me to look at a calendar because he doesn’t care what I’m doing today. Tomorrow. Next year. The rest of my natural life. Not anymore.

“Why?” I ask, regretting the word as soon as it spills from my mouth.

He sighs, and I tense again, every muscle in my body locked tight. “Do you own a calendar? That isn’t in the device attached to your head?” Condescension drips from every word.

I glance at my black backpack on the floor and squat down, unzipping it, holding the phone between my shoulder and my cheek as I work the zipper with both hands. I pull out my matte black planner.

“Yes,” I whisper, plucking a pen from my desk drawer beside me, the planner poised over my knee.

“Open it.”

I do as he asks, going to today’s date.

“Go to the thirteenth day of October. October thirteenth,” he adds, speaking slowly, as if I can’t understand him otherwise. “Are you there?”

I grit my teeth, my face heating. A little before that, I’ll be twenty, on the first day of fall. He knows that, but of course he doesn’t mention that date. Tears sting behind my eyes, but I’m not going to cry. He’s not even here. “Yes,” I answer through clenched teeth.

“Do you have a pen in your hand?”

“Yes.”

“Make a note in your calendar,” he talks down to me, “on the thirteenth day of October, this year,” that pressure behind my eyes grows stronger, “and write, however your brain will remember it, that you are to have dinner with me and Crystal, at seven. 45th Street Diner, in Raleigh.”

Crystal? I rack my brain, then I remember something vague. About him dating someone. He told me over the summer, through an email.

As if I care. Why does he even want me there?

Silas’s responsibilities to me ended the day my mother died. I used to think it was guilt that kept him financially providing for me.

But then that glass shatters in my head.

His steps on the wooden floors in the foyer echo in my mind.

It wasn’t guilt at all.

I flex my jaw, my pen jammed against the date on the calendar, nearly ripping a hole through the pages, ink bleeding on the line. “Raleigh?”

“You are capable of driving a few towns over, are you not?”

It’s a four hour drive.

I’m capable. I just don’t fucking want to.

It’s in about three weeks, and it’s the last place I want to spend any time at all. With the last people on earth I want to be around. I’ve never met Crystal, but I know she’s twenty-one. I remember now looking that up after he gave me her name in his email.

Twenty-one, and fucking my stepdad.

I’m not judging her. I’m judging him.

“Why?” I ask, not bothering to keep the disdain out of my voice. And even when I’m met with silence for a long moment, I don’t care.

“Crystal, for some reason unknown to me, would like to meet you. I expect, when you arrive, you’ll be wearing a modest dress, and you’ll be on your best fucking behavior.”

I press the pen harder against the white square, and it finally rips through the page.

“You’ll return home immediately afterward.”

Fuck you. “Great.”

He laughs, and it makes my stomach churn. “You will not mention the disgrace you brought upon me last year, and you will not discuss the fact that Cortland Adler is back at your school.”

I feel faint, dizzy with his words. He knows. He doesn’t care.

“And Remi?” His tone is even, but it’s a question, and if I don’t answer him, I risk worse than his cutting words.

“Yes sir?” I hiss.

“If you’re seen in the company of that boy again, I will cut you off, and you can figure out how to fuck up your life on your own dime.”

He ends the call without another word.

I stare at my phone, then throw both it and my planner across the room. I pull my sweater off, shove down my skirt, kicking out of my boots, yanking off my stockings.

I don’t know why I thought I could do this.

Why I thought I was stronger. Why I thought I could be seen.

I rip apart my stockings with my bare hands, my heart hammering too hard in my chest, anger clawing its way through my fingertips.

I’m fucking stupid.

I. Am. Fucking. Stupid. A momentary satisfaction warms through me as I shred my clothes, fisting the skirt in my hands next.

But it won’t rip.

I yank as hard as I can, only in my bra and underwear as I sink down to the floor, tears blurring my vision.

I can’t tear it.

My hands hurt, as hard as I’m yanking on it.

Nothing.

I clutch the fabric to my chest, bowing my head, letting the tears fall as I cry all over my new clothes. At the girl I wanted to be—want to be.

My shoulders shake, my chest caving. Fuck you, Silas.

Fuck. You.

But he’s not here, and he doesn’t care.

Just like Cortland didn’t that night, when I couldn’t say the right words to him. When I couldn’t get him to stop breaking my heart into pieces in those woods.

No one is around.

No one cares.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SIX

REMI

I pull down my sleeves as Dr. Ravi eyes me.

“Did you sleep okay last night?” she asks me quietly.

I know she can see the thick, dark circles under my eyes. “No.” I chew the inside of my cheek, shifting in my chair. Feeling his hands on me. His words.

Mine, repeated back to him. “That’s right, Cortland.”

I feel heat on my cheeks, humiliation rolling through me.

I think of the clothes I ruined. My stepdad’s voice in my head.

Dr. Ravi frowns. “Why is that?”

I stare at the window behind her head and shrug, not speaking. If I do, my mouth might say something dumb all over again. “Keep your mouth shut and listen when I’m talking to you, Remi. Nothing you say contributes to our conversations.” Silas’s words. Monotone. That was far worse than his neglect. Than his yelling.

“Remi, is there something you want to⁠—”

I stand abruptly, grabbing my backpack and hauling it over my shoulder. “I have to go.”

“Remi.” She stands, too. A first for one of our sessions. She didn’t even do that when I was bawling my eyes out in here.

I lift my chin, fingers clenched tight around my bag. “I’m fine,” I lie to her, speaking slowly, like my stepdad used to talk to me. Like I was a child. “I’m fine.” I turn my back to her and head to the door.

She says my name one more time, but I ignore her, my skin crawling as I think about what I let him do last night. How close I let him be. How much what I said was all true.

I’m his.

I don’t want to be.

I hate myself for it.

But I haven’t been with anyone since him.

I open the door, close it softly behind me. And when I look up, Cortland Adler is staring right back at me.

I close my eyes tight, hoping maybe when I open them again, he’ll be gone.

But of course he isn’t.

“You never sent me that picture,” he says softly, cocking his head. He rakes in my hoodie, my jeans, my white Chucks.

My face flushes hot, thinking of what I had been wearing. What I’d wanted him to see.

I throw up my hands, only to slap them back down by my sides. “As you can see, there’s not much to look at.”

For a second, he just stares at me, and I start to shrink under his gaze.

Then he steps closer, and I back up, against the wall.

He cups my face in his hands and leans down close to me, his eyes locked on mine. “You’re fucking beautiful,” he says softly, like he actually means it. “I don’t give a fuck if you send me a picture of yourself in a goddamn trash bag.” He tilts his head, his lips hovering over mine. “You’re beautiful. Beauty doesn’t change because we try to hide it.”

Slowly, he lowers his hands, then glances at my arm.

“Have you?” he asks, his words low.

I jam my hands in the pockets of my hoodie and think of Sloane. My lie to her. I shake my head. “No,” I whisper.

He grabs my wrist and I flinch. “You’re lying to me.”

My heart slams around in my ribcage, way too fast. “Cortland⁠—”

His grip tightens, and it’s painful against my cuts. “Stop hurting yourself, Remi. Fucking stop.”

The door to Dr. Ravi’s office opens and he lets go, backing up so fast, I know she didn’t see us.

But rather than face that—the fact that I’ll always be nothing but a dirty fucking secret—I turn my back on both of them and walk away.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SEVEN

CORTLAND

Chase

Staying away from her?

Brinklin

Seriously, Cort, Maya already knows you were with her once.

Storm

Don’t you two have a circle jerk to attend?

I glance at Storm across from me in the living room, watch his eyes drift up from his phone to me. A smirk plays around the corners of his mouth.

“It’s his dad,” he says quietly, one knee bent, leg crossed over the other. He doesn’t have a shirt on, and his sweats are low on his hips, his tattoos on display.

I glance back down at my phone and Maya is calling.

I ignore it, thinking of seeing Remi outside of therapy last week. We’ve texted a few times, but she’s trying to distance herself from me.

I know why.

I know she hates it.

What she feels for me. What I feel for her. I don’t even know what it is, exactly, but whatever it is… I hate it too, baby. It’s like shooting up poison. Maybe it’ll kill you. But maybe one more hit will be the antidote.

“What do you mean?” I ask Storm.

He shifts his hips, his abs flexing as he pockets his phone. It’s Monday evening, and I won yet another game over the weekend. I had dinner with Dad and Tristan afterward even though they didn’t go to the game to avoid Mom, but Remi…

She probably would’ve been happier if I’d gotten a concussion. I didn’t see her in the stands, and I never expect to see her there again.

Still, it’s a nice fantasy.

Thinking of her waiting for me in my truck afterward, completely naked, sprawled out on my backseat.

Yeah, that’s never going to happen.

Storm shrugs. “Greg McGowan. If he knew you two were…” Storm gestures toward me with tattooed fingers. “Doing whatever you’re doing…” He runs his hand through his black hair before dropping it onto the arm of his chair. “He’d have a stroke. You know he’s always been about his image.”

I scoff, leaning back on the couch, tossing my phone beside me. “His image is that of a rich, sloppy, fucking drunk redneck.”

Storm nods. “Right. And any talk about you and the girl who accused you and his son of rape being seen together, that might not be good for business.”

I roll my eyes. “Good.”

Storm brushes his hand over his mouth, shaking his head. “Small towns talk. People like Greg listen.” He stands, stretching, his arms overhead. “Watch out for her.” He drops his arms by his side, staring at me. “And watch yourself around her.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-EIGHT

REMI

When I was running regularly, I got up before dawn, but walking down Main Street of Ely’s campus at nightfall is new to me. The cemetery is the only place that sees me after dark.

It’s Thursday night—football night—and the sidewalks are crowded. Students, faculty, alumni, and more in orange and black jerseys, some with their faces painted like tigers and others sporting tiger paw necklaces bigger than their fists.

It’s loud and chaotic, a little chilly too for a September night. Despite that, cars roll by with their windows down, the bass of different soundtracks colliding in the air. People whistle and laugh loudly, some clapping and cheering in their three, four, and more person groups as they descend the cobblestone walkways down toward the stadium.

And for once, the sight of all these football fans and the tense energy crackling beneath the stars overhead doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable. Because Sloane, Van, Ryann, and I are headed in the opposite direction of the Tiger masses.

The scent of popcorn and cotton candy is thick as I inhale and despite the lies I’m keeping from my best friends, I can sense fall in the air and it makes my heart soar. Tonight, there’s nothing but water and a double shot of espresso in my system, and for the first time in days, I finally feel happy.

Maybe it’s my cycle, or not talking to Cortland, or hearing Ryann—whom I’ve never hung out with before—giggle as punctuation to all of her sentences as she talks nonstop. Or maybe it’s just knowing we’re headed to a secret “gem,” as Van called it, that’s part speakeasy, part underground crime meeting place.

Those are, also, Van’s words. He said one of his professors told him the name of the place and he’s been diving into Reddit threads searching more lore ever since.

I avoid Reddit at all costs, so as not to see my own name there, but I’m still happy to be out.

Part of me thinks Cortland gave me this confidence. But the rest of me won’t let him have that.

“Does the mob work here?” Sloane asks as we shift to accommodate a family climbing up the sidewalk to heard toward the stadium. We’re walking downhill, and I like the way I can see everything from this angle.

The mountains jutting star ward ahead. The luxurious red brick buildings surrounding the green quad to my left, the road at my side, and a cathedral owned by Ely across it. With all the lights on around campus, it’s easy to see the beauty. And in a group like I’m in now, I’m relaxed enough to appreciate it.

Van has his tattooed arm around Ryann’s shoulders and he twists around to glance at me and Sloane. “Wouldn’t it be mostly moonshiners and gold miners?”

“Neither of those things are illegal,” I point out, arching a brow as I smile at him.

“Moonshine can be,” Sloane counters at my side.

Van is practically walking backwards now, letting Ryann guide him as he stares at me. “See? Always shooting my ideas down but I’m smart.”

“You’re so smart,” Ryann chirps. “The smartest. The most intelligent man in the world. The most, best, absolutely unbelievably smartest person I’ve ever⁠—”

Van puts his hand over Ryann’s mouth as he turns to faux glare at her. But she twists under his arm and looks up at him, and he can’t stop his laugh.

“Ah, young love,” Sloane says. “They’ll probably have babies together.”

I widen my eyes. “They’ll what now?”

She glances at me as we contort our bodies to dodge another rowdy crowd of Tiger fans. “You too, Remi. You try to hide it but all that love you bury will burst forth one day and your kids will be spoiled as hell. And I’ll be the cool aunt still because I’ve got a beach house and you… don’t.” She cracks up and I can’t stop my lips from pulling up into a smile.

“I’ll have a mountain cabin and you won’t be invited if you keep cursing me with babies.” But I don’t mean it. I want them. Because she’s not wrong. I feel too much sometimes. Couldn’t I pour that into someone else?

“Before Remi can have babies,” my cousin says, apparently ignoring everything else Sloane said, “she’d have to actually get laid.”

Ryann glances over her shoulder at me, her light brown eyes big and round as her lips curve up. “It’s not a bad idea, you know?”

Van groans low in this throat before he jerks his arm tighter around Ryann’s shoulders and I sense Sloane staring at me.

I glance at her and her brows are high, her lips pressed together like she’s trying not to laugh.

For some reason, I don’t blush, and I don’t feel uncomfortable. I just shake my head at Sloane in a don’t ask gesture.

She mimes sealing her lips shut and throwing away the key, then links her arm through mine. A weightlessness seems to fill me at that close gesture, and being out under a fall sky with my friends, Cortland’s whereabouts locked down to a stadium we’re walking away from.

But Sloane glances down at my arm in hers, the smallest furrow to her brow. The lies I’ve told her seem so loud between us, even as neither of us speak a word about it.

The Veil seems haunted. It’s all black and gray colors with orange accents and a smoky haze filling the space. It’s not open concept, and it looks all the more like an eerie church because of it. There are sectioned-off rooms with different themes, dark curtains dividing up booths in each one. It’s unlike any place I’ve been in and with the black marble flooring beneath my boots and an orange velvet booth seat underneath me, it feels like a place I belong. Part elegance and part horror, and we’re in a room that seems to be reserved for vampires, with blood painted on the tables and a photo of Bela Lugosi in a gilded frame on the wall behind my head.

We’re too many drinks in, an iced water now in front of me at the table after the last shot of tequila I did with the girls. My head feels hazy and The Veil is filling up with more and more people, laughter and squeals going off all around us but we can only partially see who comes in.

“So,” Sloane slurs at my side, one finger pointed at me and another at Ryann and Van, on her other side, “who’s paying tonight?”

I smile at her, the bleariness to her ocean blue eyes. Even half drunk with her hair sticking to her temples and her cheeks flushed, my best friend is gorgeous.

“Van, obviously,” Ryann says, her own eyes bright as she speaks very seriously to Sloane without checking how my cousin takes her words.

His brows are raised and his gaze meets mine, his elbows on the table and head resting against the back of his hands. “Obviously,” he mimics Ryann without looking away from me. Then he nudges his fingers up to run a hand over his shaved head.

I reach for my water, clenching my fingers around the cold glass. “Obviously,” I mouth back as Ryann and Sloane keep laughing together between us.

For a moment, as I bring the water up and drink it, ice hitting my teeth, my cousin just stares at me. I notice he hasn’t shaved recently and he looks good with a five o’clock shadow. But he seems to be looking through me, and for one horrifying second, I wonder if he knows about Cortland. What we’re doing, what I’m hiding.

But then he grins at me, dimples popping in his handsome face, and relief spears through me like ice.

I turn my head away to clear my thoughts, and wish I hadn’t.

I see him but I know from this angle, they don’t. His tall frame is partially obscured by one of the many grey curtains hanging throughout the bar. There’s a beer in his hand but it’s still full and he doesn’t appear to be fully focused on the guy beside him. As the guy rambles on, occasionally tapping the back of his hand to Cortland’s chest, my nightmare’s eyes are up, focused on the TV screen mounted discreetly in the wall.

Laughter goes off around me and I’m sure I’m supposed to be in on the joke, but I angle myself back a little on my bench seat and try to get a view of the screen. Is it a game? Highlights from the one he just played? We’ve been here too damn long.

Sloane’s sharp elbow lodges against my ribs and I jerk toward her, trying to clear my expression.

“Take a shot with us!” Ryann is squealing as I settle my body back in gravity and get rid of this falling sensation in my stomach.

But I think I saw what was on the TV.

“Shot, shot, shot!” Van starts his chant and Sloane is divvying up the shots of what looks like tequila newly arrived at the table.

I smile at my cousin, then turn once more to steal a glance at the TV.

My body goes rigid.

It must be the horror room, with Scream posters on the wall.

But it isn’t Ghostface on the screen.

It’s a crown being thrown into water.

Ryan Phillippe diving in to get it.

I Know What You Did Last Summer.

When I look back at Cortland, he isn’t watching the movie anymore, the same one he put on that night everything went to hell after he cleaned me up in his bathroom.

His eyes are on mine.

Slowly, he swallows down his beer, the one he’s barely touched, and he doesn’t look away from me.

“Here ya go, Remi, baby.” Sloane’s singsong voice is right in my ear and I glance down and see the shot glass she’s pushing my way.

I’m tipsy, but I’ve been sipping on water between drinks and I still feel in control. With Cortland eyeing me like he wants to snap my neck but unable to make a scene with all these witnesses, I feel like I have the power. I feel giddy.

His fingers tighten around his glass. I see his knuckles whiten and his biceps flex beneath the deep gray sweater he’s wearing.

“Take it! Take it! Take it!” Van starts another chant and thanks to the strange decor of The Veil, no one can see what I’m staring off at. Since I’m at the end of the table, it probably looks like I’m working up the courage to shoot back the tequila.

Ryann starts clapping and Sloane slurs my name.

Cortland lifts his chin and his eyes narrow.

Then, holding his gaze, I throw the drink back. And when I slam the glass on the table, I reach out and snatch back the curtain, blocking his view of me.

My phone vibrates as I lie in bed with only a slight buzz, Sloane softly snoring in the bed across the room.

I smile as I lift my phone over my head and read the text in the dark.

Cortland

You’re in my head.

My response is fast.

Then get me out.

Cortland

You never leave.

What do you want, Cortland?

Cortland

You’re lucky I didn’t drag you out of that bar, Remi.

Lucky, huh?

Cortland

If I see you drinking without me again, I’ll embarrass you.

You’re embarrassing yourself right now. This stalker shit is kind of pathetic.

Cortland

Don’t talk to me like that pretty baby, or I’ll carve you up myself.

I swallow hard, staring at this words in the dark. And as the buzz fades and I think of Sloane looking at my arm, my stepdad talking to me like I’m a child, and Cortland’s fingers inside me in a cemetery, self-loathing enters my bloodstream.

A few minutes later and I’ve silently hauled the scissors up into my lofted bed and ran the blade over the inside of my wrist too many times, my phone facedown at my side.

But it doesn’t hurt enough, and it doesn’t bleed enough. Swallowing, I drop the scissors, pick up my phone. I ignore Cortland’s texts and open my browser.

It takes me no time to order box cutter blades.

“Do you ever play with knives?”

Thanks for the idea.

Now, I do.

A message comes through, Cortland’s name at the top of my screen.

I roll over onto my side, tugging my covers over my entire body and burrowing down beneath them.

Butterflies flip in my stomach. My arm stings.

“Your skin is too beautiful to carve up.”

I squeeze my eyes shut tight, trying to keep that door to the basement locked.

My screen is bright behind my closed eyes and I open them to see he’s sent another message. I click on our texts and scan them quickly, wondering what he’d think if he could see me now.

Cortland

Text me back.

And don’t you fucking dare hurt yourself.

That’s for me to do, not you.

Remi, I swear to God.

You know we can’t fight this forever.

I laugh alone in the dark.

I can try.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-NINE

REMI

I’m tucked away in one of the study rooms in the library, poring over my developmental psych book, reading about Freud versus Jung, music blaring in my headphones—Bring Me the Horizon—when the lights go out.

I flinch, ripping out my earbuds, clenching them in my fist. It’s nearly midnight on Wednesday, and while the library is open 24/7, it’s definitely not full. Most students don’t even use these rooms, tucked away down a narrow hallway upstairs.

In the dark, I’m frozen, my eyes shooting to the door.

I can’t see anything though, and I don’t hear anything either. Maybe the power went out in the entire library. A thunderstorm.

I swallow, hearing my pulse pounding in my head, and I reach for my phone, at the edge of the desk. My fingers brush along my binder, a notebook, a highlighter, but I can’t find my phone.

I can’t find my fucking phone.

Panic tears through me, fear like ice spreading down my limbs. I stand, reaching my arms out further over the table, a scream bubbling its way up my throat.

My book falls to the floor, pens roll off and hit the carpet with soft thuds. I straighten, breathing in and out evenly through my nose, deciding to fuck the phone. I tuck my hair behind my ears, steadying myself. I start to walk around the desk, my fingertips grazing the top of it, so I don’t run into it.

Simple, I tell myself. I’ll just walk to the door.

I edge around the table, my mouth dry, still blinking in the darkness, trying to make out anything at all, but it’s okay. The room is small. I’ll be at the door in ten seconds, and when I open it, I’ll either know the power went out or I’ll flip the light switch back on and⁠—

A hand clamps over my mouth.

Fight or flight is bullshit. Because I don’t do either in this moment.

I freeze.

Just like I did that night.

My chest is rising and falling rapidly, but I don’t feel like I’m getting any air, and my hands are in fists down by my sides. A hard body is against my back, and time seems to stand still.

I’m paralyzed for the second time in my life, when it really counts.

Then a low laugh sounds against my ear, deep and husky, and I feel Cortland’s breath on my neck. “You should pay more attention, Remi, baby,” he whispers in the dark, his other hand coming to the hem of my hoodie, his fingers slipping beneath it, edging against the waistband of my sweats.

I catch my breath, relaxing against his touch.

And I’m annoyed with myself that I am. That he feels safe.

He seems to notice the tension leave my body, my knees nearly giving out, because he stops playing with the waistband of my sweats. He bands his arm around my chest, dropping his hand from my mouth and pulling me close to him, hugging me from behind.

A strangely warm gesture.

“What are you doing?” I ask him quietly. I haven’t seen him since the bar. We haven’t spoken in nearly a week.

But did I really think he’d leave me alone?

Did I want him to?

My arms are pinned by my side by his, but I don’t care as I let my pulse settle.

At least… until I become aware of his cock growing hard behind me.

Fuck. Me.

“What if it wasn’t me that cornered you here, in the dark?” he whispers, his mouth still by my ear. “What if I was someone else? Someone worse?”

I roll my eyes. “Maybe they’d actually kill me and put me out of my misery.”

He doesn’t laugh like I thought he might, or even come back with a shitty comment. He just releases me, then he’s pushing me against the wall, his hand on my chest.

And with that movement, in the dark, I blink, and I’m not here in the library anymore.

Those memories in the basement rise up.

I’m back there. I feel him pushing into me. Telling me how good I felt, his hand around my throat as he trailed kisses over my chest. His teeth against my breasts, his friends laughing as he touched me. Storm watching me from that tree.

The room seems to spin, even in the darkness. I feel as if everything is closing in on me. Like there’s no more air in the room.

I throw my hands over my face and inhale, trying to swallow the sob that wants to escape my throat, the panic attack pressing in on all sides. I’m squeezing my thighs together so I don’t pee my pants, clamping my mouth closed so I don’t scream.

Then I smell him, the woods on a fall night. Dark and hypnotic.

Bringing me back there all over again.

I feel his calloused hands over my face, reassuring me as he let his friends… fuck me. And the next morning, I’m in his bed, full of shock.

Nothing but numbness. A hollow silence as I tried to process what had happened.

I’m still not sure if I have.

“Shh, baby,” he says softly, in this moment, my nightmare come back to life. His arms go around me as he pulls me into his chest. I don’t bother fighting him this time. I just sink into his warmth and he holds me tight, his chin on my head. “You’re okay,” he whispers as my shoulders shake, a jagged sob ripping up my throat, past my lips. I can taste my own blood in my mouth, something salty, too. The memories and the present seem to blur, because I can feel him trying to comfort me, even then.

Tears leak past my closed eyes, my hands still over my face as I lean into his hard body, both of us melded together.

I can barely breathe, the way the pain threatens to erupt, but he just squeezes me tighter, as if he knows. As if he’s trying to hold me together.

“It’s okay,” he says again, his words hoarse. Another cry rips through me, an anguished sound of pain in this small room, and it’s like my lungs are collapsing. I can’t quite let it out. I can’t do much of anything except make this pathetic whimpering sound. “It’s okay. Just breathe, baby, just breathe.”

I think of what Silas would say to me when I cried. I think of him coming up to my room after a fight, the door off my hinges, my head buried in my hands.

“You need to eat,” he’d said, a plate in hand.

I had looked up at him in shock. Since Mom died, he never much cared if I ate or starved. My eyes had refilled with tears, another sob breaking through, and with that, his face full of disgust, he’d thrown the plate full of food at me.

The edge of the ceramic had grazed the side of my head, the steak and salad all over my shirt.

“I don’t want to hear that, Remi.”

He’d walked out. Left me to clean up the mess he made.

In this moment, in Cortland’s arms, I cry harder.

“You’re okay, baby. Breathe.”

I try, dropping my hands by my sides and pressing my face to his soft shirt. Those memories in that basement are resurfacing.

And of course, it’s got to be here.

In front of him.

I try to breathe even as I taste the tears like salt on my tongue.

I take a shaky breath in.

Out.

Then I realize what I’m doing, like being drenched in ice cold water after waking up from a nightmare. I’m letting him comfort me. Just like I did that night.

Chase’s nails are running down my back.

“You like that, Remi? What a nasty whore.”

I close my eyes. I can’t feel him. I can’t feel what he’s doing to me anymore, even as my stomach convulses, even as I think his nails might’ve split my skin.

It’s so distant.

It’s like he’s miles away.

I’m being used, but I’m not even here. It’s someone else he’s driving into. Someone else whose hands are dirty, nails clawed into the ground. The scent of the night, hot and sticky around us, it’s all… vanished.

The only person I can feel is right in front of me, kneeling before me.

Cortland’s grip around my face tightens, his thumb pressing against my bottom lip as his pinky finger brushes away a lock of hair sticking to my forehead. “You’re okay, Remi,” he whispers, and I hear Chase laugh again.

Before him, Brinklin pushed his dick into my mouth.

I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t know what to do.

He took care of himself. Grabbed my face, told me to stick out my tongue. I can still taste him, past the iron of my own blood. I don’t think I minded.

It wasn’t until Chase that I started to feel sick. My knees hurt.

The night seems to spin around me, and everything is just so dead.

I feel heavy.

I just want to sleep.

“Cortland,” I whisper in the dark.

He presses his temple to mine. “Yeah, baby?”

Make him stop.

Take me home.

But I don’t say the words.

Here, in the library, I try to jerk out of his grip, and he loosens his hold on me, but when I back up, I hit the wall.

He steps forward, crowding me against it. In the dark, I still can’t see anything. But I feel his hand skimming my arm, over my hoodie.

I close my eyes a second, swallow down the rest of the tears. I wonder when I’ll be able to face all of it, or when I’ll just get the fuck over it. I wonder if having him so close makes it hurt that much more. Like a reminder every time I see his face.

But I thought I was growing stronger, that night in the woods. Facing all of them. I spoke up. I used my voice. Even the times he cornered me in the cemetery. Or when I took a shot as I stared him down.

I thought I was getting better.

Maybe it’s not him that broke you, a voice in my head says.

The same one that answered Silas in that car, after the hospital.

“Did they break you?”

I force the answer back and open my eyes in the dark of the library. “Get out,” I whisper, embarrassed over my panic attack, hurting over the past, and feeling angry. At everything.

There’s silence, then, “You don’t want that.” His voice is a low, quiet rumble.

My heart sounds loud in my head, my pulse pounding through my brain, heat spooling in my core from anger and maybe desire, too, but my body can feel what it likes. My brain knows better.

“I do,” I tell him, my voice strong now. “Stop fucking with me, Cortland.”

“Or what?” he presses, stepping closer, his body so close to mine, if I just inhale a little deeper, my chest will brush his abdomen. “What if I don’t? What if I can’t?”

I swallow down the tightness in my throat, my hands by my sides, my head resting against the wall. His scent is overwhelming, and I hate that I don’t hate it.

That feeling of warmth grows.

I meant what I told him. There hasn’t been anyone since that night, save for my own hand.

Part of me hates that. I want to fuck someone just to get him off of me, and I’ve tried, but it ends with me mumbling apologies, feeling ashamed. I’m terrified. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know if it’s okay anymore. I don’t know how to be with my body around someone else.

Sometimes I want a new one. I want to start over.

But with him, in the graveyard, it was almost… easy.

I shove that thought from my mind.

“Cortland,” I say on a ragged breath. “You need to go.”

“Is that what you want?” he presses, dropping his head close to mine. I feel his clean breath dance on my mouth. “You want me to go? Is that what you really want, baby, or have you been lying to yourself, too?”

“Too?” I whisper, my breath catching as I stare up at him.

His hands come to my hair, tangling through my orange strands, his fingertips grazing my scalp as he softly pulls my hair down so I’m looking up at him, just a shadow in the darkness. My entire body is wound tight, heat flushing through me with his hands on me.

“Have you hurt yourself again?” he whispers, his breath along my lips.

Discomfort eats at me, but I can’t run from him. Not with him pinning me against the wall. “Cortland⁠—”

“It’s okay,” he says, nudging his nose against mine. “It’s… you feel alive when you do it, don’t you?”

My entire body flushes hot. I’m glad he can’t see me in the dark. “Yes,” I breathe, honest for once.

He groans, dipping his head to my neck, his fingers still tangled in my hair. “I want to be that for you. I want to make you feel fucking alive.” He shoves his body further against me, and it’s hard to breathe, but I don’t know if it’s from the pressure, from the ache in my scalp, the angle of my neck, or this conversation. “This past year, Remi, you haven’t left my fucking head. And I hate you for that, you know. I hate what you did to me, because I don’t have time to think about you.”

Those words hurt.

His thumbs graze the side of my face, close to my ear, and a shudder runs through me. “And I need to know, baby. It wasn’t all bad, was it?” he asks, and his voice is almost desperate.

I hear my own shallow breaths between us, feel my chest rise and fall. I can’t see him at all, and in some ways it makes it easier to stay here, like this. To pretend this is all a dream. This is all a nightmare.

I can say what I want like this. In the darkness.

“Did you hate every minute of it?” he whispers. “Or just the parts that weren’t with me?”

That warmth flushes through me again and I close my eyes, shaking my head.

“Tell me the truth, Remi. I need to know.”

I don’t say anything, clenching my jaw shut. He doesn’t deserve my truths.

“Do you know how long I would’ve gone to prison?” He presses his brow to mine.

That question, I can answer. “Hopefully, a long, long time.”

He clamps his hand over my mouth. “I could’ve gone for ten years. Ten fucking years.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it as he slides his hand down my mouth. “I wouldn’t have gotten out until I was almost thirty, Remi.”

“And I’ll carry this for the rest of my life, so I think we’re even, don’t you?”

His fingers tighten in my hair and his grip is nearly painful, pricking at my senses, right on the verge.

But I don’t want him off.

For once, I want him to stay right here. I want him to face what he did to me.

“You never wanted me?” he counters, an edge to his words. “You were mine.” I can feel his breath skating across my face, minty and warm as he keeps talking. “Who did you want?” he presses, his body shifting closer to mine. His thigh coming between my legs.

“Cortland…” I whisper his name, but it still comes out as a moan. His fingers prick over my scalp, causing the little hairs on my body to stand on end. I only wanted you. I only ever wanted you.

“Is this how it’s always going to go?” he demands. “Is that what you’re always going to be, baby?” Those words aren’t harsh. They’re quiet as he runs his fingers through my hair, my body drenched in sensation. His lips are hovering over mine, the cool metal of his piercing scraping my bottom lip. “My little victim?”

My face heats with those words, and I’m thankful for the darkness, but I don’t speak.

“Yeah,” he scoffs at my silence. “You’re not afraid of me. Stop being weak.” His mouth touches mine. “You know I won’t hurt you. You’re not fucking afraid of me, pretty baby.” I hear something like anger in his words.

My heart is in my throat and I don’t know what to say. Am I afraid? I was that night. I was terrified. But this isn’t that night. And I’ve spent an entire year being afraid, of everything. The dark. Strangers. The smell of alcohol. Horror movies. Being alone with my thoughts. My stepdad.

But with Cortland around, it’s like I started to change. Like when I bit him. When I dug my nails into his skin. When I slapped him.

This past year, I’ve been thankful for his absence.

Thankful, and scared, and stunted.

Do I need this to grow?

Will facing him make it better?

“Say something, Remi.”

My voice is hoarse when I do as he demanded. “You ruined me.”

He stills, and it’s like neither of us are breathing.

His hand comes to the side of my face, his fingertips skimming along my jaw.

“Is that why you fucked me over?” That’s a whisper, soft and low, but he drops his voice to something like a growl when he asks, “Because you thought you were ruined?” He sneers the word, and nerves run down my spine, my skin tingling in its wake. “You thought I’d judge you? You thought I’d leave you?” He shifts his thigh between my legs.

The warmth in my belly travels lower and I close my eyes, knocking my head back against the wall as I tilt my chin up.

“Is that why you’re really mad? Because we shared you, Remi? Because your first time wasn’t rose petals and fucking candles and whatever bullshit you thought it should be in your head?” Those words are a snarl.

I don’t open my eyes.

Cortland presses his leg between my thighs, moving faster. The pressure feels good, and the pressure inside of me is building, growing.

I know I should stop. Scream, maybe, or at the very least, push him away. They asked me about that so many times, the detectives. “Did you tell them to stop? Did you scream? How did you fight? What happened when you did? Did you say the word ‘no’?”

I couldn’t remember. I didn’t know.

“Who taught you to believe in fucking fairy tales?” Cortland’s breath is on my neck and I shiver again, dig my nails into my palms as I close my eyes tighter, wanting to flee and needing him to keep rubbing his thigh on me. Needing the material of my underwear shifting against my pussy with every move he makes. “Life can be whatever you want it to be, Remi. It can be dark and chaotic and dirty. It doesn’t mean you’re ruined.” He spits that word out with venom. “It means you’re messy. And I fucking love messy.” His tongue comes over the side of my throat and I gasp, biting my lip. It’s like I can feel him smile against my skin when he says, “That’s it, baby. Moan for me.”

He licks a line up to just under my ear, then he pulls my lobe between his teeth as he pushes his thigh further against me, stroking me up and down with his leg.

I clench my thighs around his, tilting my pelvis, wanting more. Wanting my pants off, and his too.

I’m burning up in this hoodie, and I want to cross my arms over my chest and pull it off. I want nothing between us, but I know if I open my eyes, the bubble will burst. We’ll go back to what we really are.

A girl that got fucked up, and a boy that got away with it.

He slides his hands down to my shoulders, his thigh still moving between us.

He runs his palms over my sides, then skims his fingers under the edges of my hoodie, against my bare skin.

I close my eyes tighter.

“Yeah,” he whispers, “keep your eyes closed.” I’m shocked he can tell, but I don’t dare open them. “Pretend it isn’t me whose touching you.” His words are full of venom, like he hates that. The fact that I have to disappear inside myself, pretend his fingers sliding under the edges of my sweats aren’t his.

I press my palms to the wall, feeling clammy but full of need.

So much fucking need.

He yanks down my sweats, my underwear, then he’s on his knees.

I gasp, nervous, wanting to hide as I quickly cross my legs, almost opening my eyes. Almost breaking the spell.

“No, no, no. No.” I say it over and over, and even I can hear the thread of insecurity laced in my tone. This is too much. Too intimate.

“Remi,” he says, his voice full of disapproval as my hands find his hair, even though I know I shouldn’t run my fingers through it. I shouldn’t touch him at all. I shouldn’t do this. “Uncross your legs.”

I can’t. My knees are shaking, threatening to buckle. Guys have tried to go this far before in the past year, but I could never let them in. That familiar panic steals through me and I think I’m going to faint.

His hand is between my thighs, one on my hip, but he can’t go much further even though he’s trying. I know, though, he isn’t trying as hard as he could. If he wanted, he could force me again.

“Pretty baby,” he whispers those words against my skin, his hot breath causing my spine to straighten, my skin to tingle. His next words are closer to my center, skating over my thigh. “Let me.”

I shake my head, biting my lip, eyes still closed. “We can’t do this, Cortland. We can’t⁠—”

“I can do whatever I fucking want.” He licks up my thigh, just to the crease as he tries to pry my legs apart.

My chest tightens with those words.

I want to give in.

I want to break free.

I want to be normal for once.

The muscles in my legs relax, and as soon as they do, his hands are on my thighs, pulling them apart. Then he runs his middle finger down my slit, parting my wet lips, and it’s like a release all on its own. I’m panting, moaning with the feel of him toying with me, but it sounds like a whimper.

Heat flashes through me, and its desire and discomfort, and my knees are still trembling as he curls his fingers, poised at my entrance.

“You want to pretend you don’t want this again?” he asks me quietly, his breath there, against my pussy. The feeling startles me, and I almost open my eyes again.

Almost.

But if I do, this is over.

The bubble will pop.

Reality will explode around me.

I keep my eyes closed.

“You want to pretend I’m another guy?” He pushes two fingers into me, and I gasp, clenching around him. He laughs, a wicked sound, and his mouth comes to my clit, his tongue lapping against it as he fingers me before he speaks, the words on my sensitive skin. “Another guy wouldn’t be so fucking nice, not after what you put me through, baby.” His fingers tighten on my thigh and panic surges through me.

I think about that night.

How not nice Chase was.

My stomach churns, but I force it away. Force myself to feel him fingering me, feel his tongue teasing me, running up my slit before he sucks my clit in his mouth.

It’s a feeling I’ve never felt. A sensation I want to drown in.

I whimper, and he pulls back.

“You’re so damn wet for a girl who doesn’t like to be violated.” His teeth scrape against my thigh, his words and his tone turning angry. “For someone who wants to cover every fucking inch of your beautiful body, I never imagined you could be so damn desperate, Rems.” Then he’s quiet, like he’s holding his breath, and I hold mine too, hearing the slick sounds of his fingers plunging into and out of me.

My face heats and it’s almost enough to break the spell. But he slaps the inside of my thigh, and I widen my stance because I want to.

“That’s how you sounded that night, you know,” he says against me, his every breath sending pleasure radiating down my entire body. “Desperate and needy, my very own little rag doll.”

“No,” I murmur, even as he pulls his fingers from me, spreads me apart with them, running his tongue up and down me, teasing my hole before he plunges all the way in. My walls clench tight as he fucks me with his tongue before he drags it up my slit, licking every inch of me. “No…” I still have my fingers wrapped tight in his hair, and I can’t stop pulling harder, leaning against the wall, sliding down a little, my knees weak. “I wasn’t… I didn’t⁠—”

He bites my thigh, cutting off my words as I whimper. “You didn’t what, baby?” He pushes his fingers back into me, hitting deep, knuckles grazing my entrance. “You didn’t want me? You don’t want me? Lie to me, if you have to.” His tongue circles my clit, messy and rough and so good.

“If you have to, you can tell me you didn’t like it,” he murmurs against me. “Tell me you didn’t want to be used, Remi. Come on, give me your fucking lies.”

“I didn’t,” I say, every muscle in my body coiled tight as pleasure like I’ve never known sweeps through me. My knees threaten to buckle beneath me, and I’m clenching around his fingers so tightly, even with as wet as I am, he has to work at fingerfucking me faster, his tongue flicking over my clit as he drives me closer. “I didn’t want it, I didn’t want it, I didn’t—” The orgasm rolls through me and I’m gasping, panting, calling out his name, my fingers tugging at the strands of his hair. “Cortland.” I say it over and over and over. I want to keep telling him no, that I don’t want it now, that as I finish with his fingers inside of me, his mouth on me, I don’t want it.

I want to tell him I hate it.

Hate him.

But he turns his head and bites my thigh again, hard, and I know he’s left a mark, just like he did that night, and the words die on my tongue, only heavy pants leaving my lips.

I knock my head against the wall as the orgasm leaves me, exhaustion and anger and disgust in its wake. It’s like I collapse backward, and if the wall wasn’t there, I don’t know how I’d hold myself up.

Slowly, he slides his fingers out of me, and I sense him stand in the dark. His fingers graze my lips. I can smell myself, an earthy scent that makes my entire body flush.

“Open your mouth, pretty baby.”

Those last two words embarrass me further, and I clamp my mouth shut, thankful his hands are off of me, there, where the lingering sensation of my orgasm seem to still be vibrating through me, my pants and underwear still around my ankles.

He presses his brow to mine. “Open your mouth or open your eyes, Remi. Pick one.”

Reluctantly, I part my lips, and he laughs, a deep, low sound that makes my toes curl. He pushes two fingers into my mouth, past my teeth.

“Suck yourself off of me. Taste what I did to you, baby.”

I purse my lips, circling his fingers as he pushes them far back in my throat. I do exactly what he says, tasting what he did to me.

“You came all over my fingers again, Rems.” He runs his mouth over my jaw, his lip ring cold on my skin. I can taste myself on his mouth, on his fingers. My nipples are tight points and I imagine what that ring would feel like over my breasts again. “I love making you feel good. Next time, though, I think I need you to come on my cock.”

Nerves run through me, but before I can react, he pulls his fingers out of my mouth, then pushes them back in, to the very back of my throat. I gag, my stomach convulsing, and it’s then that my eyes fly open.

Snap to his.

I can see them in the dark, just the gleam of his pupils.

But he must notice, because he seems just as surprised as I am, stilling with his hand in my mouth as we make eye contact. I can sense his chest heaving as we stare at each other.

Then he drags his fingers out, smears them over my lips, tracing the outline of my mouth.

He turns my head to the side, hand on my neck, and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Pull up your pants, Remi,” he whispers against my ear.

He releases me, but only moves back enough for me to do just that. Squat down and pull up my underwear and my pants, situating them both back on me.

“Good girl,” he whispers in the dark, and my face warms.

“Cortland,” I say, still feeling shaky, but relaxed. Good. Like that night after the cemetery, when I slept well for once. “I’m not your rag doll.”

I can almost hear his smirk in the darkness. “Your cum on my mouth says otherwise.”

I grit my teeth, my face flushing, and I’m thankful the lights are off. “You can go now you’ve served your purpose,” I bite back.

Silence.

That’s all.

Just silence.

Then he’s grabbing my wrist, forcing my hand over his cock, thick and hard and big beneath his shorts. He steps forward, knocking me back against the wall. “Oh, but you haven’t served yours,” he snarls in my ear.

I try to snatch my hand away, but he doesn’t let go. He forces my hand up and down the length of him.

“Cortland.” My chest heaves against his shoulders as he keeps me crowded against the wall.

“You don’t wanna make me feel good, too, baby?” His words are a taunt, his grip on my wrist tighter. “You don’t wanna serve your fucking purpose?”

I swallow down my nerves, even as my fingers circle his cock, and he’s not forcing me to do that. “Don’t ruin this,” I say in the dark.

He stills, his hold loosening around my wrist.

For a moment, no one speaks.

Then he says, “I think I already have.” He laughs. “Just like I apparently ruined you.” He throws those words in my face, and I start to deflate, the high from my orgasm leaving me.

He drops my hand and steps back. “Before you can start hating yourself for this, I’m going to walk out.”

My mouth falls open, then my chest tightens as I realize that’s not what I want.

I want him to stay.

I don’t want him to leave.

Despite our angry words, I want him here.

But I hear him move in the dark, then the light is flipped on.

He turns to stare at me, and I take in his gray basketball shorts, his erection evident through them. He’s in another West River shirt, like he can’t let the past go, and his hair is a mess, deep circles under his eyes.

He grabs the backpack he must’ve dropped by the door without me even hearing it because of my headphones. Then he yanks open the door, his eyes sweeping over my body as my face flushes.

I realize I’m going to let him go.

Do just what he said.

Hate myself when he’s gone.

But he stills in the doorway, the muscles in his shoulders flexing. He turns to look at me, his eyes connecting with mine, narrowed and dark. “But I’ll be waiting outside.” He pulls his phone from his shorts, glancing at the screen. “It’s almost two in the morning. I’ll walk you back.”

I open my mouth to argue with him, but he cuts me off.

“I don’t care what you say. Get your shit together and meet me outside. I’ll be there.”

Then he closes the door and I hear his footsteps as he walks off down the hall.

CHAPTER

THIRTY

CORTLAND

I can still smell her.

I glance at her as we walk in the dark, leaving the library behind, neither of us touching. I can still hear her whimpers, her moaning my name.

But I can hear other things, too.

Maya’s voice in my ear. “She’s got you all fucked up.”

Guilt churns in my stomach, and I hate it. I meant what I said. For now, Remi has me. I haven’t touched Maya since I told her that, but I don’t owe Remi a thing. She avoids me for days at a time. Taunted me at The Veil when I was on my best fucking behavior after the game and left her alone. Tells me constantly to fuck off in words but pulls me close in body language. And after what she did to me, I’d say she owes me.

But I know that’s not true either. Being so near her, seeing her pain, all the ways I fucked her up… that guilt is piercing.

Just like she told me. “You broke me, Cortland. Now you have to deal with the pieces. And watch out, because they’re fucking sharp.”

I push that shit aside, tightening my fingers around my backpack straps as we walk along the brick path, past the fountain shaped like a tiger.

A wolf is a much better mascot, but no one asked me my opinion on that.

Before I started avoiding her, Maya pointed out Remi’s dorm is up ahead, to the left, but my house is off a road to the right. Remi veers to go left, and I grab the back of her backpack, dragging her toward me.

She spins around, shrugging out of my grip and glaring at me in the night. “My dorm is⁠—”

“I know where your dorm is, Remi,” I tell her. “But you’re not going there.”

She takes a step back, like she thinks she can run from me. “Yeah,” she says, annoyance laced through her tone. “I am.” She starts to turn away again, and again, I drag her back. But this time when I let go of the top strap of her bag, I grab her wrist, too, spinning her around to face me.

“Come home with me,” I tell her. “Just tonight.”

“No,” she says, the word harsh. “Just because you cornered me in a library and dropped to your knees doesn’t mean I⁠—”

I yank her closer, her body flush with mine, my hand on her wrist between us. “Stop being so fucking mouthy,” I tell her, my eyes dipping to her lips, then back up. I think about them around my fingers, how she sucked herself off of me.

I have to bite back a groan.

She tries to pull away, glancing over her shoulder as she does. “Sloane will be waiting for me and someone could see us⁠—”

“It’s two in the morning, Remi.” You shouldn’t be doing fucking homework alone this late anyway.

“Exactly. I’m tired. And I want to sleep. In my bed.”

I laugh at that, and she glares up at me. “You’re not scared of the dark? Being alone?” I ask her, swallowing after I do, those questions hitting too close.

I was. In the weeks that followed, I slept with the bathroom door cracked open, the light on inside.

I’d never admit that out loud to anyone, and I wasn’t scared, exactly, but the anxiety in the aftermath of everything just ate at me. And the dark made it worse.

The silence that follows my question, only the sound of the fountain at our backs, gives me an answer even when she says nothing. I pull her closer, the quiet mountain air seeming to cloak us in vulnerability, the dark letting us share our scars.

From the same wound.

It just ripped us apart in different ways.

“Come home with me,” I tell her again, my words rough as I search her golden eyes. I reach for her other hand, thread my fingers through hers. “Just tonight.”

“Sloane will freak the fuck out⁠—”

“Lie to her. You’re a fucking adult. Come home with me.”

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath.

I hold my own, waiting.

Then she nods, and my chest feels tight. Full to fucking bursting.

“Okay,” she agrees, squeezing my hand, opening her eyes and looking up at me through her dark lashes. “Just tonight.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-ONE

REMI

I feel Storm’s eyes on me when I walk in after Cortland, closing the door softly behind me. I take a breath, facing the door, catching the scent of marijuana in the house and it instantly reminds me of Van.

But I force that thought from my mind because he’d kill me if he knew I was here.

I’m not even entirely sure what the hell I’m doing here. It’s stupid, and walking past Cortland’s truck in the driveway, Storm’s WRX that he had in high school, thinking of what they did to me, it was a reminder of just that.

“You want a drink?” Cortland asks quietly, and I force myself to turn around. Not run.

I glance around the house. I saw none of it when I was running from here after that first party. I didn’t look back, either, when I left. But now I see it’s neat and tidy, and in the dark outside, I made out two stories. White siding. Modest, but for a college student, nice. For all I know, too, they own it. Both of them come from wealthy families.

It was part of the battle I was fighting when they were charged.

My eyes find Storm’s wicked blue ones, and I watch him inhale from his vape, his feet flat on the floor, one arm slung over the back of the worn leather couch. He exhales a cloud of smoke through his nose, obscuring the hoop through it for a second.

“Remi.” Cortland’s voice is laced with irritation.

I fist my hands at my side, force my gaze from a smirking Storm to Cortland, in the doorway of the kitchen, his backpack off and on the floor by the couch. He’s glaring at me, his head cocked while he waits for my answer.

It’s two in the morning. I want to say that, say we should sleep, ask Storm why he’s up but I already have this feeling I’m not going to class in the morning.

Might as well make the most of it.

“Sure,” I tell Cortland, wanting something to distract me from the reality of what I’m doing. I need to text Sloane. I already told her I was at the library for an assignment, and I’m sure she’s sleeping now.

But I don’t know what lie to tell her.

Cort darts a glance at his best friend, still watching me, then he jerks his head to the kitchen. “Get over here,” he says, and I’m reminded of that night all over again.

Before it all went to hell. When he told me to sit in his lap.

I swallow down my fear, cross the floor, hardwoods creaking under my white Chucks. When I reach him, he grabs the strap of my backpack, pulling it off of me, tossing it to the floor beside his.

“Thanks,” I murmur, and he nods, heading into the kitchen, all white cabinets and white floors, a fridge to match. I run my hand down my opposite arm, wishing I was in something besides my oversized hoodie and sweats.

I can still feel Storm watching me.

And just as I go to follow Cortland, already opening up the fridge and grabbing juice to set beside a bottle of vodka on the counter, Storm says my name.

I turn to face him, see his black shirt clinging to his lean body. He blows out another cloud of smoke, setting down his vape on the coffee table. My eyes find the tattoos along his neck, one edging up to his jaw.

He leans back, staring up at me, his eyes narrowed. “You know what you’re doing here?” he asks me, his voice quiet. I know at some point his family moved from the suburbs of Virginia, near D.C., and his accent is neutral, a far cry from Cortland’s Southern drawl.

I glance at Cortland, see he’s got his phone in hand, and his fingers are flying across the screen. A pang of jealousy curls up in my stomach, and I turn my attention back to Storm. “What do you mean?” I ask him, shoving a lock of hair behind my ear before I slide my hands into my hoodie pocket.

He arches a brow. “You’re either here to fuck him up, or you’re here to get fucked up.” He shrugs, running his tongue over his teeth. I glance again at Cortland, but he’s engrossed in whoever he’s texting, and I can’t help but think of Maya.

Is he still with her? He said he was mine for now.

The thought of him being with her is like a punch to the gut. But why does it matter? I shouldn’t even be here. I’m the one in the wrong.

It’s not just my friends that would flip if they knew I was here.

Chase, Brinklin, probably Storm, too… they’d all lose their minds if anything serious ever happened between me and Cortland. We’re just getting closure. That’s all this is. Sick and twisted closure.

So why does it feel like a reopening?

“Which one is it, Remi?” Storm presses, Cortland still typing on his phone.

I swallow down my nerves as I stare at Storm. “You don’t know a fucking thing about me.”

He smiles, scrubs his hand over his face before he drops it to his lap. He looks away a second, and I take in his sharp jawline, smooth skin. “I know you’ve figured out what attention tastes like, and now you want more of it.” He doesn’t look at me as he speaks. “You were always in this shell at West, scared of your own shadow. Hiding behind Sloane.” Those words are low, and he turns to face me, his arm over the back of the couch. “We fixed that problem for you, didn’t we, Rems?”

He was almost clinical, that night.

And I was almost grateful.

“You didn’t fix me, Storm,” I say, gritting my teeth. “I wasn’t broken.”

“Don’t kid yourself.” He shrugs, glancing at the floor. “We’re all a little fucked up here. It’s how you found your way into our clutches anyway.” He looks up, meeting my gaze, and for some reason, I think of Brinklin’s words.

“I’ve heard about your dad.”

He couldn’t have heard much. I never told anyone about my dad. Not Sloane, even after I realized something was very wrong with the way Silas parented after seeing the happiness of her own family. They fought but it was nothing like the way Silas cut me down. And Sloane was never scared of leaving a mess or not making her bed. The Stevens didn’t have as many things as we did, but they had a lot more of… everything else. I kept that secret locked up tight. I didn’t tell the girls on the team. Not even Van knows and him and Silas are—barely—related. I sure as hell didn’t tell Cortland.

Because if I did, if I had, he might know other things too.

About the morning after. About what Silas tried with me.

I cross my arms, guilt winding its way through my heart and squeezing. I try to ignore it, because it doesn’t change anything. What happened after doesn’t change what happened during.

“Wolves run in packs, Remi,” Storm continues, turning his gaze to me again. “They’re protective of their own. And that night… we made you one of us.”

I glance at Cort and see he’s still on his phone. Irritation winds its way through me.

“Your wolf metaphors are annoying me,” I snap back to Storm. “You’re only human, and brave ones don’t need to run in packs.”

I never asked to be one of them. Never wanted to be anyone’s but Cortland’s.

I hear him snort, from inside the kitchen, finally putting his phone away. “Nice, baby.”

Storm cocks a brow and doesn’t say anything, but I see a smile pull on his lips.

Then Cortland is pushing a drink into my hand. I take it and bring it to my mouth without asking what’s in it. It’s strong, and it burns, not mixed with much juice, but I don’t care. I swallow half of it down before I pull the cup away, catching my breath.

They’re both staring at me, a beer in Cortland’s hand. He raises his brows at me, tipping his beer back and swallowing, his gray eyes full of something like amusement. “You thirsty?” he asks with a smirk, those full lips turned up into a smile.

I feel my face flush red, but I don’t care. “Yeah.” I shoot a glare to Storm, find him watching me with amusement, too. “I am.”

Cortland wraps his arm around my shoulder, and it feels so normal that when he starts walking us around the chairs and to the couch beside Storm, I don’t even think twice about it. It’s like that summer. Those few weeks we had to just be. I don’t know if it was young love, or just a hardcore crush, but it was something.

For me, it was a welcome escape.

For him, maybe it was just passing the time.

Whatever it was, he made me feel alive.

A new world was on the horizon. I was leaving Silas for college, even if it was just up the street because the scholarship I’d earned was too good to pass up. I’d be out from underneath him, and maybe then I could just be without constantly looking over my shoulder, worried I wasn’t doing enough. Being enough. That I’d forgotten to clean something or cook something or hide something.

Then everything fell down around me.

And Silas loathed me more than he ever had.

The emptiness that came after everything, I’m not sure I could survive that again.

I push those thoughts aside as Cort and I sit down on the worn leather sofa. Somehow, I end up between him and Storm, and my skin feels too tight, hot all over in the middle of them.

I set my drink on the table and pull my phone from my hoodie pocket, opening up a message to Sloane, but I don’t know what to tell her. The guilt eats at me, yet I know I can’t feel too badly about it because I’m still doing it.

It’s something I wrestled with after that night. Maybe Cortland didn’t want everyone to have me. Maybe he just got caught up in the moment, and his hands cupping my face were a way to apologize. But even as I held onto that thought, I knew the truth.

People do what they want to do.

That’s every person on the planet’s motivating factor. Their own desire. If someone wants to call, they’ll call. If they want to text, nothing will stop them from getting to their phone and sending that message.

I told Sloane the same thing last year when she was messing around with a fuck boy she met in her marketing class.

He gave her excuse after excuse about why he couldn’t call or text at certain times on certain days and turns out, he was married.

People always do what they want.

And I’m no different.

Cortland didn’t force me to come here. Just like he didn’t force me in the library. And I have no idea how to feel about that.

“Need help?” Cort whispers beside me, tugging me close.

Storm reaches over to the side table, grabbing the remote and turning on the television. I’m very aware of the scent of him, like leather, or a new car. I see his tattoos, too, edged over his fingers as he flips through different shows.

I glance up at Cortland and see his gray eyes glowing silver in the brightness of my screen. A dimple in his handsome face flashes, his lip ring pulling into a smile as he stares at me.

I feel hot, and I squirm a little on the couch, my screen going dim. “What?” I whisper, tasting the strong drink he made in the back of my throat.

He shakes his head, looking away a second, and I take in the sharp curve of his cheekbone, and his defined jawline. He takes a pull from his beer and I watch his throat bob as he swallows. “You’re just cute,” he says after a minute, looking back down at me and lowering his drink to the side of the couch.

Storm pretends to ignore us as he flips through Netflix for something to watch.

Butterflies erupt in my stomach, and I really, really want to down the rest of the drink Cort made me, but I force myself to hold his gaze.

“What are we doing?” I whisper. The same question I texted him.

He smiles, and in these few moments, I’ve seen the boy I had a crush on. Kind, always smiling, aggressive on the field but friendly off it. I’d never consider him a pushover, and at six foot three, it’s not like he didn’t hold his own. But he wasn’t a bully. He wasn’t an asshole.

I don’t know what happened that night.

Are we all capable of those shadowy things in the dark?

“Just enjoy it,” he says. Then he nods toward my phone, still in my hands. “Tell her you’re gonna sleep in the library,” he suggests. “Or…” He trails off, then glances through those long, dark lashes at Storm, still flipping through the channels. “Tell her the truth.”

I almost die right there.

But I just laugh, and even Storm scoffs at my side.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” he mutters under his breath.

Another look from Cortland, but I get the distinct feeling Storm is not looking at us.

“I can’t,” I tell Cortland. “There’s no way in hell she’d be chill about that.”

Cortland pulls my phone gently from my hand and I watch it go, knowing he can’t unlock it without my face or passcode now that the screen has gone dim. “Why don’t you just put it away?” he whispers.

“Because Sloane will panic if she wakes up and I’m not there,” I shoot back, reaching for my phone.

He holds it up in the air, over my head.

“Cort, come on, what the hell? Give me my phone.”

He reaches over and I hear a soft thud as he sets his beer on the table, the triceps of his arm flexing. Leaning back and smiling down at me, he still holds my phone hostage. “You’re not with Sloane right now. You’re with me.”

I grin at that despite myself, and climb on his lap, my hand on his chest as I try to grab the phone. But he tosses it over my head and when I whip around, I see Storm catch it easily, his eyes on me.

I freeze, my ass on Cortland’s lap. One arm comes around my shoulders and his hand comes to my hip, holding me tighter to him.

Storm sets my phone on his thigh.

“Sorry, baby, but you’re not touching him there.”

I turn to glare at Cortland, but before I can open my mouth to say anything, he grabs my jaw with one hand and kisses me, his mouth open over mine.

My lips part for him as I twist toward him, my arms threaded around his neck.

And for a moment, I don’t even care that Storm’s watching. That Cortland’s just distracting me with his mouth, his tongue clashing with mine.

Desire heats through my veins, and I dig my nails into him. He squeezes my hip, one hand still on my face.

Then I pull away, breathless, my heart racing in my chest. “Seriously,” I say, my fingers clenching the material of his shirt as I stare at his chest, heaving just like mine. He runs his thumb over my bottom lip, and I speak around it. “I need to text Sloane.”

There’s silence between us for a moment, and I feel Storm’s eyes on me.

“Say please,” Cortland says, and I think he’s teasing me, but his words are low.

I look up into his eyes, and find his brow arched, his lips tipped up into a small smile.

My heart flutters in my chest but I decide to indulge him. “Please,” I whisper.

He traces my mouth with his thumb again, then looks to Storm. “Give her the phone.”

I look over and see Storm doesn’t move, my phone still on his thigh.

“She can get it,” he says, nodding toward it.

I start to reach over, but Cortland moves his hand from my face to the back of my neck and stops me, jerking me against his chest. Then he snatches the phone from Storm’s lap.

He pushes it into my upturned palm.

Slowly, I slide off of his lap and sit beside him, his arm back around my shoulder.

Ignoring both of them, I clear my throat and open my texts to my best friend.

Might end up falling asleep here. I’ll be back in the morning. Xx

I lean forward and set the cell beside my drink. I didn’t even lie, technically speaking.

“Good excuse,” Cortland whispers, massaging my shoulder.

I straighten, then glance over at him. “You spying on me?”

He keeps kneading me, but he looks at the TV as he shrugs. “You’re in my house.”

My mouth drops open, but I can’t keep the amusement out of my voice. “And that means, what?”

He turns his gaze to me, running his fingers over the back of my neck, slipping them beneath my hoodie. It feels good and I start to relax, even as I try to feign offense.

“Means I look after you here.”

I ignore the warmth in my chest with those words. “And what about you?” I whisper as Storm resumes flipping through movies. I jerk my head toward the kitchen at our backs. “Who were you texting?”

He shrugs. “My brother.”

That surprises me, and I guess he sees the look on my face because he leans over and pulls his phone from his back pocket, offering it to me as he settles back down in his seat. “Wanna check?”

I glance at his phone and see the screen light up. Mountains in the fall as his background image, which makes me smile.

I consider his offer, my heart racing.

What could be in there?

But then I decide against it. He could be bluffing, but maybe I don’t want to know. “No, thanks,” I say, and he nods, leaning over and putting his phone down on the coffee table, face up.

I settle in against him and he shifts on the couch so his knee is opened up against the back of it, then he drags me into his lap with no effort at all. I relax against his arm propped up on the side of the couch, and he wraps both around me, his hands on my belly, over my hoodie. He kisses the top of my head.

I see Storm glance at us, but his expression is unreadable.

“Put on something scary,” Cortland says, and I tense, going rigid in his lap. He notices, looking down at me over my shoulder, his brows pulled together. “I thought you liked scary movies,” he says, his eyes searching mine.

I lean over, swipe up my drink as Cortland holds me tight. Then I tip back the rest of it, relishing in the way it burns in my empty stomach. When I can’t hide behind the cup anymore, I drop it to my lap, fingers flexing around it. “I used to,” I say, but ominous music starts to play just as Storm turns off the lamp on the end table, casting us all in darkness.

My eyelids feel heavy, even as I stare at the screen, Storm setting down the remote.

A cabin comes into view, a man standing outside of it with a pitchfork in his hand, facing the cabin.

“You used to?” Cort presses, leaning in close to me, brushing my hair from my neck, his breath skating over my skin as he looms behind me. “What happened?”

I can’t look away from the screen, my heart racing in my chest, the drink going to my head. The man, dressed in all black, steps closer to the boarded-up cabin. A bird caws ominously in the distance.

At our side, Storm huffs a dark laugh. “We happened,” he says quietly.

I tear my eyes from the TV, turn to meet his gaze in the dark.

My chest is heaving, my ribcage too tight as I stare at him.

The music grows louder. Deeper.

Something is about to happen.

Cortland’s hand comes gently to my collarbone as he pulls me back into his chest. My stomach flips with his touch. “Is that right?” he asks me quietly, his mouth to my ear.

I hold Storm’s gaze as I answer him, the music building.

And building.

And building.

“Yes,” I whisper in the dark as Cortland shifts further on the couch, so we’re facing Storm, the empty cup falling from my lap to the floor, but no one seems to care. Cort slips his hand under my hoodie, his calloused fingers over my bare skin.

Storm bites his lip, his gaze raking over my body, still covered.

“You like him looking at you?” Cortland whispers in my ear.

On screen, a gunshot rings out, making me flinch.

Cortland laughs, and the music stops.

“It’s okay if you do. You remember what I told you, Remi. Some things are messy.”

The gunshot is still ringing in the aftermath.

Then a woman’s scream pierces the air.

My chest heaves.

I can’t breathe.

I close my eyes tight, trying to ride out the panic. To force it back. To breathe through it. But I can’t escape it. It claws at me, eating me alive from the inside. The scene shifts on the TV, but I can’t hear it.

I can only see the darkness. Feel my knees in the dirt. Hands all over me, grabbing me, pulling at me.

Chase is the worst of all.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Cortland’s sharp words.

But he didn’t stop him.

Storm watched me.

My body was numb with Chase.

This isn’t happening to you.

You aren’t really here.

This is all a dream.

I’m on all fours and I should stand up.

I should stand up.

I should get up.

Get up.

Get up.

Get. Up.

But I don’t.

And I don’t stop them.

I don’t do anything.

A sound like a wounded animal claws its way up my throat, and I feel Cortland’s arms around me, but I’m trying to get away from him, trying to run.

Someone else’s hands find me, firm and strong around my back. I’m pulled into someone else’s lap, and I bury my head in someone else’s hard chest. The smell of leather.

Cortland is at my back, enveloping me in his scent, too, his arms tight around me. “Shh, baby,” he’s saying as I sob into Storm’s chest. “Shh, you’re okay. You’re okay, baby.”

“She needs to sleep,” Storm’s low words, rumbling against my ear. “She’s exhausted.”

But I barely register their words. In my mind, I’m walking into my house that morning. My head hurts, and my body hurts, and everything fucking… hurts.

There’s a lump in my throat. I close the door at my back. The house feels empty. The garage doors were closed, and I just parked outside of them.

My heart is… hollow.

It’s really over.

It’s all really over.

I’m covered in dirt, and I see it under my nails. Pressure builds behind my eyes as I hang my head, facing the door.

I want to scream.

I want to call someone.

I want to go to sleep and never wake up.

I’m empty.

I’m hollow.

I’m just a shell.

“Where were you last night, Remi?”

My stepdad’s voice causes me to jump.

My heart leaps into my chest.

I’m screaming.

Out loud. Here, in this moment, I’m screaming, and someone is gripping my jaw tight as my eyes fly open and I’m nose-to-nose with Storm.

I think of him watching me that night, and I wanted Cortland to tell everyone to stop. To leave me alone. Leave me alone, I’m just yours.

I try to scramble away from Storm on the couch.

“It’s not real,” he’s saying, his words low, his grip on my face firm but not painful. “It’s not real, Remi. It’s not fucking real.”

It is, though.

In my head, it’s all so real. It’s all so vivid.

“I’m not yours,” I whisper, trying to get away. “I’m not yours.”

His fingers are splayed along my jaw, and he glances behind me. Panic seizes through me and I stop trying to pull back. I stop trying to run.

I start to fight.

I shift on my knees on the couch, wrap my hands around Storm’s throat.

He’s frozen beneath my touch, his body stiff.

I lean in close to him, his hand still on my jaw.

“I’m not fucking yours.” The words don’t sound like me. They’re a low growl. Like an animal.

I pull back, only to slam my temple against his, the pain making my eyes water but I don’t care.

“I’m not fucking yours!” I scream those words, and in my head, I’m not staring at Storm’s blue eyes anymore.

I see my stepdad’s dark ones.

I see Chase’s.

Brinklin’s.

I shove Storm away, hitting at his chest as hard as I can, then snatching his wrist, pulling his hand from my face.

He lets go, never looking away from me. But adrenaline is building past my exhaustion and my fear and anger is thrumming hot under my skin. I get off the couch, backing up, the coffee table scraping against the hardwoods as I do. I turn to it and snatch the beer bottle.

“Remi.” Cortland’s words. He stands, dipping his chin, arching a brow. “Don’t do that,” he says, holding up one hand, like he can placate me.

I step back, moving the table again, gripping the bottle by the neck, my chest heaving as my eyes lock on Cortland’s.

My lips pull back in a snarl, and I lift the bottle, wanting to throw it at his head. Wanting to hurt him like he hurt me.

Like he broke my heart.

He broke my fucking heart.

My chest caves, my face hot, and I throw the bottle, turning at the last minute, sending it sailing to the TV, that fucking horror movie still playing.

The bottle shatters against the television, but it keeps playing, and it isn’t enough. A cry leaves my lips as I squat down to flip the table but Cortland’s arms band around me, holding me tight.

I keep struggling, trying to rip away from him, but my ankle twists and I trip, sending both of us falling to the floor. His arms around me protect me from any real damage and when we hit the hardwoods with a thud, he rolls so I’m on top of him, him on his back. His hands are around my forearms, pinning them down.

I kick my feet, but then Storm is there, his fingers wrapped around my shins, pressing down, so I can’t move.

“Baby,” Cortland says in my ear, “just breathe.”

My eyes lock on Storm’s, and I’m still fighting, like I didn’t before. Like I couldn’t. I was paralyzed. I was hollow.

Numb.

Broken.

I was stupid.

“I’m not anymore,” I say, staring at Storm. “I’m not stupid.” My voice breaks. I try to kick, try to get out of Cortland’s grip, but he doesn’t let me go. “I’m not fucking stupid. I’m not. Fucking. Stupid.” Tears well up behind my eyes, and I close them, unable to look.

Because I might not be stupid anymore, but I’m not brave either.

I’m not anything.

“I’m nothing.” I whisper those words so quietly, I don’t know if they heard, and I don’t care as I go still in Cortland’s arms. “I’m nothing.”

Cortland bands his arms around me, keeping mine down. But he uses his abs to sit up, pulling me to his chest, Storm’s hands still on my shins as he crouches over me, my eyes flying open, connecting with his.

“Don’t ever say that again,” Cortland says in my ear. “Don’t ever fucking say that again.” He keeps one arm around me, but grabs my chin, turning me to face him.

And I’m there again.

But it’s okay.

Because he’s holding me. He’s soft, and he’s nice, and he’s keeping me present.

Because even in the middle of everything, in the worst moment of my life, he was gentle. He made me think I was insane. How could someone so kind do something so fucking horrible?

And why do I still want him? How can I still crave him?

“You’re everything,” he whispers, his words fierce, his tone angry. His thumb traces my bottom lip as I try to breathe, inhaling his scent. “You’re everything, Remi.”

I swallow, closing my mouth, and his grip changes, against my jaw like Storm’s was. He pulls me closer, his lips crashing against mine. He devours me, and a sob leaves my mouth, pouring into his.

He takes it.

All of my pain.

He takes it.

And Storm doesn’t let go either, grounding me as he watches me kiss his best friend.

We fucked each other up.

We fucked each other over.

Another sob leaves me, but Cortland takes it, his tongue twirling with mine.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers into my mouth, “just let it go.”

I do, crying as I kiss him until I can’t breathe and I can’t cry anymore.

I’m not a shell, though. Not like I was after that night.

I’m not empty. Not numb. Not hollow. And I didn’t even need to bleed.

And when Cortland finally lets me go, then carries me like I’m a child, my arms around his neck, head nestled against his chest, just like that night, I know I’m full.

Of feelings, of trauma, of everything.

But I’m not numb.

At the very least, I’m not that.

Still, as he lays me in his bed, pulls off my shoes, and tugs me close to him, his arms wrapped protectively around me, I’m not sure that’s a much better feeling.

I wake up to an irritating buzzing noise, like a gnat or a fly. My eyes feel heavy, my throat thick with sleep, and I’m not ready to get up. Not ready to move at all. But the sound doesn’t stop. It’s vibrating near my head, and as I pry my eyes open, see faint streams of light filtering in through Cortland’s dark gray curtains, my gaze narrows in on the source of the noise.

Cortland’s phone, a few inches from my face, on the king-sized mattress.

For a second, I have to remember where I am.

What I did.

The library flashes in my mind.

The movie.

The panic.

Storm and Cortland both comforting me.

I feel sweaty, heavy, and sluggish as I reach my hand out for Cortland’s phone, the screen flashing. It’s then I realize his arms are still around me, and he’s breathing deep and even at my back.

A smile graces my lips before I can bite it back, despite last night. The bottle shattering. The movie. The fear. Storm.

Cortland.

“You’re everything.”

In this moment, exhausted, but warm and safe in Cortland’s arms, I feel something like elation.

My fingers close around Cortland’s vibrating phone, and I pull it toward me to flip the sound off.

But Maya’s name flashes across the screen.

It’s eight in the morning, and she’s calling him.

My stomach drops.

The call ends, showing it’s the third time she’s called.

But the screen, with the background of fall mountains at sunrise, shows something else too.

Text message previews.

And there are several from Maya.

I feel sick, and I close my eyes a second, not wanting to know. Not wanting to look. It’s not my business. We aren’t together.

But what I said last night is true, and I know it now.

I’m not stupid.

My eyes fly open, and I swallow, my mouth dry as I prop up the screen, take in the message previews.

A lot of all caps.

A group message from Chase and Brinklin that I don’t read, because my eyes focus in on one from Maya. The most recent one.

Maya

Let me make you feel good again.

Below that…

Maya

It was hot when Storm walked in. I’d let him watch me give you head all the time.

I feel sick, my stomach convulsing.

And one more.

Maya

Love you, Cort.

With a dozen heart emojis.

I just keep staring at the screen until it goes dim.

Then I clench my fingers around it so hard, it hurts. I sit up, shrugging out of Cortland’s grip, my pulse too fast in my chest. My head. My throat.

The phone lights up again, and I see Maya’s name one more time.

I take a breath, then hurl his phone across the room.

It hits the wall with a clatter, and I feel the bed shift as Cortland bolts upright, my name the first word out of his mouth.

I don’t look at him.

I throw back the covers, then my bare feet hit the wooden floors. They creak beneath me as I reach down, snatching the phone from the floor, right beneath the window.

I slam it against the windowsill.

Over. And over.

And over.

I think about last night. Cortland manipulating me by offering me the phone.

I smash it against the wooden sill again.

It feels good, watching it crack, my heart racing, my hair falling down in my face.

Cortland is saying my name again, angrier this time, but I don’t care.

I smash his phone again.

And again.

And—

His hand comes around my wrist. He’s crossed the room and I didn’t even notice, anger loud in my head. “That’s enough, Remi.” His words aren’t even harsh. He’s quiet, like he doesn’t care. His shirt is off, eyes sleepy as I let him take his ruined phone, and I yank out of his grip, stumbling back a step.

I windmill my arms, staying upright as I shove my hand through my hair, yanking it out of my face.

His eyes are narrowed as he stares at his screen, dim now, because I broke his phone.

“You deserve that,” I tell him, backing away, glancing at my shoes by the door. “And you deserve her.”

“You gonna go cut yourself again, baby?” he asks me quietly, setting his phone down, his eyes holding mine as I shove my shoes on. “Go bleed for me instead of facing your pain? Instead of opening your pretty mouth and talking?”

I shake my head, tears welling up in my eyes. “Fuck you, Cortland. Fuck. You.” I spin around, throw open his door and listen as it bangs against the wall.

“Remi,” Cort calls behind me. “Don’t fucking go. Don’t fucking hurt yourself.” I hear his footsteps.

I take another step out, until I’m in the narrow hallway.

“Baby, I just woke up. Can you give me five fucking seconds to figure out why you’re⁠—”

I spin around. “I’ll give you more than five seconds. I’ll give you an eternity.” Then I turn from him and I’m heading for the stairs. I look up, and my eyes meet Storm’s.

He’s staring at me, shirtless, and I have to force myself to hold his gaze instead of trail my eyes over his body.

“She doesn’t mean anything to him.”

My mouth falls open, anger making it hard to speak. I grab the railing for the stairs, heart thudding too loud in my chest. Like he thinks that makes it better. If anything, it’s worse. “You both are un-fucking-believable.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-TWO

REMI

“How are things? With classes?” Sloane asks, dabbing cold cream on my face as I sit across from her on her bed.

She pulls back, inspecting me, then swipes her fingers in the concoction she’s put together of avocado, cocoa powder, honey and who knows what else. It smells decent, and feels good, and it’s a distraction.

Tonight, I’m leaving for Grim Mountain with Van, and it’s my birthday.

Me and Sloane both skipped classes.

I sigh at her question and close my eyes as she attacks my face with more cream.

“Fine,” I lie.

Everything is just fine.

“I’ve got this assignment that I haven’t started. To write a snapshot memoir.”

Sloane’s fingers come to my jawline, feathering more of the mask over my face.

I force down the memory of reading those texts on Cortland’s phone. My face burns with the thought and I’m thankful for this green shit covering my cheeks. It’s been nearly a week since I’ve seen him, and I don’t know if I’m grateful or anxious or pissed off. He’s texted me a few times. I’ve ignored him.

“You love writing,” Sloane points out, then her fingers drift over to the other side of my face. I tilt my head, letting her work.

“Yeah,” I agree. “Fiction.” I don’t want to write about a pivotal moment in my life because they all kind of suck. I wonder if that’s always true. If the biggest lessons come from the greatest pain. Does happiness ever teach, or is it always sorrow?

Sloane finishes up and I feel her shift on the bed as I blink open my eyes.

“So I guess I really fucked up your present then…” She trails off, glancing at my desk.

A slow smile curves my lips as I draw up my knees to my chest, still in sweatpants and a hoodie, so she can’t see the cuts on my arms. I threw it on as soon as I got up this morning and she had already trekked across campus for iced coffee for us both.

“Depends,” I tell Sloane, grinning at her. Her green eyes spark as she wipes the excess mask on her own face. Then she snatches up the plastic bowl she used to mix everything and leans way over on the bed to set it on her desk. “If you got me a guidebook on writing memoirs, you might want to return it.”

She straightens, closing the grey silk robe she’s wearing, a purple pajama set underneath, laughing as she folds her arms over her chest. “I didn’t,” she says, the green in her mask complimenting her eyes as the sun shifts through our open curtains.

I clasp my fingers together, dangling in my lap, my wrists on my knees.

She swings her legs off the bed and jumps down, forgoing the little ladder. Ducking under the bed, I hear the sound of what I think is a bag, then tissue paper. She straightens and places a matte black bag on the bed. She steps back, folding her arms and nodding toward it.

“Come on,” she says. “Open the damn thing.”

I glance at it. “Slo, you better not have spent a⁠—”

“Open the bag, Remi.”

We’ve had this conversation before. She insists on paying at every meal. Buying me clothes even when I don’t need them, telling me they were for her but she doesn’t want to return them. Bullshit, because they always fit me even though we’re no longer the same size.

Silas brings in more money than her family.

The difference is her family loves her.

For Silas, love and money are one. Transactions to deposit and withdraw.

I sigh, a nervous flutter in my stomach. Then I shift onto my knees and reach into the bag, pulling out black tissue paper. She knows me well.

I keep tossing it out, wondering if there’s something cute like a Reese’s package in here with the amount of paper I have to clean out. But it’s a deep bag and finally, after I’ve created a small mountain of tissue beside me, I see what it is.

My heart drops to my stomach and I sink back on my heels without even taking it out of the bag. “Sloane, I’m not taking this.” I cross my arms and turn to face her.

But her brows rise, the green mask on her face crinkling in the small lines over her forehead. “Remi, you are.” She nods toward the bag. “And there’s something underneath it so you need to pull it out.”

I stare at my best friend, shaking my head. “Dammit, Sloane.” I reach into the bag, pulling out a brand new MacBook Pro, still in the plastic wrap. Underneath it is a matte black hardcover case and a laptop sleeve. I tug it all out and set the gifts in my lap, sitting on my heels. “This is way too much,” I tell Sloane. “Seriously, you can’t do this.”

Sloane grins at me, beaming as if she just won the lottery as she steps closer to her bed. “Yours was screwing up,” she says, shrugging. “And seriously Rems, Dad had already bought this for a new employee who never started. It was too late to return it, so he gave it to me.” She glances over her shoulder at the laptop she just got over the summer for her own birthday.

I gave her amethysts and her favorite pair of workout pants.

Not a new fucking computer.

“Don’t lie to me,” I say quietly, setting the cover and sleeve aside and flipping over the box of my new laptop. My heart swells despite my guilt. She knows my keyboard is sticking and my memory is depleting. And she knows I’d never ask Silas for money for a new one.

She doesn’t even know what he did that night, but she knows we don’t get along.

I have some savings, but I didn’t want to waste it all on this.

“I’m not,” she assures me, scrambling back up on her bed and tossing down the empty bag below, shoving all the black tissue paper into it. “I hope you like it.”

I look up then, my eyes locking on hers. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, smeared with her face mask.

I grin at her, thinking about all of our years of friendship. Despite our differences, she’s never pushed me aside. I think she could’ve done a lot cooler things and had way more friends if she had, but she never did.

“I love it,” I tell her. “And I love you too.”

She flashes her white teeth again and leans in, pulling me toward her for a hug. I know she’s got her green mask on my hoodie, but I don’t care. I’ve got like a dozen of them anyway.

“Love you too, Rems,” she says in my ear, and I feel it again.

That guilt, eating me alive.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-THREE

CORTLAND

Chase

We’ll be there before you get there.

Brinklin

Yeah, because you drive like a dumbass.

Chase

You’re welcome.

Brinklin

If we don’t make it, it’s because Chase flipped the Mercedes.

Chase

At least I have a Mercedes to flip.

Storm

Stop fucking texting me.

I stare at my screen, waiting for Storm to get in the truck. We’re going to Grim Mountain tonight, because apparently, EU students descend to that place every fall. And it’s officially fall.

Today.

Which means it’s Remi’s birthday. And this is a bye week. I’d planned to have her come with me to Grim. She loved being outdoors. In nature. It was one of many things I loved about her. Mention camping to Maya and she almost threw up.

But I watch a text come through from Maya.

Maya

I’ll be with the girls, two down from you. Cabin C4.

I roll my eyes and thumb through my messages to Remi.

Happy birthday, baby.

Just fucking talk to me.

You can’t hide forever.

I called her, too, after she stormed out. I tried to reason with her that morning, but she was hysterical, and Storm grabbed my arm, told me to let her go.

I fucking called her. I can count on one finger the number of people I call. Tristan. That’s the person. I spoke to him this morning, made sure he was good because Dad is leaving for work, but Tristan is going to his friend’s house. I confirmed it with Dad, and I feel like I’ll be able to relax this weekend.

Or I would have, if Remi hadn’t seen those texts on my phone.

Mom’s name, Linda, splashes across the screen and I decline the call. She’s called several dozen times, no doubt to try and make up for her shitty behavior the last time she was at my house, but I’m sick of her shit. Of her patterns. Lose her mind, hit me, grovel.

I give in every time, because she’s my mom.

I used to try to convince myself that she isn’t all bad. She provided for us. She loved me in her own way, and it’s not like she ever hurt us too badly.

She’s not all bad.

But fuck, maybe she actually is.

I ignored her at the away game last weekend too. I don’t even know why she bothered to show up.

Storm gets in the truck, slamming the door shut and throwing a duffel bag full of clinking bottles in the back of the cab. He tosses my lighter—black and orange—on the center console, next to the pack of cigarettes I only smoke when I’m stressed as hell.

Which would be now.

“Heard from her?” he asks me as I take a breath, dropping my phone down on the console and picking up a cigarette and the lighter.

“No.” I don’t look at him as I light up, closing my eyes on the inhale and setting down the lighter.

“She might be there. At Grim.” Storm’s tone is even, and I don’t know how he feels about that. We didn’t talk about her breakdown.

Just like we didn’t talk about that night.

Aside from making sure we all had the same story, there was nothing to talk about.

Now though, I’m not so sure that’s true.

I was fucking trashed.

I was trashed.

But she was too. And she’s bled, just like I have.

Fuck.

I slam my fist against the wheel, taking another drag from the cigarette and turning my head as I open my eyes, exhaling through my cracked window. The sun is up, and it’s a beautiful Friday and I want to spend it with Remi.

What is wrong with me. What the fuck is happening to me?

“She won’t,” I tell Storm.

He laughs, and I toss the cigarette out the window, onto my own lawn, before I turn to glare at him. He’s drumming his tattooed fingers on his thighs, looking straight ahead, at our house. “She tell you that?” he asks me.

“No, but I know Remi.”

He laughs again and I roll my eyes, throwing the truck in gear and backing out of the driveway, “Eye Opener” by Rain City Drive playing in the background. “You knew Remi,” he corrects me.

I pull out onto the road, glancing his way as I shift gears. “She doesn’t like parties.”

“Considering you found her in the bushes at one, I don’t think that’s true anymore. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she’s gotten a lot braver.” I see his hand come to his throat and I remember her digging her nails into it a week ago.

A fucking week. I haven’t even been able to find her on campus. She hasn’t been at the cemetery. Hasn’t been to the library. I even stopped by The Veil.

But I almost laugh, thinking about her choking Storm. “Yeah,” I admit. “She has.”

“We did that to her.”

I pull up to a stop sign, throwing on my signal, checking both ways. My stomach twists with his words, and I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything.

“But you know…” He trails off and waits until I make my turn, heading toward the highway. “You two can’t be together. Good to just let it go now.”

I’m annoyed with the finality in his tone. “I’m sorry, I don’t exactly recall asking for your fucking permission.”

“Well, considering she left you last week and isn’t returning any of your texts or calls,” I see him shrug as I merge onto the highway, “I don’t think you need my permission since she hasn’t given hers.”

I grit my teeth, switching to the fast lane.

“But if she ever decided to forgive you…” He sighs. “And you got with her, really got with her, Chase would never let that go. His dad wouldn’t let it go. And your mom would never let it go.”

I laugh, rolling my eyes. “You seem to think I give a fuck what any of those people think.”

“I know you do.”

“No, I definitely do not⁠—”

“Because whether you want to admit it or not, you give a fuck about the shit they’d give her,” he cuts me off, his tone cold. “And we both know, they’d bury her in that shit. And her stepdad… You know Brinklin has heard he isn’t exactly the most pleasant fucker to deal with.”

I don’t say anything, just flex my jaw and stare at the road, the highway curving around the mountains, beautiful in the rising sun.

To spend this weekend with Remi would be more than I deserve. And in admitting that, I have to admit other things too. And besides all the truth Storm is telling me, I don’t know if I want the other truths. The burden of what I might’ve done to her.

I didn’t though.

I fucking didn’t.

“You wrestling with your conscience over there?” Storm asks quietly.

I swallow down the lump in my throat. “We didn’t do it,” I tell him, instead of answering his question. “We just… we didn’t.”

There’s silence that stretches between us for what feels like miles as I drive.

But finally, he speaks. And I don’t really like what he has to say. “There’s a very big possibility that maybe we did, Cortland.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-FOUR

REMI

“You already sound drunk, Rems.” Sloane’s accusation in my ear annoys me. She made it to her sister’s and called me as soon as she did. But I am not drunk. I’m just buzzing.

Just buzzing a lot.

The cabin is packed, and no way was I partying with Van sober.

Which is what I tell Sloane, my words a little slurred as I do. “It’s fine,” I assure her, glancing at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. It’s cramped in here, a tiny shower and a toilet within grasping distance from where I stand. “I’m just tipsy.”

I rake my eyes over my reflection. The orange in my hair has faded a little, and it looks good, my French braids back in, orange and blonde mingling together in a way that reminds me of Creamsicles.

I have on heavy eyeliner, a black sheath dress that hits mid-thigh, a gray flannel shirt tied around my waist, and black boots that come to my knees. All from the shopping trip with Van before we hit the road. My birthday presents from him.

I’m spoiled when it comes to my friends, and I know I don’t deserve it. One day, I’ll pay them back for everything.

Van convinced me to get out of my hoodies and right now, I feel good about that decision.

I mean, hell, it’s my birthday, and although most of the people in this cabin—Van’s fellow art majors, plus Ryann—don’t know that, I do.

My stepdad never acknowledged my birthday after Mom passed, not once.

I remember in middle school, filling out forms, and I had to enter that date on one. I stared at the paper, blinking. Trying to get it right. Sometime in September, I knew that much.

But I’d had to go home and ask Silas when the date was.

My teacher called him about that.

That didn’t go well for me, because I “made him look bad.”

I swallow down the lump in my throat, and the fact that I have to see Silas in a few weeks.

That’s not today.

Tonight, I can have fun.

I rode with Van here in his G-wagon, admittedly much cooler than my Corolla. In addition to the clothes, he also got me two iced coffees on the way, which is like mini birthday presents in themselves, and I’ve got a black, leather-bound journal in my room of the cabin, with orange, glimmer pens as my other gift.

“Just be careful, Remi.” I hear the worry woven in Sloane’s voice, and I don’t like it.

I close my eyes, some of my confidence faltering. For a second, I can smell Storm’s scent, feel Cortland’s words against my ear.

Such pretty words, just like that night in his truck before he fucked me all up.

“You’re everything, Remi.”

But then I see his phone. Maya. He’s still with her.

He’s blown up my phone, but I’ve carefully avoided him, blowing off lunch with Van, spending more time alone. In my room.

In my head.

I’m just doing what I should’ve done when I first saw Cortland in front of the student service’s building last month.

I’m pretending he doesn’t exist.

“I’ll be careful, Mom,” I tease Sloane.

I hear her laughter on the other end, and I sigh, smiling at myself in the mirror, ready to grab another drink. Ryann makes vodka-cran like no one’s business. I mean, it’s only a few ingredients, but it just tastes better when she does it. “Anyway, gotta go. Van is waiting for me.”

I end the call with Sloane, pull my phone from my ear.

I have a text from him, and my heart picks up speed in my chest as I read it.

Cortland

What are you doing?

I bite the inside of my cheek and think about ignoring it, like I’ve done all his other ones. He can keep Maya, letting her suck him off in front of Storm and they can be one big, open family.

I don’t want any part of that, do I?

Then I think of Storm’s eyes on me on the couch.

“You like him looking at you?”

My face flushes hot, but my heart… my heart hurts.

None of your fucking business.

Before I can tuck my phone in my studded black bra, he’s already typing.

And since I’m staring at my screen, I might as well wait for his reply, right?

I hear loud laughter down the hall from the living room of the cabin, music thudding loudly, too. “Crimes” by Picturesque.

I happen to love that song, and Van knows it.

I smile to myself, then Cortland’s text comes through.

Cortland

Really that upset about my dick in Maya’s mouth, baby?

I almost break my manicured black nails as I squeeze my phone so hard, pressing the tips against the screen. But I just did them on campus last night with Sloane—after the MacBook, I paid for both of us—the first time in… over a year. I had to keep my sleeves down, careful not to let my manicurist see my new hobby.

Just as I take a breath, ready to tell him to go fuck himself and block him while I do, another text comes through.

Cortland

Nothing actually happened, and it was before we agreed not to fuck with other people. It didn’t mean shit. It doesn’t mean shit, and I don’t want you to do something stupid because you’re mad at me. I already saved you once, Remi.

I blink at my screen, propping my hip on the counter of the bathroom as I face the door, trying to think. I’ve had about two of Ryann’s speciality drinks, and I meant what I told Sloane. I’m not drunk.

But seeing those words from Cortland, protective, more like the person I used to know, it does something to me.

You feeling guilty, Cortland?

His reply is instantaneous.

Cortland

Always, pretty baby.

My heart skips a beat. It’s as close to an admission of him actually fucking me over that I’ve ever gotten. I don’t know how to feel about it.

Define “something stupid.”

If he wants to play games, I can, too. Van has some hot friends, and now that Cortland’s fingered me in a graveyard and went down on me in the library, I’m feeling a little braver.

Besides, you don’t turn twenty every day.

Cortland

Don’t test me.

You’re not very intimidating through a screen.

But I’m smiling despite myself, feeling a chill slide down my spine at his aggressive words.

Cortland

What about when my hand is wrapped around your throat, Remi?

For a moment, I’m speechless, staring at his message. Feeling warmth unfurl in my core, a need in my low belly. And for a moment, I wish he was here.

I wish I could trust him.

But I think about Maya’s texts. Me in his bed.

That’s assault. Leave me alone.

I stuff my phone in my bra and unlock the door, walking out to join the party.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-FIVE

REMI

“How well do you know Van?”

I look up from the back porch step, see Ryann standing at my side. I didn’t even hear her come out. With all the screaming happening in the cabin, out on the lawn, people laughing and getting drunk, a group of half-naked coeds playing a game of tag in the clearing edging up against the woods surrounding the cabin, it’s hard to hear much of anything.

I have a drink in my hand, and Van is getting high inside with one of his painter friends, taking turns hitting a bong that is way too big to be legal. Then again, this entire party is illegal. The underage drinking. The pot.

It could get messy.

And that’s why I’m outside on the steps, littered with plastic cups but void of people, because the back porch is tiny.

“I mean, I know you’re technically cousins or whatever but…” Ryann shrugs, a small smile peeking up at the corners of her lips. “Family ties can be shaky.”

I think of Silas and want to laugh, but I let it go. “I didn’t know him well, not until Ely. But now, we’re close,” I answer Ryann as she sits down beside me, running her palms over her black leggings. She’s wearing an off-the-shoulder sweater that shows off her slender arms, and her black hair is pulled into a high ponytail.

I find her brown eyes in the dark, and see her elbows propped on her thighs now, hands under her chin as she smiles at me.

“You think he likes me?” she asks me quietly, hope in her words. “Like, really likes me?”

Something about it, the optimism, it makes me hold my cup a little tighter. I glance down at it. It’s half-full, and I want to down the rest of it, but it’s my birthday, and I’m not quite ready to get blackout drunk yet.

“Yeah,” I answer Ryann honestly. Van hasn’t shut up about her recently, every time we’ve spoken, I learned a new fact. Ryann was born in New York. Her mom is from Vietnam. Her dad is in the military. Ryann wants to be a scientist. An honest-to-God scientist, Remi. “I do.”

Ryann nods once, her smile pulling higher. “I like him too,” she says, as if it’s a confession.

“But shouldn’t you know that?” I grin back at her. “You two are like… together, aren’t you?” As the words leave my mouth, I almost feel a little shame because this week I’ve avoided my life. Including Van. Maybe something happened with them that I was too self-absorbed to notice.

Ryann glances over her shoulder, her sweater slipping a little more down her arm as she stares at the back door, Van right inside of it. I can just make out the sound of his boyish laughter. “Yeah,” she says softly. “But we weren’t exclusive. Neither of us really… do monogamy.”

I furrow my brow, confused. Van has never told me that, although I guess he didn't owe it to me. It’s not like we were dating. “What?”

She shrugs, her gaze coming back to me. “I just… you know. I don’t want to hold him back. I don’t know if he’s told you, and maybe it’s not my place to, but neither of us have ever been committed to one person.” She laughs a little, looking down at her lap. “We’re only twenty, right? I think, looking at things long-term, tying each other down would make us… not work.”

I don’t really know what to say to that. I’d never even thought about the possibility of being with more than one person. I consider her words for a moment and think about Storm on the couch, but I don’t want him. It was fun for a moment, but only that. My mind jumps to Maya’s texts on Cortland’s phone, and I know there is no way in hell I’d be okay with an agreement like that.

But it would be something they’d discuss beforehand, right? Maybe that feels different.

Either way, Van hasn’t mentioned it to me at all.

And with my thoughts on Maya, despite the fact Ryann said Van hasn’t ever been with just one person, the first thing I ask is, “Have you told him all this?” I try to keep the hard edge out of my tone, but she must hear it, because she puts her hand on my knee and squeezes before moving it back.

“Yeah, of course. We agreed we could do what we like, as long as we communicate.”

I swallow, surprised we’ve never talked about it, and kind of hurt. I know, though, I’ve only got myself to blame there. Or maybe it’s not just me keeping secrets in my friend group. I tip my cup up to my lips and take a drink before I respond. “Huh,” I say quietly, unsure what else to say.

“He said you’ve been through some shit,” she continues, and I stiffen, turning to face her, taking another drink as I do, my eyes on hers over the top of my cup. She shakes her head. “He didn’t say what, said that was your story to tell, but… I’ve been through some shit too. And today is your birthday.” She gestures to all of the people on the lawn, clouds of marijuana smoke in the air, laughter, too. “I guess the point of all this is… Do what you want, Remi. Whether it’s hide in your room, sit on this step all night, or have a wild and crazy threesome… do what you want. You can change your mind at anytime, but for now, you can do anything.”

Her voice is low with those last words, then she leans in close to me, her mouth inches from my ear. She smells like vanilla, and her breath like vodka. Maybe she’s drunker than I thought, but I kind of like how she smells.

Maybe I’m drunker than I thought, too.

The little hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“I’m going to a cabin down the road with Van,” she whispers. “There’s harder drugs and hornier people.” She laughs, and a chill runs down my spine. My fingers close tighter around my cup. “Wanna come?”

No.

That’s my first answer. An instinct, loud in my head.

But her hand comes to my thigh again, and I clench them together.

I think about Van.

He’s so safe.

I don’t know if I want to have a threesome with him and his girlfriend, but it’s my birthday.

I can do whatever I want.

Those texts from Maya to Cortland flash in my mind, too.

“You can live your life how you want. Fuck the rules, you know, Remi?” Ryann continues, her lips so close to my skin.

I swallow. Think of the scars on my arm. The self-loathing in my veins. Running from Cortland and pretending I hate it when he finds me. It’s not normal. It’s not good. But it’s where I’m at right now.

“Yeah,” I finally say, “I’ll come.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-SIX

CORTLAND

I don’t want to be here.

The cabin is crowded, someone is snorting a line of coke off the table, another group of guys are fucking around with a bong that goes up to my knees, and some chick is dancing half-naked in front of the projector screen on the wall of the living room.

And I just walked in two seconds ago.

Storm is at my back, Brinklin beside me, and Chase is in front, surveying the half-naked girl’s tits bouncing before he glances back at us with a smile.

I ignore him and turn to Storm, who’s looking at me.

“I wanna leave,” I tell him.

We walked down here to get further from Maya, who is two cabins down from ours, just like she said she’d be. This one was a mile away, and I drove the truck because walking two miles in the dark might’ve been fun… if Chase wasn’t with us. But he’s drunk as fuck, and annoying as hell, and having him in my truck for two minutes is all I want to see of him the rest of the night.

“Yeah,” Brinklin says beside me, observing everything, “we should go.”

I know what he’s thinking about. His precious future as a U.S. senator, going up in flames.

I glance at the residue of coke on the wooden table, some dude licking his finger and dabbing it up, placing it in his mouth.

I don’t do coke. I don’t smoke pot. Ever since that night, I stick to beer and the occasional cigarette. I wonder what my dad would say if he could see me here. There’re drugs in West Virginia, where he grew up, but things are just different. There’s not… this. Then again, I guess I’ve done worse.

I close my eyes a second, exhaustion heavy in my head, and I think about Remi’s last text to me and I want to wrap my fucking hand around her throat, just like I said. But at least she isn’t here.

Chase approaches the girl who looks like she’s high on E or something, but when she picks her head up, her long red hair falling in front of her eyes, she wraps her arms around Chase’s neck and presses herself to his body.

I run my tongue over my teeth, wondering if I should warn her about him. He glances over at us, grinning, and my skin crawls, seeing his baby face flush pink, matching his pink and black flannel shirt.

I imagine his forearm against Remi’s throat.

My stomach twists into knots.

I tear my eyes away from him and run my hand through my hair, not seeing anyone I know here—thankfully—and bump my shoulder against Brinklin’s. His green eyes meet mine, but I see him glancing at that guy bumping another line.

Brinklin’s jaw is tight, and I look down to notice his fists are clenched.

Interesting.

“I just gotta piss, then we’ll go,” I tell him.

Storm laughs behind me. “It’s a campsite, Cort. Piss outside.”

Yeah. The last time I got naked outside, Chase took out his phone and started taking pictures before I busted it against a tree, shattering his screen. He thanked me for that later. As if I did it for him.

“No, thanks,” I tell Storm with a tight smile. “Be right back.” I turn away from him, shoving my way through the bodies congregated in the living room, the smell of musk and sweat and booze permeating the air.

“El Diablo” by Machine Gun Kelly is playing too loudly, giving me a headache, and all I can think about is Remi. Grateful she’s far away from this mess, but pissed she’s still ignoring me. Kind of.

I need to tell Maya to fuck off, and maybe that would appease Rems. Mom would be mad, and it might complicate things for me, but I don’t think I care anymore.

If Remi was with someone else, I’d⁠—

I stop short, halfway down the narrow hallway of the cabin, marijuana smoke thick back here, but with less people.

There’s a door ajar to my left, and I see something very fucking familiar.

Orange and blonde braids.

Sitting on the edge of a bed.

Two people on either side of her.

One I recognize. That white guy she’s always with, tattoos down his arms, and on her other side, an Asian girl with her hand on Remi’s face and her mouth… on her neck.

The guy has his hand on her thigh. Her bare thigh.

Because she’s wearing a dress—the first time I’ve ever seen her in one, unless you count her cheer uniform, which I don’t.

She’s in boots that go past her knees, a flannel shirt tied around her narrow waist, and as this guy’s hand travels up her thigh, she parts her knees, one hand on the lap of either of her friends.

The girl’s mouth trails kisses up Remi’s throat. To her lips.

I’m going to kill them both for touching her.

I clench my hands into fists as I stare at these two touching my girl, and I’m fucking frozen.

I want to break their hands.

I want to scream.

But before I can do anything, Remi dips her chin, and her eyes connect with mine.

Mine narrow, my jaw tight, and she appears to freeze, her entire body going rigid.

No one seems to notice.

The guy slips his hand under the edge of her dress, and the girl is still running her lips over my girl’s throat, to her mouth again.

Remi’s lips part.

She spread her knees wider.

I might actually kill her.

She smiles at me, arching a brow, as if to say, What, fucker?

I take a step forward, lean against the doorway.

Then I pull out my phone.

Smiling at her, I open up the camera, point it her way.

Her smile falters and she turns her head from the chick.

I wonder if she’s thinking of that night too. Chase trying to record everything. Or maybe my bullshit threats to her the day she woke up in my bed and I told her I’d videoed her.

I’d never really do that, but watching her discomfort, I don’t put my phone away.

She clears her throat.

Good girl.

Both the guy and girl pull away from her immediately, and she smiles at both of them, then turns to the guy.

“I think I…” She trails off, averting her eyes, but not looking at me. As if she doesn’t want them to see me standing in the doorway. “I think I’m gonna go back⁠—”

“I’ll walk you back,” the guy says, and I drop my hand, push my phone into my pocket.

No thanks, asshole.

“I’m okay,” Remi assures him, and I think he’s a little drunk, the way he sways as he leans back, pulling her hand to his lips.

I can feel my pulse pounding in my ears.

“I’ll see you in the morning?” Remi stands, tugging down her dress, and the guy’s hand runs up the inside of her thigh.

I’m going to kill him.

I’m going to actually fucking kill him.

But just as I take a step forward, Remi pulls away, her back to me as she tosses her braids over her shoulders. “Goodnight, guys.”

“Bye, Remi,” the girl says, and Remi turns, hurrying to the door. She closes it behind her, standing in front of me, close enough for me to touch her.

And I do.

My hand goes to her throat, just like I promised her it would. “You are fucking. Up.”

She narrows her eyes into slits, and I see they’re lined with red. She smells like marijuana and alcohol and underneath it all, her coconut scent. But her words aren’t slurred when she speaks. “You already did, so I guess we’re even.” She throws the words I spoke to her in the cemetery back in my face.

I push her against the wall beside the door, one hand cradling her head. My eyes rake over her dress, her bare thighs, those fucking boots.

“Happy birthday, baby,” I tell her, slowly looking back up into her golden eyes. “Twenty never looked so fucking slutty.”

She grabs my forearm, clawing her black painted fingernails into my skin. “Are you jealous, Cortland?” she whispers, her voice dripping with venom. “For a boy who passed me around to his fucking friends, you’re actually jealous?”

I tighten my grip on her throat. “I’m not a boy, baby. And don’t worry. Tonight, I’m not passing you around.” I lean in close to her, my mouth over hers. “Because when I’m done with you, there won’t be anything left to take.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-SEVEN

REMI

When we’re in his truck, parked on the main dirt road that forks off to the different cabins, after he dragged me through the house, he turns on me, pinning me against the passenger side of the door, his hand on my chest.

“What the fuck was that?”

I swallow down my nerves at his anger, his eyes gleaming silver in the lights from his dash, the engine not running, but the battery on.

“Passenger” by Deftones is playing, and that, combined with my heartbeat, are the only sounds out here in the dark, this far from the party.

My head is against the window, one hand on the dash, the other on his leather seat, the way I’m twisted toward him. “I should’ve sucked his dick and let you watch,” I tell him, my chest heaving under his hand. “I should’ve let them both fuck me while you stood in that doorway like a fucking stalker.”

He grabs the collar of my dress, pulling me closer, his mouth over mine. “Is that what you should’ve done, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Nah,” he says, laughing, his breath minty against my lips. “What you should do is tell me you’re fucking sorry that I had to see that.”

I laugh, my temper flaring. “You are unreal.”

He tilts his head, running his mouth over mine. I suck in a breath, butterflies flipping in my stomach, despite my anger, and my words. “You sorry, baby?”

“Fuck you.”

“Not unless you apologize.”

“You let her suck your dick.” The words come out jagged, and I hate that, but I can’t hold it back. What I’ve been wanting to say to him for over a week. “You let her…” I close my eyes, his hand still wrapped around the collar of my dress. “She said she fucking loved you.” Those words taste bitter in my mouth.

He’s quiet, but he doesn’t release me.

“And you… you’ve been following me, and touching me, and all along, you were fucking around with her.” I grit my teeth, unwilling to say anything else, to damn myself here in this truck with him.

He runs his mouth over mine again, and I hate that my stomach twists into knots, fire in my veins. “It was before you, and it didn’t happen,” he tells me, his voice low. “And anything that might have actually happened before you, that didn’t mean anything.”

“Well back there,” I counter, my eyes flying open, staring at him in my face, “that was my cousin, and that was after you, and it wouldn’t have meant anything either, so why don’t you let me finish⁠—”

“Your cousin?” He sounds livid, but not disgusted.

I don’t look away from him. “We’re all fucked up, aren’t we, Cortland?”

We’re both breathing hard and he hasn’t released me. I want to push him away. I want to make him recoil, but he doesn’t. He’s still right here.

“I guess in your part of the South, you know all about⁠—”

“Shut the fuck up, Remi.” He kisses me, hard and punishing, his lips bruising.

I grab his shoulders, feeling the soft material of his gray sweater under my fingers as I yank him closer to me. He’s nearly on top of me in the truck, crowding me against the door. It’s uncomfortable, but I don’t care.

I just want him.

I know I shouldn’t, but I fucking want him.

His tongue collides with mine, his hand moves to my throat, and it feels good. I let him take, and take, and fucking take.

Then I think of Van. What he’d say if he saw me out here. What Sloane would say.

I push on Cort’s shoulders, and he resists.

I pull away from his kiss, both of us catching our breath, my lips swollen as I push him again. “What are we doing?” I whisper in the space between us.

He fists my dress in his hand. “What does it feel like we’re doing?”

I stare at him in the dark, breathing hard. What does it feel like? It feels like jumping. Or dying. Love always feels like fucking. Dying.

It always has for me.

My mom, literally.

Leaving me with Silas, and his words, his touches… dying.

Then Cortland, and the charges and the emptiness…

Love feels like fucking dying.

“I don’t know,” I answer him, my heart racing as I hold myself up in his truck, one hand still on the dash. “I don’t know.” I shake my head, frowning. “This… it’s just…” I take a breath as he stares at me, my dress still fisted in his hand. “What do you want from me, Cortland?” Haven’t you taken enough?

“Whatever you’re willing to give.” It sounds like an honest answer and I’m stunned into silence.

He drags me closer to him, running his mouth over mine.

His breath smells clean, no alcohol on his tongue.

“I know this is… fucked up. I know we fucked up,” he says.

No. You did that. I want to scream it at him, but my blood is hot and I don’t want him off of me. Not yet.

“But we keep finding our way to each other. I don’t know what that means, but I kind of want to find out.”

I swallow down my fear. This will never work. I know that. But I think about Ryann’s mouth on my throat. Van’s hand on my thigh.

Cortland’s fingers inside me, and Storm watching me in their house.

I’ve spent a year fighting against lust. Being wanted.

I don’t want to fight anymore.

I sit up straighter, pushing against his shoulder.

He doesn’t move.

“Let me,” I tell him as he resists. “Let me be in control.”

He stills, his fingers stiff around my neck as he stares at me.

I hear him swallow, and slowly, he pulls back, releasing me.

He reaches into his pants, adjusting himself, and I lean across the console, my fingers going to his hand.

“Remi,” he says, surprise in his words. He wasn’t expecting that conversation to go this way. But I’m tired of being what everyone expects. Quiet, damaged, broken.

What’s the point of breaking if you don’t get to make other people bleed every once in a while?

I flick open the button of his dark gray pants, pull down the zipper as I meet his gaze. Then I tug on the waistband, and he stares at me a moment in the dark.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says softly.

“I know.”

“You don’t have to… to prove you’re better than her.”

My chest tightens. “I know.”

“Let’s just go back to my⁠—”

I tug on his pants again. “You want me to be innocent and sweet and docile for you, Cortland?” I ask him quietly, seeing his jaw tick in the darkness, his head against his seat, turned toward me. I glance at his pants, his black boots, letting my gaze slowly travel back up to his face. “If I were that kind of girl, you wouldn’t have walked in on what you did.”

“Remi,” he says warningly, his hand coming over mine, like a threat.

I ignore him. “I wouldn’t want to suck your dick right now in your truck.”

He stares at me in the dark, then his hand comes back around my throat, his grip tight. He squeezes—not hard enough that I can’t breathe, but close. I drag my hand down over his pants, feeling his hard cock as I squeeze it beneath my fingers.

His grip on my throat tightens and there’s something about the dominant position he’s in that, despite what I’m trying to do to him, I kind of like.

“Is this another way to hurt yourself?” he asks me quietly, leaning over the console, his breath over my mouth as he speaks. “Is this like a blade to your wrist, my cock in your mouth?”

I swallow hard, beneath his hand, and I don’t know what to say.

Yeah, I think, it is just like that.

“Another form of self-harm?” He runs his mouth over mine. “Is that what you’re doing here, baby? Breaking your own heart?”

My face flames with him seeing through me so easily. But it’s not just me I want to cut. It’s him.

He laughs when I don’t speak. “That’s okay. I’ll take your mouth any way I can get it. But do you want to suck my dick?” His hand tightens around my throat, fingers flexing. “Or did you want to suck his?”

Warmth spreads through me with his question. “I think I owe you,” I tell him, thinking of the library. The graveyard.

His lip ring brushes over my mouth and I dart my tongue out, my piercing hitting his own. “Yeah,” he whispers against my lips, “I think you do, pretty baby.” He grips me tighter, but pulls back, glancing down at his lap. “Come here, Remi. Come suck my cock.”

My heart pounds in my head, and I stare at him for a long moment, his hand still on my throat.

I know it’s a bad idea. Especially with Maya’s texts.

I’m not different.

But I can’t get him out of my head.

Maybe I could fuck him out of my system. Maybe that’s what I need to get past this. Maybe one more hit of the poison is the antidote.

His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, his hand still wrapped tight around my throat as we stare at each other. “Having second thoughts?” he asks me quietly.

“Have you fucked her… since…” I trail off, scared of the answer.

His grip tightens, but he forces himself to loosen it, his fingers flexing then curling against my skin again. “No.”

“Why?” I whisper, the word quiet in the cabin of his truck.

“I don’t want to,” he answers me, his voice low.

“Why not?” I press, desperate and nervous to hear more truths.

“Remi,” he scolds me, “why are we talking about someone who doesn’t matter?” His hand trails lower, down the front of my dress, his fingers grazing my breast.

I suck in a breath, trying to focus. “We’re talking about you,” I tell him, aware of his hand dipping into the cup of my bra.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he admits quietly.

My pulse flies. “Why?”

He palms my breast and pulls on my nipple. I wince, but don’t move as he takes in my face. My eyes, as he plays with me. “Because I want you.”

“I won’t be your dirty little secret.”

He scowls at me, sliding his hand between the dip of my breasts, palming the other roughly as my body tenses. “Who said you were dirty?”

With those words, it’s like the armor of marijuana and my new and improved self cracks.

That’s all I’m good for.

They used me, because what else could they possibly want from me?

“You enjoy being a piece of meat, Remi? Just like your mother. You disgust me.”

And Cortland didn’t deny that I’m a secret. That’s all I ever could be. Maya and Chase and everyone else would fuck us over. I can’t even tell my best friend. Either of them.

I pull away from him, closer to the window. I bring my knees to my chest, my boots on the seat as he moves his hand from my dress.

“I should go, Cortland.”

He blinks, as if he can’t believe what I just said. Then he shoves a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he turns away from me. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters. “What the hell do you want, Remi?”

I laugh. “You followed me out here. You’re fucking stalking me. What do you want? You want me to fuck you so you can forget about me? Tell everyone I really did want it? If that’s what you want, Cortland, come do it.” He turns to face me again. “Fuck me here. Now. Get it all out, then leave me the hell alone.”

“I won’t be your blade,” he whispers. “You can do it on your own, hurt yourself while you choke on my cock, but I won’t do it for you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

My mouth drops open, and anger bubbles under my high, trying to break free from the calm, lucid surface. “You already did that to me,” I tell him, amazed my voice is quiet. I lean closer to him, my finger on his chest. “You did that.” My own chest is heaving. “You fucked me over, Cortland.”

He catches my wrist in his hand, pulling me closer, the console digging into my side. “Did I?” he asks, his voice barely more than a growl.

“Yes,” I tell him, unflinching. “I trusted you.” I feel myself breaking with every word. “I fucking trusted you.” Those words are jagged in my throat.

He stares at me, unblinking.

We don’t speak for what feels like minutes, time ticking by, more Deftones playing through the speakers. Until he finally says, his voice low, “I’m sorry.”

My throat feels constricted, like I can’t take in enough air.

“I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I…” He closes his eyes, and I see the pain on his face. I don’t know how he has it. I don’t think he’s the one who should feel it. That should be me. It’s mine.

But I can’t deny that it’s there.

I notice circles under his eyes, the gaunt look to his cheeks, the way his brows are pinched together now.

He hurts, too.

And I’m tired of hurting this way.

I don’t want his apologies, either. I thought I did. I thought I wanted him to acknowledge what he did. What they did. But I don’t.

It doesn’t feel good like I thought it would.

And I’m not ready to give up this bad girl persona.

I’m not ready to drown in the past again, those memories from the basement flooding up.

“I just got fucked up,” he says, an edge to his words. “It’s all so… It’s fucked up, Remi.”

No. I don’t want that. His excuses. I don’t want to hear it.

I yank my wrist from his hand, and he lets me, his eyes springing open. I’m not entirely sure how to do this, but I can figure it out.

I reach for the hem of his pants again.

“Remi.” He catches my hands with his, but I glare up at him.

“Let me do this.”

He stares at me, like he’s trying to read me, but I can feel his dick growing harder under my wrist, the way it’s angled over his pants. “You don’t have to⁠—”

“Let me do it.”

His hands leave mine, smoothing back the flyaways that escaped my braids. “Baby, you really don’t⁠—”

“Don’t be… like this,” I tell him, yanking at his pants.

He shifts his hips, let’s me pull them down. His boxers, too, just to his knees, his cock free.

My breath catches as I wrap my fingers around him, and he groans at my touch, his head leaned back against the seat.

“How do you want me to be, then, Remi?” he asks, his words hoarse as I pump him in my hand, crouched awkwardly over the console, growing wet between my thighs as I stare down at him, my heart racing.

“Don’t be nice to me,” I tell him. “That’s not what this is.” Even as I say the words, nervousness has sweat pricking on the back of my neck as I stroke him. He’s big, which I knew. If I had to choose a starter dick to take my virginity, it wouldn’t have been this one. I glance up at him, see him watching me.

He must see the anxiety written all over my face, because his lips pull into a wolfish smile. “Nervous?” he asks me quietly, smoothing back my hair again.

I swallow the knot that’s tight in my throat and keep pumping him.

He bites his lip, careful not to pull in his lip ring.

“I just…” I don’t want to admit I’ve never done this before.

He cocks his head, the smile falling from his mouth. “Am I the first?”

So many different ways to interpret that question. “Yes,” I tell him truthfully, less embarrassed than I would be if I wasn’t high.

“But your tongue…”

I arch a brow, confused as I stop mid-stroke, his cock hard and warm in my hand. He smells good, too. Like soap, but not overwhelmingly so. “What about it?”

“You have a piercing,” he explains, as if I don’t know. I almost fainted when I got it with Sloane.

“Yeah, I…” I trail off, realizing what he’s implying. I heard the jokes, too. He thinks I got it to give good head? Or that I must have tested it on someone aside from him?

I almost laugh, but it’s kind of pathetic that I have to tell him it isn’t true. I shake my head, still cradled in his hands as I shift my knees up on his seat. “You’re the first,” I whisper, not thinking of Brinklin. That didn’t count.

So many things about that night don’t count. Not in my head. “I’ll help you,” he says quietly. “If you’re sure you want to do this.”

My cheeks burn, and I repeat what I told him before. “Don’t be nice. That’s not… that’s not you.”

His grip tightens on either side of my face. “It was me,” he says softly. “With you. And I don’t want to be mean.”

Slowly, ignoring him and all the feelings his words create in my chest, I drop my head down, open my mouth wide, and wrap my lips tight around his cock as I fit as much of him in my mouth as I can.

He groans, pulling my braids as he does.

Then I bite him.

Gently, but it must hurt, because he curses, yanking out of me as he does, pulling hard on my braids. “What the fuck was that?” he hisses.

I still have my fingers curled around the base of him. “I told you not to be nice. I meant it.” I lick my lips, strings of saliva connecting me to him. “This isn’t love, Cortland. We’re not dating. And I’m not a good girl anymore.”

He stares at me. Glares at me. “You want me to use you.” It’s not a question.

“Now you’re getting it.” I think about the cemetery. Him cornering me in the library. Being on my hands and knees in the woods, in a position not much different than this. Except then I didn’t have to beg him to use me.

Then, he just did it.

And he let them do it too.

He yanks hard on my braids, making my eyes water, my breath leaving me in a rush. The pain sparks something in me.

“Pay me back for getting you off, Remi,” he says, dipping his chin as he stares at me. “Open your mouth.”

I do, feeling giddy with his commands. Giddy, and a little less lost, because I have no idea what I’m doing, despite my bold words.

“Ah,” he says, smiling, still yanking down on my braids enough to hurt. “You look so pretty like this, baby. Just a mouth for me to use.”

My face warms with his words, and I feel equal parts shame and lust coursing through me. I just want to let go. I just want to forget what it’s like to be damaged for once. I want to be a girl giving a guy she thinks is hot a blowjob.

And yeah, maybe on my birthday in his truck isn’t the best idea for my first time, but it’s what I want.

Tonight I feel bolder.

Freer.

Ryann’s words echo in my head. “You can do whatever you want.”

Cortland angles his hips, let’s go of one braid to lift his shirt with his hand. I see his six-pack, the deep V that leads down to his cock. The one he’s pushing into my mouth, all the way to the back of my throat.

Again, my eyes water, but I feel good in knowing it isn’t from crying.

“You okay?” he whispers softly as I close my eyes.

But with his tenderness, they snap open again and I glare at him. I can’t exactly speak, but I don’t care. I love how he tastes. How he feels. And I drop my hand from around the base of him, plant my palms against his hips.

He closes his eyes as I start to move my head, a groan coming from his lips, and it feels good to know I’m the cause of the sounds emanating from him.

He gathers both ends of my braids in his hand, guiding me back and forth over his dick, faster, harder. Hitting the back of my throat and making my stomach convulse, but I don’t care. I don’t even have to do much, the way he’s thrusting against me, guiding my head. I just make sure my teeth don’t scrape against him and he keeps fucking my mouth. Drool pools in the corner of my lips, and I stare up at him in wonder, his head tipped back, his teeth on his lip ring as he bites his lip.

It feels good, making him feel good.

It feels strangely powerful too. I always thought of sucking dick as a favor, but getting to hear his low groans, his whispers of my name… I feel like I’m floating.

Like I’m high on more than weed.

Suddenly, his grip is harsher than before and he dips his chin to stare at me as I whimper from the way he’s pulling my hair.

My nails dig into his hips, hard enough to draw blood, but I don’t push away. I just want to hurt him like he’s hurting me.

He smiles. “Too much?” he taunts me, arching a brow. But his chest is heaving, his knuckles white as he keeps holding his shirt up. He thrusts his hips, angling his cock further back into my throat.

I can’t breathe.

I rake my nails deeper into his skin.

“Scared now, Remi?”

Spots pop in front of my eyes, but I’m not scared. There’s something strange about floating this line of consciousness. And maybe it’s weird, and maybe I shouldn’t like it but I kind of do.

He angles his hips more, and those spots become splotches, big and white and obscuring my vision of his granite eyes.

His hand comes to my jaw as his shirt falls. “Don’t pass out, Remi,” he says, his voice angry. “You asked for this. You’re going to finish it.” And just as my grip on his hips loosens because I don’t think I can take it anymore, he pulls out, letting me gasp for breath.

But not for long before he’s pushing into my mouth again, and I flick my tongue on the underside of his shaft, the piercing hitting his ridged skin.

“Goddamn, Remi,” he moans, and a second later, I taste something thick and salty on my tongue, in the back of my throat. His grip isn’t so painful, but he’s still holding my jaw as he comes, sucking in a breath and groaning as he does.

He doesn’t taste bad, and as he pulls out, I swallow all of him down.

He’s panting as he watches my throat bob, his thumb running along my bottom lip. “Fuck,” he swears under his breath.

I start to wipe the back of my hand over my mouth, but he slaps it down. “No,” he says, his voice stern.

I drop my hand, freezing.

“Let me keep looking at you before you wipe this all away.”

My cheeks warm as he turns my head to one side, then the other, but I don’t say anything, keeping my hands on my thighs.

“Stick out your tongue,” he says as he lets go of my braids, pulls up his boxers and his pants, shifting his hips.

Slowly, I do as he asks.

He leans down close to me, then he runs his tongue down the length of mine, over the metal piercing, probably tasting himself on me.

I tense, my entire body warm.

He tastes good, fresh. Minty.

When he pulls back, just slightly, I’m about to ask what he’s doing, but then he spits. In my mouth.

My breath catches.

He grips my jaw again, hard. Not enough to hurt, but enough that I’m paying attention as he stares at me, still leaned down close.

“Swallow that, too. I don’t want the taste of those fuckers in your mouth.” He kisses my lips, roughly, and long enough that when he finally pulls away, his hand still on my face, my mouth feels swollen. “Happy birthday, baby.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-EIGHT

REMI

He pulls me closer in his bed. The cabin is empty, all of his friends at another. I don’t know who all is supposed to be staying here, and I didn’t ask.

Van texted me that he’d be away all night with Ryann and asked if I was good.

As I let my eyes flutter closed in the quiet darkness of this small room, I know I’m more than good.

Cortland’s body is so hot behind mine, and I can feel his erection against my ass. But he doesn’t say anything or try to press it further against me. He doesn’t even have wandering hands. I’m not sure why I give him bonus points for that, but I do.

I feel him press a kiss to my head and I twist in his arms, butterflies not just in my stomach. They’re in my bloodstream, and I feel like they might actually kill me.

A sliver of moon peeks through the sheer curtains hung over the window just beside the bed, and I see his lip ring glinting in the moonlight.

He has one arm still around me, his shirt off, and I watch the muscles in his shoulders flex as he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear before resting his hand on my face.

I’m in one of his T-shirts that he gave to me before I changed in the bathroom, still not quite ready to—willingly—get undressed in front of him. Or anyone.

“What’re you thinking about, baby?” he whispers in the dark.

So like the boy I knew.

Kind. Gentle.

Safe.

My eyes search his, my fingers grazing the muscles of his chest. “Why did you come back here?” I ask him quietly. He knows I mean to North Carolina.

For a moment, he looks down between us, his jaw clenched tight. He pulls his lip ring between his teeth, and his hand drifts down, over my shoulder, kneading my flesh.

Then he meets my gaze. “A few reasons,” he finally says, and I feel my pulse speed up in my chest, my fingers pressing into his hot skin.

I arch a brow, waiting, holding my breath as I do.

He keeps massaging my upper arm, as if he’s trying to relax me.

“One of them…” He trails off, looking down again. I see his long lashes nearly graze his cheekbones. Then his throat bobs as he swallows. “I’m not sure we ever finished what we started,” he whispers in the dark.

I think of when I first saw him, in front of the student service’s building. Then the next night, so cruel at the party. Slamming me against the wall in the bathroom.

He was so fucking angry.

I think back to that night. I remember leaving his room the next morning, bile working its way up my throat, thinking about all the boys who had seen me naked.

I think about something else, too.

The movie he played after he washed me off in the bathroom.

His eyes meet mine. “I don’t know what happens next, Remi,” he says softly, and his voice sounds hoarse. His fingers stop working my flesh, but with the arm he has tucked up under me, he pulls me closer. “I don’t know what the fuck we’re doing any more than you do.” He presses his brow to mine, and my throat feels tight. “But I was so fucking mad at you because…”

“Because I tried to send you to prison?”

He shakes his head, but a shadow crosses his face. “Yeah,” he admits. “That, too. But also…”

I feel like I can’t breathe as he pauses, staring at me.

“I thought you forgot. How everything else felt.”

The box of memories in the basement of my mind doesn’t rattle, but another memory surfaces.

Me in his lap, in his truck. At the park. Young love, or the spark of it anyway. Two souls who saw one another. I always thought him and Maya seemed an odd pairing. She seemed cruel and he seemed… kind.

I’d had a crush on him for a while, but from afar. Girls like me—no parents, no prospects, no big, bubbly personality—didn’t get guys like him. The center of attention. Wealthy. Adored.

There wasn’t a world we came together in, until he made it happen.

Before he ripped it all to pieces.

“Then I saw your phone screen,” he continues, and I suck in a breath, thinking of it.

Dawson’s Beach.

I look away, my body hot, but he moves his hand from my arm to my chin, tipping my face up so I look him in the eye.

He put that movie on, after he cleaned me off. Changed me into one of his T-shirts. He was still drunk, as was I, and he was clumsy and he turned the volume down low, but it was my favorite movie.

He knew that from our run-in that time at the park. Before we dated.

“And I knew you didn’t forget. Maybe you can’t.” He runs his thumb over my bottom lip. “Or maybe, Remi… you just don’t want to.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-NINE

CORTLAND

The next morning, after I gas up the truck, I get in, pulling the door shut and tossing a bag onto Remi’s lap.

She catches it as I start the engine, turn up the music.

“Black Honey” by Thrice.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I think about ignoring it, but my mind goes to Tristan and I pull it out, checking my screen.

Two messages.

Dad

I found a house. Come for dinner after the game next weekend?

And Storm.

Storm

We’re great, thanks for asking. All of us survived the night at the drug den, and Chase is sleeping in a puddle of his own vomit. Have fun with her, but tonight, we’ll all be at the cabin.

I laugh, shaking my head, but turn my phone on silent, flip it face down in the center console and pull out onto the road.

Remi doesn’t say anything about me checking my phone, instead she’s busy opening up the package I tossed her way. “How did you know?” she asks me. “You creepy stalker.”

I smile as I rest one arm on the window ledge, the other on the wheel as we merge onto the highway, determined to forget about my dad and Maya and Chase for today. “You just answered your own question.”

I hear her laugh, but her mouth is full of Reese’s, so it’s muffled.

I glance over at her, see her sleepy eyes, messy hair. She’s in one of my red and orange flannel shirts. It swamps her, and I drove her back to her cabin so she could change, but she insisted on staying in it. She’s got on leggings and her white Chucks, and she said her cousin, Van, wasn’t there. Which means he’s probably at the drug den too.

I grind my teeth thinking of him, but don’t say anything. Turns out, at best, he’s her step-cousin, not that I would care either way. Not about that part.

I just don’t want anyone else touching her.

There’s so much between us besides the giant center console and the touchscreen of my truck. Oceans of memories and shit we could psychoanalyze. But I think about Tristan sleeping in that hospital bed, Dad on the chair next to him, his head bowed over the Bible, praying for his soul. I know it’s all bullshit. We only have the now. There’s no God to pray to. No higher power that’ll forgive us our sins. And if we fuck up the now, just like with me and Remi, there’s nothing to make that all go away.

I was raised in church, crowding into that stuffy Baptist building every Sunday like most of the town of Beckley, West Virginia. But I knew better. I saw the devil in my mother’s eyes every day when she looked at me like I wasn’t shit. When no matter what I did, I couldn’t please her. Tristan had it worse, because he’s smaller, non-athletic. She dominated him physically.

With me, she just tore me down. Humiliation was her favorite game. When I was six years old and we went camping, Mom deciding to tag along this time, I’d been wetting the bed at night. We went out to the crowded lake, but before I could go out, she took me to the bathroom and handed me a diaper.

I had to wear it under my swimsuit, and because it wasn’t waterproof, I was terrified to go past knee-deep in the lake, in case anyone saw my fucking diaper.

“Learn to pee on the potty like a big boy and you won’t get treated like a baby, Cort,” she’d said, kissing the top of my head when we all walked home from the lake that day, her laying out in the sun and grinning at my obvious discomfort every few minutes while she applied suntan lotion.

Tristan wet the bed not long after that. He came to me. I changed his sheets, did the laundry myself so Mom never found out.

I hold all of that shit down, knowing nothing could make up for my mom’s cruelty, even if she decided she wanted to be sorry.

Nothing can make up for what’s between me and Remi either.

So we don’t bring up the shit that doesn’t matter.

What happened to her. What happened to me.

What’s going to happen when this is all over.

It’ll hurt. I know that. But I can’t give her up just yet. And she’s nothing like my mom. Even when she went to the cops, even last night in the party cabin when she could have, I don’t think she’d ever intentionally try to humiliate me.

I always saw that goodness in her. Always.

“How long have you been stalking me, Cort?” she asks after a moment, and I see she’s gone through three Reese’s cups. She deserves them for all the work she did in my truck last night.

Holding her close to me in the little bed of the empty cabin—thanks to Storm’s distractions—was like… heaven on earth.

I steal another look at her. Her hair is in braids again, the orange fading just enough to show hints of her natural dark blonde. She’s fucking beautiful.

“Cort?” I counter, answering her question. It’s what most people call me. But Remi Ocean is not most people, and she gave up that nickname for me after that night. I think she used it then to get my attention. To tell me she was scared.

I push that aside as I stare at the road.

The traffic is nearly non-existent as we head down the highway, the foliage of the mountains already turning yellow and orange with the start of fall. It’s breathtaking to look at, and in West Virginia, it’s even better.

I wonder if Remi would like it there.

If she’d ever let me take her.

I wonder how temporary this is.

My chest tightens and I rub my thumb over my sternum, trying not to think about that.

“You don’t like it?” she asks me. “When I call you that?”

I shrug, glancing over at her and seeing her watching me. The entire bag of Reese’s is still on her lap, and she looks carefree, her feet tucked up under her, no doubt dirtying my seats.

“You can call me what you want,” I tell her, eyes back on the road. I brush my sunglasses up over my head. It’s kind of gray out now, clouds rolling through.

“What about asshole?” she quips.

“Good one.”

I hear her laugh softly. “Bastard?”

“I’ve got a dad, thank you.”

A moment’s pause, and I think about her stepdad. I know her mom died when she was younger and I can’t help but wonder what it would have been like if I hadn’t had a mom.

Tristan would be so much better off.

But I don’t know much about Remi’s stepdad. We never really got to that point. Brinklin said his dad brushed shoulders with him, something about his company and political donations.

Mr. Sykes, Brink’s dad, is a raging dick underneath his quiet psychopath, so if he thinks someone is bad, they probably are.

“How’s your stepdad?” I ask her, keeping my tone light.

She clears her throat. “He’s good.” Her words are stiff, almost robotic.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and I grip my steering wheel tighter. “Just good?”

Another pause. Then, “I’m meeting him in a couple of weeks. In Raleigh. Where he moved to. Although our house hasn’t sold yet.” She sounds despondent. Unease crawls down my spine. It’s the same tone she had that night… when Chase was fucking her. I should’ve paid more attention to that. I was too out of it, but I remember it. I’m sure she does, too.

I shift in my seat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she mutters.

A tense silence stretches between us. I know her stepdad is wealthy, and I was concerned about that, in the aftermath of what went down. With all the bruises on her body—bruises I don’t even remember causing—and the money her stepdad would be able to throw around for bribes or whatever illegal shit went down in small town court systems, I was terrified.

But it didn’t pan out. He didn’t have the connections mine and the pack’s family did. It was wolf territory, like it or not. Not anything to do with us, as football players, but with our families, with money. Influence.

The football probably didn’t hurt.

I think about those bruises my lawyers informed me she had. About when I accused her of lying in the cemetery and she didn’t deny it.

“You get along with him?” I try to keep my tone casual, but there’s an edge to my words that I can’t quite bite back. I’ve become used to protecting her. From everything except myself.

I hear the rustle of the bag of Reese’s and see she’s pulling one out, but she doesn’t answer me.

I flex my jaw. “Remi? You can talk to me, you know.”

She stuffs the chocolate in her mouth, like she’s looking for an excuse not to speak. Or just shutting down.

Frustrated, I hit my open hand against the steering wheel. I see, out of the corner of my eye, she flinches, swallowing down her chocolate, fisting the bag in her hands until her knuckles blanch.

“Has he hurt you, baby?” I ask, my temper rising as I think about my mother. “Ever touched you?” I look over at her, my heart racing as I try to breathe. She’s staring straight ahead, her face pale white.

I keep my eyes on the road, my speed even, despite the fact my fingers are aching on the wheel.

“Jesus Christ, don’t do this shit. Talk to me.”

She doesn’t say a word. I think about Mom slapping me in the face. Her eyes sparking at my mortification. Her screaming at Dad. The way she cut him down. “Fucking redneck, piece of shit truck driver. You’re a fucking truck driver, Ray. You’re fucking nothing. I shouldn’t have to do shit in this house, because you do nothing!”

I want to yank the wheel, pull over on the side of the road and scream at her to talk to me. If her dad has treated her like my mom treated me, I’ll fucking kill him.

“Remi!” I shout her name and she flinches again, turning her head to me.

“Don’t yell at me.” Her words are quiet, and I try to catch my breath.

I reach across the console and grab her hand, yanking it over to my lap, gripping it tightly. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Just… please don’t shut me out. Answer me when I ask you a fucking question.”

“Why?” she demands, her voice cold, as rigid as her hand in my lap. “We both know this isn’t going to work. Why do you want me to rip myself open again for you? Just so you can watch me bleed?” She tries to yank her hand away, but I grip it tighter, my jaw ticking, my eyes darting to the cuts on her arm.

“Has he hurt you?” I know she’s deflecting. I know she’s not mad at me. Or maybe she is, but she’s hurting. Because of him. “I swear to God, I’ll fucking kill him⁠—”

“Stop, Cortland.”

“No. I’m not gonna stop, not until you use your words.” I’m seeing red and I should probably pull over, but I don’t want to because if I do, I might turn this car around and find Silas and rip his goddamn throat out.

“Cortland.” Her voice is so quiet.

I take a breath, in. Out. I run my tongue over my teeth, her hand beneath mine. “Remember what happened the last time you didn’t speak, Remi?” I keep my tone low, my eyes on the road. “That didn’t work out so well for you, huh?”

“Stop it!” She screams those words at the top of her lungs, smacking her free hand on the dash, trying to jerk away from me again. “You are such an asshole!” I tighten my grip on her, my palm sweaty. “You don’t get to demand whatever you want and think I’ll just give it to you, just like that.”

I huff a laugh, irritation working its way through my veins. “And you don’t get to keep your mouth shut and expect people to read your fucking mind.”

She rips her hand from mine and this time I let her go, my heart racing. “You have no idea what it was like.”

“Then why don’t you tell me?”

“You couldn’t possibly understand what it feels like to be that powerless.” Her words are barely more than a whisper.

I think about my mom screaming at me. My brother. My dad. Her dominance wielded over our entire house with a heavy hand. “Try me, Remi.”

“You just get everything you want, don’t you, Cortland? Girls? Money? A clean record? Is that why you waited, in high school? You asked me out so you could fuck me over during the summer, head off to college and forget all about me? You wanted to hurt me all along, at just the right time, so you could let my heart break into pieces while you fucking ran?” She snarls those words out, and I grip the steering wheel tighter.

But I don’t speak. I want to reach for a cigarette and my lighter, but my hands are already shaky, and I don’t think I could keep the truck on the road if I did that. She has no idea what she’s talking about.

She has no fucking idea.

“You just thought I was so shy and so quiet and I’d just let it all go? You hunted me down, offered me up to your friends in those woods and thought I’d go home and cry into my pillow and that would all be that⁠—”

“Stop talking, Remi.”

She slams her fists on the dash. “You just bitched at me for not speaking and now that I am, you can’t handle it.”

I breathe in. Out. Again. Stare at the gray skies ahead, the empty road.

“You’re so good at wrecking shit, Cortland, but you can’t stand to see the damage when you’re done. Is that it? Why are you even here, anyway? You just want to watch me burn all over again? It wasn’t enough for you after graduation?”

I’m off the highway, pulling into the dirt path to Lilith Cave National Park, and I throw the truck into park as soon as I back into a spot in the lot, turning to glare at her.

She has her arms wrapped around her chest.

“You got daddy issues, Remi? Is that what this is all about?”

Her cheeks flush pink, and she grits her teeth, glaring at me.

If she’d had a good dad, would things have been different? She was so easy to get to. She sat on my lap, let me touch her, trail my fingers up her arm. And in the woods, she was so giddy.

Until I pushed her against that tree.

My mouth hot on hers.

And Chase and Brinklin, circling us.

Storm watching.

I was supposed to protect her. I fucking failed.

“Is it me you’re mad at, or him?”

“Don’t do this,” she whispers.

“You know why I waited, Remi?” I ask her, undoing my seatbelt and turning to face her more fully, snatching up the lighter and a cigarette as I do.

She looks down at her thighs. I take in the curve of her cheekbone as I light up, the narrowness of her nose.

Her long lashes, and how my shirt swamps her, but she’s still so fucking beautiful.

I turn my head and exhale, tossing down the lighter.

I keep staring out my cracked window as I start to speak again. “I waited because my life was a shit show,” I admit, my words low. “Because dragging you, so fucking innocent and so fucking good, into it… seemed like a crime.” I laugh a little with that word, inhaling again, exhaling through my nose, letting the nicotine soothe me.

I turn to her again, see she’s looking out the window, the orange bag of Reese’s still in her lap.

“And with college coming, I was going to get out of my house. Out from underneath my mom—away from all of her bullshit. Hell, I even thought I’d try to find a way for my brother to live with me, because it was that bad.”

She stiffens in her seat but doesn’t face me.

“Then everything happened. And this past summer, Tristan… he tried to kill himself because my mom is a cunt.”

I hear her sharp intake of breath, see her turn toward me, her eyes wide.

I keep staring at her as I flick my cigarette out the window, swallowing hard as my fingers curl around the steering wheel, for something to do with my hands. “And I was so, so fucking glad I never brought you around her. She’s poison, and it was enough that she’d gotten to my brother. If she’d gotten to you…” I glance out the windshield. “I’d probably kill her.”

I drop my hands to my lap, running them over my black sweats. “After that night, with you, I thought about hurting myself too. My friends.” I turn to face her. “Chase.”

Her complexion, already so fair, turns white, and I think about murdering Chase all over again.

I grab her arm, tugging it away from her chest, flipping her palm, trailing my index finger over the faintest of white lines, six in a row on her inner arm.

Then more. Newer. Recent.

Her hand starts to tremble.

“You’re not the only one who bled that night, and all the ones after. I almost know why Tristan did it.”

Her eyes widen as she watches my finger brushing over her wounds.

“Felt good, didn’t it?” I whisper, watching her watch me. Remembering what I told her. That it makes me feel alive.

She takes a shaky breath in.

I dip my head, flicking my tongue over her cuts.

I hear her whimper.

“You can tell me, baby.” I press my thumb over one wound, lifting my head to stare down at her.

She winces as I put more pressure over it.

“Tell me you liked it. Tell me seeing yourself bleed wasn’t a high you’ll never get anywhere else? No drugs, no alcohol. Nothing is that euphoric.”

Slowly, she looks up, through those long, dark lashes, her golden eyes on me. “There is one thing,” she whispers.

I tighten my hold on her wrist. “What’s that, baby?”

She stares at me a long moment. Then she says, “You.”

My breath catches as I hold her gaze, then look at where she’s hurt herself. “If that’s true,” I brush my thumb over her cuts, “stop doing this. Let me be it for you.” I swallow hard and stare at her arm. “And I’ve been stalking you since I met you, baby,” I answer her earlier question. “And it’s only going to get worse.”

CHAPTER

FORTY

REMI

There are a few people in line at the ticket booth at Lilith Caves, but it’s relatively quiet. Yet his words from the truck, the way he pressed for my truths, the ones he gave me… it all echoes in my head.

His brother. His mom. His thoughts about Chase.

Insinuating again that he hurt himself, too.

And when he links his arm through my own, despite the confusion in my mind, I feel a sense of giddiness that’s unmatched.

“Stop doing this. Let me be it for you.”

When I fall, I know it’s going to hurt.

But for now… I can let him be it.

We disappear into the darkness, the stagnant air surrounding us as we walk along the pathway lined with a short, wooden fence. Lanterns light the way, hanging lights casting an orange glow on the stalactites and stalagmites.

He keeps me close, even when I run over to the fence to check out the limestone walls, listening to water dripping within the quiet of the cave. He comes with me, saying little. I keep my phone in the breast pocket of his borrowed shirt, even though everything is beautiful and picture perfect. The active limestone formations, the bulging walls of the cavern, ducking beneath low hanging rocks. At one point, Cort has to let go of me and duck. I feel his hands on my ass as I crouch down and I laugh, escaping onto the other side.

He easily catches up to me, pulling me back to him, his arm wrapped around my shoulder, his West River High black and teal hoodie still fitting him perfectly. I think he grew so fast, he got it all out of his system in high school.

“Having fun, pretty baby?” he asks me as we see the mouth of the cave exit looming ahead, seeming to glow bright in the darkness.

I stop walking, and he does too as I twist under his arm to look at him.

His hands come to my hips, heavy and hot even through my shirt.

“Yeah,” I admit, my breath hitching. We’re alone now, and I almost don’t want to go into the light. I texted Van that I was going for a drive in a golf cart, this place just one exit up on the highway, and I’m not ready to go back.

I don’t want people to see this. Whatever this is.

He glides his hands up my side, my shirt pulling with the movement.

My heart races as I stare up at him in the dim light, and he pulls me closer. My palms splay against his hoodie, my fingers rubbing over the wolf printed on the thick material.

He bends his head, his brow to mine, our noses lined up. He seems to like this position with me. Touching every inch of my face that he can with his own.

And his touch is firm, but gentle.

Much like it was that night.

A chill slides down my spine, but it’s not exactly unwanted.

“I like this. With you,” he says softly, yanking me closer, and us out of the main path of the cave, his back against the rocky wall. If people want to come through, he seems to be saying, they can, but he’s not letting go.

“Yeah?” I ask, my fingers still splayed on his shirt, still moving. My heart still racing.

Wrong. My head is telling me this is wrong, but my heart, in this moment, is winning.

It’s just a moment, I tell my head. That part of me trying to protect myself from the inevitable crash and burn that will come from giving into these simple pleasures. It’s just a moment.

“Yeah,” he says, and his lips brush against mine.

I grip his shirt tightly in my fist.

“We remember that night so differently,” he continues, and my heart sinks. Not this. Anything but this. “But even still, I want you to know, baby, I’d give anything to go back and do it all over again.”

I don’t know what he means. If he wants to do it how it happened. If he wants to relive it.

Before I have my next thought, he’s crushing his lips to mine and I let him, his tongue sweeping in, clashing with my own, stroking over the ball of my piercing.

I feel his own against my lips, and I moan into his mouth as his fingertips press into my sides, his cock growing hard on my stomach.

I rise up on my tiptoes, giving in, wanting to feel him between my thighs.

His kiss isn’t gentle, but it feels better this way. A little pain with the sweetness. A reminder of the heartache I know is coming.

But I get swept up in this, in him, and by the time he’s pulling away, both of us breathing hard, I’ve almost forgotten we’re in the middle of a cave and there’s a whole world outside of it that is just itching to tear us apart.

“Let’s go eat,” he says, taking my hand, threading his fingers through mine and pulling me to the mouth of the cave, as if he didn’t just steal my breath.

But I follow him, wiping the back of my hand over my mouth, as if wiping away his kiss will help with the misery I know will come eventually.

We spend all day in the little town around Grim Mountain. Once we’re back at the campsite, he drives down an abandoned road that seems to lead to nowhere, putting the truck in park tucked just inside the forest, as far as he could drive without hitting a tree.

Van has texted me a few times, and I assured him I’m okay, but night has fallen now, and soon, he’ll panic.

But I can’t let this go. Not yet. I don’t want the day to end.

My skin is warm and there’s vodka in my bloodstream. Cortland ordered a fountain drink through a drive-thru, and I dumped some Tito’s in it that was in the backseat, slurped it down before our drive back, making him laugh by singing rock in the car at the top of my lungs and off-key.

It felt good to give into that side of me, even if I had to use the alcohol to help guide me along.

Now, though, my high has kind of fallen, and I’ve got my seatbelt off, but my ass is still planted in my seat. We probably only have a few moments left before Van calls me nonstop until I pick up, but I’m savoring every second. Besides, I’m sure Ryann is keeping my cousin busy.

“Thank you,” I finally say. I meet Cortland’s eyes, and he smiles. “For today.”

“You deserve it.” He has one hand on the wheel, the other on the center console, and his gaze drifts to the thick forest ahead of us, his lights off, darkness pressing in on us. “Are you going back in the morning?” he asks quietly before looking back at me.

I shift in my seat, one leg in it, foot pressed against my inner thigh. “Yeah. With Van.” I hold his gaze and see him frown. I think of last night and my cheeks warm.

“You like him?” he asks me.

I hitch up one shoulder, a smile playing on my lips. “He wouldn’t be my best friend if I didn’t.” I know what he’s asking but giving in seems too easy. Besides that, this isn’t a relationship. It’s probably better if it hurts now.

It’ll all come crashing down around us soon.

There’s no world that this makes any sense. And even if it did, even if it could, if we could convince the people around us that this is it for us, the scars around my heart from that night… I’m not sure they’ll ever heal. Long-term, the resentment would grow. Some nights, I still don’t sleep.

But I remember last night, with his arms wrapped around me, when I didn’t wake up until morning, even though he’s the monster I’m scared of in that basement of my mind. Funny how that works.

“Are you fucking him?” Those words are bit off with anger and I blink at him, surprised.

Still, I cross my arms, hunching my shoulders. “I told you. He’s my cousin.”

“I don’t give a fuck if he’s your twin brother. Are you fucking him, Remi?”

I press my lips together to keep from laughing. Then, “I meant what I told you. I haven’t fucked anyone,” I confess. I’m not sure anymore that I hate it’s the truth but my words still come out bitter.

I turn to stare out the windshield, not wanting to make eye contact. The little hairs on the back of my arm stand on end with our pitch-black surroundings. With “Genesis” by Deftones playing through the speakers.

Cortland grabs my arm, unraveling one from across my chest. I face him again, and he leans across the center console, in my face. “Why do you say it like it’s such a fucking bad thing?” he growls.

I take a breath. And another. And another, one hand fisted on my thigh.

He lets go of me and places his hand on my other leg.

“You like that your friends were the last guys to fuck with me?” I counter, emotions warring in my chest. My heart. Lust. Anger. Confusion. My head spins with all of it.

His fingers trail up higher, his grip tighter, his mouth so close to mine. “Shut up, Remi.”

I reach out and grab his shoulders, like he’s an anchor. “But they were,” I breathe out as his fingers pull at the waistband of my leggings. I shift my hips, letting him. “Storm. Brinklin. Chase.” Tasting their names makes my stomach convulse, my throat closing up. But I want him to hear it. What he let them do to me. “They were the last men inside of⁠—”

“Shut. Up.”

He’s yanking down my pants, shoving his hand into my underwear, curling his fingers into my pussy as I adjust myself to give him better access, my words lost on a moan.

“They were?” he snarls, fucking me roughly with his fingers as I hold onto him. “They were the last men inside of you?” He nudges my head to the side with his nose, and his teeth come to my neck, biting down hard.

I yelp and he pushes two fingers in, and out, deeper, harder.

“I think that was me, baby. In the fucking library.”

His mouth comes crashing over mine and I open for him, spreading my thighs wider, my pants around my ankles as he fingers me, his tongue sweeping over mine.

But then abruptly, he pulls back, his fingers coming out of me as he swipes them on my thigh, letting me feel how wet I am for him.

Even that’s gone after a moment, his hands on his lap as he stares at me, his eyes on mine.

I’m panting, glancing down at my bare thighs, my black cotton underwear shoved to the side. I look up, out the window of the truck. Into the darkness.

The abyss.

The hairs on my arm stand on end when he says, “Come here.”

Just like that night.

Before.

It’s a do over.

I swallow, running my palms over my thighs. “Cortland, I⁠—”

“Remi. Come. Here.”

I turn to face him, seeing his Marlboros in the console, the lighter too.

“I want you in my lap, Remi.” There’s need in his voice.

I keep staring at the black lighter. “Van will be looking for⁠—”

“I don’t give a fuck. Get your ass in my lap.”

But he doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t haul me over.

It’s my choice.

I take a breath. Another. Then I push off my shoes, my eyes finding his in the darkness. Just like that night in the park, he moves his seat back, his eyes locked on mine.

I kick off my pants, pull my legs up, turn to cross over the console.

He grabs my hips, and I’m straddling him, my knees sinking into the leather seat of his truck. His hands come to my hips, mine to his hoodie, trying to yank it up. He smiles, releasing me to cross his arms over his chest, pulling it over his head, tossing it in the back of the cab. I inhale his pine scent, my hands back on his shoulders, over his black shirt, as his palms ride up my sides.

He yanks me closer, and I grind against his erection, my core heating with every touch.

“I’ve missed this. I’ve fucking missed you.” His breath fans my mouth and I angle my head, dragging my lips along his.

He groans, parting his own, and then his teeth are pulling at my tongue ring as I shove it down his throat. I whimper and taste the iron in my mouth, but he doesn’t stop.

His hands slide under my top and he’s got me literally by my tongue as his strong fingers roam over my tits, pinching and pulling at my nipples.

I shift my hips, grinding him, and only then does he release me, my tongue burning as I swallow the blood in my mouth.

I slide my hands down his toned arms, reaching the top of his sweats.

He catches my wrists in his hands, stopping me.

I look up, startled and needy.

“Am I going to prison after this?” he asks me, his voice hard.

I yank my hands away, fumbling with his waistband, adrenaline coursing through me as I stare down between us. “Fuck you,” I whisper.

“You’re worth a lot, baby, but I don’t know if fucking you is worth all those years behind bars,” he says, yanking back my braid, my neck arching.

My breath catches in my throat, but I stare up at him. “You’re fucking me in this truck, Cortland. Don’t make me beg you.” I try to pull down his pants, but he doesn’t move.

I look up again and meet his gaze, my heart sinking. If he denies me, what does that make me?

But the corners of his full lips are turned up in a smile. “I like that idea,” he says, grabbing both braids and yanking them harder.

My breath leaves in a rush and he leans in, running his tongue up the hollow of my throat. “Beg me, Remi,” he says against my skin. “Beg me to fuck you, so I don’t get this whole consent shit confused.”

I pull back, my fingers clenching his shirt.

“Cortland.” My voice is throaty, my heart hammering in my chest. He’s still holding my hair with one hand, his other wrapped around my hip, his thumb grazing the top of my underwear. “Please.”

His grip tightens in my hair, pulling at my scalp. “Please what?” he asks, his tone edged with anger.

My neck flushes hot, but I shift my hips, needing him. Wanting him. “Please don’t make me do this.” I look down between us, see the bulge in his pants, feel it against me. “Please don’t.”

His fingers skim down my side, making me shiver. He runs his palm over the crease of my thigh, so close to where I want him. His thumb comes to my slit, over my underwear as he strokes me and I whimper.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he says, his tone amused as he looks at me. “You’re going to ruin these, Remi.” He runs his thumb down the center of me, but that cotton barrier is driving me insane.

I bow my head, my temple against his, and he looks up at me. “I want you,” I tell him, feeling flushed and embarrassed that I have to beg a boy to fuck me that I almost sent to prison. “I want you so much.”

He runs his tongue over his lip ring, shifting his hips easily even with me on top of him, pulling down his pants, his boxers, fisting his hard, thick cock in his hand as he strokes himself.

“You do?” he asks me, taunting me, his fingers circled tight around him as he pumps himself. I see a shiny bead of precum on the tip of his cock and I’m shaking all over again, for a different reason.

“Yes, Cortland.” My heart is going to burst out of my chest. His cock is nearly lined up with my slit, but his fingers wrapped around himself are between us.

“Tell me to fuck you.”

“F-fuck me.” I stumble over the words, embarrassment making my throat constrict.

He angles my head with his fingers in my hair and captures my mouth with his in a bruising kiss. His other hand comes to my underwear, pushing it aside, and I can feel his warm, hard dick against me.

I gasp, lifting my hips, and he laughs into my mouth.

I angle myself over him, his teeth pulling at my bottom lip.

“Sit down, Remi.”

I do, going slow, my thighs shaking as I grip his shoulders tighter. “C-Cortland,” I gasp his name out, the pressure building as I slowly lower myself down onto him. He’s so big and I’m so full and⁠—

“Fuck, baby,” he groans against my mouth, pulling away from our kiss.

His hands come to my hips, and he thrusts his own, fucking me from beneath him, helping me move, guiding me over him.

I wrap my arms around his neck, bury my head into his chest.

“No, pretty baby,” he says, his fingers digging in deeper with every thrust. “Look at me while I fuck you.”

I pick my head up and meet his gaze as I ride him, and he helps me.

His lips are parted, his breath coming in heavy pants. “You feel so fucking good.”

As I get wetter, the sounds grow louder, the scent of sex heavy in his truck. “Y-you feel good,” I stammer, and see his lips pull into a smile as I arch my back, leaning away from him, the spot he’s hitting sending more need through my core. It’s like a fire growing hotter every time I sink down onto him.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks me, pulling me closer, so our lips graze one another. “Is this all mine?”

“Yes,” I whisper, closing my eyes as my walls tighten around him.

He groans, his movements growing faster, harder, taking my breath away.

“I’m all yours,” I tell him, fisting my fingers in his hair and pulling, one arm still around his neck. “I’ve always been all yours.”

Then, as he groans my name, I realize, belatedly, that he’s not wearing a condom and I’m not on birth control and a moment of panic seizes through me.

But he pulls out, and while I gasp with the loss of him, the relief is dizzying, until he pulls down the waistband of my underwear, stroking himself as I watch him come inside of them, creamy white against the black cotton. He keeps pumping until it’s all out, brushing the tip of his thick cock against my clit, covering me in him.

I stare down at the mess, his fingers still pulling back my underwear so I can see everything. We’re both panting as we look between us, and there’s something so fucking hot and wrong and bad about it that I want to fuck him all over again.

Before I can say anything about that, though, his thumb comes to my clit and he circles me, uncaring of his own cum on his skin.

“We’re not done until you’re done, Remi. Tell me what you need.” His voice is low and thick with lust, and I grind my hips as he grips one, his cock still hard between us.

“That, keep doing that,” I breathe out, staring at my ruined underwear, at the pad of his finger all over me.

He grips my ass, spreading me, and nerves shoot through my body, but he doesn’t go any further as he gets me off, and that fire in my core bursts not long after, my clit swollen under his thumb.

“Cortland,” I moan, dropping my head to his shoulder, feeling weightless as I relax in his arms and he doesn’t stop as I writhe on top of him. I say his name again, and again and again.

“Mmm, that sounds so good,” he whispers, finally stopping as the fire subsides, leaving me with a pleasant, spent, pulsing sensation.

For a moment, I just rest against him, blocking out the world. What comes after this.

Then I pick my head up, and he grabs the waistband of my underwear, pulling it up tight, pressing all his cum into me.

My mouth falls open at the sensation, but he isn’t done. He runs his finger up my slit, dampening the cotton, pushing it all against me.

Then he takes his whole hand and does the same, ensuring I’m soaked with him.

Finally, he runs his palm up my stomach, under my shirt, his fingers circling around my throat as I stare down into his dark eyes.

“Cortland,” I whisper, my hands sliding down to his biceps and squeezing his hard muscles. “I’m not… I’m not on the pill or anything.” I feel nervous admitting it as he stares up at me in the dark, fingers still loose around my throat.

“I fucking hope not,” he finally says with a smile.

“But we could⁠—”

He quiets me with a soft kiss before pulling away. “We’ll take care of it.”

I don’t know what that means, and I don’t really want to ask, but for one fucked up second, I imagine having his baby, and warmth runs through me at the thought.

But it’s obliterated by another one.

My stepdad finding out. Sloane. Van.

The world.

At the thought of Van, though, I jump, turning toward the touchscreen of his truck. “Fuck,” I whisper, and he laughs, turning my head back to him.

“That word from your lips is so fucking hot,” he says softly.

I smile despite my pounding heart as I scramble off of him and he lets me go, slapping my ass as I do.

I push my feet into my leggings, pull them up, uncaring of the mess between my thighs as I shove my shoes on.

And just as I open my mouth to tell him we need to drive back to my cabin, the truck jolts, like someone is… jumping on it.

I clamp my hand over my mouth, and at the same time, Cortland leans across the console, opening up the glove compartment. Cold fear washes over me as he pulls a black handgun out, slapping closed the compartment as the truck jolts again.

I sit up straighter, looking in the rear-view mirror, but it’s so damn dark, I can’t see anything.

“Cortland,” I whisper through my fingers.

He puts a heavy hand on my thigh, squeezing me gently. “Shh, baby,” he says, and I see his finger is on the trigger of the gun.

My heart is thudding too loud in my chest, and I keep glancing around the tinted windows, out the windshield.

Another thud of the truck.

Cortland has the gun aimed upward, at the roof, but he’s looking out the side-view mirror, his hand still on my thigh.

I can feel my pulse thrashing in my ears, my legs weak even though I’m sitting.

“Cortland,” I whisper again, “who do you think⁠—”

A loud, smacking sound makes me jump in my seat, instinctively moving closer to the center console. Closer to Cortland, his hand still parked on my thigh.

“Get down in your seat,” he says quietly, but his words are a command.

“You, too,” I hiss at him, my eyes scanning the forest, but there’s nothing. No sound. Nothing.

And before I can move, I feel something cold against the side of my head.

Turning, I see Cortland has the gun to my temple.

My breath leaves me as I lock eyes with him and my heart seems to stop beating in my chest.

“Now is not the time to argue with me, baby.” His gaze doesn’t leave mine. He drags the barrel of the gun down lightly, to my mouth, brushing it against my lips. He nods his head toward the floorboard. “Now, get down.”

I swallow down my nerves, then do as he said, sliding down in the seat, my body curled up as I position myself under the dash.

I glance up and see Cortland’s eyes on mine, a slight smile on his lips, that gun still pointed up, the veins in his forearms bulging from the faint light of the dash. His aim is steady.

“I’ve got you, baby.”

But then his door is snatched open and I scream, scrambling up from my seat, throwing open my own door as he’s pulled out.

A shot rings out, reminding me of that movie before I fell apart in Storm and Cortland’s arms.

My chest hurts, but my Chucks hit the floor of the forest and I plant my hand on the hood of the truck and climb up, using the tire. Then I jump off on the other side, adrenaline flooding through me as I land, crouched down. The echo of the gunshot is still ringing in my ears as I see someone grabbing Cortland. They’re dressed in all black as they drag him away from the truck.

I don’t see the gun, and I don’t think.

I just charge at them, my fists flying to their chest, then I hook one arm through Cortland’s, pulling him toward me.

“Let go of him,” I snarl, my words angry, that emotion riding over my fear. The only person I ever loved was already taken from me. No one is getting Cortland too.

He wraps his arm around my shoulders, tugging out from the person’s grip, their hood pulled down low.

But behind me, someone’s arms wrap around my waist, yanking me apart from Cortland. I’m kicking and screaming, my fingers digging into their hands around me.

Then I hear laughter.

I freeze, the sound familiar.

It grows, deep and dark, and I see Cortland in the light spilling from his truck, his eyes angry as he spins around, upright and away from his attacker.

And Storm brushes his hood off of his head, his tattooed hands visible in the truck light.

“You almost shot me,” he says, his white teeth flashing. Then he nods toward me, and I turn my head, see Brinklin’s green eyes on mine, an amused expression on his face. I whip back around, angry, and Storm tips his head back, his throat exposed, tattoos edging up it as he keeps laughing.

He dips his chin, running a hand over his dark wavy hair. “And she was gonna kill me,” he says, a note of pride in his voice that, despite my anger, makes me feel good.

But before that smile leaves his face, Cortland cocks his fist back, and drives it into Storm’s nose.

Storm staggers back as my mouth drops open and Brinklin grips me tighter, my hands still on his wrists.

I see blood blossom down Storm’s face, and he doesn’t bother trying to cover his nose, to stop the blood flow. He bounces on his toes, shaking out his hands. Then he charges at Cortland, slamming him against the side of the truck.

I struggle in Brinklin’s grip, but he doesn’t let me go.

And Cortland doesn’t need my help.

He grabs Storm’s shirt, flips him around, so he’s against the truck. “You stupid fucker,” he growls, slamming his forearm against Storm’s throat, blood still pouring from his nose. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“He got into the coke,” Brinklin says behind me, his words quiet.

Despite myself, my lips twitch, and I have to fight back a laugh.

Cortland’s mouth falls open as he looks from me, to Brinklin, back to Storm. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Storm starts laughing like a maniac, and Cortland drops his arm, backing off, running a hand through his hair.

“Let go of my girl,” he commands Brinklin, still staring at Storm, leaning against the truck, blood flowing freely down his face.

Brinklin releases me and I run to Cortland, his arm around my shoulders.

“Fuck, you’re insane,” he says, and at first, I think he’s talking to Storm, but I look up, and his gray eyes are on mine. “You jumped over the hood of my truck,” he says with a throaty, husky laugh that makes my toes curl. He grabs my shirt and yanks me to him, kissing me before I can speak.

Storm is still laughing, and I hear Brinklin join in.

Cortland pulls away, both of us breathless, but he’s still holding onto me.

“You are fucking crazy,” he says again, pride in his words.

I stand on my tiptoes, wrapping my arms around his neck. “You almost shot someone for me.”

He laughs, and Storm laughs even harder, and it’s him that speaks next.

“Chase is gonna be a problem,” he says quietly, “and if we’re not careful, little wolf, next time, it won’t be an almost.”

CHAPTER

FORTY-ONE

CORTLAND

As I pull away from Remi’s cabin, I turn to Storm, in the front seat with me, Brinklin in the back. “What did you mean, about Chase?” I ask him as we head the mile back to our place. “And how the fuck did you know where we were?”

Storm is drumming his fingers on his thighs, listening to Dermot Kennedy playing through my speakers that Remi insisted on putting on from my new phone when she rode next to me. He turns to glance at me, his baby blue eyes holding mine a second, the light reflecting off his matching nose ring. “You’ll see,” he says, ignoring my second question completely.

“Is he there?” I press. “At our rental?” I don’t even know why the fuck he came in the first place, but ever since Maya texted him to meet up with all of us before fall semester started, he’s been on my ass.

I know it probably has little to do with me.

And everything to do with Remi.

I clench my fingers tighter on the steering wheel and think about his arm around her throat.

“Yeah,” Storm answers me, running his hand along his jaw before dropping it and leaning back in his seat.

“And Maya is too,” Brinklin adds from the back.

I nearly slam on the brakes as I meet his gaze in the rear-view mirror. “I beg your fucking pardon?” I ask the two of them as our cabin comes into view, Chase’s red Mercedes taking up most of the goddamn driveway.

I pull off onto the side of the road, letting cars pass if they need to, but I’m not so sure I’m going back inside there. Not if Maya is there.

I undo my seatbelt and twist in my seat, one arm thrown along the back as I look at both Storm and Brinklin. “Why the fuck is she here?”

Storm stares at the log cabin out the window, but he answers first. “Chase invited her.”

My pulse pounds. “Why?” I insist.

Brinklin tips his head back, staring up at nothing, hands jammed into his army jacket. “Why do you think, Cort?”

I grind my teeth together, glance at the glove compartment and think about that gun in my hand moments ago. I wonder if I should bring it inside.

“I told you this wouldn’t work,” Storm says without looking at me. “He thinks you need an intervention.” He whispers the last word as he turns to me, seeming to be coming down from his bump. He doesn’t do many drugs, but sometimes… well, sometimes he does. There’s dried blood on his face, around his mouth, and he doesn’t seem to give much of a fuck about that. It’s on my knuckles, too, and I think about adding Chase’s to the mix. Blood brothers.

“I think we should bury his body in the woods.” I say that. Not Storm.

Brinklin sighs in the back and I turn to face him, his angular jaw tight as he dips his chin to meet my gaze. “Don’t be stupid, Cort,” he says evenly. “You’ve got this invented shit in your head that you and Remi can actually be something.”

I clench my hands into fists.

“But we both know you can’t. She fucked that up when she went to the police⁠—”

“I don’t think she fucked it up, buddy,” I cut him off, working at controlling my temper.

Storm is quiet in the passenger seat, staring at both of us.

“I think we did that just fine all on our own.”

Brinklin’s jaw clenches. “I’m not a fucking rapist.”

I shrug. “She was crying.”

“She didn’t say no.”

My heart races, because these are all the same things I’ve said. I’m not a rapist. She didn’t say no. She didn’t fight back. She didn’t tell us to stop. All the same shit I’ve used in my own defense, but hearing it come from Brinklin after the day I spent with her, I don’t like it.

It’s not easy, facing the fact you might’ve been the monster. And I still don’t know what the hell really went down. It’s all so fucking gray. But in the end, when it was all said and done, she was crying.

And that means something.

It should’ve meant more then.

“That’s all kind of beside the point,” Storm points out, glancing down at his lap, running his palms over his thighs. “The point, right now, is that Chase McGowan is waiting in this cabin with Maya Bell and they’re going to demand that you stop seeing her.”

I laugh at that, running my hand along my jaw. “I don’t really take too kindly to demands.”

Storm turns to stare at me. “This time, you might want to pretend you do.”

My pulse picks up speed, and I can feel it pumping in a vein in my neck. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

“Because they’ve spoken to your mom, Cortland. And with Chase’s dad, your mom, and Maya’s word, they could fuck you over a hundred different ways.” Brinklin speaks those words, but I keep staring at Storm. “They could fuck her over a hundred different ways.”

“They won’t touch her.”

Storm smiles. “You’re delusional.”

“And you two are fucking hilarious, thinking I give a fuck what anyone in that house has to say to me, especially Chase.” I reach for the door of the truck, pulling it open, cool fall air rushing in. “I’m going to go inside, I’m going to get Maya the fuck out of my house, and I’m going to beat the fuck out of Chase if he so much as breathes Remi’s name.”

Maya runs up to me as soon as I walk in the door, and I’m ready for her.

I hold up a hand, keeping her away from me as Storm and Brinklin walk in behind me, flanking me. Just like in high school.

“Maya, you gotta go.”

She’s clearly drunk, stumbling closer in only a beige bra and black shorts, her hair a mess around her face, sticking to her lip gloss.

I hear Chase’s obnoxious laugh down the hall, and a second later, he appears, clutching a beer can in hand. He adjusts the hat on his head, grinning at me, then jerking his chin toward Maya.

“I figured you wouldn’t mind. Thought we could all share tonight,” he says, and he rubs a fist over his eye.

Maya comes closer, and I smell her floral perfume.

I keep my hand up. “Get your shit, and get out of my house,” I tell her.

She sticks out her bottom lip, coming ever closer, and Chase takes a drink. “Don’t be an ass, Cort, she gives good head, man.”

I ignore him, my eyes on Maya’s red-rimmed blue ones.

Another step, and her chest is against my palm, still held out in front of me.

Another step, and she’s reaching for my neck, her hands wrapped around me, but she doesn’t dig her nails in like Remi. She tries to pull me closer to her, still pouting. “Baby, let me touch you,” she whispers.

“Maya, step back,” I tell her calmly, used to her drunk bullshit. When I was in Texas, she did the same thing. Drunken video messages where she was all about me when she was alone near the end of the night, and if I didn’t appease her, the next morning she’d scream at me through texts.

“Cort,” she whines, yanking my hand down.

My blood runs hot, and I want to shove her. “Maya, seriously, get the fuck off of⁠—”

She lunges at me, knocking me back against the door because I don’t expect it. My hands come to her hips, and she’s pinning me to the door, her mouth trailing around my neck, making my skin crawl.

If Remi saw this, she’d lose her mind.

And right now, what Remi thinks matters.

I shove Maya back, off of me.

Storm is there, grabbing her arm, disentangling her from me.

“Ow!” she screams, clutching at her arm, where he touched her, rounding on him as he drops his hand like she burned him. “That hurt, Storm, what the hell?”

I blink, stepping away from the door as Chase watches everything with his beer in hand. “I’ll do much worse than that if you don’t get the fuck out.”

She glares at me, still holding her wrist. “He hurt me, Cort, what the⁠—”

I step closer to her, looking down as I get in her face. “I’ll fuck you up, Maya. Get out.”

She drops her arm by her side, and for the first time, I see something that reminds me of Remi in her eyes.

Fire.

“Yeah?” she asks, the word slurred, but she’s still staring right at me. “Like all those bruises you left on me before?” She steps closer, and my spine stiffens as I hear Brinklin suck in a breath behind me. “Those marks around my neck, remember that, when I came down to see you in the spring?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, narrowing my eyes. “The ones you wanted?”

She shakes her head, a smile pulling on her lips. “I didn’t,” she says, eyeliner smeared in the corner of one eye as she rubs a fist over it before she drops her hand. “I didn’t want it, Cort. You were so rough,” her chin wobbles with that word, but it’s so. Fucking. Fake. “You were so rough, and you hurt me, and I know what you like to watch.” Big fucking tears well in her eyes, and I see beyond her, Chase watching closely, a smirk on his face. “You were so, so rough, and you like to watch… rape, Cortland.” She steps closer, her lip poked out. “And I was scared of you. I took photos, you know?” She glances over her shoulder at Chase. “I took pictures, to make sure I was safe. And I really don’t wanna hurt you, Cort, but if you keep making us all look bad by fucking around with Remi… I might have to.” She glances down at the floor, still pouting. “For your own good.”

I want to drag my nails down my skin for ever trusting her.

I want to hurt myself.

Her.

Chase.

I know Maya isn’t stable, either, and she needs help too, but it’s not because of me, and she can’t hang lies over my head.

There’s a roaring in my brain, and I try to take a breath. I try to calm the fuck down.

“What would Tristan do without you, huh, Cort?” she asks with faux concern.

And when her eyes meet mine again, I lunge for her.

My hands are outstretched, ready to wrap around her throat, and I hear Chase say, “There you go, Cort,” just like he did that night when I was fucking Remi, at the same time I see a flash of light from the phone he pulls from his pocket. But before I can get to Maya, not even moving out of the way, wanting me to touch her, Brinklin and Storm both grab me, shoving me against the door, my head colliding with the wood.

Brinklin gets in my face as Storm turns to Maya.

“Don’t give her what she wants,” Brinklin says, bright green eyes focused on mine as I try to breathe beneath his hand pinning me to the door, a ringing sound in my ears.

Storm stalks toward Maya.

“You’re gonna get your clothes, Maya, and you’re gonna leave,” he says, and I see her backing up, because she’s scared of Storm. She always was.

Chase has put his phone away, and now he’s looking nervous too, because he didn’t get any of what he wanted, and he knows the entire fucking pack is pissed at him.

I want to see him bleed.

I want to break his fucking neck.

Maya wouldn’t do this on her own. I was wrong to go after her. It’s him who needs to die.

I try to move from the door but Brinklin shoves me back again and I just slump against it, listening to Storm.

“And if you don’t,” he snarls, leaning down to get in Maya’s face, “I’ll strip your spine from your fucking back.”

CHAPTER

FORTY-TWO

REMI

I toss and turn in the little tent and think about going inside. But it’s so quiet out here, so peaceful, it’s just my own mind that’s scaring me.

And I know it.

Van and Ryann thought it would be cool if we pitched tents in the backyard and she had two, so we did.

Theirs isn’t far from mine, and they offered to let me sleep in theirs, but I wanted to give them their space. And after what Cortland and I did in his truck, I don’t think he’d like if I slept with them.

The thought makes me smile in the dark under my sleeping bag as I roll onto my side. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, the first time we had sex alone being in his truck. And we don’t even get to spend the night together afterward, but I push all those feelings aside.

My phone buzzes under my pillow and I pull it out, smiling as I see Sloane’s name.

Sloane <3

Don’t kill me but I think I’m staying til Tuesday and I’ll be there in the afternoon?

I bite my lip, wondering if Cortland would want to hang out another night, when me and Van get back tomorrow.

Enjoy it. Miss you. Love you.

Sloane <3

I hope you’re having fun and socializing. Goodnight Rems xxx

Underneath my smile at her love, I feel that guilt still twisting in my stomach. I shove my phone back under my pillow, my pulse elevated.

I close my eyes anyway, trying to bury it all for now. This thing between me and Cortland will never work, and it’ll probably end soon, then it won’t matter that I never told Sloane.

Best not to even go there.

With those thoughts, I try to drift off into sleep, knowing I need it.

But then I hear it.

A crunch of gravel. Like beneath a pair of shoes.

My heart freezes.

I blink in the dark, wanting to grab the phone under my pillow but if I do, someone could see the light.

I hold my breath, waiting. I know it wasn’t Van or Ryann because after their moans and heavy breathing, I’ve only heard silence from their tent. And besides, I would’ve noticed the sound of them unzipping the tent.

I curl into a ball in my sleeping bag, sliding my hand under my pillow and closing my fingers tight around my phone.

If it’s anyone, I’ll just scream. Van and Ryann will hear me. But this is a campground. Maybe someone is drunk and lost. Or just drunk.

Then I hear another sound. Closer. A branch snapping.

My mouth goes dry and I glance around the dark walls of the tent, trying to see shadows. But there’s no light in here or out there.

I swallow down my fear, straining my ears, my palm sweaty on my phone.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of my own pulse in my ears.

I start to breathe a little easier. It could’ve been an animal. It was probably nothing at all.

I exhale.

Stretch my legs out.

Then I hear a zipper and feel the cold night air rush into the tent as someone steps inside.

I scramble up and out of my sleeping bag, my hands trembling violently to the point I drop my phone. I open my mouth to scream as I try to stand, my knees shaking. But just as I inhale, someone’s hand comes around my mouth, and a familiar voice in my ear says, “Shh, little wolf. We’ve got you.”

I freeze, turning my head and meeting Storm’s light blue eyes in the dark.

Cortland has his hand over my mouth, and he slides it down as I struggle to breathe, my chest rising and falling almost violently.

I whip my head to Cort as I sense Storm ducking down, zipping the door of the tent back.

“You scared the hell out of me,” I manage to gasp out, and Cortland yanks me close to him, my feet dragging over my sleeping bag. He’s ducked down in my tent, but he still pulls me up and crushes his mouth to mine.

“After what we did,” he says against my mouth, pulling back, “you’d think I let you sleep alone?”

My chest feels warm with those words as my hands come to his arms and I feel his biceps flex beneath his hoodie. “Really?” I whisper in the dark. “You came for that?”

I hear Storm’s low rumble of laughter, but I ignore him as I stare into Cort’s gray eyes. He leans down, wrapping an arm around my back. “Yeah, pretty baby. I did.” He nudges his nose against mine as he pulls me flush to his body. “I’m fucking crazy about you.”

Before I can think those words through, he’s sinking down to the tent floor, pulling me down with him.

But I think of Van and Ryann and as happy as I am he’s here, even Storm, I’m not ready for that conversation. “Van will⁠—”

I feel Storm at my back, his presence silencing my words as I face Cort, his hand threaded through mine.

“Shh, Remi,” Storm whispers against my neck, the little hairs on my arm standing on end. “We’ll be gone in the morning.”

Cortland squeezes my hand. “Lie down, baby, and I’ll try not to get too upset that you wanna hide me from another man.”

I open my mouth to argue, then snap it closed. It’s true. I’m not ready. And neither is he.

I snuggle into the single person sleeping bag and Cortland doesn’t even try to fit. Instead, him and Storm grab a bunch of extra blankets I had stacked up because Van knows I’m obsessed with blankets. Then both of them lie down on either side of me.

I can feel both of their bodies close to mine, Cortland’s arm slung around me, holding me close to his chest. I have the bag unzipped so my body is melded to his, my face buried against him as I inhale his cedar scent.

And at my back, Storm’s chest is pressed against me too. I feel warmth flood through me at his nearness, and when he wraps an arm around me, I tense, sidling closer to Cort.

They both laugh.

“He’s okay, baby,” Cortland says against my ear. “The more people to protect you, the better.”

I feel a swell of emotion with his words, especially as he kisses the top of my head. But I fight it back, trying to enjoy the warmth and security of their bodies next to me without making it weird. “What if I hadn’t been in a tent? How did you even know I was in this one?” I ask in the dark.

Storm breathes a laugh, his arm shifting against me slightly as he does.

But it’s Cort that answers me. “You left the bag of Reese’s outside the door,” he explains, and I bite back my own laugh at the amusement laced in his words. He pulls me closer, his mouth to my ear. “And if you hadn’t been in this tent, I’d have broken into the fucking cabin, Remi. No matter what,” he flicks his tongue along my ear, “I’ll get to you when I need to.”

CHAPTER

FORTY-THREE

REMI

I wake to the sound of laughter.

The scent of marijuana.

For a second, I don’t know where I am as I sit up, blinking my eyes open in the darkness. Panic lights through me, my heart racing as I yank the covers up to my chin.

Then I remember, and I breathe just a little easier, reaching for my phone from the nightstand beside Cortland’s bed.

I came home with Van last night.

Cortland was waiting outside of my dorm room, his arms folded over his chest as he stared at me making my way down the hall. Told me to pack a bag and he took me here. 

Since Sloane is still with her sister, I skipped class today.

He did too.

And as I strain my ears, listening while my phone lights up in the room, I notice it’s Storm’s dark rumble of laughter coming from downstairs.

I smile to myself in the dark and check my phone.

Van

Miss you, meet me tomorrow for lunch.

Sloane <3

My sister snores like a freight train. You never do. I wanna come home.

My smile widens, and despite the fact I know this is all a dream that’s going to end with me waking up in a nightmare… everything feels light.

Like I needed to face him before I could move on. Before I could stop replaying that night in my head. And maybe something is wrong with me for wanting to be anywhere near him, but it’s like whatever he did to my head that night, now my crazy matches his crazy.

I toss my phone down on the bed, and think to go back to sleep, but I hear Cort’s easy laugh and I want to be near him.

It’s just after midnight. I was exhausted after our sex marathon throughout the day, but now I want him again. The first few times in his bed, with the light streaming in, they were nerve wracking. But he was gentle. And sweet. And now… I want him.

I fling my covers off, bare feet hitting the wooden floors.

For a second, I think about grabbing my hoodie slung over the back of his chair at his desk. I’m in a white cami, black shorts.

And Storm is down there.

“You like him looking at you?”

Storm Leary. Who would have thought he’s not so scary after all? But then again, Cortland and Storm have seemed a little on edge since camping, and I know that Cort said he wasn’t talking to Maya at all anymore.

He said that was over.

I walk to the door, pull it open and head down the stairs quietly, my hand gliding along the railing. I see the flash of the TV screen, and I’m momentarily grateful I didn’t actually break it.

I reach the bottom of the stairs and turn to face them both, sitting with enough room for me to sit between them on the couch, their feet on the coffee table, food in their laps, beers on the table.

Storm exhales smoke through his nose then sets his vape down on the side table, his eyes on me.

My heart picks up speed in my chest as I stare at Cortland.

I’m not sure what’s playing, a conversation between a family about skeletons in closets.

“Come sit with me, baby,” Cortland says, running his hand down his thigh. Both of them have their shirts off, both in black basketball shorts.

Cortland is more muscular, they’re both about the same height, and Storm has a darker shade of hair and bluer eyes. But they look alike in the dark, and I imagine what it would be like to touch them both again.

I swallow that down, cross my arms over my chest and walk around the coffee table, sliding past Cortland. He slaps my ass as I do, and I laugh, slowly sitting down on the couch between them, tension heavy in the room.

Cortland’s arm comes around me, his thumbs brushing my bare shoulders. He tosses his empty bag of chips on the table and pulls me into his chest. My fingers splay along the hard muscle as he kisses me, and I taste alcohol and chocolate and salt on his mouth.

“You good?” he asks me, pulling back, his gray eyes searching mine. He’s so fucking hot, his hair a mess, slight circles beneath his eyes, one hand on my face as he stares at me like he treasures me. Like we can forget that night ever happened.

At least for right now.

“She’s good,” Storm answers for me. Cortland looks over at him, arching a brow.

Slowly, I turn my head, and Cortland drops his hand from my face.

“Aren’t you, little wolf?” Storm whispers, parting his knees wider, his thigh brushing mine.

I swallow, hard. “Yeah,” I answer him. “I am.”

“Try it again,” he says, reaching into the bag of Reese’s in his lap, unwrapping an orange square.

“Try what again?” I ask him, feeling Cortland pulling me closer to his warm body.

“This movie.” Storm dips his head. “Same one from the last time you… panicked.”

I take a breath, my chest heaving, and I’m painfully aware of my pebbled nipples beneath my cami as I turn my head to the movie.

There’s a priest on his knees at an altar, and I watch as the cross slowly slides along the wall, turning upside down while his eyes are closed.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

I turn my head to grab a Reese’s from the bag, then notice again that it’s in Storm’s lap.

He glances at me, hands on his thighs, black basketball shorts past his knees, the crumpled-up wrapper from the Reese’s he ate on the arm of the couch.

At my side, I feel Cortland tense. I feel a sudden flush of warmth as I realize I’m staring at Storm.

And he’s staring at me.

“Go ahead, little wolf. I don’t bite.”

I swallow, hard, near silence from the TV. I know what that means.

Something is coming.

I turn to stare at the screen. The priest is gone.

There’s a room with only a bed. A door flung wide open. No one in the frame. Silence.

My skin crawls and I reach for a Reese’s.

My hand finds the bag, and I dive in, fingers curling around a small square.

A creak of floorboards sound from the television.

I tense, feel Cortland’s fingers brush against my neck, the little hairs there standing on end beneath my sleep tank.

A man’s voice from the TV. “Damien?

Silence.

I start to pull out my candy, the plastic crinkling and feathering over my skin.

“Damien?” The man’s words are edged with fear.

Cortland’s warm, calloused fingers circle around the back of my neck and I bring my knees to my chest, my shorts riding up as I do.

I still haven’t pulled the candy to my lap.

And just as I go to do that, a nearly-naked woman appears on the screen.

Dark hair.

Blue eyes.

Crawling upside down on the ceiling, hair-raising music playing softly through the speakers.

I jump, cringing as I start to wrap my arms around myself but Storm darts his hand out, circling my wrist. Keeping my hand in his lap.

I flinch, sucking in a breath as the woman crawls down the wall, her pupils nearly drowning in black as a man says her name over. And over. And over. Lilith.

“Yes, my lord?” the woman whispers as she keeps crawling along the floor, dressed in a skimpy nightgown, slashed and stained with blood, her every move disjointed. “I’m here, my lord. I’m here.” Her breasts sway as she crawls, the camera focusing on her pebbled nipples.

A low moan sounds in the distance.

The woman’s head twists around at an unnatural angle as she searches for the source of the noise.

Again, I try to jerk my hand from Storm’s.

Again, he holds me there.

Fear coats the inside of my mouth, like acid.

I close my eyes, taking deep breaths. It’s not that scary. And it’s just a movie. But it’s a reminder. Of real things.

“Don’t look away, Remi,” Cortland whispers, his eyes on the screen. His fingers are clamped around the back of my neck. “We’ll keep you safe.”

I look up at him, and find him staring at the movie. I glance down, at his shorts, and I can see his erection tenting them.

Swallowing, I turn toward Storm. Take in his sharp jawline. The way Cortland holds me just a little closer. 

Slowly, Storm releases me, pulls the Reese’s from my hand. He fists the bag, leans over to set it on the table, and as he does, my hand comes to his thigh.

My instinct is to snatch it away.

My heart races, chest tight, but I keep my hand on his thigh. I feel his muscles flex as he leans back on the couch.

And slides closer to me.

I inhale, catching the scent of both him and Cortland. Forest and leather.

Danger and safety.

Cortland’s hand comes to my jaw, and he turns my head to the screen. “Keep watching, baby,” he says softly. I swallow, his thumb tracing my jawline.

Storm’s hand comes over mine on his thigh, his fingers through my own. But he doesn’t hold my hand; he slides it up.

Higher. And higher.

I gasp just as another woman slowly sits up in the bed, her shirt clinging to her breasts, damp with sweat. She wasn’t there before.

My fingers close around Storm’s erection, and he glides my hand up and down the length of him as the woman stares at the man Lilith called “lord.”

She smiles.

But something is wrong with her eyes. They’re just two black pits.

My body feels tense and hot all over, and my heart is racing. Storm glides my hand down lower, off of him, and I feel relief and disappointment rush through me.

His own hand comes over his cock, palming it over his shorts.

The man screams.

The women laugh, both of them on their knees in front of him now.

“Damien isn’t here,” they whisper over and over, their words manic. 

I turn to face Cortland, my hand still on Storm’s thigh. 

Cort was already watching me. 

His expression is unreadable. 

“Cortland,” I breathe out, my fingers desperate to help Storm but…

“Yeah, baby?” he asks me quietly, his thumb stroking the side of my face. 

“What should I do?” Those words are hoarse. 

Cortland twists to face me more fully as the man runs, his breaths loud from the speakers. 

Cortland brushes a lock of hair from my face. “You want to watch him?” he asks quietly, nodding behind me. To Storm. 

My heart skips a beat. My tongue feels heavy. I curl my nails into Storm’s thigh. 

“I don’t know,” I admit. 

Cortland smiles. “That’s a good answer.” He leans in close to me, his mouth over mine. “Maybe he wants to watch us.” His fingers shift back to my hair the moment before his lips find mine. 

I hear Storm’s breath catch. 

Cortland is gentle, and his hand comes to cup my face. Slowly, he slides his palm down my thigh, nudging my knees apart. 

I resist. For a second. 

Then I’m shifting on the couch and Storm grabs my ankles, extends my legs onto his lap, my thighs over his. One hand slides up my calf, but the other is still circled around his cock. 

Cortland’s fingers come to my inner thigh, slipping up higher, under my shorts. I’m holding my breath, oblivious to what’s happening on TV. 

“You okay?” Cort asks quietly, his lips against my ear. 

I take a breath, see Storm’s eyes fixed on mine. 

“Yes,” I whisper, my hands on Cortland’s forearm, draped around my chest. 

Cortland kisses my cheek, and I lean back into him. Storm’s hand comes up higher. Until they’re both at the crease of my thigh. Even that sensation is almost overwhelming. And they’re not even there. 

“Baby,” Cortland whispers against my ear. “If you want me to stop, tell me, okay?”

I open my mouth. Close it. My chest is heaving. Storm’s thumb brushes along my inner thigh and warmth runs through me as he stares at me. 

“Are you okay with this?” I ask Cortland, tightening my grip on his forearm. I twist my head to look up at him and see him staring back at me. 

He leans his head down, pressing his brow to mine. “I love that you want to know,” he says softly. “I love everything about you.”

Storm keeps brushing his thumb over my thigh, and Cortland’s hand is warm and comforting on my opposite one. 

“I just thought...” Cort shrugs, nudging his nose against mine. “You might want to do it over.”

The pad of Storm’s finger circles my clit and I lean further back into Cortland, gasping as my knees fall to the sides, exposing me more fully. Cortland pushes into me, and I clench around him, staring up into his eyes, his arm still around my chest. 

“Cortland,” I moan, and he slowly adds another finger and Storm keeps playing with my clit. 

“You’re so needy, baby,” Cort whispers, his lips brushing mine. “You like him touching you?”

I dart a glance at Storm. 

He’s still watching me. 

My face flushes hot. 

“Yes,” I answer honestly, looking back up at Cortland. 

He tilts his head, kissing me so deep he steals my breath. But then Storm’s finger trails down my slit, and just as I tense, gasping into Cort’s mouth, Storm pushes a finger in too. 

Three inside of me. 

And they move together. 

I’m trembling in Cortland’s arms and he runs his open mouth over mine. “You’re amazing,” he whispers as he and Storm finger fuck me in tandem. “You’re fucking amazing.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” My words are whispers, and I just want to give in to this. I want to melt, but I don’t want to fuck up whatever is happening with me and Cortland. Not after he said it was over with Maya. 

“Shh, baby. Let yourself go. I won’t be mad.”

The couch shifts and Storm is crawling over me, up my body. I turn my gaze to him, see his face inches from mine, his hand between us, still fingering me alongside Cort. 

“He won’t be mad,” he echoes Cortland’s words. He drops his head to mine, and his breath smells like peppermint and marijuana. “And he’s right, Remi.” He tilts his head, so his lips are angled over mine but he doesn’t kiss me. “You do feel fucking amazing.”

“Spread your legs wider, baby,” Cortland whispers in my ear. 

I do, and Storm is on his hands and knees over me, dwarfing my body while Cort does the same behind me, me in his lap. I can feel Cortland’s erection against my ass. 

And I wonder how this ends. How I’ll feel afterward.

But in the moment, I don’t care. I just want it.

Slowly, Cortland pulls his fingers out of me and I almost gasp with the release. But then he holds his index and middle finger between me and Storm, who pulls back a little. 

In the glow from the TV, I see the slickness of me as Cort spreads his fingers. 

I open my mouth, almost expecting him to push them down my throat. But he brings them to Storm’s lips instead. 

My heart nearly stops. 

Still fingering me, adding his own middle finger to his index, making me whimper, Storm opens his mouth. 

And sucks the taste of me off of Cortland, his pale blue eyes never leaving mine.

My mouth drops open. 

Cortland pulls his fingers out, then brings them to my lips. 

Storm leans in again, his brow to mine. Then his lips hover above my own, Cortland’s fingers between us. 

Storm moves his out of me, running his entire palm down my slit, then back up again.

I shiver and he dives down, his mouth crashing into Cortland fingers and pressing them against my lips. We’re kissing and tasting me and him and Cortland groans beneath me as mine and Storm’s tongues clash over his fingers. 

“Can I fuck you baby?” Cortland asks in my ear, his voice full of need. 

Storm’s tongue flicks against mine as he runs his hand down me one more time. Storm starts sucking on Cort’s fingers again as he stares at me and I lean in, my mouth touching his as I get an idea. 

“Fuck him,” I whisper, to Cortland, a smile pulling on my lips. “Fuck him and⁠—” 

Cortland grips my jaw, turning my head to face him while Storm laughs quietly, pulling his mouth from Cortland’s fingers. “Shh, baby. You’re drunk.” He laughs, knowing I’m not and he must be, then he pulls my bottom lip between his teeth. “Maybe another night.”

Storm moves his hand, sits back by my thighs, lifting them onto his lap again.  

“For now, why don’t you go sit on his lap, baby?” Cortland whispers in my ear.

I tense, my hands fisting on my thighs. “Cort, I don’t wanna⁠—”

“Hey, shh, baby. You’re not gonna make me mad. I trust you. I trust him.” 

I swallow, staring at Storm, his hand back around his cock, stroking himself.

“I promise I won’t be mad,” Cort says. “Just this one time. Just with him.”

Storm extends his free hand, offering it to me.

“Go on, baby,” Cort says, brushing his lips over my neck. “Go sit on his lap.”

My pulse skyrockets, but slowly, I take Storm’s hand.

He pulls me over to his lap, and Cortland slaps my ass as I crawl over to his best friend.

With tense limbs, I straddle Storm, my hands on his hard shoulders, his smooth skin.

He stares at me, his hand pulling his cock from his shorts as he slips down his boxers. He starts to stroke himself. 

I glance at Cortland.

He’s got his hand tucked behind his head, his bicep flexed as he watches me, one hand palming his cock through his shorts. His eyes are on mine.

“Make this worth it, baby,” he says in the dark. 

I turn to Storm, and his hand comes to my ass, slipping under my shorts. “Dirty little wolf,” he whispers, his blue eyes gleaming. “Help me out.” He glances down at his cock, releasing himself, and grabbing my outer thigh, yanking me closer, so his cock is against my slit, only the thin cotton barrier of my shorts between us.

I curl my fingertips into his shoulder, my breath leaving me.

Storm leans down, pressing his brow to mine. “Ride me, Remi.”

His grip on my ass is bruising, and I start to shift my hips, wanting to feel the friction of him between my thighs.

It feels so good, his cock thick and long beneath me as I brush my slit against him, desperate for my shorts to shift to the side so I can feel his skin on mine.

But it feels wrong, too, and I glance over at Cortland, only to see him stroking his own cock now, bare beneath his fingers, biting his lip as he watches me. “Go ahead, baby. Get dirty.”

I turn back to Storm, and I move faster, whimpering as I do.

He smiles up at me, his eyes glassy. “Good girl.” 

I grind faster against him, his hands on my hips, then the couch shifts and Cortland is behind me, running his palm down my back, pulling my shirt up to my neck. His hand comes to my belly then, over my shoulder, and he pulls my cami up, past my tits, exposing me to Storm.

Storm’s eyes dip down, his nostrils flare, that nose ring gleaming in the light from the TV at my back.

His hand comes to my breast, squeezing hard enough to make me whimper. Cortland trails kisses down my back, on his knees behind me.

Storm’s eyes come back to mine as he pulls his lip between his teeth, my thighs aching as I keep grinding against him, desperate for that strip of cotton on my shorts to move to the side. “You wanna make me come?” Storm whispers.

I tighten my arms around his neck, and he drops his hand from my breast to my shorts.

He shoves them to the side as Cortland wraps his hand around the back of my neck.

I moan at the sensation of Storm’s hard cock touching my pussy. I ride him faster, my clit swelling as it brushes against him.

“Yes,” I answer Storm, staring into his eyes, my face red, but I don’t care. He feels so hot and so hard and so good and with Cortland’s hand on my neck and his kisses on my back, I’m drowning in sensation.

“Wrap your hands around my throat,” Storm commands me, his words quiet.

My eyes widen and I almost stop moving, Storm’s hand on my thigh, one going behind his head, like Cortland was, almost lazily as he watches me.

Cortland laughs against my neck. “Don’t stop now, baby.”

I keep moving my hips, panting, my wetness all over Storm’s dick. Slowly, I wrap my hands around Storm’s throat, and I feel him swallow. Feel the tendons in his neck as he watches me, a cocky smirk on his lips.

“Choke me, Remi.”

I tighten my hold, using his neck as leverage as I dry fuck him.

“Choke me hard.”

My fingers curl tighter around his throat and I move faster as Cortland keeps kissing me, his own hand shifting from the back of my neck to wrap around my own throat. 

“You’re stronger than that,” Storm says. “Harder, Remi.”  

I do as he said, pressing my thumbs against his windpipe. Cort’s own hand tightens around me too, and the pressure builds in my head as I ride Storm faster, desperate for my own release.

“That’s it, little wolf,” Storm manages to whisper, my nails digging into his skin. “Such a good fucking girl.”

His breath hitches, and he grows hotter beneath me.

I angle my hips, tilting my pelvis, wanting to feel him down the entirety of me. 

But then I feel pressure, and I know I should freeze as Storm’s cock crowns my entrance. 

But I don’t. I keep going, lowering my hips and gasping as Storm is inside of me, stretching me. 

“Fuck,” he groans, and I’m so fucking full with him but panic tears through me, too. 

I look down at Storm inside of me, and Cortland’s hand knots in my hair, his grip so tight I can’t breathe. “You’re a bad girl, Remi,” he whispers in my ear. “So fucking bad.”

Storm’s eyes are on me and his head is leaned back as he groans again. “Don’t make her stop,” he pleads, his voice rough. 

I take a breath, waiting for Cortland’s permission even as I shift my hips. His grip in my hair is painful, but he says, “Whatever my girl wants, she gets.” He kisses my neck, murmuring to Storm, “But don't you dare finish inside of her.”

My heart skips a beat. But I don’t let go of Storm and I don’t stop as I hear him groan my name. He grabs my hip, hauling me off of him as he whispers, “Fuck,” and I see him coming beneath me, hot cum against my thigh, on his stomach, white and creamy on my skin, starker against his tan.

My breath is caught in my throat, then my eyes nearly roll back in my head as my own orgasm pulses through me while I grind against him, and I loosen my grip on Storm’s throat. His hands come to my neck, covering Cortland’s on me, and they’re both choking me so hard I can barely breathe.

But I don’t want to in the moment. 

I just want this feeling, my pussy hot and wet as warmth builds tighter in my core and releases, shattering through me as I moan Cortland’s name, barely a whisper as tight as they’re gripping my throat.

As the orgasm leaves me, I collapse onto Storm’s chest, panting, and they release their hold on me, letting me breathe.

Cortland pulls my hair back from my face, over my shoulder as he kisses me and Storm is catching his breath beneath me, his hand on my hips, one running down my spine. “Good girl, Remi,” he whispers, and I inhale his leather scent, my eyes closed.

“Get on your knees,” Cortland speaks in my ear. “Get on your knees while you look up at him, and I’m gonna fuck you too.”

I press my palms to Storm’s shoulders, picking my head up. In one quick movement, he scoops me up, hands under my ass, taking us to the edge of the couch. He rests against the arm of it, his legs out, and I position my knees on either side of his hips.

“Arch your back, baby,” Cortland whispers, coming to the couch, one foot on the ground, knee against the back of the couch, his hand smoothing down my spine.

I arch my back, swallowing hard, thankful for the low light and the fact the movie ended, just dark credits rolling in the living room.

Cortland nudges my shorts aside.

My hands are planted on either side of Storm’s hips, and he cups my face in his hands, staring at me.

“You okay?” he whispers.

I nod as Cortland circles his cock around my entrance, and I whimper, Cortland’s hand still comforting on my back.

Slowly, Cort pushes into me, stretching me, and Storm’s brows pull together, his full lips tugging down to a frown.

“Poor baby,” he whispers, running his thumbs over my lips. “Being used never felt so good, huh?”

For a second, with those words, my throat closes up.

I stiffen, and Cortland pulls out, pushes back into me, groaning as he does. He leans over me, one hand still on my ass, but his chest comes to my back, stretching me further with that angle. 

“Tell Storm to shut the fuck up, baby,” he says softly in my ear. “No one is using you.” He kisses my cheek, runs his lips down my jawline, and Storm turns my head, dropping one hand, so Cort’s lips touch my own. “We’re treasuring you, baby.”

My chest tightens with those words, and I relax, letting him hit deeper, harder, my body jostling over Storm’s, one of his hands still on my face, the other coming to my breast, palming me, holding me in place even as Cort thrusts hard into me. But he’s gentle enough, and Cortland keeps trailing kisses over my shoulder, the back of my neck, my name leaving his lips in soft moans.

“Goddamn, Remi, you’re so good at letting me love you.”

With that word, love, my pulse flutters, and Cortland’s fucking me harder, making it difficult to stay upright. I drop my head against Storm’s chest, and he smooths back my hair, running a palm down my shoulder. 

“So, so good,” he whispers.

I can tell Cort is close, the way he thrusts deeper, faster, then he’s groaning my name, a guttural sound as he finishes inside of me, bowing his head over my spine then dropping down on top of me, slowly pulling out as he does.

I go to my belly, sliding my legs down, and my head is in Storm’s lap, his shorts covering himself.

Cortland collapses on me, and we lay there spent, exhausted, as Storm runs his hands through my hair.

When I twist my head to look up at Cortland, I see Storm has a hand in his hair too.

CHAPTER

FORTY-FOUR

CORTLAND

Brinklin

Heard from him?

Storm

No.

Brinklin

I haven’t seen him back on campus.

Cortland

Didn’t the two of you ride back together?

Brinklin

Drove separate, left the Jeep at Mom’s.

Storm

Maybe he’s dead.

I flex my jaw, squeezing the water bottle in my mouth and wiping my wrist over my brow, breathing hard from bleacher runs. Usually reserved for spring, one of my teammates had to mouth off at Coach for fuck-knows-what, so he wanted to punish us all for it. Bleachers it was. Game day is five days out, so I don’t think he really cares how exhausted we are.

But practice is almost over and the only thing I can think about is taking a cold bath. The ice bath in the convocation center isn’t really my thing but submerging myself in cold water became a habit back in high school. Tristan used to perch on a stool and play with his cars on the ledge of the tub while I sat in my swimming trunks and listened to him imagine the cars were people. Dolls.

I grit my teeth, thinking about what Mom would do if she knew where his imagination went, and I glance at my phone again.

I haven’t heard from Chase since we left the cabin in the morning after me and Storm walked back, which has been a couple of weeks. Even that goodbye was just a head nod as Brinklin got into his car. Brinklin said he didn’t talk much, and after Maya threatened me, finally got her shit and got out, I didn’t speak to Chase at all before I left to find Remi.

Thinking of her now, a smile pulls at my lips.

We’ve still been keeping everything hidden from nearly everyone. Meeting in the parking lot, my tinted windows up while we climb in the back. I’ve fucked her there, in my house before she runs out in a hurry, not wanting Sloane or her cousin to get suspicious. I’ve taken her to lunch off campus, wrapped her up in my arms in the shadowy corners of the library.

I can’t fucking stop. Smiling about her. Thinking about her. Usually both at once.

I can’t stay away from her, and I don’t know what to do about that.

Not knowing where Chase is unnerves me, but tomorrow morning, I’m taking her somewhere. I want more than stolen moments.

I want it all.

I met her for lunch again today, but she wanted to keep it under wraps, so we ate in my truck, parked at another dorm.

I’m not okay with that shit.

But, I get it.

Saturday night, I’m going to Dad’s, to talk about him moving. His first house fell through, but he’s got another one now. Another prospect of getting away from Mom, for good. I don’t know how I feel about that either. I came here because I thought Tristan would need me, but I’m not really doing him any good because I can’t get my head on straight. Absentmindedly, my fingers drift to my inner forearm, scratching at my skin.

I wince as I realize what I’m doing, my heart picking up speed after it’d just slowed down from practice.

I drop my hand from my arm and stare down at my phone. Thinking about Remi fucking me that first time in my truck, choking Storm in our house, I have to bite back a smile. She was so fucking hot and so fucking mine. And the way she asked for my permission before Storm... My dick gets hard and I adjust myself through my pants, biting my lip.

I glance down at the time. Practice is technically over, and I’m wondering why the fuck I’d wait for morning to get Remi out of here.

I’m not waiting.

I stand, feeling a little dizzy from the heat and the drill as I do, but I need her. Being with her quiets all the bullshit, and even when we fight, it’s just her on my mind. Nothing else. And maybe it helps with the guilt, too, but so what? I like her. I like being around her. I want her.

I wave two fingers up from the sidelines, see Coach across the field laying into Derrek for showing up high to practice. Coach gestures with his clipboard toward me, dismissing me.

After I’m showered and dressed, striding out of the locker room with my gym bag over my shoulders, I pull out my phone.

Baby. I miss you.

She takes about two seconds to respond and my smile hurts my face as I read her reply.

My Baby

Come see me then.

I’ve got the truck packed with my shit, a tent, blankets, matches and graham crackers but no chocolate. Just Reese’s. Ideally, we’d do this kind of thing on the weekend, but since I’m meeting with dad and I can’t miss my game Saturday, I guess that’s not going to happen.

Practice, though? I might blow that shit off for the rest of the week.

I think about Remi cheering at West River as I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, twisting off the cap.

She was so fucking adorable in her teal and black uniform, her hair in two braids, that smile on her face. Looking over from the sidelines to see her watching the game made me play harder every time. And after every game, when that clock ran down, I’d catch her eye first, see her nod toward me before my team circled around me.

It was our unspoken thing.

I don’t blame her for not going now. After what we did, she probably has no interest in being anywhere near a football stadium again. Still, to see her watch me play one more game… I don’t think I could come down from that high.

“Where are you going?” Storm’s quiet voice snaps me back to the present and I nearly choke on my water.

I swallow it down, wipe the back of my hand over my mouth and twist the cap back on, fisting the bottle as Storm opens up the cabinet, grabbing a plate. My mom bought those. She pays for nearly everything in this house, but Storm has money too.

Mom would cut me off in a heartbeat if she knew where I was going tonight. Who I was with this weekend.

I don’t care.

I have that money from my grandpa in savings and I spent a few summers helping my uncle do renovations back in WV. I enjoyed getting lost in the physical labor. Transforming lackluster places to something better.

I’d do it all again here too, if I had to. When all is said and done, I have a feeling I’m not getting that fucking trust fund, and no college major really interests me. There’s construction management, but I think that’s bullshit. You don’t need a degree for that. Get out and do it.

Mom wants me to go pro. I don’t want to sell my body to the highest bidder. At least with manual labor, I could control my own time. My own limits. Not risk a concussion that could ruin my life before I hit thirty. Besides, making a hobby a profession steals all the magic from it. Your free time becomes paid time, sucking all the joy from something that you used to find freedom in.

I never wanna loathe the game.

Storm has his shirt off and his muscles flex as he pulls out a tub of spaghetti, nudging the fridge closed with his hip, then doling out the pasta on his plate. He made that.

I feel a little embarrassed that I can’t cook worth shit. Mom never did, but Dad was on top of it, preparing everything before he went on the road too.

Briefly, I wonder if Remi can cook. I never got to find out.

Maybe tonight I’ll ask her. Imagining her in my kitchen, making food for me…

Fuck.

“Out,” I tell Storm evasively, finally answering his question.

He drops his fork in the plastic container, then puts his plate in the microwave, setting the timer and turning to face me while it hums behind him, heating up his dinner. He’s got his palms behind him on the white counter, and I see the tattoos all along his chest, crawling up his neck.

I’m starving and the smell of the pasta makes my stomach growl, but I want to get food with Remi.

Storm’s baby blue eyes lock on mine, and he asks, “You going to see her?”

I grip the bottle tighter in my hand, the plastic crinkling as I fist my free hand and tap it on the island, staring at him, his expression unreadable. We haven’t spoken much about Chase. Or Maya.

“Yeah,” I tell him, “I am.” I think about Storm on the team. He was a running back, and played well enough, but he never loved it. I think he just did it because he could. A homeschooled, quiet kid trying out for a small-town football team and getting a starting position? Storm loves that kind of fuck you irony.

“You worried?” he asks me directly, cocking his head.

I shrug, not wanting to admit it, but Storm is my best friend. I know he has my back. I know the shit he does now is illegal, even though he never talks about it, never keeps drugs at the house, but if he can trust me with that, I can talk about this. “I don’t want her to get hurt.”

He nods, and the timer for the microwave goes off, bleating behind him, but neither one of us moves. “I know it seems like it, Cort, but they don’t actually own this town,” he finally says, shrugging as he drops his hands by his sides, swinging his arms. “You ever seen a corpse?” he asks me quietly. A perfectly normal Storm question, it still throws me off.

I frown. “No, man, I haven’t.”

“When you do,” he says, looking down, “you’ll realize we’re all just flesh and blood. No amount of money makes us immortal. No status can save us from a bullet to the head, cancer, a car crash.” He looks up at me. “A fire.” He shrugs. “We all end up dead.”

I arch a brow. “Are you saying I should kill Chase?” I’ve been thinking about just that a lot lately.

He rolls his eyes. “No, I’m saying that you shouldn’t scream about dating Remi to the world, even when you want to. And you should expect some… shit.”

I chew the inside of my cheek, hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

“And yeah, it may get a little too much, and maybe, for her sake, you’ll have to back off.” He turns from me, pulling open the door to the microwave, taking his plate out and closing the door back, setting the plate down, shaking out his fingers like he burned himself on it. “But don’t let flesh and blood dictate what you can and can’t do.”

I furrow my brow, shaking my head. “I’m confused,” I tell him, my voice edged with anger. “You were the one who said this wouldn’t work. On the way to Grim Mountain. Now you’ve had a taste of her, you changed your mind?”

He turns to look at me over his shoulder. “Nothing to do with that.” He looks back at his food. “I just hadn’t seen a corpse then.”

I blink at him, but decide not to push it, letting his weird shit go. But before I can cross the kitchen to the hall, he looks over at me again.

“I saw those cuts on her arm.”

Trepidation rolls through me as I meet his gaze.

“It might be all fun and games to you,” he twirls spaghetti on his fork, bringing it up to his mouth. “But if you fuck this up, you could drive her over the edge.”

I grit my teeth before I answer him. “It’s not fun and games.”

He sets his fork down, glancing at the counter. “She’s not healed. And whether we did or we didn’t, it’s all very real in her head. Don’t push her.”

“I’m not,” I tell him. “If I did,” I shrug, “I’d jump with her.”

CHAPTER

FORTY-FIVE

REMI

“I can’t just leave, Cort, Sloane will⁠—”

He puts his hand over my mouth, silencing me. From the dash lights of his truck, I see his eyes boring into mine. “Lie to her,” he says, his words hushed. “Come with me. I need more time with you.” There’s something urgent in his tone. Like he can’t stand another night without me.

He loosens his grip on my mouth, sliding his hand down and smoothing his thumb over my bottom lip. “I’m sorry, I just...” He looks away, his hand around my back gripping me tighter. “I want more time with you. I don’t wanna give you up for the night.”

My throat is tight with those words. With knowing we will have to give it up. That it’ll end at some point.

Whatever healing this is, it’ll break me into pieces all over again when it’s done.

But even still, I glance at my dorm building and imagine Sloane with the apple she’d had in her hand, eyeing me as I lied to her that I was going to the library after Cort texted me that he was in the parking lot.

I know she knows I’m lying and have been, for the past few weeks.

But what can I say?

How could I ever explain this?

It just doesn’t make sense.

“She won’t believe anything I tell her,” I confess to Cortland, his thumb still smoothing over my bottom lip. “She knows I don’t...” I trail off, averting my eyes. “Do anything.”

Cortland laughs, dropping his hand and hauling me over to his side. “You do lots of things, baby. Go to the library. Read weird books. Let my roommate stare at you. Give good head.”

I elbow him and he laughs, his arm tightening around me. “Seriously,” I tell him, “I want to go with you, but I have no good excuse.”

He reaches into the pocket of my hoodie and pulls out my phone, holding it in front of my face. “Text her,” he says simply. “You don’t want to lie to her face. Text her that you’ll be in the library a few hours.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. But that’s because Storm knows. He doesn’t have to twist anything.

And why is that?

Shouldn’t Storm hate me, too?

But he doesn’t. That first day, he was aggressive and an asshole just like Cort. But as Cort’s attitude shifted, so did Storm’s. Maybe that’s what friendship is.

Having each other’s backs even if you’re about to jump off of a cliff.

But I don’t want that for Sloane. She’s had her own struggles in her life centering around her parents and their constant arguments. Her house was far happier than mine, but that doesn’t mean it was perfect. And she’s had a struggle in being my friend this past year. Being a victim doesn’t just traumatize you. It affects everyone around you.

If they decide to stay.

And she did. She never left me.

But Cortland... I don’t want to leave him yet, either.

I take the phone from his hand and he smiles down at me.

I open up a text to my best friend and I lie to her, wondering just how long I’ll be able to claim that title in her life.

CHAPTER

FORTY-SIX

REMI

I watch him pop the top from a beer, wearing a red flannel and dark blue jeans. He stares at the fire for a moment, the tent at his back—all done without my help—then walks around the pit before he sits beside me on the Mexican blanket, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

I rest my head against him, knees to my chest, my thumbs through the little thumb holes on my hoodie. I’m back to them again, but for a different reason than before.

It’s cold out here, October now.

My stomach twists into knots as I think of meeting with Silas, but I push it aside. I’m already skipping class, lying to Sloane, fucking up, I might as well let it all go for the night.

The fire pops, but we’re far enough away it doesn’t matter. The heat is delicious though, and the flames are mesmerizing. I inhale the scent of the woods, the fire, Cortland at my side.

He pulled his truck into the site too, and it’s at our backs.

Not far from Ely, the campground is one I’ve never been to, and on a Tuesday night, we don’t have any neighbors in either lot beside us.

I glance at the stars overhead and think about the detectives asking me about my view that night. If I saw any then.

I was stunned with that question. With most of them. But I didn’t see the stars that night for the simple fact that all I really saw was Cortland’s eyes holding mine.

He kisses the top of my head, offers me a drink from his can of beer. But there’s other alcohol in the cooler by the tent, and besides that, I don’t want to drink tonight.

“No, thank you,” I murmur, and he finishes it off, then tosses it into the fire where it starts to melt.

“So polite,” he says with a smile as I turn to look up at him. The flames dance in his granite eyes, and they look nearly silver in this light.

“Is that a problem?” I counter, smirking at him.

He arches a brow, his legs stretched out in front of him, arm still around me, other hand planted on the blanket. “I don’t know,” he muses. “I kind of like when you’re a brat too.”

I smile wider at his comment, flashing my teeth, and his eyes dip down to my mouth. My blood heats, and I think about what might happen in that tent tonight. “Do you?” I tease him.

“Yeah,” he says, sitting up and turning to face me more fully, one hand cupping my face. “I do.” His thumb traces my mouth and my lips part, almost involuntarily. “But I like your manners too.” He pushes his thumb into my mouth, and I suck it, my tongue ring flicking against his skin. His breath hitches, his eyes staring at my lips. “Like that,” he murmurs. “So fucking sweet.”

Slowly, he pulls his thumb out, then puts it in his own mouth, and I clench my thighs together, knees still to my chest. He drops his hand, resting it on my knee, over my leggings.

“You’re so good, you know that?” he asks me quietly, his eyes back on mine.

“Is that why you liked me?”

He tilts his head, a smile on his full lips, his lip ring gleaming in the light of the fire. “Yeah,” he admits. “And you were always in your own world. Nose in a book. Cheerleader with no friends. Lugging books around at the park on Saturday mornings.” He laughs a little as I feign offense, smacking his chest, my fingers lingering on his plaid shirt. “And I remember watching you fall.”

I know exactly what he’s talking about.

My chest tightens, my playful mood gone.

“I was coming in from practice. Y’all were in the gym.” His eyes stay on mine and I squirm a little, uncomfortable. “Maya was such a bitch.” He grimaces. “Is such a bitch.” He looks away and I wonder if she’s said anything to him lately. I think about the texts on his phone. The broken screen. But I don’t say anything, wanting to hear this. When he noticed me, back when I thought no one really did. “I broke up with her that night, and you were so brave.” He offers me a small smile, squeezing my arm, his still around my shoulders. “But we had a game the next day. Your ankle was swollen.”

I nod, swallowing down a lump in my throat. “And blue,” I supply.

He frowns. “And blue,” he repeats.

I had no idea he noticed.

That night hurt. It was like a zing of electricity in the most painful way just standing on it. I did one extension the night of the game, and I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to hold my own weight above my bases.

I did. Just barely.

When I came down, I thought I might faint.

“Maya bitched at me that morning,” he says quietly. “Before practice.”

I hold my breath, staring at him as he gazes out into the fire.

He shakes his head, shrugging. “Guess she saw I was crushing on you before I even did.”

I think about her in the café. Calling me a slut. I smile faintly now, realizing why she was so bitter.

“Why didn’t you stay off it?” Cort asks, breaking through my thoughts. “Or… get an Ace bandage or something?” He smiles a little, but it’s a confused smile.

I look down between us, at my knees. Think about going home after practice, dropping my gym bag by the door and leaning against the wall, sweaty and in pain.

Silas walked down the hall, his phone to his ear, dressed in a suit and tie, as always. When he saw me, he put the phone on mute, his cold, dark eyes fixed on mine. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

For a second, I wanted to cry. Tell him everything. Not just my injury. About Maya. How I thought the quarterback had a crush on me. That my ankle was sprained, and I needed a doctor and wouldn’t be able to cheer at the game the next day.

But Silas and I didn’t have that kind of relationship. I think I would’ve been able to tell Mom all of that, but in the years before she died, she’d been absent. Always at home, but never really there.

That night, I sucked it all up, straightened my spine, my palms pressed against the wall at my back. “Nothing, sir.” I lifted my leg, wearing shorts, my ankle was visible, and I had already kicked that shoe off. “I just… I think I sprained my ankle.”

He’d glanced down at it in cold boredom that sent chills down my spine, his phone held to his breast pocket. “Can you walk?”

Surprised he asked a question at all, I gingerly stepped on it and ground my teeth together, sucking in a breath. “No,” I said, shifting my weight to my good foot. “It’s⁠—”

“I didn’t ask if you could walk on it,” he said, speaking slowly, as if he were talking to a child and not his seventeen-year-old stepdaughter. “I asked if you could walk.” His gaze was on mine, burning through me.

Tears welled in my eyes, but I forced them away, swallowing them down, my ankle throbbing, my legs trembling. “Y-yes, sir,” I answered him.

He nodded. “Great.” Then he put his phone back to his ear and walked away.

He had cooked dinner that night for himself, leaving nothing for me. Not unusual. I learned how to cook from an early age, but that night, I felt like I might puke from the pain. I shoved down three Tylenols and cried into my pillow.

Looking at Cortland now, I don’t tell him any of this.

I just say quietly, “It doesn’t matter,” offering him a small smile even as pressure builds behind my eyes.

He grips my chin, tilting my head up. “It matters to me.”

I’ve never told anyone about Silas. Sometimes, Sloane’s mom would pry, but I instinctively knew if I told her too much, something bad would happen to me.

And he was gone a lot on business trips, meetings and things I didn’t care about or understand, not that he cared what I thought about his work. He didn’t expect much from me, even though I was in cheerleading, never got anything less than an A in every single class… it didn’t matter.

My scholarship didn’t matter. Perfect attendance. It didn’t matter. All the ways I tried to not be like my mother didn’t count. It’s like he was waiting for that one moment I was going to fuck up.

And when I walked in the morning after the party that changed everything, that was it. “You’re just like your fucking mother.”

“I don’t know,” I tell Cortland, still staring into his gray eyes. I feel the tears welling in my own, and for once, I don’t try to bury them. If I dig any deeper, I might hit my soul, and if that cracked, I don’t think I’d have anything left. My lower lip trembles as I stare up at him in the night. “It’s just… my stepdad… he didn’t really care about things like injuries.” I smile, but I feel it, the first tear falling, warm and wet down my cheek. Cortland’s eyes dart to it, then back to me.

I want to bury my head in my hands. Escape into this hoodie so he can’t see my pain.

“So, I just got through it,” I tell him. I laugh a little, even though my heart feels like it’s breaking. “And besides, my ankle is fine.”

He doesn’t smile. He just keeps holding my face, my pain, in his hands. “Has anyone ever taught you what love looks like, Remi?” he asks.

I swallow, feeling shame burn through me, like a pit in my stomach. My anger flares as I face his pity. I grit my teeth, close my eyes a second, more tears clinging to my lashes. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.”

His lips press against my cheek, right under my eye. “I don’t,” he whispers, his mouth against my skin. “How could I pity a girl with so much fire? That’s like feeling sorry for the sun because it burns so fucking bright.”

I blink my eyes open, brows pulled together.

“If anything, I’m jealous.”

I shake my head, wiping the back of my hand over my eyes as he straightens, his head cocked as he looks at me with kindness in his eyes. “Why?” I manage to choke out.

“You didn’t burn out.” He swallows, his fingers splayed along my jaw as he looks down between us. “Even after… everything.” He looks up at me again through thick, dark lashes. “And you still feel things. That aren’t fucking anger and bullshit.” He moves his arm from my shoulder, releasing my jaw and shoving up the sleeve of my hoodie, moving my thumb from the hole. He flips my hand, forcing me to see how I hurt myself as his index finger splays over my healing cuts.

I watch him swallow, watch the light of the fire dance over the wounds.

“I know what they said about you. None of its true. It’s not fucking true, and if your stepdad…” His jaw tightens as his grip does too, keeping my chin tilted up, so I’m forced to face him. “If he ever said or did anything less than defend you, he has no fucking idea what he has. You’re a gift, Remi.” He swallows again. “I’m sorry I ever made you feel like… anything less than that.”

I pull my knees closer to my chest on the blanket, the fire crackling at our side. “You used me,” I tell him, my voice breaking on a sob. “You did make me feel like that, Cortland. I never expected anything good from him.” I take a steadying breath. “It was you I thought was better.”

He swipes a tear away with his thumb, but he doesn’t look away from me. “I know what I did,” he says, his words low. “Just… can we not talk about it tonight?”

I blink at him, at the kindness he showed me evaporating, just like my tears. My grief. It turns to fire instead, burning just like he said I did. I’ve wanted to discuss this for so long, even before he transferred. I’ve wanted to know so many things. Now, we’re talking about it, and he doesn’t want to. “So you can handle all the pain everyone else caused me, but not what you did?”

He stands, dropping his hands, threading his fingers together behind his head as he stares out at the sky.

I glare up at him from my spot on the blanket.

“What do you want from me, Remi? You want a formal apology? You want me to turn myself in?” He turns to glare down at me, dropping his hands by his sides. “You want me to serve time?” He laughs, but it’s angry as he swipes his thumb over his bottom lip. “What the hell do you want?”

I get to my feet, wiping the tears from my eyes, my hoodie sleeves over my hands. “Fuck you, Cortland.” I glance at the tent he set up. “I’m sleeping in the truck. Or you can take me back. This is never going to work.” It breaks my heart, saying those words, but for now, the anger keeps all the pieces together. I stalk to his truck, reaching for the handle on the driver’s side, but before I can get to it, he’s behind me, spinning me around, pushing me against the door.

“It’s not?” he questions, his eyes narrowed, voice full of malice. “Then why’d you come here, baby? Why’d you let me fuck you, huh? Storm, too?”

I keep my hands by my sides, my heart pounding painfully fast in my chest. “I don’t want to fight tonight. Just let it go.”

He grips my hips and I suck in a breath, pulling my lip between my teeth.

“You scared of me? Right now? Being out here alone with me?” His eyes search mine. “Where no one would hear you scream? Where no one would know if I did something bad to you, baby?”

I hold my breath, my mind spinning, nervous energy coursing through me. I should be. There’s a voice in my head telling me that. I should be scared of him.

“Answer me, Remi.” He steps closer, his body hard and flush with mine as he stares down at me and I tilt my head up to meet his gaze. “Are you fucking scared?”

I try to think about it. About stumbling into the backyard. Cortland and Storm at my back, Brinklin and Chase in front of me.

Cortland’s arm had linked through mine. I wasn’t scared of him. I wasn’t nervous. He was safe.

Then we were deep in the woods, flirting and joking, and he suddenly grabbed me, hauled me against that tree. I still wasn’t scared. Not at first. And then…

“Yes,” I answer him, but I’m not sure I mean it.

He dips his head, his brow against mine as his fingers splay against my hip. “You’re lying, baby. You know I’ll keep you safe. With Storm? With me? You didn’t feel safe?”

I relish in his hands on me. I want to lick him. I want to taste him. I want to bite him. But we can’t keep numbing our pain with anger.

I know that. But for now, I don’t want to give this up. I don’t know what to say, though, so I keep quiet, listening to the pounding in my chest.

“You know we’ll protect you,” he answers for me. He angles his head, his lips grazing mine. “You know I’ll look out for you.” He grabs my wrist, pins my arm to the truck, bending my elbow back. “Even from yourself.” He glances at where I cut myself. “I’ll keep you safe. So why are you still scared?”

I swallow. “That night,” I manage to say, “sometimes it… it keeps playing in my head.” I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t know how to say that yeah, sometimes, like with Storm, like with Cort in the truck, all the other times we’ve had sex, I’m okay. Everything is fine.

But sometimes, I’m back there again.

And the same man that puts me back together is the one that ripped me apart. I don’t know how to talk about that. How to get him to understand that I’m not always scared, but sometimes, thinking of him then, I’m terrified. And angry.

He groans in frustration, and I feel his lip ring against my bottom lip as his fingers trail up my side, along my ribs.

“Get it out of your fucked-up head,” he tells me, his fingers going higher, slipping under the cup of my bralette. “By talking to me.”

I gasp, and I can feel his smile against my mouth.

“Say the words, Remi. Tell me why you’re scared. You wanna talk about this, let’s fucking talk about it.”

I close my eyes as he circles my nipple with his finger, my hands coming to his torso, my fingers closing around the soft fabric of his shirt, knuckles grazing the hard muscle of his body. “You hurt⁠—”

“I didn’t hurt you,” he corrects me, his voice stern as he tugs at my nipple and I gasp, lurching forward, holding his shirt tighter. He flicks his tongue out, licking the seam of my lips. “I didn’t hurt you, baby, don’t fucking lie.”

His entire palm comes over my breast, squeezing me. “Tell me the truth,” he says. “Tell me what I really did to you that night.” He grips me tighter.

I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to think about it. About the blood. About that night. About him. Them. What they really did. But I can see his gray eyes so clearly in my head, even though it was dark out there. But he was staring at me, holding me with his gaze while his friends used me. He was keeping me sane. I looked at him like he was my salvation. The numbness was taking over then, my own mind trying to protect me. Keep me safe.

But he tethered me.

A crime. That’s what he did to me. That thought bursts through this strange romanticized version of what happened, and I want to say the word, but it’s such a hard thing to say.

He grabs my breast, hard, making me flinch as I blink my eyes open.

“This hurt?” His voice is a growl.

Tears well up behind my eyes, my fight gone for the night, and my hands ache from holding his shirt in my fists so hard, my grip tight. “Yes,” I whisper.

He does it again, gripping my breast hard enough to make me gasp. “Is that what I did to you?”

I shake my head, a tear falling down my face. “No.”

“No?” he questions, taunting me as he lets up his grip, running his flat palm against my breast, soothing where he hurt me.

“No,” I say again.

“What about Chase?” he asks, his words clipped.

I feel queasy, thinking about him.

Cortland tilts my head up with his fingers under my chin, so I’m forced to look at him. “Did he hurt you?”

I just stare at him.

“Yeah,” he says, huffing a laugh. “Maybe it was only one of us who hurt you⁠—”

“You did,” I cut him off, those words clawing their way to the surface. “You all did⁠—”

“It could’ve been worse.” The way he says it, it’s like a promise. “But I wouldn’t let him.” His nose is against mine, his breath on my mouth. “But I’m the bad guy? You didn’t want me, Remi? That night, you didn’t fucking want me?”

I shake my head, but his fingers splay along my jaw, keeping me still.

“Answer me, Rems.”

“No,” I start to say. “I⁠—”

“Stop lying, baby. I don’t like that.”

Another wave of exhaustion sweeps over me. “Cortland, I⁠—”

“You wanted someone else to take what I took?” Those words are so angry.

“Why do you care?” I say back. “Why does that part matter to⁠—”

“Because you’re mine, Remi. After everything we went through together,” he drags his piercing over my lips, squeezing my breast, “I thought you’d understand that by now.”

I can’t speak.

He’s insane.

I know that, but even still, as much as I’ve tried to fight it, the fact that we share some fucked up bond, there’s a part of me that knows he’s right. I hated being “his”, in any way, but it was like fighting against the tide.

I drowned in knowing it was true.

That he was my first lots of things.

One of those being a crime. One of those being something that ruined my entire life.

But here I am, willingly at a desolate campsite with him, letting him touch me and hurt me and…

A sob breaks free from my mouth. He takes the opportunity to kiss me, his mouth claiming mine, his tongue colliding with my own.

I gasp against him as he pushes up on my breast, his lip ring rubbing my bottom lip.

His kiss is harsh, his teeth scrape against mine as he pushes his entire weight against me, the door of the truck digging into my back. “Cry for me,” he whispers, suddenly pulling back, just enough to let me breathe.

I feel dizzy with his whiplash and I’m panting, my back arching.

“Just like that night, fucking cry for me.”

Hot, fat tears roll down my cheek as I do just that, and I want to bury my head in his chest and hide.

But I don’t want to be that girl anymore. The one I was before. The one who’s always crying. Always hiding. I don’t want to be his victim all of the time.

“Now tell me the truth,” he says, his temple to mine. “You really didn’t want me?”

And I can’t hold it back anymore.

“I only ever wanted you!” Those words come out like a scream.

He stills, pulling back as he stares at me and I have no idea what he’s thinking, but it all comes out in a rush.

“I only ever wanted you,” I say again, breathing hard, tears streaking down my cheeks. “But you… you gave me to them.” I can barely say those words. It’s hard to speak, getting them out, but it feels good, too. Like a weight lifted from my shoulders. I could never say that in the aftermath. Never admit that at least one of them, I wanted.

“I didn’t want them.”

I drag him closer to me by his shirt and he comes forward, his expression unreadable.

“You let them use me and you didn’t fucking care.” My voice breaks, and my fist hurts from clenching his shirt so hard.

His grip on me loosens, but he doesn’t let go.

“Why would you do that?” I whisper. “If you cared at all… why would you do that?”

He stares at me, his brows furrowed.

Time ticks by.

I feel light in the wake of that confession, but the longer the seconds stretch between us, the more conflicted I feel.

“Say something!” I grab his shirt with both hands, shaking him. “Fucking say something.” More tears come, falling freely, but he doesn’t say a word.

He just angles his head, his lips over mine, and he kisses me, hard.

I open for him and he groans as he sucks on the ball of my piercing. When I whimper, salty tears between our lips, he finally lets go. But I taste blood in my mouth, and I don’t know if it’s his or mine, the way my own teeth dig into his lip, right by his piercing.

He doesn’t pull away though. He bites my piercing again, and I slip my hands under his shirt and drag my nails down his side.

When he pinches my nipple, he pulls, too, making me gasp against him, but I still don’t want to stop.

I’m not the girl I was.

I can handle a little ruin.

I’m not a victim. Not his. Not theirs. Not anyone’s. Not anymore.

“You don’t have a reason, do you,” I say against his mouth. “You don’t even know why you let it happen. Why you offered me to them.”

He doesn’t answer me.

“Sometimes I hate you,” I tell him as he pulls away, both of us catching our breath, the taste of iron on my tongue, our noses lined up together. I hear him panting, feel his ribcage expand under my hands. I know he can feel my pulse ticking in my throat, his hand still around me, his other still grabbing my breast hard enough to hurt. “Sometimes I hate you for what you did to me.”

“I know, baby,” he finally says, breaking his silence, his breath dancing on my mouth. “I know.”

“And sometimes,” I carve my nails in deeper against his skin, his muscles twitching in my wake as my chest heaves, “sometimes I think I…”

His mouth covers mine, drowning out my words, and he’s biting me again, and I’m biting him back, more blood on my tongue from his lip.

He pulls back, shaking his head, temple pressed to mine. “Sometimes you what?” he asks, flicking his tongue to swipe the blood from his lip. “Huh? Say it.”

I just stare at him for a moment.

He runs his thumb over my windpipe when I don’t speak. “Tell me, Remi.”

“Is it always like this?” I gasp out, swallowing down my other confession. The one he doesn’t deserve.

He seems to be holding his breath as he drags his hand down my stomach, gripping my hip, but keeping his hold on my throat, tipping my chin up higher.

“With Maya? Other girls? Are you always so rough?”

He just looks at me, and my chest squeezes, reading the truth in his eyes. I don’t know why it matters. I don’t know why I ever thought for a second his violence is love, but it still hurts, knowing I’m not the only one.

But he drops his hands, plants them on either side of my head instead. “It’s never like it is with you.”

The breath leaves my lungs.

I think he’s avoiding the question. I think he’s telling me what I want to hear. But even still, I hold onto it.

“Never?” I push.

He shakes his head, bowing his to mine. “Never.”

“How is it different?” I press. “What is it about me?”

He grabs my arm again, the one he pushed the sleeves up on. His fingers trail over my wounds. “You’re just like me.” He brings my arm to his lips, kissing over the crusted blood. “You’re fucked up. Just like me. And you know what did that?” He nudges his nose against mine. “Not that night, Remi. That was just the explosion. But the fire that started it all?” He angles his head, his lips over mine. “We were born this way, and beneath that shy bullshit there was a girl dying to be herself.” He pulls my arm over his bottom lip, and I suck in a breath. “I don’t want you to hurt, Remi.” He drops my arm, placing his palm back beside my head. “Not over me. Not over anyone. I don’t ever want to share you again. I don’t want to let anyone touch you ever again. I was stupid. If I could go back, it would only be just us. We’d never leave that park. I’d blow off my own party to keep you so safe and I’d marry your ass the next day. I was drunk, and I was fucking stupid. But let me make it better. Let me make it up to you.”

I open my mouth to tell him that’s impossible, but he presses a finger to my lips, his eyes locked on mine.

“Remi, baby… Let me at least try.”

CHAPTER

FORTY-SEVEN

CORTLAND

I only ever wanted you.

Those words echo in my head, over and over. Her hand is laced through mine as we drive into the nearest town. A place with two stoplights and exactly one shop. A coffee shop, thankfully.

“I never wanted them.”

I see her eyes in my head, the fire reflected in them. The truth in her words. They hurt last night. Those words fucking hurt.

And I can’t go back. I can’t redo that night no matter how much I wish I could. But I meant what I said. I want to make it up to her.

I pull into the packed dirt parking lot of the café, jog around the truck and open her door. She looks beautiful with sleepy, golden eyes, her faded orange hair in a messy bun, wisps of her long, straight strands hanging around her face.

She’s wearing my Ely University football hoodie, orange and black with a tiger paw on the front. Her leggings are the same ones she wore last night, but it’s not like she slept in them. There’s a hickey on her neck from where I fucked her in the tent after the shit by the fire, and she must not have hated it, because we’re skipping class—and practice—again tonight.

She didn’t even mention lying to Sloane again.

And we didn’t talk about that night after everything by the fire.

I can’t help but wonder if we ever found a way to be together, if it’ll just always hang between us. I wonder if I could handle that, to have her.

Yes.

I help her down from the truck, closing her door, locking it and slipping the key in the pocket of my black sweats as I wrap my arm around her, threading my fingers through hers. “You hungry?” I ask her, kissing the top of her head.

It feels good out here, the mountains just beyond the small café. Small, but people are loitering on the porch, some rocking in white-painted rocking chairs. A couple of old men in suspenders, a few women with permed hair and painted nails.

Small town charm, it kind of reminds me of West Virginia out here.

“No,” she says softly, “I don’t usually eat breakfast.”

I stop walking from the dirt parking lot and turn to look at her. “Excuse me?”

She shrugs, biting her lip and grinning, and I think we both like burying the heavy shit from time to time. It’s always lurking, but sometimes, we just have to live.

“I don’t have an appetite in the morning.”

I blink at her. “That’s unacceptable.”

She rolls her eyes, sticking her tongue out. I catch sight of the ball of her piercing and pull her to me, wrapping both of my arms around her and pushing her up against the truck. She threads her fingers together behind my neck, arching her back and pressing into me, standing on her tiptoes in those white Chucks.

“I do what I want, Cortland Adler,” she admonishes me, and for one of the first times, I hear her Southern drawl loud and clear. Like she’s tried to hide it all this time, but now it comes out in full force.

It makes my dick hard, and I put one hand on her hip, yanking her against me so she can feel it. “Is that so?”

She lines up her nose with mine, staring up at me with bleary eyes. The tent and the air mattress were comfortable after another one of our wars last night, but sinking myself inside of her was far more comfortable. “Yes, bossy.”

My smile hurts my cheeks as I plant one hand on her ass, uncaring if all the grandmas and grandpas of this town see me groping my girl out here. “I think you should do what I tell you.”

“And what’re you going to tell me to do?” she asks, fluttering her lashes in innocence.

I bring my lips to her ear and feel her tense. “Beg me to let you come.”

She starts giggling, smacking at my chest as she shakes in my arms. For one of the first times, it’s not from fear or nerves or anger.

Just joy.

I bite her ear, holding her tight to me.

It’s bittersweet, her small frame in my arms, because no matter how much I want to make it up to her, I know it won’t last. I know here, away from West River and Ely and my mom and Chase and Maya, we can pretend to be two people in love. Here, we can get rid of the past. That night where I was the attacker and she was the victim, and I tore her entire world apart.

Here, I get to heal her.

But back in the real world, I’ve got no business being around her, let alone trying to fix something I broke.

And Storm was right. People are just people, no matter their perceived power.

But hearts are hearts, and they can shatter despite our best intentions.

I’m on borrowed time with her here, and eventually, this will end in sorrow.

It’s as if she senses it too, the way she pulls back, flat on her feet, her arms a little looser around my neck. Like she knows we can’t hold on forever.

I jerk my chin toward the café, not wanting to ruin the moment between us just yet. I’ve done enough of that to last us a lifetime.

We get one more night. One more night before we have to go back to hiding.

“Let’s eat,” I tell her.

She rolls her eyes. “I’ll get a coffee.”

Good enough for me.

CHAPTER

FORTY-EIGHT

REMI

“You want to be a writer?”

The question comes out of nowhere. The fire is out, the temperature still dropping as we huddle in the tent, an electric lantern at the end of it, our blankets scattered all over the tent floor. I have one wrapped around my shoulders, and I’m still in his EU hoodie, but I’ve got black cotton shorts on, socks too.

I was flipping through a book that I’ve already read. One he saved for me, over two years ago. Pet Sematary. The cat stares back at me from the cover when I let the pages go.

He was on his phone, watching highlights from an NFL game last week, but now his phone is down, soft music playing from it.

“Moments Passed” by Dermot Kennedy.

I know that’s for me. Doesn’t really mesh with all his Deftones.

He’s got his elbows on his knees, wearing a pair of sweats and a West River T-shirt. His hair is a mess, perfectly tousled, and his eyes are sleepy but even still, he looks happy.

“I think so,” I tell him, feeling nervous discussing it, like I always do.

“Do something fucking useful, Remi.” My stepdad’s words. I lied and told him I was taking all my core classes before I declared a major, but I already have. I wonder how Cort knows.

I think about my new laptop, tucked away back in my dorm.

There’s a sick feeling in my stomach as I recall all of my lies to Sloane. She thinks I’m working on a paper for my lit class. But I sense something in her texts.

She knows I’m full of shit. I push that all aside. Tomorrow, I’ll have to deal with it. But tonight, I’m just letting it go.

I clench the fuzzy material of the blanket tighter in my fist, think about Cortland sitting across from me at that café as we sipped on lattes.

Well, he guzzled his black coffee down and inhaled eggs and bacon.

But I sipped while he kept asking every other bite if I wanted some of his food.

I didn’t eat until around noon, when we made hotdogs on the fire after a hike in the woods.

“You think?” he asks me, dipping his chin and smirking, his dimple making an appearance. “Or you know?”

I shrug, glancing at the horror novel in front of me. He’s sitting on the edge of the air mattress and I’m on top of a thick pad of blankets, a few feet between us. Still, it’s not enough to hide my blush and I’m sure he sees it.

“I know,” I tell him quietly. “But I also know it doesn’t make money.” I look up and try to hold his gaze without shame. “So, I’ll probably look into something else⁠—”

“Why?”

I blink at him, then laugh, my nerves on edge. He doesn’t even smile. “Because I have to pay bills, Cortland,” I say, shrugging. “You know, I have to actually make money.”

He threads his fingers together, nodding as he stares at me. Then he shrugs, and I watch the muscles in his shoulders flex as he does. “True,” he says, “but what if that didn’t matter?”

I swallow, shifting a little on my pad of blankets, wrapping my arms tighter around myself, my entire body covered from the blanket I’ve got draped over my shoulders like a cape. “It does, though.” I run my tongue over my teeth, not really liking the look he’s giving me. “What about you?” I deflect. “What do you want to do? Play professional football?”

He laughs, his white teeth flashing. “Nah,” he answers me. I think about him on the field, that throwing arm that never seemed to fail. Running the ball, never making a big show when he got a touchdown, his team rallied around him all the same.

People adored him.

I did too.

Do, I realize. I do too.

Despite the fact I’ve seen him at his worst, I adore him. Even this new version of him, angry and an asshole, I kind of like that, too.

And the words are at the tip of my tongue, waiting to come out. The truths I want to spill.

But I swallow them down.

“I want to do something that hurts,” he says, then smiles a little when my eyes nearly bug out of my head. “I helped my uncle with renovations, and I liked it a lot. At the end of the day, I want to come home exhausted, to a house with a lot of land, not many neighbors, and…” He looks at me, his expression serious. “Someone I love. That’s it.” He runs a hand through his hair, and I see his bicep flex. “The thing that scared me the most about going to prison…”

My stomach drops.

“…is I’d be separated from my family.” I see his throat bob as he swallows. “My dad. My little brother.”

I think about his words to me on the way to the cavern. Why he never introduced me to his family. The same reason I never introduced him to mine. “My life was a shit show.”

“And I’d skip all that time I could have my own family.” He smiles again, and I see a faint pink blush on his tan skin. “I like kids,” he admits. “I liked hanging out with Tristan. It was never a burden, or a chore. I just liked it.” My heart skips a beat in my chest as his granite eyes come to mine. “Would you ever want kids?”

I think about him coming inside of me last night. All the times before. “We’ll deal with it,” he’d said that time in his truck. We never did.

My stomach hurts, thinking about it. What Silas would say.

“Maybe,” I whisper, feeling warm under the blanket, but it’s a different kind of warmth. One from the inside. “Yeah,” I correct myself. “I would.”

His gaze is hooded as he stares at me, jerking his chin to the air mattress. “Come sit with me.”

Those familiar words make my blood heat, but I don’t move. Not yet. Can’t we stay like this? I want to ask him. Does this all have to end tomorrow?

“Remi,” Cortland scolds me. “Get over here.”

Smiling, I drop the blanket from around my shoulders and go to stand, but he shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says, his eyes on mine. “Crawl to me.”

My mouth falls open as I blink at him. “What?”

The corners of his lips tip up in a wicked smile. “You want me to use you, pretty baby?”

My words from the truck come back to haunt me. “Cortland, I’m not crawling to you⁠—”

“Just do it, Rems.” His voice softens, tugging at my heart. “For me, baby.” So manipulative.

Wolves have teeth, I remind myself. And if I want to run with them, I’ve got to use mine, too.

Little wolf. Storm’s name for me sends a bolt of confidence through me.

“No, Cortland,” I whisper, holding his gaze. “I think you should crawl to me.”

His brows shoot up, that cocky smile faltering. “What universe are you living in?” He laughs, arms still draped over his knees. “That’s not really what I⁠—”

“Crawl to me, Cortland.” I cross my arms over my chest and pull off his hoodie. I’ve got a white, cotton cami on underneath, and I drop the hoodie, feeling my nipples pucker with the cold of the tent. Running my hands up my thighs, I look over at him, my face flushing with warmth, but I hold my head high. “Tell me how sorry you are for letting your friends get their dirty hands on me.”

I see his jaw tighten, veins straining against his forearms.

I shift my hips, sitting up and slowly pulling down my shorts, my underwear, past my knees, then off as I toss them into a pile with my hoodie. I sink back on my heels, spread my thighs, and my heart is beating too fast. He could deny me. He could mock me. He could turn away.

But when my palms come to the crease of my thighs as I stare at him, I see his lips are parted, and that angry look is gone from his face.

“Show me how much you hate that your friends got to fuck me.” My voice is strong, but I don’t stop talking, because he hasn’t gotten his ass up yet. “You wanna let me stay home? You wanna let me write? You want me to have your kids, Cort?”

He chews his lip, his eyes locked on mine as I shift my thighs wider, running my finger up my center, moaning a little as I do.

“How do you think they’d feel?” My voice is hoarse, and I see his throat bob as he swallows. “Knowing their daddy let his friends hurt mommy?”

His eyes narrow. “That’s enough, Remi, you made your fucking point.”

I part my lips with my fingers and his gaze dips down, his chest heaving beneath his shirt.

He’s gonna crawl.

“And he never even said he was sorry?” I whisper, running my tongue over my lips after, slipping my fingers lower. “He never said he was sorry for letting Storm use me? And Brinklin in my mouth…” I trail off, pushing a finger inside of me, shifting my stance, letting him see everything. “And Chase…” I almost choke on his name, but I say it. I make myself say it. “He left his fingerprints on my ass, Cortland,” I whisper. “You let him do that to me.” I laugh, even though nothing is funny as I push another finger inside of myself, the wrongness of my words and the pleasure making it a little hard to breathe. “You think you’re rough?” I taunt him, dragging my fingers out, trailing them up my body, over my breasts, my nails digging into my throat, leaving marks before I push my fingers into my mouth, sucking the earthy taste off of myself. I pull my fingers out with a pop, and Cortland looks transfixed as he stares at me, every muscle in his body seemingly coiled tight. “You were nothing compared to him⁠—”

Before I can finish that sentence, he’s on his knees. He reaches one hand behind his back, pulling off his shirt, exposing the deep V that leads down into his sweats. He drops his shirt, plants his palms on the floor of the tent as he glares at me.

“When I get to you, Remi, you’re gonna wish you’d kept that pretty little mouth shut, baby.”

I bite back my smile, reaching for my own throat again, my nails digging into my skin.

“Keep crawling, Cort,” I whisper. “You’re not here yet.”

He crawls, and I watch his triceps flex with every movement, every time he picks up his hand, moves his knees. I see the muscles in his shoulders, too, and by the time he gets to me, his head level with mine, I’m panting, my pulse ticking in my neck, beneath my hand still on my throat.

“I’m here now, baby.” He reaches for my hand, covering it with his own, both of us choking me now. It’s hard to breathe, and panic and lust course through me. “I’m here now.” He leans in close to me, his fingers tightening over mine, pressure building in my head from lack of air. “And I’m so fucking sorry.” He runs his mouth over mine, gripping me even harder. “I hate what I did to you, but probably not as much as I should.”

My eyes widen, and I try to move my hand from my throat, but he doesn’t move his, not letting me go. He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, trailing a finger over my cheekbone as he chokes me.

“Because I do want you to have my kids. I want you to cook for me. And serve me. And I’ll fucking worship you,” my heart flutters even as spots pop in front of my eyes, “and I don’t want anyone else to ever lay another fucking hand on you.”

He loosens his grip, and I take a deep breath, gasping for air as he smiles at me, at the mercy of his hand, mine beneath it. He kisses me softly, and I part my lips, opening for him.

When I need to catch my breath, I pull back, my temple pressed to his. “What about you?” I counter, my eyes searching his. “You’re mine, too⁠—”

He squeezes my throat, cutting off my words, his lips running up my jaw, to my ear. “I’d never get on my knees for anyone else. Don’t be stupid, Remi. You’re too smart for that.” I swallow under my own hand as his other comes to my breast, palming me. “I’m yours.” Then he shoves me back, onto the blankets beneath me, guiding me by my throat. He lets me go, and I drop my hand from my neck, reaching for him.

He bites his lip, shaking his head as he stares down at me, on all fours over me. “You’re so goddamn gorgeous.”

I take in the tan muscles of his torso, his six-pack and his biceps with those delicious blue veins.

I grab his shoulders as he shoves down his sweats, kicking them off when they get past his knees.

His cock is hard and I reach for it, but he snatches my wrists, pins them above my head as he hovers over me. He stares down into my eyes, then lower, drinking in the sight of my body, my legs, spread for him.

With a groan, he fists his cock and lines it up with my entrance.

I whimper, thrusting my hips, wanting him inside of me.

He smiles down at me, fingers circled tight around my wrists. “You gonna let me do it?” he asks quietly, teasing me, running the thick head of his cock up and down my slit, circling my clit.

I swallow, fire coursing through my core, and I just want him. “Do what?” I manage to ask, watching him watch me. His eyes are on my pussy, wet and needing him.

“Let me be the one you could depend on? Stay home, write, take care of our family?”

My pulse is uncomfortably fast, my body too hot. “I…” I trail off, my mind racing.

He pushes the head of his cock into me, then drops his hand beside my head on the blanket as he meets my gaze and I suck in a breath, my entrance stretching around him.

“Don’t think about it too much, baby.”

My chest feels tight, hot and flooded with emotions longing to burst forth.

“Would you have my kids?” He pushes further into me and I gasp as I stare up at him, completely at his mercy, physically. Emotionally.

Don’t hurt me, I want to tell him, just like I did that night. Don’t hurt me, Cortland.

“I’m not. I won’t,” he’d promised me.

But what about now?

“Let me take care of you? Give you everything you could ever want?”

I can barely breathe as he pushes further into me, but he holds back, waiting for an answer.

He leans down close, his nose aligned with mine. “Let me be the one to give you a real family? Let me show you what love is by making you all mine?”

The words are lodged in my throat. The answer. What I desperately want. Need. But I can’t say it.

I can’t say anything.

He brushes his lips against mine, nibbling the bottom one, pulling it between us until it’s painful. “Give me an answer, baby.”

I want to. I want to.

He pushes further into me and I cry out against his mouth.

He runs his bottom lip over mine. “Answer me, Remi.”

“Yes,” I finally say, giving in. “Yes, Cortland. Yes.”

Then he sinks all the way in, giving us both what we need as I gasp, wrapping my legs around his muscled torso, his brow pressed to mine as he groans.

And when he comes inside of me again, collapses on top of me, sweaty and breathing hard as he rolls us over, holding me to his chest and pulling a blanket up as we come apart, I can’t stop thinking about his words.

Let me be the one to give you a real family. Let me show you what love is.

I fall asleep to that thought, wrapped up in his arms.

CHAPTER

FORTY-NINE

CORTLAND

I can’t stop thinking about you.

My baby

I’m hard to forget.

I roll my eyes, sitting at the kitchen table, thinking about dropping Remi off yesterday evening. I wanted her here with me, but she needed to talk to Sloane. Then Brinklin let me know Chase still isn’t back on campus, I haven’t heard shit from Maya even though I’ve seen her at every game. I have a bad feeling about all of it.

After Remi forced me to listen to every Dermot fucking Kennedy song under the sun on the drive back and sitting idling in her parking lot, I let her go.

I don’t give much of a fuck anymore what she does or doesn’t tell Sloane, but Chase doesn’t know where her dorm is. He knows where my house is. It’s safer for now if she isn’t here.

That ass is hard to forget.

My baby

So I’ve heard.

I press my knuckles to my mouth, smiling despite myself. Come on, Rems, give me something. She’s so fucking feisty, hard and soft all at once… I think I’m falling in love with her.

You wanna know something, baby?

Tell me.

I think you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger.

“Why are you smiling to yourself like you just learned how to suck your own dick?” Storm’s voice pops my bubble and I put my phone down, flipping it over on the table as I look up and see him sink down into the chair across from me, his hair a mess, he’s got on a black zip-up hoodie.

I lean back in my own chair, cross my arms. My game is tomorrow, but Remi has to meet with her stepdad, and after all I know about that fucker, I don’t like that.

But he’s her stepdad.

It’s just a dinner. I can’t exactly stop her from going and I can’t miss the game. Besides, Dad wants to see me afterward.

“Chase is here,” Storm says casually when I don’t answer him, like it’s no big deal.

I sit up straighter, watch him watching me. “I beg your fucking pardon?”

He shrugs, and as he opens his mouth to speak, there’s a knock on the door. I tense, darting my eyes down the hall. “Did you invite him here?” I snarl, my hands clenched into fists, resting on my arms.

He stands, stretching, his hoodie riding up and exposing his tattoos. “Does anyone invite Chase anywhere?” He pulls down his hoodie, goes to get the door as my pulse pounds too fast in my chest.

I hear Chase’s voice, his footsteps down the hall, Storm closing the door after him. And when he comes into my kitchen in a pink golf shirt with slicked back blond hair that’s irritating to look at, I have no idea how he was ever one of us. Brinklin and him had lived in West River’s school district since they were fucking born.

I guess that’s how.

And when Brinklin and Storm became friends, Chase was just there. Then I was the new kid, and it wasn’t really my place to say who was part of the pack.

Now, though, as he sinks into a chair between me and Storm, I just want to rip his throat out.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, thinking of him taking his phone out when Maya was blackmailing me. “And where the fuck have you been?” No messages, no phone calls. I don’t particularly want to talk to him, but it seems odd, him having fallen off the face of the fucking planet.

Storm says nothing, just keeps staring at Chase as his eyes flit between mine and my best friend’s, his hands on the knees of his khaki pants.

“I’m catching your game tomorrow,” he says with a wide smile.

“You wanna suck Cort’s dick, Chase?” Storm asks quietly, one arm slung around the back of his chair, his fist on the table. “That why you can’t stay away now?”

Chase laughs easily enough, but he shifts in his seat, looking at me. “Actually, I want your ex to suck my dick, and I thought I’d make sure that’s cool with you.”

I’ve got my palms resting on the table as I stare at him and tell him the truth. “You already did without asking for my permission, and I don’t care what the hell you do with Maya.” I shrug. “Have at it, man.”

“I didn’t mean to go after your girl but she hit me up that night before the semester started,” he shrugs, his lips pressed together for a second, “and we got to talking. Then you ditched her.”

He furrows his brow like something is fucking confusing before he continues. “Anyway, one thing led to another and I’m coming to the game for you, but I’m also taking her out afterward.”

“Such a gentleman,” Storm says quietly. “A date. How quaint.”

I roll my eyes, but Chase keeps his on me. “You sure you cool with that?” he presses.

I nod once. “Yep.”

Chase blinks. “Really?” He doesn’t sound skeptical though, despite his question. Just like he wants me to argue with him. “I mean, I know back at West, you two had a spat, but⁠—”

“You know we broke up,” I cut in, rising to his fucking bait. I try to keep my tone even, take a few deep breaths like Dr. Ravi taught me.

“But you got back together,” Chase adds unhelpfully.

I nod, running my tongue over my teeth. “Yeah, we did. After the charges.”

Chase smiles. This is what he really wants to talk about. “Yeah,” he says, unable to hide that fucking grin. “After the charges.”

Storm is quiet, just watching our exchange, but I’m very aware of his presence across the table from me.

“Good PR,” I tell Chase, watching him closely. “Having my ex stick up for us like that.”

Chase leans back in his chair, his gaze hooded as he looks thoughtful, down at the table. “Yeah,” he says, sighing, “she was a fucking champ.” Those words come out with a bite that makes me tense. Then he adds, “But we didn’t really need her to.”

I tense, hands curled into fists on the table. “Why’s that?”

He shrugs, looking up at me. “We didn’t hurt Remi, Cortland.”

I sit up straighter, my heart pounding too hard in my chest as I try to breathe. Hearing him say it like that, so fucking cavalier, I don’t know… it just makes me want to see his blood splashed all over my goddamn kitchen floor.

I remember Dad hanging deer when we were growing up, out in a little shed beside the house, the innards falling out as he hung them by the head, a little different than some of his friends did. He said it was better that way, so everything didn’t get caught up in the chest cavity. My mom called the shed a “piece of shit,” and paid someone to bulldoze it down when Dad was on the road, so that didn’t last long.

But imagining Chase strung up by his fucking head, blood spilling down his body… yeah, I could do that right here, the shed be damned. I think I even have some rope in my truck.

I contemplate Storm’s words. About seeing a corpse. I think he was just fucking around, but now I glance at him, wondering if I want to see one too.

He arches a brow but says nothing.

I start thinking about that night again.

Remi’s tears.

“You know that, right?” Chase presses, bringing me back to this moment when he’s alive and whole and still fucking running his mouth.

I scrub my hand over the back of my neck, trying to act casual before I drop it back down to my lap. “Whatever makes you sleep better at night, buddy.”

His entire posture changes. He sits up a little taller, his spine rigid, his eyes narrowed, that playful, cocky smirk gone. “You’re saying we did do what she said we did to her?” he questions me, his tone low. “Because I think I recall you asking her if she wanted me to stop.” The corners of his mouth pull up into a cruel smile, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “And you remember what she said?”

My jaw hurts the way I’m gritting my teeth so hard, and it takes all my fucking effort to stay in my seat. This is why I play football. To get energy out. So I don’t fucking snap. If I didn’t have an outlet, I might’ve killed my mom a hundred times over by now.

And Chase too.

“She didn’t say a fucking thing.” Chase smiles at that, like him taking advantage of my girl is one of his fondest memories. “In fact, damn, Cortland, I know you got to make her bleed first but⁠—”

I stand to my feet before I even realize what I’m doing, the chair legs scraping against the hardwoods. “Get the fuck out of my house.” I think about the rifles at Dad’s place. Guns he had to fight with Mom to keep, but he couldn’t quite let go of all the hobbies she’d tried to strip from him. In the end, when their arguments got really heated, I think Mom might have actually been worried he was going to shoot her.

I kind of wish he had.

And now, I’ve got that gun in my truck, and I’m thinking I wouldn’t mind pulling the trigger, aiming it at Chase’s head.

Chase holds up both hands, but he doesn’t get up. “Woah, just calm down, Cort.” He pulls his brows together in a mock show of concern before he drops his hands flat to the table. “This isn’t like you. Has something got you all riled up?” Another twitch of his lips, like he’s trying to fight back a smile.

“Chase,” Storm says softly, still seated. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but Cortland here has gotten a bit of a temper since that night.”

Chase turns to stare at Storm as he gives him the same warning he gave Maya, but I keep staring at Chase.

“And he’s kinda… volatile. I’d be careful what you say to him. In his own fucking house.”

“We all agreed we were gonna stay away from her,” Chase butts in, his temper coming out to play. But there’s desperation in his words, too, and I wonder why he’s so fucking concerned about this. Is it really his reputation he’s worried about?

“We didn’t agree on shit, Chase. And what I do in my free time is none of your fucking concern.”

“I disagree, Cort.” For the first time, I see his hands turn to fists at his side, knuckles on the table as he leans closer to it. To me. “You’re fucking with our futures here. Mine. Yours. Brinklin’s. Storm’s.”

Storm laughs softly. “I’m a dealer. I think my future is already fucked.” He says those words with venom, and Chase glances at him, but then turns back to me.

He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath that pink fucking polo. “You don’t think the news isn’t gonna have a field day if they see the girl who accused us of rape is fucking you?” He points a finger my way and I want to break it. “You don’t think that’s gonna reflect poorly on us?”

“I don’t much give a damn how it reflects on you, Chase, if I’m being honest.”

He drops his hand, and his mouth opens. Then he laughs, shaking his head. After several tense moments, his fingertips grazing the table, he finally speaks again. “You know who your mom’s biggest client is, Cortland?”

“I don’t give a fuck about⁠—”

His eyes narrow, but he’s smiling as he cuts me off. “It’s my parents. Dad’s the head of the insurance division at the warehouse. He contracts out work to your mom’s firm. And you know what else?” His smile widens. “He’s best friends with the senior partner at your mom’s place.”

“Like I said,” I’m having trouble not lunging across the table, “I don’t give a fuck about my mom’s job.”

“Yeah, but here’s the thing you might give a fuck about.”

I hold my breath, body tense. But there’s nothing he could sway me with. Not money. Not this fucking house. Nothing. I’ll pack my shit, drop out of school and move back to WV, work for my uncle again before I let Chase McGowan dangle shit in front of me.

“My dad is pretty well-respected in Ellicottville. This whole side of the fucking state. And if he supported your mom’s word that your dad was a neglectful parent—always on the road, never able to get enough food in the house because he put his work before his kid⁠—”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” I step around the table, toward him, and like a pussy, he backs up. “Don’t you dare bring my brother into this,” I warn him, taking another step. “He has nothing to do with your paranoid bullshit.”

He takes another step back, but he doesn’t shut the fuck up and leave. “None of that’s going to happen,” he says quickly, glancing at my fists by my side. “As long as you let Remi Ocean live in peace, Cort.”

“Get out of my house right now, Chase, or you won’t have a chance to.”

He dips his chin, eyes wide. “Are you threatening me over a fucking whore you already had?”

I close the space between us and shove him against the wall, his shirt in my fist, my fingers around his fucking throat. He reaches for me, but I knock his head back, and he stills, real fear in his eyes for the first time.

“Get out of my house,” I tell him, my nostrils flared, inhaling the scent of his cologne. “Or I’ll kill you.” I tighten my fingers around his throat. “It’s not a threat, Chase. It’s a fucking promise.”

I release him, stepping back, into Storm, who’s standing behind me. He puts his hand on my shoulder, but his next words aren’t for me.

“I don’t have a future, Chase,” he says quietly. “And I don’t have a brother, any family you can threaten me with. I don’t have much of anything to lose, buddy.” His fingers dig into my shoulder as he keeps talking to Chase, whose hand is at his throat, rubbing where I choked him. “That’s a little scary, huh? For you.” Storm drags me back, jerking his chin toward the hall that leads to the door. “You’re not with us anymore, so this is a very, very dangerous place for you to be in. Get out.”

CHAPTER

FIFTY

REMI

“I’m going to Asa’s apartment,” Sloane says, staring at her computer.

My arm itches from a few healing cuts, and I rub my hand over them, on top of my hoodie. I use my thumb to bookmark my spot in the book I’m reading and lower it down, turning on my side in bed to face Sloane.

She’s wearing a slouchy, purple sweater and her hair is in one long, thick braid down her back. Her knees are to her chest, and she’s just tapping one key on her laptop, over and over.

She hates me.

She hasn’t asked any more questions, but when I got back from camping yesterday, she stared at me for a long time, then went to take a shower.

I can feel the tension between us. The change.

I don’t know what to do.

Van is caught up with Ryann, and it’s easier to lie to him. To blow him off for lunch, because he’d rather be with Ryann anyway. But Sloane… my chest aches, thinking of how much damage I’m doing to our friendship.

“That’s cool,” I tell her, forcing a smile. I glance at my book and fold down a page, wondering about the next plot point. The hero in the story is accidentally burning down the heroine’s house because he’s drunk as fuck.

Romantic.

I bite my tongue at the thought to hide my smile, then toss the book down on my desk and tuck my arm under my head as I look at my best friend.

“Yeah,” she says. “I think I’m staying there for the weekend.”

Immediately, I think about all the time I could spend with Cortland while she’s gone. And right after that, a wave of guilt crashes over me.

“That’s awesome,” I tell her anyway. “So, things are going well?”

She laughs, but it’s harsh, and the little hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. She stops tapping the key on her keyboard and turns to face me, her green eyes narrowed. “You’d know if you ever went anywhere with us.” Her words are bitter. “I’ve invited you to meet him, like, a dozen times.”

Guess we’re going to hash this out now.

I swallow down my nerves, knowing I can’t tell her yet. I can’t tell anyone yet. “Sorry, Slo, I’ve been⁠—”

“Busy,” she butts in, and I see her hand on her keyboard clench into a fist. A muscle in her jaw ticks, and I think about her standing up to Maya when no one else did back in high school, in the locker room after practice. She called her a bitch to her face one day. Maya never changed her tune, but people respected Sloane more for it.

What did I ever do? Paint a pawprint on my face because Maya liked to mock me for it?

I run my tongue over my lips, but Sloane keeps talking before I can.

“It’s funny, though, Rems,” she says, her eyes on mine. She sits up straighter, her feet on the floor as she swivels in her purple chair to face me. “For all that work you’ve been doing…” Her eyes dart to my closed laptop, on my desk. “You never take your computer.” She arches a brow. “Using your old one? Oh, wait. That one’s here too. Maybe you’re writing all your assignments by hand?”

Despite the fact I’ve been lying to her, and hiding shit, I sit up with those words, swinging my legs off the bed. “Actually,” I tell her, “yeah. Some of them, I have.” It’s not complete bullshit. When Cortland and I come apart in his bed, I do work on some of my assignments in notebooks while he watches football. I’ve come to learn that he doesn’t give a fuck about school.

Sloane snorts, shaking her head, then she stands, turning away from me. “Whatever, Remi.”

My pulse pounds in my ears. “You have something else to say?” I ask her, my voice low, but my words strong. “Say it.”

She just stands with her back to me for a moment, her hands parked on her hips, over her yoga pants. Then she spins around, pointing her finger in my direction. “You’re lying to me,” she says, her brows pulled together. “You’re lying to me about something, and…” She drops her hand, glancing at my hoodie sleeve. For a second, I think it’s pulled up again, but I glance down and see it isn’t. She’s just thinking about the time she saw everything. “You look like you got attacked by a cat.” “You’re hurting yourself, you’re blowing off your therapy appointments…”

My stomach twists into knots. That’s true. I’ve blown off Dr. Ravi a lot lately.

“What’s going on, Remi?” she asks, and that question is soft and low. Her body language even shifts, from angry to scared.

She’s scared for me.

I hate that.

I cross my arms over my chest, my feet at the ankles, dangling from my bed. “Nothing,” I lie to her. “I’m fine.”

This was my moment.

This was where I was supposed to tell her the truth.

And I didn’t.

She knows this was the moment, too. Looking down at the floor, she nods. “Okay,” she whispers, and my heart cracks. “Okay.”

Then she packs her stuff, grabs her keys, and tells me she’ll be back Monday.

As she walks out, locking the door behind her, I realize I never even told her I’m meeting Silas tomorrow night.

A knock on the door wakes me up.

I blink, thinking for a second I’m at home, but then my mind catches up to my body and I’m bolting upright, my heart racing as I realize even at home, my stepdad didn’t knock. He barged in, or he yelled. There was no waiting for me to let him in.

And as I sit up, my gray sheets clutched to my chest, I realize I’m not at home anyway.

I’m in the dorm.

And I have just about zero friends on this hall aside from Sloane, unless Lyza counts, and considering our only conversation was in the bathroom when I tried to puke my guts out, I’m guessing it doesn’t count. That seems so long ago. Like I was a different person then.

I glance at the clock on my nightstand. It’s just before midnight.

I dive my hand under my pillow, closing it around my phone, yanking it off the charger plugged into the wall beside the bed.

For a minute, silence echoes, save for my own racing heart as I hold my phone up and see I have a missed call from Cortland, a message from Van telling me goodnight.

My stomach flips.

The pounding on the door comes again, louder.

I unlock my phone, swiping my finger over the screen, then I dial Cortland’s number. After a second, the line rings, and I hear a buzzing sound outside my door.

My throat constricts.

Until I hear his voice in my ear and in the hall say, “Open the door, baby.”

A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth and I speak into the phone. “Is that you?”

I can practically hear his eyes roll just outside my dorm room. “Yes, and if you don’t open the door in five seconds I’m going to⁠—”

I don’t hear what he’s going to do because I’ve already ended the call and leapt off the bed, bare feet skidding over the cold floor. I flip the light on and the lock. Then I pull open the door, and he crosses the threshold, picking me up and crushing his mouth to mine.

My legs and arms wind around him as I kiss him back, relieved that I don’t taste alcohol on his tongue. Just nicotine, and I don’t mind it.

The door closes at his back, and his tongue is twirling with mine, his hands under my ass to hold me up.

When we finally break apart, I’m grinning up at him as he leans against my door, still holding me.

“How did you even get in here?” I ask him, breathless. “What if Sloane was here?”

He smiles, but there’s something else in his eyes. Concern? Fear? It sends the little hairs on my arms on end, but he answers me with a light voice. “I don’t give a fuck if Sloane is here or not. And a cute girl let me in,” he says. My mouth drops open. I smack his chest and his laughter rumbles through it. “I’m lying, she wasn’t very cute.”

I narrow my eyes playfully. “What are you doing here?” I ask him, pressing my brow to his. “Do you want to stay? Sloane is away for the night. You’d have to sneak out in the morning⁠—”

“We’re not staying here.”

“Excuse me?” I ask him, thinking about the dinner I have with Silas and his girlfriend tomorrow night. “I can’t⁠—”

“I want you in my bed tonight.” He pulls away, yanking my arm with him toward the door.

“Cortland, I’m in my pajamas.”

He turns back, raking his eyes over my body. “Looks good to me.”

Despite myself, a laugh bubbles through my lips, but I still pull my arm from his. “Let me pull on some sweats, okay?”

He sighs but nods, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back against the door. I take in his EU shirt, black and orange, and his fitted, black sweats.

Turning, I rake my hand through my hair, wondering what the hell I look like, but thankful his frame blocks the mirror on the back of the door so I can’t think about it too much. I slide the door open on my closet, pull out an overnight bag and pack a few things. Then I pull on a black hoodie, sweats over my shorts, and push my feet into my white Chucks. After I throw my toothbrush in my bag, gargling with mouthwash in the bathroom and avoiding my reflection, I’m ready.

He opens the door for me after shouldering my bag, then slaps my ass as I walk through it, leaning in close and pressing his mouth to the back of my neck. A chill slides down my spine as the dorm door closes and we head arm-in-arm down the narrow, empty hallway.

Despite our closeness, something feels off about this. Cortland is obviously spontaneous, the way he whisked me off to the caves, then took us camping, but this is a rush even by his standards. We agreed we’d see each other Sunday, after his game and my dinner with my stepdad had passed.

As we walk down the stairwell outside, the cool night causing me to shiver, I see his truck is parked right by the sidewalk in a no parking zone, at the bottom of the stairs. He opens up the door for me, tossing my bag in the back first.

He leans over, pulling on my seatbelt. “You good?”

I catch the scent of nicotine in his truck, and I frown down at him, the interior lights of the Chevy illuminating his charcoal eyes. “Yeah, but… is something wrong?”

He grips the frame of the door, staring at me.

I know something is wrong, but he doesn’t look like he wants to talk about it. And after a second he says, “I just don’t want you out of my fucking sight.” Then he shuts the door and walks around the truck.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I remember the last time he told me that in his truck. Foreboding snakes through me as he hops in and closes his door.

“Every Time You Leave” by I Prevail plays softly through the speakers. He leans over to me, threading his fingers in my hair as he kisses me, his tongue flicking over the seam of my lips as mine part for him.

His kiss seems urgent, and my fingers find his forearm, resting on the center console. I dig into the corded muscle, half out of my seat as he steals my breath.

When we finally pull away, he traces my cheekbone with his finger. “God, you’re perfect.”

Then he straightens, throws the truck in gear, and we drive off. I bring my fingers to my swollen lips, trying to gauge his mood beside me. But he’s focused on the road, his high beams on, and I can’t help but feeling like there was something ominous in that kiss.

CHAPTER

FIFTY-ONE

REMI

Cortland comes up behind me as I wait at the door of his house. He wraps his arms around me and kisses my neck. I turn my head to the side, giving him access. A shiver takes over me, and I step back, further into him.

I can feel his erection against my back, and I let my eyes flutter closed as he runs his hands up my hoodie and my shirt, hot fingers on my skin.

He reaches past me, putting the key in the lock of the door, turning it and pushing the door open, leaving the key dangling in the lock as his hands come back to my hips.

“God, you smell so good.” He skims his nose over the back of my neck.

“Really?” I ask him quietly, smiling. “I was just in bed⁠—”

“It’s just your natural scent. I can’t get enough of it.” He straightens, then pushes me forward, into his house. He pulls out the key, closes the door and flips the lock. It’s dark in here, and I saw Storm’s WRX was in the driveway, but I don’t hear anything in the house.

Cortland’s hands run back up my sides, and he pulls on the hem of my hoodie, and my sleep shirt. “I want this off of you.”

Nerves flutter in my stomach, but in the dark, I lift my hands overhead. He pulls my clothes off, dropping them to the floor, his hands cupping my breasts, his thumbs over my nipples. “I wanna fuck you right here in the living room.”

My heart skips a beat as I think about Storm. “But what about⁠—”

“It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before,” he says in my ear, as if he’s reading my mind. “But tonight you’re all mine.” Then his hands come to my hips and he pushes me against the wall at the foot of the stairs. My palms come flat to the wall, my breath leaving me in a rush. He’s in a hurry, and he seems… desperate for me.

He runs his palms down my hips, pulling down my sweats and my underwear, too, until they drop to a heap at my ankles, my shoes still on.

His fingers curl around my wrist on one arm, keeping me in place.

“Spread your legs,” he says, and he adjusts himself behind me before I feel his cock against my ass.

I arch my back, widening my stance.

My core is hot, but he just toys with me for a second, running the head of his cock up my slit, causing me to whimper. But underneath my desire, something feels all off.

I turn to face him in the dark, my hands still on the wall, one pinned there by his fingers. “Cortland,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, “is something wrong?”

His fingers tighten around my wrist as he circles himself over my entrance, teasing me. “Not now,” he says, his voice low and throaty.

I narrow my gaze. “Seriously, Cort, is⁠—”

He groans, cutting me off as his mouth comes over mine. “Just trust me, okay?”

I frown. “What’s wrong?”

He dips his head, staring into my eyes. “I’ll take care of you.”

Those words send warmth flushing through me. “Okay,” I finally say, turning back to face the wall, that confusion, the feeling of something being wrong still eating at me.

I feel the head of his cock against my entrance.

“You okay, baby?” he asks me quietly.

I nod. “Yes,” I tell him, meaning it. With him so close to me, his body over mine, I feel comforted.

He pushes into me, and I gasp, fingertips pressing further into the wall.

He groans, his head dropping to my shoulder.

Then his hand is fisted in my hair, and he yanks my head back as he fucks me harder. Rougher, his hips slapping against mine.

I whimper, my pulse racing. I can’t speak, the way my neck is arched backward, eyes closed.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, fucking me faster. A painting on the wall, just by the stairs, starts to rattle.

I’m trying to breathe, to be in the moment, but it’s all reminding me of that night. Not of Cortland, but… Chase.

I close my eyes tight. You’re okay. Everything is fine.

He fucks me faster, harder, and I hear the sound of our bodies colliding, bringing me back to that night.

“Cortland,” I manage to choke out, his grip in my hair painful, tears welling in my eyes.

“You want me to use you.” He’d said that in the truck. I meant it that night. I know he likes dirty sex, and I think I do too, but for some reason, with my fight with Sloane, him waking me up, taking me here in the middle of the night, that feeling of wrongness grows stronger, and along with it, so do the memories. That night is playing in my head on a loop. The way everything felt so numb after a while. Chase’s spit on my back. His cum, when he pulled out, spilling over me.

Cortland slows, nudging his nose against my neck, nibbling at my skin. “Yeah, baby?” He pushes into me, pulls out slowly, then pushes back in, never letting go of my hair.

“You’re scaring me.” The words come out barely more than a whisper.

I feel him tense behind me, still inside of me, still gripping my hair. “Why are you scared?” he asks quietly.

I take a breath, trying to relax, but I can’t. How do I explain? “I just… I’m sorry, it just…”

He pulls my hair tighter and I’m frozen as his mouth comes to my ear. “You want me to stop?”

I inhale. Exhale. My eyes are still closed, my throat pulled taut, the way he’s holding my hair. “I can’t stop thinking about…” I trail off, unable to get the words out.

For a moment, there’s only silence between us. I’m not sure either of us are breathing. Then he shifts his hips, pulling out slowly, then pushing back in, his mouth still on my ear. “Use your fucking words, Remi.” His grip is painful, my eyes watering at the pull. “If you want me to stop, say it.”

“Cortland, that’s not⁠—”

He pushes all the way in, causing me to whimper, nearly collapsing flat against the wall. I lock my arms to steady myself. “Say it.”

I shake my head, my scalp burning with his hold. I don’t understand why he brought me here. I don’t understand what the fuck is going on, and I don’t know why he’s being so cruel. “I’m just… I’m just confused.”

He laughs, his nose trailing down the length of my jaw, his tongue skimming over the side of my throat. “I wanna fuck you. What’s confusing about that?”

“You’re scaring me,” I manage to gasp out again.

He stills, his breath warm on my collarbone.

Then, abruptly, he lets go of me, pulling out, the heat of him leaving me.

He doesn’t say anything, and I turn around on trembling legs, bending down to pull up my underwear, my sweats. My hoodie and shirt are nowhere to be found in the dark, so I cross my arms over my chest as I lean against the wall.

He pulls up his own sweats, his shirt still on. Then he turns from me and I watch the muscles in his arm flex in the shadows as he swipes a hand through his messy hair, facing the living room.

“Cortland.”

He doesn’t look at me when he answers, dropping his hand. “What?”

“I’m sorry.”

He spins around, his brows pulled together. “Why the fuck are you sorry?”

I blink at him, those words full of anger. “I…”

He drops his gaze, running his tongue over his lip ring. “I should be sorry. I thought you could handle this.”

I stiffen, my fingers clawing into my biceps. “What?” I whisper, an edge to that word.

He looks up, slipping his hands into his pockets, the veins in his forearms stark against his skin. “You’re clearly still healing.”

My muscles tense.

“I should’ve known better than to…” He shakes his head. “Never mind. Maybe I should take you back.”

A lump forms in my throat, and I don’t know if I want to scream or cry. “Why are you doing this?”

His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t look up.

Something happened. That’s all I can think. Something happened. “Why the fuck are you doing this? What happened?” My voice rises with every question. “Is it Maya? She come over here and⁠—”

He looks up, his gaze narrowing. “I told you, Remi. I’m yours.”

I don’t know what to say, emotions welling up in my chest.

“But I think I should take you back. This was a bad idea.” He turns from me, headed to the door, flipping open the lock.

I hold my breath, hoping he won’t open it. Hoping he doesn’t mean it.

But then he pulls open the door, the cold night air flooding in, the porch light flicking on and illuminating his face as he looks at me over his shoulder.

I stare at the door, blinking past the angry tears in my eyes.

After a second, I turn, drop my hands, and slam my fist against the wall, rattling that picture harder.

Maybe he just wanted a midnight booty call, but he didn’t have to be such a dick about it. I fought with my best friend. I’m lying to her for him. And I was sleeping—a rarity for me until he came along—and he had to pull me out of bed and drag me here so he could use me?

I run my hand through my hair, slap my palm against the wall harder but it isn’t enough. I spin around, see the table by the door with a ceramic bowl to put their keys in.

I think about the fact I’m going to see Silas tomorrow. He’s going to cut me down. He’s going to humiliate me, and I’m going to take it. Because that’s what I do.

A rag doll.

Cortland’s words come back to me.

A scream comes clawing its way up my throat as I slam my fist on that table, again and again, and again, enjoying the pain reverberating through my knuckles, the ceramic bowl wobbling as I do it. It feels good, making myself hurt again instead of letting everyone else do it for me.

I feel something warm on my skin as I crash my knuckles into the wood over and over. Blood.

The pain reminds me I survived.

That’s what we’re supposed to be called. Survivors. Not victims. Fucking survivors. Well fuck that. What’s the point of surviving if you just drown all over again? At every reminder? Every trigger? Every moment that takes you back to being a victim?

I hit the table over and over and over, more blood flecking across my pale skin with every hit.

Cortland says nothing. Does nothing.

Fuck him.

Fuck Chase.

Fuck Silas.

I feel euphoric, high with the pain, the self-inflicted damage. Just like when I was going to offer myself to Van and Ryann, this feels good, too. My own undoing, agony I can control. Like the scissors. The box cutters. Like being passed between Storm and Cortland.

I snatch up the ceramic bowl, and finally Cortland intervenes. He slams the door closed, crosses the room in a blink.

He grabs the bowl from my hand, slamming it down at the table behind me. “Stop acting like a fucking child.”

My pulse skyrockets, loud in my ears. Elation. I try to shove Cortland away, but he pins both of my wrists to the table, keeping me there.

Silence echoes in the room as my chest heaves.

Then I hear the creak of the floor, from the kitchen, and Storm’s voice. “You have teeth after all, huh, little wolf?”

My chest is heaving, hands fisted by my sides, the skin of my knuckles stinging.

Cortland wraps his arms around me, dragging me away from the table, and I feel Storm’s eyes on us from the doorway of the kitchen.

I fight against Cortland, needing to be free. To explode. To rage, just a little more. “Let go of me,” I whisper, struggling in his grip as he pins my arms to my side. “Get off of me!” Those words are louder, but he still doesn’t let go, and I can’t escape him.

“Calm down, Remi,” he says quietly, holding me still, far from the table. In the living room.

My chest is heaving, anger pulsing in my veins, and I keep struggling, but I can’t get away.

I can’t fucking get away from him.

I still fight, though, flexing my fingers by my side, feeling the crack of my skin. “Get off of me, Cortland. Get off.” I twist in his arms, breathing hard, not wanting to come back down from that high.

He doesn’t say anything, just squeezes me tighter. My bare chest heaves beneath his arms.

“Cortland, get the fuck off of me!” I thrash in his hold, feel his muscles flex tighter, almost to the point I can’t breathe.

He doesn’t let up. “You thought I was leaving you?” he asks instead.

I still, frozen, my pulse thudding in my ears. I swallow, feeling suddenly hot and uncomfortable, my knuckles stinging. “I don’t care if you do,” I spit, using anger to mask his stab at my vulnerability.

“Yeah?” he demands, dragging me back with him as he sinks down onto the couch, me on his lap. He still doesn’t let me loose.

I open my eyes, stare down at my legs dangling over the side of the couch, parallel with his.

“Is that why you had a fucking fit?” he asks me.

I squirm when I think about it. The raw feel of my knuckles. The flashback coming to me at the worst time.

His words. “I thought you could handle it.”

“You thought I was going to fucking leave you, Remi?” He sounds angry, and he loosens his grip, picks me up like it’s nothing, pushing me flat on my back on the couch, my shoes still on as his fists come to either side of my head. He’s on his knees over me, glaring down at me. “You’ve gotta get over that. I’m not leaving you.”

I know Storm is watching us, me without my shirt on, but I don’t care.

I fist the leather of the couch, my knuckles screaming as they bend, my mind spinning. “But you were going to take me home⁠—”

“Fuck,” he says, grabbing my hand and bringing it to his lips as he sinks back on his heels, by my feet. I see blood on my skin, but he doesn’t care. He sucks on one knuckle, then the other, the sting bittersweet. He drops my hand to his lap but doesn’t let go. “I’m sorry.” He kisses my hand again. “I’m sorry. Chase got under my skin and I tried to leave you alone tonight but I couldn’t stay away. I’m fucking sorry, Remi. It’s not your fault.”

I try to breathe. To relax. To get my pulse to settle. I say nothing, though, hot and uncomfortable and still burning with that fire. It’s worse, thinking of Chase. I don’t want to know what he said. What he did. How he threatens this.

“You had a flashback.” Storm’s words, behind me. I can’t see him, but Cortland glances up at him, my hand still in his. “It’ll probably happen for a long time.”

I can’t breathe with those words. The truth in them as I stare at Cortland. My demon and my angel wrapped up into one. I can’t have one without the other. Being so near him brings out all the trauma, but being away from him hurts, too.

He looks down at me, running his thumb over the back of my sore hand as I stare at the ceiling, trying to breathe. To think.

“It’s normal,” Storm continues. “Part of healing.”

“I don’t want this normal.” Anger rolls through me all over again. I sit up, yanking my hand from Cortland. I shove at him with both hands. “I don’t want this fucking normal!” I clench my fingers into fists, pounding them on Cortland’s chest. I hate what they did to me. I hate what he let them do. But most of all, sometimes I can’t stand the thought of myself because I hate me too.

“I let you do it,” I gasp, my eyes blurring with tears. I hit Cortland again and again. “I let you all fuck me up!” I can’t breathe and I can’t speak, the sobs coming faster as I hit every inch of his torso I can.

He grabs my wrists. “Remi, stop hitting me.” His voice is low and restrained but his grip is tight.

I try to yank out of his grasp but he only holds me tighter. My pulse is pounding in my ears, my blood screaming in my veins and I start to stand, but he pulls me back down.

“Let go of me!” I lean back, kicking at him and still trying to get my wrists free. “Let me fucking⁠—”

“Stop. Kicking. Me.” His words are so low I can barely hear them over my own heartbeat.

I don’t stop. I don’t stop because he never stopped. They never stopped.

Just as I go to kick him again, he shifts his grip, lurching over me. He pins my wrists above my head on the couch, his knees on my thighs so I can’t kick. I twist my head from side to side, still crying and screaming.

“Let go of me. Let go of me. Let go of me!”

He leans down close, his body engulfing mine. His chest grazes my bare breasts and his words caress my mouth. “Use your words. Use your fucking words or I swear to God I’m going to fuck them out of you right now.”

At that, I laugh. “You would, wouldn't you?” I twist my head to stare up at him, holding me down. The scent of leather and cedar floods over me in a hot wave. “You would do it all again, you sick. Fuck.”

He laughs, too, then dips his head and pulls my nipple into his mouth. I’m aware Storm is still watching but the way my blood is so hot beneath my skin, my anger alive in my veins, I don’t give a fuck. I try to buck my hips beneath Cort but he grabs my hips and holds me down. He lifts his head, running his tongue over the swell of my breast. “Yeah,” he whispers, his breath on my skin. “I fucking would.”

He shifts his hand lower, just beneath my sweats. “So why don’t you stop me this time, Remi?” He kisses my other nipple gently, sucking it into his mouth. Then he runs his lip ring over my skin. “Use your words, pretty baby.”

His fingers trail up my sides, over my ribs and I shiver underneath him. Some of my anger cools, and my chest heaves between us as he stares down at me.

“Come on, little wolf,” Storm says quietly behind me. “You can get it all out here.”

I close my eyes.

Try to breathe. Cortland’s grip loosens on my wrists. “Are you gonna behave?” he asks me, trailing kisses up my chest until his mouth hovers over mine.

I swallow, taking a deep breath. Trying to relax. I’m so tired of fighting. So tired of holding back.

Finally, I open my eyes. “Yes,” I tell him, meaning it. “I’ll behave.”

He smiles at that and angles his head, kissing me deep. When he pulls away, he says, “Tell me everything.” Then he sits up, pulling me up by my hands and holding one tightly as I wrap one arm around my chest.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Okay.”

I take a moment to get myself together, feeling shaky with my breakdown.

“I just got stuck,” I finally manage to say. My voice is hoarse with those words. I try not to think about the fact that two of them, from that night, are in here. That I willingly gave myself to both of them, too. What does that mean? What is wrong with me? I keep staring at the ceiling in the dark, like it’ll ground me. “Sometimes I just get stuck.” My lower lip trembles, the momentary high from the pain leaving me, but I keep going anyway. “I know you didn’t… I know you didn’t think you were hurting me…”

Cortland squeezes my hand again, and somehow, it gives me the courage to keep going.

“But it was all so blurry, and I wish I could do it over and maybe go home after the park instead. And maybe we wouldn’t have fallen apart like we did. And I wish I hadn’t been so obsessed with you.” I laugh a little, but it’s a sad sound, one that makes my chest crack in two as I try to catch my breath, but the words leave me in a rush. “And there are so many things that I wish I could explain, but I don’t really know how to do that.”

“Remi.” The one word, just my name, but there’s so much in it. He sounds nervous and for a moment, I wonder if I could scare him away with all my truths. If I just told him everything—why I didn’t stay and speak to him, why I didn’t say no, why I even called the police and how much he broke my heart when he let them touch me—maybe he’d just kick me out and mean it this time.

Maybe this would end.

I close my eyes as he threads his fingers through mine.

“Try,” he urges me. “Just try to say it all.”

I hear footsteps. The creak of the stairs.

Storm leaving. Giving me this moment. Giving it to Cortland. Because Storm didn’t owe me anything. I didn’t trust him. He scared me.

But Cortland… Cortland was the one that really cut deep.

I take a breath before I start.

“It’s just… my stepdad, you know, he’s big on obedience and if I don’t do things his way and even when I do… he uses any scraps of affection as a weapon.” These are words I’ve written down. Words I’ve finally typed from my journal, for my memoir assignment, even though I know I’ll never turn something that vulnerable in. And I know maybe I should stop talking and not tell it all to Cortland, because I know, deep down, this will never work out, but for some reason, I keep talking anyway. “That night, I just thought maybe it’s what you wanted. And I was scared, because Chase was so rough and Storm and Brinklin and you outnumbered me. But I thought you wanted it, and so I convinced myself I wanted it, but I was screaming it in my head.” I close my hand into a fist, pressing it to my temple. “I was screaming so loud. Until you held my head in your hands, and it just all went… numb. And I thought, for you… I’d do it if it made you happy. With me. Then that morning, you were sleeping so soundly, and I was so scared. And everything hurt, and…”

He grips my hand ever tighter.

“I got home the next morning. And my stepdad… he was waiting for me.” My throat constricts, my words raw. “He was drinking, and it was early, and he’d got home just a few hours before me. A mixed-up flight. Business delay.”

My eyes meet his, my knees trembling.

I open my mouth, an excuse on the tip of my tongue. But it’s six in the morning. My clothes are dirty, save for my shirt. Which isn’t mine at all.

But my jeans, the ones I never wear around Silas, they’re ripped and flecked with dirt just like my nails, and my hair, and…

Silas lifts his glass to his lips, taking a drink as he stares at me with dead eyes, just a few feet from me in the wide, marble foyer of our house.

His house.

“Where were you last night, Remi?” he asks again after a moment.

My heart is rattling around in my chest and I feel like I’m going to be sick. I was worried I might get pulled over on the way home. Worried I was still a little drunk from the night before. Worried everyone who passed me on the road could see what I’d done. What I did.

“I…” I want to beg him to hold me. I’m leaning against the door, my palms clenched into fists, the taste of blood and dirt in my mouth. I want to beg him to let this go. To let me cry. Tears sting my eyes.

He arches a brow, stepping closer. I see his knuckles blanch around his glass. “You what, Remi?” His words are so cold.

I inhale, catching his expensive cologne. So familiar, but there’s nothing comforting in it. Where have you been? I want to scream at him. My whole life, where have you been? After Mom died, I know you hated me. I know you still do.

“I was at a party,” I admit, wincing as I do.

He steps closer. My heart races. “Were you?”

I close my eyes, feel a tear slip down my cheek. “Yes,” I whisper.

“And what happened to you at this party?” Cold cruelty.

I know I won’t get sympathy from him. I swallow down a lump in my throat. “Nothing,” I lie. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was going⁠—”

“Nothing?” he questions, his voice louder, closer now.

“No. No s-sir.” I open my eyes and find him staring down at me.

“Why do you have dirt on your knees?”

I feel hot and uncomfortable. I want to run. But there’s nowhere to go. This hell is my home. “I-I don’t⁠—”

He drops the glass. It shatters at our feet, but before I can think that through, he’s fisting my hair in his hand, yanking my head to the side.

I cry out as he gets in my face, shoving me against the door. “You look like you got fucked, Remi.”

I swallow down my fear, meeting his dark eyes. “I-I d-didn’t⁠—”

“I know you’ve been seeing Cortland Adler.”

Cold fear washes over me, the warmth gone. “W-what?”

He smiles, his grip tightening in my hair. “Yes. I’m not as stupid as you seem to think I am, Remi. So why don’t you stop disrespecting me in my own house and tell me what happened to you last night?”

Another tear falls past my lash line, down my cheek. “Silas,” I whisper, “I didn’t… Nothing⁠—”

He lets go of my hair, grabbing my arm in a bruising grip. “Did you let them fuck you?”

“N-no⁠—”

“You are nothing but a fucking slut. You’re just like your mother.” He tightens his grip and I wince as he shoves me down to the floor, my knees hitting the tile.

But he comes down with me.

I can’t breathe, my heart pounding painfully in my chest as his hand finds my hip, slipping under the edges of my shirt.

Cortland’s shirt.

I can smell the alcohol on his breath.

It reminds me of last night.

I feel sick all over again, nausea washing over me in volatile waves.

His bare fingers are smooth on my skin, because my stepdad would never get his hands dirty.

Not where anyone but me is concerned.

He brushes his thumb under the hem of my jeans, and I feel dizzy, every movement of his finger against me so loud.

I can feel it. Hear it. Sense it too deeply.

He wouldn’t.

He won’t.

“P-please don’t⁠—”

“Did you like being used?” he asks me quietly, his eyes on mine as he leans closer, forcing me back, until I’m on my elbows. “Your mother used to enjoy being used, too. For pills and speed and fucking heroin, but maybe you do it for nothing at all.” His body is over mine and his cologne assaults my senses, and it reminds me of them and⁠—

“Don’t do this,” I blurt out, my words shaky. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to⁠—”

“If you’re just going to act like your mother, Remi, if you’re just going to let anyone have you, why shouldn’t I?”

Cold fear runs through my body and I’m numb and frozen and I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t…

I stare up at the man who has been a stranger to me my entire life, so close to me now, his hands on me where they shouldn’t be.

I don’t know this man.

I never did.

And in this moment, I wonder if he stuck around after Mom passed just for a moment like this.

His hand comes to the button of my jeans. But I won’t let him do this.

“It wasn’t just him,” I cry out.

His movements stop.

“It wasn’t just him, Silas, it was…” I choke on those words, but he stops, and I keep going. “It was four of them, I don’t know what happened. I was just drunk and…” I trail off. “I don’t know,” I whisper, “I don’t know what happened.”

There’s silence.

His hand still poised over my button.

But only silence.

Then he hits me before I can get the next word out, the back of his hand against my face. I taste more blood in my mouth. Fresh.

He moves away from me when he’s done.

And I’m seeing stars as my eyes fly open, his scent no longer so close, his body no longer over mine. I glance at my unbuttoned jeans, trying to process what just happened.

What he just did.

But before I can, he’s speaking again, and I’m ashamed that I feel relief. Fucking. Relief.

“You are a disgrace.” He sighs as I blink, my head pounding, my lip split. “Grab a towel, and get in the car. Sit on the towel. I don’t want your filth on my seats. If you still have your phone, call the police.”

My mind is racing with those words. “N-no, I don’t want to⁠—”

He steps closer, and I scramble back, terrified. “You’re either a whore for me to use, or you got raped, Remi.”

No. That’s not… Is that… I didn’t mean they did that. I don’t know if they did that. I don’t know…

“Were you or were you not drunk?”

I swallow, but then I nod, slowly.

“Of course you were. They raped you, Remi. At least the Adlers have money. I have no idea what he sees in you, but perhaps you can get a settlement out of all of this, which is the most you could have ever hoped for from him.” He jerks his chin. “Now get upstairs, and get a towel.”

I stagger to my feet, turning from him, stumbling blindly up the stairs, shock settling in.

I hear him on the phone, behind me, and I vaguely register the words. A cancelled meeting. An excuse. Then, “Something bad happened to Remi.” Feigned emotion in his words. “I have to take her to the hospital.”

I’m sitting up, and Cortland is still gripping my hand, but it feels like everything has changed.

“I’m sorry,” I rush to say, speaking through the emotions welling in my chest. “I’m sorry I even… went to the police, and I’m sorry about the charges and everything and⁠—”

“You went to the police because of your stepdad?” he asks me quietly.

Nerves course through me, and I grip his hand tighter, but he doesn’t return it. “Cortland, I was scared and I⁠—”

“Answer me.”

I wipe the back of my bleeding hand over my eyes, looking into his. “You know what you did was wrong. You know I didn’t say yes, and you know I was crying and⁠—”

He lets go of my hand, standing abruptly as fear grips my heart. He threads his fingers together over his head, his back to me.

I think of my stepdad’s anger. The glass at the foyer that I had to clean up when we got back from the hospital. “Say something, Cortland.”

Silence.

Then he drops his hands, spins around, and he’s so distant as he looks at me. “You could have ruined my life.”

Shock. Shock is what I feel. Shock that he doesn’t care about how I felt. What Silas did. The ways he fucked me over. Like all of his guilt is gone in this moment. “Are you… serious? You don’t think that’s exactly what you did⁠—”

“You didn’t say no, Remi,” he reminds me, as if I don’t know that. As if I didn’t just tell him how I couldn’t. “You didn’t say fucking no and you didn’t try to stop any of us, did you?”

I stand then. “Fuck you,” I tell him. “You are nothing but a spoiled fucking⁠—”

“You think you’re the only one with a fucked-up parent, Remi?” He runs his hand through his hair, stepping back from me as if I’m diseased.

“It wasn’t enough that I was crying?” I ask him, my voice breaking. “It wasn’t enough that I was staring at you while you let them use me? It wasn’t enough that you took my virginity in the woods, in front of your friends?” I hear the hurt in my words, and I wish there was more anger, but I can’t help it, and I don’t stop. “And you didn’t stop them, because you’re a fucking coward?”

His eyes widen. He stabs his finger to his chest, coming closer, crowding me against the couch. “Me? I’m the coward?” Those words are incredulous. “You think I’m the fucking coward?” He smiles, but there’s nothing kind in it. Dropping his hand, straightening, he rolls his eyes. “You couldn’t say one fucking word that night. You couldn’t say one goddamn word.”

I feel the heat in my chest, in my veins, and before I know what I’m doing, I turn and yank the lamp from the side table, hurling it at him as hard as I can, the cord ripping from the outlet, a cry leaving my lips.

He grabs it by the base as it connects with his chest, then throws it behind him, where it clatters on the floor. “You wanna start throwing shit again now? You can’t use your words so you’re gonna act like a toddler?” he growls, stepping closer still.

I back up, my calves hitting the couch, and I have nowhere else to go.

“You almost sent me to fucking prison, ruined my goddamn life, because you couldn’t say one fucking word⁠—”

I hit him with the back of my hand, my bloody knuckles stinging as they connect with his face, another growl leaving my lips. His head snaps to the side, and his hand comes to his face as he stills, stunned for a moment.

Then I shove him, my palms planted against his chest.

He takes a single step back, hand still on his face. I think about that red mark before his bullshit therapy session. I wonder what he cries about in there. I wonder if he’s ever felt as hollow as I do.

I wonder if his remorse was always manufactured.

He drops his hand as he turns his head to glare at me. “Remi, don’t do that again⁠—”

I shove him again, harder this time, throwing all of my weight into it.

He goes back another step, his jaw clenched, his hands by his side.

“I loathe you,” I tell him, the words venomous. I get closer, having to tilt my head back to see him. “You’re no better than Silas. You’re no better than Chase. You’re nothing but⁠—”

“Yeah, I’m starting to see the problem here, Remi,” he cuts me off with cold words. He leans down close, his mouth hovering over mine. “Seems like it isn’t me after all. It’s not your stepdad. Not fucking Chase.”

I feel sick, my stomach twisting, my body tense, as if I can shield myself from the blow.

“It’s you.” He doesn’t touch me, but he might as well have slapped me, the way those words feel. “You’re the problem, baby. You’re sick and fucked up and looking for attention and when people give it to you, you decide you don’t want it that way.” He laughs, stepping back, scrubbing a hand over his jaw before he drops it by his side. “Well fuck that, Remi. I’m not waiting around until the next time you decide what I did wasn’t what you wanted.” He shrugs, turning away from me and snatching my clothes up from the floor, throwing them at me.

No. I want to scream. Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.

“I’ll call you a cab. Get dressed and wait for it outside. Have a nice fucking life.”

CHAPTER

FIFTY-TWO

CORTLAND

The noise from the stadium is drowned out in my anger, my pulse pounding in my ears. I’m calling plays and I can’t even hear myself talking. All I can think about is her in my living room last night. Her confessions. The tone of her voice, fucking broken. The confusion in my head.

All I can think about is finding Silas and gutting him.

I’ve never wanted to kill a man I’ve never met before, but there’s a first time for everything.

But even still, the guilt I’ve wrestled with for over a year isn’t abated with her words. If anything, it makes me feel worse. Nothing was clear cut that night, and I know I should have walked away, with her. But hearing her say she hadn’t planned on going to the police, that her stepfather bullied her into it… I don’t know what the fuck to think about it.

“Something bad happened to Remi,” she said he’d said.

Yeah, motherfucker. I’m the one who fucking did it. And something bad just might happen to you, too.

When I rip my helmet off on the sidelines after the game, running both hands through my hair, I can’t stop thinking about it. About her. Him. That night. It’s all playing on a loop all over again, making me feel fucking insane.

It doesn’t help that I didn’t sleep. That Storm had nothing to say about her confession, like he couldn’t give less than a fuck. Like he wasn’t at all upset with her.

It doesn’t help that I’m fucking crazy about her, but I know this will never work, and I’m looking for any excuse to end it. And I know she’s right. I know her tears should’ve been enough. I know the entire night should’ve never happened.

But what I don’t know is what to do now.

“Cort!” My name from Maya’s lips makes me turn in the parking lot reserved for players and their families, tucked away behind the convocation center.

I grit my teeth as I see Maya and Chase walking toward me, and not a few steps behind them is my fucking mother.

I toss my bag in the truck, close the door and turn to face the three people I have no interest in seeing, ever again. In my life.

I know Dad was in the stands today too, and he’s waiting for me at the house, and hopefully Tristan is there as well. He missed the game like he’s missed most of mine because he doesn’t want to be around Mom, and while it hurts a little, I also don’t blame him.

Her highlighted hair falls around her shoulders, and she’s wearing a black and orange EU shirt and a self-satisfied smile on her face as she reaches me, along with Maya and Chase.

“Good game today, man,” Chase says, and he lifts a hand, like he’s going to clap me on the back, but I narrow my eyes, and he slips his hand into his khakis instead. Clearly, he didn’t learn his fucking lesson when I had my hand around his throat in my kitchen.

Maya twirls a curl of dark brown hair around her finger, beaming at me.

“Why are you here?” I ask her, my eyes locked on her big blue ones.

She feigns a pout, but it’s my mother who speaks. “That’s rude, Cortland. Don’t be rude.”

I shift my gaze to her, folding my arms over my chest. “Okay, I’ll ask you then. Why are you here?”

She arches a brow, fluttering her fake lashes. She’s so unlike my dad, it’s unreal. I don’t even recognize this fucking woman, but then again, she’s always been a bitch. Maybe she was different growing up. Maybe living in poverty made her resentful, and now she’s gotta have the nicest things at the expense of everything else, but imagining Tristan in that hospital bed, her nowhere to be found…

I take a breath in through my nose. Out.

Better start fucking talking, Mom.

“I had to watch my son play,” she says, really turning up the Southern drawl, giving a small laugh, her light eyes shifting to Maya. “And I thought I could take you and your best friends out for lunch.”

I snort. “No, thanks. I have plans.”

Chase chuckles. Really chuckles, like a dumb fuck as he looks down at his Oxford shoes. “With Remi?”

Maya folds her arms, her brows pulled together. I think about her dropping Remi back in high school. About what Remi told me, with her stepdad and her sprained ankle. I think about her claims she took photos of her bruises.

I want to add a few fucking more right now.

I grind my teeth together as I keep my eyes on Maya. “Why don’t the three of you grow the fuck up, and find something else to do with your life besides riding my ass?”

Maya’s glossed lips pull into a smile. For some reason, she glances at my mom, who sighs, fiddling with a gold bracelet on her wrist. Then she nods, and Maya turns back to me.

I have a bad feeling about the fact the two of them have been talking a lot more than I realized behind my fucking back, but I’m not entirely surprised.

“Your case was dismissed,” Maya says, lifting her chin, “but you know Remi could always appeal. She still has time.”

I run my hand through my hair and pull before I drop my hand. “I’m not talking about this with you. Besides, the chances of that going anywhere are⁠—”

“Slim to none,” my mom supplies, but I know she’s not on my side, the way she steps closer, so the three of them are surrounding me in a semi-circle, Chase rocking on the balls of his feet, his hands still in his stupid fucking pants. “But there’s still a chance.”

I look between my ex and my mom. “I don’t understand what your fucking point is,” I finally say to my mother.

She smiles, her mascara thick and melting in the sun, sticking to her brows. “My point is that I don’t want my son in prison, under any circumstances. But if you insist on being seen with her and ruining not only your reputation, but your friends,” she nods toward Chase, “and mine…” She trails off and I feel my pulse ticking in my fucking neck. “I can’t have that. The three of us are asking you, Cortland, to let whatever fling you have with Remi go. I’m glad the girl has come to her senses and understands what, exactly, consent means, but that’s no reason to throw your life away because of her epiphany.”

“Mom, get the fuck out of here.” I say the words calmly enough, but inside my head, I’m imagining wrapping my hands around her fucking throat. I turn from her and pull open the door to my truck.

But Chase slaps his hand against it, closing it.

I lunge for him, spinning him around and knocking him against the door. “You want me to really choke the life out of you this time, huh, Chase?” I growl in his face, leaning down, my nose to his.

He just laughs as my mom calls my name and Maya is flipping out, telling me to let him go before she calls the fucking cops.

I do let go, stepping back, and Mom goes to put her hand on my shoulder, but I shrug out of her grip.

“Leave me alone, all of you. Leave me the fuck alone.” I round on Mom. “And stay the fuck away from Tristan while you’re at it. Stay away from Dad, and stay away from me.” I spit on the ground at her feet, my chest heaving as I try to remember to breathe.

My mom clutches the necklace around her throat, her manicured nails glistening in the sun.

“You’re poison. I don’t want you in my life.”

“Cortland,” Mom tries, reaching for me, but I jerk my arm out of her grip and Chase moves away from my truck, Maya half-hiding behind him. “I’m warning you. Let this go.” Her voice is so calm, like she thinks she’s actually going to fucking reason with me.

I open my door again and get in the truck, slamming the door shut and rolling the window down. The truck is paid for, and that’s not thanks to Mom. My uncle helped me buy it with all the work I put in over the summers since I was sixteen.

“Cortland, I know you’re not the smartest son of mine, but you are being incredibly foolish⁠—”

“Fuck you.”

“She’s trash, Cortland,” Maya says, still half hidden by Chase because she’s a pussy. “She might live in a big fancy house, but she’s still trash.”

I raise my middle finger, drop my hand, and peel out of the parking lot, grabbing a cigarette and my lighter from the center console as I do, heading to Dad’s.

CHAPTER

FIFTY-THREE

REMI

I’m late, and the nerves that I’d tried to calm by listening to Dermot Kennedy at maximum volume are now shot.

On top of being late, I have to parallel park in front of the restaurant.

Silas knows I suck at parallel parking. Whenever he bothered letting me drive to practice for my license, he made me do it over and over again while he sighed discontentedly in the passenger seat and offered no shred of information on how to help. His silence riled up my nerves, and in the end, he’d make me get out and switch seats with him because I was “clearly inept at maneuvering a vehicle.”

Besides, night has fallen, and the street is packed.

I smack the heel of my hand against the wheel in frustration, biting my cheek. I didn’t want to come here in the first place. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve seen Silas. Over a year. And no matter how well I do or don’t park, I know he’s going to rip me apart as soon as I walk in this restaurant.

The people heading through the heavy oak doors are dressed far nicer than I am, in glittering heels with tiny clutches and sparkling earrings. There’s a man in a suit and tie standing just outside of the door, and as I circle in front of the busy street for the fifth time, I wonder what would happen if I just drove all the way back.

There’s another truth, though, getting under my skin. I’m not worried about Silas.

I’m… Don’t think about it.

Don’t think about him.

I yank the wheel and turn down a narrow street with an underground parking sign. It’ll be a long walk, but at least I won’t hit anyone, and I’ll actually have somewhere to leave my car.

When I get my ticket, slip it onto the dash, close and lock the doors, I’m sweaty and flustered even though it’s a little chilly out. I glance in my windows, see my braids are unraveling, and I quickly tighten them, trying to tuck the hairs back into place.

It doesn’t matter. Even if I was flawless—I don’t think that’s ever happened in my life—I wouldn’t please my stepdad.

Sighing, I grip my purse and resist the urge to pull out my phone. I already did in the car. He hasn’t texted me.

All day.

He hasn’t called.

Nothing.

I imagine him watching me walk out as the cab pulled up. Hearing the door slam behind me. 

My heart squeezes in my chest. 

I shove all of those thoughts from my mind, just ready to get through this dinner.

Crossing the street, I almost twist my ankle in my heels as I jog up to the pavement, but I right myself at the last moment, causing no lasting pain.

I take a breath, smooth down my dress, and stand in front of the man outside of the door.

“Ocean,” I tell him, a little breathless from jogging down the street from the parking garage. “Remi Ocean. I’m here to meet Silas Lankin.”

He nods once, no expression on his broad face, and pulls the door open.

I step inside, cool air and the scent of seafood greeting me as the hostess pulls out a sleek black menu from behind the counter and gestures for me to follow her.

My heart is racing in my chest as I do, down a dark, polished wooden hall. The lights are dim, and even the voices here in the various dining rooms of the restaurant are hushed, like this a private club that’s to be enjoyed in relative silence.

No wonder Silas likes this place.

But every step closer to him and his girlfriend has me panicking, until my fingers are trembling and I suddenly remember my tongue piercing and wonder how I’m supposed to hide it from him throughout the entire dinner.

The hostess turns to the left and we enter a small room that has one table.

My heart sinks.

Of course.

My stepdad’s facing me, his girlfriend’s back is to me, and for a second, I just freeze in the doorway. Think of his hand across my face. His arm around mine, bruising me. His show of concern on the phone to his business partner.

“I think something bad happened to Remi.” 

I hear him talking to the nurse, remarking on the bruises before they pushed him out of the room. He played the part of the distraught father so well, even I almost believed it. Until it was all over, and on the car ride home, after strangers had dissected every inch of me and I had to recall what happened in excruciating detail to several detectives, he berated me for making him late to a meeting.

All of that plays in my head, and I realize him, his girlfriend, and the hostess are staring at me, the hostess having pulled out the sleek leather chair adjacent to my father, the menu still in the crook of her elbow.

I swallow down my fear, and keep my head up, cross the room and sink down into the seat as the hostess finally sets my menu down.

I pull my chair up, fist my hands in my lap as I finally look up and meet Silas’s gaze.

His dark eyes are narrowed on mine, his arms resting on his chair. He’s in a tailored black suit, and his grey hair is combed back. 

“Nice of you to finally join us.” There’s no smile in those words. No greeting, either. Over a year, and he has only that to say to me.

I glance at the table, covered in a white cloth. There are two candles flickering in the center, and for a second, I want to tip them over. Catch this entire restaurant on fire and walk out, letting Silas burn.

“This is Crystal,” he continues in that same terse tone. I can practically hear his thoughts. Act civilized, you stupid bitch.

I turn my gaze to the woman unlucky enough to be sharing a bed with him and find a kind face staring back at me.

I blink, threading my fingers together under the table, my hands clammy.

She’s young, of course, not much older than me. She has dark, curly hair, olive skin, and deep brown eyes. Her smile seems genuine and she holds out a hand to me. 

I take hers, embarrassed my own is sweaty and my nails are bitten and unpolished. I’d planned to paint them today, but then everything happened last night, and I didn’t get to it.

Hers, of course, are perfectly manicured in a light grey that matches her turquoise dress.

She’s beautiful.

Nice.

Why the fuck is she with Silas?

“Nice to finally meet you,” she says, but unlike my stepdad’s words, hers are softer, kinder. Genuine.

“You, too,” I tell her, perking up a little. Silas is a cunt, but maybe I’ll survive this by talking to Crystal. And being here, my guard up, I can’t think about him.

About my heart shattering all over again into pieces.

We drop hands, and she clears her throat, resting her hands on top of each other in her lap as she glances at the full wine glasses on the table, of hers and Silas’s. They have waters, too, but I guess I’ll have to wait for that.

“We’ve already ordered,” Silas says, “so look over what you want.”

Crystal laughs, and it’s warm. “There’s no rush, Silas.” There’s a scolding edge to her words, and I look between them, shocked.

Then I see it.

My stepdad’s face softens as he looks at his girlfriend. His jaw is still clenched because I’m here, but he doesn’t look as if he wants to strangle me in this moment.

He likes her.

He really, actually likes her.

Amazed, I pick up my menu, staring down at it. I find a salad, see it’s one of the cheaper things on the menu—where there are very few cheap things, but I don’t want to give Silas another reason to bitch at me—and fold the leather-bound menu up, setting it on the table as I lean back in my seat.

“How are classes going?” Crystal asks me, her long lashes fluttering as she shifts her gaze to me.

I nod. “Well,” I tell her. Except for that writing assignment I’m probably going to fail because I don’t want to actually turn in what I’ve written. “I’m really enjoying my creative writing class.”

I hear Silas scoff and honestly, I feel used to it. 

Crystal cuts her eyes to him before looking back at me. “Do you want to be a writer?” she asks politely.

I swallow, looking down at the tablecloth. Silas still thinks my major is undeclared. I can change it, of course, but I’ve got nothing to change it to. I shrug. “It would be nice. Maybe journalism before I can get into⁠—”

“And have you applied to any internships?” Silas asks, reaching for his wine glass, red sloshing in the sides as he brings it to his lips.

I turn to face him. “Not yet but⁠—”

“I’d think, after being the focus of so many papers last year, you’d want nothing to do with the news in the future.”

There it is.

My face flames hotter and sweat beads on the back of my neck as he swallows from his glass, staring at me.

I shift in my seat, unable to look away from him as he pins me with his gaze, like I’m nothing.

Crystal clears her throat, and when I look her way, I see she doesn’t look at all confused. He told her.

He told her his version of events.

Anger courses through me as Crystal tries to smooth things over.

“Silas, I know you’re angry with the way the media covered everything,” she glances down at her lap, “and I’m sorry you had to be subjected to that, Remi.” Her big brown eyes meet mine again and my throat feels tight. “But you could change things if you were in that space. If you wanted.”

I think about how they reported on Chase, Storm, Brinklin, and Cortland’s extracurriculars. How they were lauded as small-town football heroes and I was just an anonymous girl making allegations.

Allegations that didn’t pan out.

And even now, I have no idea if they were right.

“Did you say no?”

No. And it’s not just verbally. I know that’s not all consent is. But did I indicate “no” in any kind of way?

I don’t know if I’ve ever really stood up for myself in my entire life. Even when I made Cortland crawl to me. When I made him bleed. When I sucked his dick in his truck, I never stood my ground. I thought that’s what I was doing.

But I was just trading one hurt for another.

Being used against my will to flinging myself at anyone who would have me, and thinking it was control. Just like smashing my knuckles against that table last night, the skin still banged up today. 

I grit my teeth and realize my dad is speaking again. “How is Cortland Adler these days?” he asks me quietly, and even Crystal is speechless this time. “I heard he transferred. Have you seen him?”

He settles back in his seat, hands on his thighs as he regards me with disdain.

“He transferred?” Ah, so this is news to Crystal. I can feel her gaze on the side of my face, but I don’t look at her. “Silas, you should’ve put a stop to⁠—”

“Kind of hard to do, Crystal,” Silas says through clenched teeth, but he’s still staring at me, “especially when your daughter is seen hanging out with him on campus.”

A cold chill runs down my spine.

Crystal is speechless.

Shame washes over me, hot and cold all at once. I want to run out of here. I want to leave, but I don’t.

I can’t.

I’m rooted to the spot.

My stepdad’s pale pink lips curve into a satisfied smile. “Yes,” he says with a heavy sigh, “Cortland’s mother informed me you were seen on campus with her son. Why would you ever entertain your rapist, Remi?”

The room seems to spin.

“Was he harassing you?” Crystal immediately asks, angry on my behalf. “If he’s harassing you, we need to do something about⁠—”

“I don’t think he’s harassing her, Crystal.” Silas’s gaze doesn’t leave mine, and I see a waiter walk into our private dining room, but Silas holds up a hand, dismissing him with that single gesture. He drops his hand, still smirking at me. “Is he, Remi?”

I curl my hands into fists, stunned.

What do I say?

I wish someone was here to help me. Help me explain what I’m feeling. What really happened that night. How everything was so blurry, and then Silas… did what he did. The trip to the hospital. The way he knew I’d never tell them what he did to me.

How Chase and Brinklin and Storm and Cortland were still in the wrong. 

“Have you slept with him, Remi?” Silas feigns disgust as Crystal sucks in a breath, saying my stepdad’s name.

And I hear something, coming from my purse slung over the back seat as they both talk over my head, as if I’m not even here.

Because once again, I don’t say anything.

Their voices fall quiet as the buzzing sound seems to grow louder.

My phone.

Silas glares at me. “You couldn’t even bother turning that off for a single night, Remi? Is he that important?”

I ignore the vibration, my hands shaking in my lap.

I don’t know what to say.

I glance at Crystal, and she’s staring at me with a mixture of pity and confusion, and then my phone starts to vibrate again.

“One second,” I whisper.

“Don’t answer your phone at the table, Remi, you know better.”

But I’m already doing it. I’m digging in my bag and Silas is reaching across the table to snatch it from me but my heart is racing and I see it’s Cortland calling, for the fourth time, and I answer it, standing to my feet, my chair tipping backward as I get out of Silas’s reach.

He’s snapping my name, standing, too, throwing his cloth napkin on the table.

“What’s wrong?” I rasp into the phone.

“Oh my God, Remi,” Cortland is saying, and there’s relief in his words that sends the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” He exhales, and I can practically see him pacing on the other end of the line.

“What happened?” I ask, locking eyes with my stepdad.

He’s not moving toward me anymore, and Crystal is on her feet, too, staring at me with concern.

“Your dorm…” Cortland trails off. “Your dorm… it… caught on fire.”

I blink, dropping my gaze, my mind spinning. “What?” I whisper into the phone. “What do you mean⁠—”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in Raleigh⁠—”

“I’ll come get you.”

“No.”

“I’m leaving now, give me an address, I’ll⁠—”

“No.”

“Just give me your fucking address, Remi, I’m not leaving you alone tonight⁠—”

“I’ll be there soon.” I hang up the phone, hearing Cortland curse in the background as I fist my phone in my hand.

“My dorm is on fire.” I say it out loud, those words tumbling out of my mouth awkwardly as I turn and grab my purse, slinging it over my body.

“Remi, what do you mean⁠—”

“You’re not leaving yet. Sit down.” Silas’s voice, cold and immoveable, he doesn’t give a fuck about what I just said.

“Didn’t you hear me?” I snarl back, stepping toward him. “My dorm is on fire.”

“There was nothing but worthless shit in there anyway, Remi. The university will reimburse you.” His voice fades from my ears as I think about my assignment. My new computer from Sloane. Everything was in there, because I didn’t bring anything.

Because I was going to drive four hours back to get away from my stepdad.

So why am I here?

“I’ve got to go.” I cut him off.

He reaches for me, his fingers circling my arm much like they did the morning after everything.

Crystal hisses his name. 

Yes, I think wryly, this is the man you’re dating. The real one.

Silas jerks me toward him. “When did you get your tongue pierced?” he snarls.

I actually laugh, sticking out my tongue in his face as I do. He lets go of me, recoiling as if I’m a snake. “Fuck you.” I turn to go, my heart racing, knowing there’s no coming back from this, but I don’t care.

“Don’t you dare walk out of here. I’ll get your car. I’ll turn off your phone. I will no longer pay for your housing and⁠—”

“You don’t pay for it,” I call back over my shoulder as I get to the threshold of the dining room. “I did that.” I turn to face him, narrowing my eyes. “My grades. My applications. I did that.” I smile at him as he looks stunned, his face turning a deeper shade of red with every second that passes. “You put the car in my name, so I’d pay for the insurance, remember? I did that, too. Go fuck yourself, Silas.” I look to Crystal, hold up the arm he grabbed. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get the hell out while you still can.”

It doesn’t feel quite as good as lighting a match and watching him burn to ash as I toss it over my shoulder, but it’s a close second.

CHAPTER

FIFTY-FOUR

REMI

I call Sloane again.

And again.

And again.

She isn’t sending my calls to voicemail, because they ring all the way through, but she’s definitely not answering me, either.

I know she’s with Asa. She said she was staying there all weekend. But I never really met Asa. What if Asa is a serial killer? A Ted Bundy psychopath who’s already mutilated her?

My heart races as I dial her number again on my steering wheel.

And finally, on the third ring, she answers.

“What the hell, Rems?” She sounds breathless and as I race down the highway, I realize I probably interrupted her and not-Ted Bundy having sex. Fuck.

“Sloane, thank God,” I say anyway. “Where are you?” I glance in my rear-view mirror and switch lanes, passing a car going way too slow in the fast lane.

“I’m with Asa, like I told you I’d be.” I hear the note of irritation in her words and know we have a lot of talking to do. But her next question is edged with concern. “Where are you? What’s going on?”

I hear what sounds like a bed squeaking, like maybe she’s getting off of it.

I get back over into the fast lane. “Our dorm is on fire,” I tell her.

There’s a moment of silence, then she says, “What the fuck. Are you in it?”

Despite everything, I smile at that, shaking my head as I keep my eyes on the road. “Yes. I’m watching it burn down around me right now,” I deadpan.

There’s a moment of silence, then she bursts into laughter. It feels good, hearing her laugh. “Seriously, where are you? How do you know? Did the school call you?”

And that good feeling vanishes with her question.

Fuck.

“I’m on my way there now. I don’t know how bad it is. It’s gonna take me a few more hours to get there.”

“I’ll leave right now,” she says, and I hear her mutter something away from the phone, probably to Asa. “I’ll call you when I get my eyes on it.”

I open my mouth to protest, because I have this feeling Cortland is going to be waiting for me.

Then I realize how stupid that would be. Our dorm is on fire. Asa lives in an off-campus apartment, probably within walking distance. Of course she’s going to go see what’s going on.

“Okay, great. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

We hang up, and I speed up, my heart in my throat as I drive.

CHAPTER

FIFTY-FIVE

REMI

By the time I arrive, the fire is contained. Sloane called me to tell me she would wait for me, and the damage was minimal.

But when I back into a spot, smoke still streaking across the dark night sky, I see Cortland’s truck.

And Sloane’s Altima.

My heart skips a beat.

I open the door to my car then get out, the cool night air whipping around me while I shut my door.

Fire trucks still have their lights on, firefighters all decked out in their gear standing and watching the smoke.

Before I can take a step, I smell strawberries, and Sloane is throwing her arms around me.

I stumble back a step, glancing at Cortland’s truck, backed in a few spots from mine. His window is down just a few inches, and I see him staring at me.

I hug Sloane back, glancing at the red lights of the fire trucks.

Sloane pulls back, her bright hair in a sloppy bun on her head. She’s in sweats and an oversized, long sleeve T-shirt that I think is probably Asa’s, but I don’t see him.

I drop my arms from Sloane and she does the same, chewing her lip. “Where were you?” she asks quietly.

I can smell the smoke in the air, and I have so many questions about the fire, but for some reason, it just feels like that’s not the blaze I need to put out right now. “Meeting with Silas,” I admit, crossing my arms and leaning against my car.

I can still feel Cortland’s eyes on me, but I’m grateful he’s waiting.

Sloane arches a brow, mimicking my stance. “In Raleigh?” she asks, incredulous. “Why didn’t you tell me you were meeting him?”

I shrug. “You were off with Asa and⁠—”

“You know I’d want to know something like that,” she counters.

I glance at the fire behind her. “Yeah, well, it’s probably a good thing I wasn’t here, huh?”

She smiles at that as my eyes come back to hers. “Yeah,” she agrees. I see her look down at her sneakers as she rocks back on her heels. “They think someone did it intentionally.” Those words are so quiet, I can barely hear her.

I glance at Cortland.

He’s still watching me, his window all the way down now, and I see the glowing ember of a cigarette dangling from his fingers.

“What?” I ask, shifting my gaze back to Sloane. “Why? Who?”

Sloane’s gaze holds mine.

I think of Chase’s arm around my throat. Brinklin and Storm surrounding me, too.

“Is there anyone you can think of?” she asks me quietly.

Then I remember something else. Something that doesn’t really make sense. Silas said Cortland’s mom called him and told him I was seen hanging out with Cortland. But why would his mom do that? I don’t know anything about her, but that seems strange. She was defensive of her son during the pre-trial. Fierce in protecting him. To call my stepdad would put her in a bad position if anything ever came from this again.

I hold Sloane’s gaze. “Sloane.”

She shakes her head. “I saw you with him,” she says quietly.

My throat feels tight and my heart races in my chest. I resist the urge to glance at him now, but I can still feel his eyes on me.

“In the cemetery. You know, I used to go with you there. Not just Van. Me, too.”

She did. Even last year, we’d walk around the graveyard. But I always thought she was just indulging me. I thought she kind of hated it. Now, though, she almost sounds hurt that she saw me with him and with Van, and it was rarely ever her at my side.

I don’t know what to say.

She knew.

All along, she knew, and she never said anything.

“Why didn’t you⁠—”

“Why didn’t you?” she counters, cutting me off, knowing exactly what I was going to ask her.

My stomach flips and my palms are sweaty at my sides. “But you told Silas?” I ask, incredulous.

She shakes her head. “Of course not. I told Mom.” She has the decency to look ashamed at that, glancing down at the asphalt between us. “After I saw your… arm. She might have called him, to make sure you were safe.”

That’s almost hilarious. I assume he covered for Mrs. Stevens so I’d keep being myself around Sloane and he could get more dirt on me if he needed it.

I take a step back from her and her gaze snaps up.

She throws up her hands. “You scared me, Remi. And I found the razor blades,” she says in a rush. “I tossed my backpack on the floor and it hit a drawer in your desk that popped open. I went to close it and… they were just… there.” She drops her hands and her face is so pale. Her eyes are big and scared and I want to disappear.

I want to run to Cortland.

Hop in his truck and have him drive me far away from here.

She doesn’t get it, because of course she doesn’t. Because I’m messed up.

“You scared me and I’ve been worried about you and…” She takes a step toward me and that urge to bolt grows stronger, but I dig my nails into my palms and force myself to stay right where I am. “You can’t be with him, Remi,” she whispers. “He’s fucking with your head. Maybe you needed to talk about it, and work it out, but he hurt you, Remi.” She takes another step, her hand coming gently to my arm. I want to yank it out of her touch, but I don’t move.

“I thought you might understand,” I whisper, even though I never once thought that. “But I didn’t know how to tell you⁠—”

“I do understand,” she insists, closing her fingers around my arm. “I know it’s been eating at you and you probably needed closure since the charges were dismissed but he hasn’t changed. He did it once, he’d do it again.” She drops her voice to a whisper with her next words. “I’ve heard from other girls on the cheer team that Maya Bell said he’s rough with her.”

I clench my teeth and I want to shrug her arm off. I want to turn to Cortland and ask him if that’s true.

“Is it always like this?”

“It’s never like it is with you.”

I open my mouth, only to close it again. I have no idea what to say.

“Why don’t you come over to Asa’s until they sort this out? I talked to our RA, she said they’ll assign us a temporary dorm tomorrow morning if we could find a place to stay tonight.”

No.

No.

“We can talk more about this, yeah, Rems?”

No.

I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to stay at Asa’s. I want Cortland. Tell me it isn’t true, Cort.

Sloane reaches out for me, but I twist away at her touch. So many memories ringing in my head, I don’t know which one to grab. I don’t even know who Cortland is anymore, so hot and cold, does he care at all?

“I think I’m just going to crash at a hotel,” I lie to Sloane.

She immediately looks to my arms. “Rems, I don’t think that’s such a good⁠—”

“I’ll be fine, Sloane.” I hear the bite in my own words but I can’t stop it. I feel cornered, and despite what she said, she doesn’t understand.

How could she?

She closes her eyes a second, then nods. “Okay,” she finally says. “Okay.” She swallows, looking at the ground. “Can you just text me in the morning?”

My stomach twists into knots with those words. I know this past year has been hard for her. Tiptoeing around what happened. Never knowing what to say. How to act. What to ask me, if anything at all.

But she’s really tried.

I know that. But something must be wrong with my brain because even her love hasn’t saved me from thinking about him. Lately, obsessing over him.

Something is wrong with me.

But I don’t have the strength to do a goddamn thing about it.

“Yeah,” I tell her, and I mean it. It’s the least I could do. “Of course.”

She nods once, her eyes searching mine. Then she turns around and walks to her Altima, parked a few rows in front of my Corolla.

I don’t dare look at Cortland as I slip behind the wheel of my own car. And I wait until she’s left the parking lot to turn the ignition.

When I pull out, headed to Cortland and Storm’s house, he’s right behind me.

CHAPTER

FIFTY-SIX

REMI

“I’m sorry.” Those are the first words out of his mouth.

I pulled in behind him, and I saw Storm’s WRX in the driveway, too, the porch light on.

Cortland is leaning against his truck, and I’m standing at the hood of my car.

“Thanks for calling me,” I tell him, my words clinical.

He looks down, his keys fisted in one hand. He’s wearing a gray sweater over a white, collared shirt, and black jeans. “Remi.” He takes a breath. “I’m sorry about last night⁠—”

“Why?” I question, crossing my arms over my chest. “You were right about everything.”

He pulls his lip ring between his teeth, glancing down at the space between us. “I wasn’t,” he says, his words hoarse. “I was a fucking dick, and after what you told me about your stepdad,” he looks up, “I shouldn’t have even let you go⁠—”

“Let me?” I repeat, proud my voice is calm. Cold. Exactly what I wanted it to be. I think about walking out on Silas, how good it felt. It won’t feel that good to walk away from Cortland, but I think I have to do it all the same. Sloane’s words ring in my head. About him not having changed. About Maya, too.

“Baby,” he whispers, his voice quiet as he straightens from the truck and steps closer. I take in his bleary eyes, the lines beneath them. I hate that I feel something for him. That I want to forgive him. That I want to pretend all the bad shit never happened between us. “I’m so sorry. I was just…” He trails off, swearing under his breath as he looks down.

“Why did you call me?” I ask him, ignoring his apology. I’m kind of sick of them. “Why did you even give a fuck about it?” I don’t take my eyes off of his. “Have a nice life, remember?” My throat feels scratchy as I repeat his words, but my voice doesn’t waver. “I would’ve found out about the fire just fine on my own.” I offer him a fake smile. “I don’t need you looking after me anymore, Cortland. I think tonight I found my voice.”

His eyes narrow. “Did he hurt you⁠—”

“Didn’t you hear me?” I step closer, tipping my chin up. “I don’t need you anymore.”

“Remi.” That word is a rasp.

“I should go.” I hate saying those words, but now that I’m speaking all the painful truths, I can’t stop. “We both know this isn’t going to work out.”

“Baby. I’m sorry.” He sounds like he means it, but I think about his anger last night. Hurled all over me without a thought to how I might feel about it. Without getting outside of his own head and trying to feel my pain. “Last night I was stupid. It was a knee-jerk reaction because⁠—”

“Because someone informed me that the shitty thing I went through was a crime?” I supply for him. I hug myself tighter, arms still crossed over my chest. “Some people don’t process they’ve been assaulted until much later, after the fact. It’s actually a good thing Silas is such a piece of shit. He was quick to spell it all out for me.”

Cortland stares at me, his face cast in shadow with the porch light at his back. His expression is unreadable, and for the first time since I decided to be brave, I want to crumble again. I want to sink into his arms. I want to go inside with him.

I want to pretend last night didn’t happen, because everything before it was so damn good.

And I think I see that same defeat in his eyes. Resignation. It almost reminds me of those hazy memories of my mom, passing out on the couch. It’s the mark of an addict. Yeah, we’re fucked, and yeah, we can’t figure this shit out, but for now, it feels good to give in.

But just like my mom, eventually, the high will kill us both.

“We had a thing in high school,” I say, pushing memories of Mom from my mind. Thinking instead of those I keep locked up tight. In the basement of my brain. “We had a thing, and you messed it up.”

He doesn’t react at all, so I keep talking, stepping even closer until we’re only a few feet apart and I can smell him.

He smells so good. Like home.

“We don’t even know each other very well⁠—”

“Remi, we went to school together for two fucking years.”

“And you spent both of them letting Maya Bell suck your dick.”

He shakes his head, his jaw clenched. “I dumped her when I saw what she did to you.”

“But what about before? She didn’t suddenly become a bad person in that gym, Cort. She was always a bitch.”

He nods once, taking a step toward me.

I have to tilt my head back to look at him.

“I know,” he says, his voice low. “I didn’t care because she was an easy fucking lay.”

My heart leaps, but I don’t say anything.

“I was a horny high school boy, Remi.”

Anger makes my pulse pound in my head.

“And I already told you.” Another step, and we’re more than close enough to touch, but neither of us reach for the other. “I didn’t want to fuck up your life⁠—”

“My life was already fucked!” I hiss those words, my hands clenched into fists. I take a breath, my chest heaving. But I can’t stop it. The memories bursting through my dam. And always with him.

Always.

“It was already fucked, Cortland.” I think of Mom, dying on that couch. Of the ambulance, and the emptiness, and Silas’s unrestrained cruelty. For all her faults—disappearing during the night to sell her body for more, passing out during the day because she was doped up on pills, fighting with Silas and denying her problem—her presence kept Silas in check.

And for all of his faults, of which there’re too many to list, he loved her. It’s why he was cordial to me, when she was alive. It’s why he stayed with her even when the cops delivered her on our doorstep instead of taking her to the station when she was found giving some dude a blowjob in a parking lot for pills.

Just like with Crystal, Silas liked my mother. He loved her.

And I know she loved me, too. We would watch horror movies while she faded in and out on the couch, but she’d hold my hand until she couldn’t anymore. She would stay clear headed enough to feed me, until the end, when she was just… gone.

She loved me.

And when she died, all that love disappeared. From her. Silas.

It wasn’t until I met Sloane three years later that I got any love back again.

Then Cortland… he felt kind of like love, too.

“What happened to you?” Cortland whispers now, and he takes another step, until we’re toe-to-toe.

His words make me uncomfortable, because I’m thinking of all the things that happened to me, and as I do, he doesn’t even factor in there.

While he was supposedly avoiding me to keep me from hurting, I was hurting all the more.

“What happened to you?” I counter, looking into his eyes. Thinking of his words about his mom being a cunt, and his brother trying to kill himself. I remember his brother in the stands, cheering Cort on. Sometimes, Tristan would glance down at me with a shy smile.

He looked just like Cortland in so many ways.

But he never introduced me to him.

I think of that question Cort asked me in the tent, and I repeat it back to him now. “Has anyone ever taught you what love looks like?”

His brows pull together, and for a moment, we just stand there, looking at each other.

Finally, he takes a breath and nods, looking over my head. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “My dad.”

I think about my own dad. A man I never met. He died shortly after the one night stand he had with Mom. Before she was even an addict.

Mom never spoke ill of him. He never even knew I would exist. I feel hollow about that. Wondering what would’ve happened if a car hadn’t crossed the center lane and hit him head on.

How would my life be different?

Would I have stayed away from boys like Cortland?

“My brother,” Cortland continues with. He scrubs his hand over the back of his neck before he drops it, still staring out into the night over my head.

His eyes shift to mine.

“You.”

I shake my head. “You don’t love me.”

He shrugs. “The fact that you can even stand in my driveway,” he reaches out a hand, brushing his thumb over my bottom lip , “this close to me…” He drops his hand and takes a deep breath, looking up at the sky. I see his jawline. His chest heaving.

He meets my eye again.

“That’s taught me enough.”

I look at the ground, feeling his touch linger even as his hands are by his sides. “Maybe it just means I’m stupid.”

His hand cups my face, tilting my chin up.

Goosebumps run down my arms.

“Finding forgiveness where there shouldn’t be any?” His lips tilt up into a smile. “That’s not stupid, Remi, baby.” He traces my lips with his finger. “That’s fucking brave.”

I hold his gaze. “Brave things can be stupid.”

His eyes search mine for a long moment, and I wonder if he’s going to say anything at all.

Then he does.

“Did you know?” he asks quietly.

“Know what?” Despite having no understanding of what he’s trying to ask, my heart races all the same, his thumb still over my bottom lip.

“The risks?” I see him swallow, the muscles in his neck flexing. “With me?”

What a loaded question.

But there’s a simple answer. “Yes,” I whisper, meaning it.

“Then it wasn’t stupid. If you thought for one fucking second this would’ve been easy, or felt good, or fuck, if you thought it would’ve been fun…” He drops his hand. “That would make you stupid.” He slides his hands into his pockets and looks up at the stars. “Nah, Remi,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re brave. Because you knew it’d hurt.” He smiles a little, a dimple flashing in his cheek as he dips his chin. “You knew it, and you did it anyway, facing it head on. Fucking brave.” His eyes lock on mine, his voice little more than a whisper. “And watching you leave, even after what I did… what I said, me calling the cab…” He shrugs. “That shit hurt like hell.” He smiles small at me. “I knew that might happen, too. But I know that no matter where this world takes us, I’ll never forget you, baby.” He steps closer to me, but keeps his hands in his pockets. “That’s worth all the pain to me. Having a love that’ll never leave my fucking head.”

I frown at that. “So are you brave, Cortland, or are you stupid?”

He laughs a little. “To tell you the truth, Remi, baby, for you,” he dips his head to mine, staring into my eyes. “I’m a little of both.”

CHAPTER

FIFTY-SEVEN

CORTLAND

Slowing to a jog on the street outside of mine and Storm’s house, I wipe my wrist over my brow, breathing hard, Breaking Benjamin in my ear. For a second, that fire from last night flashes in my head. I got there when the flames were still licking up the side of the building.

My only saving grace was knowing Remi wasn’t there.

But now, hearing her words from last night in my head, I’m not sure she was anywhere better.

I helped her move her things over this morning to her temporary dorm, and thankfully Sloane wasn’t there. I’m not sure Remi’s ready for all that, the three of us meeting again.

Their stuff wasn’t damaged, because they don’t have an end unit.

I can still smell her on me from when she slept over. We talked about her mom, and a little about my own. She fell asleep in my arms, and it felt good.

But tonight, she wanted to meet Van. She didn’t mention Sloane at all, and I asked her about what they discussed in the parking lot, but she didn’t want to talk about it.

She’d driven eight hours yesterday, so I eventually just let her sleep.

God knows she fucking deserves it.

Bringing me to the present, I hear a vehicle behind me. I step off the road, onto the grass as headlights flood the street in front of me, spilling yellow over the darkness.

But the vehicle slows.

I rip out my earbuds, shove them in my pocket and turn my head.

Only to see Chase fucking McGowan in his Dad’s Suburban.

He’s got the window rolled down, his arm over the door and he’s smirking at me, one hand on the wheel. He stops in the middle of the fucking street, and I do, too, turning to face him.

And I see he isn’t alone.

His dad, Greg, is in the seat beside him, staring at me.

And holding a shotgun, angled over his shoulder.

My pulse picks up speed but I’m not sure I’m even scared.

I’m fucking pissed.

My chest is heaving from my run, sweat dripping down my back even in the October chill, and I park my hands on my hips. “Can I help you?” I ask Chase, a smile pulling at his thin lips.

He smacks his hand on the outside of the vehicle, and I feel his dad’s eyes on me. I’ve met him a handful of times, saw him at every game. He was always loud and aggressive in the stands, arguing with refs about plays, booing our opponents like high school football was the be-all end-all of his world.

“Yeah,” Chase says, shrugging as he stares down at me. “Just wanted to make sure you were all right, after that fire.”

“I don’t live on campus,” I say through gritted teeth, his words sending adrenaline spiking through my body.

His dad says nothing, just keeps watching me with that goddamn gun in his hand.

“But Remi does, huh?” Chase drops all pretenses of politeness, leaning down close, his hand still on the wheel, one draped out of the SUV now. There’re a few feet between us, me still on the grass, but it wouldn’t take much for me to reach out and drag his ass through the window. “Listen, Cort,” he spits on the pavement between us, “you need to let her go.”

I don’t say anything, just keep watching him.

He arches a brow. “It’ll be safer for her that way.”

I nod, like I’m considering his request as I glance down at the dark asphalt, then back up. “What’s got your panties in a bunch, Chase?” I ask him, keeping my tone light. I see his Dad shift in his seat, but he can go fuck himself. “What’s it really matter to you who I’m fucking?”

He pulls his brows together, anger flashing in his freckled face, but it isn’t him who speaks. It’s his dad.

“It matters to me, Cortland, because you’re putting my son’s reputation on the line.” He’s leaned across his son, who is sitting rigid in the driver’s seat, and for the first time, I see something I can relate to in Chase’s face.

Defeat.

He’s letting his dad take over, because this isn’t even his fight. Just like my mom, Greg wants to control him.

“And mine,” he continues, his voice deep and angry, his knuckles blanched over the rifle in his hand. “Because my clients want to know why the hell an innocent boy would fuck around with the girl that accused him of rape.”

“Pardon me, Mr. McGowan, but what the hell does my dick have to do with your clients?”

I watch his face turn a deep shade of red, and he shifts the gun over his shoulder. For a moment, real fear lights through me. But he wouldn’t actually shoot me on a fucking suburban street, right?

I should’ve brought my own gun.

I shouldn’t have left Remi.

I need to call Storm.

“Watch your mouth, Cortland,” he snarls at me, Chase still pressed back against the seat, staring straight ahead, through the windshield. “Innocent people don’t hang out with their accusers, and they sure as shit don’t have sex with them. Unless you’re not innocent, and that makes my boy not innocent, you hear me?”

“If the shoe fucking fits.” I throw up my hands. “Have a good night.” I start walking in the direction of my house, but Chase just drives slowly, following along.

“Just leave her alone, man,” he says, and I hear a note of desperation in his words. “Just leave her alone. I know you feel guilty, but you know we didn’t do what she said, Cort. You know we didn’t.”

I ignore him, my hands still on my hips as I catch my breath from my run, and from this fucking encounter.

“Cort, come on, man, there are plenty of other girls you could⁠—”

“Don’t finish that fucking sentence,” I tell him without looking as the SUV creeps down the street beside me. I stare straight ahead, my house in view, woods to my left.

“You’re making us all look bad.”

“I already told you, I don’t give a fuck how you look, Chase.”

There’s a pause. Silence from his end. And I think he’s going to drive off. I think he’s going to let it go.

And then a crack sounds too close to my head, and I flinch, dropping down into a ball as the gunshot echoes in the night, ringing in my fucking ear, my heart nearly shooting right out of my chest.

“Let it go, Cortland,” I hear Greg yelling, his voice resounding over the tinny sound in my ear, my hands clamped over my head, fear coiling in my gut. “Or next time, I won’t be aiming at you, and I won’t miss.”

CHAPTER

FIFTY-EIGHT

REMI

“I just don’t get it, Rems.” Van inhales from his joint, the tip glowing orange in the night. He tips his head back and exhales, a cloud of smoke visible from the lone lamppost at the edge of the cemetery.

I dig my hands into the pocket of my hoodie, itching to get back to Cortland, but dying for my best friend to understand. Since my other one doesn’t.

But Van doesn’t either, though.

He dips his chin, passing the joint to me.

I shake my head, waving him off.

I haven’t heard from Silas, but my credit card was declined when I walked to the coffee shop just off campus this morning while Cort loaded up some of my stuff. Silas has already cut me off, so I’m counting my pennies, and I applied for a few jobs this morning, even though Cortland has already said I don’t need to work. As if I’m going to count on him when things are so rocky between us.

And oddly enough, there’s a weight lifting from my chest, even as Van’s deep blue eyes are locked on mine in anger. He’s got his elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them as he watches me. “He fucked you up. Why the hell would you go back to him?”

I swallow, drawing my knees into my chest on the black fuzzy blanket Van brought out. Between the two of my best friends, I always thought Van would understand more. He’s an artist, he’s high more than he’s not, and usually he’s pretty chill, so I just assumed he’d get it.

But he doesn’t.

I feel flustered, but good too. It’s a confession. And I just need him to at least try to understand. “That night, we were all drinking and⁠—”

“That’s not an excuse.”

I click my tongue ring over my teeth before I look up and meet his gaze. Before I can say anything though, he’s talking again.

“How long has this been going on?” He grinds the joint out in the grass, then clasps his hands together, still between his knees. “Have you been lying to me?”

I feel myself getting defensive, but I try to see his point of view, just like I saw Sloane’s. If someone had hurt him or her, in that way, and they went back to them, I’d be mad too. “Well, you’ve been kind of busy with Ryann and⁠—”

“Remi, don’t give me that bullshit,” he cuts me off, his words angry. “That’s a lame excuse and you⁠—”

“You weren’t there!” The words come out louder than I mean them to. I stand, my hands clenched into fists at my side as I stare down at him. “You weren’t there, and you don’t know how it happened, and⁠—”

“So you’re saying he didn’t rape you? Because if that’s what you’re saying, Remi, you should make that clear.” He stands too, towering over me. I smell the marijuana that clings to him, the scent familiar but in this moment, no longer comforting.

“It was… it was just all fucked up,” I tell him, dropping my gaze, my voice quieter. “I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t know that, even if I could, it would make it any better.” My fingers are shaky all over again, and I’m reminded of the weeks afterward. The comfort I found nowhere, except in Sloane, and even then, I felt like a burden.

I avoided Silas as often as possible, every look he shot my way one of disgust.

I was alone, and until I started here at Ely, I had no one to talk to. Even that came in the form of a therapist I couldn’t really express how I was feeling to very well. The one I’ve ditched completely.

Then there was Van. And I clung to him. Our bond felt deeper, since we’re not quite cousins. He deserves to hear my explanations.

“I couldn’t say what I wanted,” I tell him, my voice low. “What I didn’t want.”

“You let it happen?” Van counters.

I snap my head up. “I didn’t have much choice⁠—”

“That’s called rape, Remi.”

I think about the tears that fell down my face. Cortland running his thumb over one. “I have to go.” I turn to do just that, but Van circles my arm.

I yank out of his grip and stumble back a step, facing him.

“Remi, I just don’t want you to get hurt. He could be doing this to soften his own guilt.” He scrubs his hand over his shaved head. “I’m sorry, I’m handling this all wrong, I just don’t understand. It’s so messy.”

“Yeah,” I agree, stepping back still, wanting Cortland. He’s the only one who understands. The only one who was there and gets it, exactly. “It is messy. But Van,” I try one more time. “He’s a nice guy, he’s not⁠—”

“Nice boys do bad things, Remi.”

I know they do. Fuck, I know.

“Are you going to him?” Van asks me, stepping even closer. “Don’t do that, Remi. Let’s talk about this.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I have to go.” Another step back.

Van reaches for me, grabbing my wrist, and once again, I try to pull back, but he doesn’t let go. He isn’t hurting me, his eyes aren’t angry, but there’s grief there. “No,” he says, pulling me toward him. My Chucks slide in the grass of the cemetery, bringing me forward against my will. “No, Remi. You’re all messed up because of what happened, but he doesn’t care about you. If he did, he would have admitted guilt, he wouldn’t have put you through the idea of a trial that could’ve taken years to work out⁠—”

“Let me go.” I’m whispering the words, turning my head from Van’s grief, feeling that pressure building behind my eyes. “Let me go, now.”

“Come on, Remi. Talk to me. Have you told Sloane? Are you still seeing your therapist? This is fucked, you get that? This is fucking fucked.”

I yank away from him again, stumbling back, wiping my fist over my eyes. “I have to go,” I tell him, turning away. “I’ll see you later.”

“Remi, don’t do this. He’s fucking with your head!”

I turn and jog off, Van still calling my name at my back, the truths in his words ringing in my head.

This is fucked.

I call Cortland when I get to my Corolla, the car running, my phone pressed to my ear. He doesn’t answer.

I glance at the time.

It’s only nine, and he knew I was meeting Van, then I’d be letting him know how it went.

Fucking terribly.

I call him again, feeling annoyed.

No answer.

I send him a text and tip my head back against the seat, waiting.

Nothing.

I toss my phone in the passenger seat and decide to drive back to his house.

A few minutes later, I pull into his driveway and see his and Storm’s cars are both there. Relief courses through me. I want to run to them. They get it. They understand.

I get out, locking the car behind me as I walk up to his porch.

Then I see him. Cortland.

In the shadows.

He’s at the end of the porch, his hands over the railing, the pale-yellow light not quite illuminating him entirely. He’s a tall shadow, his head bowed, shoulders curved inward.

But I know he knows I’m here.

He doesn’t look at me when he speaks, and I notice he’s in a white shirt, running shorts. “Remi, you need to leave.”

There’s a heaviness in my limbs as I stop walking, one foot on the bottom step, other still planted on the sidewalk. I fist my keys in my hands, thinking of my fight with Van. Cortland was the only one who would get it. The only one who’d understand at all. Cortland and Storm and…

“But I⁠—”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he still doesn’t look at me, “but you have to go.”

My vision seems to blur. The humiliation and hurt reminds me of Silas. Of how he always looked at me. How he spoke to me. How he pushed me away at every turn.

“What?” I whisper in the night, a cool breeze lifting the hair on the back of my neck. But I don’t feel cold. I feel like my thoughts are shattering. Running from Van, here, to the only people who get it… this was supposed to make it all better.

Last night, I thought we were moving forward. He knew I was going to tell Van. He didn’t seem to mind. And we started chipping away at all of our ugly truths. We were working on things.

Last night, in his bed, he told me he couldn’t let this go.

After a moment of me holding my breath, he lifts his head, his eyes lined with thick circles, locking on mine. “Please go.” His words are hoarse, but there’s no yielding in his gaze. Like no matter what I say, he’s not going to change his mind.

I come up the steps, turn to face him as he straightens, his hands flexing and clenching by his sides. I feel dizzy, but I step forward and watch the wariness in his gaze, a vein in his neck straining against his skin.

“I just met with Van,” I say softly, deciding to ignore his words to me to leave. Maybe he’s going through something. Maybe something is going on with his family, or maybe even Storm, but he’s not really going to tell me to leave him. “He didn’t understand⁠—”

“No one understands, Remi, because it doesn’t make sense.” Those words are cold, slicing through the warmth that’s been building up in me in hot waves since he first spoke. Before I can react, he’s closing the space between us, but he doesn’t touch me. And God, I want him to. “No one understands because this shouldn’t happen.” He’s so angry, his eyes narrowed, but his voice softens, and I wish it wouldn’t. “We’re just living in this fantasy world where things work out between two people like us and they just... don’t.”

I cock my head to the side and press my lips together.

His hands come to my arms, sliding up and down them. I can feel the calluses on his warm palms, and I wish I couldn’t. I wish I couldn’t feel anything that reminds me of how much I know him. How much I’ve forgiven him for.

“But that’s okay. You taught me so many things I’d never learn on my own, baby. And just like I said, I’ll never forget you. You know that, don’t you, pretty baby?”

He doesn’t get to do this.

He keeps gliding his hands up and down my arms and I open my mouth, unsure of what to say. Do I beg? Do I cry? “Don’t do this, Cortland. I don’t think I can handle⁠—”

“Ah, but you can.” He smiles, catching my fingers in his, pressing them to his lips. “That’s the beautiful thing, baby. Now, you can.”

My heart sinks. Cracks. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. “It’s my fault, isn’t it? I should’ve⁠—”

“No, pretty baby. That’s all on me.” He kisses the back of my hand again before he lowers it, letting go. Letting me go. “You were always too good for me, Remi.”

It feels like time has stopped. Like we’re frozen in this moment, his gray eyes on mine, the light on the porch illuminating the silver of his piercing. Shock and disbelief steal through me, and I don’t understand. I want to ask him why, I want to ask him what changed, but hurt morphs to anger and suddenly, I don’t want to ask him a fucking thing.

“You don’t get to do this.” The words are rough, but my heart is beating again. My mind is working. I push my finger against his heaving chest as I fling those words he said to me in the tent back to him. “You said I was yours, and I am. I’m yours, Cortland, and I’m part of this whether you like it or not.” I keep my tone ice cold.

Nothing.

Silence.

Just like Silas.

I slap his chest, tears falling freely. “You said!” My words are raw, my eyes blurring as I stare up at him in the dim light. “You lied to me. You lied to me, didn’t you? You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to turn everything upside down and then leave.”

Gone is the warmth in his gaze. The soft words. He just says, “Go home, Remi.”

His words chill my bones. Stop my heart all over again.

He steps out of my touch, jerking his chin to my car, parked haphazardly beside his truck. I’d spun my tires yanking the wheel into this place. Barely remembered to throw the car in park, desperate to be near him.

I drop my hand by my side but don’t move.

“Go home,” he says again, his words colder as he crosses his arms over his chest, his biceps flexing.

The tears are hot but my body feels like ice. “Cortland,” I whisper, hating that I’m begging. Pleading with my tormentor. “Don’t do this.” My words are jagged like the splinters in my heart. “You said⁠—”

He drops his arms, moving toward me so fast I think he intends to hurt me and I welcome it. Anything. Any flash of emotion. Anything at all. I want it. My heart accelerates again as he gets in my face, my blood heating, the cold gone.

Fight me. Hurt me. Touch me. Feel something with me.

“I know what I said,” he snarls in my face. But he doesn’t touch me, his hands by his sides. “I know what I said, but that was before they tried to burn down your fucking dorm.”

I open my mouth to protest because I don’t care about the dorm and I don’t know who “they” are, but he silences me with his palm over my lips. I smell nicotine, and the familiar scent cuts deep.

“What’s next, huh?” he asks, his nostrils flare, his grip over my mouth tight. “What if next time they don’t fuck it up?” They. That word again.

And I know, in this moment, who he’s talking about. Chase. Chase did that. This. Maybe Maya, too. That’s how he knows. It was them.

“You’re gonna let them win?” I scream beneath his palm. The words are garbled but I know he understood them. I yank at his wrist and he drops his hand but shrugs out of my touch, like I disgust him. Another chip at my broken heart. “You’re going to be a fucking coward⁠—”

“Go. Home.” He turns his back on me to walk toward the door, but I run after him, jumping on him and trying to wrap my arms around his body. He spins, shoving me backward.

I catch myself before I fall on my ass but just barely.

My heart skips a beat and he looks torn.

Like he wants to help me up. Care for me. Comfort me.

I want to pull up my sleeves and show him the scars on my arm. Manipulate him into giving into me.

But I don’t feel that desperate anymore.

Not like I would have before.

“Remi,” he whispers, watching me stand so still.

I say nothing but I don’t move.

“Remi,” he whispers, the word choked. “You have to… you have to go, baby.”

“I will,” I finally say, my tone cold again. “But I want you to know that you did this to me.”

Silence.

“I was doing better before you got here. I was hiding, and scared, but I was growing and some days, I was stronger.” I don’t look away from him as I take a deep breath. “Brave, huh?” I scoff, bitterness twisting in my chest. “I’m feeling more and more like I was fucking stupid, Cortland.”

He says nothing. Just stares at me.

Beyond him, at the door, I see Storm.

He’s watching me, and he steps outside, his arms folded across his bare chest, his light blue eyes expressionless as he takes me in.

No one speaks for long moments.

Cortland looks down, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

“I know you love me,” I tell him in the quiet. “In your own sick and twisted way, I know you do. But if you loved me enough, you would’ve stayed away.”

He shakes his head.

My heart cracks.

“Remi, I…”

“Go live, little wolf,” Storm says in the night. “We all know you deserve more than us.”

I consider it. Turning around and walking away.

But my emotions cloud and without thinking, I lunge for Cortland, but Storm steps in front of him, holding me back.

I hit at him, scratch at him. But I don’t beg anymore. The hollowness in my heart is breathtaking. It’s like an elephant on my chest, collapsing my lungs. Reducing me to nothing.

Storm’s fingers are wrapped around my upper arms, and Cortland turns his back on me. He opens the screen door.

I go still again, in Storm’s arms.

I won’t beg you again.

I drop my head to Storm’s chest, and by the time I look up, Cortland is gone.

CHAPTER

FIFTY-NINE

CORTLAND

Hurts like hell.

That’s how it feels, watching her drive away, spinning her tires as she backs out. It hurts like hell.

I press my fist to my mouth, a scream lodged in my throat.

Don’t go, baby.

I want to yell it. I want to run outside and flag her down. But that gunshot rings out over and over in my head and I’m worried Chase’s dad is following us. Following her. If I told her the truth, she’d refuse to leave, and I can’t do that to her.

I turn away from my bedroom window and shrug off my shirt. I drag my nails down my arm and sink to the floor, my head on my knees as I scratch and tear and rip my skin.

It feels so good.

I bleed for her, and I pinch the skin, fire up and down my arms.

“I’m nothing,” she said that night on my couch.

I dig my nails in deeper, crying out at the pain.

“You’re not nothing, baby.” I whisper those words as I hurt myself more, feel more. Cry more. “You’re not nothing. And you deserve far better than I could ever give you.”

I don’t sleep most of the weekend.

When the Monday morning sun rises through the crack in my curtains, I’m already showered, dressed, and headed to Dad’s.

His truck is parked under the carport and I pull in behind him.

I told Mom last night I was done with Remi. Then I hung up on her.

Thinking of how Remi looked at me, utterly cold, of Storm holding her back… I scrub my hand over my neck and get out of the truck, slamming the door closed behind me, spinning the loop of my keys over my finger as I head to the little porch, the screen door barely hanging onto the hinges.

But it’s all Dad can afford at the moment. In West Virginia, he’d have help from my uncle. Mom agreed him and Tristan could go. I think she just doesn’t give a fuck anymore, not that she ever really did.

It’s not a legally binding agreement, and she could change her mind at any time, but it’s a start. So is their separation over the last few months. One step closer to divorce.

I let myself into the house, closing and locking the door at my back. It smells like coffee and bacon in here, and even though it’s early, I’m not entirely surprised to see my dad at the stove in the kitchen, straight down the hall from the doorway.

I glance to the right, past the living room, and see Tristan’s bedroom door is closed.

“Morning,” Dad greets without looking at me. I messaged him this morning to tell him I’d be over.

“Morning.” I walk through the hallway, over the rickety wooden floors. I sink down onto one of the chairs at the square table set in the corner of the kitchen, dropping my keys, my head in my hands as I close my eyes. Exhaustion consumes me, and being here, safe, comfortable around Dad, I just let myself breathe.

I listen to the coffee machine starting up again, hear the pop and crack of the bacon, but Dad leaves me alone.

I think about Remi. About her hurting herself. The same way I drug my own nails down my arm last night. I hope she didn’t do the same.

A lump forms in my throat. I want to call her. She didn’t call me after she left, and I should’ve followed her. Should’ve made sure she got back okay.

But she’s an adult. She’s strong. And she’ll have a far better life away from me. Still, I think about her stepdad. The things he did to her. Me leaving her to only find comfort with him.

Fuck.

I must say it out loud, because Dad speaks. “Something on your mind?”

I pick my head up, leaning back in the chair, opening my eyes, hands shoved in the pockets of my sweats as I watch Dad fork the bacon onto a plate lined with a paper towel.

“When are y’all leaving?”

Dad glances over at me, his own eyes bleary and red, a mug of coffee in one hand while he tends to the bacon with the other. He’s in his plaid pajama bottoms and a white shirt. “Next week,” he says, looking back down at the stove. He sets down the fork, takes a sip of his coffee. “You staying here?”

I glance down at the table. No use in transferring again. It’s not like I’ve been much help to Tristan here, and besides that, Mom was his poison. Away from her, he’ll be golden. He’ll heal. Being surrounded by people that love him—Dad, my uncle and his wife—he’ll thrive.

He doesn’t need me.

But then again, staying here, being so close to Remi but unable to touch her, I don’t know if I can do that, either.

“I want to quit school,” I tell Dad quietly.

For a moment, he doesn’t say a word. There’s just the sound of popping bacon, the coffee machine running its course.

I hear him set down his mug. Flip off the stove.

I keep staring at a scuff on the table.

“What would you do?” he finally asks me.

I shrug. “Work with Uncle Clave.”

Another pause. Then, “All right.”

I smile at the table, not bringing my gaze up to his. “Just all right?” I ask him. “Don’t wanna lecture me about all the future I’m wasting?”

“I’m not your mother.”

I nod, swallowing down another lump in my throat. I think about Greg firing off that round last night. I could tell Dad. He’d be pissed on my behalf. Might take his own guns down to Greg’s property and shoot a few bullets through his head. Storm almost did just that.

But it wouldn’t be worth it.

There’s no point in discussing it. Or Mom, Maya, and Chase at the game. Just wasted fucking words.

“Why’d you stay with her?” I ask him quietly. “After you knew she was… how she is?” I finally look up and he’s looking away, cupping his mug with both hands, leaned against the counter beside the stove.

He takes a drink, still staring at the linoleum floors, as if he’s thinking about his reasons for the first time himself. “I thought we’d work it out. She’d always been ambitious. Ready to get the hell out of Beckley as soon as she could.” He smiles softly, a faraway look in his eyes. “I supported that. And her. But soon I realized I’d never be able to live up to her definition of success, and she made sure I knew it too.” The smile slips, and I feel sadness bubble up in my chest, thinking of all the ways my dad probably felt like a failure.

He turns to look at me. “Then we had you. Tristan not long after. For a while, she was a good mom. Then she just… wasn’t.” He shrugs. “She was controlling, and in some ways, it did seem like she cared so much, about the both of you. And by the time I realized that just wasn’t true, I was under her thumb, too. And it was so hard to get out of it.” I see him swallow, holding his mug by the handle as he turns toward me, one palm on the counter. “I’m sorry I didn’t get out sooner. She was so hard on you, and I thought maybe it made you better. But I know now…” He shakes his head, then sets his mug down. “I should’ve done better. For both of you.”

I nod, forcing back my own emotions as I stare at the table. “It’s okay,” I tell my dad. “You did the best you could.” I don’t know if that’s true, but I know for a while, my mom had warped my head too. I could never do wrong, but I could never do enough, either. Never live up to her expectations while at the same time she put me above everyone else.

It was a fine line to walk between. A hard thing to balance. No room for error and no room for growth.

Before either of us can say anything else, I hear the door creak open down the hall from the living room, and slowly, Tristan comes padding in, barefoot in his boxers with no shirt.

He stops abruptly when he sees me, his hair a mess, then he smiles, takes a seat beside me. “Why are you here?” he asks, raking a hand through his hair.

“Good to see you too,” I tell him with a smile.

He laughs, white teeth flashing. Then he rubs his hand over his opposite arm, and I see the still-healing wound on his wrist, but he no longer seems to notice it as he looks at me, grinning. “Good morning,” he finally mumbles.

I think about how his life might be in West Virginia. All the things he likes that people might make fun of him for. But he grew up there well enough, and it’s really not much different than here. I know Dad and Uncle Clave will take care of him.

“You hungry?” Dad asks him, and he nods, glancing over at Dad for the first time. Then he turns to me.

“Are you moving with us?” There’s hope in his words, and I feel my muscles tense. Because I don’t know. Remi is here. Storm.

I don’t know what to do.

“I’m thinking about it,” I tell Tristan truthfully, watching as he lights up while Dad passes out plates, then brings the platter of bacon to the table. “What do you think about that?”

Tristan pulls his chair toward the table and smiles. “That’d be cool,” he says, reaching for the bacon and putting a piece in his mouth before it ever touches his plate. He’s chewing, speaking over it, and for a second, when he asks, “What’s going on with Remi?” I think I’ve misheard him.

Dad clears his throat, sitting down across from me and forking bacon onto his own plate.

I haven’t reached for anything yet. Not the orange juice Dad set out or the cups or the food.

I just blink at my brother, completely oblivious to my tension as he snatches more bacon from the center plate.

“What?” I finally ask. I know he knows what happened, but I had no idea he knew about what recently went on.

Before he puts the bacon in his mouth, he shrugs. “I heard you two were talking.”

I glance at Dad, who is staring down at his plate, his hands under his chin, stacked on top of each other.

“Oh yeah?” I ask Tristan, fisting my hands on the table.

“Yeah,” he nods, looking up at me, then sitting up straighter, glancing between me and Dad, finally realizing we’re all slightly freaked out by this conversation. He shrugs. “What? I pay attention.”

Yeah, I see that.

“I’m not talking to her anymore,” I tell Tristan.

He frowns, dropping his hands to his lap, his light eyes holding mine. “Why not?” he asks, dark blond brows furrowed together.

I arch a brow and resist the urge to look at my dad. Why fucking not? I clear my throat. “It just… wasn’t going to work out.” I try to push back the grief. Thinking of her in the tent. In my truck. At my house.

That momentary fantasy of her having my kids, helping me cook in my kitchen, giving her space and freedom and money to write whatever the hell she wants. I don’t read many books and I don’t think that’d ever change, but if she wanted to write ‘em, she could do just fucking that. It was a childish dream.

It’s time for me to grow up, and that means letting her do the same. Without me.

“Is it Mom?” Tristan asks quietly, looking at his plate, his shoulders hunched. Something like rage sweeps through my veins as I think about her yelling at him. Belittling him. All the ways she tried to break us down.

“Yeah,” I finally say, not giving a fuck if I shouldn’t give him another reason to hate her. “It’s Mom.” And Chase, his dad, Maya, fucking everyone. It’s not the money Mom has for me that I give a fuck about anymore.

It’s Remi’s safety.

Tristan’s.

Dad still hasn’t moved during all of this.

Finally, Tristan speaks again. “Don’t let her ruin everything for ya, Cort.” Then he grabs another piece of bacon and pops it in his mouth.

I stare at him, a smile curving my lips. He didn’t ask about Remi. About me wanting to be with her, or her wanting to be with me. He didn’t question how that could work. Why we might feel that way toward one another.

He just accepted it.

I look to my dad, and find him watching me, dipping his chin slightly. Almost as if to say, “Your move.”

CHAPTER

SIXTY

REMI

I pace in my dark room, trying to talk myself out of it. I’ve been huddled up in bed all weekend, attempting to avoid this very thing.

Don’t do it.

Don’t fucking do it, Remi.

You’re brave. Not stupid.

You’re brave.

But then I hear it again.

“No one understands, Remi, because it doesn’t make fucking sense.”

“We’re just living in this fantasy world where things work out between two people like us and they just... don’t.”

The memories burst forth all over again. Not from that night. From Friday night on Cortland’s porch. From the weeks after the assault. The emptiness. That rock thrown in the well that never touched the bottom.

I can’t go back there again.

I look at the blade between my fingers.

It’s like an itch that needs scratching. The only way I know how to deal with the pain of losing him.

But you never ever had him, a voice inside my head says. He was just feeling guilty. Just like Van said.

And maybe I was just feeling lonely.

I stop moving. Stop pacing.

And it’s an itch, yeah, but it feels like it might be controllable this time. Like I could resist.

A lock turns in the door.

My heart nearly bursts from my chest as the light is flipped on.

And Sloane stands in the doorway, the blood draining from her face as she sees the weapon in my hand.

I drop the blade to the floor with a clatter, stepping away from Sloane, toward her side of the room. There’s no air in my lungs but I try to speak anyway as the door closes behind her.

“I’m sorry, I…” I shake my head. Shame washes over me. Pressure builds behind my eyes but I’m so sick of everyone seeing me cry. “I’m sorry,” I say again. “I didn’t know you were coming back tonight. I’m so sorry⁠—”

“Van called me and said he couldn’t get up with you,” she cuts me off, her voice quiet. Her hair is in a ponytail and she looks exhausted. She was with Asa, and I figured she wouldn’t come back until tomorrow.

My stomach flips with her words.

“Are you okay, Remi?” she asks softly, adjusting the strap of her purse.

I’m fine, I want to tell her. Nothing to see here. I’m just fine.

But I’m so sick of lying. I’m so tired of it. I got fucked up, and I’m not over it. I want to yell that instead. He was helping me heal and now he’s gone.

“He left me.” Those words come out in a rush and I see her surprise. “He... he broke up with me and I don’t know why he did it.” It’s the only thing that comes out. I know Sloane doesn’t approve and I know she hates him for me, but I’m tired of trying to please everyone. Of healing only to be told it’s the wrong way.

So what if he helped me do it?

So what if he shouldn’t have?

He did, and now he’s gone.

“He said it didn’t make sense.” I’m just blubbering now and I know Sloane is confused but she knows I’ve been lying. And I can’t hold it in anymore. “He broke up with me and…” I drop my hands by my sides, staring down at that blade on the floor. I don’t want to go back to that. I take a deep breath in. “Use your fucking words, Remi.”

“I don’t understand it.” I laugh a little, tears blurring my vision. “But he doesn’t want me.”

Sloane steps closer, but she doesn’t say anything, so I keep talking.

“I’m sorry I’ve been lying to you,” I tell her, meaning it. “I’m sorry I’ve been a bad friend this entire year. I’m sorry you have to deal with my weirdness.” My shoulders sink as I close my eyes tight, wrapping my arms around myself. Now that I’m using my words, I can’t seem to stop. “I’m sorry I’m such a freak, and I cut myself and I don’t eat and I don’t know what’s wrong with me that he fixed all of it.”

I hear her come closer, but still, she’s quiet.

“You deserve so much better, Sloane. You and Van both. I hate what I do to you. How you both worry about me, and how I suck the fun from everything.” I stumble back a step, knocking into her bed and resting against it. “I hate that I’ve lied to you, and I haven’t met Asa, and…” I take a deep breath, the tears still falling as my voice grows hoarse. I open my eyes, meeting her beautiful green ones.

She reaches for my hand, squeezing tightly as she waits.

My bottom lip trembles with her kindness. “I hate that I’m in love with him, Sloane, but I can’t stop it.”

She pulls me into her arms then and I wrap mine around her while she holds me. Her strawberry scent is comforting and she smooths her hand up and down my back.

“Remi,” she says softly, my head against her shoulder. “You’re my best friend. You’ll always be my best friend. And best friends are here through the shit, too, you know? You didn’t choose what happened to you. And maybe he didn’t either.”

My stomach knots with those words.

“You get to decide how you write that story. Not me. Not Van. You do. And if you love him, you love him, and who am I to stop you?”

I cling to her tighter as she gives me permission to love a boy who I should hate. Who wrecked my entire world. Not once, but twice now.

“I still think he’s awful,” she continues, and I laugh at that, not pulling away from her. “But it’s your story. Your life.” She holds me closer. “I’m just lucky enough to be able to live it beside you.”

“You don’t think I’m fucked up?” I whisper, my eyes closed tight. “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

She pulls away, still keeping her arms around me as I open my eyes. Glancing at the blade on the floor beside us, she swallows. “I didn’t say you weren’t fucked up.” Her eyes come to mine and they’re shining as we both hold in our laughter. “But we all have something that makes us bleed.”

Those words level me. The truth in them.

“Yours happens to be Cortland Adler.” She smiles sadly at me. “And you know why I really hated him?” she whispers, her hands on my shoulders, squeezing me softly.

I shake my head, biting my cheek.

“Because he was crazy about you in high school, Remi. Everyone could see that.”

That lump in my throat grows bigger.

“I don’t know why he had to fuck it all up.” She shakes her head, like the stupidity of men eludes her. She looks again at the blade on the ground, saving me from having to respond to her words. “You need a new vice, okay?” Her eyes spark as they come back to mine. “Stop blowing off your therapy appointments, and whether you love him or not, if he broke up with you, we’re going to deal with it together.”

I open my mouth, wanting to tell her she’s done enough for me, but she yanks me close to her again, forcing me into another hug. “Not because you’re broken, Remi. But because this is what friends do. When a boy breaks our hearts, we get wasted, and pretend the toilet bowl is his face when we’re puking at the end of the night.”

CHAPTER

SIXTY-ONE

REMI

Two weeks after I showed up at Cortland’s doorstep with my heart on my sleeve, I heave into the dirty toilet of a frat house. The same one I was at when Cortland supposedly found me in the bushes.

Van is standing by the door, Sloane is behind me, and I feel regret roll through me that I even asked them here. Sloane had plans with Asa, but like most of her plans for the past two weeks, she dropped them. To support me. I told her he was more than welcome but for some reason, he needed to stay home with his stepsister anyway.

Weird, but who am I to judge?

“You okay, Rems?” Sloane asks quietly, her hand smoothing up and down my tight black dress.

I spit into the toilet, my vision blurring.

Music is thudding past the closed door at Van’s back.

“Shouldn’t have taken that last shot, Remi,” he says, his words low. “Or, you know, the five before it.”

“You’re very unhelpful,” Sloane spits to Van.

I laugh, closing my eyes as I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth. So am I, Sloane.

My stomach convulses again, and more puke burns its way up my throat, tainted with vodka.

I hurl into the toilet bowl, the smell bitter, making me feel sick all over again as I sink back on my heels, my fingers finding the toilet handle as I flush it all down.

I bury my head in my hands, Sloane still rubbing my back.

“I miss him,” I mumble, the words slurred from my drunken lips. It’s not the first time I’ve said them, and being drunk is the only time I’ll talk about him.

I hear Van groan. “Here we go.”

Sloane ignores him, her scent so much better than the smell of puke in the air as she hugs me close. “I know you do,” she whispers. “But it’s good, you know, that you two got… closure.”

I swallow down the bile in my throat.

“He’s a fucking rapist, what closure could she possibly need besides staying the fuck away from him?” Van snaps, anger edged in every word.

Sloane holds me tighter. She hasn’t asked about my cutting, but I’ve been going to therapy like she told me to and Dr. Ravi hasn’t judged me for blowing it off. My razors are gone. Besides, I’ve traded partying for cutting anyway. Not sure which is better, but drinking too much feels like shit.

“We don’t get to decide how our heart feels,” she tells Van.

“But we can decide what the fuck we do with our heads.”

I sigh, leaning into Sloane. “Shut up, Van,” I grumble, knowing he’s right. Knowing it would’ve never worked.

But I miss him. My chest hurts from that ache.

And I just want an explanation. But he’s ignored my drunken calls. My sloppy texts. He’s given me nothing.

I think of Maya in the cafeteria, when he first saw what I did. I wonder if he just felt bad, because of his brother. If he wanted to get me to fuck him, to get rid of his guilt.

My stomach convulses again. Is he back with Maya?

I haven’t seen her. Chase. Any of them.

The cuts on my arm have all healed, and drinking, spending time out of my dorm, it helps. It’s like running, and at the end of the night, I get dragged back to my thoughts, but at least here, puking, with my mind spinning, I’m not alone.

I’m not hollow all over again.

And I’m not thinking of my stepdad’s question in the car ride back from the hospital.

“Did they break you?” he’d asked me.

I know what he meant.

Internal injuries? Bleeding? How much physical damage did they do?

That’s not the part that matters, Silas. It never was.

I rest my head on Sloane’s arms, and think about how I want to throw myself at every guy here just to feel something, just to get him out of my system. Just to break myself more. Take myself further.

With the taste of vomit in my mouth, Van pissed and guarding the door, and Sloane wrapping me up tight in her arms while I fall apart, it’s so clear.

Yes.

They broke me completely.

Then I went and let them do it all over again.

Wolves have teeth.

And I got bit.

That night as I lie in bed, my head pounding and the taste of vodka still lingering in the back of my throat, my phone buzzes by my head.

I feel around for it in my sheets and hold it up over my face, blinking in the dark so my eyes adjust to the screen.

My heart flutters in my chest.

Cortland

I miss you. Don’t play with knives. I’m sorry. Just hold on for me, baby.

I stare at that message until my screen goes dim.

Then I roll over on my side and close my eyes, drifting toward a drunken sleep.

I’m tired of holding on for you, Cortland.

CHAPTER

SIXTY-TWO

CORTLAND

Mom sends her water back with a glower, reiterating her request for a lemon. The waitress scurries away, sheepish, and it reminds me of, well, me. Me, Dad, Tristan. Always bowing and buckling for our mother.

I have a toothpick between my teeth just because I know she hates it. One I plucked from by the entrance of this fancy Italian place with a fountain in the middle of the fucking floor, just a few feet away. We’re not in tiger country anymore. Just outside of it, where the tax bracket is higher, and Mom’s firm is down the street.

She’s in a suit jacket now, her highlighted hair cut precisely at her shoulders, makeup in place, lipstick perfectly contained on her full lips.

She glares over at me. “Get that out of your mouth.” She says the words without malice. Just another command, one she’s waiting for me to obey.

I smile at her, then nod, pulling the toothpick away, dropping it on my cloth napkin on the table.

She doesn’t like that, but she doesn’t say anything, content with opening up the menu and scanning it for the most calorie restrictive item she can find.

I don’t bother with mine.

It’s almost Halloween, which means it’s been a week since Dad took Tristan back to West Virginia. Nearly three since I last saw Remi.

Dad and Tristan are staying with Uncle Clave.

I’m still going through the motions. Football. School. Storm. Brinklin is coming up tonight, too.

And since Mom bought into my bullshit about staying here for her and dropping contact with Remi, she gave me access to the trust fund.

I’m now considerably richer than I was, and while it’s not enough to set me up for life, me and Storm own that house.

Mom looks up after the waitress sets down her lemon water and practically bows before racing away from our table, seeing the menu still in Mom’s hand. “You’re not eating?” she asks me.

I shrug. “I’m going to a party tonight. There’ll probably be food there.” Sunday night football.

Mom smiles. “A party?” Then she closes the menu. “Eat something, Cort. I can’t be the only one at the table digging in.”

“Why ever not, Mom?”

Her manicured nails tap against the polished table. “Just order something.”

“You miss ‘em?” I ask her, ignoring her comments, threading my hands behind my head, leaning back in my seat.

She fucking hates that, too, looking casual at a proper place like this.

It’s just, I kind of don’t give a fuck what Mom wants. Not anymore.

She sighs, slapping her palm on the menu. “Miss whom, Cortland?”

I smile at her annoyance. The trust fund was twofold. I couldn’t rile her up without risking losing it. She couldn’t hold it back without risking me leaving her. And I think, as much as she might act like she hates us, the control she yielded over us made her feel alive. Kept her sane. Kind of like me digging my nails into my arms. We were a nuisance, like that pain, but it kept us both alive.

Now, two of us are gone.

“Dad. Tristan.” I see her shift in her seat with my little brother’s name. “You know. Your family.”

I notice the waitress hovering out of the corner of my eye, and I shake my head, just slightly. She gets the point and walks away, leaving me and Mom alone.

Mom sighs again. “As soon as they’re willing to be reasonable, I’ll forgive your father for splitting our family apart and⁠—”

“Do you hear yourself?” I interrupt, dropping my arms down to the table as I lean closer to her. “Do you listen to the words that come out of your own mouth, Mom?”

She blinks at me. “I beg your pardon, Cortland⁠—”

“They’re not coming back.” I smile at her as her eyes widen, like she’s actually fucking surprised. “They’re not coming back, and they’re sure as hell not coming back to you.”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again, but before she can speak, I do.

“And you know what?” I lean even closer, running my tongue over my lip ring, drawing her eye to it. She hated the day I got that pierced. Kind of why I fucking did it. “Neither am I.”

She blinks, and the look on her face—utter confusion—is fucking priceless. She actually thought she had me so tight by the balls that I’d never leave her. Betray her. She thought by forking over my inheritance, she’d bought my loyalty.

“If you leave me, I will ensure your father never has custody of Tristan⁠—”

“And if you try to fight him for it, I’ll ensure that everyone in this fucking town knows what you did to him.” My nostrils flare as I think about it. His broken glasses beside his bed in the hospital. The wound on his arm.

“Go ahead, Mom. Fight for Tristan.” I stand, knocking my chair back as I do. It topples over and everyone is staring at us. I press my index finger to the table. “If you do, you’ll be going up against me, too. Storm. Brinklin. You might win the legal case, but we both know what’s so much worse than that, huh, Mom?” I flash her a smile. “Don’t let the wolves drag your name in the mud, too, you fucking bitch.”

CHAPTER

SIXTY-THREE

REMI

Weed fills the air and the sweet, earthy taste lingers on my tongue. Beside me, a guy I just met has his hand gliding up my thigh, his mouth on my neck. I tilt my head, allowing him to suck and bite my skin.

Three weeks since Cortland broke up with me, and I’m doing just. Fucking. Fine.

Sloane is on a date with Asa.

Van is somewhere in this house now, and he’d probably be pissed if he saw me, but I don’t care. He’s busy with Ryann, which is how I need him. Preoccupied.

I’m not the girl who started this year. I don’t need him to hold my hand anymore.

Because he’s gone.

There’s been no more texts. No more calls. Cortland is gone. He’s not here, and that fantasy I had in my head is all… over.

He was feeling guilty, and just like me, he wanted a do over. He got his, and I got out. And it’s not all bad. I haven’t heard from Silas since I left the restaurant. As far as I’m concerned, we’re done. I was able to pick up a few shifts, working at the on-campus gym, and when I can’t… I do things like this.

I close my eyes, force myself back to this room, a moan escaping my lips as the guy’s hand trails under my short skirt, his fingers along my inner thigh. I don’t even know his name.

The lights are dim in the upstairs room of this frat house, the bass thudding under the floor we’re sitting on, but in here “Can You Feel My Heart” by Bring Me The Horizon plays as a few other students of EU fuck around with a Ouija board in the center of the room. Lyza, that chick from my dorm, is in the middle of them all. The two guys on either side of her are looking much more interested in her tits, barely covered by the low-cut crop top she’s wearing—light blue against her olive skin—than their hands on the planchette.

Turns out Lyza is pretty cool. Or maybe I’m just really high.

“Where are you from?” Lyza asks the spirit, her voice unwavering and strong as she stares down at the board, candles flickering around her and the guys on either side of her, a couple of people on the other side of the board.

I tip my head back against the wall, eyes still closed as I part my thighs wider, my white Chucks planted on the floor.

This guy is whispering in my ear as his fingers slip over my black silk underwear. “You like that, Remi?” he breathes over my mouth, my fingers curled around a beer bottle, a lighter in one hand, both by my sides as I let him touch me.

In our five-minute conversation before the lights got turned down and the candles were lit, I learned he’s in his third year here at Ely. He’s a political science major. With his hand under my skirt like this, he’ll probably be an excellent politician.

His hand teases the top of my underwear, one finger beneath the thin silk barrier, and I tense, panic and fear crowding in beneath my high.

There’s one moment. A moment of terror. Anxiety. Dread. It makes my stomach twist into knots, and I’m wearing hoodies and covering every inch of my body all over again.

He’s cupping my face, his thumbs brushing over my lips. “You’re okay, pretty baby.”

Then I’m on his porch.

He’s telling me to leave. He’s walking away. My heart is in pieces all over again and⁠—

“Stop,” I tell the guy, my voice firm. Turns out, I did learn how to use my words.

The guy freezes. Retracts his hand.

Turns out, too, some boys actually listen.

I drop the lighter, bring the beer up to my lips and tip it back as this guy starts asking me questions like, “What did I do wrong? Are you okay?”

I laugh and finish my beer, ignoring him.

“Do you wanna fuck us?” Lyza asks the spirit she’s contacting over there on the Ouija board, and I smile against the bottle as this guy switches tactics and starts kissing my neck, my freshly-dyed orange hair over one shoulder to give him better access.

“I wanna fuck you,” he whispers against my throat.

I consider it, aware that Lyza and her boys could look up at any moment and see the wanna-be politician all over me, but it’s dark. Besides, I don’t think Lyza has the moral police on her shoulder.

I turn my head, and this guy’s mouth is instantly on mine.

He moans against my lips, and I open for him, his tongue flicking my tongue ring. He huffs a soft laugh over my mouth, and he tastes like marijuana and beer, but I like it.

He plays rugby, he’s got curly brown hair and a lot of tattoos and I’m not so sure how that’s going to work in the political science field, but it’s not really my problem. Besides, he knows how to use his tongue, even though he doesn’t bite me.

Again, that night flashes in my head.

Cortland’s eyes holding mine. The numbness sweeping over me, like it is now.

Despondency. Checking out.

I swallow, pulling away from this guy.

I hear another guy’s laugh, a girl’s moan—Lyza—and I try to get myself back in the mood, the music washing over me. The marijuana still trying to lift me higher. But all I can see behind my closed eyes is Cortland’s fingers covered in my blood.

The taste of him and me on my mouth.

Him leaving me on that porch.

My stomach churns again.

Abruptly, I stand, the guy jerking away from me as I lean against the wall, swaying a little.

“You all right?” he asks me.

Nope. I smile anyway and nod, taking a breath. With clumsy steps, I make my way through the room, past the Ouija board.

I just need the bathroom.

I just need a second alone.

“You good?” I hear Lyza call after me.

I hold up a peace sign and she laughs. “Let me know if you need me, Rems!” she calls over her shoulder as I open the door of the room and walk out, stumbling into the narrow hallway.

I’ve drank way too much. Smoked way too much.

My pulse is racing, and I can barely see, but I notice a door ajar ahead.

I push it open.

There’re tile floors.

A toilet.

Oh, thank God, the toilet. I’ve been feeling queasy lately, and I’m not so sure it’s just all the drinking.

I don’t bother closing the door behind me or flicking on the light as I walk to the toilet, sink to my knees in front of it, my stomach churning. I’m not scared of the dark anymore. I’m not scared of anything anymore.

I should’ve known when they circled me in those woods that it was all over. That I should’ve ran like I didn’t before. I should’ve dropped out. At the very least, avoided him.

I shouldn’t have let him touch me.

It’s too late now.

I hear the floor creak outside of the bathroom, the music playing in the background, something I don’t recognize. At least it isn’t Deftones.

A shadow looms in the doorway and I tilt my head up, blinking in the darkness. Light in the hall surrounds the shadow, and I can’t make out a face.

I scrub my hand over my eyes.

The shadow comes closer.

I’m really fucked up. I laugh to myself, putting a hand over my mouth, wondering if it’s Van coming to get me. Drag me home.

He’s been disappointed in me lately.

I can relate.

The shadow steps into the bathroom, closes the door behind it. My heart kicks up speed, and for the first time, I feel fear.

I open my mouth to say something, but before I can, someone grabs my arm. Yanks me to my feet. Shoves me against the glass shower door.

A voice is in my ear before I can take a breath. “Hello, Remi.” Hands tangle in my hair, slamming my cheek hard against the frosted glass. “Don’t you know you shouldn’t be all alone in pack territory? I thought I already taught you that.”

“Chase.”

His name leaves my lips as fear, too late, coils in my gut, making my knees shake.

“Yeah, Rems. It’s me.”

I try to catch my breath, try to say something else. Anything at all. But just like that night, I can’t.

I can’t speak.

I close my eyes tight as Chase’s hand comes up my thigh, flipping up my skirt. He cups my ass, then presses his erection into me, groaning.

“So glad I got to see you again, away from Cort.” He kisses my neck and I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, but I don’t open my eyes. I don’t say a word.

I try to think of the best way to hurt him instead.

“After we shot at him, we thought he’d stay away for good, but I think he’s obsessed with you, Remi. Storm, too. I think they want you as their very own little toy. They’ve been following you, and I can’t have that.”

Shot at Cortland?

I try to think as Chase’s fingers come around my front, slipping under the edge of my tank top.

“Shot?” I echo, confused.

Chase palms my breasts and laughs against my mouth. His breath smells like beer and my skin crawls. “Oh, he didn’t tell you? Didn’t wanna ruin his image, huh? Yeah, my dad aimed a gun at him and pulled the trigger.” He laughs again and something besides fear awakens under my skin as he drags his hand across my chest, his erection still pushed against me. “He dropped like a fucking pussy, covering his head with his hands⁠—”

I shove against the shower door, pushing back. “He shot at him?” Those words are little more than a whisper as I imagine a bullet hitting Cortland. “He fucking shot at him?” That’s a snarl, growing louder, and I’m shoving harder now, trying to spin around to get my hands on Chase.

“Oh, now you wanna fight? You wanna fight for your boyfriend, pretty baby?”

I open my mouth and scream, shoving with all I have against the glass to push myself back and out of Chase’s grip. “Fuck you, Chase.” The words are slurred, but I get them out. I say it. I bang my fist on the shower door, so someone will hear me as I scream again.

His hand comes over my mouth.

I bite the skin of his palm hard enough to make him bleed. He hisses, moves his hand and wraps his fingers in my hair just as his other hand edges under the hem of my underwear.

“I’m gonna make you pay for that,” he snarls.

I open my mouth to scream again but he slams my head, hard, against the door.

Pain reverberates in my skull, the words leaving my lips, my ears ringing.

I try to breathe. To hold onto the anger. The fight. But as Chase touches me, I feel almost resigned.

Numb again.

Like before.

All the adrenaline leaves me.

I haven’t cut myself since Cort broke up with me. I haven’t thought too much about dying. I’ve said no to boys and while I’ve been drinking and smoking too much, I’m not lying to my friends anymore. I’m not living in fear of Silas.

But now it seems like it doesn’t matter.

Cortland ripped my heart in two and I tried to stay whole this time, but it’s all for nothing. Because Chase is slamming my head against the shower door again and his fingers are slipping between my thighs and it. Doesn’t. Matter.

Until I hear a voice.

See light spilling into the room as my eyes snap open.

“Chase?”

My head is against the shower door and Chase’s hands are still in my hair.

I straighten as Chase’s grip loosens, my mind hazy from the alcohol, or being slammed against the door, or maybe that voice.

All I know is that one second Chase is touching me and the next... he isn’t.

I look up, my palms still on the shower door.

Cortland is staring at me.

He’s dressed in a black sweater, a collared white shirt underneath.

I furrow my brow, confused. Am I seeing things?

But then I’m distracted. He’s got a baseball bat in his hand.

Before I can wonder why, before I can question it, he steps more fully into the bathroom.

And he swings.

He shatters the mirror above the sink, and I flinch, stumbling back in my heels, leaning against the wall, trying to breathe. Glass falls to the white countertops, all over the tile floor.

Chase scrambles back too, reaching behind him, yanking up his pants and pulling something I can’t see from his back pocket.

My vision is blurry and Cortland is coming closer, glass crunching under his black boots, and⁠—

“Cort?” I whisper, my heart hammering.

“Just a minute, baby. I’ve just gotta take care of something.”

“Hey, you don’t wanna do this, man. You don’t wanna fucking do this.”

Cortland keeps coming closer, even as Chase holds up one trembling hand, trying to get Cortland to be reasonable.

But he should know better.

Cortland is anything but reasonable.

“I told you to leave her alone,” he says softly. “I told you I’d stay away, if you stayed away.” He drags the top of the bat on the ground, through the shattered glass on the floor. “But you must be one dumb motherfucker.”

Chase still has one hand up, one behind his back.

I’m seeing double of Cortland, and I don’t think it’s such a bad thing, as hot as he is. With that white collared shirt under his black sweater and that baseball bat in his hand and his tongue running over his lip ring...

“Cortland, I want you,” I mumble quietly.

Chase laughs, but it has a nervous edge. “See? She’s wasted, and she fucking wants me, man. I tried to get her off but⁠—”

“That’s. Not... true.” My words are sluggish. “Cortland, that’s just not⁠—”

“I know, baby. I know.” He doesn’t look at me though, his eyes still on Chase as he keeps dragging the bat on the floor.

“I was just making sure she was gonna leave us alone, Cort. I was just gonna make sure⁠—”

Cortland raises the bat, his fingers wrapping tight around the base of it.

I’m sinking further against the wall, my shoes sliding beneath me, palms splayed behind me.

“You don’t wanna fucking do this,” Chase says, taking a step toward my boyfriend, which seems like a really horrible idea, when he’s poised to swing. But I see, for the first time, he moves his hand from behind his back.

The lights overhead reflect on something and I realize⁠—

“Knife!” I scream the word, pushing away from the wall. “He’s got a knife!” I straighten, the room spinning, and I lunge for Chase just as Cortland growls, “Remi, no!”

But it’s too late. I’m grabbing the blade and trying to jerk it from his grip. I can’t really feel it because everything is so numb but some part of my brain knows I’ve been cut, and I feel something warm on my palm, dripping over my wrist.

I don’t let go, though. I’m used to knives.

I keep grabbing it, digging that blade deeper into my skin, and it gives Cortland the opportunity to swing.

And he does.

Hard. The bat connects with the side of Chase’s head, and I don’t have to fight for the knife anymore.

It falls to the floor with a clatter, and Chase topples to the ground, his chin hitting the toilet on his way down.

Cortland is still holding the bat up like he wants to swing again, his eyes shifting from me to Chase, then back.

I glance down at my palm.

There’s so much blood.

Cortland’s gaze follows mine and as soon as he does, he’s dropping the bat.

But Chase is stirring.

Cortland sinks down to his knees in front of me, grabbing my wrist to examine my hand. “Oh, Remi. Fuck, Remi.”

Chase is still moving, and I try to tell Cort that but he’s staring at my palm, then pulling his phone from his pocket. Chase is snatching the knife from the tile and he’s angling it over the side of Cortland’s neck and just like that night...

I can’t speak.

I can’t move.

I can’t do anything as Cort says into the phone, “Something’s happened to Remi,” and just as Chase raises the knife to plunge it into Cort’s neck, Chase says, “Yeah, and I’m the one who fucking did it.”

Fuck. You.

I scream as Chase’s hand comes down, snatching my own from Cortland’s grip and tackling him to the ground, forcing him onto his back.

I feel a sharp pain in my left side and I scream again, convulsing on top of Cortland.

Cortland is yelling, then more people crowd the doorway.

“Fuck.” Storm’s voice.

He hurries into the room, grabbing me from Cortland, hefting me in his arms. My side hurts and I wince but I try to get down, get away from Storm.

“Stop fighting, Remi,” he says, holding me tighter, cradling me like I’m a child. But I’m kicking and screaming and trying to get to Cortland as Storm steps back, just as Cortland grabs the knife and knocks Chase to the ground, angling it over his face, his knees pinning Chase to the floor as the latter holds up his hands, trying to shield his face.

“Let me get to him! Let me fucking get to him!” I scream in Storm’s arms, that pain in my side growing sharper, but Storm holds me tighter, watching with his jaw clenched as Cortland is ready to plunge that knife into Chase’s neck.

“Remi?” Van’s voice, panicked. “Fuck, Remi, let me⁠—”

But his words are cut off as Brinklin steps inside, sinking to his knees, darting his fingers out to wrap around Cortland’s wrist.

They’re fighting, Cortland trying to bring the knife down. “He hurt her,” he snarls, his eyes on Brinklin’s green ones. “He fucking hurt her. He. Hurt. Her.” He’s saying it over and over and over, and Storm steps back, edging against the wall, holding me closer, and this time, I’m not fighting.

Cortland isn’t hurt.

He’s not hurt.

He won’t get hurt.

“You wanna go to prison?” Brinklin asks quietly. “That’s what you want? Be away from her forever?” I see the veins in his forearm, his shirtsleeves rolled up as he stares at Cortland. “We’ll deal with him. For now, drop the knife, Cortland.”

Cortland closes his eyes. I see his chest heave.

Storm says nothing, and neither do I, watching, my pulse thrashing in my ears, warm blood spilling down my wrist.

Finally, Cortland drops the knife to the floor, right beside Chase’s head.

Brinklin snatches it up.

But Cortland doesn’t get off Chase.

He cocks his fist back and drives it into his nose. Once. Twice. He doesn’t let up. Chase is screaming between each hit but Cortland goes again. And again. And again.

“Cortland.” Storm’s voice.

I can barely breathe.

Cortland pauses with his elbow back as he stares at Chase, crying underneath him.

“That’s enough, baby,” I say, the words raw.

Cortland swallows, then looks up at me.

Chase screams, blood spurting on his face as Cortland stands, backing away, toward me. I’m pinned between Storm and Cortland, and I see Van’s eyes meet mine as he stands in the doorway, watching.

Brinklin gets to his feet, pocketing the knife and stepping back, beside Van.

Chase rolls over in the glass from the mirror, whimpering as he does.

After a second, he struggles to his feet, gripping the counter with a bloody hand, nearly stumbling before he gets upright, one hand still on his nose.

He glares at me, his face pink, matching his shirt.

Then he turns away, only to find Van and Brinklin blocking his path.

He glares at Van, spits on the floor between them.

“Move, you fucking incestual⁠—”

Van and Brinklin both move without waiting for what he’s going to say, slamming Chase against the wall. The tattoos on Van’s biceps flex as he hits Chase with a closed fist. “What was that?” he goads him.

Chase dives to the left, trying to get away, but Brinklin grabs him from behind, hooking his arms under Chase’s, locking his hands behind his neck, so Chase is defenseless and Van stares at him, his hands shooting to his throat.

“Get off me,” Chase snarls. “Get the fuck off me. You are all fucking crazy! You’re crazy. You deserve that stupid b⁠—”

Cortland moves again, ripping Chase from Brinklin’s arms, and all four of them go down to the ground, Cortland’s hands around Chase’s throat as he slams his head against the glass on the floor and Brinklin pins down his legs while Van hits his torso, the sounds of Chase whimpering echoing in the bathroom as me and Storm watch, breathless. I grab Storm’s arm, blood all over his black shirt, but I don’t think Storm minds being a little bloody.

His mouth comes to my ear, my heart in my throat as I watch them beat the fuck out of Chase, blood covering his body.

“This is fun, huh, little wolf?”

I keep staring, trying to breathe, trying to think, because if they don’t stop fucking with him, they’re going to…

“They’re going to kill him.”

Storm laughs against my skin as I watch the carnage. “Maybe so.”

But Brinklin stops it, leaning away from Chase’s legs. “That’s enough,” he says quietly as Van cocks his fist back again and Cortland’s hands are still around Chase’s throat.

Everyone stills.

Chase’s eyes are swollen, and his chest is heaving, but otherwise, he’s motionless. And it feels good, I realize.

It feels good to see him like this.

“That’s enough,” Brinklin says again.

Cortland backs off, and slowly, Van stands, glancing at the blood flecked on his knuckles, sweat beading along his hairline.

He drops his hand and looks to me. “We need to go, Rems.”

Cortland laughs, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. “She’s not going anywhere without me.”

Van glares at Cortland, and I see a vein in his neck ticking. Then he looks at Chase, curling into a ball on the floor.

In the fetal position.

He has glass imbedded in his skin. Along his eye. His nose. His mouth.

Cortland reaches down and picks up the baseball bat he dropped by the toilet. He twists it in his hand, running it along Chase’s spine as Chase whimpers.

“You wanna swing, baby?” he asks me, his gray eyes lifting to meet mine.

Slowly, Storm lowers me down, and I sway a little in my heeled boots, but Storm’s hands come to my hips, steadying me.

I stare at the bat.

Chase whimpering on the floor.

I should say no.

I should say no.

But the door is closed.

No one says anything.

There’s only the sounds of Chase crying.

I think about how he was with me.

The names he called me.

What he said his dad did to Cortland.

I reach my bloodied hand out for the bat.

“No, Remi, please,” Chase begs me, looking up at me, blood in his mouth as he curls tighter into a ball. “Please don’t.”

Cortland offers me the bat with a smile, his eyes full of pride. “Go ahead,” he says, nodding toward Chase on the floor. “Swing, little wolf.”

And so I do.

When I drop the bat, Chase isn’t moving.

My chest heaves, and I stumble back again. Again, Storm is there, catching me.

Cortland looks down at a bloodied and still Chase, then to me, arching a brow.

Silence is in the room, just the sound of my own pulse in my temple.

“Remi,” Van says, swallowing as he looks from Chase, to Cortland, to me. “We need to go.”

Cortland turns to him. “I already told you,” he says, wiping a bloody hand over his mouth. “She’s not leaving me.”

Van’s eyes narrow as he steps over Chase’s still body, getting in Cortland’s face. “You’re no different than him. This isn’t good rapist versus bad rapist, you dumb fuck.” His hands are clenched into fists by his sides, a vein in his temple throbbing as his eyes gleam. “Remi,” he says without looking at me, “let me get you out of here.”

Cortland steps closer to Van, and I move toward them both, Storm letting me go.

I put a hand on both Van’s arm and Cortland’s, steadying myself. Steadying them.

“Van,” I whisper as they stare off. Slowly, his eyes come to me, and they soften, even as his jaw is still tight. “He’s not what you think he⁠—”

“He is, though. You just don’t see it, because he’s fucked with your head.”

“Watch how you fucking talk to⁠—”

“You don’t get to be the hero!” Van snarls those words in Cortland’s face, and they both glare at each other, both of their chests heaving as I hold them both, feeling the tension in their bodies. “You’re not a hero. And if you were, if you want to be, you’ll let her go.”

Cortland pulls his lip ring between his teeth, his bottom lip blanching under his canine.

He turns to me.

“I’m not a hero. I never wanted to be. But Remi… I’m yours.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Van mutters.

Tears build behind my eyes, and I forget Storm and Brinklin are watching. I forget Chase is out cold on the floor.

My heart beats too fast, clouding my thoughts, making it hard to think. But I remember the porch. Cortland turning me away.

“We’re leaving, Remi,” Van says, his words lined with impatience.

“I don’t want to,” I whisper. I turn to Van. “I don’t⁠—”

“Do you see what he’s doing to you?” Van’s tone is angry as he grabs my arm, and Cortland lunges for him but Storm pulls him back, both Van and Storm hauling us apart. “You see what the fuck he’s doing to you?” Van yells those words, his arms around my waist now, holding me back from Cortland.

I push on his forearms, try to shove them down and off of me as I kick my legs, and Cortland attempts to jerk out of Storm’s hold, but Storm is relentless, not letting go, just like Van doesn’t.

“Get your hands off of her⁠—”

“Oh, like you did when you fucked her up? You haven’t been here the past fucking year!” Van is shouting, yanking me backward, over Chase’s body. “You haven’t seen her crying and trembling and hiding because of you!”

“You just want to fuck her, don’t you?” Cortland snarls, his gray eyes full of rage. “I saw you, mother fucker, I saw your hands on her⁠—”

“And I stopped when she wanted me to stop.” Van doesn’t scream those words. He just says them. Like a fact.

Because it is.

Cortland stops fighting in Storm’s arms.

He just looks at me like for once, he doesn’t know what to say.

Fight for me. Say something to make it better.

But there isn’t anything to say, is there?

“Let’s go, Remi.” Van pulls me back, and this time, Cortland doesn’t try to get to me.

“It was never going to be real, was it?” I call out softly to him.

He just stares at me and I think he isn’t going to speak.

Finally, as Van starts to drag me away, he does.

“It’s always been real to me, Remi. It’s so goddamn real.”

I stumble backward, turning in Van’s arms, throwing my own around him. He holds me tight.

“Van,” I whisper, the two of us still for a moment. “I don’t feel so good.”

Then everything just... goes black.

CHAPTER

SIXTY-FOUR

REMI

My head is pounding, and I’m sore all over.

That’s the first thing I notice. Everything hurts.

My eyelids feel heavy, and I’m not ready to get up yet so I turn on my side. But blinding pain lights through me and I hiss, staying on my back. My eyes fly open, white, sterile light harsh around me.

This is not my dorm room.

I lift my hand over my eyes to shield them from the fluorescent light of wherever I’m at, my pulse pounding heavy and hard in my chest. Where the fuck am I?

What happened last night?

And for one moment, I think about the razor blades in my room. I’ve been staying away from them, dumped into the trash. But maybe I relapsed. Because the grief hits me again like a train wreck. Cortland telling me to leave his porch. The past three weeks, partying every chance I get to try and enjoy my college experience.

To distract myself. Keep my head above… feeling numb.

As I dart my eyes around the white room, taking in the closed door, open blinds, and the machines around me, everything slowly comes back into my brain as I panic.

My heartbeat is erratic, and I scramble upright, glancing down at my wrist.

A bandaid, and a spot of blood beneath it.

What the fuck?

I remember the guy’s hand on me in the room with Lyza and the Ouija board. Going into the bathroom and…

Chase.

Oh my God.

I clamp a hand over my mouth, and feel something rough against my face. Pulling my hand away, I see a cut. Cleaned up, but diagonal across my palm all the same.

The baseball bat.

The glass.

Cortland swinging that⁠—

“Remi?”

I snap my head up, dropping my hand as the door to my room opens. I’m in the hospital.

“Van,” I say, my voice rough as he comes in with two iced coffees in hand, nudging the door closed behind him.

He looks disheveled, circles under his eyes like he didn’t get any sleep last night. He’s in fitted joggers and a white sweatshirt, and he crosses the room to set down our drinks on the tray beside my bed. I notice my phone there, facedown.

Van plops down into the little chair a few feet from the bed and he runs his hands over his shaved head.

“Van, why am I here?” I ask, the words reluctant to come out.

He rests his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together as he looks up at me with tired blue eyes.

“You got stabbed.”

My stomach drops. That pain in my side… My hand drifts there now, over my hospital gown— I’m wearing a fucking hospital gown.

I drop my hand, clenching it into a fist on my thigh, scared to see the damage. To know.

“By Chase McGowan.”

The breath leaves my lungs.

“You saved Cortland Adler’s life by taking a knife to your ribs.”

Damn.

Van closes his eyes, his knuckles blanching as he tightens his fists, bowing his head over them for a second before he looks up at me again. “I was a little late to the bathroom party,” he says, no humor in his words. “But I’m told Chase had a knife, and you leapt over Cortland to stop him from getting hurt.”

The blood drains from my face. I feel dizzy again and lean back against the white bed.

“You were also drunk, had marijuana in your system, and because of that, and the stabbing, and…” Van looks away, the light streaming in from the windows illuminating his blue eyes. “And your fight with Cortland… you fainted.”

Everything is fuzzy in my head, but I’m slowly remembering.

“They gave you fluids,” he nods toward the IV stand beside my bed. I glance again at the bandaid on my wrist as he turns to look at me, his brow furrowed. “Sloane is on the way. I just called her.”

My body tenses, thinking of Sloane seeing me like this after all the help she’s been to me the past three weeks.

But it’s not Sloane I’m thinking about.

It’s Cortland.

And I know Van can see it in my gaze because he sighs and shakes his head. “You wanna know where he is?” he asks quietly.

I hold my breath, waiting. I don’t need to say it. He knows that’s what I want to know.

“He’s—”

“Here.”

I look up to find Cortland standing in the doorway, and adrenaline flushes through me, making me sit up taller, my nails curling into my palms.

I think about last night. That baseball bat. How he didn’t for one second believe Chase’s lies. But I’m thinking about the porch steps, too. How he pushed me away. Turned his back on me.

With that thought, and Cortland closing the door softly behind him, my gaze narrows.

Van’s jaw is clenched as he straightens in his chair, his gaze fixed on me, like he’s refusing to acknowledge Cortland at all.

“I’m here,” he says softly.

I don’t know what to say. So many questions on the tip of my tongue, I can’t ask a single one.

Cortland takes a step into the room.

What he’s wearing looks vaguely familiar. Dark pants, a black sweater over a collared white shirt. His hair is a mess, lines beneath his eyes. Like he hasn’t slept.

“He’s been here all night,” Van says through gritted teeth. “I can’t fucking get rid of him.”

Cortland’s gray eyes narrow as he looks to Van, but only for a second before his gaze is back on me, and he’s sliding his hands into his pockets.

“You saved my life,” Cortland says quietly.

Van rolls his eyes, turning to stare resolutely out the window, but he doesn’t get up. Like he doesn’t want me to be alone. Or maybe he just doesn’t want me to be alone with Cortland.

Cort takes a step toward me.

I realize I’m holding my breath, my hands fisting in the thin white sheet of the hospital bed.

He steps closer, until he’s at the foot of the bed, his lip ring between his teeth as he averts his eyes for a second, before they’re back on me.

“You know I don’t deserve you, right, Remi?”

Van snorts. “Finally, something we can agree on.”

We both ignore him.

“You know I don’t deserve for you to talk to me, or be friends with me, or…” He shakes his head, swallowing as he does, but his gaze doesn’t waver. “Or love me.”

Van keeps staring out the window.

My heart beats too fast in my chest.

It’s a little hard to breathe as Cort stares at me.

“You know that I’ll spend the rest of my life being sorry for everything.” Those words are a whisper. “That night. All the ones after.”

He comes to the head of the bed, blocking my view of Van. He doesn’t touch me though, his hands still in his pockets. “But you saved my life, and not just last night.” He shrugs, a small smile pulling on the corners of his lips. “Seeing you in the halls at West... That was always the highlight of my day. Every day.”

I hear Van make a strangled sound in the back of his throat, but I’m hanging onto Cortland’s every word.

“I’m not sure what the fuck happened between us that night,” he keeps talking, never looking away from me. “I’m not sure how we went from having fun to…” He bites his lip again. “To not…” He grabs my hand then, and his touch is electric, making my blood heat even in this hospital bed. He runs his thumb over my wounds, but his eyes stay on mine. “But I fucked up, Remi. And I’m sorry for it. I’ll spend the rest of my life being sorry for it, and I know we don’t make sense, and no one understands what the fuck we’ve got here…” He brings my hand to his mouth, flipping my palm and pressing a kiss to the inside of my wrist. “But we do, baby.” He places my hand on his chest, and I can feel his heart beating so fast. “We do.”

“That night, on your porch, why?”

He squeezes my fingers, interlacing his own with mine against his chest. “I was a coward,” he admits. He brings my fingers to his lips. “I was a coward, and Chase and his dad threatened you, and I wanted to keep you safe. So I stayed away, but I stalked you, and that’s why I was there last night.”

I want to laugh, and Van groans behind Cortland’s back.

“I was a fucking coward, but I’m not anymore⁠—”

“Cortland Adler.” An angry voice rings out in the room, and his words stop.

I freeze, my eyes darting from Cortland to the man in the doorway.

I don’t know him, but the way he’s looking at me, it’s like he knows me.

“What are you doing with this little slut?” the man drawls, his Southern accent heavy. He takes a step into the room, and I hear chair legs scrape against the floor.

I think Van is standing, too.

Cortland doesn’t drop my hand. He has it pressed against his heart again as he turns to face the man.

I feel trapped, seeing the guy’s eyes on me. He’s big, with a round belly and meaty hands, curled into fists at his side. He’s wearing a golf shirt that stretches over his frame, and his beady blue eyes are on Cortland’s now.

“After what you did to my son last night, your ass is lucky I haven’t pressed charges against you and her.”

Cortland kisses my hand again, but his eyes stay on the man.

Who must be Chase’s dad.

I never saw him on the news. Now, as he keeps talking, I know why. Chase’s lawyer probably advised him to shut the hell up and keep quiet, because he’s not exactly the most eloquent man.

“You are a real piece of fucking work, kid,” he snarls as Cortland’s lips stay on the back of my hand while he holds Mr. McGowan’s gaze. “This little bitch tried to throw your ass in jail and you’re here at her bedside keepin’ a goddamn vigil.”

I shift my gaze from Cortland, to Van, who I can see now, back to Mr. McGowan.

It seems Mr. McGowan sees Van for the first time, and his eyes narrow further, his big cheeks turning red. He opens his mouth to speak, but Van beats him to it.

“Remi is my cousin, and if you keep talking about her, I’ll make sure it’s you who needs a motherfucking bed next.”

Silence rings out as Mr. McGowan sizes up Van. He decides to keep his mouth shut and looks to Cortland again, still holding my hand, his soft lips still on my skin.

I bite my lip, my stomach fluttering as I hold my breath.

“Got nothing to say? You beat my boy bloody over a piece of used ass,” he snarls, and Cortland’s grip on my hand tightens and Van clears his throat. “Since y’all all had turns with her, I’m not so sure what the goddamn appeal is anymore.”

“Did you not hear a fucking word I said?” Van snarls.

Mr. McGowan takes a heaving breath, but he doesn’t answer my cousin.

I grind my teeth together, pressure building behind my eyes, but I’m not sad. I’m pissed. I want to say something. I want to do something. But I don’t know what. A man like this you can’t reason with.

It’s no wonder Chase is such a shit.

“My wife is gettin’ eat up by cancer and now I have to tell her my boy is in the hospital because of you.” He steps closer, and my eyes widen, hearing about Chase’s mom.

Cortland says nothing.

Mr. McGowan steps closer.

“You always were a spoiled little shit,” he continues. “Your mom is a cunt and your dad is a pussy, and I heard your brother tried to kill himself, too. But just like you, I guess he doesn’t have any fucking balls.”

I tighten my fingers around Cortland’s hand, his lips still pressed to the back of it.

I glance at Van, and find he’s staring at Cortland, an incredulous expression on his face. His biceps are flexed beneath his shirt, and Cortland just keeps staring at Mr. McGowan.

He steps closer.

He’s at the foot of my bed now, and he reaches a hand to my feet, beneath the sheets, a snarl on his lips.

But before he can touch me, Cortland drops my hand.

He slams Chase’s dad against the wall, away from me, his fingers wound tight in the man’s shirt. Mr. McGowan’s head bounces off the wall, then Cortland shoves his forearm against his throat, cutting off whatever bullshit he was about to spew next.

“You don’t fucking touch her,” he says, his voice low, but we can all hear him. “You don’t fucking touch her.”

I see his broad shoulders, his muscles flexed beneath his sweater. I sit up a little straighter, and I can see Mr. McGowan’s face turning red beneath Cortland’s forearm.

He’s opening his mouth, gaping, but nothing comes out.

He has his hands on Cortland’s side, but if he’s trying to push him off, I can’t tell.

“Your wife,” Cortland says in that same low tone, “she’s on oxygen, huh?”

I glance at Van, and our eyes meet for a second. He arches a brow before we turn back to them.

Mr. McGowan shakes his head, lines wrinkling in his forehead as he frowns at Cortland, his mouth still opening and closing but no sound comes out.

Cortland laughs, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

He forces his forearm tighter against Mr. McGowan’s throat.

His mouth closes, and his face turns a dangerous shade of purple.

“You might wanna get home, then,” Cortland whispers, leaning down close to him.

I feel nervous with his words, and I don’t even know why.

“It’s a weird thing, Greg,” Cortland continues, slamming his palm over Greg’s face, twisting his head to the side, his arm still lodged against his throat. “But these fires keep breaking out around here.”

I see Greg’s fingers digging into Cortland’s sweater, and he’s trying to twist his head back around, panicking now, but Cortland doesn’t seem to break a sweat, holding him there.

“Be a goddamn shame if your wife went up in fucking flames.”

CHAPTER

SIXTY-FIVE

REMI

“Let me get this straight,” Sloane says as we stand around Cortland’s truck. His arm is around me, and I’m leaning against the passenger door. I had three stitches in my ribs, which isn’t too bad considering, but the questions from the doctor were the worst.

I told him I didn’t remember what happened because Chase McGowan was a few rooms down from me, and he wasn’t speaking either about his injuries. Of which I’m told there were many.

We both kept our silence. Him, because he’s a coward, and me, because unlike all the other times I hurt myself, this time it wasn’t from hate.

Just like I jumped from the truck and leapt over the hood, it was because despite how I should or shouldn’t feel, I’m in love with the boy at my side.

“You set Chase McGowan’s house on fire, while his mom, sick with cancer and on oxygen, was inside it?”

Van has his arms folded over his chest, his chin dipped down as he stares at Cortland, and Sloane shifts her gaze from me, to Cort, her face pale with those words. She ran in after Greg McGowan stumbled out.

She threw her arms around me, took in the tense atmosphere between Van and Cortland, and they both walked out a second.

I don’t know what they said, but nothing seems to have changed between them except unlike last night, Van isn’t trying to rip me away from Cort, at my side.

Cortland squeezes me tighter. “No,” he says. “I didn’t set his house on fire.”

A smile pulls at my lips as I stare up at him and find him looking down at me, his eyes gleaming. “I would never do something like that.”

Sloane scoffs. “Okay, then I need some clarification because when Remi went over your exchange, it seems that’s what⁠—”

“I know you don’t like me very much Sloane,” Cortland continues, turning his gaze to my best friend.

She doesn’t disagree with him, her arms folded over her chest as she arches a brow, her blonde hair piled high on her head.

“And believe me, not a day goes by that I don’t think about what I did.”

I chew the inside of my cheek, leaning further into Cort, inhaling his cedar scent.

“I’ve tried my best to make up for it.”

Van shakes his head, but he doesn’t say anything.

“But I’m not the only one who needed to pay.”

Heat rolls through my body even in the cold November air.

Cortland brings me closer to him, then he presses a kiss to my head.

“Chase got his payment in last night,” he says, still holding Sloane’s gaze. “But Brinklin and Storm... they did their atonement this morning.”

Sloane’s face drains of color all over again.

“When they set that fucking house on fire.”

Van drops his hands by his sides, dipping his chin, his brows hitting his hairline.

“Chase’s mom is fine,” Cort assures them, although it doesn’t sound like an assurance so much as a resignation. “But the message was sent.” Cortland pulls me in front of him, so my back is against his chest as he wraps both arms around me, holding me close. “No one fucks with my girl. Not anymore.”

CHAPTER

SIXTY-SIX

CORTLAND

“He talk to the cops?” I ask Storm as me and Remi come into the house, her tucked against my side.

His eyes go to Remi, giving her a onceover like he’s inspecting her for damages, before they come back to me.

We finally figured out why the hell Chase had been missing so much school. His mom’s cancer was something it seemed the family wanted to keep quiet. A weakness, just like his charges. But all small towns talk, and all we had to do was listen.

The past three weeks, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.

“No,” Storm answers me, shifting his gaze to mine. “Told ‘em it was a kitchen fire.” He shrugs, a smirk on his lips. “And it was.”

I nod once, glancing at the stairs, eager to get Remi up there. We have some things to discuss.

Storm clears his throat. “Brinklin is in the guest room. He’s staying the weekend.” He looks at Remi a second, then back to me. “Fall break.”

“All right,” I say slowly, thinking of the shit I need to talk to Remi about.

Storm’s light blue gaze comes to her again, and I feel her stiffen at my side. “Glad you’re okay, little wolf,” he says, then he turns his back on us and heads to the kitchen.

When we get upstairs, walking past Brinklin’s closed door to the guest room, I lock my own door as Remi steps into my room, glancing around before she sits on the bed, her arms wrapped tight around her.

I fold my arms and lean back against my door, watching her. She’s in black EU pants and a matching hoodie. It was the only shit they sold at the hospital gift store, and the nurses had cut her clothes off of her because she’d been too fucked up to cooperate last night when they needed to give her stitches.

“What the fuck have you been doing, Rems?” I ask her quietly, and watch her eyes flash to mine, indignant. “Going to parties? Getting all fucked up?” I glance at her arms, covered by the hoodie. “I mean, the only good thing you’ve done is keep those knives away from your wrists.”

Her entire posture changes. She’s rigid, and her chest heaves with anger. Yeah. She thought I didn’t know about the bullshit she’s been up to.

“You left me,” she snarls. “What the fuck did you think I’d do, Cort?”

I shake my head, thinking of Chase’s hands in her hair last night. On her thigh. My blood boils all over again.

“Wait for me, that’s what I thought you’d fucking do.”

She stands, but I can tell she feels a little dizzy as she stumbles back, plopping back on the bed. Despite her fluids from the hospital last night, she must not be feeling quite like herself yet.

I bite back my smirk, but just barely.

“You told me this wouldn’t work.”

I nod. “Yeah, do you know why?”

“Well I do now.” Her fingers are still clenched tight around her phone, and she narrows her eyes. “But if you’d told me Chase’s dad had shot at you, I⁠—”

“You’d be pissed off, and stick around, and I didn’t want you to fucking get hurt, baby.”

She blinks, some of the anger clearing from her expression.

“He shot a gun at my head,” I continue, thinking about how good it felt to shove my forearm against his fucking throat. “Chase set fire to your dorm. I couldn’t let any of that shit happen anymore.” I rake my hand through my hair, knocking my head back against the door. “Do you have any fucking idea how much I missed you?”

She makes an exasperated sound. “You left me.”

“I know,” I tell her, closing my eyes.

“And you didn’t return my calls or my texts.”

I dip my chin, opening my eyes as I stare at the vulnerability in hers. “I know, baby. I’m sorry.” I come closer to her, standing between her thighs, just like I was that first night I took her here to my house.

But this time, she’s not drunk, and I’m not taking advantage of her.

I don’t want to do that anymore.

Ever again.

But I hold her face in my hands, just like I did that night. “I knew you could handle it, though. With Sloane and Van,” I can’t quite keep the bite out of my words when I say his name. “I knew you’d be okay.” I bend down close, pressing my temple to hers. “It hurt, watching you hurt, you know?”

Her eyes flutter closed as my chest tightens.

“Not just on my porch. But... that night.”

I sink to my knees, running my palms up her thighs. She keeps her head bowed and her eyes closed.

“I meant what I said. I’m sorry for everything I did.”

I see her nostrils flare as she breathes in, and out.

“But I want to make this work. I don’t give a fuck anymore, about who finds out what. Chase and his dad aren’t gonna fuck with us anymore. My dad is moving to West Virginia with Tristan, and Mom is backing off, and I want you to meet them and I just... I just want you, Remi. No matter what it takes.”

CHAPTER

SIXTY-SEVEN

CORTLAND

Tristan’s stitches are angry and red, his skin pulled together in lumps.

“He hit deep,” the doctor says while my little brother sleeps.

I have my arms crossed, and Mom still isn’t here. Dad is inside the room, his head bowed. I see him through the glass.

“This wasn’t just a cry for attention,” the doctor continues as I stare at my brother’s pale face. “Whatever he says, I think he wanted to die.”

I see the wound in my head, his palm upturned.

Vertical.

My stomach lurches. “What do we do?”

The doctor sighs. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then he does. “You just have to be there.”

I wake up in a cold sweat, sitting up in the dark as my heart races. I fling my arms out, feeling along my mattress, but she’s not here.

My heart skips a beat as I call her name. “Remi?”

Nothing.

Silence. I can still taste her on my tongue, and when I take a deep breath, blinking my eyes in the darkness of my room, I can still smell her, too. But she’s not here.

My throat is dry as I flip the covers back and swing my legs off the bed, my bare feet hitting the floor.

I’m here, baby. Where are you?

She fell asleep with me last night, and if it’s up to me, she’d fucking move in with me. But I know that might be pushing it.

Still. She was in my bed last night, and as I glance at the clock on the nightstand, I see it’s almost three in the morning. Where the hell are you?

I flip on my light and dart my eyes around the room.

She’s not here.

The hoodie she was wearing from the hospital is gone from the back of my chair, too.

My muscles feel tight, and I turn to my bedroom door. It’s unlocked, and I know she locked it last night. A nervous habit, she said.

I twist the knob, pulling open the door.

A narrow slice of light spills down the hallway.

Storm’s door is closed, and for one second, I imagine her in there with him.

My stomach twists into knots and I think I might puke. What we did in the living room, after that camping trip… We are never doing that shit again. I mean, I don’t even watch porn anymore. At all. Ever. So she can’t get Storm’s dick ever again in her life.

But she wouldn’t do that.

She just wouldn’t.

I take a step out into the hallway.

Then I hear a voice.

Straining my ears, I peer over the railing, but from this angle, I can’t see anything.

I hear them talking, though.

Brinklin and Remi.

I take a deep breath in, my hands clenched into fists at my side. I will fuck him up too if he’s touching her.

I step toward the staircase, but then I hear his words.

“For what it’s worth,” he laughs, but he sounds uncomfortable. My temper flares, because it’s three in the fucking morning and I have no idea why she’s downstairs with him, or why he’s fucking talking to her, but still. He helped set that fire.

So I wait.

“I’m sorry, Remi.” He clears his throat. “I never meant to hurt you.”

My skin crawls with his words and I feel itchy, but I force myself to stay right where I am, letting her get this.

I don’t want him talking to her about it.

I don’t want him thinking about it, and definitely not next to her.

But I wait, all the same. Because she deserves all of our apologies. I highly doubt she’d ever get that from Storm, and we had to beat it out of Chase, but she deserves it all the same.

“It’s okay,” she finally says, and I close my eyes tight in the dark, resisting the urge to dig my nails into my skin. Because I don’t want her to hurt like that. Not anymore. And if I don’t want it from her, I can’t do it either. But still, I cheat a little, my nails digging into my palms.

It’s not okay, baby.

Nothing that happened that night was okay.

And that’s exactly what Brinklin says. “No.” He pauses. “It wasn’t. Seriously, Remi. I’m… I’m sorry.”

Silence rings out between them, my blood pounding in my ears. I wish I could see her. I hope he isn’t touching her, but I want to comfort her myself. I know she probably needs it.

Then she just says, her voice breaking a little with the words, “Thank you.”

CHAPTER

SIXTY-EIGHT

REMI

It’s my first time seeing Sloane since it all went down, at a little table beneath a copse of trees in the cemetery.

I’ve been going to class, but I’ve stayed at Cortland’s. She’s been at Asa’s, and I finally met him a few minutes ago before he had to duck inside for class.

He’s nice. Kind of quiet and brooding. But polite all the same.

“Nice boys can do bad things.” Van’s words in my head, but I push them aside. It’s true. All boys—people—can do bad things.

We’ve all got it inside of us. Good, bad. The pendulum usually stops swinging somewhere in between. And sometimes, it gets all fucking scrambled and no one really knows which is what anymore.

That’s when we have to figure it out for ourselves. Decide what we can live with, and what we can’t.

Sloane pulls from her straw, furrowing her brow as she looks down at the table. But finally, as if she’s come to some sort of conclusion, she nods. Her eyes travel from my three-quarter length sleeves, to my hair in braids, then she meets my gaze.

“I’ll accept it,” she says with a small smile and I laugh, shaking my head. “Under one condition.”

I arch a brow. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

Her smile falters, and she leans in close to me, setting down her cup, her fingers flexing around the plastic. “You tell me, if it ever gets too much.” Her eyes dart to my arms. I haven’t wanted to cut myself since that night before she walked into the dorm. Just over a month ago. “If he ever pushes too far…” She holds my gaze. “You tell me. Healing isn’t linear, and sometimes you might need space.”

I nod, feeling my throat grow raw as she reaches a hand out to hold mine, squeezing me with cold fingers.

“I’ll be here when you do. When you don’t. You’re my best friend, Remi, and he’s not gonna change that.”

I grip her hand tighter, swallowing down the lump in my throat as I stare at my best friend. There from the beginning. When I went to her house after she got back from the coast, and she cried with me while I told her what happened.

She was there when the charges were dismissed, with open arms.

There in my dorm when I woke up from my nightmares.

And she’s here now, when my nightmare somehow morphed into my wildest dreams.

“Thank you, Slo,” I say quietly, squeezing her hand a little tighter. “I love you.”

“I love you too, pretty baby,” she mocks Cortland’s nickname, and I crack up, pulling my hand from hers and blushing hard.

That’s what best friends are for. Make you cry, then laugh, a bruise and a bandaid all in one.

Just like Cortland.

CHAPTER

SIXTY-NINE

REMI

Van

Meet me for lunch.

I can’t.

I adjust the strap of my bag over my shoulder, hurrying off toward my dorm. I forgot my paper in there, and it’s due in twenty minutes, before our break for Thanksgiving. Cortland’s brother and his dad are coming tomorrow for the game, and I’m nervous as hell about being properly introduced to them.

I haven’t been to a single game yet, so I’ll probably be able to stall for time, but it’s still nerve-wracking.

Van

You suck.

I roll my eyes, typing with one hand as I speed walk across campus, the November chill biting through my West River hoodie. Borrowed from Cort when I slipped out of his bed this morning. I’ve been spending more nights with him than I have at the dorm, which is why I got the location of my paper all fucked up.

Dick.

Van

God you’re dirty now, cuz.

My phone is yanked from my hand before I can respond, my laughter turning into anger as I whip my head around, only to see Cortland Adler scowling down at my screen.

I reach for my phone, but he holds it over my head, out of my grasp.

“Why the fuck is he talking to you like that? And you don’t suck dick Remi.” He narrows his gray eyes at me. “You suck my dick.”

He starts typing on my phone, still holding it over my head with both hands, his charcoal sweater clinging to his defined torso as he does.

For a moment, I’m distracted by his body.

Then I realize he’s trying to ruin my friendship and I jump in the air, grabbing at my phone. “Cort, I’m late!” I jump again as Cortland keeps frowning at my phone, still typing. “I have a paper due and⁠—”

“I know,” he says absentmindedly. “It’s on your desk.”

I stop trying to grab my phone as I stare at him, confused. “How the hell do you know that?”

He must finish typing because he lowers his arms, then presses my phone into my hand, arching a brow as he adjusts the straps on his backpack.

“Because Sloane let me in.”

I’m staring at the message he typed but before I can take it in, my pulse picks up speed and I stare up at him, annoyed. “You were in my dorm with Sloane? Without me?”

He smiles, a dimple flashing in his handsome face. “Yeah, doesn’t feel so good, huh? Flirting with your friends?”

I clench my phone in my fist, my stomach flipping as I smack the back of my hand over his chest. He catches it, and pulls it to his lips, running his piercing over my skin before he kisses me with an open mouth over the back of my hand.

Then he threads his fingers through mine and drops our entwined hands between us.

“Come on,” he says. “You know I only wanna fuck you. Let’s go get your paper, pretty baby.” Then he jerks me forward, toward the road to cross over to my dorm.

Exasperated, I glance down at the message he sent Van, from me.

I only ever want to suck Cortland Adler’s dick. For the rest of my life. Fuck off.

That anger grows under my skin, but I can’t help but laugh, too.

“I’ll be right there,” Cort says as he kisses the top of my head once we reach my dorm room. Then he turns from me and pulls his phone from his pocket, so I assume he has a call.

Grumbling under my breath, I unlock my door and let myself in. The scent of strawberries greets me, even though Sloane is in class. Smiling to myself, I turn to my bed.

And stop as the door closes behind me.

My paper, several dozen pages long, is stacked on my bed, in the middle of a stack of horror novels and DVDs, fanned out like a heart on my bed.

I take an uncertain step toward it, seeing a bag of Reese’s in the center, just behind my paper.

I didn’t write about four boys and one girl who came together for one night of horror in the woods. That wasn’t my pivotal moment.

I wrote about my friends. The moments I realized just how loved I was. The last time I wanted to cut myself, when Sloane walked in. When Van tried to drag me away from someone he thought would hurt me.

When Cortland left me on that porch, crying and alone, to keep me safe.

I wrapped all those moments up into my paper, and I didn’t mention Storm, or Brinklin, or Chase. Didn’t mention Silas, either, or even my mom.

Just those three. The three who love me most in the world.

A smile curves my lips as I reach for my paper, only to have annoyance obliterate all good feelings as I see Cortland has taken one of my orange glimmer pens and crossed out the first line of my paper

Love feels like dying. My words.

But the last word is scribbled out, and sloppy cursive takes its place, then a line is squeezed in underneath it. Living.

Love feels like living, pretty baby.

CHAPTER

SEVENTY

CORTLAND

Maya stops walking, staring up at me as the color drains from her face.

I slide my phone into my pocket. The one she keeps blowing up. And I step toward her, crowding her against the brick wall outside of Remi’s dorm, at the bottom of the stairwell.

She’s going to have to use that printer in her room to reprint what I ruined, so it might take her a minute to come out yelling at me.

Maya happened to be walking by, she said when she spotted me out here. Yeah, bitch, I bet you were.

She chews her bottom lip, staring up at me with big blue eyes.

I think about how she tried to blackmail me at Grim.

The messages she’s been sending me, begging me to take her back. Telling me she never had any photos, which I figured as much since she’s done nothing with them. Warning me that Chase is unhinged, and freaking her out, and his mom is going to die.

As if any of that is my fucking problem.

I think about her dropping Remi as she rakes her eyes over my body now, arching a brow, like she’s trying to tease me or some shit.

But most of all, I think about the dorm fire Chase all but admitted he started.

I run my tongue over my lip ring as I stare at her, and say, “Sorry it’s taken so long to get back to you, Maya, but I’ve been a little busy.”

She glances at the dorm building at my back, narrowing her eyes. “Yeah,” she says, “with that bitch.”

I smile at that, tilting my head as I look over her tight sweater and high-waisted jeans. She has her hands by her sides, and I notice she presses her palms to the wall, arching her a back a little so her tits are closer to me.

“Yeah, that bitch,” I say softly, repeating her words as my eyes find hers again.

She shakes her head. “I don’t get it, Cort, but I know you’ll get tired of her eventually. I know you feel bad and⁠—”

“You don’t know shit about what I feel, Maya,” I interrupt her, keeping my voice pleasant.

She furrows her brows, standing up a little straighter. Starting to look uncomfortable for the first time. But I don’t move my hands, planted on either side of her head.

“But there are some things I don’t know about you, either,” I tell her quietly, stepping even closer.

She presses back against the wall, biting her lip. “Like what?” she asks, her voice soft. Her hair is cut to her shoulders now, and Mom informed me she had to block her number because she wouldn’t stop blowing up her phone.

Saying something that my mom felt the need to tell me that. Considering she’s a cunt, too.

I run my tongue over my lip ring and watch as Maya’s eyes track the movement. “I don’t know,” I tell her, leaning down close, my face inches from hers. “Something that’s really been bothering me lately.”

I look down between us as she shakes her head. “Well what is it, Cort?” she asks. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

I smile at that, flicking my gaze back up to hers. “I like that about you, Maya. Always so willing to run your goddamn mouth.”

She flinches, as if I touched her.

“But what I want to know is how the fuck Chase McGowan knew which dorm was Remi’s?” I glance at the building at her back as her face goes pale.

She lives in an apartment within walking distance. But the only way she’d know where Remi lived before that fire is if she’d followed her. Because I know Remi. And I know she wouldn’t tell just anyone where she lived. I know Maya knows where that is. Because she’s the one who told me.

And I see it.

The lie she’s trying to form. The way she blinks, furrowing her brow.

I step closer to Maya, until my chest is nearly brushing hers. “Answer the question, Maya,” I say softly. “How did Chase know?”

Maya shakes her head. “I don’t⁠—”

“He asked me for permission, you know,” I interrupt her bullshit. I swallow, trying to breathe evenly. Like Dr. Ravi taught me. “He asked me for permission for you to suck his fucking dick.”

Maya’s cheeks turn red as I stare at her.

“You tell him where she lived when you were fucking him?” I demand. 

She shakes her head and opens her mouth.

“And how did you know, huh, Maya?”

I can feel my blood pressure rise as I stare at her, waiting for the truth.

Seconds pass.

Maya says nothing.

A few students walk past us, eyeing us curiously, but I don’t move.

I lower my voice as I ask her again. “How did you know where Remi’s dorm was, and how. The fuck. Did Chase. Fucking. McGowan. Know?” 

Maya is shaking now between my hands planted on either side of her, and I’m glad.

It feels good to watch her go through what Remi went through. I know that makes me fucked in the head, but for Remi, I was always that.

“I didn’t know what he was gonna do, Cortland,” she whispers, her words coming out in a rush as she crosses her arms over her chest.

I want to fucking kill her.

Just like I wanted to kill Chase in that bathroom.

Looks like all the wolves at West River High might die.

“I didn’t know he was going to burn it down and I-I just… I saw her walk there… with S-Sloane. I wasn’t watching her, I just⁠—”

I slam my hands against the brick beside her head and watch her flinch. “You come near her again, you even fucking think about her again, Maya…” I lean in close enough that she can feel my breath on her face. “I’ll fucking bury you.”

CHAPTER

SEVENTY-ONE

REMI

“You ruined my paper,” I tell him as I meet him at the bottom of the stairwell, my freshly printed paper in hand, still warm from Sloane’s printer. I had to run to the bathroom while I was up there, and I taste the mouthwash on my tongue now as I stare at him.

He smiles at me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and drawing me close. “I made it better, baby, don’t lie.”

We start to walk along the brick pathway to the pedestrian crossing. I’m already going to be late to class, but at least I’ve got my paper written.

And this time, at least it’s fucking done right.

I shove it against his chest and he instinctively claps one hand over it, catching the pages as we cross the street. He pulls it back, glancing at it when we get to the other side, and I see the slow smile curve his lips as he reads the new version.

Love feels like living.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a sickeningly familiar whirl of dark hair. When I turn my head, Cort still reading my paper, Maya is white as a ghost a few feet from me. Her eyes look red, like she’s been crying.

She meets my gaze and triumph flares in my chest. She hasn’t bothered me, she hasn’t bothered him that I know of, and right now, she scurries off as I smile at her and flash my tongue, showing off my piercing.

Yeah. Spite feels like living too, bitch.

Now if only we could get Dr. Ravi to come around so easily to us being together, but one thing at a time, I guess.

CHAPTER

SEVENTY-TWO

REMI

The stadium is packed.

I have to sit at the top of the bleachers, and it’s fucking freezing out here. I glance down at the orange painted end zone, TIGERS written in white letters.

I’m shivering, and my eyes catch sight of the cheerleaders in their black and orange uniforms with their matching pom poms.

I’m not envious of their plastered-on smiles and the streamers in their hair.

I wonder if he’ll see me, because the game is ending, and the Ely Tigers are up 31 to 17. Now, they’re just running down the clock.

I glance once more at the cheerleaders, and I don’t see Maya among them, but then again, I’m kind of far away.

I try not to think about it, a flutter in my stomach when I do.

Oh, well. She’ll stay away now.

Van and Sloane offered to come with me, but I thought Cortland might appreciate it if I came by myself. I told him I would help with dinner for tonight, and I could see it in his eyes. He wanted to ask me here.

But he knows how I feel about football.

And even now, nerves roll through me and I’m not so sure this was a good idea. Especially as I spot his dad and Tristan in the front row, easily recognizable by the jerseys they’re wearing even in the cold, Adler printed on the back.

But I run my fingers over my scars and take a breath. We only get one fucking life. Bad ideas, good ideas… what’s it matter when you can only do things once?

The timer runs down and the cheerleaders and coaches and fans rush the field, and I push all of that from my mind.

I stand, beaming down at the action, watching number four take off his helmet and rake his hand through his thick, brown hair. He’s engulfed by his teammates and his coach, but he looks up, his eyes darting around the bleachers.

My heart skips a beat.

And his eyes find mine.

For a moment, it’s like he’s frozen, getting jostled around by the crowd.

But then… then he’s running.

I don’t get to say a word as I meet him halfway down the bleacher stairs. He wraps me up in his arms, his lips coming to mine. He’s damp with sweat and I feel dizzy as he spins me, my hands coming to his shoulder pads as I laugh against his mouth, literally swept off of my feet.

For a second, I’m nervous, terrified that when I tell him what I have to tell him, he won’t react like this.

But for now, he’s kissing me so fucking hard I can’t breathe, then he’s biting my piercing and my legs are wrapped around his waist, his hands under my ass. It feels strange without any metal in his own mouth, a clear retainer through the hole instead.

I hear people cheering down below, chanting his last name.

Adler. Adler. Adler.

And for the first time, I contemplate it. What it would look like.

Remi Adler.

“Baby,” I finally say, pulling away, trying to breathe. His gray eyes are on mine, lit up with joy.

I did that.

“Baby, I have to tell you something⁠—”

“God, you’re so mine,” he says as I lean down close, my temple on his. “You came. You’re fucking mine.” As if my appearance here makes me more his than sleeping most of the past month in his bed.

“I need to tell you something,” I manage to gasp out again before he’s kissing me all over and I’m letting him pull me under with it, letting myself dive headfirst into his love. 

He pulls back, panting. “What is it? Spit it out, Remi.”

Before I can, he grabs my ass, hard, and I yelp, my face flushing as I realize his dad and his little brother are probably watching us right now. “I⁠—”

But he moves his hand from my ass and pulls something between us, cutting off my words.

My heart nearly stops as he holds up the pregnancy test.

He glances at the two pink lines.

“I fucking knew it. I fucking knew it.”

Before he can attack me again, I’m talking fast, knowing his hands will be all over me soon. “There are conditions to this baby,” I sputter, grabbing his wrists as he beams down at me.

He cocks a brow. “Conditions?”

“Yeah, I still want to finish school and⁠—”

He kisses me again, wrapping his arms tight around me, hands back on my ass as he lifts me in the air again. “I know.”

“And I wanna be a writer and they don’t make shit for money and⁠—”

“Let me take care of you,” he breathes, his lips over mine. “I don’t give a fuck about anything you’re saying right now. I’ve got money. I’ll get more. Let me take care of you.”

My mouth drops open, my mind spinning.

Then he’s kissing me again, stealing my words.

“Let me take care of you and let me take care of our baby.”

CHAPTER

SEVENTY-THREE

REMI

“I knew it,” he’s saying against my skin.

His hands are all over my body.

His clothes are in a heap on his bedroom floor, and he’s tugging up my shirt, yanking it over my head.

Standing between my thighs, he drops my shirt to the floor, cupping my breasts and running his thumb over my nipples.

His mouth comes to mine and I moan against his lips.

Still sweaty from his game, I can smell his natural scent and it drives me fucking insane. I rake my nails down his sides and he groans, pulling back to press his temple to mine.

“How did you know?” I ask him, my voice hoarse.

He pulls my bottom lip between his teeth, running his hands up to my shoulders and kneading me. “Your ass was getting bigger,” he says between kisses and I laugh.

“It’s early, that’s not possible⁠—”

“I know my girl,” he cuts me off. “And I always knew I was gonna fucking knock you up.” He cups my face in his hands, tilting my head to kiss me deeper, his tongue flicking over mine.

He tastes so good and he feels even better as he rakes his fingers through my hair, the sensation causing goosebumps to travel down my arms.

“Aren’t you scared?” I whisper as he shoves me back onto his bed, his fingers going to the waistband of my jeans. He flicks open the button and tugs them down my hips. I arch my back, letting him. The denim hits the floor and he’s leaning down, pulling off my underwear with his teeth.

I gasp, moving my hips again until the cotton hits my ankles, then the floor.

He’s crawling over me, his palms on either side of my head as he stares down at me.

“Why would I be, baby?” he asks, dipping his head, his mouth all over my neck.

I turn to the side, my hands going to his back, and I feel the hard flex of muscle beneath my skin.

“We’re young.” There’s a lump in my throat when I say the words. “We’ve got so many issues.”

He opens his mouth against my neck, sucking and pulling at me.

My chest is heaving as I wait for his answer. Something I might not want to hear.

I’d thought about ending it. Not even telling him. I didn’t want to complicate all the shit that’s already complicated.

But what he wrote was true.

Love feels like living, and I want to live it all with him.

He pulls back, dipping his head down to mine, staring into my eyes.

“Next month I’ll be a year older,” he says softly with a smile, his breath caressing my mouth. “And besides that, I don’t give a fuck. We’ve been through hell and back.”

My fingertips press into the hot skin of his back.

“And I am fucking in love with you.” He reaches for my arm and flips me over, so I’m on my stomach on the bed. My palms press into the soft sheets and his chest touches my back, his lips against my ear. “I’ve been in love with you since high school. And I hurt you that night, I fucked it all up, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it a second since then. Not one fucking second.” His hand smooths down my spine, and the little hairs all over my body stand on end.

“I know you got messed up.” I feel his breath against my skin and I let my eyes flutter closed. Let myself soak in his words. “I know I fucked with your head, and you think I ruined you and I let you down and I let people touch you who had no fucking business doing it. I didn’t look out for you. I didn’t protect you. I fed you to the fucking wolves and I didn’t have your back when I did it. I’m sorry, Remi.” His voice breaks. “You have no idea how fucking sorry I am.” 

I swallow down my own emotions, blinking back my tears as his hand comes to my ass, squeezing my flesh.

“I know,” I tell him softly. “I know you’re sorry.”

I shift up a little, onto my knees, and his cock comes to my entrance, my entire body trembling and ready for him.

“Forgive me, Remi. Forgive me. Let’s spend our whole lives forgiving each other everything. If you cry about that night, if you hate me for it, if you wake up shaking like I did, in a cold sweat with your mind racing and you hate yourself for it and you want to hurt yourself and you want to hurt me, let me be the one you turn to.”

He kisses my neck, pushing his cock into me. Stretching me.

“Let me spend my whole life making this up to you.”

I gasp as he fills me up, and he doesn’t stop until his hips hit my ass and he’s seated all the way in me. He nudges my neck to the side, licking a line down my throat.

“Let me take care of you. Our baby.”

My chest tightens.

“Let me be everything I wasn’t that night.”

I gasp as he fucks me, slowly, pulling out, pushing back in, kissing me with every stroke.

“You’re so fucking good and so fucking pure and you were never ruined, Remi.”

He tilts his head, so his lips come over mine as I open my eyes and stare up at him over my shoulder.

“I was.”

He kisses me as he pushes in deeper, my body tense beneath him.

“But you… you made everything better. You always made everything so much fucking better. Now let me do the same for you. Let me save your life this time.” He kisses my shoulder. “Let me save your life, pretty baby.”

CHAPTER

SEVENTY-FOUR

REMI

“Are you two coming or what?” Sloane gripes in my ear as Cortland opens the passenger door of his truck for me.

I hop down, glancing in the cab. I see a rope there, rolled up tight and I shake my head as he shuts his door.

“What’s that for?” I mouth to him, covering the speaker of my phone with my hand.

He shrugs, giving me a small smile before he tugs me into Thrifty’s. “Country boys have rope in their truck,” he says with a laugh.

I roll my eyes as the doors swing closed behind us, a little bell chiming in the store announcing our arrival. Then I smile up at him as he wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer.

“Yeah,” I tell Sloane in the phone, “we’re coming, just had to make a pitstop. Cort said there’s a carseat he wants here.”

Sloane sighs. “Put it on the baby registry, we’ll get it for you. Besides, Van is gonna eat all the food. He’s high.”

I laugh, shaking my head. A Friendsgiving dinner in the dorm sounded fun since I’m moving out at the end of the semester to live with Cortland, but now, well, it seems like it could be a disaster.

“Brinklin looks like someone shit in his turkey and Storm appears to be contemplating burning down the fucking dorm and we’ve already went through that once,” Sloane mutters in the phone. But I don’t miss the note of interest in her voice.

She dumped Asa.

Apparently, he was too close to his stepsister.

Nice boys do bad things.

I grin over at Cortland as he pulls me along to the rows of used books. And sometimes they make it up to you.

He drops my hand and plucks up a book with a haunted house on the cover.

My smile widens. I turn away from him, heading one aisle over, scanning the shelves.

“We’ll be there soon, I⁠—”

“Remi?” A cold voice interrupts me, and a chill slides down my spine.

“I have to go,” I whisper into the phone, whirling around as Cortland disappears further down the aisle I left him on, inspecting all the books on the shelves.

“Hurry up,” Sloane says, but I’m already ending the call.

Fear lights through me as I turn.

And my stepdad’s dark eyes hold mine.

I swallow, my mouth going dry.

He’s in a suit and tie, hands in his pockets, a faint smirk pulling at his lips as he stares at me.

“Why are you here?” I blurt out, glancing around the thrift store. He wouldn’t be caught fucking dead in a place like this. Not willingly.

His smile widens. “I finally sold the house you drove us out of.” He glances over his shoulder, at the row of windows lining the front door. “Saw you in here.” He shrugs. “Anyway, any of your belongings you left in the old house have transferred to the new owners.”

My stomach twists into knots.

I fist my hands at my sides. “I took all my shit out, but thanks for letting me know.” In my head, I feel his hands on me. His breath against my skin.

I see that glass shattering at his feet.

He steps closer.

I smell his cologne.

“You always were such a fucking brat,” he says, his voice low, but his tone is pleasant. Almost conversational. Like he just can’t wait to tear me down again. “You know, I heard Greg McGowan’s son was found hanging from the back of his closet.”

My eyes almost bug out of my head.

I think about the rope in the back of Cortland’s truck.

My stomach drops.

Silas steps closer. “I heard you were in the hospital recently.” Another step, and I can feel my pulse pounding in my temple. “It’s a shame it was Chase that died, and not⁠—”

Before he can finish his sentence, he’s yanked away from me, and I step backward.

Cortland has his fist cocked back, my stepdad’s tie wrapped around his other hand as he shoves him up against a row of books, some spilling onto the floor in a heap.

I try to breathe, my hand coming to my belly. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but before I can get the words out, Cortland has already launched his fist into Silas’s face.

I hear the crack of something that sounds like bone.

Blood spurts down Silas’s nose.

He lifts his hand to cover his mouth.

“You piece of fucking shit,” Cortland snarls.

I can’t speak. I just watch as Cortland’s fingers go to Silas’s tie, blood pouring over his mouth as he coughs, trying to sputter something between his fingers over his nose and mouth, but nothing comes out.

I don’t know what Cortland’s doing, and I see blood drip onto the white floor.

I glance over my shoulder, looking for anyone. Employees, customers. But no one is there.

Love feels like dying.

I look back at my stepdad, and think about the times he made me think I wanted to die.

That’s not love.

But Cortland, right now, wrapping Silas’s tie around his own throat and pulling hard… that is.

Cortland dips his head, glaring down at my stepdad as he coughs, fear in his dark eyes, his hands still over his face.

“You heard about Chase, huh?” Cortland growls.

Something sick like butterflies erupts in my stomach.

“You ever talk to my girl again,” Cortland pulls the tie tighter, and Silas’s fingers are scrambling at the material as he tries to breathe. “I’ll make sure you hang, too.”

EPILOGUE

REMI

“You ever miss her?” Cortland asks at my side, tipping back his beer.

It’s cold, December now, and I wrap the blanket draped over my shoulders tighter around me. I’ve got Cort’s West River High hoodie on underneath, and it fits well over my expanding belly.

“Yeah,” I tell him, knowing who he’s talking about.

I look up at the stars, then glance around the cemetery, my eyes raking over every tombstone.

Mom isn’t buried in this one, but I still feel close to her here all the same.

Cortland wraps an arm around my shoulder, tugging me toward him.

I inhale his cedar scent as he kisses the top of my head.

“You miss your mom?” I whisper in the dark.

For a second, he stiffens against me.

He’s video messaged his brother, Tristan, a lot. We’re going up to West Virginia for Christmas. Cortland says his brother is in a much better place, and his dad is, too.

We all are. Even Dr. Ravi has stopped trying to warn us away from each other. She can see in our sessions how much we’ve grown.

“No,” Cortland finally answers me, relaxing against my body again. “I miss what she might’ve been,” he adds quietly before he takes another pull of beer. “But I don’t miss who she is.”

I lean my head against his chest and feel both of his arms circle me, his beer bottle dangling from his fingers.

I kind of feel that way about Silas.

It would’ve been nice to have a stepdad that cared. If he could’ve filled that role appropriately, it might’ve saved me a lot of grief.

But then, maybe I wouldn’t be the girl Cortland is in love with.

And that’s the only person I want to be.

Absentmindedly, I run my hand up my arm, over my hoodie. The scars have faded easier there than the ones on my palm and in my side.

Regardless, I’m not sure I mind any of them.

It’s a reminder of all the shit I survived. All the shit we endured to be right here.

“We should go,” Cort says, kissing my cheek. “I’ve got work in the morning.”

My chest tightens as I think about it. He quit school. Started working full-time in construction. A job his uncle helped him get with some connections.

I’m still in school with plans to finish, despite, or maybe because of, the baby.

Storm offered to babysit.

The thought makes me laugh a little.

Maybe.

“Okay, baby,” I tell him, twisting under his arms to look up at his gray eyes in the night.

He smiles, that lip ring tugging up as he does. “God, I love when you look at me like that.”

My heart skips a beat. “Like what?” I ask quietly.

He leans down close to me, his nose to mine. “Like you don’t wanna be anywhere else in the world but here in my arms.”

He tilts his head and his lips find mine.

I don’t answer him with words.

The kiss tells him everything he needs to know.

This is exactly where I want to be.

“Don’t you dare fucking lift that.”

I roll my eyes, running my hands down my plaid shirt. His shirt. I dust them off on my jeans, straightening the box I’d been about to take from the bed of his truck. I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear, glaring at him as he grabs a box and walks backward, toward the door.

I see his muscles flex beneath his tight, black long-sleeved shirt.

West River Wolves, because of fucking course.

“You’re pissing me off,” I tell him. “I’m not a delicate flower.” 

He grins, glancing at my throat, fresh bruises along my collarbone. I convinced him we could still have rough sex. 

Thank God. He admitted he liked it always, but that he’d never want anything else with anyone but me ever again.

“I know,” he says, running his tongue over his lip ring.

“Just indulge him,” Storm says at my side, and I turn my head to meet his blue eyes as he pulls a box of my shit from the dorm to the edge of the truck. “He’s crazy about you, you know?”

I smile, my cheeks heating as I do, Storm giving me a rare smile of his own.

“I know,” I tell him.

“I’m taking a break!” I hear Sloane yell from inside the house.

“I’m getting high!” Van adds.

“Not in my fucking house, she’s pregnant,” Cort bites back.

Things are tense between them, to say the least. But they’ll make it work.

Storm and I both shake our heads as we look at each other. Five days ’til Christmas, and tomorrow we leave for West Virginia. Cortland thought that made today the best day for us to move my things from the dorm to his house.

Our house, I guess.

And Storm’s.

He glances at my stomach, then back up. “Uncle Storm kinda has a certain ring to it, huh?” he asks with a wink.

Then he hauls the box over one shoulder and starts walking to the front door.

I smile after him, both of my wolves disappearing into the house.

I pull my phone from my pocket. It’s almost noon and we’re all starving.

I promised Cort I’d cook, and I need to marinate the steaks and peel the potatoes.

I wipe the back of my hand over my brow, shove my phone back in my pocket and head to the house.

When I walk inside, looking around with fresh eyes and no fear, I don’t hear Cortland come up behind me, pulling me back into his arms, kissing my neck. His shirtsleeves are shoved up, and I see the muscles in his tanned skin.

I see the marks, too.

Nothing more than a few scars from his nails in his skin, but my chest tightens all the same.

All this time I was hurting, he was too.

“I love you, little wolf,” he says against my neck. “So fucking much, you know that?”

I smile, letting the past go as I settle back in his arms.

“I love you, too.”

“Maybe we could name him Wolf?”

“We don’t know it’s a him, and that’s a terrible name.”

Cortland snorts as Storm jogs down the stairs. “Tell that to this guy.”

Storm lifts his middle finger, then runs his hand over his black hair.

“Besides,” I say quietly, “my friend Lyza is reading a book about a guy named Wolf that she wants me to read next. He’s a fucking psychopath.”

Cortland spins me around, pinning me to the wall as he runs his mouth over mine and I moan, my blood heating.

“Yeah, baby?” He bites my bottom lip, pulling it between us before he lets go, his eyes gleaming, his hands planted on either side of my head. “Well so am I.”

“Not true,” I tell him, my hands coming to his sides. “You have so, so many feelings.”

He grins, angling his hips against my stomach, so I can feel his erection. “You’re right,” he whispers, leaning down close. He trails kisses down my throat, biting my skin. “And they’re all for you.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to everyone who waited for this one. And thank you especially to Ashlee, Abby, Taylor, Kandace, and Liza.

K.V. Rose is an author of dark romance. Born and raised in North Carolina, she now lives in Canada with her family.

instagram.com/kvrose_

authorkvrose.com

Spotify

Ecstasy

Ominous Book I

Ominous Book II

These Monstrous Ties

Pray for Scars

The Cruelest Chaos

Boy of Ruin

Like Grim Death: Part One

Unorthodox

Verglas

The Monster of Hotel No.7

Let Me

Break Me

Find all of her work at amazon.com/author/kvrose