Never Stop Falling - Ashley Drew

Title Page Copyright Dedication Prologue Six Years Ago One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Five Years Later

Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One Twenty-Two Twenty-Three Twenty-Four Twenty-Five Twenty-Six Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight Twenty-Nine Today Thirty Epilogue Acknowledgments About the Author

For Audrey

He said he couldn’t wait for me. His last words continue to echo in my thoughts, silencing the drone of the airplane’s engines. About a month has passed since, but his words are so deafening he might as well be sitting beside me with a bullhorn at my ear.

Though, I wouldn’t mind it, since he’d only be inches away instead of a few thousand miles, close enough so that my knee would fall against his. I’d lay my head along the broad plateau of his shoulder, and our elbows would playfully battle it out over the armrest between us. Eventually, I’d let him win. I glance at the empty seat to my left, and for a split second, I almost wish it was occupied. Perhaps then, I’d be too distracted by an airplane-etiquettedimwit sitting in Seat B, with his blatant disregard for personal space as his foot ventures into space clearly meant for Seat A—me. The vacant seat is only a reminder of the emptiness in my heart. So, Dimwit in Seat B, bring on the bad

manners because you’d actually be doing me a favor. “Can I offer you anything to drink, sweetheart?” the flight attendant asks as she reaches my row with the beverage cart, an extra amount of cheer exuding from her dimpled grin. This woman embodies the definition of Miss Susie Sunshine, with the right amount of bounce in her golden locks, her cheeks a rosy pink that perfectly contour her heart-shaped face, and her pearly whites nearly blinding me as a flash of sunlight pokes through the window and dances off of them. If this is what happiness smells like at nine in the morning, then I just got a big whiff of it because this woman reeks of cheer. Then again, I do

have to applaud her. Not many people have as much cheer in their entire body as she does in her right pinky. I eye the selection before telling her, “I’ll take the strongest thing you’ve got on that cart of yours. Whatever says: ‘I’m moving across the country for a guy who probably doesn’t want me anymore because I pretty much threw his declaration of love in his face, but hey, a girl can try, right?’ Whatever says that, I’ll take it.” The flight attendant grins and winks at me. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” “Corinne.” “Corinne, I’ve got just the thing for you.” She scans through her beverage

selection and pulls out two little bottles of vodka with one hand, and a canned tomato juice and cup of ice with the other. I guess she’s done this countless times before. For this exact reason, maybe not, but surely she’s heard and seen it all. I reach for my purse wedged beneath the seat in front of me, but she simply shakes her head as she hands me the drinks. “Good luck, Corinne.” I return her generosity with an appreciative smile. She leaves as I pull down the seatback tray and place the vodka, tomato juice, and cup on top of it. I ought to stick to one bottle because the last time I had hard liquor, I paid dearly for it. One

drink at thirty-thousand feet equals two, so I’ve heard, and if by some miracle, he is waiting for me when I disembark, well, I want to be coherent, not letting my mouth run off and calling redheads who I don’t know fire-crotch. I still can’t believe I said that. I want to feel every single way he affects me. The way my heart leaps out of my chest and makes a dash for him the moment his eyes meet mine. The way my insides flutter when his mouth curls into that irresistible smile of his. The way every bone in my body seems to liquefy the second he pulls me against him. His scent, his touch, the burn of his gaze, the warmth of his lips—all manifesting into one heavenly addiction, and the sight of

him intoxicating me. At least in my head, that’s how it plays out. Still, there is that little thing called reason, lingering in the back of my mind, never failing to bring me back to reality. I’m not even sure he read my e-mail. And if he did, perhaps he was too far gone to care. Perhaps he meant what he said when I walked away. He couldn’t wait. I lean back against the headrest and gaze through the window. The blue sky stretches far beyond the horizon, greeting the morning sun in the distance with hardly a cloud in sight. The earth looks like nothing more than a computer motherboard from thirty-thousand feet as it slowly moves beneath us. Picking up

one of the bottles and twisting the cap to open it, I pour the contents into my cup. “Cabin crew, call the flight deck,” the captain’s voice suddenly commands over the loudspeaker. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something about the captain’s voice that rings concern. The announcement is soon followed by the vibration of heavy footsteps rushing by, and I see the cheery woman striding up the aisle toward the male flight attendant who is speaking on the phone near the front of the plane. Only, she doesn’t look so cheery anymore. Instead, every thud and thump against the floor sounds distressed, as if the tension in her furrowed brow is

weighing her down. The male flight attendant hangs up the phone as quickly as he picked it up, simply nodding his head as soon as the female reaches him. They speak, and something tells me this conversation has nothing to do with beverages or peanuts. You don’t gasp over peanuts. And she gasps. The female stills before turning toward the back of the plane, her eyes scanning over the occupied seats. I would never guess her to be the same cheery person from earlier. Her cheeks are drained of color. Her dimpled smile is now a frown. Her forehead glistens with sweat. This look, I know it. She’s trying to

hide it, but I see it. It screams fear. Pure, tangible fear. And then everything begins to unravel. The two flight attendants part, the female walking hastily down the aisle past me, her mouth forced into a smile. The plane makes a sharp, sudden turn, knocking the bottles and can to the floor. I’m too startled to check if the leftover tomato juice has spilled. A loud ding, and the voice of the captain rings through the cabin once again—cool and strangely calm—telling us to remain in our seats. Telling us to keep on our safety belts. That he has to land the plane immediately. And not to worry.

It’s only when I tighten my seat belt that I notice the big, damp spot soaking through my jeans, and the ice cubes lying in my lap; the plastic cup—crushed in my hand—is now empty. The plane begins to descend quickly, and I toss the empty cup aside and firmly grasp both armrests at the sudden, jerky movements. The voice of a male passenger echoes from where he sits a few rows ahead. With the in-flight phone pressed to his ear, he sounds concerned, but I can only make out the word emergency due to the growing chatter all around. The commotion only seems to intensify when his voice grows louder. As whispers of chaos circulate

through the cabin, passengers grow frantic, holding onto their seat belts with white knuckles. Many are trying to remain still—eyes closed, faces frozen as if sitting for a macabre portrait. Someone behind me begins to cry. Fear rolls over each row of the plane until it finally swallows me. I gasp. My ears shut out all the panic around me so that I hear nothing else. And then my gasp is silenced by my heavy breaths. And my breathing is silenced by my pounding heart. And then everything falls silent. Except for his words. They echo in my head, the last words I might’ve heard him say.

“All right, people. Vegas or tattoos?” I ask, propping myself on my elbows while I lie beside Tess on the sandy shores below the boardwalk. The sun blazes down on us, the ivory color of our skin fading away as it soaks up the glow of summer. I adjust my polkadotted bikini top and wipe away the

sweat pooling between the fabric and my skin. “What’s it going to be?” Nick stands at the edge of the Santa Cruz shore, snapping photos of the Pacific. His bare feet leave imprints on the wet sand as the water ripples over them. Ever since his parents gave him the Nikon for his birthday, he hasn’t put it down, taking it everywhere he goes, and somehow making me the third wheel. Though he isn’t Ansel Adams, he certainly has an eye for capturing life. With each click of the finger, he focuses his attention on his shot and completely ignores me. I sit up, looking to Tess, who’s flipping through her copy of Seventeen, then to her brother, tapping my fingers

together as I wait for an answer. “Anyone care to chime in? Or am I talking to a wall here?” Nick places the camera on his towel and turns his face toward the sun, pulling his arms behind his head for a long, drawn-out stretch. “No tattoos.” “And why not?” I question, like it’s the most absurd thing he could say. “What do you mean ‘why not?’ Because they’re so...permanent.” Chuckling, I raise an eyebrow at him. “No shit, Sherlock. That’s kind of the point.” “What I mean to say is that you’re stuck with it. Forever. I admit, they can actually be kinda cool if you get something meaningful.” He lifts his

sunglasses to wipe away the moisture building around his nose, and looks at me with his accusing, olive-green eyes. “But you, on the other hand, haven’t thought it through. So, the answer is no. If you think I’d actually allow some Tommy Lee wannabe to stick a needle in you after you pick a random picture off the wall of the world’s worst tattoos, then I would be the world’s worst friend.” Huh. Sounds like something I would do. I’d probably take the extra step and go blindfolded, spinning around ten times before I stumble toward the wall to choose the lucky tattoo that would forever grace the patch of skin on my lower back, directly above my ass crack

—A.K.A. the tramp stamp. I love how Nick knows me so well. “Okay, Dad.” “I don’t know why I even bother.” He sighs. “We always do what you want anyway, eh, hot shot?” “Yeah, no kidding,” Tess interjects, her attention still on the magazine. “She got you and Braiden to jump out of an airplane. It’s the only time I’ve appreciated being younger than you guys.” “Well, I’d rather be a hot shot than a chicken shit.” I shoot Nick an evil eye because he knows how much I despise that nickname, and he returns it with a wave of his middle finger. “And Tess, you wanted to jump out of that plane

with us.” She brings the magazine down to her chest and peers up at me from beneath her sunglasses. “Oh, for sure. I wanted to jump out of that plane almost as much as Nicholas and Braiden wanted to.” “Hey,” Nick says as he points his finger at Tess. “At least I didn’t cry on the plane ride up.” She smacks her leg, and a loud laugh bubbles out of her throat. “Didn’t Braiden claim it was the harness that made him cry?” “Yup.” He nods. “He said it was squeezing the life out of his balls.” “Both of you babies were scared shitless,” I claim, rolling my eyes. Though, I can’t help but laugh when I

think about how much they resisted my celebratory graduation plan. “All I’m saying is there are so many other things we can do besides watching the fireworks. It was fun when we were kids, but aren’t we too old for that shit now?” “Says who? Come on, Corinne,” Tess insists, nudging my arm with her finger. “It’s tradition. You know we always end up having a good time.” I scoff. “Oh please! As long as Mary Jane and Don Julio come along, right?” She lowers her sunglasses to the tip of her nose, revealing playful green eyes. “You can’t go wrong with those two. But all joking aside, everyone is going off to college. This may be the last

Fourth we’re all together. Let’s just do it. One last time.” Tess lifts her sunglasses back up and over her eyes, as if the thought puts a damper on her mood. “Are you kidding me? None of us—” I gesture to our little circle “—are going anywhere. Have you forgotten that I live right down the street from you? And will for the next four years, at least.” Nick always knew he wanted to stay close to home for college, while I struggled with the curiosity to live life beyond this quiet, California beach town. But, since Dad is a professor at the university, it would be stupid to pass up a free education. Plus, I couldn’t imagine leaving Nick.

Maybe one day, he and I will have to go our separate ways, but thinking about it makes my heart ache. At least for now, I’ve bought us four more years together. “Well, Gemma’s leaving,” Tess mumbles. “Gemma?” I echo and scoff, shaking my head. “She doesn’t count. All right, Vegas it is,” I declare, clapping my hands together to settle the conversation. Nick exhales a soft chuckle. “Right, because there is so much to do in Vegas for a bunch of eighteen-year-olds.” “And one seventeen-year-old,” Tess chimes in, lifting her arm above her head and pointing down at herself. “It’s called a fake ID,” I rebut. “I’m pretty sure we can get one made on any

street corner in Vegas.” “And I’m pretty sure that any casino pit boss can spot those things from a million miles away,” Nick argues. “Good God, you’re so by the book!” “He wouldn't be Nick if he wasn't,” Tess reminds me, lifting the magazine away from her chest and continuing either with the ‘Am I a Snob’ quiz or the ‘How I Learned to Kiss’ article. I might have to borrow her copy later. I heave a disgruntled sigh, annoyed at how quick Nick is to shoot down my idea. I mean, there are things to do in Vegas besides gambling and drinking and clubbing. I can’t think of any right now, but I’m sure there are. In any case,

I don’t see them coming up with a better idea. I wave my hands in front of my face, unsuccessfully fanning away the stifling heat. It’s one of those sporadic, hot summer days that send flocks of heatstarved residents to the beach. Thousands of bodies, all different shapes, colors, and sizes, cover the sandy shore, and I’d bet the view of the beach from a few thousand feet in the air would look like an ant farm. Children play in the sand, burying one another neck deep and building magnificent sand castles with their shovels and buckets. Off in the distance, a few of them run and throw themselves into the cool, shimmering water.

“Fine. If not Vegas, let’s take a drive somewhere,” I propose. “Oh yeah, where?” Nick questions, picking up his camera as he aims it directly at me. “Anywhere! Down the coast, up the coast, across the state, the country. We always said we wanted to take a road trip, right?” “I don’t know, Cori. It’s so last minute, and we’re not prepared and—” “That’s what makes it fun—the spontaneity.” “Spontaneity, eh?” And instantly, Nick is down on the sand beside me. He flicks the sunglasses off my face, throws his arm around my shoulders, and snaps a photo of us with his camera at arm’s

length, nudging his sweaty nose against my flushed cheek. “There! Now that’s spontaneous!” I wipe the moisture off my face. “You and that damn camera!” I try to act annoyed but fail to fight the grin curling across my face. His idea of spontaneity is pretty darn cute. Nick stands, brushing away the sand sticking to his torso. My eyes scan his six-foot, toned body as it glistens with sweat, the sun’s rays skimming over every contour. The sweat along his forehead throws his brown, widow’speaked hair into disarray, a look that complements his smooth jawline and heart-shaped lips. My eyes fixate on a single bead of sweat making its way

down the side of his face and tracing the dip in his neck. Guys and sweat don’t always agree with each other, but Nick? I agree to disagree; sweat definitely agrees with him. I watch the sweat as it plunges down over his defined chest... Aaannnnd I’m staring. Why the heck am I staring? My cheeks redden while my heart tries to claw out of my chest. I’m fanning myself like a geisha on speed, yanking my eyes away, hoping neither he nor Tess noticed. Thankfully, they’re both looking in the opposite direction. I don’t know how I would have explained the obvious ogling. Holy shit, I was just ogling my best friend. I always knew that Nick was easy on the

eyes, but um...hello! This ogling behavior was new for me. What was I doing? I catch myself staring again when he continues the ‘What to do?’ conversation. Oh yes. That. Nick’s delicious body had knocked that concern much further down my list of things to care about. Um. Did I just say delicious? “With the risk of drunk drivers on the road tonight, I think we ought to avoid taking long drives anywhere, Cori. Let’s just keep it simple at my house. Braiden and Gemma are already planning on meeting up with us.” “Yay,” I remark sarcastically, throwing two fists in the air like the

lamest cheerleader on the planet. “So glad I’ll get to see Gemma one last time. You know, because we put the bud in buddies.” Am I the only one ready to hang freaking streamers and throw confetti once that broad goes away for college? It’s obvious I’m not a fan of Gemma Riordan. If it wasn’t for her former infatuation with Nick, I might still like her. Her reputation as the school’s ‘human praying mantis’ hadn’t bothered me, until she took a liking in Nick junior year. He’d set her straight on his feelings long ago, and he claims that she sees him merely as a friend now. Still, I beg to differ. Plus, the girl looks like she crawled out of one of Tess’s magazines,

with her long, champagne-blonde hair and huge rack, which she’ll use to lure in her prey before biting their heads off. “You know you’re going to miss her,” Nick teases. “You might miss her.” I give him a dirty look, and he scoffs. “Don’t give me that innocent look. She was wrapped so tightly around you at prom, the two of you could have used one ticket to get in.” Tess closes her magazine with a smack. “Do I seriously have to listen to this argument again? Prom was almost three months ago! You two are like a broken record. Only, I think I’d rather listen to a broken record.” Nick points at me, but with a grin on his face. “She’s the one who went with

Aiden O’Neal and left me to go solo. It was either be a third wheel or ask someone else.” I roll my eyes. Aiden and I had gone as friends, mainly because I wanted to get my hands on that sweet Fender guitar of his, which I had explained to Nick hundreds of times. “Oh, he wants your hands on his Fender all right,” he had said. “No question about that.” I knew Nick would be protective of me, but what I hadn’t known was that he’d take Gemma to the prom. That night had been filled with watching her maul him, while listening to Aiden’s snoozer accounts of disastrous gigs and stalker groupies. But Tess is right; we really shouldn’t resurrect this argument, because although

it always starts out as teasing, somewhere in the middle of it, I get angry, thinking about that waste of a prom night it was, and about how much fun it would have been if I’d gone with Nick. “Whatever, blame it on me then.” Putting my sunglasses back on, I stick out my tongue at him, rise to my feet, and use my towel to wipe away the sweat from my body, one limb after the other. “Oh, come on!” Tess says. “I’m just kidding. Where are you going?” “Just stretching. Chill out.” I remove the hair tie from the messy bun atop my head, my brown locks spilling over my shoulders, and toss the strands with my hands to remove the tangles. When my eyes casually move in

Nick’s direction, I’m startled by the intensity in his gaze. It’s the kind of look that could make a girl blush, and I’m blushing. Hard. A pleasant tingling runs throughout my body. Keeping in mind how long we’ve been friends, I probably shouldn’t feel this way, but I do. And he probably shouldn’t be staring the way he is, but he does. He doesn’t stop, and I don’t mind. Not at all. Except a sudden bout of selfconsciousness hits me, like I shouldn’t be parading around in this skimpy bikini, despite the countless times he’s seen me in it before. I mean, if you want to get technical here, other than a couple of pieces of fabric covering my goodies, I’m naked. My panic increases, and I’m

seized with the compulsion to wrap my sweaty, sandy towel around me, although this shouldn’t be a big deal. Our parents used to bathe us together when we were toddlers, so we’ve pretty much seen each other naked. Oh good God, why am I thinking about being naked with Nick? He walks toward me, placing the camera next to his belongings on the sand. I chew at my thumbnail nervously; if I don’t stop now, there won’t be much of it left. When he stands in front of me, his proximity clouds my vision, and every part of me begins to melt from the inside out, having nothing to do with the heat. “Think you can take me, hot shot?”

Nick challenges, grabbing my waist, and my breath hitches at his touch. As if the blistering heat hasn't already done a number on me, I feel my skin sizzle beneath his hand. I can’t even bring myself to return the insult by calling him a chicken shit. Without warning, he picks me up, our faces barely touching… And he tosses me into the water.

“That sounds like fun, kiddo,” Dad says of our drag-of-a-plan for tonight as he sits at the kitchen table, sorting through his tackle box in preparation for his fishing trip. He’s deep in concentration, and I don’t think he’s paid attention to anything I’ve said, because our plans would have been lame even

for my Grandma Maura (may she rest in peace) who thought Senior Saturday Social Night at Holy Cross was the place to be. “And I’ll be snorting crack and participating in an orgy,” I taunt, opening up the fridge in search of sustenance and watching out of the corner of my eye for his reaction. Carefully examining a hook from beneath the thick, dark frames of his glasses, he replies, “You don’t snort crack. You smoke it.” It disturbs me a little that he knows this information, and I don’t know if it should bother me that he chose to tell me the correct way to use crack, instead of addressing the bogus situation at hand. I

stand in front of the refrigerator, perusing the choices in front of me, and pick at the bowl of grapes, popping a couple into my mouth. “Ah, so you were listening to me. For a second there, I thought I had been replaced with grub.” “Called multi-tasking, kiddo. Plus, I’m a parent. I’m perceptive to everything you say or do, even when you think I’m not. When you have kids of your own, you’ll understand.” “Well then, oh perceptive one, it appears as though your parental perception is out of order, because then you’d notice that this—” I mock, popping my head up over the open refrigerator door and waving a hand across my unenthused face, “—is the

face of someone who yawns under fifteen-foot swells while she’s surfing.” “Well, it makes me feel a whole lot better knowing you’ll be safe at Nicholas’s house and off the roads. Now, if fun is what you’re looking for, there’s nothing like drownin’ a few worms and sippin’ on a couple of cold brews. What do you say?” My dad and I share a passion for many things—baseball, hiking, the outdoors, to name a few—and since he and my mom had ended up with an only daughter, my interests growing up had luckily fulfilled the part of my dad that sometimes longed for a son. But fishing is not one of those interests, and it’s the one thing he’s

never been able to persuade me to do. I grab a few more grapes from the bowl and pop them into my mouth before I shut the door, turning to face him. “You know what? Sitting in Nick’s living room all night doesn’t sound too bad now,” I tease, flashing a wide grin and winking at him. He closes his box and walks over to me, planting a kiss on my forehead. “Does it now? By the way, are you planning on staying out the entire night? I’d feel more at ease knowing your mother isn’t at home by herself. I would forgo the fishing trip and stay home, but she insists I go.” Typical Dad. Always worrying about his girls, but I wouldn’t expect anything

less. It’s what makes him the best husband and father my mom and I could ask for. “Mom is hanging out with Marlene at the pub, since William has to look after the place tonight. She won’t be alone, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Opening a cabinet door, he pulls out his oversized lunchbox, sets it on the counter, and slides the top open. “William ought to give himself a break and close that place once in a while, especially on a holiday. One of these days, he’s going to work himself into the ground.” “Yeah, right. The Kelleys haven’t closed that place since Nick’s grandpa opened it up years ago,” I remind him.

“No way William will start now.” “So, not only have you confirmed your mother and Marlene will be at the pub with William, but you’ve also confirmed there will be no parental supervision at Nicholas’s house tonight.” He stops to look at me, raising a questioning eyebrow. I remain tightlipped, only allowing a giggle to escape my mouth, and he knows what card I’m playing—the ‘I’m so gosh-darn-cuteyou-can’t-say-no-to-me’ card I play to weasel my way out of sticky situations. He frowns as he walks to the refrigerator and pulls out a few ice packs and water bottles. “Oh come on, Dad. I’m eighteen! And since when have you been worried

about the lack of supervision at Nick’s house? You know I’m always there.” He walks back to the counter, places the ice packs and water bottles into the lunchbox, and closes the lid, hesitating before looking at me. “Corinne, honey, can I ask you something?” It’s one thing to ask a person a question flat-out. It’s another thing when a person asks if they can ask you a question, because most of the time, it isn’t one you want to be asked. I walk across the kitchen and open up the cupboard, searching for something else to snack on, but really it’s me fidgeting as I await the question. I find a box of cheese crackers and munch on a few. “What is it?”

He shoots me a sidelong glance, running a hand through his dark, thinning hair. “Is there something going on between you and Nicholas?” A cracker must have gone down the wrong pipe because suddenly I’m dry heaving, as if Dad had thrown the question at me, whacking me in the chest. Once I catch my breath, I compose myself, acting like the choking reflex isn’t a result of his question. He eyes me suspiciously because, obviously, he isn’t buying it. A hysterical laugh bursts from my chest, yet I’m not sure why, since Dad’s question doesn’t have any comedic substance to it. The temperature in here seems to spike twenty degrees, and

suddenly I’m sweating my balls off, even though I don’t have any. “You’re not seriously asking me that question, are you Dad?” He doesn’t respond other than with a shrug of his shoulders. I let out another chuckle, perhaps with too much force because a snort slips out with it. “Wow! You actually are asking.” Dad grins at my snort as he leans his back against the counter. “You two spend an awful lot of time together. Not to mention your sleepovers.” A silent beat passes before he continues. “I know you kids have been attached at the hip since you were born, but I think you’re at the age now where sleepovers probably aren’t, well, very appropriate.”

“Sleepovers are a weekend tradition, Dad. They’re harmless.” “Perhaps. But you see, honey, Nicholas is a teenage boy, and with every teenage boy comes a certain set of…hormones.” Alrighty then. Someone, please stab my ears, because even hearing the word hormones come out of my dad’s mouth is making this conversation über weird. It’s not like he’d said penis or sex, but he might as well have. “And you, my dear, have grown into this beautiful young woman. So, it’s only natural that things can…happen.” Oh God, make it stop. “I’m your dad, so obviously I’m going to be team ‘wait-until-marriage.’

But I also know you’re old enough to make your own decisions. You’re intelligent, sweetie. You are, after all, my daughter,” he states, the pride gleaming in his honey-brown eyes as he winks at me. “So, I trust you will always use good judgment and make wellrounded decisions. What it all boils down to, Corinne, is that you kids understand the importance of being, you know…safe.” There are three super awkward things about this conversation. One: it’s one thing for a mother to give her daughter the inevitable birdsand-the-bees lecture; it’s another when your dad gives it to you, you’re eighteen, and you pretty much already know how

it works by now. Two: my dad thinks that Nick and I are actually doing…it. And three: if I’m following this conversation correctly, it sounds as if my dad would actually be okay with it if Nick and I were, in fact, doing it. How did it suddenly finagle its way into the same sentence as Nick? “You do realize that everything you’re saying is absolutely over-the-top ridiculous, right?” I act casual, even though I’ve been eyeing the door for the past five minutes, wondering what a Corinne-shaped hole would look like. “Nick and I are friends, Dad. Period. That’s the extent of our relationship.” Dad squints, drumming his fingers

against the countertop. “Well, maybe you think that, but I’ve seen the way that boy looks at you. It surely isn’t the way you look at just a friend.” Damn. I have to hand it to Mr. Perceptive; my dad is good. He’s seen it, the same thing I saw today—the longing in Nick’s eyes, those hypnotizing olivegreen eyes. But seeing it surely has nothing on feeling it—the way his eyes lit up my heart, detonating an unexpected explosion within my soul, my nerves still smoldering from it hours later. But as good as that felt, Nick is… Nick, my best friend. “You must need a new pair of glasses.” I chuckle, walking to the other end of the kitchen and grabbing a glass

out of the cabinet. “Nick and I are practically siblings. Kissing him would be like kissing a brother!” Only, that’s a lie. I don’t think kissing Nick would feel like kissing a brother at all. The thought has crossed my mind one too many times now, way more times than what’s considered safe before venturing outside platonic territory. What it would feel like running my hands up over his chest, around his neck, and through his hair, grabbing tight fistfuls of it while pulling those lips to mine for one heart-stopping, mindblowing, out-of-this-world kiss, as I completely melt into him. Into those piercing eyes. Those perfect lips. That toned body.

I bring the glass to my lips, only to realize I haven’t actually poured water in it. Holy shit. I think I just had a Harry Burns epiphany. How the hell did this happen? Nick is my pal! He’s supposed to be the Wayne to my Garth. The Beavis to my Butthead. Not the Harry to my Sally. But the more I sit on it, the more that notion becomes less of the truth, and it shakes me to the core. “Kiddo? You all right there?” Dad questions as he waves his hand in front of my face. My cheeks flush at the realization of where I’d allowed my mind to wander off to—and right in front of my dad. Thank goodness he isn’t a mind reader

because he would have just seen daydream-Nick groping daydreamCori’s ass, turning this daydream into my worst nightmare. “Fine. Just fine.” I nod, staring blankly at my feet, glass in hand. Dad comes over and wraps his arms around me, drawing me in for a hug. “For the record, Corinne,” he starts, placing a kiss atop my head. “It would be okay. You and Nicholas. I know where your head is going with this, and considering your friendship with him, crossing that line can be...scary. But that’s okay. Sometimes love is scary, especially when it’s with someone you least expect it with.” “I don’t get scared.” It’s the only

thing I can come up with amidst the chaos in my brain. Dad nods, and his mouth curls up into a smile, as if he expected me to say that. “Of course not, because you’re Corinne Bennett. But you know, I wouldn’t think any less of you if you were.” Fear is a weakness, and lightning will have to strike me first before I show it. Shaking my head, I open the refrigerator and retrieve the pitcher of water, filling my empty glass. “I love you, Dad, but you say some crazy shit sometimes.” “I know what you’re trying to do, Corinne, so I won’t push it any further. I

will say, though, that I’ve known that kid practically his whole life, and know for a fact he’d treat you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. He already does.” Dad gives me one final squeeze before he leaves with his fishing pole and bait box in tow. With our conversation stirring my thoughts, it isn’t long before I’m walking down the road toward Nick’s house to meet everyone—a road on which I’ve memorized every crack and pothole because I’ve walked it a million times before. Despite that, there is something unfamiliar about it now, like I can’t possibly know what awaits me at the other end.

And for the first time in my life, the road to Nick’s house scares the shit out of me.

“Yo, Kelley! Be a pal, and grab me another beer, por fay-vor. Gra-cee-ass!” Braiden yells from the couch. And he doesn’t understand why he failed Spanish. I should make his lazy ass get his own beer, but I don’t, only because doing so will put me within a few inches of Cori, and right now, I need to be near

her. Usually, I’d have no problem walking over to that long, leather chaise she’s draped across and propping myself up next to her, but she’s been avoiding me like the plague ever since she got here. I can only think of one reason why: she’s starting to get it. It’s not like I’ve been subtle about it either, practically undressing her with my eyes at the beach, so I wouldn’t be surprised if I’d completely creeped her out. In my defense, that black-and-white polkadotted thing she was wearing could turn any guy into an ogling cave man. I hop off the kitchen stool and grab a beer from the fridge, popping the cap off with a bottle opener. As soon as I reach

over the couch and hand Braiden his brew, Cori’s eyes dart to mine for a second before she rips them away and places them back on the movie. I rest against the back of the couch, pretending to be interested in the chest-bursting dinner scene in Alien when, really, I couldn’t care less about it. “Dude, how gnarly would it be if you were in this situation?” Braiden points to the television with his beer. “Like you’re having dinner, gnawing on your corn-on-the-cob, and all of a sudden, a fucking alien claws out of your friend’s chest—big eyes, huge head, twelve-inch fangs, the whole shebang!” He speaks like this is the most normal conversation, and for Braiden, it

is. Most of the things that come out of his mouth, as ridiculous as they sound, don’t really faze us anymore. “BOOM! It jumps out of his chest so fast, blood, guts, and all.” He flails his arms about, a few splashes of beer escaping the bottle and landing on Tess, who’s sitting beside him. “Seriously, Braiden?” Tess exclaims, wiping the beer droplets off her leg with the hem of her shirt. “Oops, sorry, babe. And then you have to fight it off, weaponless, using your bare hands and whatever physical strength you’ve got. I betcha those WWE wrestlers could take one of those things down in a matter of seconds. Show them who’s boss, you know?”

Braiden lost me at twelve-inch fangs. I wonder how much herb he’s had tonight. “Is this conversation really happening?” Gemma asks from the opposite end of the couch, fluffing her blonde hair and settling back against the cushion. “Dude,” Cori says, ignoring Gemma. “I don’t know what world you’re living in where aliens have twelve-inch fangs.” Seriously. How much more proof do I need that she and I are made for each other? We practically share one mind, always in sync, regardless of how ridiculous this conversation is. Braiden takes a swig of his beer, his lifted eyebrow filled with scrutiny.

“How do you know they don’t have twelve-inch fangs, Benster? It’s not like you’ve seen one before.” Cori lets out that cute little laugh I love. “No, I haven’t, so I tell you what. You, my friend, will be the first to know when I come face to face with one.” “Are you mocking me? You’re mocking me, aren’t you?” Gemma, still uninterested in the conversation, fiddles with her hair but manages to put in her two cents. “Braiden man, I don’t know what you’re on right now, but I want some.” Defeated, Braiden makes an attempt at his final argument. “You all wait and see. When we’re being invaded and shit, remember this conversation.” His aqua-

blue eyes look to Tess for sympathy. “Tess, baby, you agree with me, right? You’re a smart chica. You can’t honestly tell me you think we’re the only life out in the universe. Please tell these smart asses how wrong they are.” Tess combs her fingers through her long, auburn hair as she stares blankly at the television, a confused scowl on her face. “Did you just call me baby?” I lean up from the couch and tap the side of Braiden’s head. “Don’t call her baby,” I scold and walk back to the stool at the kitchen counter. Call me overprotective, but I think Braiden may have a thing for my sister. I’m just not sure how I’d feel about that if it were true, but my thoughts are too

preoccupied with Cori to ponder it. Even as Braiden continues with the alien conversation, spewing out one ridiculous theory after the other, my eyes never leave Cori. Everything about her is so damn beautiful—the spark in her smile, her infectious laughter, the way her wavy, brown hair frames her face. I keep telling myself to just do it. Tell her how I feel. Yet every time I gather the courage, it decides to royally screw me, kick me in the balls, and abandon me, bidding me a premature farewell. Adios. Adieu. Sayonara. Basically telling me to fuck off in every way possible. Because as great as the idea of Cori and me together sounds in my head, I

could easily flush an eighteen-year friendship down the toilet with my admission. “I mean, come on. There is no other explanation for the fact that the ancient Mayans built almost the exact same pyramids as the ancient Egyptians—and in very similar ways. And on opposite sides of the world.” Braiden’s voice trails back into my ears and snaps me out of my daze. “I’m telling ya. Extraterrestrials, man. They were here back then. They’re here now. And they sure ain’t going anywhere.” Tess rotates her body toward Braiden and leans her arm across the back of the couch. She rolls her eyes at him before facing me, but he doesn’t see

it. “Nicholas, please tell me we’re not going to sit here all night. Let’s go down to The Boardwalk and watch the fireworks. Please,” she begs, her eyes wide as she tilts them in Braiden’s direction, practically pleading for me to rescue them from hearing any more of this. “Yes, please,” Gemma stresses, leaving the couch as she makes her way to the kitchen and tosses the bottle in the trash. “If I knew we were going to be sitting on this couch all night, listening to doofus over here talk about God knows what, I would have stayed home. At least I could have been in my PJs, curled in my bed with my celebrity trash magazines.”

“It’s not too late. The night is young,” Cori shamelessly taunts when Gemma seats herself back on the couch. Though Gemma doesn’t respond, the death stares the girls give each other say more than enough. “Fine,” I agree. “We’ll go down to the beach. Everyone needs to calm down, right now.” Standing up, Braiden stretches his arms above his head, releasing a long, lengthy yawn. “Aye, aye, Captain. I’m going to go and tinkle.” He starts down the hall. “And before we head out, would anyone care to come and talk to the floating genie with me? If so, meet me outside,” he yells as he makes his way to the bathroom.

Tess and Gemma raise their hands in unison, like school-aged children, giggling as they leave the living room. I roll my eyes, thankful I chose not to drink tonight, since clearly I’ll be the one driving everyone around for the rest of the evening. Cori and I are left in the living room, alone…and uh, well, this is uncomfortable. Even the screams and explosions blaring from the television aren’t enough to fill the awkward silence. Though, I guess it could be worse. Nothing says uncomfortable like watching a man being bludgeoned to death by a ten-foot alien, and poor Jonesy the Cat has to bear witness to it

all. “Cori, are you okay with the plan?” I casually ask, keeping my focus on my camera as I pick it up off the counter. “You know, going to the beach to watch fireworks? You weren’t too keen on the idea earlier.” My peripheral vision catches her movement when she turns her head in my direction. “Yeah. Whatever. It’s cool,” she responds, turning her attention back to the TV. Cool, I got a sentence out of her this time, albeit a short one, but a sentence nonetheless, complete with a contraction and a four-letter adjective. We’re making progress here. My eyes leave the camera and find

their way to Cori, scanning her long, freshly-bronzed legs and moving up and over the perfect curves of her chest, the ends of her long, brown locks splayed over it. I’m not oblivious to her nerves, but she appears relaxed, with one arm draped over the top of her head and the other wrapped around her beer. It takes every ounce of willpower not to photograph her right now, just like this, but I’m certain it would only raise the awkward level another notch. I ought to leave before I change my mind and do it anyway. “I’ll meet you guys outside. I need to grab a few things before we leave.” Only, there isn’t anything for me to grab, other than the confidence that has

seemingly shriveled up with my balls. Now, there’s a sightly image. I make it to my room and close the door behind me. Leaning against it and knocking my head into it repeatedly, I scold my stupid brain for following my stupid heart into this stupid situation. Why did I have to fall for Cori? Things would have been simpler if I’d fallen for Gemma instead. But even the idea of that feels wrong. To date Gemma, or any other girl for that matter, would only be a deception of my heart. Feeling defeated, I walk to my desk and set my camera down. I whiteknuckle the back of the chair, leaning all my weight against it, and stare out the open window. Dusk has begun to settle

in, setting the night sky ablaze in a deep orange as it cascades through the trees like wildfire and engulfs the room in a reddish glow. All at once, the click of my door opening and shutting grabs my attention, and I turn to find Cori bracing her back against it, silent and staring. And panting. Panting. Sweet Jesus. Her chest heaves up and down in rhythm with her fluttering eyelids, and it wakes up every nerve in my body. She firmly braces her hands and backside against the surface of the door. Am I fucking crazy for being jealous of an inanimate object? Because I’d move heaven and earth to switch

places with it; I want to be that door beneath her. Her eyes—those gorgeous, almondshaped, brown eyes—trace their way to mine. I’ve looked at Cori a billion times over the course of our lives, and I know her eyes like I know my own. I’ve seen the tired, sleepy eyes. The joyous and the hopeful. The eyes that try to be brave even in the worst situations. The eyes that scream for adventure. The curious eyes. The angry. The disappointed. I’ve seen them all. Except for these. I have never seen these eyes. But, I know them anyway because they are a reflection of my own. They’re heavy and wanting. She pushes herself off the door and

strides across the room toward me. When she reaches me, the edges of her sandals bump against the toes of my shoes, her chest mirroring the panting motions of my own. Her face is only inches from my aching lips, and she carefully studies them. “Cori, what are you—” “Just shut up,” she commands, cutting me off. “Don’t talk.” Her eyelids close, mine following suit, and as soon as I feel the touch of her lips on mine, I go completely numb. My pulse explodes out of every pressure point in my body, and it’s the only reason I think I haven’t fallen comatose. It’s like Cori’s lips have short-circuited my brain and paralyzed my limbs. I curse my

stupid hands, hands that should be combing through her long hair or holding her perfect fucking waist, but they just dangle at my sides, unmoving. Shock has me wound in a straitjacket, and if only I could hop out of my body, I’d slap the crap out of it, because I’ve only thought about this forfucking-ever! Suddenly, she pulls away. Her lips quickly release mine, and our eyes open in unison to see each other’s curious stares. “I’m sorry,” Cori breaks the silence. Her eyes drift back to my lips, only to look away immediately, shaking her head. “I just...I just needed to know…” She hesitates, bringing her thumbnail to

her teeth like she always does when she’s nervous, and I can tell she’s conflicted over whether or not she actually wants to say what she’s thinking out loud. “I’m sorry, but I had to see if kissing you would be like kissing a brother.” If that straitjacket thought it could hold me back, boy was it wrong. I don’t hesitate. Hesitating would give her time to fully analyze that joke of a kiss—which I take full responsibility for—and coming to a conclusion based on that kiss alone, well then, I wouldn’t blame her for thinking she just kissed a brother. If this is my one shot with Cori, I’m not bowing out this way. This girl is about to get the best damn kiss of her

life. I cradle her warm, flushed cheek with my hand and stroke my thumb across her soft skin. Her body acknowledges my touch with an explosion of tiny goose bumps on her arms, her eyelids growing heavy and hooded. Wrapping my other arm around the curve of her waist, I draw her body into me and crush my mouth against hers. Cori’s lips respond upon impact, parting, moving in sync with mine. The taste of beer lingers on her warm, wet tongue, uniting as one with her vanilla scent as they invade my senses. It’s like I’m drinking vanilla-flavored beer, a flavor made only for me, and it’s so damn good. If this is how addiction

starts, then I’m fucking screwed because I want to keep drinking her until I can’t see straight. A thousand volts of electricity ricochet between us, our bodies defying the laws of physics as we soak up every ounce of energy, giving this kiss one hell of a life. Cori’s fingertips tread lightly along my stomach before she flattens her palms against my shirt and slides her hands up my chest. I swallow hard when she digs her nails into my shoulders and fists my shirt, pulling me into her so tightly I can’t tell whose heart is winning for the fastest beats per minute because it feels like a pretty close race. I weave my arms around her waist, my hands finding their way to the soft skin beneath

the hem of her tank top, and I swear, if I wasn’t completely insane for her before, then someone better commit me because I’m done for now. I shift her around, our lips continuing to indulge in each other as I lift her up and rest her ass on the edge of the desk. She hooks her legs around me, her way of telling me to keep going, not to stop, and I happily oblige, allowing my body to completely melt into hers. I grow fervent and eager, breathing heavily, my mouth devouring hers while my hands grip firmly at the smooth skin of her waist. My body craves more even though my head warns me we should probably take it down a notch. Perhaps if it didn’t feel right, then I

would put the brakes on it, but everything about this feels as natural as breathing, like Cori’s lips were made for the sole purpose of kissing mine. It makes me wish I’m the only guy she’s ever kissed, but it doesn’t seem likely; we’ve never had that conversation. Not that I really want to know who she might’ve been making out with, but it stings to think that some other guy may have gotten a taste of her— because damn, the girl can kiss. And though reality may deem me delusional, like I’m living in some fairy tale land where everything goes my way, screw reality. Because I will do whatever it takes so that my lips are the only ones Cori ever kisses. I could do this forever,

tangled in Cori—lips, hands, legs, and all—and nothing would ever stop it. “Corinne! Nicholas! We’re ready to go!” Except for that. Reality has taken form in the distant sound of Tess’s voice as it travels from beyond my closed door. Our eyes fly open in unison, and our lips slowly cease their tumultuous fire. Breathing heavily, Cori slides her tongue across her bottom lip, and it takes all my willpower to stop me from taking her lip between my teeth. Instead, I place a soft kiss at the corner of her mouth before forcing myself to step away. Just as I do, the doorknob turns, and Tess walks through the door.

“So there’s this party we’re going to stop by—” Her voice trails off as soon as she sees us, Cori sitting on the desk, and me standing directly in front of her. It isn’t the most compromising position, but it isn’t the most innocent either, at least not for two people who are merely friends. My head whips around in time to see a faint smile creep up on my sister’s face. Her eyes are heavy and a tinted shade of red, for obvious reasons, and though her perception may be altered a bit, I sense that my highly intuitive sister can clearly comprehend what she just interrupted. “We’ll be right out,” I respond, as if standing here between Cori’s legs is no

big deal. “Okay, but what I came to tell you guys was that Chase Parker rented a suite down at the Dream. Says he has the perfect view for the fireworks, so if you two are down, we’re going to head over there. Unless, you know, you have other plans.” My little shit of a sister. “Yes. No.” I quickly retract my answer after realizing I said yes to her last thought. “Whatever. The party is fine. We’ll go to the party.” Tess nods before she saunters out the door, still with that smirk plastered across her face, a smirk that says we let her in on a little secret. She won’t tell. She’ll just dangle it in my face and use it as bait to get what she wants or do as

she pleases. But at least for now, I don’t need to worry about her telling Gemma, and God forbid, Braiden. If he finds out, we won’t hear the end of it, and Cori and I need to figure this out first. Staring at the floor, Cori braces her arms on the edge of the desk, and I can only assume she’s as nervous as I am. When I cup her flushed cheek with my hand and bring her gaze to mine, she leans into my touch. Her full lips form a sweet smile that reaches her eyes, and somehow eases any uncertainty weighing down my thoughts. As much as I’d like to leave this room knowing where we stand, I realize the possibility of that is slim. It would be like scattering a thousand-piece

jigsaw puzzle all over the floor and putting it together in a matter of minutes. It’s virtually impossible. We won’t piece together the entire puzzle tonight, but when I look into Cori’s eyes, I’m not too concerned. Because I know what the final picture will look like.

Holy. Hell. I definitely did not kiss a brother. The taste of Nick lingers on my throbbing lips as I’m unable to escape the euphoric paralysis of his kiss. I’m breathless, like I just ran a marathon, and my body aches, but not in the weary, painful way a runner might feel after

completing one. These are definitely good aches, the kind that leave a trail of goose bumps along every contour of your body. The kind that come from the kiss of a lifetime. A total heart-stopper. The best damn first kiss a girl could ever have. That’s right. My first kiss. And Nicholas Kelley gave it to me. I know what you’re thinking. Corinne, the risk-taking, outgoing party queen has never been kissed? Just because I like to have a good time doesn’t make me the school tramp. It’s a little cliché, isn’t it? That promiscuity goes hand-in-hand with popularity ninety-five percent of the time? Well, on second thought, maybe it’s true, but mad

props to the five percent that know how to throw it down while keeping a good head on their shoulders and, most importantly, keeping their legs closed (patting myself on the back). I’ve never really had an interest in kissing any of the guys at our school. Not Aiden O’Neil, or Chase Parker even. There is no denying the magnitude of Chase’s hotness, but the dude’s as dumb as a rock, and neither he nor any other guys do it for me. Until now. As the sky begins to draw its curtains on daylight, we drive down Pacific Avenue toward the Dream Inn, the sun’s deep orange embers reaching out over the ocean for one more breath

of day before nightfall pushes it below the horizon. The drive is silent—at least between Nick and me. The Three Stooges in the back seat, however, can’t stop laughing and seem to think everything is funny, including the deer crossing sign on Glen Canyon Road, on which some immature moron had drawn a huge penis on the image of the deer. Alright, I guess even when you’re sober, that’s a little funny, but Moe, Curly, and Larry back there can’t let it go, even after Nick presses hard on the brakes of his black Jeep Wrangler, jerking everyone forward to quiet them down at a stoplight. “Whoa. Easy with the brakes there, Bandit,” Braiden says to Nick. When

Nick doesn’t respond, Braiden shifts his weight forward and leans each of his elbows on the edge of our seat backs. “You two are awfully quiet,” he observes. I grow tense at his unexpected observation and quickly look over at Nick, who has his hands gripped tightly at ten and two on the steering wheel. “Lovers’ quarrel?” “What?” Nick and I say in unison, our eyes growing wide as we look at each other. Dammit. Does Braiden know? Why would he call us lovers unless he had some sort of an inkling? Not that Nick and I are lovers. We’ve only kissed, and that could hardly constitute us as lovers. Wait, do I want to be his lover? And

why do people have to use that word —lover? It sounds so corny, like it should be strictly designated as cheesy soap opera vocabulary. Tess chuckles, and I’m almost certain she’s going to give us away, if she hasn’t already, but she doesn’t say a word. “Ha! I’m fucking with you guys. I know how much it annoys you when people link you together like that. Just wanted to see if I could get a rise out of you, especially this one over here, right, Benster?” Braiden leans over the console and lays a sloppy, wet kiss on my left cheek. “Seriously, Braiden?” I snap, wiping the wetness away with my shoulder and shoving him back onto his seat. “And

aren’t we too old for nicknames?” “Too old? You’re only old if you think old. So no, we’re never too old for nicknames, Benster. You don’t seem to mind it when Kelley calls you, what is it? Hot Rod?” “Hot Shot,” Nick and I say at the same time, yet again, his playful smile mirroring mine. “I don’t mind it too much,” I admit and wink at Nick, confessing my lovehate relationship with it. “You, on the other hand, make me sound like some type of car.” “And ready to take a ride if you’d let me!” Braiden teases, shimmying in his seat as he stretches his arms above his head.

“Shit, Braiden, there’s hardly any room back here!” Gemma yells. “Quit squirming around! Why couldn’t you have ridden shotgun?” “And miss out on being sandwiched between you fine babes? Hell no. Plus, I didn’t want to deprive Tess over here of any Braiden TLC.” “Come on, man! Sit your ass down and buckle your seat belt,” Nick commands. Oh my. Was that not the hottest thing ever? “Are you trying to get me pulled over?” “Aw, dude, no one is gonna get pulled over. Lighten up, Kelley! No need to get your panties in a twist. Tess, baby, tell your brother to chill.” “I don’t think addressing me as baby

is going to help your cause, buddy,” Tess tells Braiden. “In any case, my brother is right. The streets are crawling with police tonight, and I’m high as fuck. I’d like to start my senior year outside of juvie. Orange has never been a great color on me.” “You look great in everything, baby,” Braiden comments, and I hear Tess giggle in response. Nick, on the other hand, looks far from pleased but doesn’t comment. Lo and behold, by the time we reach the hotel, the parking lot is full. Accompanied by the honks of impatient drivers, a continuous trail of red taillights line the driveway, so Nick pulls the Jeep off to the emergency

vehicle zone. He offers to drop the four of us off while he looks for parking elsewhere, but I opt to stay with him. “You sure you don’t want to stay and babysit the three hyenas?” he teases, his charming grin making my heart do somersaults in my chest. “Hey, who you calling a hyena?” Braiden shouts, imitating a gangster as he throws his shoulders forward and forms his fingers into a gang-sign, which doesn’t translate well, because he’s signing Spock’s ‘live long and prosper.’ The three of them burst into laughter, yet again, Gemma hugging her waist with her manicured hands while Tess leans on her, her green eyes watering out of control.

“Oh, I’m sure,” I answer. The streets are lined with cars from end to end, and swarms of people crowd the sidewalks, hustling their way toward the beach for the big light show. Santa Cruz boasts the best Fourth of July fireworks up and down the California coast. A few hours ago, I couldn’t give two shits about seeing it. Now, I wouldn’t mind seeing some fireworks, just not the kind on everyone’s mind. We finally manage to find an empty spot several blocks away in a secluded, residential neighborhood. Neither of us has spoken, unless you count, “Oh, oh, oh, I think that person might be leaving,” “Nah, it’s too small,” or “I think I see one over there.” How does one spark a

conversation with their best friend of eighteen years, with whom they had a totally unexpected, hotter-than-hot makeout session with? It could go two ways: the awkward ‘what does this mean for us, and where do we go from here?’ way or the ‘we’re just a couple of friends who acted in the heat of the moment, but it doesn’t mean anything so let’s act like it never happened’ way. I’m ruling out the latter. It wasn’t just the heat of the moment; it didn’t not mean anything, and there’s no way we’ll be able to act like it never happened. And I don’t think either of us understands what this means for our friendship. At least I don’t, and I’m not sure if I’m ready to

find out. So what do you do if both options are ruled out? Simple. You complicate the matter even further. Nick unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to open the driver’s side door, but his hand barely touches the handle before I’m grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and yanking him into me in a wild haste. I crush my lips against his, as if our lives depend on it, and he doesn’t resist. When I trace my hands up his shoulders to the back of his neck, he responds with urgency, his tongue growing fervent against mine as he grips my waist and digs his fingers through the fabric of my top. I swiftly maneuver my body over the

Jeep’s console and straddle his lap, our lips continuing their ravenous pursuit. My breath hitches the second Nick’s hands find their way under my shirt, and as they crawl over my skin, I think I might pass out. I’m in a complete and utter daze, a high I don’t ever want to come down from. There isn’t anything that compares to the adrenaline coursing through my veins in this moment. Screw skydiving; that rush will eventually fizzle out when the free-fall ends. But here, with Nick, I will never stop falling. Slowly, he parts his lips from mine, his fingertips still kneading my waist. I watch him carefully, wondering why he’s decided to torture my wanting lips.

His eyes dart from mine to my lips, to my nose, to my cheeks, like he’s drawing an invisible line from one point to the next. They’re filled with desire. How I can possibly know what that looks like is beyond me. But it’s there, pooling rabidly in his irises and ready to lunge at me at any second. He gently cups my face, leaving his other hand on the skin of my waist. “Is this really happening right now?” he asks, his gorgeous eyes studying me, eyes that I could easily get lost in and would never want to find my way out of. “I’m pretty sure it is.” I bite my lip and bring my hands to his chest. “You are so beautiful,” he professes, pressing his lips against my jawline and

making a trail of kisses down my neck. A few months ago, a line like that would have sent me into a laughing fit, but there is definitely nothing funny about it now. Especially when Nick brings his mouth to the curve of my neck and gently nips me with his teeth. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I can’t help but wonder how many times he’s done this before because he certainly knows what he’s doing. Not that I want to imagine him doing this with any other girl. Unfortunately, I know he made out with Gemma once, and I’d give anything to erase that image from my mind. I may not be able to forget it, but I can certainly do my best to make sure Nick does.

I wrap my arms around his neck, run my hands through his hair, and pull the shit out of it. It doesn’t seem to bother him, because the more I pull, the more his eager mouth explores my neck. A slow, burning ache begins to build deep within me, and I blush when a soft moan escapes from under my breath. I wonder if he notices, and when his hands briskly leave my waist and make their way down to my bare thighs below my shorts, kneading and grasping at my skin, I know he does. As if the swelter in the evening air isn’t enough, the heat ricocheting between our bodies is dizzying. Considering how out in the open we are, our little PDA may be too risqué for the public eye, but since we parked in a

pretty secluded area, I’m not worried, and Nick doesn’t seem to be either. As far as I’m concerned, only the two of us exist right now, and it isn’t until I hear the faint sound of laughter in the distance that I remember we aren’t alone. But it only makes it more exciting, adding to the thrill, the thought that anyone at any moment could see us, and we wouldn’t care one single bit. That is, unless the person happens to be wearing a dark blue uniform with a gold-plated badge on his chest, while a black baton and a shiny Glock 22 dangle freely from his belt, and he taps loudly on the window next to us, bringing us down from our high and destroying our buzz.

Maybe then would we care just the tiniest bit. I’m the Queen of Bullshit. I once talked Nick and myself out of a week of detention in the seventh grade, thanks to a few crocodile tears and a sob story, saying we had skipped class because I got my period for the first time that morning and I was scared and needed my best friend—blah, blah, blah. Well, leave it up to the Queen of Bullshit to make an appearance when Officer Nossi—yes, that was his name, and no, it’s not pronounced like nosey— decided to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. “I can’t believe you said that to the

cop,” Nick remarks as we walk to the hotel, stopping mid-stride to catch his breath during our bout of laughter. “Well, I had to come up with something to distract him from the alcohol question! And that was the first thing that came to mind. It worked, didn’t it?” After Officer Nossi had questioned us about whether or not we’d been drinking, I quickly apologized for our rather inappropriate behavior, fabricating a story that Nick and I couldn’t help ourselves because we had recently reconciled our relationship after months of being apart. “Being a good Catholic, I wasn’t ready to take the next step in our

relationship, if you know what I mean,” I had explained to the cop, who eyed me inquisitively. “And so of course, I couldn’t be with him knowing I would constantly have that pressure every time we were together. But then I figured I’d probably end up doing something stupid one night at college and lose my virginity to some lame frat boy at a party and totally regret it anyway. So why not just give it up to someone who actually means something and not be deemed a total slut, and hope that a few Hail Marys and a couple of trips to the confessional would erase my sins? So you see, Officer, the two of us are a little eager right now.” Officer Nossi didn’t press the

alcohol question and let us go with a warning, telling us to keep it PG while we were out in public. “Well, you are the Queen of Bullshit,” Nick teases, bowing down and extending out a hand while his other rests behind his back, just like the royals would do. Our laughter subsides, and I happily place my hand in his, fanning the other in front of my face as I curtsy. “Eat your heart out.” He presses his lips to the back of my hand, shifting the mood of the moment from playful to serious just as the ocean swallows up the last glimmer of sunlight. We walk the rest of the way to the hotel in comfortable silence, hand-

in-hand, stealing a glance at each other every now and then. We’ve held hands before, but not like this. I notice the way mine fits perfectly in his. The way he gently rubs the pad of his thumb back and forth across my skin. The way he grips on to me as we fight our way through the crowds, pulling my hand to his chest, drawing my body closer to him, protecting me from getting pushed and shoved in all of the commotion. Like he’s claimed me as his own, holding on to me forever and never letting go, and although that thought is so foreign to me, the idea of belonging to somebody, oddly enough, feels as natural as the breath in my lungs.

I also notice how quickly Nick releases my hand the second we step inside the hotel lobby, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me. When I see a floppy mop of dirty-blond hair near the elevators over the sea of people hustling by, I understand why. Not that our holding hands would be odd to Braiden, since it’s something Nick and I do often, but somehow, the motion carries a bigger weight now. “There you are.” Braiden spots us when we reach the elevators. “It took you long enough.” Everyone knows that Braiden is an affectionate guy in an unromantic way, but the moment he wraps his arm over my shoulder, Nick’s jaw grows rigid,

tucking his hands into the pockets of his shorts. I think I even hear him heave a disgruntled sigh through the excitement of the lobby. Despite the fact he’s seen Braiden do this countless times with me, everything is different now, and it could only mean one thing: Nick is jealous. “Hey, asshole, in case you haven’t noticed, everyone and their mother is down here with the same idea.” I lightly backhand Braiden across his chest, pulling away in an attempt to put Nick at ease. Braiden steps closer to Nick. “Yo, dude, relax.” He playfully socks him in the stomach, but Nick doesn’t react. “Listen, Chase has me on a mission to get some ice, so why don’t you kiddies

go on up? Ninth floor, room 922.” He pushes the call button for the elevator. “You two need a drink right now. You’re all tense and shit from that drive.” Nick and I exchange a knowing glance. If the tension between us has anything to do with our sex drives, then Braiden couldn’t be more right.

Chase Parker never fails to deliver when he boasts a party to remember. This is one party he’ll remember all right, once his parents get billed for room damages. The smoke in the room is so thick, I should have come prepared with a gas mask because I’m pretty sure I’ll be

leaving here with a second-hand high. As Madonna and 2Pac compete for musical dominance from opposite corners, the cozy suite that’s meant to be enjoyed by a party of four is being enjoyed by a party of about thirty underage drunks. Various couples make out on the couches. A group of rowdy baseball jocks are egging each other on in a beer-chugging competition in the dining area. In one corner, a skinny brunette is yakking in a decorative vase and in the other, a guy is conked out with his mouth open. “Everyone knows I love a good party, but this? This isn’t a party. This is a three-ring circus on crack,” I observe, scanning the room from one end to the

other. “We can jet if you want, go down to the beach and watch the fireworks from there.” Nick stands closely beside me with his hand resting on the small of my back. A quick shiver travels up my spine. “Or we can revert back to the original plan and…go back to my place.” Um, make that two shivers. I turn to face him, his hand never leaving my waist, yet I can tell he’s being cautious. He swallows his nerves as he adds, “I mean, if that’s what you want to do.” My mouth presses up into a smile. “That doesn’t sound like such a bad plan.”

“Which one?” he asks, his smile mimicking mine. “The beach…or my place?” “The latter.” “Great minds think alike.” Okay, make that three shivers. Completely distracted by my thoughts of being alone with Nick, at his house, I almost forget that he and I didn’t come here alone. “Wait, what about Tess and Braiden?” “And Gemma?” Nick adds. Ugh. I roll my eyes. “Sure. We can’t leave them.” He looks over my head, probably scanning the room for them, before returning his gaze to me. “They’ll be good here for a couple of hours. We can

come back later.” But before Nick and I can put our plan into motion, Chase calls my name from across the room as he stands on the arm of the sofa, pointing his finger at me. “Boom! I spy a hottie at twelve o’clock!” Great. I can hardly stand Chase Parker when he’s sober. To say that I loathe him when he’s totally tanked would be an understatement. He jumps off the sofa and stumbles across the floor, practically tripping over a guy in nothing but his tighty-whities and tube socks, passed out on the carpet. For a guy who’s considered the school’s hunky heartbreaker—and to be clear, I did not make up that designation—Chase

certainly isn’t living up to the title. His dark, disheveled hair is full of white specks, so either the fool accidentally rubbed margarita rock salt through it or people were doing lines on his head. Or maybe he just has a bad case of dandruff, or lice. Either way, it certainly doesn’t complement the red rings around his emerald pupils, nor does the rank stench of cheap whiskey on his breath scream ‘Joe Stud’ in any way, shape, or form. Chase scans me up and down with hooded eyes while he points to the wet bar on the other side of the room. At the same time, Nick’s irritated scowl from earlier has noticeably returned. “See that bottle of tequila over there? It has your name written all over it, baby.” He

cocks a suggestive eyebrow. Though instinct tells me to knee Chase in the nuts, I’m more concerned about Nick and his growing agitation. I don’t blame him. If the roles were reversed and some girl was hitting on him…well, the thought alone stirs the crazy in me. I glance at the bar, lined mostly with empty bottles and trash. “Actually, it has Jose Cuervo’s name written on it, but you get an A for effort, Chase.” Eventually Chase realizes he’s barking up the wrong tree, scoffs, and joins the beer-chugging jocks, thank God. Nick looks down at me, his smile making it very difficult to stop myself from reaching out for him, and I sense

that he feels it, too. This pull, it’s magnetic, like two opposite poles that will inevitably come together, no matter how hard you try to keep them apart. We can’t defy it any more than we can defy the laws of science. It’s impossible. I place my hand on his hip and step closer to him, lifting my head to face him. “Ahem,” Tess clears her throat in the most obvious way, a smirk curling deviously out of her mouth, causing Nick and I to jump apart. She takes a sip from her cup, her green eyes—mellow and not as red as they were earlier—darting back and forth between Nick and me. An awkward second or two passes before he excuses himself to grab us a

couple of water bottles, leaving Tess and I alone together. Fanning my face with one hand, I pull my hair away from my neck with the other, releasing some of the heat trapped against my skin. The moment I do, Tess’s eyes grow wide. Instantly, my mind travels to Nick and what his mouth was doing to my neck in the Jeep. His mouth. It never fazed me at the time, but the stunned look on Tess’s face says it all. There is a hickey on my neck. I immediately drop my hair, and it falls back around my shoulders. I can only imagine the deep shade of tomatored splattered across my face. There’s no talking my way out of this one. If any of this was the slightest bit foggy to Tess,

well, it’s as clear as day now. “It’s okay, Corinne.” My eyebrows scrunch together in confusion as Tess’s coral lips form a reassuring smile. “I’m okay with it,” she says. “It may take some getting used to, but I’m okay with it. I always have been.” Not only has she confused the crap out of me with her effortless approval, now I’m even more perplexed as to what she means by that. Stating that she has always been okay with anything more than friendship between Nick and me implies longevity. Does Tess know something I don’t? “I don’t understand,” I remark. At the same time, my attention is pulled to the

other side of the room to Gemma and her cackle, which carries over the boom of the base pounding out of the speakers. Right beside her? Nick, of course, laughing along. I let out an exasperated sigh and roll my eyes in annoyance, then realize I wasn’t even attempting to be subtle in front of Tess. Smiling tenderly, Tess’s eyes wander to Nick and Gemma, who are heading toward us. “What don’t you understand, Corinne? Because to me, it’s crystal clear. I’m not blind, and neither are you. You just have to open your eyes.” Braiden appears out of nowhere, and yup, he’s stoned out of his mind. “If it isn’t my two favorite girls in the whole wide world,” he happily

proclaims and stretches his arms over each of our shoulders, bringing us in for a group hug. Gemma throws herself into our hug. “Three favorites, you fart-knocker,” she corrects him. Nick follows behind her, water bottles in hand. I wonder what had been so funny as it continues to annoy the shit out of me. Handing me one of the bottles, he winks at me, a warm smile accompanying it and just like that, my mood shifts from so damn peeved to utterly euphoric. Shit. If this man, and man is totally the right word to describe him, can have such an effect on me, I am in major trouble. “What’s with the shit-eating grin?”

Gemma asks Braiden. “I’m so fucking happy right now, that’s all,” he says with glee. “I’ve got my friends. I’ve got the air in my lungs...that sweet, pungent ganja air.” He inhales deeply while stirring the air with his hand and releasing a long exhale. Gemma jabs Braiden in the gut with her finger, and he flinches in response. “Dick! No wonder you were gone for so long. Thanks for the invite, ass.” “It wasn’t intentional, babe,” he assures, puckering his lips against her cheek. “On my mission to find ice, I got caught up in a conversation with a couple of guys in the lobby. They had some strong shit on them. Could practically smell it as soon as I walked

out of the elevator, so I had to scope it out. By the way, Corinne, are your parents here? I swear I saw your dad in the lobby before I came back up.” Braiden once said he saw Janet Jackson at Kelley’s. He swore up and down that it was her, even though the woman was on the other side of the pub, and it was pretty dark inside. Turned out, not only was the woman not Janet Jackson, but she was actually a he, as the Adam’s apple proved once we got a closer look. The only similarity between he and Janet was his rocking body; he pretty much put all of us girls to shame. I playfully shake my head. “No, you didn’t see my dad, you goof. He’s on a fishing trip in Monterey, and my mom is

with the Kelleys.” “I’m telling you, dude. If it wasn’t your dad, he has a clone walking around this town.” I drop my jaw sarcastically, asking Braiden, “What if it’s an alien conspiracy? Maybe we’re all clones of our actual selves, and we’ve been brainwashed to believe that we’re the real version of ourselves, when really, our sole purpose is to destroy them all. Once our real selves are obliterated from the earth, our clones will rule the world!” I let out an evil laugh, adding a dramatic flair to my completely ridiculous narrative. “You’re mocking me again, aren’t you?” Braiden turns to Nick. “She’s

mocking me, isn’t she?” Nick raises his eyebrows and nods, chuckling as Tess and Gemma pat Braiden on the back and direct him toward the balcony, where people are grouping together to await the start of the fireworks. Nick and I slowly trail behind the rest of the crowd, our arms lightly brushing against each other, teasing us in the most torturous way. “Where do you come up with your lines?” he asks, flashing the most adorable grin. Smiling from ear to ear, I remain silent, only pointing to my head and giving it a couple of taps. “What I wouldn’t do to get inside that cute little head of yours,” Nick

admits unabashedly. A vociferous pop signals the start of the fireworks, and a rainbow of streaks shoots across the dark, cloudless sky. Simultaneously, the sound of sirens wails off in the distance, possibly a fire truck or an ambulance, maybe both. Either way, sirens are never a good sign. Nick and I move closer to the balcony and take a spot behind the rest of the crowd. No one notices when he lightly weaves his fingertips with mine, sending a rush of adrenaline through my veins as we revel in our secret moment of intimacy. Before today, I would’ve never imagined being in this moment—feeling the way that I do, seeing Nick in this

way, wanting him the way that I do. Then again, perhaps those feelings have always been there, buried deep within my heart. All it simply took was for Nick to crack my shell and dig them out. And for me to let him. The sirens grow closer, competing for control with the fireworks’ acoustics as they wail with the earsplitting booms and pops above us. All of a sudden, Nick’s fingertips leave mine when a loud cry for help from out in the hall travels through the paper-thin walls, and a few of us go out to investigate. Nick stands directly in front of me, like he’s using himself as a shield to protect me while he scopes out any possible danger. He reaches behind

him and grabs my hand. “It looks pretty serious,” Nick says bleakly, squeezing my hand. A couple of paramedics shuffle in and out of a room three or four doors down, and a couple more hurry past us in that direction with a squeaking gurney in tow. We quickly move out of their way. A distraught, middle-aged man in a white robe is escorted from the room by one of the paramedics. He nods and then shakes his head, running a hand over his short buzzed hair with every question the paramedic asks him. All at once, he stops talking and freezes. He’s looking in our direction, and I may be wrong, but it seems like he’s staring right at me.

“Do you know that guy?” Nick asks, confirming that the man is indeed looking at me, and I can hear the protective tone in his voice. “I don’t think I do. How would I?” But then, I get my answer. Like a head-on collision at ninety miles per hour, I get my answer. I don’t know him, but he knows me. I’ve heard when a person is struck with tragedy, the details surrounding it tend to become hazy, forgotten, or broken up. Tomorrow, I may not remember every detail of the events unfolding. I may not remember the color of the man’s robe, or the sound the gurney makes as it is wheeled past us, or how the scent of liquor and smoke

escapes the suite, colliding with the chaos-filled hallway. I may forget all these things, but I will never forget the image of my dad. Wrapped in a white bathrobe. Lying lifeless and barely breathing. Being wheeled out of the room on a gurney. Coming down the hall right past us. Right in front of me. Me. His daughter. Shocked. Discombobulated. Reaching out to touch him. Grabbing him. Screaming for him. The ding of the elevator door. Flashing red lights illuminating the dark. Fireworks pounding the sky. Confusion pounding my head. The cold seat of the ambulance. Dad’s cold hand. The mystery man. Still in his bathrobe. Still

staring at me through the tiny window as the ambulance drives off. The eruption of fireworks, one emphatic pop after the other. The wailing siren. My wailing heart. Braiden had been right about seeing my dad. He had been right all along.

I remember the last time I was running through these hospital corridors. I ran as quickly as my eleven-year-old feet could carry me. My heart thudded against my chest and dropped every time I thought a nurse or a doctor saw me hiding behind a door or a corner, possibly resulting in my failed mission,

and I couldn’t fail. That kid and I aren’t much different from each other today. We both wouldn’t give a shit if some hospital authority tried to stop us, or tell us that we couldn’t be here. Because we share the same motivation. Cori. Nothing in this world could ever keep us from getting to her. But the moment I reach the waiting room and see her, alone, staring into the darkness behind the window, the differences kick in. My eleven-year-old self saw pure joy in young Cori’s beaming eyes and cute-as-hell grin. But now, I see nothing but the

reflection of darkness in her eyes, cold and hollow. Her face blank. Her smile non-existent. That kid felt the way she found relief in his presence, the way she curled into him the moment he lay beside her on the hospital bed and held her tightly. This Cori doesn’t even look at me. I hate that every time I step closer, she steps away. Who knows if it’s intentional, but every inch she moves away from me is like a knife to my chest. Eleven-year-old me saw how the pain from the incision on her torso affected her, even though she tried to play it off. He knew it every time she moved and winced, but he let her pretend to be tough.

But this pain? It’s far worse than any cut or incision, its scars leaving more than a protruding patch of jagged skin across her waist. This pain, she hides. Because Corinne Bennett doesn’t cry. Corinne Bennett doesn’t show fear. But I see it. “Cori, is there anything I can—” “Why do people like to fish?” she cuts me off, still staring out the window. Her question catches me off guard, and I find myself staring at the window with her, wondering if it’ll give me any insight into her head. But all I see is her reflection and a trail of fingerprints smeared across the glass. “I’m not referring to the people who work in the fishing industry. I’m talking about the

average schmucks who do it simply because.” The average schmucks. For some reason, I get the feeling Cori’s word choice is nothing short of intentional. Running a hand through my disheveled hair, I answer, “For sport, I guess.” “For sport?” She laughs, her voice icy and withdrawn. “Fishing is not a fucking sport.” I quickly scan the quiet waiting room, finding relief in our empty surroundings. And yet, it’s bizarre. Hospital waiting rooms aren’t known to be quiet or empty like this. Granted, it’s late and a holiday, but it’s eerie, as if this room

had been expecting us the entire time. “Baseball is a sport,” Cori continues, finally leaving the window and walking toward the row of seats along the wall. “Football is a sport. You need balls to play sports.” I assume she’s not referring to balls in the literal sense. “Hell, even men’s figure skating is a sport because those guys aren’t afraid to show their balls under their skintight Lycra pants. Fishing is not a fucking sport.” She sits, and I take the seat next to her. “Cori, I know you’re trying to wrap your head around all of this, but do you want to talk about it?” “Talk about what, Nick?” she snaps, finally bringing her eyes to me, and as

soon as she does, the hairs along the back of my neck begin to stand. That girl —the one I’ve loved ever since I can remember, full of vivacity and spunk—is nowhere to be found. “Fishing? My dad? That random bathrobe guy? I need specifics because there’s a shit ton of topics we can talk about right now.” “I don’t know,” I sigh, because I really don’t. “Whatever you want to talk about.” “What if I had said yes?” I look at her, puzzled. “What if you had said yes to what, Cori?” “What if I had agreed to go on that ‘fishing trip,’” she says, lifting her hands and motioning quotation marks. “He asked you to go?”

“He always asks me to go,” she says matter-of-factly. She stands from her seat, presses her palm onto her forehead, and lets out a low chuckle. “God, he fucking knew.” Remaining seated, I watch as she paces back and forth and mumbles to herself. When her eyes find mine again, she must see the confusion written across my face because she cries out, “He fucking knew I would say no! He knew, Nick, and he still asked me.” She pauses, the defeat evident in her voice. “He knew.” Except for her heavy breathing, she grows quiet. I hunch over and brace my elbows on my knees, trying to understand what Cori is telling me. There has to be some

logical explanation for all of this. This is Henry we’re talking about. There has to be. “I just don’t understand why he would ask you to go when—” “He was never going fishing, Nick! There was never a fishing trip!” Stopping abruptly, she grabs tight handfuls of her hair, surprising me that none of it comes out when she finally lets go. She wipes her hands over her face, a trace of wet residue streaked beneath her left eye. “Don’t you get it? He lied! The only fishing he was doing was fishing for my whereabouts tonight, finding out where I was going to be. He wanted to make sure. Because he…that guy…in the hotel…” Like pieces of an unfinished puzzle,

her thoughts lie scattered all around us, so I can only imagine what it must look like in her head. “My dad, Nick,” she laments, closing her eyes, her voice turning calm. “He’s in the other room fighting for his life, and all I can think about is why he would lie to me, what he was doing, how he could do that to my mom.” On cue, Evelyn shows up, frantic and confused, with my parents right alongside her. As if this situation isn’t confusing enough, that strange man—the one at the hotel with Henry, who is now dressed in a short-sleeved, collared shirt and khaki pants—shows up behind them, bringing with him a loud, torturous silence that fills the room to the brim.

Every set of eyes tears into him as he stands under the bleak fluorescent lighting, and while I swear that the walls of the waiting room are painted a paper white, the fiery glares engulf the room like an auburn wildfire, devouring every depressing inch of it. I’d bet all my money that hell would feel like a vacation in comparison. I glance over at Cori, now sitting beside me, her jaw clenched tight, her right leg bouncing rapidly up and down on the ball of her foot, and her fingers picking at her nails. A sliver of blood oozes out from beneath her fingernail, but she doesn’t flinch. I reach over the armrests of the chairs and place my hand over hers.

“How long, Jamie?” Evelyn questions, breaking the silence, her voice steady and calm, but hollow. Like perfectly-timed puppets, everyone’s heads turn toward her. No one says a word, but I know what everyone is thinking. This man isn’t a stranger at all. “How long?” Her eyes show no signs of relenting. He steps forward and hesitates. I see the remorse in his eyes, and I almost feel sorry for him. This has to be the most awkwardly agonizing situation of his life. But all I have to do is look over at Cori and see the pain and fear in her eyes, to forget why I even felt sorry for him. He brushes a hand over his buzzed,

salt-and-pepper head and gulps down a hard swallow. “I don’t think now is the right time to talk about this, Evelyn,” he responds, his voice shaky and hesitant. Crossing one leg over the other and sitting upright in her chair, Evelyn places her elbow on the armrest and rests her chin on the back of her hand. Despite the frizz of her sandy-brown hair and her dark makeup smudged along the pinkish rings around her hazel eyes, her posture exudes an air of confidence. I look at her, and I see Cori. The image is uncanny. She laughs, but not the humorous ‘ha ha’ kind of laugh. It sounds vindictive, almost evil. “Oh, we have time. Now is as good a time as any, Jamie.”

He rounds the row of chairs opposite us and chooses a seat in the center, directly across from Evelyn. It’s like he’s on trial, waiting to be judged by a jury. I don’t know the guy, but I’ve certainly made a few judgments of my own. Cori’s hand moves beneath mine as she weaves our fingers together. “Look, Evelyn, we didn’t mean for you to find out this way.” “Is that so?” Evelyn scoffs. “And how did you expect us to find out? On Thanksgiving, while we’re enjoying a nice family dinner? Or maybe on Christmas morning, when we’re opening our gifts in front of the tree? Or here’s one...how about after my daughter and I come home early from a girls’ weekend

away because we can’t wait to get home to Henry, only to find you in our bed?” I flinch, quickly glancing at my parents, only to see them look away, but Cori doesn’t react, and that worries me. “So, if this isn’t the way you expected us to find out, I’d really love to hear what you two had in mind. And if you have any plans of staying in this room until we hear word on my husband, then you will start talking.” Jamie doesn’t respond right away. He bends over in his chair and rests his elbows on his legs, cupping his head in his hands. The silence is suffocating, and visibly so in the rapid rise and fall of Cori’s chest. As the silence grows, so does the

pace of Cori’s breathing, and despite the cool air flowing through the vents directly above us, her hand feels clammy in mine. I see the fire burning within her eyes. Like a rigid statue, her face hardens and her body stiffens as she digs her eyes into Jamie, and I realize it’s only a matter of time before that fire combusts, shattering her hard exterior. “Evelyn, please.” A pleading desperation rings through Jamie’s voice as he swipes his hand down his face. “Don’t act as if I’m the only one in this room, Jamie. If you’re going to address me, you can address my daughter.” Evelyn waves her hand between Cori and Jamie. “Forgive me for being rude! Corinne, honey, this is

James Allen, but he prefers to go by Jamie. He once told me James sounds too formal. Isn’t that right?” She purses her lips into a hard smile. She seems calm and collected, and that’s what makes it all the more disturbing. Evelyn is definitely not calm, and she definitely is not collected. She is anything but. Jamie flicks his eyes in Cori’s direction but immediately looks down at his hands. He’s tormented; anyone could see that, and Evelyn knows it. She knows how it must affect him to bring Cori into the conversation. “Wow,” Evelyn starts, her light chuckle laced heavily with sarcasm. “I see things like this on Oprah, but never in a million years did I think it’d ever

happen to me. What are the chances?” Mom looks to Dad before taking Evelyn’s hand between hers. “Evelyn, honey, how about we take a little walk? It’ll be a while before we hear anything from the doctors. What do you say?” “It happens, Marlene,” Evelyn continues, ignoring Mom’s suggestion. “I bet that it happens more often than one might think. Surely, every wife out there must have a tinge of doubt at some point in her marriage, wondering if her husband is out cheating with some sad excuse for a woman. But never does anyone tell you—not the premarital counselor, not the marriage books, not your mother or your girlfriends—that you might have to worry about your

husband experimenting with other men. Had I been warned, I might not be so shocked right now. Sadly, I think it’s almost acceptable for a wife to find out that her husband is banging some woman, but another man? Now, that one is a little difficult for me to wrap my head around.” Jesus Christ. I get it. She’s angry, and she has every right to be. But not now, not while Henry is fighting for his life in the next room. And certainly not at the expense of her daughter, who is now shaking under my arm. I get my mother’s attention, silently pleading with her to get Evelyn out of the room before this escalates further. I agree with Jamie; this isn’t the right time

to be discussing the matter. That time will come later, once Henry is out of surgery, awake and well. Or I certainly hope. Mom whispers something in Evelyn’s ear, wraps her arm around her shoulders, and motions her head in the direction of the exit. “That’s not what it is,” Jamie utters boldly. Evelyn’s eyes dart to him. “What’s not?” “What you said right now, about experimenting. If you think this is about experimenting or a one-night stand or a fling, then you couldn’t be more wrong. That’s not what this is. Not at all. It’s more than all of that.”

Of course he chooses now to be forward. Probably best if he’d said nothing at all. As soon as the words roll out of Jamie’s mouth, Cori’s hand constricts mine, her fingernails digging into the top of my hand, and her knuckles as white as paper. Evelyn shrugs Mom’s arm off her shoulders. I guess she isn’t leaving. Great. “More than what? Like…love? Because love is the only thing that could mean more than a fling, Jamie.” His lack of a response pretty much confirms Evelyn’s assumption. “Are you trying to tell me that my husband is—gay? Is that it? That after all these years of marriage, he’s suddenly interested in men?”

Cori winces in my arms, while Jamie continues to stir the silence. “Tell me, Jamie. Tell us all!” Evelyn pauses before screaming, “Talk goddammit!” “I can’t.” Jamie finally speaks, refuting her demand with sincere apology in his voice. “It isn’t my place to say. Only Henry can do that.” Like everyone else, I can’t wrap my head around the situation, but oddly enough, I understand what Jamie is getting at. He may have done a really shitty thing by ruining this family and being the other—well, whatever you would call him—but I respect him for not speaking for Henry, though I dare not share my thoughts out loud. If Evelyn and

Cori are going to find out something lifechanging about their husband and father, they have to hear it from Henry and Henry alone. No one else, not even Jamie, who is probably the only person to know his secret, has the right to tell it to the world. And I hope—for Evelyn, for Cori, and especially Henry himself—that he makes it out of that operating room, alive and well, to say what he needs to say. Hours later, I awake to the whispers of Evelyn and Mom, still seated in the chairs beside us, and to Cori, asleep with her head on my shoulder and her hand still wrapped in mine. A faint snore hums through her exhales; I’ve always

thought her snores were cute. She looks peaceful, like she’s having sweet dreams, and I’m dreading the moment when reality steals that peace away from her and brings her back into this nightmare. I don’t remember dozing off. The early morning sun penetrates the window and stings my eyes, and I rub each one with the palm of my free hand. When I look around the waiting room, Jamie is nowhere to be seen. Neither is Dad. I assume he left to close up the pub for the night. A couple that hadn’t been here last night sits on the opposite side of the room, and I wonder what or who they’re here for. I don’t know them, but I know

what we share in common: uncertainty, distress. And we are all doing the one and only thing we can do—wait. So we wait. By the time Dr. Singh, Henry’s surgeon, finally enters the waiting room, Jamie is back, sitting on the other side where that couple was once seated but is now gone. Cori awakens, her hand still tangled with mine as her head darts up from my shoulder, and Evelyn stands quickly from her seat, bringing Mom up along with her. I’ve lost track of time, but that doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he gives us the good news we’ve been hoping for all night. When Dr. Singh gives the green light

for Evelyn and Cori to see Henry, I notice the sad look on Jamie’s face. He must want to see Henry, too. I doubt Evelyn will allow it. Plus, the doctor tells us only immediate family members are allowed in the ICU, and I catch a glimpse of Evelyn and the wicked smile curling out of her mouth. Mom and I offer to get breakfast for everyone at the hospital cafeteria, but when I turn to leave, Cori doesn’t let me go. Dr. Singh remains steadfast in the ‘family members only’ rule to which she argues, “He is family,” and demands for the doctor to lead us to her father. We step into the small room, filled with the steady beeps of Henry’s heartbeat, which relieve Evelyn and

Cori of the breaths they’ve been holding. Henry appears lifeless, and if it wasn’t for the green line zigzagging across the screen on the heart monitor, I might think he was. In any other situation, a mother and daughter would probably rush to their husband/father’s bedside, wanting nothing more than to be close to him, but Cori and Evelyn remain planted in their confusion near the door as they stare at Henry. They want answers first. But it could be a while before they get them. Henry awakens several hours later. By this point, I have no idea what day of the week it is, as the hours and minutes

continue to blur into a timeless mess. And I have no idea how Henry has the strength to talk through his pain, to finally say what he has needed to say. And I have no idea if things will ever go back to the way they once were.

Geography sucks. As a subject in school, I didn’t mind it much. I kicked ass in it, actually. But right now? I hate it, because Cori is leaving tomorrow. The day I’ve dreaded over the past three weeks has finally come. She’s leaving for New Jersey to be with her mom. Soon after Henry started recovering

from his heart attack, Evelyn didn’t waste any time in making her decision to leave, and to my disbelief, neither did Cori. Despite Cori saying it’s temporary, she deferred her fall enrollment at the university and expects to be back for spring semester. She’ll be gone for six months, but I’ve never been away from her for more than six days. I reach for the phone on the nightstand and begin to dial her number, only to set it back down on the receiver. I want to ask her to stay, or at least for her to ask me to go. I’m a selfish bastard for making this all about me. I groan and force myself out of the bed, stumbling for the door and accidentally kicking my desk chair.

Alright, it wasn’t an accident, but it hurts way more than I thought it would. “Stupid chair¸” I mutter, and shove it out of the way, filled with an irrational urge to hate it just like I hate everything about this day. I hate thinking about not seeing Cori every day. I hate how she won’t talk to me about this even though it’s obviously eating her up inside. I hate how I can’t hate her father for wrecking everything. And I especially hate how Evelyn’s from New Jersey and that her family still lives there. I hate how that stupid world map posted on the wall by my desk measures the distance between California and New Jersey as four-anda-half inches.

The entire night was spent trying to figure out roughly how many inches actually lie between the two states. I attempted the math in my head, multiplying the number of inches in a foot by the number of feet in a mile. Needless to say, I didn’t get far because you’d have to be a genius to do that shit in your head. Point in case, it’s a lot of inches, a lot of miles, and for that map to boast four-and-a-half inches is fucking misleading. I stalk closer to the wall where the map hangs, the early morning sun cascading through the breaks in the trees outside, penetrating my window, and stinging my tired eyes when I pass it. I stand in front of the map and glare at

those four-and-a-half inches, then grab the right edge of it and forcefully rip it all the way across, leaving four uneven corners pinned beneath the wall tacks. The torn map lies at my feet, crumpled. A world torn apart—it couldn’t sound any more ironic or pathetic. Because that’s exactly what has happened here. I kick the map with all my might, kicking it again and again as it corkscrews through the air. Once I stop, the wrinkled paper falls to the floor, my frustrations heavily embossed in the crinkles and creases. “Geez, what did that map do to piss you off?” My head whips around at the sound

of Tess’s voice. She stands in my doorway, dressed in her exercise clothes, her face and neck heavily beaded with sweat as her eyes meet my glare. Brushing the back of her hand across her forehead, she saunters over to the desk chair and uses it for balance while she pulls one foot up behind her and stretches her quads. “Wow, you look like shit.” On a normal day, I’d come up with some kind of smart comment. Instead, I don’t say anything at all. I’m too damn tired, and well, her observation isn’t far from the truth. I scratch at the three-dayold scruff on my face and walk around her, purposely bumping my shoulder into hers and causing her to momentarily lose

her balance. When I pass the window, I catch a glimpse of the sky, already a vibrant blue this early in the morning. The weather guy on the news last night said it would be a beautiful day today. He couldn’t have been more wrong. When I reach the edge of my bed, I fall face down on top and land horizontally, my legs hanging over the side. With my head buried into my comforter, I reach to my left, blindly feeling for the nearest pillow, pulling it toward me, and laying it under my head. “So this is it? This is what it’s come down to? You, wallowing in your misery when you should be convincing Corinne to stay? Why aren’t you doing anything about this? What is wrong with you?”

Tess attacks me, one question after another. It’s the same battle I’ve fought and lost with myself ever since Cori told me her decision. “Do you know Cori?” I mumble into my pillow. Once that girl’s mind is made up, it’s made up. “Yes, I do know her, which is why I know that she’s always made the calls. But it’s because you let her. You have a bigger influence on Corinne than you think.” The sound of her footsteps echoes over the floor and stops near my bed. “I suggest that, for once, you don’t let her decide. Tell her she doesn’t need to leave. Running away isn’t going to make the situation better with her dad. You agree with me, right? Tell me you

agree, Nicholas.” I turn my head to the side, and Tess towers at the foot of my bed. My sister is right, and despite being in agreement with her, the only thing I say is, “Are you finished?” “You know what she’s doing, right?” Tess jerks the pillow out from under me, and my head bounces on the mattress. “She’s pushing you away because she doesn’t want anyone to hurt her. I guarantee it. Nicholas, if you let her leave, she’s going to keep you and Henry at a distance for potentially forever. This isn’t temporary.” Her voice cracks, making me realize I’m not the only one affected by Cori’s decision. “It is temporary,” I argue with a sigh,

yanking the pillow out of her hands and putting it back under my head. My throat forces the words out despite my conscience seeing any truth in them. Kneeling on the floor, she leans over the foot of the bed and crosses her arms. When a streak of sunlight shoots through the window and hits her eye, she squints, and then shifts to her right. “Have you even told her you love her?” “I tell Cori I love her all the time. She’s my best friend. What does this have to do with anything?” She rolls her eyes and lets out an exasperated breath of air. “You know what I mean. There’s a difference between loving someone and being in love, and the reality, dear brother, is that

you’re in love with Corinne.” My silence is an indicator of my answer. Tess leans closer. “So, does she know? Have you told her?” “It wouldn’t make a difference, Tess.” “Of course it would,” she refutes, scowling, her tone reverting back to its attacking ways. “She’d be heartless if she walked away knowing that.” Instantly, I lift my head from my pillow, my eyes issuing a warning. “Are you kidding me, Tess? Are you completely oblivious to what our friend has been going through?” I stand, and she follows me. “This isn’t about me! Now is not the right time to tell her. She made

her decision, and I have to let her go.” “When is there ever a right time? You can’t take life for granted because the second you do, the time you thought you had will have slipped right through your fingers. It will be too late.” She gently lays a reassuring hand on my forearm. “As much as you get on my nerves sometimes,” she teases, smiling, “you’re my brother, and I love you. I want you to be happy, and I know that Corinne makes you happy.” God, my sister can’t be more right about that. Happy doesn’t even come close to explaining the extent of what I feel when I’m with Cori. I could be having the shittiest day, but the second she enters my thoughts, my heart does

these funny little flips in my chest, making me forget my sour mood. And that gorgeous smile of hers. Who knew that a smile could make one’s heart melt, swell, and explode all at the same time? A smile creeps over my face. Tess nods, and I see in her eyes that she thinks she’s won me over. “You need to tell her tonight, Nicholas. Find some time during our goodbye shindig to be alone with her, and tell her. You may never get the chance again.” She turns to leave but adds, “Oh, and I suggest you do something about those dark circles, and shave that shit off your face before you do. Not a good look on you.” She smirks. Now, I haven’t made up my mind yet,

but Tess’s lecture certainly makes me think. Telling Cori I love her isn’t going to be easy, no doubt. Just getting her alone will be a daunting task because the thing is, Cori and I haven’t spent much one-on-one time together lately. But Tess is right. I have to tell her. And I have to do it tonight.

July 29th Dear Nick, If you’re reading this, I’ve already gone. And trust me, I don’t like myself very much right now. This isn’t the way I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t bring myself to do all the ‘boo hoo, we’re

going to miss you’ stuff at the pub. I know I promised you could drive me to the airport, but the thought of that was even worse—to stand in the luggage line next to you, feeling time chipping away at our last moment together until the past eighteen years of our lives crumbled completely in its hands. To say that awful word, the one that ironically begins with good when there is nothing good about it. You and I both know I do things on a whim, but you keep me grounded. I don’t know how I would have survived the past eighteen years without you. God, I don’t know how I will survive the next six months without you.

I’ve been hurt and betrayed, broken by a person I thought would never break me. That’s why I need this—the time away. To think. To put myself back together. To simply be on my own. And not because I want to be without you by my side. The truth is, I need you, Nick, but I think I take that for granted. You are always there to break my fall. You are always there to catch me. But one day, you may not be, and what will I do then? I know we haven’t talked about us. That night. After the beach. Before the hospital. You and me in between. Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve thought about it—constantly—and it sticks out

like a neon-pink sticky note in my mind. I haven’t smiled much in the past few weeks, but every time I do, it’s because I’m thinking of you. I smile every time I think of you. I’m smiling now. This very second. Even as I write this godforsaken letter, I’m thinking of you, and just...smiling. And that’s how I want it to stay. I want to be able to think of you and simply smile. In a few months...a few years...when we’re old and gray, wearing adult diapers, and growing hair on our chins (please, dear lord, don’t let it actually happen to me!), I want to think of you and all the memories we’ve shared over the years,

void of any complications, regrets, or disappointments—the very three things that have suddenly invaded my life. You’re my best friend, Nick. There is and will never be any question about that. I often wonder if two friends exist out in the world that compare to us, and then just like that, I quickly answer my own question—hell fucking no. We’re extraordinary, you and I. Call me egotistical, but there is no way there are two people in the universe that are cooler than us! So, let’s not contemplate and analyze what it was or what it could have been, complicating the simplicity of you and me, disappointing each other at the end of

it all, and losing what we have. Let’s simply stay...us. The way we are. The best of friends. Cori and Nick. The hot shot and the chicken shit. I can’t lose that. I can’t lose you. I’ll call you once I get to Jersey. Hopefully, you’ll find it in your heart to talk to me. I know you don’t have one mean bone in your body, but you have every right to be upset. I give you permission. And I know I’ve already asked too much of you, but please tell Braiden and Tess I’m sorry, that I will miss them both terribly. Don’t say anything to Gemma. I’m missing you already.

Let’s try to talk every day. See you in six months. Yours always, Cori

KelleyNick1715 has signed on HotShot68: What are you doing up so late? KelleyNick1715: Me? Isn’t it like three a.m. for you? HotShot68: Can’t sleep. HotShot68: Still stuck in west coast time.

KelleyNick1715: Same here. KelleyNick1715: Can’t sleep, I mean. KelleyNick1715: You’ve been there two weeks. HotShot68: I know. HotShot68: Feels longer though. KelleyNick1715: I know. HotShot68: I don’t think it helps that my aunt’s house feels like a sauna. HotShot68: The humidity here is no joke. KelleyNick1715: Haha. No central air?

HotShot68: They have those units you stick in the window, but not every room has one. HotShot68: And the office doesn’t have one…which is where I’ve been sleeping the past few nights. KelleyNick1715: Aren’t you staying with your mom in the guest room? HotShot68: I tried. HotShot68: She cries every night. KelleyNick1715: Cori. HotShot68: Charlotte leaves for her internship in a month. I’ll move into her room until Mom and I find our own

place. HotShot68: My cousin’s room is the coolest in the house, thank God. KelleyNick1715: Your own place? HotShot68: I meant a place for my mom. KelleyNick1715: Right. HotShot68: So, did you go to orientation today? KelleyNick1715: Yeah. HotShot68: How’d it go? KelleyNick1715: As expected. Got a

campus tour. Enrolled in classes. KelleyNick1715: Took a look around the art department. KelleyNick1715: They’ve got a kick ass dark room. KelleyNick1715: Braiden tagged along. The guy hears ‘free food’ and he’s suddenly interested in my education. KelleyNick1715: He’s good company, but I wish it was you. KelleyNick1715: Hello?? HotShot68: I’m here. HotShot68: I wish I was there with you, too. HotShot68: I think I’m finally getting sleepy.

KelleyNick1715: OK. Talk tomorrow? HotShot68: You don’t have to ask twice. :) HotShot68: Same time. Same place. KelleyNick1715: Cori? HotShot68: Yeah HotShot68: Yes HotShot68: ??? KelleyNick1715: Good night. HotShot68: Good night, Nick. HotShot68 has signed off

KelleyNick1715: I love you. KelleyNick1715 has signed on HotShot68: How was your first day? KelleyNick1715: It was fine. HotShot68: That’s it? Fine? KelleyNick1715: What do you want me to say about it? KelleyNick1715: School is school. HotShot68: Did someone forget to eat their bowl of sunshine this morning? HotShot68: :)

KelleyNick1715: It was just…weird. HotShot68: ?? HotShot68: Your bowl of sunshine? I was speaking metaphorically. HotShot68: Wait…is there actually a cereal called that?! KelleyNick1715: You asked me about school. HotShot68: Oh. Duh. KelleyNick1715: It was just weird without you there. HotShot68: I’ll be there next semester.

KelleyNick1715: It’s just weird without you here. Period. HotShot68: Ditto, kid. KelleyNick1715: School is closed for an extra couple days the end of next month. KelleyNick1715: I was thinking I could come out and see you. KelleyNick1715: Since it will be a long weekend and all. KelleyNick1715: ?? HotShot68: Sorry. KelleyNick1715: Sorry meaning…no?

HotShot68: No, sorry it took me a while to respond. HotShot68: Charlotte was just showing me pictures of where she’ll be staying in Paris. HotShot68: Lucky bitch. KelleyNick1715: So…what do you think? KelleyNick1715: About me coming out there? HotShot68: Sounds good! HotShot68: But we’re gonna have to talk about it later. My aunt’s calling me for dinner, and she won’t stop until my ass is sitting down at that table.

HotShot68: Imagine Edith Bunker’s voice on a broken record. You get the picture. HotShot68 has signed off DATE: Thursday, September 14 at 9:25pm FROM: Tess Kelley TO: Corinne Bennett SUBJECT: Hey stranger Just checking in. Haven’t talked to you in a while. I miss you. My brother misses you. He says he’s planning on visiting you at the end of the month. I wish I could come along.

Senior year isn’t panning out like I hoped. It’s pretty lame, actually. In fact, everyone is lame. No wonder I hung out with you guys all the time. Anyway, let’s talk soon. With you and Gemma away, I need a little estrogen in my life. Braiden says hi, by the way. He’s practically on top of me as I write this. And he says he’s turned on now because I said estrogen and on top of me. HotShot68 has signed on KelleyNick1715: Hey…

HotShot68: …is for horses. KelleyNick1715: Did your cousin tell you I called a few nights ago? HotShot68: You’re not amused? KelleyNick1715: HA. KelleyNick1715: So did she tell you I called?? HotShot68: Yeah, she did. Sorry, I haven’t called you back. I’ve been busy. KelleyNick1715: I need to know if you still want me to come out next week. KelleyNick1715: You never gave me a

definite answer. HotShot68: Of course I want you to visit. KelleyNick1715: OK. I’m gonna buy my plane ticket. HotShot68: You can’t. HotShot68: I’m going to Paris. Next week. KelleyNick1715: I’m confused. Your cousin is going to Paris. HotShot68: Yeah. She asked if I wanted to come along since there’s room in the flat the company is boarding her in.

KelleyNick1715: Wow. That’s great. HotShot68: Right?! I figured what the hell! The only downside is that my dad is paying for my trip. KelleyNick1715: Downside? That’s pretty generous of him. HotShot68: Whatever. If his money gives me a chance to travel and gets me far away from him, I’m game. HotShot68: Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I’ve been busy figuring out the logistics. KelleyNick1715: Don’t be sorry. You’ve

always wanted to travel. HotShot68: I know, but I also wanted to see you. KelleyNick1715: Well, you’re always looking for adventure, right? Now is your chance. It’ll be a nice getaway before you come home. HotShot68: I gotta jet. Oh, can you tell Tess I got her message? And tell her I miss her, too! And Braiden! KelleyNick1715: Sure thing. HotShot68 has signed off

DATE: Saturday, December 23 at 1:07pm FROM: Corinne Bennett TO: Nicholas Kelley SUBJECT: Not-so-Merry Christmas My mom told me you called last week. Sorry I haven’t called you back. Not only was I depressed upon my return, but I came home to news that Henry will be spending Christmas with us. Why and how? I don’t know. But what a way to end the best vacation of my life. Talk soon. KelleyNick1715 has signed on

KelleyNick1715: I thought I was the only pathetic one. KelleyNick1715: Are we the saddest people on earth? KelleyNick1715: Sitting in front of our computers on New Year’s Eve? KelleyNick1715: Cori? KelleyNick1715: ??? KelleyNick1715: You must have left your IM on. KelleyNick1715: Happy New Year. KelleyNick1715 has signed off DATE: Monday, January 15 at 5:06pm FROM: Nicholas Kelley

TO: Corinne Bennett SUBJECT: RE: School Wow. This is huge. If you’re sure this is what you want, then I’ll support your decision. You know I always do. But doesn’t deferring again basically mean you’re giving up your admission entirely? Call me. DATE: Tuesday, March 26 at 10:05pm FROM: Corinne Bennett TO: Nicholas Kelley SUBJECT: Old Fart Before you know it, you’ll be wearing old men’s diapers and breaking wind without even realizing it. Did you get my

birthday card? I called your house earlier, but no one picked up. I’m sorry my plans to make it out there fell through. Happy Birthday. DATE: Monday, June 17 at 11:56pm FROM: Nicholas Kelley TO: Corinne Bennett SUBJECT: Congrats I ran into your dad earlier tonight at the pub. He mentioned you got into NYU for the fall semester. Funny, I didn’t even know you applied. I guess congratulations are in order. TheNewTesstament has signed on

KelleyNick1715: Yo TheNewTesstament: Are you serious? I’m right across the hall. KelleyNick1715: Your screen name is lame. TheNewTesstament: You’re lame. What do you want? KelleyNick1715: Not sure I can answer that. I don’t even know myself. TheNewTesstament: Great. You must be in one of your ‘I miss Cori’ moods? TheNewTesstament: Your silence speaks

volumes. TheNewTesstament: It’s been long enough, Nicholas. TheNewTesstament: It’s been a year. KelleyNick1715: I know. TheNewTesstament: You gotta move on. You gotta get laid. KelleyNick1715: Yeah, can we not have this conversation? TheNewTesstament: Trust me. You think I wanna talk about my brother getting laid? TheNewTesstament: Desperate times call for desperate measures.

TheNewTesstament: That one chick I always see at the pub seems to have taken a liking in you. KelleyNick1715: Riley? We’re just friends. TheNewTesstament: Who said friends can’t bone each other? KelleyNick1715: You better be referring to my situation. TheNewTesstament: :X KelleyNick1715 has signed off

DATE: Friday, October 4 at 5:06pm FROM: Nicholas Kelley TO: Corinne Bennett SUBJECT: We need to talk I don’t know if it’s just me, but I feel like our correspondence over the past few months have been few and far between. You’ve got school now, so I get you’re busy. I hate that I’m doing this over webmail, but there won’t ever be a good time to say this. I have to get it off my chest before I completely lose the courage. I love you, Cori. I am so in love with you. I should have told you that night of the 4th or at least before you left. Who

knows if this even changes anything? I simply needed you to know. I lov HotShot68 has signed on KelleyNick1715: Hey. HotShot68: Hey. KelleyNick1715: What are you up to? HotShot68: Had to finish something up at the library. HotShot68: Checking webmail then heading out. HotShot68: You? Not working tonight?

KelleyNick1715: No. I asked my dad for the night off. Needed it. KelleyNick1715: I was actually in the middle of writing you a message. KelleyNick1715: Where are you headed? HotShot68: Gonna go have dinner with a friend. KelleyNick1715: Your dorm mate? HotShot68: No. She went home to Long Island for the weekend. KelleyNick1715: Oh.

HotShot68: I met someone. HotShot68: He’s a senior. KelleyNick1715: Oh. KelleyNick1715: Like a date? KelleyNick1715: Cori? HotShot68: Yeah. HotShot68: I don’t know if it’s a date. HotShot68: He just asked if I wanted to have dinner. HotShot68: And I said yes. HotShot68: Figured I should start being more social. :) HotShot68: Nick? KelleyNick1715: Sorry, I was about to send the message, but I clicked on

something and somehow it got deleted. KelleyNick1715: Gotta love technology. HotShot68: What did it say? KelleyNick1715: Nothing that can’t wait. HotShot68: Okay. I have to go. He’s meeting me at my dorm soon. KelleyNick1715: OK. HotShot68: Good night. KelleyNick1715: Have a good time. HotShot68 has signed off.

DATE: Friday, October 4 at 5:06pm FROM: Nicholas Kelley TO: Corinne Bennett SUBJECT: We need to talk I don’t know if it’s just me, but I feel like our correspondence over the past few months have been few and far between. You’ve got school now, so I get you’re busy. I hate that I’m doing this over webmail, but there won’t ever be a good time to say this. I have to get it off my chest before I completely lose the courage. I love you, Cori. I am so in love with you. I should have told you that night of

the 4th or at least before you left. Who knows if this even changes anything? I simply needed you to know. I lov RileyJones127 has signed on KelleyNick1715: Hey there. RileyJones127: Who are you, The Flash? RileyJones127: I swear I left the pub before you. RileyJones127: :) KelleyNick1715: My dad let me off

early. RileyJones127: It must be nice to have a dad for a boss. :) KelleyNick1715: It has its perks. KelleyNick1715: He owed me for working six nights this week. RileyJones127: I take it back. That dad of yours sounds like a slave driver. RileyJones127: :P KelleyNick1715: We should hang out. RileyJones127: We just hung out. RileyJones127: We always hang out. :)

KelleyNick1715: I know. KelleyNick1715: I’m talking about you and me. KelleyNick1715: Just the two of us. RileyJones127: I don’t know… RileyJones127: Braiden might get jealous. :) KelleyNick1715: He’ll survive. RileyJones127: In that case… RileyJones127: I’d love to. :) KelleyNick1715: Friday night? RileyJones127: I think I can pencil you in. :)

KelleyNick1715: It’s a date.

I hate spaghetti. Okay, I don’t really hate it. I really love it actually, especially when it’s made home-style with a chunky tomato meat sauce, mixed with some chopped baby bellas, and sprinkled with fresh parmesan cheese. But if Henry Bennett thinks he can fix

our problems with my favorite food, thinks that somehow after all of these years he still knows me, then he is in for a big reality check. I think I might dislike everything he thinks I like this week. Like if he strikes up a conversation about the Giants, I’ll say I follow the Yankees now. Or if he tries to get me to watch a horror flick, I’ll tell him those films bore me to death. Or if he offers me a glass of wine, I’ll politely decline and say I don’t drink. Okay, maybe that last one was a bad example, but you see where I’m going with this. Super mature, I know. “It’s not your favorite dish?” Anabel asks through my contemplative silence, and I sense the disappointment in her

voice as she stirs the pot, strands of her graying brown hair falling out of her bun and around her face. She brushes them away with the back of her hand. “Mr. Bennett said it was.” Dammit, if it didn’t smell like the Olive Garden in here and this woman wasn’t so gosh darn sweet with her rosy, chubby cheeks, then I’d probably ante up the bitch mode and start opposite week before I even see my father. It absolutely irks me he would have spoken to Anabel like he still knows me, but at the same time, what happened between he and I occurred long before she was hired. She probably knows little to nothing about the rift in our relationship, and I’m sure she isn’t getting paid enough to deal with

the bitchy daughter she just met. “It is my favorite. Thank you, Anabel. It smells delicious.” Her frown turns into a pleased smile as she stirs the sauce. “I hope it is how you like it. Your mama was so kind to give me her recipe.” Oh, was she now? That darn Evelyn Bennett. She was probably the one who gave Henry the idea to welcome me home with my favorite dish. As if my broken relationship with my dad could magically repair itself at first bite. Well, I guess it could happen. It would have to be one fucking amazing dish, like Julia Child herself would have to whip it up. So, I hate to tell ya, Ma, as much as I love it, it ain’t gonna happen

with spaghetti. Heat radiates from the pot, and Anabel covers it with a lid, wiping away the moisture along her forehead as the August swelter sweeps through the kitchen. “Why don’t we get you settled in your room before your father comes home? He should be here shortly.” She shimmies ahead of me through the kitchen, dragging my suitcase in tow, and I feel like such an ass. Anabel is practically half my size and double my age, and she looks like she may topple over from hauling the weight of it. But I don’t do anything about it because my attention is too focused on the house, one that was once my house. And Anabel is

taking me to my room. Although, I don’t know if that room is mine any more than this house is. I mean, it certainly looks like my house on the outside, the same two-story Victorian home, its age visible in the exterior’s warping mustard paint and in the splitting wood along the edges of the nine gables. And the inside looks like my house too. The same replica Monets and Van Goghs adorn the cream-colored hallway walls. The brown leather couch, looking worn and tattered, remains in the same spot it has occupied in the living room for the past twenty-plus years, with every other piece of furniture accounted for. Even the way the light filters down

through the skylight and floods the staircase still makes me want to burst out the lyrics to Stairway to Heaven, rocking out on my imaginary Fender as I climb to the top of the landing. If Anabel wasn’t here, I might be tempted to do it. It isn’t until we reach my old bedroom on the second floor do the knots begin to form in my stomach. Following Anabel, I carefully scan the room, noticing every piece of furniture still in the same position—the brass bed, the wooden roll-top desk and swivel chair, the pink dresser—the two Radiohead posters I bought at a concert years ago hanging directly above the bed, and the bookcase, cluttered with stacks upon stacks of CDs and books and

the most awful collection of rainbowcolored Troll dolls. I don’t remember how and why I ever started collecting those things because they’re pretty hideous. I place my purse on the chair, walk across the room toward the antique brass bed, and brush the posts lightly with my fingertips. It’s dust free, and I’m surprised by how clean the room has been kept, considering nobody has been living in it. “You won’t find a speck of dust in here,” Anabel acknowledges as she pulls back the eggplant-colored curtains lining the floor to ceiling window, allowing the natural light to softly spill into the room. “I clean this room every

week. Mr. Bennett’s request.” Every week? I would have expected her to say she recently cleaned it in preparation of my arrival, but every week? There is only one reason why he’d ask her to do that—he’s been holding out hope for my return for a long time. A pang of guilt tears at my heart. But the moment I reflect on everything that’s happened, I yank that piece of my heart right back and take a fist to that guilt, sending it all the way to kingdom come. I continue my careful examination of the room and open the closet doors and armoire drawers, brushing my fingers lightly across the articles of clothing I left behind—and thank goodness for that.

Just looking at some of the things I wore back then, and I have a ‘what was I thinking?’ moment, like the casts of My So-Called Life and Blossom joined forces and threw up all over my closet. I did own a mirror back then, didn’t I? Well, this definitely looks like my house. And it certainly looks like my room. Even the view from the balcony overlooking the front yard looks like mine: the weeping willow swaying with the wind, a tire swing dangling from one of its branches, the thriving green hillside across the road with the little farmhouse perched on top of it. But none of it feels like mine, like none of it actually belongs to me but some old version of me instead—the

version of me that almost allowed the world to break her. This is her home. Not mine. I stand in front of the dresser, laying my forearms on top of it, and I’m met by my reflection in the mirror. My exhaustion is evident in the dark crescent-shaped patches tucked beneath my brown eyes, and despite my mother always calling me a natural beauty, I feel anything but. Feeling haggard and worn, I wish I had dabbed on a bit of makeup this morning. Perhaps then, I’d look less shitty. Or at least feel less shitty. Or maybe I should quit looking at myself in this damn mirror, and that should help with all the shittiness. My focus turns to the lone

photograph clinging to the corner of the mirror. I study it, as if I don’t recognize the two people in it. I admire the boy, whose nose is nudged up against the cheek of the smiling girl sitting next to him, his arm resting casually over her shoulder with nothing but a cloudless blue sky behind them. I pick up the photo, brushing my thumb over the boy. All the while, my heart skips erratically —out of beat, out of sync, and out of control. I need to get out of here. “Actually Anabel,” I interrupt her as she straightens out the bed covers. “If you don’t mind, I want to stay in the guest house.” Anabel stops moving, her thick

eyebrows scrunched into a confused scowl. She’s known me all of twenty minutes, and she probably already hates me. Though I feel bad that she lugged my suitcase all the way up here, there is no way I can stay in this room. “Okay, no problem. I’ll make up the guest house for you.” I give her an appreciative smile, exhaling a sigh of relief I didn’t realize I had been holding. I follow her out of the bedroom and close the door behind me. I won’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t succumb to yesterday. Yesterday makes me weak and vulnerable, and I can’t let that get to me. I’m Corinne Bennett— confident, fearless, and certainly not vulnerable.

Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

A deep orange glow permeates the tops of the trees as twilight blooms like poppies across the evening sky. I stroll down Mill Road, admiring the beauty surrounding my childhood home in the outskirts of the Santa Cruz Mountains. The urban annoyances of car honks and sirens are silenced by the harmonious

chirps of the blue jays and the whistle of the wind. No matter how much time I’ve spent away, this hasn’t changed, and I find comfort in that. Another thing that hasn’t changed? My awkward relationship with my father. You might think that after so much time, the awkwardness would start to fizzle out, but it does the opposite. With six strained years between us, he couldn’t feel more like a stranger to me than the random New Yorkers I sit next to on the subway every day. When Henry took me in his arms, I could feel him savoring the moment, allowing the past six years to collapse into one unrelenting hug. I, on the other hand, let my arms merely dangle at my

sides. My reunion with Jamie was on a whole other level of weird. I don’t know if I would even call it a reunion. What do you call seeing the person that singlehandedly wrecked your family for the first time since you discovered your family was actually being wrecked? A word doesn’t exist. I could have been rude, but I wasn’t. Then again, I’ve only been here for a few hours and have an entire week ahead of me. My cell phone rings. When I glance at the caller ID, my lips curl up in a smile, and I answer it. “I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me,” the deep voice on the other end says.

My smile widens. “On the contrary. I am missing you so much right now, Cooper.” I gaze down at the gorgeous, overthe-top, three-carat Cartier diamond shining radiantly on my left ring finger. “Ditto that. How’re you doing, baby?” I hoped Cooper’s smooth voice would put my anxiety at ease, but strangely, it doesn’t. “Much better now that I’m talking to you,” I lie. “Is work keeping you busy?” “More than busy. I have a couple of Upper East Side estates closing escrow in a couple of days. Big deals for the firm and for me, and yet not busy enough to keep me from missing you like crazy. I

would much rather be with you right now, holding you, kissing you…” Cooper’s voice trails off, leaving me wanting more. “You are the smooth talker, aren’t you, Mr. Reed?” “Only because you encourage me, soon-to-be Mrs. Reed.” As I continue to meander, my fingertips graze the tall willow plants growing alongside the road when I really wished they were grazing the curves of Cooper’s square jawline, or disheveling his neatly-combed, dirtyblond hair. “Before I forget, baby, can you please get in touch with Mateo? He has been blowing up my phone all day about

the tuxes. Not to mention the three times he called the office line. I know he’s your best person and it’s his job to make sure we are on top of everything, but when I told him to contact me with any wedding questions, I didn’t mean twice an hour, every hour. The man works, doesn’t he?” I imagine that visual and giggle— Cooper crunching numbers at his desk, ready to close a deal when his assistant buzzes through the intercom, breaking any and all concentration because Mateo needs to speak with him about cuff links. “I must say, the guy’s got style. And he does want you and the boys to look your best. That’s dedication.” “Dedication? He is driving me

fucking insane!” I hear the defeat in his heavy sigh. “Why didn’t I listen to you when you suggested a Vegas wedding?” “It’s not too late!” “I know you’d love that, baby,” Cooper points out. “My only regret of not going through with your plan is making you my wife before you change your mind.” A low chuckle rises out of his throat, and despite the mockery of his tone, I sense a little bit of truth in his remark. “I love you, Coop,” I assure. A brief silence passes between us before he asks, “How are things going with your father?” I give him the play-by-play of the awkward family reunion, kicking around

pieces of broken pavement as I walk down the road. When he senses my anxiety, he reminds me to take it one day at a time, that ultimately, if I can’t work out my differences with Henry, I can go back to New York knowing I tried, and our wedding will go on as planned. The last thing I wanted was to see my dad and Jamie on what should be the happiest day of my life, only to have it turn into a complete shit show. By the time I hang up with Cooper, darkness shrouds the sky’s moonlit canvas. I’ve walked aimlessly, not realizing I’ve reached the end of the road until I’m standing in front of a very familiar house—one I’ve spent countless days and nights in—and in front of it is a

very familiar Jeep parked in the driveway. Heat radiates from the vehicle’s hood, signifying that it’s been driven recently, and my eyes immediately go to the front door of the house. Calm down there, I whisper to my heart. It’s just a car. I stand at the edge of the Kelleys’ driveway, staring at the black Jeep Wrangler. Dirt and road dust have made a home for themselves in the scratches and dings of its exterior, the years of wear and tear beginning to chip away at the black paint. Even as it ages away, the memories of long drives along the coast while Nick and I chased gorgeous

sunsets and got lost in deep conversation, remain fresh in my mind. The front door of the house opens and quickly shuts, and the shuffling of feet against the rocky gravel moves toward me. Caught off guard, I briskly walk in the other direction but not before I hear my name being called, halting me in my tracks. “Corinne?” It’s not the voice I expect to hear, but still familiar. I turn. “Tess?” It comes out as a question, and I don’t know why because it’s clearly her. My anxiety hides beneath a forced smile, and I’m unsure if I should approach Tess with a hug or remain where I am. The surprised yet unwelcoming expression written

across her face tells me to stay put. “It’s been a long time.” She stares blankly at me, stunned. “You’re telling me,” she responds coldly. An uncomfortable silence settles in as we stare at one another. Crickets chirp all around us; they couldn’t be more on cue. It’s so awkward, I wonder if channeling my inner Jiminy Cricket and bursting out in song will lighten the mood, since it’s something Tess would have gotten a kick out of before. The grimace on her face says otherwise. Thankfully, she tears through the silence, saving me the embarrassment. “What are you doing here?” “Visiting my father for the week. I

arrived this afternoon…and I’m here for a week,” I stutter, scolding myself for my redundant answer. Good one, Corinne. The irritated scowl on her normally angelic-like face says she’s anything but happy to see me. Growing up, Tess looked up to me like an older sister, and it only makes me uneasy when the younger Kelley’s light green, puppy-dog eyes stare me down with disdain as she combs her hand through her wavy auburn hair. There’s no one to blame but myself for that. After cutting off the people I cared about most in the world, did I actually think they’d throw out the ticker tape and call out the marching band, welcoming me back with open arms?

“How are you?” I ask casually, inching forward but stopping when Tess steps back. “Fine. Does anyone else know you’re here?” As vague as she tries to sound, I know exactly who she means by anyone else, and even if she didn’t actually say his name, my heart beat just sped up. “Just my father and Jamie.” “Uh-huh,” Tess smirks. “Wait, didn’t you and Mr. Bennett have a falling out?” She taps her chin. “I thought I heard something about that when you ran away and ditched us all.” She’s trying to ruffle my feathers. I don’t let it get to me because it’s only natural she would be acting this way.

“That is one of the reasons for my visit.” “One of the reasons? So what’s the other?” She cocks her head to the side, batting her eyelashes and awaiting a response. I correct myself almost immediately. “I mean, that is the reason. We’re trying to work things out. You look great, by the way,” I regard sincerely but to no response. I don’t know what else to say, but because the Jeep stands as the pink elephant in the room, my stupidity steers the conversation in that direction. “You’re driving the old Jeep now? I can’t believe that thing still has life left in it after all this time,” I joke as my

eyes dart to it. “So many memories.” Tess crosses her arms and scoffs. “Actually, I just borrowed it. It still belongs to Nicholas.” Night approaches, bringing the temperature down to a cool sixty degrees, but the sound of his name being said aloud makes my cheeks flush. “As much as I would love to take a walk down memory lane with you,” she says sarcastically, “I am super late for work and need to get to the pub right now.” She gets in the Jeep. “Your dad is certainly dedicated. He’s been running that place ever since I can remember.” “Nicholas runs it now,” Tess offers the information but not without hesitating

first. “Wow. I didn’t know that.” “There’s a lot you don’t know.” Her comment is a punch to the gut, but she’s absolutely right. It’s been six years. I’m sure there is a great deal I don’t know. The Jeep’s engine roars when Tess turns on the ignition. I run over to the driver’s side before she backs out of the driveway. “If you’re free this week, I’d love to catch up with you. Maybe we can grab some coffee?” I propose. An hour or two over coffee won’t change the past six years, but it would be a start in the right direction. Tess pauses. The look in her eyes

tells me she wants to say yes, but the resentment preventing her from giving in so easily is also clearly visible. “I don’t know. Maybe.” The Jeep disappears around the corner. I’ve been here for less than six hours, and the past six years of my life have already begun to unravel before me. The clanging of silverware against our plates reverberates across the dining room table as dinner commences sans conversation. Henry and Jamie exchange an occasional glance at one another, eyeing me out of their peripheral vision while I fork aimlessly through my spaghetti and down my Chardonnay

more quickly than I probably should. Memories of Nick and I using this table as a fort—tunneling through the space in between our parents’ feet and falling asleep to the chorale of their chitchat— play like a mopey soundtrack in my head. Henry holds the bread basket out to me. “Would you like some bread, honey?” It sounds like an indirect suggestion to slow down with the wine and to eat. Considering how quickly the wine has gone to my head, I should take a piece, but I don’t. It’s opposite week, remember? “I still have some. Thanks,” I reply, tipping back my wine glass and

consuming the last drop. I reach across the table for the bottle, inching out of my seat to grab it when I could have easily asked Jamie to pass it to me, but I want to limit any conversation whatsoever, even if it’s only the words, please pass the wine. I pour myself another generous glass. Henry takes a sip of his. “How’s work?” “Great,” I answer, my voice clipped, and my eyes quickly turning to him and then darting back to my plate. “Still bartending at that one place in Midtown?” Jamie asks, taking a bite of his spaghetti. I hate when people speak with their mouths full, and Jamie certainly isn’t

scoring points with me by doing so. I sigh heavily, reluctant to answer the question, but I do. “Yup.” “You’ve been there a while now, haven’t you?” He follows up with a question. “Yup,” I respond again, twisting my fork with spaghetti until it holds enough for two bites, only to untwist it until the spaghetti unravels completely. “And Cooper?” Henry questions. “How is he doing?” He asks like he’s already met Cooper, and it bugs the shit out of me. “He’s great.” “How are the wedding preparations going?” Jamie asks, still talking with his mouth full.

I take another big gulp of my wine when I should really be taking a bite of my food. These two continue to question my life without a care in the world, like the past six years never existed, and it’s starting to piss me off. “They’re going great.” Apparently, everything in my life is great. In actuality, the only thing making me feel the least bit great is the cool, crisp taste of Chardonnay against my taste buds and its tannins coursing rapidly through my bloodstream, gradually detaching my mind from reality. We eat in silence for a good ten minutes, before Anabel prances into the dining room. She holds a pitcher of

water and walks around the table to refill our glasses. Henry sops up the last bits of meat sauce with a piece of bread, gliding it across one end of his plate to the other, until the only thing left is the oily orange streak running across it. “Another helping, Mr. Bennett?” Anabel offers as she starts to clear the table of dirty dishes. “I’m alright, thank you Anabel,” he says graciously. “As always, you make a mighty fine meat sauce. Any more, and I may have to pull out the ole’ stretch pants.” He pats the protruding mound beneath his grey button-up collar shirt. Jamie rolls his eyes. “I’m much less worried about that growing belly than I

am that heart of yours.” Something about Jamie’s comment makes me want to dump my plate of spaghetti over his head. He speaks like he had a right to worry about my father when we sat in that hospital room years ago. I jab my fork into the untouched pile of pasta and twirl it roughly several times as tiny droplets of oil from the sauce splatter onto the white tablecloth. “What a mess I am, eh?” Henry teases. “If it isn’t my heart, then it’s my belly. If it isn’t my belly, then it’s my hair. Ah, to the joys of being in your fifties!” He toasts, raising his wine glass as Anabel returns to the kitchen. The salt-and-pepper patches on his scalp are the only traces left of his

youthful brown coiffure, and fortunately, he has enough common sense not to conform to the standards of the middleaged comb-over. Henry takes a sip of his wine. “Your mother told me you’re finally putting those credentials to use and applied for a teaching position,” he acknowledges as he sets his glass down on the table, twirling the stem with his fingers. Of course she did. This is exactly why I didn’t want him to know. Because I knew he would look at me like that —with adoration in his eyes, with content written across his face. His only child following in his footsteps and becoming a teacher. Like father, like daughter.

“Henry, you didn’t tell me that,” Jamie remarks mid-bite, an annoying grin plastered across his face, like he’s entitled as my ‘kinda step-parent’ to be in-the-know when it comes to me. “That’s great!” “She always said she wanted to be a teacher. I couldn’t be any prouder.” Turning to Jamie, Henry retells my childhood stories of me converting our living room into a classroom and making Nick and Tess my students. Those two always huffed and puffed whenever I wanted to play teacher, but they always went along with it anyway. The thought makes me smile. But when I catch Henry beaming at me, my smile quickly dissipates like a

water drop on hot pavement, and I release a heavy breath and return a look of disdain. “I didn’t get it,” I lie. “I wasn’t serious about it anyway.” “Oh, I see.” Henry sighs, the disappointment glossing over his eyes. “When I spoke with Evelyn, she said you were pretty optimistic about getting it.” “That’s because I’m tired of hearing her tell me that I need to get a grown-up job,” I return, my voice an octave higher. Although Mom has expressed countless times that I should leave the bar, my motivation for wanting the job has nothing to do with her incessant nagging. “Hey, it might be a good thing she doesn’t go into this field,” Jamie suggests to Henry as he winks at me.

“This profession comes with too many hours, lousy paychecks, and kids who are interested more in what they’re going to eat for lunch, rather than the lesson you spent the entire night putting together,” he teases. “Drives me nuts sometimes. Wouldn’t want her to end up like us now, would we?” It’s Jamie’s declaration of us that does it. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” Aaaannnnd…there it goes. Had it not been for the wine, I may have executed it in a less vulgar way, but my mouth seems to have detached itself from my conscience, and is running off like a chicken without its head. Now that I

think about it, I don’t quite know how you can say fuck you in a nicer way. A speechless Henry turns his head in my direction as Jamie’s mouth drops. My eyes narrow in on him as my breathing increases. “You think just because you’re with my dad and you moved into my house that all of a sudden, we’re the goddamn Brady Bunch, and you have some sort of parental rights to me? Have you forgotten the way you fucked over my family?” I chuckle, almost evil-like. “I hate to break it to you, Jamie, but I haven’t forgotten. You don’t get to talk like everything is goddamn sunshine and rainbows between us.” My cheeks warm, and I’m not sure if it’s my anger

or the wine, or a combination of the two. “Corinne!” Henry yells, pounding his balled fist against the table. Jamie continues to look at me, dumbfounded. “What is wrong with you?” “Me?” I abruptly push away from the table and stand out of my chair, knocking it to the floor. “What is wrong with me? You. You are what is wrong with me, Dad. You’re a liar and a manipulator. You made me believe that we were one big happy family. But I guess you forgot about that.” I press my forefingers to my throbbing temples as the effects of the wine and my growing temper come together in one achingly unified headache. “We have all had a bit too much to

drink tonight,” Jamie remarks in a soft, steady voice, and it’s not the reaction I expect. I notice his use of the word we when he is obviously speaking in reference to me. “Why don’t we all take a minute to relax before we say anything else that we will regret?” I smile ferociously. “I am more than happy to.” It’s not long before I’m out the door and crossing the driveway in haste to where my rented BMW is parked. Henry told me to rent a car for the week on his dollar. Well, I figured I’d rake out every penny from him. I get in the car, turn the engine on, and speed down the road, not knowing where I’m headed. It probably isn’t the best idea for me to be driving

off in a heated storm, let alone after a few glasses of wine, but I can’t be near that house for another second. How did I not see this coming? Did I actually think the three of us could sit down to a civilized meal together, after everything that happened? I scold myself as my walls fight to come down. I sniff back tears and fumble for the radio, searching for any loud music before settling on a tune by one of those lame boy bands. An embarrassing choice, but I’ll take it if it’ll drown out my thoughts. I slam my walls up higher and stronger, driving anywhere, as long as it is away from my father and Jamie. One moment, I’m driving down Glen Canyon Road, the car’s headlights

shining brightly on the winding road as the moonlight pierces the darkness and kisses my flustered cheek through the driver’s side window. And the next, I’m standing under the dim light of an entranceway in a very crowded, very loud, very familiar bar, a very familiar set of olive-green eyes pinning my entire body to that spot. Apparently, anywhere is the Kelleys’ pub. It feels like a dream. I pinch myself to make sure it’s not. It stings. And I’m still pinned to that spot. Nicholas Kelley—pub owner, devoted son, brother, and former best friend in the world—stands motionless

behind the bar amidst the Friday night chaos. And he is looking directly at me.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Tess pleads, though her apology lacks sincerity as she rushes past me behind the bar, pulls her hair tie from her wrist with her teeth, and loops it through her hair into a ponytail. If she wasn’t my sister and I didn’t love her as much as I do, I’d be looping

that hair tie around her neck because she is almost two hours late for her shift. I guess there’s no one to blame but myself for playing the nepotism card and giving her a job here her senior year of college. I ignore her, trying to keep my cool, and like I thought, it bugs her. “So you’re just going to ignore me? I told you I’m sorry!” “How lovely of you to join us tonight, Tess,” my bartender, Andi, remarks as she throws my sister a fake smile while ringing up a customer on the register. “It hasn’t been busy at all!” She rolls her eyes with no attempt at hiding it. Tess counters back, batting her eyelashes and grinning with a smile so

awkward, she almost looks constipated. Her facial expression alone makes me want to laugh out loud, but I don’t, since I’m still seething inside. “Oh, Andi. Why the sarcastic mood? Is Aunt Flo due for her monthly visit? Or are the hair chemicals and holes in your head finally taking a toll on your brain?” It never fails with these two. They can’t work a shift together without exchanging at least one low blow or offensive jab. Physically, they’re as different as night and day. While Tess’s wavy auburn hair and beach-tanned skin give her that stereotypical sorority chick look, Andrea, or Andi as she prefers to be called, screams rebel with a cause with her short, pomegranate-red hair,

and she has more piercings and holes on her head than a block of Swiss cheese. Personality wise, they couldn’t be more similar, and they often butt heads because of it. I look out over the massive crowd of inebriated punks and overly done up women, and there are sure as hell a ton of them tonight. I never understood a woman’s need to cake on ten pounds of makeup and prance around with her ass hanging out of her skirt. Some guys are into that shit. But hey, who am I to judge? These people pay my bills. “I know I was supposed get the Jeep back to you this morning, but if you would listen to me, I have a pretty valid excuse,” Tess continues to plead her

case in the middle of pouring shots of tequila for the obnoxious frat guys at the end of the bar. I pretend not to hear her. When I let her borrow my car last night to meet up with her friend in San Francisco, I should have known that I was being overly generous with my trust, considering the last time I let her borrow it. Not only did she bring it back to me several hours after she promised, but a small, yellow-speckled dent in the rear bumper came back with it. Apparently, the yellow pole at Burger King came out of nowhere. I take the drink order from the couple standing in front of me. “What can I get ya?”

“I’ll take a vodka on the rocks, and my girl here will take a strawberry daiquiri,” the guy orders. You’ve got to be shitting me. Of course his girl would want the drink with the most goddamn hassle to make. Is it not obvious to her how busy it is right now? Like she gives a shit anyway. Hell, I should just lie and say the blender is broken and can’t make it. Technically, it is broken, since the power button has to be held down manually, which means I’d have to put all my efforts into this one drink. “One vodka on the rocks, and one strawberry daiquiri coming up,” I confirm, shaking my head to myself. Pushover.

I begin to pour the daiquiri ingredients into the blender when Tess appears at my side and scoops some ice into a shaker. “I had every intention of bringing the Jeep back to you this morning. Joey broke up with Devin, and she didn’t want to be alone. I wanted to get her mind off the breakup, and we had one too many drinks. But when I woke up, she was gone. I called her over and over again, and I couldn’t just leave without knowing she was okay. It wasn’t until late this afternoon that she finally showed up. I’m really sorry.” Of course girl drama would be the source of me being car-less and having to bike it to work today.

I hit the power on the blender, sending a turbulent surge through the center of the crimson colored mixture. The blender’s growls battling the heavy beats of The Doors and the chatter in the bar is enough for my head to explode, yet not enough for Tess to shut up. Holding down the power button, I’m caught in a daze by the funneling motion, and her words are chopped and blended against the rhythm of the machine. “So that’s why...running late...know I should have...hours ago...would have....fifteen minutes earlier...hadn’t been for Corinne.” The blender comes to a halt as my finger jerks away from the button. I still. Come again? My head whips around

so fast that I strain a muscle in my neck, but I’m so consumed by what I think my sister just said that my brain ignores the pain even though my body knows it’s there. “What did you just say?” “I said,” she replies in a mocking tone, “I would have been here fifteen minutes earlier if it hadn’t been for Corinne.” My body doesn’t move; I’m unresponsive. I try to process Tess’s words, but the damn noise is breaking my concentration. Or maybe it’s her name that’s breaking it. “Wait, what do you mean?” As I attempt to wrap my brain around this, strawberry daiquiri chick appears annoyed, and her boyfriend

doesn’t look too happy either, since their drink order has taken a back seat to the conversation with my sister. Thankfully, Tess sees it, too, and jumps in where I left off, finishing and handing them their orders. Maybe she’s not such a bad employee after all. “What do you mean ‘what do I mean’?” she smirks and rolls her eyes. “You heard me. I went home to grab my work clothes, and Corinne was standing there, in Mom and Dad’s driveway. I would have been here fifteen minutes sooner, but she tried talking to me. The entire situation was weird.” A bead of sweat trickles down my right temple with the rise of my body heat. I catch my breath at hearing my

sister say Corinne’s name. Her name has come up from time to time—when I’d see her father around town or at the pub, or when hanging out and reminiscing with high school friends, or just silently in my mind, which happens more often than it probably should. Like every day. Every damn day. But every time it’s come up, she’s always been a few thousand miles away. And now, she’s here. “Wow, it’s funny how I have your attention now,” Tess smirks. “That girl still has you by the balls.” Yeah. I really can’t stand my sister sometimes. “What the fu...just shut...whatever, Tess. You were still two hours late.” It’s

all I can think of to say. “Really? That’s all you’re going to say? No questions? Or whys? Or what did she say? Nothing?” No. No questions. Because right now, I have no words. It’s like her name has incapacitated my ability to think or speak. A mob of thirsty customers shoots me dirty looks, and I get back to taking orders. As I start to move around, that ache in my neck creeps up on me, and I bring a hand around to massage it. It looks like a shit ton of Bengay and a dose of Tylenol are in store for me tonight. “Of course. Why am I not surprised?” Tess mumbles under her

breath as I pour shots of vodka. Her eyes move in the direction of the entranceway, but the group of guys lingering in front of me blocks my view of anything past them. “Screw this. I’m outta here. I’ll be bussing tables if you need me.” She rolls her eyes and disappears out of the bar area before I can even tell her to stay put. Jesus H. Christ! She chooses now to bail on us with all of these drink orders? Does she not fucking see the chaos here? I start to follow after her when it dawns on me. She’s here. The crowd in front of me disperses in opposite directions, drawing a momentary line of sight between me and

the entrance of the pub. And then I see Cori, standing under the dim light, looking just as beautiful as I remember, her inquisitive eyes seeking mine. And all at once, my body falls numb to that straining ache in my neck, because in this exact moment, it sure as hell doesn’t even compare to the ache that has suddenly taken over my heart.

Nick’s olive-green eyes are hooked into mine, and my pulse quickens. Despite Jim Morrison’s attempts at infiltrating my ear drums with his raspy croons, he is no match for my throbbing pulse because it is all I hear. The dim light at the entrance shines down on me like I’m on display and makes me

uneasy, yet the only person in that entire bar that has his eyes on me is a deadpan Nick. It’s an expression I’m all too familiar with, the same look he wore when I told him I was leaving Santa Cruz all those years ago, and it pains me to see it on him again. The music and voices in the bar return in a unified crescendo as Nick disappears behind a group of tall, welldressed men. The men, suited up like they’ve come straight out of a Calvin Klein ad, seem out of place in a bar like this, and I grow extremely aggravated when their attempts at a Friday night conquest with a pair of women breaks my line of sight with Nick. When their

perfectly combed heads finally clear the way, he is nowhere to be seen, and my aggravation turns to disappointment. Perhaps, like his sister, he doesn’t care to see me. I turn to leave, blinking rapidly and breathing heavily, cursing myself for unconsciously coming here when a strong hand grasps my forearm. I whip my head around, ready to ward off a drunken punk, but I look up and see Nick. When I turn toward him, his mouth breaks into a smile, and even if it’s only in this moment, it’s the very thing I need to make my worries disappear. He surprises me when he pulls me in for a hug. I’ve thought about this moment time and time again, and I’d give

anything so that it never ends. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I find comfort in his hold, like I had every single time he had held me before. What I thought might feel awkward and unfamiliar is anything but. “Cori,” he speaks my name, finally releasing me from his hold but continuing to grip my hands in his. He keeps me close to him, his face within inches of mine. “I can’t believe you’re standing here right now.” His eyes carefully study every angle of my face, and I blush, hoping he doesn’t notice the effect he has on me. Now I wish I had looked in a mirror before stepping out of the car. I must look like hell.

I squeeze his hands tenderly. “You and me both,” I respond with a jovial bounce in my voice. “It’s been way too long. How are you, Nick?” “I’m doing great, and now that you’re here, I couldn’t be better. Tess told me she saw you earlier. You just arrived tonight?” I wonder what else Tess might have said to him. When she saw me walk through the pub doors a minute ago, she looked as though someone had waved rat carcass in front of her face, so I can’t imagine that she’d be speaking very fondly of me. “Earlier this afternoon, actually,” I say with a nod. “You arrived this afternoon, and it’s

taken you all day to come and see me?” Nick playfully questions. All day? Try six years. “Better now than never, right?” “Absolutely,” he replies, and it’s with his affirmation that my homecoming finally feels worth it. “Hey Nicholas,” a young man with colorful tattoos running up and down his arms interrupts. He’s carrying two large buckets of ice while sweat traces his shaved hairline and long sideburns. “We’re getting backed up at the bar, and Tess is throwing a fit because table forty-one hasn’t gotten their drinks which, she claims, has been waiting for almost twenty minutes now. But knowing her, she’s exaggerating, so I’m thinking

it’s more like ten.” Caught in the moment with Nick, I almost forget how busy the pub is. “I’ll be right there, Lucas” Nick hollers back, waving him off. His mouth forms a hard line, and I wonder if he’s as annoyed at the interruption as I am. Then again, it’s nothing I’m not used to, because life is a conniving little thing; she knows exactly when to screw me. “I’m sorry to have shown up at the worst possible time,” I apologize but without any regret. Nick beams from ear to ear and chuckles. “We both know perfect timing has never been your strong suit.” He breaks our gaze and glances over at the chaos ensuing at the bar. The lone

bartender, a woman with bright red, pixie-cut hair and piercings galore, shoots Nick a need-help-now look of frustration, and I see the concern in his eyes. “I’ll let you get back over there, Nick,” I yell over the amplifying music and chatter, which seem to have steadily increased as more and more people fill the pub. “I should go anyway.” He flips his attention back to me, still concerned, and before I know it, he’s grabbing my hand and nodding his head toward the bar. “I’m gonna buy you a drink.” After my overzealous wine escapade earlier, the mere thought of alcohol of any sort should deter me from indulging

my liver with any further refreshments, but I’m not about to pass up Nick’s invitation. Holding my hand, he leads me through the throngs of people, and the motion feels familiar, like when he’d hold my hand to make sure I didn’t fall and crack my head while we played down at the creek below our houses. He always worried about that after I stumbled off a slippery rock one time. Luckily, I managed to escape the incident with nothing more than a few scrapes on my forehead, but thereafter, Nick had always made me hold his hand. If it put him at ease, I didn’t protest. We reach the bar but not without getting a few elbows in our sides and a

couple of vodka cranberries spilt on us. Thankfully, the crimson color of the cocktail blends in with my blush top. I take a seat on the bar stool at the end as Nick lets go of my hand and makes his way behind the bar. “What’s your poison?” a beaming Nick asks, throwing a bar towel over his shoulder and leaning against the counter to take my order. His smile almost makes me forget my headache, but with the bottles of whiskies, vodkas, tequilas, and rums staring straight at me, that pain in my head reminds me it’s still there. “I’ll take an ice water,” I order, massaging my temples with my forefingers. “Ice water?” Nick questions, but

without hesitating, begins scooping ice into an empty glass. “Let’s just say I enjoyed the company of the wine at dinner more than that of my father and Jamie.” He laughs as the water from the soda gun flows into the glass. “You know what they say? The best way to soothe a hangover is to keep the party going with more booze,” he suggests, a devilish smirk appearing at the corner of his mouth. As cute as Nick looks right now, that thought makes me queasy. “The water will do just fine.” I grin, grabbing the cold glass from his grip when he hands it to me, my fingertips lightly grazing his. A sudden shiver travels up my spine, and

I’m going to think that it has everything to do with the cold glass and nothing else. “The Cori Bennett I know would keep the party going. What happened to you? You used to be fun.” “Oh, I’m still fun, but I call it quits after ten.” The easygoing exchange between us feels like not much time has passed. Nothing feels forced or fake. It’s like we’re picking up right where we left off, but it doesn’t surprise me. Being friends with Nick was always as natural as breathing, and despite the throbbing ache in my temples, I can’t help but smile. “Hey bro! What does a man have to do around here to get a drink?” An

overly-tanned, burly man appears beside me and yells at Nick. His V-neck shirt clings to his upper body so tightly, his biceps spill out from under the sleeves, while his pecs protrude at least an inch off his chest. He looks like one of those stereotypical bodybuilder types, and serving as his arm candy is a wellendowed, leggy blonde, wearing the lowest cut and shortest dress I think I’ve ever seen. The two of them together are a little over-the-top. The man’s eyes find me, tracing a slow line from my face down to my chest where they stop, his mouth forming a lascivious smile. I think bile just rose up my throat. He points his thumb in my direction, turning his attention back to

Nick. “I know this chick here is beautiful, and if I were you, I’d be trying to get at that too, but c’mon!” I feel the blood rush to my cheeks at the man’s declaration. I want to sock the Ric Flair wannabe in the face, and my old self might have done it. However, the last thing I want to do is cause a ruckus in Nick’s bar. I think I’ve caused enough ruckuses for one night. Amused, Nick looks to the man, then back at me and chuckles. “You’re right. She is beautiful. And I hate to break it to you buddy, but no amount of trying would do it for you. Now what can I get you?” I raise an eyebrow at Nick, shocked he would say such a thing to a customer

yet thankful he put the guy in his place. It’s apparent the man doesn’t appreciate Nick’s insult. His free arm leans over the bar with his hand balled up in a fist, and the woman hangs on to his other arm. Just when I think he’s going to retaliate, he says, “I’ll take a Makers on the rocks, and she’ll have a martini dry.” “Duty calls,” a smirking Nick excuses himself to make the drinks. As he gets pulled away, I look around the pub, noticing how the old place almost looks the same—the bar in the center, booths lining the perimeter, small round tables scattered throughout. Only now, it has more character, with hundreds of differently sized framed

posters lining the crimson walls. Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, Nirvana, among others, each taking their place in what could only be described as a rock ‘n’ roll shrine. There is only one other person I know who hails the rock gods as much as I do. Nick moves swiftly behind the bar. His motions seem monotonous yet effortless—glasses, ice, liquor, pour, garnish, serve—like he could wear a blindfold and still know where everything is. My eyes carefully study him. Hidden beneath his clothing, his toned frame is evident with every move he makes. The light scruff lining his jaw adds a touch of maturity, yet his eyes reveal his youthful soul. When a lock of

his brown hair falls to his face, he runs his hand through his tousled waves—a bit longer from what I remember— brushing back the loose strand. Images of me pulling at Nick’s hair in the front seat of his car flash in my mind, and I immediately look away in hopes they disappear. They don’t. My eyes shift back to him as my teeth gnaw at my thumbnail. I’m definitely not looking at the teenage boy I once knew. Everything about him—the way he looks, the way he talks, the way he moves—all screams man in every sense of the word. My cheeks blush, and I stare at him for a good ten minutes before he turns his attention back to me and catches me red-handed.

Embarrassed, I look away in hopes he hadn’t noticed me staring at him like a complete moron, but my eyes seem to have a mind of their own. When I look back at him, he’s walking in my direction. “What?” Nick asks as he leans over and rests his forearms on the bar in front of me, a huge grin on his face. When he stares at me, yet again, my eyes dart to each of my shoulders, because I swear— my heart has jumped out of my chest and split in two, each half claiming a side as they pound against my ears. If my nerves weren’t apparent before, they certainly are now because I’m sweating like a freaking pig—on my forehead, my upper lip, my underarms. My face is glistening

more than Lake Superior on the sunniest day. “You looked like you needed some help back there,” I lie. Nick had it perfectly under control, but it’s the first thing that pops into my head. “I was about to jump in and help you.” “Is that right? Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t see you as the bartending type.” “I happen to make a mean Manhattan. I’d like to think my regulars come to the bar for me, but that wouldn’t be entirely true,” I tease, patting the sweat along my forehead away with the back of my hand. “No kidding. You bartend?” “Five nights a week.” I regale Nick with stories of cafe and

restaurant jobs I held throughout the first few years of college before landing the bartending gig the beginning of senior year. By the time graduation had come and gone, I hadn’t made up my mind career-wise; I wasn’t sure if teaching was what I still wanted to pursue. So, I stayed at the bar. It’s easy money—good money—and it gives me the freedom to travel if and when I want. It’s not what I initially envisioned for myself, but as I’ve learned, most things in life often don’t end up as planned. “Who would have thought? Cori Bennett taking orders from people.” Nick pauses, squinting his eyes, as if to ponder the idea, and then exclaims, “I like it!”

Reaching across the bar, I flick the back of my hand against his tricep, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt, even if it’s only for a split second. “Don’t test me, buddy. Besides, I saw you make that dry martini. You may have gone a little overboard with the vermouth.” His left eyebrow raises at my jab. “Are you saying you can make it better than me? Think you can take me, hot shot?” All of a sudden, we’re back six years to that day on the beach, Nick pulling me into him before he tossed me into the water. My eyes locked on him, I reach down and slide my hand across my waist, as if I can still feel the warmth of

his strong hands on my bare skin. Snapping back from my daze, I release my hand and respond, “No. Another time. I’m on vacation.” I smirk. “I’m amazed.” I raise my eyebrow curiously. “Meaning?” “Meaning I haven’t seen you in years, and I’m amazed I can say you haven’t changed all that much. I feel like you’re still…you.” Nick lowers his eyes to the towel knotted in his hands, and I sense he may be feeling a little embarrassed by his bold assertion, maybe feeling like he’s overstepped some sort of boundary. It doesn’t bother me the least bit, giving me hope that if our friendship lies

beyond that boundary, it’s well within reach. “I am still me,” I assure. With a warm smile, I rest my left hand on top of his. “Just a little older. And wiser. And now with frown lines.” My eyes look up as I point to my forehead with my free hand. “Older? Yes. Frown lines? Not at all. Wiser? Highly doubtful.” I lightly shove his hand away from beneath mine, but I’m not at all offended. “So, who’s this lucky guy?” Nick’s question catches me off guard. “Guy?” He gestures to my left hand, and it takes me a couple of seconds to understand, making me feel like an idiot.

I realize that ever since I stepped foot into this bar, neither my impending nuptials nor my fiancé has crossed my mind, and I suddenly feel guilty. He grabs that hand, the one displaying the ridiculous, three-carat Cartier diamond that screams ‘I’M TAKEN!’ in the most obvious way. Don’t get me wrong. The ring is absolutely stunning, and it decorates my hand quite nicely, if I say so myself. Still, when it comes to my wardrobe and accessory choices, I always choose simplicity over complexity, comfort over trendy. “Yeah, this thing nearly blinded me the moment you walked in here,” he teases, sprawling his hand in front of his

eyes. “It’s pretty…nice,” he adds, hesitating for the right word. Though, by the look on his face, nice is probably an understatement. “So, who is he?” I pull my hand back from his and start fidgeting with the ring in a nervous tick. Most women would probably show off something so beautiful, but a part of me suddenly feels embarrassed for having it on my finger. Oddly enough, I’ve never felt embarrassed by wearing it before, but Nick looks at it strangely, like he knows it doesn’t suit me. “His name is Cooper. Cooper Reed.” It sounds like the music in the pub has increased dramatically, for I have to practically yell to make sure he hears me. Or perhaps it’s the

awkwardness of the conversation. “He’s in real estate.” I want to kick myself for that last bit. It sounds so trite as it rolls off my tongue. “Well, Cooper Reed in Real Estate certainly has good taste in jewelry—and women,” he declares with a wide grin, making me blush yet again. “Congratulations. I’m happy for you, Cori.” “Thank you.” It’s all I can think of to say. I’ve never had a problem gushing about Cooper to anyone else who’s asked, but it doesn’t feel right gushing about him to Nick. Since Nick asked me about this part of my life—my love life—I feel like I should ask him about his.

But I don’t. And not because I don’t want to ask. Because I don’t want to know. Thankfully, I don’t have to ask because Tess appears behind the bar, scowling. “Forgive me for being rude and interrupting…this.” She looks to Nick, then to me, flicking her hand back and forth between us as she raises her voice. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got drink orders coming out of my ass, and none of them are being filled! It would be nice if you weren’t so distracted and helped me out here!” She storms off, huffing and puffing. It bothers me that she calls me a distraction. Leggy women with tiny

waists and double D’s are distractions. Impeccably flawless girls with full, luscious lips and long locks that perfectly frame their faces, are distractions. We used to be great friends, and now, I’m merely a distraction? As much as I don’t want to admit it, I’ve overstayed my welcome. Besides, the jet lag has finally caught up to me, adding to the miserable aftermath of my romp with Robert Mondavi at dinner. The grogginess, the aches, the uneasiness, and the excitement are all coming together in one tumultuous whirlwind that is heavily clouding my mind. “I’m sorry for that. Tess...well she…” Nick’s voice trails off.

Before he can find the words he’s searching for, I interrupt. “Please, Nick. I get it.” He simply nods his head, understanding what I mean without having to explain further. I let out a long, drawn-out yawn, stretching my arms high above my head. Though painfully tired, I honestly would sacrifice rest to spend the entire night catching up with Nick. “Listen, if you’re free tomorrow night, I’d love to grab dinner with you.” He pauses briefly, as if to consider my request, and it bothers me that he even has to think about it. Had I known he’d hesitate the slightest bit, or his smile would suddenly fade from his handsome face, I probably wouldn’t

have asked. “Actually, tomorrow night won’t work for me. There’s somewhere I need to be.” My eyebrows raise with surprise because Nick would have never said no to me before. But who am I to think he’ll drop everything for me now? I mean, he did have a life before I walked back into it. “Lunch tomorrow?” I spit it out, before even thinking about how desperate I must sound. “Sorry, but lunch won’t work for me either. I’ve got a few things I need to do here.” My forced smile works its way through one rejection after the other, and how I’m managing that is a wonder. I

guess this is how Barbie does it when Ken runs off with Workout Barbie or Veterinarian Barbie or some better version of her—with a permanent smile plastered to her face even in heartbreak and defeat. Mad props to Barbie. “But,” Nick starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve got some time for coffee in the afternoon.” “I’ll take it,” I say almost instantly, then wince. Could I be any more pathetic? “Great. Caffe Pergolesi? Three o’clock?” “Done!” I confirm as I nod my pathetic head in agreement and leave, silently wishing for three o’clock tomorrow to hurry the hell up.

My stiff neck doesn’t deter me from checking the clock on my nightstand. It’s four in the morning—only thirty minutes past the last time I checked. Thirty minutes of straight sleep take the record for tonight. “Woo hoo,” I mutter. Not a trace of moonlight shines

through the window. The only light illuminating my bedroom comes from the fluorescent green glow of my alarm clock. The clock whose hands control every second of our lives, like a puppeteer, always moving us forward and away from our past. The same clock that will manipulate my strings all the way to Caffe Pergolesi to meet Cori in about ten hours. I turn my head and stare straight up at the blank ceiling above. If only the ceiling and I could switch places so that my mind could just be blank. No thoughts. No feelings. No aches. No pains. No Cori. Cori. Cori. Cori. Ever since she walked into the bar

last night, thoughts of her have flooded my head like a destructive tidal wave. Wrecking my head. Wrecking my heart. Wrecking my soul. Cori. Cori. Cori. Someone once told me if I ever needed a distraction I should think about puppies and rainbows. That seems to work when I come across something gruesome on television or read about some horrific tragedy in the paper. And it works sometimes at the pub when I deal with obnoxious customers, and all I want to do is toss their apparently incorrectly-made Manhattans in their faces. Puppies and rainbows. Puppies and rainbows. Puppies and rainbows.

Cori. Cori. Cori. Cori holding a puppy. Cori pointing to a rainbow in the distance. Yeah, this isn’t working. I give in and let myself think of her. She is still insanely beautiful, just with an added touch of maturity. Man, she even smells the same, that vanilla scent I could never get enough of. Even through all of the chaos in the bar, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. That lame bodybuilder guy saw it too. If it was obvious to him the way I was focused on her, then it’s possible that someone else may have noticed it. Tess? Andi? Maybe even Cori herself? Shit. Now I feel guilty. Guiltier.

My conscience was already eating away at me for not telling Cori the real reason I can’t go to lunch or dinner later today. It’s not like I lied. I’ve never lied to her before, and I’m not going to start now. Leaving information out isn’t technically lying, but still, I should have told her the real reason. It’s bound to come up at some point, but for some reason, I just couldn’t say it. My head is completely fucked right now, but was inevitably fucked the second I saw it—that huge diamond on her ring finger. I never thought of Cori as the type to want something so flashy. She always found simplicity in what she wore, and that ring sure isn’t simple. But what do I know? It’s been six years.

Maybe that’s the kind of shit she likes now. Maybe Cooper Reed in Real Estate turned my best friend into some materialistic Manhattanite who runs around with the cast of Sex and the City —or Sex and the Shitty as I like to call it —sipping on their hoity-toity cosmos, eating at their hoity-toity restaurants, wearing their hoity-toity clothes. Fuck no. I know Cori, and that isn’t her. She probably thinks that show is just as lame as I do. Despite me already knowing about her engagement, seeing that ring on her finger was like taking a thousand knives to my heart because there was a time when I imagined putting it there. Nothing —not even hearing the words come from

her own father—could have prepared me for that feeling. Tossing and turning to find a comfortable position with no luck, I look at the clock again, and it’s four-fifteen. Well, this is going to be a long night. I grab a fistful of my shirt and yank it up to my nose, breathing in that vanilla scent I know so well, the faint remnants of Cori hanging on for dear life to the fabric. I’m wearing the same shirt I’ve been working and sweating in all day to bed, and I don’t even care. But then I roll over. All traces of vanilla vanish, and the scent of strawberries overpowers my senses. A scent I also know very well.

Only three things in this world motivate my inner early bird: Christmas, pancakes, and Nicholas Kelley. So, it comes as no surprise that I find myself sitting at Caffe Pergolesi half an hour early today, claiming the antique, forest-green sofa that lines the front

window of the Lobby Room. Besides the continually changing canvases of art displayed on the walls, the Perg, as the locals call it, hasn’t changed much and still boasts the same old-world charm as before—an old turn-of-the-century Victorian home meets the modern technologies of espresso machines and coffee brewers. Even the people are the same: university students, hippies, and yuppies. Nothing says Santa Cruz like a melting pot of eccentric characters. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long,” a voice I recognize all too well interrupts my thoughts. I quickly glance at the wall clock. It’s three o’clock on the dot. Nick never fails to be on time. “Not at all. I just got here myself,” I

lie, smiling uncontrollably. After I say it, I realize my almost empty coffee cup proves otherwise. Maybe he won’t notice. Nick settles a good arm’s-length away next to me, his smile a reflection of mine as we grin in unison from ear to ear. “How’s it going? Sleep well last night?” If seven hours of tossing and turning, four water refills, three trips to the bathroom, and one rooster crowing at the top of its lungs count as a good sleep, then, “Like a baby,” I lie again. I don’t lie, especially not to Nick, so why I catch myself in two lies in the past two minutes is beyond me. “How about you? Everything okay at the pub?”

He combs his brown hair back with his hand. “Everything’s great. Just really busy, that’s all. I mean, you saw it last night, all the chaos.” My eyes get lost in Nick as a waitress comes over to take his drink order. Streaks of natural light penetrate the window beside us, accentuating his already perfect features. His olive-green eyes appear even brighter in the daylight, and his toned frame, although hidden beneath his navy blue t-shirt, doesn’t go unnoticed. Like a Van Gogh or a Da Vinci painting, it’s easy to get lost in him. I’m clearly not the only one who thinks so, because Chesty over here has turned a simple drink order into the

biggest flirt-fest of the century as she giggles and bats her lashes, jotting down Nick’s order. Unless I’m deaf, I don’t recall hearing Nick say anything funny. “When did your father finally hand over the reins?” I ask Nick, shooting the waitress a hurry-up-and-shoo-along look. The displeasure on her face says she doesn’t appreciate my look—like I could give a rat’s ass what she thinks— and she scampers off. Good effing riddance. “I remember him being hellbent on running that place until he was in his grave.” “It could have gone down that way much sooner, too,” Nick replies. I sense the remorse emanating from his tone. “Luckily, it didn’t. But, it could have

been bad for him. One day, he just passed out in the middle of the bar. We thought he was having a heart attack…” he trails off, as if he’s waiting to see if it strikes a nerve with me. Sure enough, it does. “Thankfully, it wasn’t his heart. He was just suffering from extreme exhaustion looking after that place, and he wasn’t looking after himself or his health. I warned him, so many times. My mother and I decided that he was onceand-for-all done with the pub. Though he protested, I won the battle in the end. It was always in my cards—to take over the family business. Yet, I don’t think Dad had expected that time to come so soon. And to be honest with you, neither had I.”

“I’m sure he’s proud of you...and thankful. I know how important the pub is to your family. And from what I saw last night, it looks like you’re doing a damn good job. The place was packed.” His mouth presses up into a bashful smile. “Thanks. I try. Although, it isn’t always easy, especially when you have employees that happen to be related to you and don’t always give you the respect of being the boss. I love my sister, but man, I really can’t stand working with her sometimes.” I nod my head and chuckle. “Well, being the boss comes with the joys and freedoms of being able to hire and fire whomever you please, right?” “Sure, but what kind of asshole

would I be if I fired my own sister? Besides, she’s not all bad. When she’s not being annoying, she’s actually a great employee. The majority of the time, I can tolerate her.” “How about you lend me some of that tolerance of yours?” I lift my hand in front of Nick, palm facing upward. “I could use some right now because I can hardly stand being in the same room with Henry and Jamie.” Catching me off guard, Nick takes my hand in his, and holds it between us. My cheeks warm at his touch. “That bad, huh?” “And not getting any better,” I reply, trying not to stutter over my words like a flustered Porky Pig.

He releases my hand the moment Tits McGee brings him his cup of coffee, and it leaves me feeling slightly disappointed. On the other hand, it gives me satisfaction knowing she saw Nick holding my hand. Hopefully, she knows he’s off limits now. I mean, not for my benefit anyway, but for Nick’s. He’s too good for someone like her. Despite my attempts at shying away from the topic, leave it to Nick to ask me about Cooper—how we met, how long we’ve been together, what he’s like. Like I thought, it isn’t the easiest conversation. “Sounds like a great guy, this Cooper,” Nick praises without hesitation, almost as if he doesn’t

actually mean it, but perhaps I’m reading into it too much. “He is a great guy.” I hesitate. “I’m really happy. He makes me happy. We’re good together.” Wait...who am I trying to convince here? “It seems like it. You look happy. And if you’re happy, then I’m happy.” I honestly can’t stand that word— happy. It’s trite and shallow. Every time I hear that word, I see a yellow smiley face plastered on the rear of an old Volkswagen van named Wanda. “Thank you. That means everything to me,” I reply, and that certainly is the truth. I don’t know how I’d feel had he not given me his approval. Nick’s

opinion had always mattered to me, and apparently, that hasn’t wavered. “What about you, Nick? Are you… happy?” Not only do I use that stupid word again, but I ask the question I don’t actually want an answer to. He smirks because he knows what I’m asking. Before he answers, his eyes drift to the street on the other side of the window, and then find their way back to mine. “Yeah...I am.” You know that feeling you get when you’re on a roller coaster? That gutwrenching ache that shoots its way through every inch of your body as the train ascends a couple hundred feet above the ground? And all at once, you

plunge forward, spiraling down what feels like minutes of centrifugal hell as your heart drops and slams against the hollows of your stomach? “Her name is Riley,” he says with pride, and that roller coaster feeling attacks me. His face lights up with a beaming smile as her name rolls effortlessly off his tongue. “Riley Jones.” I would be lying to myself if I said that hearing her name doesn't sting. It does. It really fucking does. More than I can even begin to explain. Nails clawing viciously across a chalkboard would sound like music in comparison to the way her name vehemently pierces through my ears and all the way down to

my heart in one swift motion. Nick gushes over the woman in his life, from meeting freshman year to becoming a commuter couple, since she resides in San Francisco, and my nervous ticks begin to settle in. I have a habit of biting my thumb nail in uncomfortable situations, and though the couch we are seated on is rather comfy, the conversation about Riley is not. “She sounds like quite the keeper, Nick,” I tell him lightheartedly, though lighthearted is a far stretch from the actual heaviness weighing down my heart. “She definitely is. I think you’d like her.” I probably would. There isn’t

anything Nick has said that would make me dislike her, other than the fact she has my best friend’s heart. Before we know it, our time is up, making it the shortest hour ever. Time is never on our side. “I could sit here forever with you, but duty calls,” he says, and the disappointment written all over his face mirrors mine. “I should head out.” Nick leads the way outside, with me following not too far behind. I walk at a snail’s pace toward the exit, stretching every last second I possibly can with him. “It was great seeing you, Cori,” he says as he pulls me into an embrace in front of the café. “Take care of yourself.” For some reason, this hug feels too

final. I can’t bring myself to say anything because my dry, achy throat constricts my words at the thought of not seeing Nick again. He shoots me one last smile as he turns and walks in the other direction. My heart sinks to my stomach when he disappears around the street corner, out of sight but certainly not out of my mind. If this is what it feels like when a person for whom you care deeply walks away from you, not knowing if you will ever see that person again, then I just had a taste of my own medicine—and I deserve every last drop of it. Unsure of what to do for the remainder of the day, I make my way

toward Pacific Avenue, admiring the symmetrical beauty of the gloriouslygreen trees running perfectly along both sides of the street. The crystal blue skies give way to the beaming sun as it stretches its rays and plays tag with the earth’s shadows. People walk up and down the sidewalk. In pairs, in fours, or solo. Some quickly, others leisurely. In laughter, in silence. With smiles, without emotion. Perhaps without a care in the world, or maybe like me, with all of the weight from the world on their shoulders. I pull out my phone and notice three new voicemails. The first two are from my mother. No surprise there. I delete them right away. The third is from

Mateo. “Hey doll! None other than your best bitch friend here. Since you’re not returning any of my messages, I’m assuming that things are going well with the old man. And they better because I’m not covering your shifts at the bar for nothing. Ugh, I’m so over that place. Anyway, call me, babe. I hope you’ve been thinking about your vows because…” The message continues to play, and though my attention should be on what Mateo is saying, my mind is elsewhere. Somewhere it really shouldn’t be. With someone it really shouldn’t be. “…and Cooper and the boys are going to look mighty fine in their tuxes,

thanks to me.” Cooper. The sound of his name breaks me out of my daze as Mateo rambles on. “I suggested the Dolce and Gabbana suits because the man said money is not an issue, and holy smokes do I love hearing those words. It’s almost orgasmic. Hey, I said almost. And if I didn’t already mention the—” Beep. He’ll never learn. A single ping reverberates from my phone, indicating another message, now from Henry, asking if he can expect me home for dinner. As if I want to rehash the previous night. No, thank you. I try calling Cooper, with no success, before turning off my phone completely and throwing it in my purse.

“Are my eyes deceiving me? Or is that really Corinne Bennett in the flesh?” The familiar voice calls out from several feet behind me, and I know exactly who it belongs to. “None other than yours truly,” I say, turning with my arms stretched out at my sides. A wide grin stretches across Braiden’s face, and he lifts me up, pulls me into a bear hug, and smacks a wet kiss on my cheek. It puts me at ease knowing there are still some things and people that haven’t changed since I left. When he finally puts me down, I can’t contain my laughter. It’s nice to be able to laugh like this. “Holy shit, man! What the heck are

you doing here? And when did you get back?” For the first time, I don’t mind answering questions. Braiden always made conversation easy. “Yesterday afternoon. You know...just making a visit. Visiting my dad. Visiting everyone. It’s been a while since I’ve been home, so...I think it was about time,” I say playfully. Braiden is probably the only one I would joke around with over the sensitive subject. His free hand pushes his wavy blonde locks away from his face, while the other holds a couple of shopping bags. “You’re damn right it’s about time! How long you here for?” “A week. I’m staying with my dad

and Jamie until next Friday, and then my ass is on a plane back to New York.” “So you and your dad are okay now, I take it?” I’m not about to put a damper on Braiden’s mood with all of my drama, so I twist the truth a bit. “We’re working on it.” “Good. I’m glad. And I’m especially glad you’re here! Does Kelley know?” “Yeah, I actually had coffee with him at the Perg a little while ago. A little catch up session, if you will. Or we did as much catching up as we could before he had to get back to the pub.” A look of confusion wipes over Braiden’s face as he squints and puckers his lips. “The pub? Really? He said he

was taking the day off, so I don’t know what he would need to do over there.” For a second, my coffee from earlier tries to climb right back up my esophagus. It takes everything in me to force it back down, and now I’m left with the aftertaste of coffee and stomach acid clawing at the back of my throat. Nick obviously lied about having to be at the pub today. I do my best to keep a straight face, channeling my inner Barbie and plastering a smile right on top of the dejection hidden beneath it. “He wanted to check in,” I casually say. The last thing I want is for Braiden to realize that Nick lied to me. How stupid that would make me look. “Oh, okay. It probably has to do with

tonight. I take it you’re coming, right?” This time, it’s an uppercut to the underside of my chin that gets me, and it knocks the plastered smile right off my face, shatters it into a million pieces, and reveals the confusion graffitied all over it. “Wait a second. Don’t tell me the wanker didn’t invite you to his engagement party.” I’ve seen a few boxing matches in my life, and I’ve often wondered what goes through the losing boxer’s mind before he gets taken down. The loss of breath and the loss of energy can certainly lead to the loss of hope when he’s received more punches than he’s thrown. It’s only a matter of when that

final punch is thrown, and when it happens—that match-ending, bloodsplattering punch—he doesn’t even see it coming. He’s already down. KO’d. Now, I don’t have to wonder. Because, I’ve just been KO’d. I’m down —knocked out—as soon as the word engagement leaves Braiden’s mouth.

“What the hell do you mean you invited her?” Braiden looks at me, doe-eyed, sipping on his beer at the corner of the bar. “Dude, calm your panties. You’re looking at me like I just told you I bagged your sister...which I didn’t nor would I ever, so don’t worry,” he

quickly adds. Fucking Braiden. Not only did he tell Cori about my engagement, but he chooses right now to make jokes about Tess and his former infatuation with her. As long as he and I are friends, my sister is off-limits. I don’t want to be placed in a situation where I one day might have to choose my sister over my best friend. Losing another friend, for whatever reasons, is not an option. But considering the circumstances, I may have to reconsider that, because losing Braiden right now may not be the worst thing in the world. “When she said you two had coffee together, I assumed that you invited her, naturally. I mean, she is a friend, isn’t

she? So, she comes to the party. What’s the big deal anyway?” He takes another long swig of his beer. “Hey, do you think I can get some of that spicy trail mix that you guys always put out in the little bowls?” I place my face in my hands, shaking my head. This is not the way I wanted Cori to find out about my engagement. Not like this. As easy as it would be to blame Braiden for the mess I’m in, it really isn’t his fault, since I’m the idiot for not telling her in the first place. Plus, Braiden only thinks I didn’t invite her to the party. He has no idea the engagement was never mentioned—period. And it will have to remain that way, since I can’t have him questioning me why.

I stand up and let out a defeated sigh, my head hanging low. “Nothing. It’s not a big deal. Just forget it,” I mumble under my breath. “Man, nobody committed a crime here! Lighten up. It’s a party, for fuck’s sake, not an Opus Dei acquisition. Besides, you’re the dick for not inviting her in the first place. No offense,” he says, lifting his palms up in defense. “And why are you even here? You said you were taking the day off. Isn’t Riley at your place?” “Yeah she is,” I tell him, and she’s the reason why I avoided home after going to the Perg. But I leave that part out. With Cori fresh on my mind, for some reason, it didn’t feel right going

home to Riley soon after. “Now how about that trail mix?” I grab an empty bowl and the bag of trail mix from one of the cabinets, sliding them both across the bar toward Braiden, the bowl skidding instead of gliding, teetering on its bottom before coming to a halt in front of him. “There. Knock yourself out.” “Whatever happened to service with a smile?” he taunts, pouring the trail mix into the bowl. Ignoring his attempt at humor, I lean my back against the counter behind me and rest my hands along the edge, looking over the almost empty restaurant. The wooden blinds lining the windows can’t keep out the early

evening sun as it creeps through the slits, the five o’clock shadows crawling across the floors and scaling up the walls. The smooth sounds of Journey fill the empty booths and seats but fail to drown out the faint clanging of dishes echoing out of the kitchen. In a couple of hours, this place will once again be a madhouse. For now, other than a few occupied tables, a man sitting at the other end of the bar, and Braiden gorging on a free beer and trail mix, it’s quiet. I wish I can say the same for my head because it’s being invaded by all things Cori. The way she scrunches her nose when she disagrees with something. How she purses her lips to the side when she’s deep in concentration. The

way she bats her eyelashes when she’s trying to be cute. God, she doesn’t even have to try; she’s so damn cute. It’s like Slayer got zapped by the dad in Honey, I Shrunk the Kids, took refuge in my head, and decided to thrash out with Raining Blood on repeat for the past twenty-four hours, without even pausing for a bathroom break. I should have flat-out told her. She did ask if Riley and I were serious, and nothing says serious better than a white dress, a black tux, and a hundred of your closest friends and family getting trashed off the open bar. Maybe I thought I’d never see her again after today, that she’d eventually find out through someone else after she’d gone, out of

this town and out of my life again. Not that I don’t want to see her again, because I do—badly. But I shouldn’t. I really, really shouldn’t. But that doesn’t stop me from pulling my cell phone from my pocket, flipping it open, and speed dialing one, for Cori. Only after hitting the key do I realize that no one else is programmed into my speed dial besides her. Not Tess. Not Braiden. Not my parents. Not even Riley. Just Cori. Programmed into my phone after we exchanged numbers last night. Set at number one. One—small in number, loaded with weight. The top of the list, the first in line. The beginning, the original.

One. Cori Bennett. It doesn’t mean anything. As the line rings, my heart attempts to flee my chest, slamming into it, beat after beat. I still have no idea what to say, and a part of me hopes she doesn’t pick up. The line goes straight to voicemail, and I should feel relieved but find myself feeling disappointed instead. Maybe all I want is to hear her voice. Maybe I’ve simply missed hearing her voice. Maybe the universe hears my pleas, because I’m greeted by the sweet familiar sound of her voice as she tells me to leave a message after the beep. There goes the beep, and I freeze. I scold myself for not thinking about what to say before I dialed her number

like a dumb ass, and now the message is recording nothing but silence. At least if I hang up right now, she won’t know I called. “Yo Kelley, can I get another beer?” Braiden yells across the bar. And that happens. I can always count on good ol’ Braiden to open his big mouth at the wrong time. I grasp the back of my neck, pacing up and down the length of the bar. “Hey, Cori. It’s me, Nick. Nicholas Kelley.” Thank you, Captain Obvious. I’m pretty sure she knew it was you without having to say your full name, ass. Shaking my head, I grab another bottle of beer from the bottom fridge, flipping the cap off as I continue the message.

“Anyway, it was great seeing you last night, and today of course, and it would be great if you could join us tonight. I’m here at the pub with Braiden, good ol’ Braiden,” I force through my teeth, handing him the bottle when all I really want to do is pour it all over that wavy blond hair of his. “Tell that girl she better get her ass out here tonight! The Benster’s got six years’ worth of partying to make up for!” Braiden wails as he grabs the bottle of beer from me. Sometimes I wonder about this guy, if spending too much time in the sun has fried his IQ. Or perhaps he’s swallowed too much Pacific salt water; it’s made his head dense. Whatever it is, he’ll use

every social event, regardless of the occasion, as an excuse to get shit-faced. I continue with the message, and an awkward chuckle rises out of my throat. “That’s typical Braiden for you. Anyhow, he said he saw you and told you about tonight. I never thought I’d ever say this, but you should listen to him. I would love to see you,” I add, meaning every word of it. Yet, my guilty conscience doesn’t allow me to leave it at that. “And I would love for you to meet Riley.” I refrain from making any apologies or excuses as to why the engagement never came up in our conversation today. There’s no way I’m doing that over voicemail. Who knows what may get

lost in translation? I can hardly translate any of this myself, including the feelings for Cori that I’ve kept locked away, confined to a piece of my heart that will forever belong to her. I was certain they’d never be unlocked again, but she unlocked them the second she walked back into my life. Now, with nothing holding them back, my heart struggles to keep those feelings there, preventing them from taking sole possession over what now belongs to someone else. And regardless of how wrong it is, the foolish part of me welcomes them with open arms.

I’m easily distracted. When I was a kid, my mother took me to a psychologist to see if I’d get diagnosed for ADHD. “All the tests have come back negative, Mrs. Bennett. The only thing Corinne has is a highly imaginative, intuitive, and very insightful brain in that head of hers,” he’d told her.

Well, I’ve been standing in front of the pub for the past ten minutes, distracted as I stare down at the initials N.C. and A.H. carved into the pavement outside the pub which, surprisingly, I’ve never noticed until now. But the only thoughts my imagination are coming up with right now are dreary ones. N.C. and A.H. must have been naive. Simply carving your initials into wet cement and encircling them with a heart doesn’t spell out forever. But they seemed to think so. Through forty years of the elements, including the earthquake of ’89, and thousands, maybe even millions, of footsteps trampling all over them, N.C. and A.H. live on in the heart they enclosed themselves in.

Call it love. Call it romantic. Call it cliché. I call it vandalism on private property. Most likely, N.C. and A.H. married, popped out a few kids, and divorced after ten years or so, if that. So long to forever. It’s almost ten, which means most of the guests should be inside, unless they chose to be fashionably late, or like me, consciously late. I had no intention of coming here after Braiden dropped the ball on me—that heavy, weighted ball that left every part of me aching. But after I reluctantly turned my phone back on, and the chord of a single ding signaled one voicemail from Nick, I knew what the message said before I

even listened. I wondered if my annoyance was a result of me not leaving my phone on and missing his call, or for Nick not disclosing that piece of information—his engagement. I tried rationalizing the situation. He must have forgotten, right? There is no other explanation because Nick used to tell me everything. And then, it hit me. Used to. He used to tell me. Past tense. Not present tense. Not future tense. Past. Tense. Even things I didn’t want to hear, he’d tell me. Like the time he made out with Gemma at Chase Parker’s back-toschool party the beginning of junior year. Some sob story about how she felt sick

and asked Nick to accompany her to the bathroom, and before he knew it, her lips were on his, blah, blah, blah. He claimed that he didn’t kiss her back, but I don’t know how much of that I believed. Then again, Nick would’ve never lied to me. That’s how our relationship was. Until today. I didn’t hesitate to listen to Nick’s message. As confused as I felt over everything, hearing his voice alone calmed my nerves, and when he said that he’d love for me to come tonight, that word alone made it extremely difficult for me to refuse. And five outfit changes and two car turn-arounds later, here I am.

But now that I’m standing here in front of the pub, I’m almost tempted to go home and deal with my father and his male lover, rather than celebrate Nick’s engagement. “What would you two do?” I ask N.C. and A.H. under my breath, looking down at their initials. Who am I kidding? N.C. and A.H. probably wouldn’t have had any of the problems that I have. People who have time to draw their names in a heart on wet sidewalk cement don’t have problems, other than not having anything better to do with their free time. As I contemplate leaving, Braiden steps outside. “Well, if it isn’t the Benster, always

fashionably late,” he rags on me. “But better late than never!” “You never fail to objectify me with that nickname. What are you doing out here?” “Needed a little fresh air, if you know what I mean,” he admits, pulling a joint from his back pocket as he flashes a crooked smile. “Some things never change. You’re still you, Braiden.” “Now that you’re here, this party can get started because Benster babe, I’ve got a bottle of Don Julio with your name written all over it,” he shrieks at the top of his lungs and wraps an arm around my shoulders, obviously already tipsy with the scent of Scotch lingering on his

breath. “I’m so fucking happy you’re here, do you know that? Like high-as-akite-fucking-happy!” He places a wet, liquored kiss on my forehead, and I return the affection by wiping it away against his black, buttonup collar shirt. “Ew, thank you for that. There’s nothing sexier than a wet, slobbery kiss.” “Sexy is my middle name, you know,” he attests, shooting a wink at me. A group of young girls stumbles out of the entrance doors, dressed in shorterthan-short and tighter-than-tight dresses and six-inch heels, giggling and tripping over themselves as Braiden’s eyes follow them to the parking lot. “You know, you’ve got a bit of drool

on your chin right here,” I motion with my index finger to my own chin. “You do realize your beer goggles are in full effect right now, don’t you?” “Beer goggles aren’t such a bad thing for a guy when he’s horny as fuck! Just gotta make sure to keep them goggles on and to double bag it!” “Could you be any more disgusting? You seriously haven’t changed at all.” I scrunch my nose, smacking his arm as he retracts and bursts out laughing, and I can’t help but laugh with him. “Anyway, I wasn’t speaking for myself since, you know, I’ve hung up my beer goggles.” His lips tug at a smile. Who knows what he means by that, but thanks to him, I’m feeling much more

relaxed than I was earlier. “I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much.” Braiden pulls me in and wraps his arms around my shoulders, directing me toward the entrance of the pub. “Well, my friend, we’re going to need to change that. Didn’t you know that laughter is the best medicine?” I nod as he pushes me through the door, and in my head, I curse N.C. and A.H. for distracting me from making my getaway. This isn’t my party, but I seem to be the focus of attention anyway. “Corinne, honey! I heard you were here,” Marlene Kelley squeals with

delight as she takes my face in her hands and places a kiss on my cheek. She pulls me in for a hug which I happily return. “Oh good gosh! It is so good to see you, sweetheart!” “It’s been a long time, Marlene, but it feels good to be back,” I tell her, and surprisingly, it does. “What have you been up to all of these years? How’s east coast living? And your mother, how is she doing?” Marlene spits out question after question, and I don’t know which to answer first. Luckily, William cuts in before I can answer. “Good lord, Marlene, give her some room to breathe, why don’t ya?” He pushes his way in between the two of us.

“Now, it’s my turn to smother her! Give me a hug, squirt!” He pulls me in, rustling my hair with his palm until the top of my head looks like a balloon grazed over it. He looks down at me, a wide grin plastered across his flushed face, presumably from the glass of wine resting in his other hand. “How’re you doing, kid? Still as beautiful as ever, I see. I bet the boys find it difficult to stay away.” William loosens his grip on me as I straighten out my messy hair. The comment about the boys should prompt me to tell them about my engagement, but I don’t. “Oh please. You know I’ve never been one for compliments,” I smirk,

rolling my eyes in response. “You, on the other hand, are still quite the catch, I must say.” He wraps his free arm around Marlene’s waist and grazes her cheek with a kiss. “Well, I gotta keep this woman here happy, right?” Soaking him in, Marlene’s endearing gaze at her husband is accompanied by a soft chuckle. “I’ll stay happy as long as you stay healthy.” “For you, I will.” My heart flutters at the sight of William and Marlene. Finding that kind of love is one in a million—the kind that changes with the seasons, losing its vibrant colors in the deadest of winter but blooming wildly in the bright spring

air, always staying beautiful. The kind that will never cease to stop, that will exist out in the infinite trails of the universe, even if the world should obliterate into nothingness. The kind that will always be something in a world of nothing. But I’m not sure if that love is real. If it is, it’s rare. I thought my parents had it, but how wrong was I about that? Marlene grabs my clammy hand, and I wonder if she senses my anxiety. “Corinne, honey, have you seen Nicholas and Riley yet? I want you to meet her. You are going to love her!” I’m guessing she doesn’t sense it. She stands on her tiptoes, attempting to poke her head above the sea of heads in the room.

I’m going to love her. That’s what I’m afraid of. That I will like her, even when every part of me wants to dislike her, and I have yet to meet her. “Actually, I need to make a pit stop to the ladies room first, if you don’t mind.” I quickly break away, wiping my palm against my pants. “Okay, dear. But hurry back. There are a million people here dying to see you!” A million. God, do I need a drink. The table sits at the far corner of the room, lined with almost every red, clear, and amber-colored pick-me-up my body so desperately needs, and it’s a straight shot from where I stand. I swiftly race toward it, barely reaching the finish line

when one of the millions of people at the party stops me in my tracks. This one, however, I highly doubt is dying to see me, as Marlene put it. “I thought that was you!” Gemma shrieks as she yanks at my arm. “Oh my God, Corinne! The rumors were true. What brings you back?” She pulls me in for a hug that falls limper than Jello, and though we certainly were no Monica and Rachel, the half-smile curling around her ruby lips is surprisingly genuine. I try to return the sentiment by offering my version of a smile, but my hardheaded inability to let go of the past weighs it down, pressing it into a dimpled, flat line. “Gemma, still chasing

those rumors, I see, but your eyes are not deceiving you. This one happens to be true.” “Yeah, no kidding,” Gemma remarks, before eyeing the diamond on my finger and cocking her perfectly-plucked eyebrow. “Well, someone got bitten by the love bug while she was away. Nicely done, Corinne.” I cover the diamond with my other hand, toying nervously with my fingers. “Yeah, thanks.” “So, tell me about the chum who finally stole Corinne Bennett’s heart.” I’m reluctant to give Gemma any insight into my personal life, and six years ago, the only thing she’d get from me would be an eye roll, followed by

the back of my head. But since she’s being cordial, I suppose I should return the gesture. I tell her about Cooper, or as much as she needs to know at least. “This guy must have wine flowing out of his junk,” Gemma says candidly. Confusion furrows between my brows. “I’m sorry?” She tosses her long, blonde hair behind her shoulder. “I mean, that could be the only explanation you’d give a guy other than Nicholas the time of day, right?” My confusion grows, deepening my frown lines with Gemma’s remark. “Oh come on, Corinne. We’re adults now. There’s no need to beat around the bush. Isn’t that the reason why you and I

always had our differences? Because of Nicholas?” This wench. She surely hasn’t changed. On the other hand, she’s right. She knows it. I know it. But refusing to give her the satisfaction, I ignore her and refute her smug grin with my Barbie smile, but what I really want to do would probably get me kicked out of this bar and a night in the Santa Cruz jailhouse. “Forgive me for being rude, but if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to find Nick to say hello. I have plans with my father early tomorrow morning, but I told him I’d stop by and meet Riley,” I lie. Thankfully, she doesn’t press the conversation about Nick. “You haven’t

met the future Mrs. Nicholas Kelley, yet? You are going to love her. She is the sweetest little thing ever.” Mrs. Nicholas Kelley. The sound of Riley’s future name makes this so much more real than it was ten seconds ago. It’s one thing to call her Nick’s fiancée. It’s another when she’s referred to as Nick’s soon-to-be wife. I need to get away from Gemma before I do something I’ll regret. I retrieve my cell phone from my pocket. “I’m sure she is. Excuse me. I need to take this call,” I tell her, though no one is calling me. I make my way toward the drinks and see Tess standing next to the table, eyeing me curiously and obviously still

agitated. If there is one person I wouldn’t mind stopping me, it’s her, but before I even make it to the table, she’s gone and out of sight. I have to hand it to her; she’s got the disappearing act down almost as well as I do. Contemplating my drink of choice, I stare at the bottles staggered across the table. Whiskey, vodka, rum, wine—all calling my name, but honestly, I’m not really sure if I’m in the mood for a drink now. A bottle of sparkling apple cider sits at the end of the table, out of place from the rest of the bunch. That’s sort of like me, feeling out of place and unsure of where I fit into the mix of things. These people—some familiar, others I don’t recognize—are

all a part of Nick and Riley’s present and future. By showing up here tonight, I suppose I should fall into one of those categories, too. But how do you find a place in someone’s future if you’re still hoping that person will stay with you in the past? I take the bottle of cider and pour some into an empty glass. “Now you’re my kind of girl,” says a petite, barely twenty-looking woman, her dimpled smile never leaving her face. “That’s my poison, too.” I return her smile, extending the bottle out and offering her another pour. “I don’t mind if I do, thank you. Although, this round will make it my

third, so I ought to be careful because I’m DD tonight,” she teases, letting out a high-pitched giggle. “Well, in that case, we better cut you off now,” I answer back, catching her infectious giggle while returning the bottle to the table. She tips her glass to mine. “Cheers to being the only two sober chicks in this bar.” I tip my glass back to hers. “And cheers to walking out of here later, makeup and hair still neatly in place.” “Amen!” she praises, tossing back her long, dirty-blonde hair behind her shoulder. We laugh in unison. Braiden was right. Laughter is the best medicine. I

almost forgot how anxious I was feeling earlier. Almost. I take a sip from my glass and look out at the crowd, everyone reveling in the art of laughter and conversation. “Not much of a drinker, I take it?” “No, but for religious reasons actually. I’m a Mormon, so you know how that goes.” I nod my head, taking another sip of my cider when she moves in closer and speaks in a low voice, loud only enough for me to hear. “But to tell you the truth, I actually do enjoy having a drink every now and then. Like when my husband takes my sister wives out on dates, and I’m alone, I’ll sneak out to a local bar, disguised,

and order myself a whiskey on the rocks or a glass of white wine.” Husband? Sister wives? Did I just hear that correctly? “The only thing is that I have to douse myself with perfume and rinse the crap out of my mouth with Listerine before he returns home. Otherwise, there’s hell to pay.” This conversation is beginning to take a strange turn, and I start to notice a little bit of a mid-west accent in her voice I didn’t notice before. “And God Almighty if I do anything to upset Joseph. I’ve felt the buckle of his belt on my back before, and let me tell you, it ain’t ever pretty.” All at once, cider shoots out of my nostrils when I cough and gag, and I

scramble for a napkin to wipe up the liquid trickling down my face. I find one on the table and quickly dab the end of it against my chin and around my mouth. This girl can’t be for real. Sure, that stuff exists out there in the world, but here? In Santa Cruz? Not likely. I scan the room, confused, waiting for cameramen to jump out from behind a wall to tell me I’m on Candid Camera. She follows my eyes around the room and casually takes another sip of her cider. “By the way, I was totally joking. You look so confused right now.” My eyes assault her with blank stares. Who is this girl? Whoever she is, she got me, and she got me good. She reminds me a little of myself because it’s

the sort of joke I would have pulled on someone. Laughing and wiping the last of the wet residue off my face, I say, “I swear, you had me there for a second. I’m known for speaking my mind, but I seriously did not know how to respond to that!” A huge crescent-shaped grin settles on her face, reaching her green eyes. “I really don’t drink the hard stuff, though. Not a fan. It’s a lifestyle choice, I guess.” “To each his own. Cheers to that.” This party isn’t so bad after all, now that I’ve actually found someone to talk to that doesn’t know me and my past, or has expectations or twenty-million

questions or fake smiles and hellos. “And I definitely do not share my man with any sister wives.” “Well it looks like you and I find common ground on many levels.” “I can see that,” she says as she eyes the Cartier on my ring finger. “Is your man here?” She surveys the bar, scoping out possible matches. Subconsciously, I want to say yes, he is here. But then my conscience slaps me silly and pushes that thought aside because obviously, Cooper isn’t here. And Cooper is my man. “Nope, I’m solo tonight, unfortunately.” “Well, you better tell him to get his

butt over here! These men are on the prowl. He must be crazy to allow a hot thing like you out. If you were my fiancée, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight for a second.” Huh. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was flirting with me, but she did say she didn’t share her man. “I’m not one for flattery, but thank you. Actually, my fiancé is back in New York while I’m out here visiting for the week.” “New York is awesome. I love it there.” “Yeah, I live there now, but I was born and raised here, in Santa Cruz.” “Certified hippie-child. You’re legit.”

We sip on our cider, relishing in the good company while staring at the crowd. “Look at this place,” she points to the crowded bar with her glass. “It’s a madhouse in here. The Kelleys have certainly turned it into a money machine.” “So you do know the Kelleys. For a second there, I thought you were a party crasher, like myself,” I say, winking. “How do you know the happy couple?” Before she can respond, Nick’s voice calls from behind me, and my heart suddenly drops. “Riley.” The other half of the happy couple is standing right in front of me. She’s been standing right in front of me the entire

time. My new friend. Nick appears beside Riley, taking her hand in his, and I don’t think he realizes who I am until he notices my face in the dimly lit room. There is no mistaking his surprise in the slight drop of his jaw and raised eyebrows, yet I don’t know if it’s a result of me actually showing up, or because he didn’t expect to find me hanging out with his fiancée. I’m pretty surprised about that too. “Cori, you made it,” he utters, breaking free from Riley to give me a quick hug. However, it’s not like any of the hugs we’ve had in the past or even the hugs we’ve shared since my return. Hugs that say ‘don’t ever let me go.’ Hugs that go beyond the casual hello and

goodbye. No, this hug definitely says ‘we’re buddies,’ and it doesn’t sit well with me. “I wouldn’t have missed it.” Sure, Corinne, especially after the tenth time you contemplated skipping the thing altogether. Smiling at me, he takes Riley’s hand back in his. “Thank you. It means a lot to us.” Silence settles in, and holy shit, this is awkward. If it weren’t for the sounds of The Rolling Stones beating down through the speakers and the muffled voices droning across the room, this would have been worse than the silence that ensued when my mother caught me in a compromising position in my bed at

the age of eighteen. Yes, that happened, and I’d like to forget it did. Nick’s eyes are locked on mine, and I can tell he wants to say so much right now, but before he can say anything, I break the silence. “Please forgive Nick for his bad manners, Riley. I’m Corinne.” Riley giggles, releasing Nick’s hand to pull me in for an embrace, surprising me. “I actually knew it was you right away. I’ve seen photos. They said you were a jokester, so I thought I’d lay one on you myself.” She releases me but holds both of my hands in hers. “Nicholas, sweetie, you did good with this one. Braiden, on the other hand, now that’s one I have to question. It’s so nice

to finally meet you, Corinne. I’ve heard so many stories from Nicholas, Braiden, and Gemma.” Gemma, huh? “Uh oh. That’s actually a little worrisome.” “No way! They’ve said some crazy things, but it was all the more reason to want to meet you. Honestly, if I wasn’t madly in love with this guy right here, you might actually be able to turn me.” She nudges my shoulder. Madly in love. Of course she is. How could she not be? It wouldn’t be difficult to be madly in love with Nick. But how would I know, right? How would I know? “This isn’t strange at all,” Nick sarcastically cuts in. “My fiancée is

hitting on my best friend. I guess most guys would think that’s pretty awesome, especially when both women are insanely beautiful. But it’s just not working for me. I have feelings,” he kids around with pouted lips. It shocks me, somewhat, that he refers to me as his best friend. The pessimist in me says that he said it in the heat of the moment, a quick slip of the tongue, that there really is no meaning behind it. Every other part of me is basking in it because that is all I really want. To have my best friend back. But if he’s with Riley, who knows how much of him I can really have now? Riley pulls Nick into her, her two hands on each side of his cheeks, and

places a soft kiss on his mouth. “Oh stop. You have nothing to worry about.” I look away out of reflex. It’s strange because this is the first time I’ve seen Nick have any intimate interaction with a woman. I’ve only heard about the time he made out with Gemma, and even that is an image that’s difficult to remove from my head sometimes. Seeing it in person is a whole different story, and I feel a little flame of jealousy burn within my heart. Thankfully, Marlene interrupts, stealing the two lovebirds away so she can introduce her future daughter-in-law to more friends and family. “No worries, Marlene. I actually need to head out.”

Nick throws me a curious look, probably wondering the reason for my hasty departure. Yet, he doesn’t question it, surprising me when he offers to walk me outside. Before Riley is scuffled away by her overeager future mother-inlaw, she turns to me and gives me a goodbye hug. “It was so nice to meet you, Corinne. Don’t be a stranger the next time you’re in town. You and me and a few rounds of cider, and you can give me the dish on what this one was like growing up.” She flexes her thumb toward Nick. “What do you say?” “For sure,” I say, forcing a smile. Nick and I make our way out of the pub, now packed to the brim with the

Saturday night crowd. I can’t help but notice his hand resting on the small of my back as we weave our way through the throngs of people. I get elbowed left and right, but none of that seems to faze me, since every nerve in my body is focused on Nick’s hand. When we reach the parking lot, a nip in the night air bites my shoulders as Nick pulls his hand away. Compared to the ruckus inside the pub, the parking lot, though lined with countless rows of cars, is calm and still, with the exception of a few stragglers chatting and giggling as they walk past us. The moon grins across the opaque sky, allowing only the faintest stream of light to filter its way down to the edges of the earth. Having

walked in silence all the way out here, we continue without words until we stop at the driver’s-side door of my car. With Nick’s hands in his pockets and mine crossed, neither of us speaks with our voices, yet our gazes speak a thousand words. Words we couldn’t possibly say out loud. Not now. Not anymore. Not ever. We’ve always been able to read each other, and after everything that has unfolded since my return, I think we both see it—the paths by which our lives have veered on since I left six years ago, running off in different directions than the one we had always planned on taking together, the one that eighteen years of friendship paved for us, toward an uncertain future,

yet certain that we would journey it with each other. Now, our futures seem more certain but certainly not together, and that’s the reality I didn’t want to face.

My days are numbered. Literally. I’ve lain sprawled out on this bed for the majority of today, having eaten eight of Anabel’s oatmeal raisin cookies. R.E.M.’s Everybody Hurts plays for the fourteenth time as I toss this baseball up in the air, trying to beat my previous

record of twenty-one catches. It’s Tuesday, which means I have three days left here, and I think I may have to spend all of it in this room, since I need to stay away from Nick and I have to stay away from my father. I know. Staying away from Henry completely defeats the purpose of this trip, but it’s not like I haven’t tried. I did finally join them for dinner last night, and I’d like to say our time together was smooth sailing. That the calm, tranquil waters by which we glided peacefully along emulated the clear sky in a deep sapphire blue. That we immersed ourselves in joyous conversation, leaving our issues and drama with the rough seas far behind us.

That Henry and I hugged it out, Jamie and I came to an understanding, and we sailed off into the sunset like one big happy family. But it went just a bit differently. I handled myself throughout the first half of dinner, managing a please when I asked for the pepper and a thank you when Jamie offered me another glass of wine, and granted, I was brief and didn’t delve into details, I told them about seeing Nick and meeting his fiancée. Their inquisitive eyes told me they wanted more than, “It was nice seeing Nick after all of these years. Riley seems really nice,” but they didn’t press me for answers, which I appreciated. At one point, I thought to myself that

maybe, just maybe, Mom was right all along, that a reconciliation could be easy if I simply stopped fighting it. But you know how people say there is a calm before every storm? Enter storm. “Well, I’m glad you and Nicholas were able to catch up after all this time,” Henry said, stirring a spoonful of sugar into his coffee as I sopped up the last bit of my blackberry pie. With blackberry season at its August peak, the bushes behind the house were ripe and thriving, practically begging to be picked and turned into delicious pieces of crusted heaven. I quietly cursed Anabel. Her plot to soothe me with delicious food

continued. I will indeed leave here at least twenty pounds heavier. “Is Riley that nice, young woman that works at that women’s shelter in San Francisco? The one we met when we had dinner at Kelley’s that one night?” Jamie asked Henry, and my fork immediately fell from my grip, clanging as it hit the plate. My eyes darted to Jamie, and I wanted nothing more than to take that word nice and throw it back at him. “You met her?” Henry quickly shot Jamie a knowing look, scolding him like a disobedient child before returning his eyes to mine. Something told me Jamie wasn’t supposed to divulge that information,

and he looked apologetic as his eyes widened with regret. “It was a couple of months ago,” Henry started, his nerves evident in the way he fidgeted with the spoon, stirring his coffee and then resting it on the tablecloth, only to have picked it up again, sticking it back in his cup. “Jamie and I decided to stop in for dinner, and she was there. Nicholas introduced us.” “So, you knew about their engagement.” It was more of an accusation than a question. He hesitated as I caught a nervous swallow move slowly down his throat. I knew the last thing my father wanted was to piss me off. Hell, I wouldn’t want to piss me off. The solution? Don’t say

anything to piss me off. “Yes. We did,” Henry said as I noticed Jamie subtly mouth an I’m sorry. Abruptly, I reached across the table and jerked the blackberry pie toward me, taking the knife and slashing the crust across in two swift movements. Digging the pie server under the part that I cut, I flung the piece onto my plate as purple juices splattered across the white-linen tablecloth. I stabbed my fork into it and brought the piece quickly to my mouth. With my mouth full (yeah, I know), I asked him, “And it never even crossed your mind to tell me about it?” “Would it have mattered, Corinne?” I stopped chewing and stared at

Henry. My eyelids blinked as if they were fluttering at a mile per minute, to the point of feeling heavy and achy and stars started to appear behind them. Why was I getting bent out of shape over this? Regardless if I had known or not, it really wouldn’t have mattered. I still would have been engaged to Cooper. Nick still would have been engaged to Riley. Case closed. Right? “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Henry apologized before continuing, “but Evelyn agreed it’d be best if Nicholas had told you on his own.” I’d dropped my fork on my plate upon Henry mentioning Mom and her participation in Operation Don’t-TellCorinne. And she wondered why I

hadn’t returned any of her calls. I bursted out in an uproar of laughter, though nothing about this was remotely funny. “Wow! Mom knew, too. So what? The three of you are like The Three Amigos now? Confiding in each other and shit? What a joke.” My laughter subsided, and we all grew quiet. My eyes stayed locked on the half-eaten pie in the center of the table. “You know,” Jamie cut through the silence, “Nicholas seemed really happy when your dad told him about your engagement.” Nick knew? I glanced at Jamie, my irritation quickly melting into a puddle of woe. “He did?” I asked, like I was

disappointed that Nick would have that reaction to my engagement. For some reason, I’d hoped that his happiness for me hadn’t been genuine at all. “Do you still have feelings for him?” My irritation returned, and anger seethed in my eyes as they zeroed in on Henry. “Are you seriously asking me that?” “Henry, let’s not have this conversation right now,” Jamie urged, and it was the only smart thing he’d said since I had met him. “You’re overreacting, Corinne,” Henry ignored him, returning my glare. And it was the first time in a long while that I’d seen any sort of contempt in his eyes. “I already apologized for not

telling you, but I can only assume your reaction is a result of your unresolved feelings for Nicholas.” “I’m fucking engaged!” I yelled at him, my breathing rapid and heavy, and in a heated rage, I picked up the blackberry pie and chucked it across the table, and the three of us watched as it collided with the white wall—a mix of black, blue, and purple splattering wildly in every direction like a Jackson Pollock. Okay, so I fluffed that last part for a more dramatic effect. I didn’t really throw the pie even though every pissed off nerve in my body contemplated it. It sure as hell made for a better ending than the uninteresting scene that actually

played out: me walking out on them in a fit of anger. And now here I am, tossing number twenty-two...twenty-three...twenty-four... Suddenly, my cell phone rings to the Wicked Witch jingle from The Wizard of Oz, signaling an incoming call from my mother. I catch toss number thirty into my glove and set it on the bed next to me, making a mental note of my record for later on when I retreat back to my pity party. “Well, if it isn’t the Wicked Witch of the East,” I say nonchalantly as I pick up. “Oh, would you look at that? It’s so nice to hear an actual voice pick up instead of a recording telling me I can’t leave a message because the voicemail

box is full,” Mom teases. “So where did you find it?” “I’m sorry, but my voicemail box is full because someone decided to blow it up with a million messages. Most people can usually take a hint when they call a person several times and don’t get an answer, but I guess you’re not most people. And where did I find what?” I open the guest house door and make my way toward the house to stuff my face with more of Anabel’s cookies. Henry and Jamie are at work, so there’s no chance of running into them. Beams of warm light trickle down from the cloudless sky and lightly sweep across my sun-starved skin. I hate how I’ve allowed such a gorgeous day to waste

away because I’m too busy feeling sorry for myself. “Where did you find your phone? You lost or misplaced it, and you just found it, right? Because my sweet daughter would never ignore her mother’s calls,” she challenges me as I let myself into the side entrance of the main house. “And I see that your ringtone for me hasn’t changed. I told you, how about that Get Your Freak On song by, what’s her name, Missy Etheridge? I like that one. Make that my ringtone.” She starts to sing the tune, unable to finish the lyrics. Though she is hanging by a thread on my very last nerve, I can’t help but break a smile at her attempt. “Elliott, Mom.

Missy Elliott,” I correct her, hiding my smile behind the agitation in my voice. “Yes, that’s her. That’s the song. That tune is catchy, wouldn’t you say?” “I agree that it’s catchy, Mom, but I highly doubt you phoned me to chat about mainstream rap chicks.” I walk through the kitchen and grab a cookie sitting on a plate on the counter, making it number nine for the day. Nine damn cookies that feel like nine extra pounds hanging off my gut. “So let’s just cut to the chase because I’m not really in the mood for small talk right now.” She bellows a laugh. “Gosh, I guess there isn’t anyone else to blame but myself for that sassiness of yours. One thing I know for certain, I took the right

baby home from the hospital twenty-four years ago, because you are definitely my daughter.” I can argue with my mother about many things, but this is one argument she wins. There is no denying who I get my spunky attitude from. Evelyn Bennett never takes no for an answer, and never count on her to back down on an argument. Unless, of course, she is arguing with me. There isn’t anyone else in this world that is more stubborn than I am, and yet, how she was able to forgive my father so easily still perplexes me. Chomping on my cookie, I walk to the sun room, the prettiest room in the entire house. I love how every ounce of sun pours through the floor-to-ceiling

windows, spilling over every inch of the room, not leaving anything untouched. The old Steinway still sits at the far corner, and I swear I can hear the ghostly sounds of Chopsticks and Heart and Soul echoing somewhere in my memory. The outdated couch with the hideous floral upholstery remains on the opposite end of the room, beneath the window that overlooks the driveway. It’s the same couch I would prop myself on every day at six o’clock, where I’d wait patiently for my daddy to come home from work while the delicious scents of my mommy’s home cooked dinners followed me and my growing appetite. I take a seat on that couch, wishing I could rewind life and go back to a time

when my world wasn’t so complicated, when laughter and fun were easy to come by, when seeing my dad at the end of the day brought me joy and excitement instead of resentment and heartbreak. A slight hesitation interrupts the silly banter between my mom and me, shifting the mood of the conversation from playful to serious. I scold her for the first half of our conversation, asking her how she could keep Nick’s engagement news from me. She didn’t have a good reason other than not wanting to upset me. “I wouldn’t have gotten upset! Why do you and Henry keep saying that?” “Honey, listen to yourself. You are upset. Can you honestly tell me you’re

not? And he’s still your father. You need to quit this first-name basis crap.” I ignore her, rolling my eyes. “And don’t roll your eyes at me,” she adds because she knows me all too well. “Whatever. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” She obliges, steering our conversation toward my dad and Jamie and bringing up that awful first dinner with them. She, in turn, scolds me for my immature behavior and hostile attitude toward Jamie. Six years ago, I would have never imagined my mother defending the man who wrecked her marriage. “How do you do it, Mom?” I ask,

lifting my feet onto the couch to hug my knees. “How do you forget the past and move forward?” She heaves a heavy sigh. “Oh sweetie. The past is not something you forget, even if you try.” “It sure would make life simpler if we could forget all the bad, wouldn’t it?” “No doubt about it. I’m sure it would, but I’m almost positive it would also make life mundane, don’t you think? Can you imagine only knowing the upside to life? You’d be Miss Susie Sunshine twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, for at least seventy years of your life and—” “Seventy years?” I interrupt her

thought. “Why only seventy years? The average life span is about eighty.” “I know, I know. But let’s get real, honey. By the time a person hits seventy anyway, they might as well be out of commission, if you know what I mean. Your hair turns white, that is, if you still have some. Worrying about your teeth accidentally coming out at a restaurant becomes a reoccurring issue. And let’s be honest, nothing down there works the way it’s supposed to. So for all intents and purposes, life starts going downhill after seventy. Can I continue now?” I giggle into the phone. “My point is, I don’t think we can appreciate life and all the good that comes with it unless we experience the

downside of it. Think about it this way. When we moved to the east coast and experienced the extreme seasons, didn’t you have a far greater appreciation for the mild and sunny year-round California weather?” “Man, I hate the sticky, humid New York summers. There is nothing worse than being drenched in your own sweat while waiting for the six train in the awful humidity of the subway at nine in the morning.” “Exactly. And I’m sure the weather there in Santa Cruz is just perfect, isn’t it? Now, I’m not comparing life to the weather, but you get what I’m trying to say,” she pauses. “Corinne, I’m never going to forget what happened in the

past, but I don’t ever want to forget. I’ve said it before, and I will keep on saying it. You can’t live life with regrets. You won’t ever forget the bad, but you can forgive and let go. That is how you move on.” With advice like that, it makes it all the more difficult to stay upset with her. I grab one of the couch pillows, pulling it into my chest as I find comfort in my mother’s words. Still, I’m just as confused as ever. “Then how do I forgive?” “Unfortunately, honey, I can’t tell you how to do that. That’s something you have to figure out on your own.” If I haven’t figured it out by now, I’m afraid I never will.

After I hang up with my mother, I call Cooper, realizing how the craziness of the past few days have somehow kept him out of my mind, and I suddenly feel guilty. When he doesn’t answer again, I grow slightly irritated, but I can only assume his lack of effort in contacting me has everything to do with his workload at the office. My boredom drives me to the computer on my desk in my former room. The old machine still has life in it, and when my desktop loads and the AOL log-in pops up, I smile. My old screen name automatically appears in the prompt—HotShot68—and I sign on. It wasn’t the screen name I wanted, but

since Nick set up my account years ago, it was the one I was stuck with and never got around to changing. As I aimlessly explore through the browser, I remember how Nick and I would spend hours instant messaging each other, even after being together the entire day, or how we would find the strangest chat rooms to go into just to read the odd conversations people would have. And as if by some telepathic force, it isn’t long before I’m greeted with the sweetest instant message. KelleyNick1715: Hot shot. Did I really hate that nickname?

Because my flushed cheeks, racing heartbeat, and fat smile smeared across my face beg to differ. If I smile any wider, my cheeks might fall off my face. I reply to his message the only way I know how. HotShot68: Chicken shit. KelleyNick1715: :) Who knew that something as simple as a colon and closed parenthesis could break me out of this funk? Separately, they punctuate the English language: a colon separates a fact from its given description or explanation, while a closed parenthesis ties up a thought

aside from the main point (or used to clarify). See what I did there? But together, they create the best show of emotion that has ever graced my computer screen. KelleyNick1715: Fancy meeting you here. KelleyNick1715: What are you up to? HotShot68: :X KelleyNick1715: Are we speaking in symbols now? Or not speaking, hence the lips-sealed symbol... HotShot68: You started it. HotShot68: :P

KelleyNick1715: Guilty as charged. So why won’t you tell me what you’re doing? HotShot68: You’ll think I’m a loser. KelleyNick1715: Try me. HotShot68: Let’s just say my fat ass is ten pounds heavier. And mindless TV is no joke. HotShot68: Did you know that paternity tests can be conducted while a woman is still pregnant? HotShot68: You can thank Maury Povich for that little fact.

KelleyNick1715: Wow. You really are a loser. KelleyNick1715: JK. HotShot68: Ass. HotShot68: :) KelleyNick1715: What do you say I rescue you from Maury, and you join me for a little adventure? HotShot68: Adventure? I’m intrigued... KelleyNick1715: Okay, I’m exaggerating on the adventure part. Just a little one day road trip down to Big Sur tomorrow for a photo gig. KelleyNick1715: You interested? I

could use the company. Hmm, let’s see. Spend another day feeling sorry for myself locked away in the guest house, or spend a day with Nick on the road? Like that’s even a question. HotShot68: You had me at adventure. :)

I blame Pantene Pro-V for the mess I’m in right now. We’re driving down Highway 1 on this crystal clear blue day, coasting along the Pacific while the wind whips Cori’s hair into a tangled—but certainly gorgeous—mess and drowns every part of me in the scent of vanilla. Vanilla shampoo. Cori’s shampoo.

Her scent was a part of my life for as long as I can remember. She would walk into a room, and even with my eyes closed, I knew it was her. Or whenever she’d sleep over, I knew which pillow belonged to her because her scent stuck to it like glue. So you could only imagine what it would be like smelling that scent every day of your life, and then one day, it’s just—gone. Not counting the times I would find myself in the shampoo aisle at the grocery store, even when shampoo wasn’t on my shopping list, drowning my pathetic sorrows in that scent. And then all of a sudden, it’s everywhere: in your bar, on your clothes, in your car. There’s no escaping

it, no matter how hard you try. I swear I tried. I tried really damn hard, but I was a fool for thinking I could. So, I did the only thing I could—I stopped trying. “How often do these projects come your way?” Cori asks. We’ve been on the road for more than an hour now, and I swear, the magazine I’m shooting for couldn’t have picked a better day for me to get the photos they need for their upcoming California Coast issue. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Pacific so blue, perfectly reflecting the cloudless sky above it. “I get a few offers every month, but I don’t have much free time to do many of them. I kind of have to pick and choose, which I guess makes me lucky,

considering how difficult it is for most full-time photographers to get work. If I could do them all, I would.” Cori removes her sunglasses and brings them to the hem of her top, wiping away the smudges on the lenses. My eyes venture away from the road for a few seconds to follow her movement, and they catch sight of the smooth skin beneath her cut-off shorts. Instantly, I scold them, and they’re back on the road where they should be. “Most of the gigs I book are local, since running a business doesn’t make it easy to do jobs that require a lot of travel time. Man, you’ll never believe some of the jobs I’ve had to turn down because they required me to be away for

weeks at a time. I even got offered a gig in Morocco. Can you believe that? Fucking Morocco, and I turned it down. That one was tough.” “That would have been amazing.” “Hell yeah, it would have. I wanted that one so badly. That one rolled in right after I took over the bar,” I tell her as a little pang of regret gnaws at the back of my mind. “But you know what they say. Everything happens for a reason, right?” Cori looks at me with adoration in her eyes, and I know she can see the very thing I feel. “I admire your passion, Nick. Granted, I’ve been away for a while, but your love for getting behind that lens clearly hasn’t changed. I also

know your integrity, and your family means everything to you. I’m really proud of you.” My mouth curves into a smile. I love how I don’t need to explain myself to Cori. It amazes me that even after how much time has passed, she still gets me. “What about you?” “Me?” “You didn’t make me do schoolwork on Saturdays for nothing,” I tease. “So is teaching now a forgotten thought?” She slouches in her seat, brings her feet up, and perches them against the dashboard. I divert my eyes away from the road again and sweep them over her perfectly toned legs, which could very well send us off these cliffs and down to

our deaths if I don’t start paying better attention. Then again, the sight of Cori’s long legs before death doesn’t sound like the worst way to meet my demise. Clearing my throat, I force my eyes back on the road. “I applied for a position at a high school in the city,” Cori says, placing her sunglasses back over her eyes. “That’s awesome, Cori!” “You should have seen the disappointment on my dad’s face when I told him I didn’t get it.” “Man. Sorry to hear that.” “Why are you sorry? I got it.” Confused, I turn my head repeatedly from the road to Cori until she explains, “I couldn’t stand seeing how happy the

idea made him, so I told him they didn’t offer it to me, nor was it something I actually wanted anymore. A part of me wanted to disappoint him the same way he’s disappointed me. Only, I’m pretty sure he takes the cake for the mother of all disappointments,” she scoffs. “Man.” I shake my head, smirking. “Those school boys have no idea what’s in store for them. Where were you hot teachers when I was in high school?” She grows quiet, simply smiling at my remark, one that I sort of now regret saying because let’s face it, those are the types of comments I really shouldn’t be saying. “Let’s not jump to conclusions yet. I haven’t officially accepted the position.”

“Wait, this is what you want, right?” She brings her feet back to the floor, resting her elbow against the door and planting her head in the palm of her hand. “I don’t know what I want anymore,” she confesses as she faces forward and stares straight ahead through her dark shades. My mind reels over her admission, and I wonder if we’re still talking about teaching. Before I can ask, she pulls her shades away from her face, and I can see her staring at me out of the corner of my eye. “Will you do me a favor?” she asks, turning her body toward me and pulling one leg into her chest, her sunglasses gripped in her hand.

“I don’t know.” I hesitate, smirking. “Will it involve you making me look like a killer clown again with your mom’s makeup?” She giggles her cute little laugh. “It hadn’t crossed my mind, but now that you’ve brought it up, the idea sounds quite intriguing.” We laugh in unison before she continues, “On a serious note, if you ever get one of those freelancing offers again, whether it’s Morocco or France or Timbuktu, call me. I don’t know everything there is to know about running a bar, but I’m pretty good at what I do. I’ll fly out here and keep an eye on the old place for you. Deal?” I’d be lying if I sat here and said she no longer had an effect on my heart the

way she did before, because I can feel it hurling itself against my chest, one hard slam after the other. I’m not sure if it’s her offer, or the way the wind tosses her hair, or the sun kissing her flushed cheeks, or that stunning smile spread across her gorgeous face. Maybe it’s all of it. Whatever it is, it sure as hell is affecting me. In a way it really shouldn’t be. And that worries me. And despite me knowing that scenario would probably never play out, for obvious reasons, I still answer and nod, “Deal.” We reach the Bixby Creek Bridge and pull off to the side of the road. Except for another car and a couple taking pictures out on the lookout point,

there isn’t anyone else in sight. As I get out of the Jeep and round the back to gather my camera and equipment, Cori walks to the edge of the cliff to take in the view. She stretches her arms above her head and then bends down, feet shoulder-width apart, stretching her legs as she twists her body toward each one. Although I try not to look, I can’t help but notice those legs of hers. Perfectly long. Perfectly toned. Simply fucking perfect. Son of a mother. Why did she have to wear those jean shorts today? Sweatpants and a sweatshirt would have been good, covering every trace of her skin, but who am I kidding? She’d look just as gorgeous wearing that, and I’d

still be caught in this struggle. I heave a sigh, and that’s when I notice the man checking Cori out while his wife or girlfriend or whoever she is has her back turned. He doesn’t even try to be subtle about it. A smug smile appears on his face, and it takes everything in me not to walk up to this asshole and sock that smile right off of it. Okay, sue me. Maybe I’m being a hypocrite, that I’m no better than this guy because I’m practically doing the same thing—admiring Cori in a way that neither of us should. The difference between us? He probably sees her as nothing but an image for his fantasy bank, locking it away for a rainy day, or

when his girl won’t put out. The thought alone makes me sick. He doesn’t appreciate Cori the way that I do, in all her beauty, inside and out. She is more than some pervert’s fantasy. “Great view, isn’t it?” I shout, staring him down from behind the Jeep and relying on my willpower to keep me from pummeling his ass. My question catches him off guard, his face turning beet red. He quickly diverts his eyes, probably hoping the woman hadn’t noticed his silent indiscretion. “Hell yeah it is! This view is amazing,” Cori answers as she spins around, beaming from ear to ear, completely unaware of the situation. The guy kicks at the rocks and dirt

beneath his feet, probably embarrassed that he got caught, and returns to his girl’s side, placing an arm around her shoulders as they head back to their car. Good fucking riddance. I switch my gaze back to Cori who is in awe of the gorgeous scenery before her, and I can’t blame her. Mother Nature certainly didn’t disappoint today, brushing prismatic perfection across her canvas: the crisp blue of the ocean, the sunlight cascading down the sky, the deep greens nestled along the cliff tops. “Nick, hurry up and come look at this!” she beckons. She twists in her stance to get my attention. “It’s incredible.” The ocean breeze tosses her hair,

and she uses her fingers to pull away the strands from her face, revealing the blissful and radiant smile they try to hide. And I must say, that smile of hers definitely gives the sun a run for its money, regardless of how brilliantly it shines. She’s loving everything about this view. And so am I. By the time we reach Pfeiffer Beach, the midday sun has climbed to its peak in the sky, and we find a spot on the beach to settle in for a break. I come prepared with a big blanket and a picnic bag stocked with the essentials: Brie and crackers, prosciutto and salami, grapes, apple wedges, and Cori’s favorite snack

duo, Hot Cheetos and cream cheese. I thought about a bottle of wine but changed my mind for two reasons: one, I’m working. And two, this isn’t a date, and a bottle of wine would have made this feel like a date. So, I had to go with the second best thing—grape juice boxes. “This entire spread is right up my alley,” a pleased Cori approves. She plops down on the blanket and sits Indian-style. “Honestly Nick, you didn’t have to go out of your way to do all of this. I would have been totally content with the Cheetos and cream cheese. You know me too well.” I take a seat across from her, opening up the pack of juice boxes. “First of all,

I didn’t go out of my way. It’s the least I could do for dragging you along with me. As for the Cheetos and cream cheese, I took a gamble on that one.” “Oh yeah? How so?” “I thought your taste buds might have grown out of that combo, that city life perhaps turned you into some sort of food snob, but my instincts told me otherwise.” I remove the small straw sticking to the back of one of the juice boxes, puncture it into the hole on top, and hand it to her. “In other words, I figured you’d still have the palate of a fifth grader.” Cori giggles as she takes the juice box and waves it in the air for a toast. “And proud of it!” She takes a sip and

winks at me. “Out of curiosity, do you watch Sex and the City?” I ask, my lips curling into a skeptical half-smile. She scrunches her nose with a curious look in her eyes. “Totally random question, but no. I may be the only one who doesn’t. It’s just my opinion, but I think that show is lame.” I beam, celebrating my silent victory with an imaginary fist-pump into the air. “And for the record, I am having the best time. So thank you for dragging me along with you. I really needed this.” I get the feeling not much dragging had to be done on my part. Picking at the cheese and fruit, I contemplate bringing up the situation with her father. Talking

about it may put a damper on Cori’s good spirits, making me hesitate to ask her about it. But I know the situation is hurting her. I also know that Cori does what she wants, and deep down, she wants to reconcile with Henry. “As much as I’d like to think your interest in accompanying me today had everything to do with me, I sense a little bit had to do with avoiding your dad. I take it things aren’t going well?” In one effortless motion, she flips her sunglasses over her head and pops a grape into her mouth. “Is it that obvious?” “It’s obvious you’re avoiding home, so I can only assume why. Plus, you

haven’t said much about it, and I would like to think that if things were looking brighter between you two, that, you know...you’d share it with me.” Maybe I’m being presumptuous in thinking Cori would share everything with me like she used to. After all, we haven’t really spoken in six years. If you want to get technical, then it’s more like five. That is, if you count the last few months of thoughtless communication, the flat, detached e-mails, the one-phrase instant messages, the elicited one word responses, the missed phone calls with no voice messages. But take six years out of the equation, and easy and effortless sum up our friendship. It still makes perfect sense.

“Nick, you would be the first person I’d tell everything to.” Instantly, her eyes flutter from mine down to her hands, and I know exactly why. That ring on her finger is a reminder of why I can’t be the first person she shares everything with. Talk about a reality check. She grabs the bag of Cheetos and opens it up before saying, “Needless to say, it’s still pretty awkward. Our conversations are empty. And as much as I want to, I can’t bring myself to have a real talk about what’s happened between us. It’s like my heart knows what it wants to say, but my head is keeping the words lodged in my throat.” “The old head and heart struggle,” I point out. I know a thing or two about

that. “I hate how they talk to me and ask questions about my life like nothing ever happened. That just because I’m here means I’ve forgiven my dad.” “Maybe he’s afraid of rehashing the past. I can only imagine he’s still torn by what happened between you two, and he doesn’t know how to approach it or how to fix it. Now that he’s got you here, he doesn’t want to mess it up. He doesn’t want to let you go.” Until now, I hadn’t realized how much Henry and I have in common. “I guess it just pisses me off that everyone seems to be able to move on with their lives without even looking back.” Staring blankly off to the ocean,

she pulls a Cheeto out of the bag and stuffs it into her mouth. A part of me wonders if she’s only referring to her dad. The other part of me wants to reach out and brush away Cori’s hair from her face as a light, sea breeze gently tosses it. “I do have to give my dad credit for trying, because he really is. And Jamie, too. I’ve been nothing but a cold-hearted bitch toward him, and he’s still cordial with me. To tell you the truth, I feel pretty shitty about it.” She leans back on the palms of her hands, digging them into the sand behind her. I pick up a juice box, puncture a hole in the top with the straw, and sip it.

“People find ways to justify their pain. Jamie is yours. You may not like hearing this, Cori, but I’ve had a few conversations with him, and he’s not a bad guy.” “Great. You drank the Kool-Aid, too, didn’t you?” she questions with a sarcastic roll of her eyes. “Kool-Aid?” “It’s the only explanation why everyone is ‘Team Jamie.’ My mother included.” “Your mom is amazing.” Cori grows quiet as she looks off to the distance and allows my acknowledgment to settle in. The sun beats down around us, its warmth evident in her rosy cheeks and lightly

toasted skin, and it’s these little moments of stolen glimpses of her that I look forward to. “She is amazing. But just because she’s forgiven my dad doesn’t mean that I have. He hurt me, Nick,” she laments, her fingers raking the sand as she sits up and brushes the tiny grains from her hands. “He really fucking hurt me.” “Are you ashamed of him, Cori?” Confusion settles in the deep V of her brow. “Why would you ask me that?” Shifting my weight forward, I lean my forearms over my knees. “Not long after you left, I’d gone to see your dad, see how he was doing. He asked me if you were ashamed of him.”

“You’d gone to see him?” I never planned on disclosing this detail to her, but I don’t see any reason in keeping it from her now. Between Cori and her mom leaving, and my parents keeping themselves at a distance in the weeks thereafter, I felt sorry for Henry. All in a single day, he lost friends, a wife, a daughter, and quite possibly, any trace of self-worth he may have had left in him. I had also gone to see Henry because he was the only other person who knew what it was like to miss Cori, but that part doesn’t make it into my explanation. “I’ve never been ashamed of him, Nick,” she says, her eyes glossy. “Resentful, yes, but never ashamed. In

spite of it all, he is still my dad, and no matter how much I resist, I still…” she trails off, but it doesn’t take a genius to complete her thought. A suction of air echoes through the box as I sip the last of my juice. I catch Cori staring at me, now with playful eyes. “You know, it’s difficult to take a grown man seriously when he drinks out of a kiddie juice box.” I grin. “Always a kid-at-heart. Got no shame.” “How do you do it?” I look at her, confused. “How do I do what?” “I could feel like complete shit, and you always know the right thing to say or do to make me feel better.”

The answer is simple. “I know you. But it probably also helps that I’ve got Freud and Erikson and Jung and all those guys, and their tools, at my disposal. Who needs a therapist when you have me? Plus, I’m free,” I joke. Pulling at a piece of prosciutto, Cori neatly places it on top of the cracker and brie stack she’s made. She shoves the entire concoction into her mouth, her tongue darting out and licking away a tiny smear of cheese from her bottom lip. Her full, bottom lip. I quickly force my eyes away from her mouth because even watching her eat makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong. “Ah yes,” she mumbles after taking a hard swallow. “The psych major. How

can I forget?” “You say it like that’s a bad thing.” “Well, I always assumed you would go for the art degree. You always talked about it.” I can see the discussion about her dad is over. At least for now, it is. “I planned on it, all the way to junior year, but then I figured I didn’t need some professor or textbook telling me how to see through a lens. You either have an eye for it or you don’t. So I chose the next best thing,” I say as I stand up from the blanket, dusting the sand from my shorts. “Psychology? Seems a little random, no?” I look out to the horizon behind Cori.

Keyhole Rock sits off in the distance, unbothered by the rolling waves crashing up against it. A sly grin spreads across my face as an idea comes to my mind. “Random, no. I think it was more of a...spontaneous decision.” With that, I’m down on the blanket beside Cori, sitting shoulder to shoulder as I whisk her aviators away from the top of her head, completely catching her off guard. She gazes at me with curiosity in her eyes, and we allow a few seconds, but seconds well spent, to pass in a breezy, wave-crashing silence. Then she smiles at me, adoringly. “That’s my line.” I wrap one arm around her as the

other holds my smaller handheld camera in front of us, making sure to capture the stunning scenery in the background. The second she leans her head against my shoulder, I snap the photo. Securing this memory. Seizing it to keep in my heart— another thing I really shouldn’t be doing. A fire-like glow erupts across the sky and lights up the horizon well beyond the edges of the ocean in the distance. By the time we make it to McWay Falls, dusk has filtered through, and it’s fantastic. I just hope the magazine agrees. Once I’m finished taking the shots, I wrap up and gather my equipment. Cori leans over the guardrail on the side of

the trail, looking down to the waterfall that empties out to the pristine beach below. A perfectly layered horizon falls behind her. The aqua blue, a fiery orange, a hazy pink—beauty in every sense of the word yet it is no competition for Cori. “I think I got everything I need,” I declare, walking toward her. She whips her head around, her hair tossing perfectly over her shoulders, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was one of those cheesy shampoo commercials. Only, there isn’t anything cheesy about this. Cori is fucking gorgeous, and I can’t help but feel guilty for noticing that every second. “I’m sure the magazine will be very

pleased. I’m eager to see the pictures myself.” I flip the cap over the camera lens. “I hope so. Mother Nature did her part. I just hope I kept up my end of the bargain.” I look over the wooden railing, scanning the beach down below. Not many shots have been caught from that angle, mainly because the state park prohibits anyone from going down there. It’s not like it hasn’t been done before, but it’s rare. “How awesome would it be if I was able to get a few shots of the waterfall directly from the beach, at eye level? Now that would be the money shot.” Out of nowhere, she gets caught in a

fit of giggles, and the image of a tenyear-old Cori giggling hysterically as I chase her down Mill Road invades my mind. I smile. “What’s so funny?” I ask her, swiping my nostrils with the back of my hand. “Do I have a booger or something?” Her giggle grows into a full-on laugh, and she hunches over, bracing her hands against her knees as she looks up at me with the cutest grin. “Tell me what you find so funny? What’s going on in that cute little head of yours?” Fucking-A. Did I really just say that? A Freudian slip? So I said the word cute. Big deal, right? That word could

have multiple meanings other than in a flirtatious context, and I’m not flirting with her, at least not on purpose. Cori’s laughter never wavers in spite of me backing myself into a corner with my word choice. Maybe she didn’t hear it. Maybe she doesn’t want to think that she heard it. Or maybe she doesn’t want to make the situation awkward for either of us, so she pretends like it’s the most casual thing in the world. I think she and I both know that surely isn’t the case. Once the laughter subsides, she takes a look over the guardrail, surveying the drop to the beach. I’ve seen that look in her eyes multiple times before. It’s the same look she had before she convinced me to trespass and investigate the

farmhouse up on the hill near our houses, the one rumored to be crawling with ghosts. It’s also the look she had before she got Braiden and me to jump out of an airplane with her. “I know that look,” I recognize, watching every calculating move of hers. “Please tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.” She turns her head in my direction, a Grinch-like smile spreading devilishly across her face. “Of course I am. You want your money shot? We’re gonna go get it.” She begins to walk in the opposite direction of the Jeep when I tug at her elbow, halting her to a stop. “Hell no. Not happening. Can’t do it.”

“Says who?” “Says that sign over there saying it’s completely illegal to go down to the beach. Plus, it doesn’t look safe at all, and I’m not going to let you leave here with a broken ankle or leg.” I would never admit it out loud because I’d look like a pansy, but chances are, I’d be the one leaving here with the broken something, and Cori sees right through my assumption. “Well, that’s rather sexist,” she smirks, crossing her arms. “For all we know, you could leave here with the broken leg.” “No one is going to leave here with anything broken, because we’re not doing it.”

I’d like to say that putting my foot down on Cori’s crazy antics in the past had been pretty effective, but I’d be lying. What normally started off as me putting my foot down usually ended up with me and my foot in my mouth because I’d often end up going along with whatever she wanted to do. But not today. The climb down would be too dangerous. Plus, it’s getting darker by the minute, so nothing about doing this would be safe. I think she gets it, but it doesn’t mean she won’t stop trying. It is Cori I’m dealing with here. “Hey, you put the idea in my head, pal,” she says as she places her hands on her hips and shoots me a suggestive look. “I’m only trying to do you a favor.

You know, get your money shot.” And suddenly, I understand the reference. “Sick, man. That’s just sick.” I grin from ear to ear, shaking my head. She shrugs her shoulders. “You said it. I didn’t.” “I’ve changed my mind about that money shot, so the only favor I need is for you to get the idea out of your head and start heading back to the car,” I insist, pulling her arm as we walk up the trail. I have to say, I probably would’ve thoroughly enjoyed scaling down the hill to the beach, especially since I’d be doing it with Cori, but all of those thoughts are quickly pushed aside, because before I’m fully aware of it, I

have my hand wrapped around hers. I don’t know how, I don’t know when, and I don’t know why, but our hands have joined together somehow. We’ve held hands in the past, like it was the most natural thing in the world, but let’s face it, our situation is different now. Funny thing is, neither one of us lets go. “Hot shot,” I taunt, continuing forward on the trail without stopping or turning around to look at her, never breaking the grip on her hand. “Chicken shit.” I wouldn’t have expected any other response, and we walk in a comfortable silence back to the Jeep, when it hits me. I’m fucking screwed.

If there is a psychological term or theory for when a person’s judgment goes completely out the window, then screwed would be the right one. If you told me a few days ago that I’d be screwed for putting myself in this position, I would have told you I was screwed long before today. I was screwed the second Cori walked into my bar and back into my life. And if I’m being completely honest with myself, then I think I’ve been screwed my entire life.

First he calls me cute. Now, he’s holding my hand. This is what we do, Nick and I. We tease each other, disagree on certain things, and hold hands. It’s us. It’s innocent. It’s our norm. At least it was back in the day. No

matter where we were, Nick and I could hold hands, like it was the most normal thing in the world, and no one would ever second guess it. But now? If Cooper or Riley witnessed our little public display of friendship, would they see the situation as innocent? I’m betting on the contrary as that small voice in my head scolds me unabashedly, shouting into my ear that this is beyond wrong. If so, then why does it feel so right? I push that voice out of my head, letting Nick hold my hand, and we make it back to the Jeep, only to run into some car trouble when he tries starting the engine. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” he curses.

What a way to end such a perfectly good day. The engine won’t start, darkness has fallen over, and we’re practically in the middle of nowhere almost a hundred miles away from home. I know. Total B-Horror flick scenario. “What do you think it could be?” I yell from the passenger’s seat when he gets out of the Jeep and flips the hood to take a look. Nick curses under his breath, the defeat heavy in his sigh. “No fucking clue. And I’m wasting time trying to figure it out. Do you mind handing me my phone? I need to call for a tow truck.” I step out of the car and hand Nick

his phone. He multitasks, dialing a number while he continues to inspect the engine. I take in our surroundings. Except for the glow of his flashlight bouncing out from underneath the hood of the Jeep, every sign of daylight has succumbed to nightfall. The hoot of the owl replaces the chirps of the blue jays, a speckled blanket of black drapes over the blue, and though I can’t see it from here, the moon tag-teams the sun, taking its nightly watch over the earth. It all sounds aesthetically pleasing, but throw in the eerie silence of a desolate parking lot, and what could have been a teenage campy road trip movie has turned into a Blair Witch situation. Don’t get me

wrong. This sort of thing doesn’t bother me too much. Nick, on the other hand, never fared well with the spook factor. The tow truck estimates an hour wait, if we’re lucky, and Nick combs his hands through his hair, his frustration rapidly eating away at him. His apologetic eyes find mine once they adjust to the darkness. “I’m sorry, Cori. You probably didn’t envision spending one of your last nights here this way.” “You mean out in the middle of nowhere, in complete darkness and with no one else around, except maybe a knife-wielding psychopath on the loose or the wandering soul of a hundred-yearold spirit? Not to a tee but still quite close.” I try to amuse him in hopes of

lightening up his mood a bit. We’ve had such an amazing day, and I’d hate for this issue to take it all away. Even in the darkness, I can see a smile break through his chagrin. “Man, you never fail to add an element of creepy to everything.” He tries to be subtle about it, but it doesn’t take much to sense Nick’s nerves on high alert while he scans the surrounding area. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre really did a number on him when we were younger. He never denied it, but according to Tess, he practically begged her to let him sleep on her bedroom floor in the days after we watched it. I guess no matter how old a person is, some things never change.

Any other grown man with this sort of reaction, and I’d probably call him a wuss. But Nick? It’s actually quite cute. “I guess that means there’s no chance I could get you to go on a night hike with me, is there?” He shakes his head repeatedly. “Not. A. Chance,” he replies, emphasizing each word in order to get his point across. When the tow truck finally arrives, it’s nearly eleven, my exhaustion evident in one drawn out yawn after another. The sun did a number on me today, and dreams of unwinding in a bubble bath with a glass of red wine fill my thoughts. Unfortunately, my hopes of that

happening any time soon diminish when Bob, the tow truck driver with the beer belly and unruly black mop of hair, gives us the discouraging news. As an English major, I don’t have an issue with big words. However, when it comes to automobile terminology, I lack the expertise. But even when Beer Belly Bob spews out words like timing belt and camshaft and not drivable, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that bubble bath is going to remain a distant dream. Bob gives us two options. One, he can tow us back to Santa Cruz for a hefty charge, and I’m not certain the price he quotes isn’t an instance of extortion. Or two, he mentions a gas station with a

garage about fifteen minutes from here that he can tow us to, and they can take a look in the morning. If it’s a timing belt issue, they can probably fix it with no problems. Until then, there’s a lodge a half-mile away from there we can crash at for the night. Nick wipes a hand across his face, gripping his chin as he curses under his breath. Granted, he makes a good living off of the pub and his freelance work, but the amount this dickwad is asking for surely isn’t pocket change. I see the frustration growing in his heavy breaths, so I decide to make the decision for him, choosing the latter. “I feel awful. Are you sure about this, Cori?” Nick asks, looking for

reassurance as we walk to the cab of the tow truck. He places his hand on the small of my back, sending a shiver along my spine, though it can’t be less than seventy degrees out. My body guilt-trips me for reacting in such a way, and because of that, I should be saying, “No Nick, we should tow the Jeep back to Santa Cruz, no matter how much it costs.” Instead, I look into his worried eyes, give him a reassuring smile, and shove away the guilt. “The best adventures are unplanned. And you did promise me an adventure today, didn’t you?” I say with a wink of my eye. By the time Bob drops us off at the

lodge, I feel like a zombie. Luckily, the sign at the entrance flashes vacancy in bold, capital letters. The lodge is definitely quaint, and besides the sound of the waves crashing in the distance, it’s fairly quiet. When we enter the office, the scent of stale cigarettes punches my nose, and the woman at the front desk completely ignores us. She snacks on a bag of potato chips and focuses her attention on the small TV off to the side. Hospitality must take on an entirely different meaning here at the lodge. “Hi. We need two rooms for the night,” Nick says as he approaches the desk. The woman, middle-aged with deep

lines around her jaw that resemble a marionette, doesn’t seem too pleased with the interruption, but when she turns to Nick, her annoyance quickly dissipates, and a flirtatious smile spreads across her bony face. “Well, hello. How may I be of service to you this evening?” Good lord. You would think that Brad Pitt had just walked into this joint with the way her demeanor does a total one-eighty. Nick removes his wallet from his back pocket, explaining our situation with the car and how we need to crash here until the garage opens up in the morning. “We’ll need two rooms.” “Two rooms?” She asks, her raspy

voice heavily tarred by what I can only assume are the hundreds, if not thousands, of old cigarettes wafting in the air. Curiosity looms in her question while she continues to gawk at Nick, who is apparently blinding her of my presence. “Yes, two rooms,” I interject, making my presence known when I stand beside Nick and place my crossed arms over the countertop, my head held high and my confidence unyielding. Wait...did I just stake a claim? It’s silly because I certainly do not have the right. She eyes me up and down in dissatisfaction, and I revel in it. She reverts to her role as the welcoming front desk host, just without

the welcoming factor. “We have cottages, not rooms.” She looks at each of us with a curious and confused expression. “Two?” God, is this woman hard of hearing? The number that follows one and precedes three. Two hands and two feet. Two is company, three’s a crowd. Two! Two! TWO! My patience has worn thin, and if this cougar didn’t realize how irritated I was before, surely she’s aware now after I release the longest, heaviest, drawn-out sigh. “Well,” the cougar says, raising her eyebrows, “I hate to break it to you kids, but we’ve only got one vacant cottage tonight. Call me an optimist, but I’d say you’re pretty lucky for stumbling in here

without a reservation, considering this is the high season.” “Lucky, huh?” Nick leans over the counter, whisking his hands through his wavy hair. He turns to glance up at me and pauses. He’s thinking what I’m thinking. Our luck ran out the moment the Jeep decided to fail us. “Any chance this cottage has two doubles?” “Not that any of our cottages have two doubles anyhow, but no. Cottage ten comes with one queen. We call it the Honeymoon Cottage.” Well, this has gotten interesting. Talk about being thrown into the most cliché situation possible. I shake my head and laugh to myself because it’s actually pretty funny. But then a knot in my belly

forms, and the guilt comes swooshing back in like a fifty-foot tidal wave, ready to wreak havoc and destroy my conscience. Thoughts of Cooper and Riley flood my mind, and I start to drown in my guilt, finding it more and more difficult to breathe. Nick doesn’t seem as guilt-stricken as I am, or if he is, he hides it well. Perhaps he has such confidence in his relationship with Riley that he has no reason to feel guilty. On second thought, what am I saying? Does this mean I’m not confident in my relationship with Cooper? That’s silly. Of course I am. So why am I questioning it? “Listen, Cori,” Nick turns to me, his demeanor unchanging. “You can take the

bed, and I’ll sleep on the floor.” I notice the cougar eyeing the diamond wrapped around my finger, her left eyebrow rising suggestively, and I know what she must be thinking. I tuck my left hand under my right, covering the ring, but what I’d really like to do is tell her to mind her own damn business. It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong. “Yeah, it’s no big deal,” I say, smiling at him like I don’t have a care in the world when in reality, all the weight of the world is on my shoulders. Turning back to the cougar, who continues to study us with scrutiny, I confirm, “We’ll take the cottage.” Besides, if Nick isn’t worried, then why should I be? I mean, we’ve done the

sleepover thing countless times before. It’ll be like old times. If that’ll help you sleep tonight, Corinne. Cottage ten—The Honeymoon Suite. Simple and cute, the quaint room boasts a fireplace, loveseat, a table and two chairs, and a wooden four-poster bed. A sheer canopy falls softly over the bed, which is lined neatly with pristine white sheets, almost virginal, just waiting to be christened. Only, I’m pretty sure this bed has been christened bazillions of times, so there isn’t really anything virginal about it. And there’s no television or radio. Yup. This room was definitely made

for sex. And it only adds to the awkwardness of our situation. Once we settle in, Nick leaves to grab a few necessities from the lodge store. He also mentions calling Riley, which makes me wonder how she’ll react to our little predicament. Regardless, she doesn’t have anything to worry about. Nick is the most loyal person on the planet. After a much needed hot shower, I sit on the bed, drying my wet hair with a towel while I contemplate calling Cooper to explain the situation. Then again, I can’t see that conversation going well, because what guy wants to hear about their fiancée spending the night

with an attractive man in some romantic seaside hotel with one bed? Okay, so I should probably leave out the part about the hotel being romantic. And the part about the one bed. And definitely the part about Nick being attractive. Yeah, I think I’ll pass on the conversation. Besides, why give him any cause for concern when he clearly has so much work to worry over? Which I’m sure is the reason we haven’t spoken in a few days. It’s both irritating and relieving at the same time. The shrill of my phone rings faintly from inside my purse, and I freeze. I wonder if my decision to not tell Cooper about this has summoned the laws of attraction, completely screwing me and

picking this exact time for him to finally get back to me. When I dig into my purse for my phone and see Mateo’s name on the caller ID, I relax and pick it up right away. Otherwise, he’ll throw a hissy fit if I miss another one of his calls. “Oh my God! For the love of all that is holy! You are alive! And to think that I almost called for the police and the coroner.” “I think we could do without the dramatics, wouldn’t you say, Mateo?” He chuckles gleefully. “Of course we could, doll, but what’s the fun in that?” I settle back against the pillows and shake my head. Mateo makes it his business to know everyone else’s

business, and I’m no exception. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this late night phone call?” “I’m in a cab heading home from Lotus, thinking about how you need to get your pretty ass home because tonight wasn’t the same without you.” Ah, yes, my night out with Mateo, or Wild Wednesday as he likes to call it, and that it is because I often end up paying the price the next morning. “I miss you too, friend. So what’s new in the world of Mateo Castillo since I’ve been away? Any good drama at the bar lately?” “Oh no, no, no.” Mateo gasps, scolding me. “You do not get to deflect the conversation away from yourself.

Tell me everything. Have you made peace with your father yet, or are you still being stubborn?” “Ugh,” I grumble and reluctantly tell him about the dinner disasters. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey. Look, I’ve already said my piece about the situation. You can take it and run with it, or you can completely ignore it. Regardless of what happens at the end of this, the only thing that matters is your happiness. I just want you to be happy. I hope the whole trip hasn’t been too atrocious.” My face glows with a smile at Mateo’s tender words. He’s given me so much perspective on the situation with my dad and Jamie, making my decision

to come out here a bit easier. I do miss him, and if I had to hurry back to New York, it would be for him. And duh, my fiancé, of course. “No,” I reassure him. “There’ve been good parts.” I tell him about reconnecting with old friends, trying to be vague without revealing too much or getting too specific. I don’t want to mention Nick by name because Mateo would make a big ass fuss over it, especially since I’ve told him a bit about our history. In fact, he’s the only one who knows. I’ve never even mentioned anything about Nick to Cooper. “Oh my God! You’ve been hanging out with the hot best friend, haven’t you?”

Well, forget about not getting specific. “How do you know he’s hot? You don’t even know what he looks like.” “I will take your attempt at avoiding my question as a ‘yes, you have been hanging out with him.’ And the fact that you did not deny his hotness, I will also take that as a ‘yes.’ Corinne, honey, you know you can’t hide anything from me.” The door to the cottage swings open, catching me off guard, and Nick returns with a paper bag in hand. “That little store is great. Has everything,” he announces, and when he sees me on the phone, he silently apologizes with a shrug of his shoulders, and closes the door behind him softly.

Unfortunately for me, it doesn’t make a difference. Mateo, with ears like a bat, has already heard the voice in the background. The male voice. “Corinne, who is that? Holy fuck, is that him! Where are you right now?” I shoot up from the bed, embarrassed and flustered, my cheeks warming at Mateo’s interrogation while I watch Nick removing items from the bag at the table. I don’t know why I’m reacting this way. It’s not like Nick can hear Mateo. Knowing that I need to end this conversation now, I quickly give Mateo a brief run-down of the day. “Well, well, well, Corinne. I didn’t think you had it in you,” he tells me, suggesting my intentions are anything but

innocent. “Alright,” I say, signaling the end of this conversation as my eyes follow Nick to the bathroom, and he glances at me before closing the door behind him. “I’m beat, and it’s late, so I need to get to bed.” Mateo snickers. “I’m sure you do need to get to bed. But, doll, this conversation is not over.” “Hey, can you not—” I hesitate, not sure what to say, since Nick can probably hear everything I’m saying, even from behind the bathroom door. I wouldn’t want him to think it’s strange that I haven’t talked to Cooper. “I know, doll. I won’t,” Mateo answers, reading my mind. “Love you

mucho, babe.” Nick retreats from the bathroom, crossing the room to the table. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were on the phone when I barged in. How’s Cooper doing?” I interpret Nick’s questions as, ‘Is your fiancé okay with you spending the night with me?’ “Everything’s fine.” I give him a vague answer, not wanting to lie but not wanting him to know I haven’t spoken with Cooper in a few days either. Although, I’m not quite sure everything is fine, so that could be considered a lie in itself. Whatever. My body is tired. My mind is tired. My conscience is tired. And I don’t feel like thinking for the rest of the night. Thankfully, Nick is content

with my answer. “I took the liberty of grabbing you a toothbrush at the store. I know how finicky you are with oral hygiene and going to bed without brushing your teeth.” I grin from ear to ear, unsure if it’s because I’ll have clean teeth and fresh breath, or because Nick actually remembered this little quirk about me. As little as it may be, the gesture leaves a huge smile across my face and a gigantic impression on my heart. “You know me too well,” I affirm, holding the toothbrush and toothpaste over my chest as I peer in the bag. “You wouldn’t happen to have a set of clean pajamas in there now, would you?” I’m

only teasing, but a set of clean pajamas would make for a good night of sleep. Not to mention, a clean pair of underwear, but I dare not ask Nick about that. Nick grabs his backpack and unzips it, pulling out a black t-shirt. “No pajamas, but I have this shirt. It probably won’t fit you, but it’s clean and you can wear it, if you’d like.” “Thank you kindly, but just so you know, it better not fit me. I might cry if it actually did.” I throw him a wink as I grab the shirt, and strut to the bathroom to change. I peel the dirty tank top off my body and replace it with Nick’s shirt. My body practically swims in it, the hem

falling halfway between my thighs and knees, my shorts disappearing beneath it. I contemplate removing them, but walking around in my underwear doesn’t seem like the most appropriate thing to do. Even though he said his shirt was clean, Nick’s scent is all over it—his aftershave, his juniper-scented body wash, all of him, and I don’t mind it at all. I grab a fistful around the neckline, pull it up to my nose, and breathe it in. How I’ve missed that smell. Once I brush my teeth, I return to the room to find Nick lying across the small loveseat, his feet perched on top of the armrest on one end, while his head rests on a pillow on the other. He looks anything but comfortable, making me feel

terrible about the sleeping arrangements. While he shifts himself to find a comfortable position, he stops when he sees me, and I notice his eyes traveling down to my bare legs beneath his shirt. My body heats at his gaze, and I’m relieved that I made the decision to leave my shorts on. Nick clears his throat, looks away, and smacks his pillow a few times, before resting his head down again. Now, what I’m about to do is probably the last thing I should do, and guilty conscience, before you even come out and start pestering me for this, all I’d like to say is kiss my ass. I walk to the couch as Nick’s eyes grow heavy with sleep, and yank the pillow from beneath

his head. His sleepy eyes jerk open. “Jesus, Cori! What the hell?” With his pillow under my arm, I stride toward the bed and throw it on the opposite side near the headboard. “Get over here. You’re not sleeping on that thing. Don’t even think about arguing with me either. I don’t have the energy.” My command is stern, but only because I’m hiding that big ball of nerves that’s tangled in a thousand knots in my stomach. In the corner of my eye, Nick sits up slowly, bringing his feet to the floor, and rounds the other side of the bed, approaching with caution. Perhaps he thinks I may change my mind at any second. Trust me, I think about it. I really

do. Especially when I can hear that little twat—yup, my guilty conscience— yapping in my ear, but like I would with a sappy Michael Bolton song, I tune it out. I pull back the covers from the bed and slip under them. Hesitating at first, Nick finally lies down on the other side, but instead of getting under the covers, he lies on top of them. It’s probably for the best, but it sort of bothers me. “I snore now. Big time,” Nick declares with a quirky grin. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” “You’ve always snored.” He raises his eyebrow. “And you didn’t?” “Whatever. I mumble in my sleep, or so Cooper says,” I answer back,

switching off the bedside lamp. “He says I sound possessed.” “Do I need to keep a crucifix and holy water handy?” “And the number for an exorcist. I win.” Nick switches off the lamp on his side, and except for the sliver of moonlight breaking through the curtains behind me, darkness engulfs the room. Once my eyes adjust, I can make out Nick’s silhouette as he lies on his pillow facing me. Good God. Even in the darkness, he’s perfect. “Alright, we’ll see who wins in the morning,” Nick teases. I smile at his challenge. “Well, your snoring can’t be any worse than

Cooper’s. The first time we slept together, that was almost a deal breaker.” When Nick clears his throat, I suddenly regret my choice of words. “I mean that in the literal sense, like actual sleeping…with clothes on.” Correcting myself is proving to be a lost cause, since the words I need seem to be stuck in my throat along with my nerves. “You don’t need to explain, Cori. We’re adults here.” “I just don’t want you to think that I…I didn’t…Cooper was the first guy I…” As soon as I begin the thought, I trail off, not having a clue as to how I want to finish that sentence. “Dated?” Nick completes it. He raises a suggestive eyebrow, a bitter

tone resonating through his question, making me wish I could turn into a turtle so I could pop my head back into my shell. Or I guess I could just throw the covers over my head. “Exactly. Dated.” Needless to say, it did take some time on my part for Cooper and me to actually start dating. For the longest time, I wasn’t sure if that was a part of me I was ready to give away. The sudden urge to explain myself to Nick comes over me, and I gnaw at the raw edges of my thumbnail. “After I moved out there, he was the first person I let in. The first person I actually wanted to get to know. His parents had recently gone through a bad divorce, so I

think it was nice to be able to talk to someone who understood me.” I wish I could take back the words the moment they leave my mouth. Even the dark room can’t hide the obvious sting of my words, as evident in the hard line of Nick’s mouth, but I brush it aside. “We were actually friends long before we made anything official. Talk about persistence.” I giggle when I think of all the ways Cooper tried to win me over. Nick shifts onto his back and places his hands behind his head, staring straight up at the ceiling. He grows quiet, his expression falling flat, and unable to decipher it, I suddenly wish we weren’t having this conversation. “I suppose persistence pays off, doesn’t it?

He ended up with a lot of your firsts.” I’m taken aback by the bitterness in Nick’s voice because it almost sounds like jealousy. Cooper may have been the first man I had sex with, but the countless firsts Nick and I have shared mean more to me than anything. Nick was my first friend. The first boy to hold my hand. The first person I shared every secret with. My first middle school dance. My first high school dance. The first boy I slept with —in the literal sense. My first kiss. “He certainly didn’t get the best first.” Nick continues his staring contest with the ceiling, and a yawn escapes his mouth. “And what might that be?”

“My first kiss.” He closes his eyes, massaging them with his thumb and forefinger. “So who was it? Aiden? Chase?” Hesitating, I inhale deeply, allowing a long, relaxed breath to flow out of my lungs with the word, “You.” All it takes is that one word, and Nick instantly loses the staring contest with the ceiling, pulling his eyes away and planting them directly on me. “What?” I smile. “You were my first kiss, Nick. That night. As shitty as it ended up, everything, and I mean everything up until that point was...wonderful. I never shared anything like that with anyone— until you.” I feel my cheeks blush as my

mind reels over the memories like an old silent film. Black and white images of Nick and me. Lips. Hands. Skin. Neck. Tongues. A slow, blissful shiver crawls up my spine and bites the nape of my neck. I can tell my revelation catches him off guard, his eyes searching for answers in mine. To no surprise, he’s wide awake now. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” “You never asked. Other than your kiss with Gemma, we never talked about things like that. I figured the topic was bound to come up in conversation at some point, but you never asked, so I never brought it up.” He rolls his body toward me. His

eyes make a trail along my face, tracing a continuous line from one eye to the other, down to my lips, and back until his eyes meet mine again. His gaze lingers, and it almost feels too intimate. But I don’t look away. My chest heaves in and out, as if my lungs have been starved of the sweet taste of air, my breathing heady but quiet. “I didn’t want to know,” Nick admits, unwavering. “I didn’t want to think about you kissing anyone. Whether it’d be Chase or Aiden, or any guy for that matter. It would have bothered me. It bothers me now.” Nick’s admission takes the breath right out of me because I am stunned. Speechless. Not because he said

knowing I kissed someone else would have bothered him back then, but because knowing bothers him now. Now, the present; it’s the time between the past and the future, the only element of time that has any sort of certainty. And there isn’t the slightest hesitation in Nick’s confession. No apprehension whatsoever. Only blatant, honest certainty. “I have your first kiss,” Nick reaffirms, before his tender smile fades away. “Now, Cooper has your last.” We carry our conversation into the wee hours of dawn, reminiscing about the past and filling each other in on the missing years, without leaving room for any more admissions, for now. By the

time the early signs of daylight begin to slowly seep through the curtains, sleep finally creeps up on us, with the sound of the rolling waves outside lulling us into a peaceful slumber. It’s the best night of sleep I’ve had in over six years.

Somewhere in between yesterday and this afternoon, I decided to stay in Santa Cruz, at least until I could sort things out with my dad. It’s been a long time coming, but I’m ready to throw in the towel. I have to hand it to myself—I put up

a good fight. For six years, not once did I buckle. I threw all the punches. I won every round. But what I never realized was that I would never win the match. Because all along, while I thought I had been fighting with my dad, I realize now I had only been fighting with myself. And I’m exhausted. After Nick picked up the Jeep at the garage earlier this afternoon, we headed back to Santa Cruz, though neither one of us seemed very eager to return. Despite the circumstances that left us stranded there, I could have easily spent another day at the lodge, spending time with Nick and watching the tides roll in while they swept any unwanted thoughts away,

and buried them into the deepest parts of the ocean. Then again, I can easily spend a day locked in solitary confinement so long as Nick is there, too, and I’d still be content. On the drive up, I tell Nick about my change of plans, and more importantly, my change of heart, and a pleased smile spreads across his face. A part of me wants to think that smile has more to do with me hanging around town longer, and possibly spending more time together, but I know that isn’t true. Besides, when he tells me he’s going to San Francisco to be with Riley for the weekend, I laugh to myself for even allowing my thoughts to wander there.

When Nick drops me off at home, I thank him for always being supportive, for never trying to tell me what to do, in terms of my dad. He simply says that no one could ever tell me what to do, not even him. Even after all this time, he still knows me better than anyone else in this world, and although I shouldn’t be admitting this, he knows me better than Cooper ever will. With shame riding on the heels of my admission, it only adds to my guilt when I find myself doing the walk of shame in Nick’s shirt. Not that this walk of shame is a suggestion of what didn’t happen. Regardless, it must be equally as wrong —if not more—when the shirt you’re wearing is not your fiancé’s, and you

bury your nose in a fistful of it the moment said t-shirt’s owner turns the corner. I detour through the house to find Dad and Jamie cooking in the kitchen, since it’s Anabel’s day off. The scent of charred meat, caramelized onions, and sweet peppers fills the air, my mouth watering instantly. As I stand around the corner, I listen as each of them chat to the other about his day, the good and the bad, the old and the new, their lighthearted conversation and laughter floating through the kitchen, carrying into the hallways, and filling the house with promise and hope in the same way it surprisingly fills my heart. I almost don’t want to interrupt.

When I finally do, their conversation ceases. With uncertainty in their eyes, they probably assume I’ve come to finish off my tirade from a few night’s prior, and I don’t blame them. “Jamie, can I talk to my dad for a second?” Jamie exchanges a curious glance with Dad before turning the heat off the stove. “Actually, I was just about to head into the office to send a couple of work e-mails.” “Thank you,” I tell him. “I just need a minute.” Jamie exits the kitchen, leaving me, my dad, and the fajita fixings to simmer in the sticky silence of the room. After a minute or so, Dad breaks through it.

“So, kiddo, how was—” Jutting out my hand, palm out, I cut him off mid-sentence. I have to say this before I change my mind. Trust me. I contemplated it about a dozen times on the drive back up here. Stay or go? Go or stay? Back and forth, up and down, bouncing around in my head like a damn pinball machine. “When did you know?” When the words leave my mouth, I shut my eyes tightly, holding my breath until my lungs ache. It’s the question I’ve never asked, the one I’ve wanted an answer to ever since that night six years ago, and it would either give me the closure I need or completely wreck me. The kitchen grows quiet, the heaviness of my question muffling the

waning sizzles of the hot pans on the stove. I wonder if my dad even understands the question when the silence ensues for a good few minutes. I start to ask it again. “When did you —” “I’ve always known,” he interrupts. My eyes fly open, my lungs still holding on to my breath. I stare at him from the other side of the kitchen as he rests his back against the counter, his head low and eyes focused on the tips of his brown leather shoes. “Ever since I can remember, I’ve known.” I lean over the kitchen island, holding my head in my hands as I mull over his answer. “I don’t…if you…if you always knew, then why did you…” I

trail off, knowing the question I want to ask but unsure of how to ask it. “Marry your mother?” I pause before looking up at him. “Yes.” “Because I loved her,” he affirms without the slightest hesitation. His eyes find mine, the certainty instilled in them unwavering. “I still love her. I always will. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever known.” “But were you ever in love with her?” Pushing himself off the counter, he walks to the opposite side of the kitchen island and leans over it. A heavy sigh escapes his throat before answering, “Yes. At least I thought it was the way a

person was supposed to love someone forever.” Unsure of what to make of his answer, I don’t respond. Instead, my mind is riddled with a thousand questions and can’t seem to settle on one, but I should know better. Even when I was a kid, Dad could always tell when I needed an explanation or guidance, and that, surprisingly, hasn’t changed. “I know this is difficult to understand, kiddo. Believe me, it took me years to understand it myself. Growing up, I always felt there was something…different about me. When most boys felt attracted to girls,” he began, pausing momentarily to gather

himself, “I found myself attracted to boys.” I’d be lying if I said this conversation wasn’t awkward because it definitely feels strange hearing those words come out of Dad’s mouth. “All I knew was what was considered normal—boys were supposed to like girls and girls were supposed to like boys, not the other way around. As I got older, I convinced myself that I was attracted to women. The more you tell yourself something, the more you believe it.” “Why?” I ask, fidgeting with my hands. “Why would you do that knowing you were attracted to…men?” “The reason most people in my

position don’t come out—fear. I feared my parents would love me less, that I’d lose my friends. Even when I felt in my heart something wasn’t right, I was too afraid to act on it. All the while, I never truly felt like myself.” A pang of regret twists at my heart when I recall my conversation with Nick, and how Dad felt I was ashamed of him. For so long, I let my anger consume me, blinding me from seeing the emotional struggle my dad was going through. To me, he was a liar and a cheater who betrayed my mother and me, when all the while he was simply a man who just wanted to be himself. He couldn’t live the life he wanted, all because he allowed fear to rule him.

Because he feared losing the people he loved most in the world. Fear. I know a thing or two about it. “Only when I accepted myself did I realize the love I felt for your mother wasn’t the kind of love you give to someone that you vow to spend your life with.” For some reason, my mind grabs hold of my dad’s words, wrapping itself tightly in them so it never lets them go. “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry you had to go through that.” He shifts his brow, shaking his head as he places his hands on top of mine. “Listen, kiddo. You don’t ever have to be sorry for anything I’ve done. I had a choice, and I chose to be a coward, lying

not only to myself but to the people I loved most in this world, your mother included. It killed me—hurting her like I did. Like you, she merely wanted to understand, and when she finally did, she forgave me. It took time, but she did. And I’ll always love her for that.” I never understood how my mother forgave my dad because I didn’t want to understand. By understanding, it would mean losing the only father I knew and loved my entire life, and I was unwilling to accept that. The thing is, I was never going to lose him. He has always been here. “If I could take it all back, Corinne, I would. I would hide who I am if it meant your every happiness, if it meant getting

back the last six years. I wouldn’t care if I had to bury that part of me, if it meant I’d have my little girl back.” As soon as those words leave his mouth, my lungs release my tired breath, finally making room for the relief that I’ve been waiting for all these years. “I would never ask you to do that,” I admit, my voice trembling as I run my hand through my hair. “The fact is, we can’t go back, and even if we could, I would never ask you to change who you are. But I’m not going to lie to you. I was angry. God, Dad, I was so angry with you, but it was easier to be angry than to understand and forgive you. But I’m done being angry. It’s exhausting, and I just want to move forward. Because I

—” My voice breaks off, and a silent beat passes before I complete my thought. “I miss my dad.” My breath carries the last words out of my lungs, dragging the weight of the last six years along with it, and it feels wonderfully freeing. Remorse pricks at Dad’s eyes as a single tear falls down his cheek. “I’m sorry I hurt you, kiddo,” he laments, squeezing my hands tightly. I lift one hand from under his and wipe away the lone tear on his cheek with my thumb. “I’m sorry, too,” I say, smiling. “Because you won’t be getting rid of me that easily. I’ve decided to stick around for a few more days. If that’s okay?”

He holds my hand against his cheek as a delighted smile breaks across his face. For the first time in six years, I know we’re going to be okay. DATE: Friday, August 10 at 10:01am FROM: Corinne Bennett TO: Cooper Reed SUBJECT: Extended Trip Babe— I tried you at the office, your apartment, your mobile...weird I can’t even get you on that because that thing is practically glued to your ear. I would have rather spoken to you about this, but it’s really

important that you get my message, hence, the e-mail. I’ve decided to extend my trip, so I canceled my flight today. I haven’t decided which day I’ll fly back… perhaps sometime next week. I need more time with my dad. I know...impeccable timing, as always, but better late than never, right? This week has been rough, no doubt, but I really have no one else to blame but myself. That’s why I need this, because for the first time, I can finally say I’m ready to forgive, let go, and move on. Plus, it’s been great reconnecting with old friends. I realize how much I miss it here.

I’ll let you know when I decide to return. You’re probably too busy to even notice that I’m not around...JK. Talk soon. Xoxo, Corinne I hit the send button. An e-mail isn’t the way I want to tell Cooper about my change of plans, but he leaves me no choice, since I haven’t been able to reach him. Funnily enough, when he and I are together, all of New York City can reach him without any problem, and he’s not going to hear the end of it from me. That is, if he’s ever found. I get it,

the man is busy and easily distracted by his work, but would it kill him to take a few minutes out of his day to call and check up on me? I guess I shouldn’t talk. I haven’t given much thought to his lack of communication over the past few days, mostly because I’ve had a few distractions of my own to even notice. If Cooper and I had to plead our cases, at least he can use work as a valid argument, citing long hours and deadlines. As for me? My only argument comes in the form of six feet, brown hair, and the prettiest olive-green eyes I could get lost in for days. I’m pretty sure Cooper would win.

Did I just get knocked in the head with a nut? My eyes fall to a single cashew on the floor, now split in two down the middle, lying on the tile at my feet. I touch my forehead just above my right eyebrow where the cashew made

impact. “Oh, come on now, it’s a cashew for cryin’ out loud,” the old, raspy voice yells from the corner of the bar. “For someone built like you, you sure are actin’ like you just got grazed in the head with a bullet.” I don’t have my watch on me, but I know exactly what time it is—Friday around four-thirty, give or take a quarter hour. Norman Clay never misses a Friday at the pub. Same time. Same drink. Same seat. Every week. “And let me tell ya, Nicky boy, ain’t nothin’ scarier than comin’ within a few millimeters of death. Got the—” “Scar,” I interrupt as I turn toward the corner of the bar where he sits,

pointing to the raised three-inch scar where his forehead meets his wispy, gray hairline. “You got the scar to prove it. Yes, I know, Norman.” With that, the realization hits me. “Wait, did you throw the cashew at my head?” With shaky fingertips, Norman slides his almost empty glass in circular motions along the surface of the bar, leaving a trail of condensation rings beneath it. Beside him: a half-eaten bowl of trail mix, cashews included. “Of course I did. How else was I supposed to get your attention?” Now, if the guy wasn’t pushing eighty and damn near ready to kick the bucket, then I’d probably throw him out, but I just stride toward the corner where

he sits, grab the bottle of Glenfiddich, and fill up his glass. “You can’t be throwing things in here, Norman. You know that.” Norman had once hurled a rocks glass full of Scotch at my bartender, Lucas. It was Lucas’s second day on the job, and not knowing the old man’s drink of choice, he poured Norman the wrong bottle of Scotch. Luckily, Norman’s lack of coordination sent the glass flying right over Lucas’s shoulder, slamming against the glass mirror behind the shelves— glass, ice, and the amber liquid obliterating upon impact. Any bar owner would’ve banned the customer for such behavior, but Norman’s wife had recently passed, and

I couldn’t bring myself to do it. After he’d apologized profusely, we’d let it go. Surprisingly, it hadn’t bothered Lucas who’d simply said, “Some people are just that serious about their Scotch.” “Ya don’t need to remind me, Nicky boy, but maybe if that head of yours wasn’t so far up your ass, you’d see that you’ve got thirsty customers sitting at your bar. You ought to give Andi over there a raise. She knows how to keep a thirsty man happy.” He raises his glass to Andi, who’s shaking up a martini on the opposite end. “You tell him, Norman! Someone needs to tell this old cheapskate.” Andi winks at him, nodding in my direction as

she pours the contents of the shaker into a martini glass. “As far as I’m concerned, the only thing that keeps me coming to work every day are the cute little men like you.” She crosses to Norman’s side of the bar with the drink on a tray in one hand, brushes her index finger across his button nose, and shuffles out of the bar area, dragging Norman’s gaze along with her. I place the bottle back in its place on the shelf. Dad should be here any minute now, right before the onset of the Friday night rush. Since it’s my weekend to drive up to San Francisco to see Riley, he’ll be looking after the old place until I return Sunday night. Every other Friday, I anticipate his

arrival, breaking out of here the second he walks through the doors, but not tonight. A part of me hopes he doesn’t show up, that he calls to tell me something came up and can’t help me out this weekend. Perhaps he caught a cold or ate some bad fish tacos last night from Cecilia’s. Then, I’d have no choice. I would have to stay. Chuckling, I shake my head and wipe a heavy hand across my face at the insanity of my thoughts. Man, what kind of sick bastard am I, hoping that illness has caught up to my father? All because it would give me a reason to stay behind. All because I know Cori is here. “It’s a woman, isn’t it?” My head quickly snaps to Norman,

whose tired, thoughtful eyes study me. “I know that look. Confusion. Distress. Hope. Love. I know it when I see it, and I’m tellin’ ya, Nicky boy, I see it written all over your face.” For a guy who often shows up here wearing two different shoes on his feet or forgets to zip up his fly every time he comes back from the restroom, he sure is observant. “Whatever it is you’re seeing, Norman, is a result of that second glass I poured you, which I’m now beginning to regret. What do you say we make the next one a water, eh?” “What I’m seeing is the result of a man pining for a woman.” He hesitates. “And I get the feelin’ it’s not the woman

I usually see gallivantin’ around here with ya.” My body heat rises, even as blasts of cold air blow down through the vent above me. I tug at the collar of my shirt to release some of it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Norman. I love Riley.” His brows furrow at my declaration. “I never said ya didn’t, Nicky boy. But who are you tryin’ to convince here? Me? Or yourself? Because I never asked you to convince me. I was just makin’ an observation.” I suddenly grow impatient, turning to pick up the phone behind the bar to dial my dad and find out where the hell he is. I can’t take much more of Norman Clay

tonight. “I was in love with two women once,” Norman admits just as I reach for the handset, and I grow still. “Who knew havin’ to choose between two women could actually be a problem for a man?” A light chuckle rises out of his throat, followed by a dry cough. I turn to face him, my agitation easing up, and now, Norman has my full attention. “I’m not in love with two women, Norman.” My eyes bore into him. Shrugging his shoulders, he asserts, “I never said ya were, Nicky boy! I only said that I used to be in love with two women. Golly! For someone who says they’re not in love with two women, you’re bein’ awfully defensive, wouldn’t

ya say?” I wonder if Norman was a lawyer in his early life. He seems to know the right tactics in getting answers out of me without having to ask the questions. I don’t say anything. He is on to me, and it terrifies me that what he’s saying might ring true, for the second I face my denial, nothing will ever be the same again. “What are your two favorite ice cream flavors?” The question throws me off, because one second we’re talking about love and women, and the next second he’s asking me about ice cream flavors. The guy has completely fucking lost it. “I’m not quite following.” “What aren’t ya following, Nicky

boy? The question is simple. What are your two most favorite ice cream flavors?” “I guess I would have to say vanilla and strawberry.” Coincidentally. Norman stares at me inquisitively as he strokes his chin, like he’s analyzing the most detailed answer to the most complicated question. “Now, if only one flavor of ice cream could exist in the world, which one would ya choose?” “What game are you trying to play here, Norman?” Gulping down the last swig of his Scotch, he looks at me innocently. “It’s not a game, Nicky boy. I’m askin’ you a simple question. Which flavor can ya not live without?”

He raises his glass to me, indicating that he’s ready for another. Instead, I place an empty glass in front of him, and fill it with ice and water. “You’re being ridiculous.” Picking up his water glass, he takes a sip, then sets it down. “On the contrary, kid. I’m being realistic. In the end, you’re gonna have to choose a flavor, and deep down you already know which one ya want. Listen to me, Nicky boy, don’t take the easy road, because I hate to tell ya, in the road to love, it’s always complicated, filled with bumps and potholes, dead ends and sharp curves. When ya take the easy road, kid, you often end up where you were never meant to go. Ignore your head and follow

your heart because your head will only overanalyze the situation, and you’ll be runnin’ in circles forever. I thank my lucky stars every day for followin’ my heart because Alice Harrington was my everything. And I damn well made sure she knew it. Hell, I damn well made sure everyone in the world knew it.” “I won’t disagree with you there. We’ve got the markings on the cement outside to prove it.” I refer to their initials carved into the step in front of the entrance door. “I remember that day like it was yesterday…” he trails off and grows quiet. Moments like these are rare when it comes to Norman. Most days, he comes

to the pub, sits at the bar, and does nothing but irritate the shit out of all of us. But any mention of his late wife always seems to bring him that everlasting peace that lives on in her memory. When I see him this way, lost in his thoughts and longing for her, he doesn’t even have to say it out loud, because I know he longs for the day when life no longer stands in his way, when the breath in his tired lungs finally gives out, and the imminent beauty of death reunites him with the love of his life. Returning from his thoughts, he chugs the rest of the water and stares into the top of the glass, setting it down on the bar. “Love is beautiful and strange; it

can make the heart complete and whole and yet, it’s also capable of smashin’ it into a million pieces. Trust me, I’ve seen both sides of it. So, whatever is goin’ on in that head of yours, Nicky boy, the ugly side is unavoidable. Someone will get hurt. Ain’t nothin’ you can do about it. But I’ll tell ya, once you’re out of the ugly stuff, it’s so damn beautiful.” I haven’t ever felt any sort of connection to Norman in the past. To me, he’s only been the old guy that sits at the bar every Friday, ordering the same mundane drink, having the same mundane conversations with the bartenders, living out the rest of his mundane life. If I’ve learned anything at all tonight,

it’s that there is nothing mundane about Norman’s life—past or present. I pull a glass off the shelf, throw a few ice cubes in it, and pour myself, as well as Norman, a splash of Glenfiddich, his eyes questioning my actions. “To Alice,” I toast, holding my glass out to him, and when he realizes what I’m doing, he brings his glass to mine and nods his head in appreciation. I down the small amount, and though it is only a splash, it’s enough to take the edge off. But it’s only temporary because the moment I see my dad walk through the pub doors, the guilt washes over me once again. It’s still only Friday. I

haven’t yet left, and I can’t help but wish it was already Sunday. Then, it suddenly occurs to me. Vanilla. I can’t live without vanilla.

Friday night at the pub—standing in the same spot I had exactly a week ago, under the same lone spotlight in the entranceway while I surveyed the commotion of the busy bar. Only, I don’t expect Nick to suddenly appear behind the bar, his eyes hooked

into mine. This won’t happen because he’s in San Francisco for the weekend with Riley, suddenly leaving me with the slightest ache in my chest. “If it isn’t my second-favorite girl in the entire world,” Braiden declares when he appears out of nowhere. He drapes his arm around my shoulders and smacks a sloppy wet kiss smelling of bourbon and orange peel on my cheek as blotches of pink tint his sun-kissed skin. “Second-favorite? I can’t say that I’m not offended, Braiden. Who has the pleasure of beating out yours truly to the coveted first-place title?” Pinching his index finger to his thumb, he slides them across his lips, gesturing the ‘my lips are sealed’ deal.

“Whoever she is, her name better not start with G or end in -emma. Otherwise, I’m outta here!” Braiden lets out a laugh as we weave our way through the crowd. “I promise you, her name does not start with a G or end in -emma. But, we are hanging out with someone whose name does start with that letter and ends with that suffix.” I halt, jerking him forward and flinging his arm off me. “Are you shitting me?” “She wanted to hang out tonight, and when I said I had plans to meet up with you, she wanted to come along! What was I supposed to do, say no?” I cross my arms like a stubborn

child, arching my eyebrows in defiance. “Yes.” “Oh, come on, Benster,” he urges and wraps his arm around me again. “We’re all grown-ups now. Can’t you set aside whatever differences you had in the past and just learn to co-exist? Besides, you failed to spend any time with your old pal this week, and you surely wouldn’t leave me hanging now, would you?” Damn. He has me cornered into a wall with that. I don’t say a word. Instead, I stick my tongue out at him and roll my eyes. I really have a knack for the bratty kid act. “Corinne!” Gemma calls out over the rumbles of music and voices when she

sees us, raising her beer in the air. “I hope you don’t mind me crashing the party!” Of course I mind, but I don’t say anything. “When Braiden said you two were hanging out, I had to get in on this little powwow. It’s like old times!” Old times, huh? I suppose that would mean unsubtle jabs at one another, a death stare or two, and the battle for Nick’s attention. I guess we’ll have to forgo the last one, with Nick’s absence and all. Okay, old times it is! “Well, you know how that saying goes,” I start. “Two’s company, three’s a crowd.” She pulls her mouth into a smirk, taking a swig out of her beer bottle, apparently not amused by my joke.

Braiden begins to sing the lyrics to the Three’s Company theme song, summoning someone behind me with the wave of his hand. The moment Tess appears at our table, Braiden grabs her waist and pulls her down to his lap. I can’t help but notice the less-than-pleased expression on her face, seemingly directed at me, and I begin to think her displeasure has more to do with my presence, rather than Braiden’s tone-deaf serenade. “Tess, babe, we need to get the party started over here. What do you say we get our good friends a couple shots of tequila?” I raise an eyebrow. “Tequila, Braiden? I think I’ll pass.”

Pointing his finger across the table at me, he bellows out a snarky laugh. “You will do no such thing. It’s Friday night. You said you’d make it up to me, and what better way to do that than with a shot or two? Tess, baby, we’ll take the shots.” I think I hear Gemma cheer and highfive Braiden, but I’m too focused on the look of death Tess is giving me. Eyes like daggers, her stare claws into me, and if looks could kill, then someone ought to be writing my eulogy and digging my grave because I’d be completely fucked. She pushes herself off Braiden’s lap without saying a word, and I notice the way her fingers brush the inside of his arm before she walks back

toward the bar. “You know Nicholas will never approve, right?” Gemma says, interrupting my thoughts about Tess. I glance up and notice Braiden’s eyes following Tess like an obedient puppy. “You’re asking for a death wish.” “I am the ultimate optimist, Gemma. Don’t you ever forget that. God, who knew that a woman in an apron could be the biggest fucking turn-on ever?” Some things never change. Even after all this time, it appears that Braiden still has a thing for his best friend’s sister. “Do you still have a thing for Tess?” I ask, nodding my head toward the bar. “How could I ever stop? Look at

her!” Braiden’s eyes are still locked on Tess. “And the feelings aren’t one way, my friend.” “So, you and Tess are…?” His eyes struggle to pry themselves away from her, finally turning to me to finish my thought. “We haven’t put a title on it or anything, but…yeah. Tess and me,” Braiden declares, his lips forming a tender smile as Tess’s name vibrates over them. What started as a crush between friends has seemingly blossomed into something much more, which strangely causes a pang of regret to peek out of my happiness for them. “But we haven’t told Kelley yet, so don’t say anything.” “What are you two waiting for

anyway? Sorry to say this, buddy, but telling him that you’re banging his little sister later won’t be any better than telling him you’re banging her now,” Gemma points out. Scanning the crowd over Braiden’s shoulder, she twirls a piece of her long, blonde hair, which I heard can’t be good for a person’s roots. She keeps up with that habit of hers, and she’ll be adding Rogaine to her beauty rituals before she hits forty. I think about offering her the advice, but then I don’t. “Thanks for that insight, but we haven’t banged yet, remember?” “Oh, that’s right. You must have major blue balls by now,” Gemma speculates, throwing her head back in a fit of laughter.

“Ha-ha. Laugh all you want. I can get laid if I wanted to, easily. I mean, who wouldn’t want this, right? Tess eventually caved.” He waves his hands over himself. “But she isn’t ready, and I respect her for that. So I’ll wait. Until then, I’ve got Pamela Handerson at my beck and call.” I scowl. “Pamela Hander—” I stop mid-word when the realization hits me. “Nice, Braiden.” “If it makes you feel any better,” Gemma assures, “you’re not the only one not getting any. Yes, I have needs, we all do, but it doesn’t mean that chivalry needs to die! I would still like to be wined and dined, first and foremost, and then you can take me home and do

whatever the hell you want with me.” Braiden cocks an eyebrow, suggestively. “Ah, music to every man’s ears.” “I think out of all of us, Nicholas is the only one consistently getting laid. Riley said they hump like rabbits. I guess I would, too, if I only saw my man on the weekends.” Oh boy. If I wasn’t ready for that drink before, I am definitely ready now. A few drinks may be in order if there is any possibility of erasing the image that Gemma seared into my head. The thought is a bit weird—Nick having sex. Even hearing it in my head makes me uneasy. Of course he has sex with Riley. I mean, she is his fiancée, but I don’t necessarily

want to hear about it. I’ll never look at a rabbit the same way again. “I hear that tequila shots are in order!” William yells over the boisterous acoustics of Rage Against the Machine and places three shot glasses down on the table, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Tess told me you were here, so I wanted to personally deliver these myself, and see how this kid is doing.” Beaming, I tilt my head up and place my hand over his. “Good. Really good, actually.” A smile of approval spreads across his face. “Glad to hear it, kid. You should tell that dad of yours not to be a stranger, and stop by one of these nights

that I’m looking after this old place. It’d be nice to see a friendly face in here that’s not twenty-something. He and Jamie could chaperone the joint. You know, help break up the fights, the public displays of affection, whatever you young folks do nowadays.” “I will definitely tell them that.” I giggle at his suggestion. “You know what? It feels like old times, you kids sitting here together. You all weren’t even legal to drink yet.” I can’t agree more. It truly feels like the old days, when we would hang out at the pub on Friday nights, the four of us occupying a table in the corner while Nick worked whatever job needed to be filled for the night. Of course, the fact

that we could sneak drinks without the hassle of getting carded was pretty awesome, but mainly, we hung around while Nick worked, and waited until he finished his shift. Somehow, our group didn’t feel complete unless Nick was around. It still feels that way. “Time certainly flies, doesn’t it?” he reflects, his remark evident in the deeper-defined lines running across his forehead and in his slightly grayer hair. “Listen, tonight is on me. You kids enjoy whatever you want. Every server and bartender is at your beck and call, including that daughter of mine, ya hear?” “You da man, Mr. Kelley!” Braiden juts a finger out at William as he is

summoned back to the bar. “Good God,” Gemma begins, biting the nail on her index finger while she watches William. “That Kelley gene pool, man. I wouldn’t mind taking a dip in that because it is hot, hot, hot!” Oh lord. If she isn’t after one Kelley, then she’s after another. She lifts one of the shot glasses off the table and raises it in front of her. “I know he’s married and all, but I have to wonder if the senior Kelley kisses just as good as his junior.” I take one of the shot glasses, hold it to my lips, and down it quickly, the burn instantly torching the back of my throat, igniting my tear ducts and filling my eyes with water. My gag reflexes kick in soon

after, and just when I feel the tequila beginning to rise back up my esophagus, my stomach decides it wants the booze, so my mouth releases a wheezing cough instead. Now I remember why I don’t drink hard liquor—because that happens. If teenage Corinne was here to witness this catastrophe, I bet she’d laugh and call me a loser. On a lighter note, it does its duty and relaxes the nerves a bit, but the night is young, and Gemma seems to have diarrhea of the mouth, so who knows what else she’ll be spewing out. “Whoa, you okay there, babe?” Braiden asks while he pats my back a few times. I force a smile, the aftertaste of

tequila hanging on for dear life at the back of my throat. “Peachy.” Gemma puts her glass to her lips and swallows the amber liquid in one continuous gulp, her mind still focused on the older Kelley. “I mean, he must, right? I’ve seen the way he lays it on Marlene, and if they’ve been together for as long as they have, then he must be doing something right. I hear those two still get down and dirty.” I roll my eyes, sighing. “Not that I’m really interested in talking about Marlene and William’s sex life, but you know this…how?” “Riley. Before Nicholas moved out of his parents’ place, she would stay over, and she heard them go at it on a

few occasions. The walls in that house are paper thin. Braiden, remember that time I came home for summer break? We were hanging out when Nicholas and Riley first started dating, you and I went outside to smoke some bud, and when we went back to the living room, we could practically hear them doing the deed in his room?” Braiden pounds his fist on the table as he belts out a laugh. “Until then, I never knew how in touch Riley was with religion: ‘God!’ ‘God!’ ‘Gooood!’” He imitates, throwing his head back and shutting his eyelids tightly. Hell. Why must these two keep putting such images in my head? Is it strange that I keep seeing Nick and

Riley’s heads on rabbit bodies? Meant for Braiden, that third shot of tequila beckons me, and not missing a beat, I reach for it, bring it to my lips, throw it back, and slam it on the table in one fluid motion. At first, it stings my throat, my eyes squeezing shut in anticipation of the outcome, but unlike the first shot, this one goes down pretty smooth. I swipe the back of my hand across my mouth when a tiny dribble of liquid escapes out of the corner, just like I’ve seen the cowboys do in those old western films. “Hey, you lush! That was mine,” Braiden accuses. “I think you’re forgetting who you’re dealing with here, pal,” I counter,

swaying my head as Led Zeppelin’s Babe I’m Gonna Leave You starts to rock the bar. The effects of the tequila begin to warm every nook and corner of my body, my mind slowly releasing the awful thoughts of Nick and Riley, but even as they start to fade away, questions still linger in the midst of the haze. Why should it even bother me? Is it jealousy? Am I jealous of Riley? I can’t be, can I? Because in order for me to be jealous, my feelings for Nick would have to run deeper than friendship. Oh. God. I look around for the first available server or bartender I see, except for Tess, because let’s face it, the girl

doesn’t want anything to do with me right now, and I highly doubt she’d appreciate any requests coming from me. Luckily, that one bartender with the bright red hair and piercings happens to walk by our table, and I order another round of shots. Braiden smacks his hand down on the table. “Hallelujah! Now that’s what I’m talking about! Benster, babe, I feel like I’ve time-warped back to the good ol’ days. Too bad Kelley isn’t here for this. The dude’s probably not doing jack-shit.” “Or he could be doing Riley,” Gemma smirks, winking at Braiden. Why she keeps making Nick’s sex life the topic of conversation is beyond

me, and it’s irritating as shit, even more so now with the tequila coursing through my veins. “Alrighty, kids, nature calls,” I announce, excusing myself from this awful conversation. I force my way through the crowd toward the bathroom, but not without getting pushed and groped in the process. Any other day, a poke in the ass or a pinch to the boob would be enough to take my fist to a guy’s teeth, but I’m too consumed by the idea of Nick and Riley, together—engaged. Perhaps I’m being egotistical, and maybe I can blame a tiny bit of what I’m about to say on the tequila, but let’s be real. Before that chick even met Nick, I was the woman in

his life. That’s right. Me. Yours truly. Corinne Freaking Bennett. I strut down the hallway to the little girl’s room, head held high, chest in the air, owning that title, and no one—not even some puppy-dog-eyed, cute-as-abutton do-gooder—can ever take that away from me. “God, I’m such a bitch,” I mumble to myself, opening the door to the bathroom where I find Tess standing in front of the mirror fixing her hair. The loud acoustics thrumming through the corridor fade behind the door as it shuts, but is replaced with the sounds of flushing toilets and running water. “You said it. I didn’t,” she remarks, smoothing out the loose strands of hair

that have fallen from her ponytail. She quickly lifts her green eyes to my reflection in the mirror, before returning them to her own. She must have ears like a bat if she heard me. Or I must’ve not said it as quietly as I thought I had. They say if you drink a little whiskey, you grow a little chest hair. It must work the same way for tequila—have a shot or two, grow some balls—because I squeeze past a few women waiting for the stalls to free up, tired of tiptoeing around her, and stride toward Tess. I stand beside her in front of the mirror and cross my arms, glaring at her reflection. “Alright, Tess,” I demand. “Lay it on me.”

With chagrin evident in her raised eyebrow, she eyes me in the mirror. “Lay what on you?” “You know what I’m talking about. Whatever you’ve wanted to say to me ever since I returned, just say it. Now is your chance.” Tess rolls her eyes and chuckles. “I have nothing to say to you.” She turns to walk away as the swoosh from a flush echoes off the walls. A foul stench fills the musty air, and I almost gag when it hits my nose. “Bullshit,” I call her bluff, grabbing her arm before she nears the door. We draw curious glances from a few of the women in line. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

Whipping around, Tess yanks her arm away from my grasp and barely grazes a woman who is stepping behind us to wash her hands at the sink. The woman scoffs and throws us a dirty look, but neither Tess nor I seem to care. “Bullshit, Corinne? You wanna know what bullshit is? Bullshit is you leaving without saying goodbye!” she yells, her face so close to mine a few drops of her spit reach my eye. All the women in the line are now looking at us. “It’s you not writing back or having the decency to return phone calls! If I have to sum it up, it’s pretty much what our friendship has become. One big pile of bullshit.” The sting of Tess’s words ache my heart in so many ways, but her

accusations aren’t far from the truth. I’m not quite sure how to respond, only because anything I say won’t help my cause. Plus, I think the tequila is starting to wear off because my balls seem to be shriveling up with it. “You’re right, Tess,” I reply coolly, taking a step back and hoping to calm the air between us. “I’m sorry, for all of it. I completely sucked at keeping in touch and I—” “Sucked?” she cuts me off, her sharp tone slicing through the calm as she closes the gap between us, and steps toward me again. “You think you sucked at keeping in touch? Talk about the understatement of the decade!”

I raise my voice an octave, irked by her tone. “What do you want me to say? That I was really shitty at it? Fine! I was shitty at picking up a phone or a pen! It’s pretty much the same damn thing!” “Both of you suck, so why don’t y’all let us pee and shit in peace!” A voice yells from one of the closed stalls, followed by a few cheers and ‘yeah’s’ from the other women. I want to tell them all to ‘shove it,’ but when Tess lowers her voice and takes a step away from me, I take it as my cue to do the same. “This isn’t just about your sucky abilities to keep in touch, Corinne. Forget about that. What about my brother? Did you ever think about how

you affected him when you left?” Without a doubt. He was all I ever thought about. “Of course I did, and I hate how we fell out of touch like we did, but that’s life, Tess! People fall out of touch all the time.” “People fall out of touch, but they don’t fall out of an eighteen-year friendship,” she asserts, her voice now calm and steady. “Not between two friends like you. Not like that.” I allow Tess’s conclusion to settle in the coherent parts of my brain. Not knowing what to make of it, I now wonder if Nick shares the same sentiments. I can’t imagine so. He’d tell me if he did, wouldn’t he?

“Listen, Tess,” I sigh. “Nick understood what I had to do. Besides, he probably didn’t even notice I was ever away,” I attempt at a joke, forcing a smile. “He seems really happy with Riley.” She smirks and shakes her head, pressing her fingertips against her forehead. With an exasperated breath, she leans her back against the tiled wall across from me. “Do you really believe that, Corinne? Is that what you’ve been telling yourself all of these years? That he’s…happy?” “Why wouldn’t he be?” She pushes herself off the wall and heads toward the door, practically flushing this conversation down the

proverbial toilet. “Wow. You still won’t open your eyes,” Tess remarks. “What are you afraid of?” “What are you talking about?” I face the sink and find Tess’s reflection in the mirror. “I’m not afraid of anything.” “Why am I not surprised you’d say something like that?” “Oh please, Tess. If anyone’s afraid, it’s you. You can’t even tell your brother about Braiden.” Tess sighs. Opening the door, she turns to me before she exits, a familiar warmth returning to her eyes. “Maybe I am afraid of telling my brother. But at least I’m not afraid of telling Braiden that I love him.” Before I know it, she’s out the door,

leaving the question to stir my thoughts. What am I afraid of? All the while, the pressure in my bladder reminds me of what I came in here to do. I wait in the short line, hauling ass to relieve myself when one of the stalls frees up. Eventually, I make it back to our table, but now a different kind of pressure has taken refuge in my head in the cruelest way possible. What am I afraid of? I don’t want to think. As soon as I sit down, the redhead is back with three more shots. She doesn’t even place the last one on the table because I pick it up off the tray, shoot it quickly, and place the empty glass back where it was. It goes down like water, and though this is certainly getting easier every time, three

shots of tequila in a span of twenty minutes doesn’t seem like the responsible thing to do, considering I drove here. I’ll probably regret this tomorrow, but until then... “If you could keep them coming, that would be fan-fucking-tastic!” And that she does. Thanks, Firecrotch! Five tequila shots (or maybe it was six? Seven? Uh, who knows?) and one karaoke rendition of Baby, One More Time later, I’m being carried piggyback by Braiden out to the parking lot—my head, eyelids, and limbs all feeling the heavy weight of the alcohol as it seizes complete control over my mind and body. The crunching noises of the gravel beneath his feet drown out the

fading acoustics from inside the pub, and through the hazy film shrouding my vision, I can see the faintest shimmer of moonlight dancing off each of the millions of pebbles around us. “Man, I never saw you as a Beemerkinda chick, Benster,” Braiden says from the driver’s seat. “This car is pretty sweet. How you feeling over there, babe?” Sitting in the passenger seat, I force my eyelids open and realize we’re already on the road, though I can’t make out exactly where. Hell, I don’t even remember getting in the car. With my head leaning against the back of the seat, I tilt it slowly to the side because I don’t think my body would appreciate any

sudden movements right now. In fact, it would hate any sudden movements, mainly because it’s doing everything in its power to keep all six—or seven, or eight, or however many the hell it was— shots down in my stomach. “You shouldn’t be driving, Braiden,” I slur over my words. “I haven’t had a drink in over two hours. You drank all of mine, remember?” Unfortunately, my gag reflex reminds me. “Well, how are you going to get back?” “I’ll call a cab. Don’t you worry about me, Benster babe. You just keep looking forward. We can’t have you spewing all over these sweet leather

seats.” I pull my legs into my chest and shift in my seat toward him. “Is Nick happy, Braiden?” Whoa. Now that Tess has paved the way, do I really want to venture down that road with Braiden? I think about the repercussions, how I could possibly regret having this conversation. But this is the sweet thing about being wasted: I can blame all of it on the booze tomorrow. Despite my eyes feeling more like slits in my head, they’re open wide enough to see Braiden’s confusion. “Yeah, I think so. I mean, why wouldn’t he be? He runs a successful business, has amazing friends and

family. Shit, his happiness could be based solely on having me around, for fuck’s sake! And he’s got a beautiful fiancée. What more could he ask for? He’s practically living the Americanfucking-dream. All he’s missing are the two-point-five kids and the minivan with the bumper sticker stating that his kid is a fucking honor roll student at Santa Cruz Middle School.” “We would never buy a minivan.” Did I really just say that? The headlights from the oncoming traffic reflect off of Braiden’s blue eyes, now darker in contrast in this rayless realm of night, growing with curiosity as my thoughts continue to spill uncontrollably out of my mouth. So long as it’s my

words and not the tequila. “What do you mean by we, babe?” I ignore his question, only to ask an even stupider question. “Does he love Riley? Is he in love with her? Like truly, completely, deeply, madly, crazily, desperately, head-over-heels in love with her?” Nice, Corinne. For being as drunk as I am, that is some pretty impressive adjective-use right there. If only Mrs. Malone, my sixth-grade English teacher, could hear me right now. She’d be proud. Well, at least with the vocabulary part of it. I can’t say she’d be too pleased with my drunken stupor. “Uh, yeah. Of course he loves Riley. That is the reason why they’re getting

married, isn’t it? Because they love each other?” “People get married because they love each other, but it doesn’t necessarily mean they’re in love with each other.” He pauses before asking, “Where is this all coming from, Corinne?” “I just...I just don’t think she’s the one for him,” I admit, the words tumbling out of my mouth as my subconscious, buried heavily beneath my intoxication, shakes its head in disappointment. In turn, I flip it off. “Wait a second. From what Nicholas said, it seemed like you and Riley really hit it off at the party. Why are you saying this now?”

“Does he think of me, Braiden?” Suddenly, we’ve stopped moving, but my head feels as though it has a hundred pounds of brick piled on top of it, so I can’t even turn to see if we’ve reached my house. “Corinne,” he begins, a rather serious tone ringing in his voice, and shit, Braiden is hardly ever serious. He’s calling me by my first name for Christ’s sake. “Is there something I should know? I mean, I know you’re fucking wasted right now, and you probably won’t remember this conversation tomorrow, but there has to be some underlying reason why you’re asking me these questions about Nicholas. Of course, you’ve come up in

conversations in the past, but I get the feeling what you’re asking is something more than your name in a casual conversation. Considering how close you and Nicholas were, I think it’s only natural that you’d be a little jealous of Riley.” “Oh please!” I interrupt, my lungs forcing a displeased puff of air between my lips, which exerts more energy than my body can handle. “For the record, I am not jealous of Riley. As a person, she’s pretty likable, and I’d say we could even be friends.” “Good, because she really likes you.” A loud ‘HA’ shoots out of my throat before I reveal, “I bet she’d feel

otherwise if she ever found out my lips were on her fiancé’s long before hers ever were.” I don’t know what’s worse: word vomit or actual vomit. At least you can clean up actual vomit, and you’d never know it even happened. Word vomit isn’t so easy to clean up, especially if you say something you probably shouldn’t, possibly leaving a bigger mess in the long run. Well, it looks like the odds are in my favor tonight, because I get both. Whoever coined the term hangover was a goddamn genius because that word couldn’t be more on point, considering I pretty much spent the entire

night hanging over the porcelain throne. On the other hand, whoever came up with porcelain throne should really reconsider it, for a throne is made for royalty, the distinguished and the dignified, the prim and the proper, and I hardly think my puke-dried hair, bloodshot eyes, and smudged eyeliner constitute as royal. My body truly hates me right now, and whatever it expelled last night took my memory right along with it because I can’t remember jack-shit. All I know is there was booze—lots of it—and I can only assume I wasn’t stupid enough to drive home, and Braiden got me back here somehow. Images of me heaving over the toilet, the feel of a cold towel

pressed to the back of my neck, and someone—Braiden I assume—holding my hair back, flash in my mind. I awoke in my bed, so he must have tucked me in and left a glass of water on my bedside table. I’ll have to thank him later. I also have to thank him for resisting the urge to undress me and put me in my pajamas; this is Braiden we’re talking about. After a shower, I head to the kitchen for a glass of water, but with all my energy expired from crossing the yard, I plop myself in a chair at the breakfast table instead. I grudgingly lift my head and see Dad staring at me from the opposite end of the table, newspaper in hand. “How’re you feeling there, kiddo?”

I spread my arms out on the table and rest my head against the cool, flat surface. “Like hell. Remember those spinning rides at the carnival that you always refused to take me on because they made you sick? I feel like I’m on one of those things, only it won’t stop.” I close my eyes in hopes the room will stop spinning, but it doesn’t. When I open them, the room spins in the opposite direction. I’m fucked either way. “Before I forget, Cooper called while you were out last night. Guess he tried you on your cell phone a few times. He sounded worried, since he hadn’t heard from you, but I assured him you were fine and hanging out with some old

friends. We chatted for a bit. Seems like a nice kid.” So Cooper’s worried because he hasn’t heard from me? Consider it a taste of his own medicine. “He can worry for a bit,” I respond, every word I speak pounding hard against my head like a hammer. “Everything alright?” Dad looks up from his newspaper. “It will be once I have a glass of water and two aspirin.” He gets up from the table and grabs me the water and aspirin. “Jamie said you were in pretty bad shape when Braiden brought you home. That only means you had a pretty good time, yeah?” He chuckles.

Lifting my head, I look at my dad, confused. I pop the aspirin and wash it down with a gulp of water. “Jamie?” He crosses to the other side of the table and takes his seat. “He was in the kitchen getting a glass of water when he saw Braiden carrying you to the guest house. Jamie took over and brought you inside. Said he was in the bathroom with you for over an hour because you wouldn’t stop throwing up, and once you said you felt better, he helped you into bed and waited until you fell asleep.” Wow. Despite all of the insults, the cheap shots, and the disrespect, Jamie took care of me. Most people would look the other way, not giving a shit about someone who treated them poorly.

Perhaps Jamie isn’t most people, and I may have been wrong about him. The sound of the front door swinging shut echoes from down the hall, and the light taps of footsteps grow louder when they near. “Henry, I’m going to put away the fishing equipment, since we’re not going to Monterey anymore,” Jamie yells from the corridor as his footsteps stop in the doorway of the kitchen. “Oh hey, Corinne. You’re up. I don’t dare ask how you’re feeling.” My body has no room for any sort of happiness, but I manage to surrender an appreciative smile. “You have no idea.” “Well, I’ll tell you what. When you’re ready and up for it, I’m going to whip you up a batch of chocolate-chip

pancakes. Best hangover food.” Growing up, I always looked forward to Saturday mornings because it meant chocolate-chip pancakes for breakfast, and I’m pretty sure Jamie must know it’s a favorite of mine. “Thank you,” I tell Jamie. “For everything.” He gives a quick nod of his head, a simple gesture by all means and yet full of understanding. “Did I hear something about Monterey?” Jamie strides across the kitchen to get a start on the pancakes. “Your dad and I planned a fishing trip down to Monterey tomorrow.” “But that was before we knew you

would still be here,” Dad continues. He straightens out the newspaper and stacks each section neatly, one on top of the other. “We’ll go another time. No big deal.” I place my head back down on the table, my cheek resting on the tops of my hands. Closing my eyes, I surprise myself when I say, “Please don’t cancel on my part, but I’m warning you. I’ll have a lot of questions, and someone’s gonna have to show me how to bait a hook.” My eyes stay shut, and though I can’t see their reactions, the stunned silence speaks volumes. I smile. “Okay,” Dad finally breaks the silence, his voice jovial. “Fishing it is.”

For a guy who everyone thinks has it together, is successful, loved and trusted by many, and knows exactly what he wants in life, my actions tonight say otherwise. Because the Nicholas Kelley that everyone knows wouldn’t lie to his fiancée, tell her that he needs to tend to

an urgent matter at the pub, and ask his father to lie for him. That guy wouldn’t make the seventy-mile trek from San Francisco to the front porch of another woman’s house, and wait for her like a fool in the dark. The slap of the metal screen door slices through the still evening air, ending the back and forth argument I’ve had with myself for the past hour. Cori’s silhouette crosses the lawn, and when the only trace of moonlight finds her, my heart flies out of my chest. But almost immediately, the guilt jerks it back and tells it to calm the fuck down. “Nick?” she says my name, halting abruptly halfway across the lawn. “What are you doing here? Is everything

alright?” Concern resonates through her voice, and she starts moving toward me again. When I quickly rise to my feet, I feel lightheaded and lose my balance, managing to catch my footing before I dive face first into the pavement. The blood must’ve rushed straight to my head after sitting in the same position for the past hour. It has absolutely nothing to do with Cori. Nope. Not at all. “Can I come in?” I ask, my guilt wishing I hadn’t. Without hesitating, she maneuvers past me to open the door, her arm lightly brushing against mine, and goddamn my heart for reacting even to her slightest touch. I squeeze my eyes shut and

mentally scold myself, striding past Cori while she holds the door open. Don’t let her affect you like this. Don’t lose focus. With my back turned, the door closes with a soft click and is followed by the flicker of the light switch as it illuminates the room. Not much has changed about the guest house. The same black-and-white prints of Paris, London, and New York City decorate the lemon-tinted wall above the wooden four-poster bed. A congruent stretch of open windows line the other two walls of the room’s perimeter, allowing a gentle breeze to sift through the gaps in the shutters and into the wide open space. But still, the walls feel like they’re closing in on us,

and it’s suffocating, the silent questions dangling like rope and strangling our words. A silent beat passes before she asks again, “Is everything okay, Nick?” “You already asked me that.” My voice is hostile. I pinch the bridge of my nose, regretting it as soon as the words leave my mouth. “I did,” Cori acknowledges. “But only because you didn’t answer me the first time. I didn’t expect you back from Riley’s until tomorrow night.” I lower my head and squeeze my eyelids together at the sound of Riley’s name, the guilt taking refuge in my bones until the moment it combusts and cracks me from the inside out. Maybe it’s why I

can’t even look at Cori, because seeing that beautiful damn face of hers would somehow void that guilt, and it’s the only thing preserving the last of my integrity. “You’re right. I should be with Riley right now, but I’m here...with you.” A few seconds pass in silence before she responds to my passive-aggressive remark. “Why do I get the feeling you’re upset with me? Did I do something wrong?” I run a hand over the top of my head, turning until I face her but keeping my eyes affixed to the floor. “Yesterday was an exceptionally hard workday for Riley. For the past several months, she’s been working on a case involving a homeless

pregnant woman with substance-abuse issues. Berta made so much progress, finally realizing she had purpose, and was eager to live the life that Riley knew she could have—a healthy and promising one, full of potential and love. Riley went into this line of work for this very reason—to help those in need and make a difference in their lives, and she certainly achieved that here.” I walk to one of the windows where I peer through the blinds and inhale a breath of fresh evening air. Any hope of exhaling my woes fall flat. The room continues to suffocate me. “Berta never showed up for her thirty-two week checkup. That was two weeks ago, and Riley hasn’t heard from

her since. Apparently, Berta was seen a few days ago somewhere in the city, sitting in an alleyway with a needle in her arm and completely out of it. It devastated Riley. She feels like she failed Berta.” Cori moves in my peripheral vision, walking in my direction but stopping after only a few steps. “I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for her. She’s truly something, Nick. That line of work takes a great deal of courage, and what she’s doing, it’s incredible. Riley is incredible,” she praises earnestly. “Want to know the worst part about it?” I ask, my voice short and bitter. “After her shitty day, all Riley wanted was me. For me to come home to her and

listen while she lamented. To hold and kiss her, and tell her everything was going to be okay. To have her body wrapped in mine. She needed me. All of me. The one thing she needed, and I couldn’t fucking give it to her,” I curse, slamming my balled fist against the wall and using the other hand to massage the ache growing along my temples. “I’m sorry, Nick,” Cori apologizes, but if anything, it should be me apologizing. “If you and Riley are having issues, I’m sure you’ll find a way to work through it. But I can tell you’re upset with me. I don’t see what any of this has to do with me.” I surrender to my heart, feeling it leave my chest the moment my eyes find

Cori. The sight of her—those amazing eyes, her brown wavy locks spilling over her bare shoulders, her trembling lips—it’s the very thing I knew my heart would do in one glance, and now I might not be able to pull it back in. “You don’t get it, do you? It has everything to do with you.” “I’m not following. I don’t understand, Nick,” she stutters, confusion in her eyes and voice as she nervously bites at her thumbnail. “Physically, my body was there, with Riley. But mentally? Emotionally? The entire damn time she was expressing her grief, and all I could think about was—” I stop, unable to finish that phrase as I pace back and forth, running a frustrated

hand through my hair once more. “Goddammit!” A week ago, I would have never imagined being in this position, torn between the woman who I’ll soon vow my heart to and the woman who clearly still has it. When I fell in love with Riley, I was certain I had my heart. Broken and shattered, no doubt, but every piece accounted for nonetheless, ready to be given to someone that could put it back together. How wrong I was. “What are you trying to say, Nick?” Cori asks with caution, and her breathing grows rapid with every heave of her chest. “You!” I admit, my integrity buckling. “All I could think about the

entire time was you! Jesus, Cori! I was fine without you. I managed. Because I didn’t think you’d ever come back. But the second you walked into the pub, I was done for. Because seeing you reminded me of how fucking difficult it’s been without you, and my heart broke all over again. That’s right, again, implying repetition, because you broke my heart when you left nothing but your letter. Do you honestly believe it was that easy for me to let you go? That your fucking letter would be enough for me to say goodbye? That easily?” Cori’s lips tremble, her eyes growing wide under her wrinkled brow. “How did you think I felt? Did you think it was easy for me? Dammit, Nick! Of

all people, I thought you understood. Why now? Why couldn’t you have said something before? Why wait until now to say all this?” I shake my head with a smirk. “Is that all you can say? I just poured myself out to you, and all you have are questions? I’m not surprised. You’re full of them.” “What the hell does that mean?” she demands. “What right do you have to ask if I’m in love with Riley? Of course I’m in love with her.” “I never asked if—” Cori stops mid-sentence. Braiden said she was pretty wasted and probably wouldn’t remember what had happened

last night, but I may have just reminded her. When I awoke this morning, my mind was already submerged in thoughts of Cori, but Braiden’s phone call and his recount of last night was the deciding factor. I had to come to her. “What makes you think she’s not the one for me? You don’t know her,” I accuse, my voice condescending as my eyes blaze into her. With every word slipping from my mouth, Cori flinches, and a twinge of guilt eats me up. We’ve never fought, not like this at least, and I definitely wouldn’t have raised my voice at her. But try bottling up heartache and frustration for six years, shake it forcefully, and the second you open it up, it’s bound to explode; the

mess is inevitable. I pace the floor between the window and the foot of Cori’s bed. “If you got to know her, you’d see how amazing Riley is. She’s beautiful, intelligent, kindhearted, funny. We aren’t in high school anymore, Cori. You’re not allowed to dictate who is, or isn’t, right for me anymore.” I see the realization settle in her eyes. “Listen, I can’t blame my actions entirely on the alcohol, and though everything that happened is sort of a blur, whatever I said to Braiden wasn’t meant to belittle Riley in any way. But whatever this is,” she says as she flips her hand from side to side at me, “it isn’t you. So, how about you go and cool off

and we can talk like adults when you’ve decided to stop being a complete asshole?” Well, I’m not arguing that. “Bullshit! If what you said wasn’t meant to belittle Riley, then what, Cori? You know, she actually had great things to say about you after the party, and the fact that you’re—” “It’s not Riley!” she cuts me off, her voice tearing through the hostility. “I mean, it is her, but it isn’t.” I wipe a hand across my face, stopping at the foot of her bed. “You’re not making any sense right now. Dammit, Cori! I don’t...I need to know what the hell is going through your head because —”

“It’s not just Riley. It’s any woman. I DON'T WANT ANYBODY ELSE TO FUCKING HAVE YOU!” And there it is. The confession I’ve waited to hear, what I’ve always known deep down—the reason behind Cori’s disapproval of women in my life. I don’t know if I should be pleased or upset. She whips around and stalks to the door, the flip-flops beneath her feet thumping against the wooden floor, and I can almost see her outrage trailing behind her in a cloud of smoke. She yanks the door open with force, allowing a gust of air to sift through and hopefully take the tension back out with it. Unfortunately, the tension remains, stagnant and thick.

Maybe this is what I want, for her to push me away because perhaps by doing so, it’ll be easier for me to let her go and move on with my life. But before long, Norman’s words echo in my head. Don’t take the easy road because we often end up where we were never meant to go. Fighting the weight of my confusion, I slowly walk toward Cori. This woman —this goddamn beautiful woman—has no idea she controls my heart, completely and absolutely, and that makes me nervous as hell. When I reach her at the door, I see her agitation dissipate into small pools of heartache at the corners of her eyes. But if I know her as well as I do, that’s all it will be.

Because Cori Bennett doesn’t cry. I stand so close to her that her body brushes mine with every rise and fall of her chest. She looks up at me with hooded eyes, her blush lips quivering. I bring my hand up and cup her flushed cheek, brushing my thumb across her soft skin as she presses her face into me and closes her eyes. “Why, Cori? Tell me why you don’t want anyone else to have me? Just...say it.” Her eyelids flutter open, the puddles of moisture still brimming at the edges of her eyes. All she has to do is say it, that she doesn’t want anyone else to have me because she wants me. All of me. Forever. And I’m hers.

My forehead grazes hers, our noses barely touching, our parted lips only an inch away from unlocking the past and changing the future. But when I think we’ve finally reached an understanding, she pulls away, shaking her head. A piece of my heart shatters and cuts into my chest, but it’s a pain I already know. “You asked Braiden if I think of you…” I start to say without looking at her, my eyes fixated on the darkness outside the door as I let out a long, tired breath. “Every day.” And I disappear into the darkness, taking my wounded heart along with me. Photography has always been my

escape. My refuge. Comfort that comes in the form of black-and-white and vibrant moments of frozen time, when real time is melting away all too quickly. Yet, the moment I get home and walk straight into my dark room, the very thing I need to escape from is staring back at me—several of them, in black-andwhite, each dangling from a clothespin that’s strung across the back wall of the windowless room. I hadn’t realized how many photos I’d taken of Cori the other day, until I developed the negatives; some she was fully aware of and others I snapped without her knowing. If someone walked into this room right now, I wouldn’t be surprised if they took me as a stalker. If

Riley walked into this room? I might as well confess everything. My brain tells me to rip every photograph off the line, but my stupid, foolish heart, already broken and beaten, seems to get off on the torture, and I leave the photos where they are. I shut the door to the dark room and turn off the lights. Switching on the red safe light, I cross the room to the work area, the darkness illuminated by the soft red glow of the lamp. The second I begin to work on the other roll of film, the door swings open, and Cori bursts through. “Jesus Christ, Cori! Ever heard of knocking?” “Ever heard of locking your front

door?” Typical Cori and her smartmouth responses. “Besides, I’ve been knocking on the door for the past five minutes.” She’s oblivious to the fact that she barged into a dark room in use. Had my film been exposed to the light from the hall, I most likely would have lost a good majority—if not all—of the photos, screwing me royally. Somehow, none of that seems to matter right now. I turn away from Cori and make sure the lid on the film cylinder is still tightly in place, but really, I do it to give myself a reason not to look at her. It kills me to look at her right now, so my defenses go up. “Who do I need to yell at for telling you where I live?”

She hesitates before giving me her answer. “Your dad. I thought about asking Braiden, but then I’d have to explain myself to him, and I didn’t have time for that. Plus, I’m still embarrassed about last night.” “My dad, huh? I guess I’ll let it pass. I owe him, anyway.” “What you said earlier, is it true? You’ve thought of me?” she asks, innocently. The moment she asks, that defensive wall crumbles beneath me. Nothing can be built on a weak foundation, and Cori is my weakness. I turn to face her. “How could I not?” “We fell so out of touch with each other, I just figured…” She trails off,

staring down at her feet. “That I would forget about you? That I could brush off an eighteen-year friendship with the one person that mattered most to me in this world? God, Cori.” A fiery passion grows within my heart as I plead my case, because God help me if this woman can’t see how much she consumes me. “You were everywhere, Cori. You are everywhere. All hell could be breaking loose at the pub, and in the midst of the chaos, I’d think of you. Or I’d hear a woman laugh, and immediately do a double-take to make sure it wasn’t you. You tore your way through my thoughts even when I tried to push you out of them. Cori, every goddamn day, I’ve thought of you. When

I wake up. When I go to bed. In my dreams. I am always thinking of you.” She doesn’t respond, her expression contemplative as she absorbs my answer. Instead, she sets her sights on the display of photos behind me. Great. I completely forgot about that until now. This is not awkward. Not at all. Slowly, she crosses the room past me, her eyes fixated on my very embarrassing display of affection. “Wow, Nick,” she whispers. She’s mesmerized by every photo, each one a stolen memory of our day together: the one with the Pacific behind her at Bixby Bridge as she stretches her arms high above her head, the silly pose of her

kissing the bag of Cheetos when we picnicked at Pfeiffer Beach, the close-up of her at McWay Falls at sunset, a light breeze tossing a few strands of hair across her face, but not enough to cover her gorgeous smile. All the while, I’m mesmerized by her, because who needs the photos when you have the real thing right in front of you? “Wow,” she repeats. “Forgive me for sounding vain, but these are amazing. I always knew your work was good, but this? This is phenomenal.” “I simply aim and shoot. It’d be wrong for me to take credit when the subject of the photo is devastatingly beautiful.” Cori faces me, the glow of the red

light saturating her ivory skin. She’s stunning. Her eyes mirror the longing in mine, and the tension we felt in her guest house earlier dissipates into a mutual understanding. “Things are about to get complicated, aren’t they?” she asks, her breaths growing heavier the moment I walk toward her. Each of my footsteps shrinks the space between us, closing in on the past six years. Somewhere in the back of my mind, the guilt roars vehemently at me, but is soon silenced by the echo of Norman’s words. “With us, it has always been complicated, Cori.” I step as close to her as I possibly can, and when our bodies touch, I’m not

quite sure whose heartbeat I feel fluttering against my chest—Cori’s or my own, or perhaps both, beating together in perfect rhythm. “Complicated often gets messy.” My fingertips brush the tips of hers. “Then, we’ll clean it up together.” “You make it sound so simple.” “It won’t be. It will be far from it. But some messes are worth making, and this is one mess I sure as hell want to make.” Her tongue slides across her lips as she wets them nervously, luring my eyes to them. I bring my hand to her cheek and rest it there, my thumb stroking her full bottom lip. Her eyes grow hooded and her breath hitches at my touch.

And that does it. With everything I have, I press my lips to hers, the force of our complicated situation no longer holding me back, and Cori reciprocates the kiss without the slightest hesitation. She parts her lips, moving perfectly in sync with mine as she brings her hands to the back of my neck and digs her fingernails into my heated skin. The moment she does, a low hum vibrates over my lips, as if there is a button for every sense on my body and she knows exactly which ones to push. Our mouths devour each other, growing eager and greedy, like we’re trying to feed a hunger we’ve been suppressing since the last time we were tangled in one another. I didn’t think there was

anything that could have topped that night. I was wrong. As I pick her up, Cori wraps her legs around my lower back, crisscrossing them one on top of the other without ever breaking the kiss, and I set her on the edge of the table. My lips pull away from hers, restless and out of control, setting off to explore every part of her. They make a trail along the smooth contour of her cheek, set their sights on the crook of her neck, and stake their claim. Her body shudders the moment I graze my lips back and forth along the deep curve of her soft skin, and hell, I’d give anything to leave my mark on her, giving this patch of ivory skin a

boysenberry hue. Call it a juvenile move; we’re also not in high school anymore. But there’s just something about doing it that tempts me, as if marking her would give me some sort of validation that she belongs to me, and everyone would know it. Before I change my mind and act upon instinct rather than reason, I reluctantly pull my lips off her neck, only to hear her release what sounds like a frustrated whimper. “God, you really know how to tease a girl, don’t you?” she says with a smirk, eyeing my lips like a feral cat ready to lunge at a mouse. We’re already wading in some pretty deep shit, but if she keeps looking at me that way, we may as well

be swimming in it. “Someone has to be the levelheaded one here, but in case you haven’t noticed,” I start, kneading my hands into her waist so roughly my fingers probably leave red imprints on her skin, “you’re making that extremely difficult for me.” “If eighteen-year-old Cori was here, I think she’d tell you to go for it. And not hold anything back,” she declares, her eyes still focused on my mouth. “If eighteen-year-old Cori was here, I’d probably be deemed a pervert.” She giggles at my attempt at humor as she flips her hair to the side and renders her gaze to me. “Pervert, no. Chicken shit, yes.” I bring my hand up and tuck one side

of her hair behind her ear. I brush the other side back with my fingers, making Cori’s eyes grow heavy with need. It’s the little motions like these that I’ve looked forward to for so long. Of course, the lip-to-lip action speaks for itself. But this? There’s more intimacy in this simple gesture than in a million lustfilled kisses. “I must say, though, eighteen-yearold Cori was insanely hot.” She scoffs and gently pushes at my chest, releasing me from the grip of her legs and causing me to stumble back a foot. “Was? I know we’re talking in the third person here, but I didn’t realize we were talking in the past tense, too. Ass!” Chuckling, I realize how she

interpreted my comment, and throw my hands up in surrender. “All I can say is that she put eighteen-year-old Nicholas through the longest, sexually-frustrated hell.” Even under the glow of the red light, it’s easy to see how my comment makes her blush. It was a little forward, but at this point, why hold anything back? “All joking aside,” I say, stepping in between her legs and placing each one back around me where they were before. She doesn’t resist. “Eighteen-year-old Cori was definitely hot. The center of every boy’s fantasy, which unfortunately, I had to bear witness to.” The thought of Aiden and Chase comes to mind and still drives me fucking crazy. “But you?

Now? Stunning. Radiant. A goddamn knockout,” I unabashedly admit, placing a kiss between each adjective—one below her left ear, one below her right, and one at the base of her throat. “And instead of a boy’s fantasy...every man’s desire.” And like that, the mood transitions from lighthearted back to serious, and my lips continue their ravenous pursuit of hers. I pick her up and carry her to my bedroom, her flip-flops falling to the floor as soon as she lands on the bed. There isn’t anything sexier than the image of Cori and the way her entire body softly bounces off the mattress when she hits it. If I wasn’t so eager to get her beneath me, I might pick her up

and toss her on the bed again, just so I can sear the moment into my memory. Her hands grab tight fistfuls of my shirt and yank me into her body so hard, I should have whiplash by now, but the only pain I feel is the painfully good ache growing viciously between my legs. I’m pretty sure Cori can feel it, too. Shirts and shoes come off, and when my fingertips barely touch the smooth surface of her waist, I go fucking nuts. I begin to ravage her, channeling my inner Jekyll and Hyde, caressing her one second like she’s the most delicate thing on earth, and then clawing at her the next, as if it’s the last time I feel her this way again. If Cori had to choose one, I bet she’d go for Hyde—rough and wild

—because every time my fingers dig into her, I can practically taste her moan as it pulsates against my lips. When my fingers find the small, jagged line on the right side of her torso, forever scarred into her skin, I break my mouth away from hers to lay a gentle kiss on it. I lift myself and hover over her, taking a second to soak in the sight of Cori lying beneath me. Her wavy brown locks sprawled messily beneath her head. The rosy tint of her cheeks. Her lust-filled brown eyes. Her swollen lips. The trail of ivory skin that runs from the dip in her neck all the way down the valley of her perfect chest, under her lacy black bra, crossing the plateau over her belly button, and finally

disappearing under the waistband of her jean shorts. I’ve heard seasoned photographers say that you haven’t captured real beauty until you’ve seen the places and sights they have. Glow Worm Cave in New Zealand, the Northern Lights, the Maldives, to name a few. All perfectly good examples of some of the most breathtaking sights in the world, I’m sure. But they’re wrong. You see, I could die tomorrow, without ever seeing any of those places, and I would have seen it all. Because this…right here…lying in front of me, is the most breathtaking sight I could possibly ever see. Torturing my lips long enough, I bury

my face in Cori’s neck. The feel of her bare skin against mine is electrifying, and when she brings her arms around my back and starts to drag her fingertips up and down it, she sends a jolt to every nerve in my body, making my lips, hotblooded and wanting, move furiously along her neck. She hitches one leg up, a silent plea to invite me in closer. I slide my hand to the waistband of her shorts, unsnapping the brass button and tugging the zipper down, because the only way we could possibly get any closer is if we— “Wait,” Cori commands through her heavy breaths, her voice whipping my hand away from her shorts. I reluctantly part my lips from her neck and look up.

My eyes move with hers toward the nightstand on the right side of the bed that’s stacked high with bridal magazines, adorned with a clear vase full of wilting pink and white peonies, and decorated with a photo of Riley and me in a wooden frame. I roll onto my side as Cori pushes herself from beneath me and sits at the edge of the bed. She looks torn, and it’s strange the way human emotions work— to go from a hundred to zero, absolute to uncertain, in a matter of seconds. “We can’t do this. Not right now. If we do, then I wouldn’t be any better than my—” she hesitates. “I’d be the biggest hypocrite.” I rise up from the bed and face her.

“The situations are completely different, Cori. You and me...there’s history. I’m not justifying what we’re doing here because considering our circumstances, we’ve definitely crossed a boundary tonight. But I can’t say it’s wrong.” I take her hand in mine, bringing it up to my lips and planting a soft kiss on it. “Because everything about it feels so right.” She lifts her eyes to mine, a look of hope glazed across each one. She eyes my naked chest up and down, and I see the need return. “God, my body is screaming at me right now,” she admits, giggling. She has no idea. “You’re telling me.” Cori stands from the bed, causing my

paranoia to kick in. My breath grows tight as I hold it in. I’d hate it if she left, but would understand. If she needs time to process everything, I’ll give her the space she needs. I’ll give it to her because I love her. More than anything. More than anyone. But she doesn’t leave. Instead, she extends her hand out in front of her, offering it to me. “Can you just hold me tonight? Like how you used to? I just need you to hold me. Can you do that?” And just like that, I can breathe again. She doesn’t need to ask twice. I take her hand as she leads us out of my bedroom. What we’re doing, it isn’t sex but it isn’t innocent either, and not that lying together almost half-naked on

the couch in the living room is any better, but sleeping in a bed I share with another woman doesn’t seem right. I lie down first, and Cori follows, snuggling into my body as she drapes a leg over me and buries her face into my neck, the way she always would before. I trace my free hand up and down her arm, across her bare stomach and back, breathing in her scent of vanilla with every caress of her skin while my smile brushes the top of her head. And we stay like this until we finally succumb to sleep.

I had hoped to use this fishing excursion with Dad and Jamie today as a distraction. That my mind would be occupied with all of the baiting and the hooking and the reeling and all the other -ings of fishing, that I wouldn’t have time to think about anything else.

Fact is, there isn’t anything to do other than think while you wait for some poor fish to be fooled into its demise, all because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Nibbling at my thumbnail, I stare blankly across the Monterey Bay as the horizon rocks steadily up and down with the flow of the tide. It’s a good thing I don’t get seasick. Otherwise, I’d probably be yakking over the side of this boat right now. “Something on your mind, kiddo?” Dad asks as he removes his hat, squinting when the twelve o’clock sun pokes his eyes. With the back of his hand, he swipes away the moisture glistening across his forehead, and then

flips the hat back over his head. “No, not really,” I say, my response questionable and pathetic, considering I’ve always been able to talk my way through situations. Apparently, my expertise is lacking today. “You sure about that? You seem distracted.” Funnily enough, that happens to be the underlying goal of the day: finding a distraction which will distract my thoughts away from the very source causing my distraction. That’s a shit load of distraction, and still not nearly enough. “Distracted? No. Just waiting to catch something,” I say, monotonous, forcing a smile and shrugging my

shoulders innocently. Aren’t I the Queen of Bullshit? I ought to be stripped of that title. I glance over at Dad and Jamie in hopes they haven’t caught on to me, but who am I kidding? A toddler would see right through my crap, and the kid wouldn’t even be toilet-trained. “Actually, Corinne, I’ve had to bait your hook twice now,” Jamie tells me. “It looks like you might have yourself some beginner’s luck. Your line has had a couple of good catches.” He points to the large white bucket next to him. Have I been that far gone I hadn’t realized this? Baffled, I half-stand from my seat and lean over to look inside the bucket. Well, would you look at that? In

the bucket are two decently-sized fish, reddish-orange in color and sporting a mohawk-looking thing along their backs. “Their eyes are freakishly huge,” I observe, sitting back down. Other than that, I show very little interest, and not because I’m entirely uninterested, but because I’m more interested in thinking about Nick and his incredible lips. Lord, those amazing lips. Warm to the touch, yet they made me shiver in all the right places. Those perfectly toned arms, wrapping their way over and under me. And those hands, rough around the edges but tender to the touch, signs of a man who works day in and day out but knows exactly how to satisfy a woman’s needs at night.

How would I know, right? We didn’t actually get that far. Despite my lack of knowledge in Going to Bed with Nicholas Kelley 101, I’m about ninetynine-point-nine percent sure that Nick would have no problem in that subject. Fine. I’m a hundred-and-one percent sure. As the course suggests. “Can I ask you something, kiddo?” My eyes meet Dad’s inquisitive gaze. “And you can tell me if I’m prying because I don’t want to be that father, the annoying one who pries,” he stutters. Our recently repaired relationship is still so fresh, like mortar laid between bricks, holding it all together, yet still not completely sturdy. One clumsy move, and the entire structure collapses to the

ground until it is, once again, nothing but a pile of brick. It’s obvious why he’d approach anything involving me with caution. “Thanks, because I already have a mother who does that,” I tease with a wink. “She wouldn’t be Evelyn if she didn’t!” He grins, but it is quickly washed away by the serious undertones in his eyes. “When we were in the kitchen early this morning, we noticed you pulling into the driveway. Were you out all night?” As soon as he asks, the boat begins to rock heavily with the waves, teetering up and down while my answer teeters on the tip of my tongue.

“I…” I drag out the word before the completion of my thought rolls off my tongue and dives head first into the admission pool, “…was.” It’s the longest, shortest sentence ever. “I assumed after we retreated to bed last night, you had too.” I bring my thumb to my mouth, my teeth clawing at my fingernail. Surprisingly, there is still nail to chew on. “That was the plan. And then Nick showed up at my door.” “I’m glad you two have found a way to reconnect after all these years.” Boy, if Dad only knew the ways in which Nick and I have reconnected, he’d probably feel otherwise. Lips. Tongues. Nick’s hands on my ass. God, my dad is

talking to me, and all I can think about are Nick’s lips and hands ravaging me. “Where did you two end up going? Don’t tell me you partied at the pub again. I don’t know how you kids do it.” “We didn’t go to the pub.” His eyebrows furrow. “If not the pub, then…” A water-rippling silence settles in because I can’t really say I was at Nick’s place all night, can I? Although we’ve spent countless platonic nights in each other’s beds when we were younger, the circumstances have drastically changed, and I’d look more like a two-timing tramp than some girl sleeping in her best guy friend’s bed. Well, technically I didn’t sleep in his

bed; we slept on his couch. So, that doesn’t make it too bad, right? The longer I stay silent, the more the answer becomes obvious that we were definitely not at the pub. And if not the pub, where else could we have gone that I’d be out into the wee hours of the morning? Why can’t I think of a good story right now? Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me? I used to be so good at this shit. Thankfully, the conversation is interrupted when my line starts to move. I’m off the hook for now. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for this fish. I spend the next sixty minutes of the ride back home in a battle with myself,

contemplating if a rendezvous with Nick is in order, but I also know how dangerous that could end up for us. Dangerous. Since when do I turn down danger? My body craves it, and I’ve suppressed the hunger far too long because all it wants is to be fed. I’ve been practically starving for six years. It’s no wonder I haven’t felt this alive in so long. When we make it back home, night has fallen. I quickly say goodnight to Dad and Jamie and run straight for the guest house to freshen up. But I come to a halt in the middle of the lawn when a familiar scene unfolds before me. A silhouette hovers over my doorstep, and my mouth immediately

curls into a huge smile. With a skip in my walk and an extra skip to my heart, I move toward him, a swarm of butterflies fluttering wildly within my stomach. But as I inch closer, the silhouette becomes clearer, more defined. The moon shares only a glimmer of its light, but it’s enough for me to fight the darkness and see the person behind the shadow. I’m guessing it’s not normal to feel disappointment when your fiancé unexpectedly shows up out of nowhere, and is suddenly sitting on your doorstep. When I was eleven, I had appendicitis and was admitted to the hospital for a few days. It’s one of the few times that I’ve cried, like truly

cried. And not from the pain, or the scalpel that had cut me open, or the wound that would leave an ugly scar forever on my waist. That was all relatively minor to my misery when hospital policy forbade Nick to visit me, since he was under twelve years and not an immediate family member. Something about germs and bacteria, and blah, blah, blah. I had appendicitis, not the Black Plague. But later that night, after the lights went down, the hospital corridors grew quiet, and my puffy eyelids began to grow heavy with sleep, that pain subsided when I heard the light patter of footsteps crossing the linoleum floor, followed by the feel of the bed dipping

behind me. Somehow, someway, Nick had made it to me. He hadn’t cared that he had to ride his bike across town in the dark, nor did he care about some stupid rule that some stupid hospital board director made up. He hadn’t cared that he was sweating and panting by the time he’d made it to my room because he had to dodge hospital staff on the way up, running and hiding behind doors and desks and anything that could shield him from being seen. He’d actually enjoyed that part, pretending to be some sort of secret agent on a mission to save his comrade who was chained in a tower by an evil mad scientist scheming to take over the world.

He’d held me all night, my head tucked into the crook of his neck, and his arm draped across me. The way he’d always held me before, and the way he’d always held me thereafter. The way he’d held me the other night on his sofa, and the way I’ve never let Cooper hold me. Ever. As daylight breaks, the Monday morning sun pours through the wooden blinds, and I can tell today is going to be a hot one. I wake up to the feel of my tank top sticking to my moist skin and Cooper’s warm breath on the back of my neck. That’s how we always sleep, my back to his front. He once asked me why I sleep this way, with my back to him. I said it was for comfort, that I had always

been a side-sleeper, and though I enjoyed our bodies passionately tangled in one another, when it came time to sleep, I needed my side of the bed to myself. See, I told you. Queen of Bullshit. Cooper shifts his weight as he presses a trail of kisses starting from my neck all the way to the curve of my shoulder, but the kisses aren’t the only thing he’s pressing against me. “I’ve missed you,” he says, planting kisses along my back. My eyes are still closed, but I’m wide awake. I didn’t sleep much—if at all—especially after I couldn’t pick up Nick’s call last night. How could I, when my head was ridden with guilt?

The indecencies of my thoughts leaving me wired like I had downed five espresso shots, making that inevitable crash at the end all the more agonizing. “Is that so?” I muffle a response, a sarcastic tone ringing through. “You can’t tell?” He presses himself, hard and unrestrained, into the small of my back as a soft grunt accompanies his exhales. I pull my body away from him and cradle the edge of the bed. One more inch, and I’ll be kissing the wooden floor below. “Huh. I would have never guessed that. You certainly have a funny way of showing it.” The bed dips as I feel the weight of Cooper’s body hovering over me. I open

one eye and see his radiant blues looking down on me. “Oh come on, Corinne. I thought we were done talking about that. You know how busy I’ve been. I hardly had time to eat, sleep, or shit, let alone talk to anybody.” “Including me?” He ignores my question. “How many times do I need to apologize? Besides, who sends an e-mail to her fiancé that says she’s not coming home?” he says, his voice smothered with sarcasm. “Seriously, Corinne, who does that?” Now I ignore his question. He shifts his weight, pushes me flat on my back, and rolls on top of me. My eyes flutter open completely as he brushes my hair away from my face.

“Honestly, Corinne. If I didn’t miss you, do you think I would have flown across the country? During one of the craziest weeks our company has ever had? Perhaps I’m letting my paranoia get the best of me, but when I read your email...fuck, Corinne. It drove me crazy, what you said, about not knowing when you would come home. That isn’t something a man wants to hear.” Little does he know, it isn’t the first time I’ve said that to a man. “I know, and I’m sorry, but you’re making it sound like I was never coming back. Trust me, an e-mail was not the way I wanted to tell you, but reaching you on the phone was impossible.” “Then let’s say we call a truce?

Because the only thing I want to do right now is be with my fiancée,” he whispers, his dimpled smile flashing across his face, before burying his head in my neck. My eyes roll back at the sensation of Cooper’s lips trailing down my chest and waking up my body. I run my hands through his dirty-blond hair down to the tanned, muscled contours of his back. When it comes to sex, Cooper and I have always been compatible. Of course, his Abercrombie model looks make the physical attraction easy, and even though our personalities couldn’t be more different, throw us together and the chemistry is explosive. I guess that’s why our relationship has always been

easy, because when the times get tough, we use sex as a distraction. Needless to say, Cooper is doing a good job keeping me distracted as his lips cover the skin around my belly button, his warm tongue trailing between them. But when he begins to tug at the waistband of my shorts, my conscience tugs at the reality tucked in my mind, pulling it out in one continuous motion like a magician’s handkerchief, until the very last piece of the reality comes undone. Nick. My eyes fly open, and I gently push Cooper’s hand away from my shorts. “Baby, we can’t do this here. Not in my dad’s house.” His lips continue their voracious

pursuit up toward my chest. “You never worried about things like that before. Remember what we did at your mother’s house?” My cheeks heat, because how could I forget? It was Thanksgiving, and Cooper and I had spent the night there. After a heated argument with my mother about spending another Christmas with my dad, I’d needed a distraction, and Cooper was happy to make that happen for me. Although we didn’t get caught, it was a rather stupid call of judgment, considering she could have woken up at any point during the night and walked in on us having sex on her dining table. And on her kitchen counter. And on her

couch. “Besides, we’re not technically in your father’s house.” “You know what I mean,” I remark, rolling my body from underneath him and propping myself on the edge of the bed. “Anyhow, Dad and Jamie will be heading off to work soon, so I’d like for you to meet them before they leave.” “You are killing me, woman.” He turns over and leans up against the headboard of the bed. It’s obvious how turned on he still is as his lusty eyes skim my throat. “Please tell me there will be time later because I can’t wait to get my mouth on that neck of yours.” Images of Nick’s lips on my neck assault my mind, but I quickly brush

them away. Shaking my head, I walk toward the bathroom. “Let’s just get dressed.” I decide that a shower is in order to wash away the stickiness of the heat. Or maybe what I really want is to wash away the remnants of Cooper’s mouth all over me, out of my guilt for Nick. Or to wash away my thoughts of Nick, out of my guilt for Cooper. Unfortunately, the shower doesn’t wash away any of it because my life has just become a hell of a lot stickier. “That went well, wouldn’t you say?” Cooper slides his aviators over his eyes as he backs the red convertible Porsche out of the driveway. The car is a little

over-the-top, if I must say, but Cooper wouldn’t be Cooper without having the best of the best. “Did you not expect it to?” “No. Of course I knew it would go well. Parents love me,” he boasts, showing off his perfectly pearly whites beneath his confident grin. We caught Dad and Jamie in the kitchen right before they left for the day, and needless to say, the two of them were quite surprised by Cooper’s unexpected visit. They surely weren’t the only ones. Cooper drives toward downtown with the top down, sun streaking across our faces, wind blowing through our hair. I only wish my mind felt the way

the day looks because no amount of sun could burn off the uncertainty clouding my head. “I’m happy to see you all were able to work out your differences. It looks like you accomplished what you came out here to do.” Have I? If that means resolving my issues with my dad, reconnecting with my childhood friend, and almost jumping into bed with him, then I deserve a freaking medal because all of that happened. I perch my elbow against the door, leaning my head on my fist as the wind whips through my disheveled hair. “More or less.” “So you’ll come home with me

tomorrow?” My head snaps toward him, but his eyes hide beneath his dark shades; his attention remains fixed on the road in front of us. I would say that Cooper isn’t asking me to come home tomorrow. He’s telling me. “I guess I haven’t really thought about going back. I sort of just thought I would play it by ear.” “Play it by ear?” Cooper repeats, his voice displeased. “What does that even mean, Corinne? A few more days? Another week?” I sigh. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know.” He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “That’s very reassuring. A week ago, you couldn’t wait to come home.

Now, you don’t know? You do realize our wedding is in less than a month, right?” How can I forget? The three-carat diamond on my finger reminds me every day. “Being back here has made me realize how much I miss home, Coop, how much I love this place. New York is my home now, but this?” I say as my hand motions in the air. “This will always be home to me.” He reaches for my hand, brings it up to his lips, and places a kiss on the back of it. “Then show me.” I raise a curious eyebrow. “Show you?” “Yeah, show me. You’ve never

really talked about what it was like growing up here. I want to know what Corinne Bennett did for fun—young, hot, Corinne Bennett,” he says with a sly, seductive grin. “What she did, where she hung out. I want the Corinne Bennett experience...a history lesson, if you will.” My history. I swallow so hard that for a second there, I think I’ve somehow swallowed my uvula. It’s not like Cooper doesn’t know anything about my past. He just doesn’t know everything. For some reason, opening up this part of my life to him seems so private, like instead of a history book, he’d be opening up my diary, filled with my deepest thoughts and secrets. Every

childhood memory, every laugh, every joke, every kiss, and every hug. The ups and downs, the good and the bad. Every page scribbled with the same name over and over again. A name that is present so often in my history that the line between then and now becomes obscured. A name that owns every page of my history that I’d betray it all for allowing anyone else to read it. But I give it anyway. I give Cooper a Corinne Bennett history lesson, only this version is condensed, full of facts, devoid of emotion, and names not cited. We’ve driven around Santa Cruz for the better part of the morning, and I’ve kept up my end of the bargain by giving

Cooper what he asked for. I show him where I went to elementary, middle, and high school. We stroll along The Boardwalk and ride the Giant Dipper roller coaster; I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so green before. We walk along Pacific Avenue, and I tell him that area was once called the Pacific Garden Mall, and how much destruction the quake of ’89 left in its path. Facts. Cold, hard facts. “I see why you love it here,” Cooper says as we drive along Front Street, a light breeze caressing the top of his hair. “I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours, and I already love it.” It doesn’t surprise me that Cooper could easily fall in love with my

hometown. With the wispy, periwinkle sunsets and Victorian charm-lined streets, anyone could. What does surprise me is the proposition he throws at me from out of left field, or more like the upper level deck: move to Santa Cruz once we start a family. That one knocks me upside the head because my eyeballs are practically hanging out of my sockets. “Are you kidding?” “Why would I be? This place looks perfect for raising a family.” “But,” I hesitate, still in disbelief over Cooper’s suggestion before continuing, “we’ve always talked about staying in the city. You love New York.”

“I know we did,” he acknowledges with the tip of his sunglasses between his teeth, before resting them on the console between us. “And yes, I love the city and said I’d never leave it.” He reaches for my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine. “But I love you more, and just seeing your face light up as you showed me around today is reason enough to change my mind.” “What about your job?” With a slight shrug of his shoulders, Cooper casually answers, “What about it? That’s the great thing about real estate; I can do it anywhere. Besides, Corinne, this week has given me a lot of perspective on what our life could be like if the company continues on its

current streak. I hate how I allowed work to consume me as much as it had, distracting me from something as simple as a phone call to my fiancée. And it worries me that I could be spending more time at the office than with my family. That’s one of the reasons why my parents’ marriage failed.” “Their marriage failed because your father spent more time with his twentysomething, brunette secretary than with your mother,” I dutifully remind him. “You are right,” he affirms, squeezing my hand and quickly pulling his eyes from the road to glance at me. “But we’re not going to be that couple, Corinne. I love you too much to even think about hurting you in that way.”

At the sound of Cooper’s words, my heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach, where I hope it corrodes in my guilt because it certainly does not deserve his love. How could I have allowed myself to almost hurt Cooper the way he vows to never hurt me? This man—a man who helped me get through one of the most difficult times in my life—loves me with everything he has. Not once has his love ever faltered. After I could only offer him friendship when he wanted more, he loved me. When I couldn’t give myself to him physically, he continued to love me. And even when it took me months to give him a simple three-letter answer to his marriage proposal, he never stopped

loving me. I could have ruined us. I could have ruined him. Cooper is safe, and I love him. How the hell could I have easily forgotten that? Two words: Nicholas Kelley. Yes, we kissed. Maybe we went further than a simple kiss, but perhaps we allowed it to go that far only because we owed it to ourselves to reconcile what we’d started all those years ago. Now that we’ve revisited that part of our past, maybe it’s enough for the two of us to finally move on with our lives, with the people we’ve promised ourselves to as planned. Then again, can I actually envision Cooper and myself raising our family

here in Santa Cruz, facing the likelihood of running into Nick and Riley around town? Maybe they’ll be the couple that claims their spot at the beach next to ours, giving me a front row seat to Nick rubbing sunblock all over Riley’s body. Or maybe Riley and I end up giving birth in adjacent hospital rooms, where I catch a glimpse of Nick rocking his newborn baby to sleep through the open blinds of the window. Or maybe their son and our daughter grow up and fall in love, leaving me to ponder what might have been. I could handle that, right? I lift our wrapped hands and place a sweet kiss on top of his. “We don’t have to figure everything out right now, do

we?” Once noon rolls around, we’re famished. I run through a list of places where we could grab a bite to eat, but before my mind has time to settle on one, Cooper is pulling into the parking lot of Kelley’s. My hands clench at the armrests, as if doing so will stop the car from moving any closer. “What are we doing here?” Cooper parks the car in an empty space. “What do you think we’re doing? You said you were hungry.” “I am. But…here?” “Yeah. It’s a cool little joint. Grabbed a drink here last night while you were still in Monterey,” he mentions as he quiets the engine and steps out of

the car. “You know this place?”

It takes all my willpower not to beeline it to Cori’s place once I pull into the nearly empty parking lot of Kelley’s. Mondays are pretty uneventful, and I’d trust Andi and Lucas to handle things should I decide to bail for a few hours to see Cori. My mind runs through every

possible way she and I could put those few hours to good use as I drag the side of my index finger back and forth over the suggestive curl of my lips. But I haven’t heard from Cori since I tried calling her cell phone last night, and I can only assume she’s still trying to figure out how to end things with Cooper. I don’t blame her. After wearing out my brain with ways I could break off my engagement without hurting Riley, it took all of yesterday to figure out that heartbreak is inevitable. There is no easy way in telling the person you planned on spending the rest of your life with that you were meant to spend it with someone else. And I hate myself for it, knowing that I will be the cause of

Riley’s heartbreak when she’s done nothing but love me all of these years. Still, I’d hate myself more if I allowed Riley to give herself entirely to me when I could never do the same. I know what I need to do, but it doesn’t mean it won’t hurt. Before I change my mind and say screw it to all of my responsibilities, I park the Jeep next to a shiny, red Porsche in front of the pub, and wonder what it is about my bar that’s attracting all the yuppies lately. It surely can’t be the spastic punk girl shit I hear pounding its way through the pub doors. “I thought I told you to leave your crap CDs at home,” I shout over the music at Andi once I make it inside. “No

one wants to listen to this over their soup and salad at twelve in the afternoon.” Her head bops up and down with the quick tempos as she polishes a wine glass. “You’re the only one complaining. If you haven’t noticed, it’s fucking dead in here. We could liven this place up a little.” I rest my elbow against the edge of the bar and scan the room. Besides the blond guy sitting in a booth in the corner and the few occupied tables in the center of the room, Andi is right; no one seems to be paying attention anyhow. But I’ve already told her countless times to go with soft rock during the day. “I don’t care. Change the music,” I

order, catching her in an eye roll as I start heading toward the back office. Andi drags herself to the other end of the bar where the stereo system is placed. “At least that twat friend of yours appreciates good music.” I immediately stop and turn around. “What friend?” “That brunette chick that got completely tanked here the other night with Braiden, and called me a fucking fire-crotch,” she says as she opens up the cabinet, tilts her head to the side, and runs her index finger along a row of CDs. “She’s in the restroom.” “Cori?” My feet carry me toward the restrooms even before Andi answers. She utters something, but her voice goes

muffled under the piercing cries of the female vocals and Cori’s name ringing in my head. The sweetest hint of vanilla lingers in the hallway. I lean against the wall at the end of the corridor, massaging my jaw because I’m smiling so much that it’s starting to hurt. I said I’d wait if she needed more time, but thank God I don’t have to because I’ve missed her so damn much. When she exits the restroom and starts walking toward the main area, I tug at her arm and gently pull her back into the dark hallway. “Hey,” I whisper with a smile so wide my mouth may tear at the corners. I must have startled her because her jaw drops slightly when she realizes it’s

me. “Hey to you, too,” she answers, the drop in her jaw slowly curling upward into a grin as her eyes light up. “I didn’t think you were here. I didn’t see the Jeep in the parking lot.” Inching closer to her, I brush my hand down the length of her arm as a trail of goose bumps emerges beneath the drag of my fingertips. When my hand finds hers, I weave our fingers together. “I arrived a few minutes ago. Andi said she saw you walk back here.” “I’m surprised she even made the effort to tell you I’m here. I think she hates me.” “Hate is a pretty strong word. I’d say more like a very strong dislike,” I tease, pulling her closer. “You did call her

fire-crotch.” Her mouth drops. “I knew I was thinking it, but I didn’t realize the word had actually left my mouth! I am never drinking again.” I look toward the end of the hall behind Cori before wrapping my other hand around her waist. “Since when did you start liking that riot girl punk shit that Andi’s playing out there?” Shrugging her shoulders, she tugs at the hem of my shirt with her free hand, and memories of her yanking it off and running her soft fingers up my chest the other night come flooding back to torture me. “Since never! It was merely small talk and me trying to apologize for my

drunken stupor the other night. I hate that music, and you of all people should know that,” she teases, poking her finger into my torso. I release my hand from her waist and hold it to her cheek. “I’ve missed you, Cori. I don’t want to waste any more time apart. Have you talked to Cooper?” The second I say his name, the smile falls from her face, taking the light from her eyes down with it. As if that doesn’t already give me a cause for concern, she releases herself from my hold, pulling away from me. “Cooper is here.” My body grows rigid. “He’s here? In Santa Cruz?” “Yes. Sitting in a booth in the next room, actually,” she admits, her

admission apologetic. “He arrived last night.” A familiar ache begins to creep out of my chest when I think about Cori not picking up my phone call last night. She didn’t pick up because she was with Cooper. And if he’s sitting in the next room, then it could only mean she hasn’t broken things off with him. Which could only mean they probably slept in the same bed—if they even slept. “Nick?” The sound of Cori’s voice pulls me from my torturous thoughts as I unconsciously grasp my chest. “Introduce me,” I spit out, surprising both Cori and myself when I say it. I really must love the torture.

Her breath quickens and her eyes ricochet back and forth between the two walls lining the long corridor. “The thing is,” Cori starts, hesitant, “Cooper doesn’t know about you.” Confused, my mind reverts back to the night at the lodge when she was on the phone with Cooper. “He doesn’t know that we’ve been hanging out all week? That night at the lodge, I thought you—” “It wasn’t Cooper,” she interrupts. “It was Mateo. Cooper doesn’t know about that night. The truth is, he doesn’t know about you at all. I never told him about you.” Wow. I don’t know how to process the information, if I should feel

disappointed or pleased, the two feelings teetering on opposite ends of a seesaw. Either my role in Cori’s life has been as insignificant as a stranger passing by in the street, nothing worth mentioning, or my significance would put every man to shame, raising the bar so far out of reach that none of them would ever be able to fill the void she secretly longed for—me. I suppose I feel a little of both. My lungs give way to a heavy sigh. If we could see the emotions written in every breath we exhale, then you wouldn’t be able to read the jumbled mess of mine. “Don’t do that,” Cori pleads. “Do what?”

Stepping closer to me, she cups her hand around my cheek and strokes it gently, a move probably too risky to be making out in the open like this, but I don’t care. I thrive in Cori’s touch, like I could be lying on my death bed and all it would take is for her to touch me in some way, and I’d feel alive again. “I know what you’re thinking, so don’t. I know it’s crazy, the fact that Cooper doesn’t know about this huge part of my past. The truth is, I don’t know why I’ve never told him about you.” “I think you know why, Cori.” She gazes into my eyes long enough for me to realize she’s not going to give me her answer. I know this Cori; I’ve

seen her. The girl who always puts on a brave face and dominates fear, a tactic she uses because she’s afraid that fear will dominate her, exposing every one of her vulnerabilities. But I see right through it. Little does she know, there is nothing braver than allowing yourself to be vulnerable to the world. She drops her hand from my cheek, turns around, and motions with her head toward the end of the hall. “Let’s go. I’ll introduce you.” “Coop, I’d like you to meet someone,” Cori announces when we reach the table. Rising from his seat and turning around, Cooper responds, “There you

are. I’d almost gone looking for you.” Selfishly, I sort of wish he had. Maybe then, he would have caught Cori and me in a compromising position, thus setting their breakup in motion. Damn. The insane thoughts that run through my head with a little Cori on the brain. Speaking of which, would it have been too much to ask if the guy could look like Freddy Krueger instead of Freddie Prinze, Jr.? “This is Nicholas Kelley,” Cori introduces us but not without adding, “my childhood friend.” “Hey, it’s you,” Cooper acknowledges, pointing his index finger at me like he knows who I am, yet I

don’t know how he could. With my hands tucked firmly in my pockets, I shrug my shoulders, forcing the hard line of my mouth into any semblance of a smile. If I had a mirror, I’m pretty sure it would tell me I failed. “Uh, yeah, I sure hope I’m me,” I respond in a lame attempt at a comeback. I’m pretty sure I failed at that, too. A wide grin spreads across his face, and damn the guy for one-upping me by unintentionally showing me how it’s done. “What I mean is, I was here last night. Sat right there at the bar.” He points to the seat at the end, now empty. “The Balvenie 17 guy. Ring a bell?” It all comes back to me. Cooper, or

at least I hadn’t known it was him— Cori’s fiancé—sat at my bar last night and irked my biggest pet peeve by ordering a Scotch I don’t carry. Luckily, he ended up being pretty cool about it, unlike some of the other douche-y yuppies I’ve encountered around here lately. If only he fit the mold, and to be quite frank, it irritates the shit out of me that he doesn’t. “That’s right. I remember now,” I recognize, removing my right hand from my pocket and offering it to him. But unless he’d mentioned the part about the Balvenie, I would have never recalled our chance meeting. My mind was so preoccupied with Cori last night that Dave Grohl and the rest of the Foo

Fighters could have sat down in front of me, and I wouldn’t have been able to separate them from the rest of the drunken fools in this place. Plus, Braiden was here, and he wouldn’t shut up over how I never told him about Cori and me. Confused, Cori looks back and forth between us. “Wait. You two met already?” “Well, not officially,” Cooper remarks, taking my hand for a firm handshake. Of course, he’s got a great handshake. “Nice to meet you, Nicholas. Cooper Reed.” “Likewise.” I release his grasp and shove my hand back into my pocket. I shoot Cori a quick side glance,

wondering if this entire situation is as awkward for her as it is for me. “So, how do you two know each other?” Cooper asks, wrapping his hand around Cori’s waist as my eyes narrow in on it, his fingers kneading into her flesh through the fabric of her shirt. Every jealous reflex of mine wants to slap his hand away. Puppies and rainbows. Puppies and rainbows. Puppies and rainbows. Whoever came up with the old puppies and rainbows trick ought to rethink it. It doesn’t fucking work. I catch a nervous swallow move down Cori’s throat before she answers, “Nicholas lived down the street from me. We went to school together.”

A few seconds of silence pass as I wait for Cori to elaborate. When she doesn’t, it bothers me that she can sum up a lifelong friendship in two measly sentences. She must sense my frustration because her eyes are apologetic. What I can’t seem to figure out is what she could possibly be sorry for, and the feeling doesn’t sit well with me. Luckily, Cooper carries the conversation in a different direction, talking about his line of work and asking questions about mine. But somehow, the conversation gets steered toward their upcoming nuptials that should no longer be deemed as upcoming. And just when I think this conversation can’t take a turn for the worse, it does. It takes a turn for

the worse, all right, when Cooper announces he and Cori’s plans of moving here, blindsiding me off the road and sending me over a fucking cliff. Only, I haven’t made impact. Because I’m still falling. “It looks like we could be neighbors.” Cooper smiles, and it’s so genuine, I can’t stand it. Not to mention, the perfect set of teeth beneath it. Seriously, he couldn’t at least have crooked teeth? Though it isn’t my intention to be rude, I don’t respond to his friendly remark. I don’t say anything because I’ve lost the words, vanishing along with any promise Cori had given me the other night. She looks so guilty that she can’t

even look at me. Perhaps it’s because her guilt is sitting on that promise, because she cruel-heartedly took it back. My lungs release a long breath of air, and it surprises me that I’m still breathing. “Man, I’m sorry.” Confused by his apology, I glance at Cori whose expression mimics mine. “Coop?” He tugs at the back of his neck, a move I usually make when I’m nervous about something. Only, I can’t imagine what he could possibly be nervous about. “I wasn’t going to say anything nor did I mean to eavesdrop, but I overheard you and your friend last night talking about your engagement, that is, if

it’s still an engagement.” The realization barrels into me so hard and fast that I feel like I may lose my balance and fall onto Cori, which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Cooper had overheard my conversation with Braiden, and I quickly run the entire thing through my head: how I was going to break off my engagement to Riley, that I never got over Cori, how she and I almost… Cooper heard it all, and yet, he doesn’t realize what he actually heard. Granted, Braiden always uses nicknames for everyone, so maybe Cori’s name never actually made it into the conversation. I don’t know whether or not I should be thankful for Braiden’s

stupid nicknames. “I didn’t mean to rub our wedding in your face, man,” Cooper says with regret in his voice. “You sound like you’re in a tough spot. I just hope everything works out, for all three of you—whatever that may be.” I notice the worry that shades Cori’s brown eyes at the mention of my predicament, but like me, she must realize Cooper has no idea. I hate seeing her like this—tense, confused, guilty—and I’m sorry this is what the last six years have boiled down to. I’m sorry that a good guy like Cooper and an amazing woman like Riley had to get caught in the middle of what they’d certainly see as betrayal.

But I’m not sorry for loving Cori all of these years. And there’s no way in hell I’m sorry for holding her and kissing her and showing her the way that I love her. I only hope she isn’t sorry about it either. “Let’s save this conversation for a rainy day, shall we? It’s getting a little too heavy for my taste,” Cori voices lightheartedly, but I get the feeling she’s sensing the awkward tension. To say you could cut it with a knife would be an understatement. Take a jackhammer to it, and it would only shave off the outer layer. “Right,” Cooper agrees. He pulls his hand from Cori’s waist and offers it to

me again for a handshake. “It was great meeting you, Nicholas. We don’t want to keep you from your work. If I had more time here, I’d say you could humor me over a few beers with some stories about my girl,” he jokes as he nods his head in Cori’s direction. “I almost wish we didn’t have to leave tomorrow.” Did I just hear that correctly? As I shake Cooper’s hand, my eyes narrow in on Cori, whose own eyes stare blankly at her feet. “Tomorrow? You’re leaving?” “Oh, come on, Coop,” she says playfully as she nudges him with her elbow, but her playful banter doesn’t reach her eyes. “You know I haven’t actually decided yet.”

I release Cooper’s hand, my eyes still focused on Cori. “But you’re considering it?” Eventually, she looks up, and I don’t need to hear her say the word because it’s shaded heavily over her brown eyes. The ones I love so much. And they’re dark. Too damn dark. She pauses before answering, “Yes.” And there it is. I’ve stopped falling. I’ve made impact. She’s leaving. Regardless if it’s tomorrow or the next day or the week after, she’s leaving. After she and I spent the last few days together. After she and I made the mess because we said it would be one worth making. After she and I said we’d clean it up together.

After all of that, and she still decides to leave. She was always going to leave. She was never going to choose me. I don’t doubt Cori’s love for Cooper. I know she loves him. But I also know he is simply another one of her tactics. She’ll stay with him if it means never having to face the fear of losing me. Love is full of risks. Losing the person you love is one of them, and you have to be willing to take it. Jumping out of an airplane, scaling down a hundred-foot cliff, and road tripping it across the country with nothing but the shirt on her back, are all risks that Cori is willing to take. Losing me isn’t one of them.

So, I applaud you, Cori. You have succeeded in getting what you want, yet again. She can never lose me. But I will always lose her.

When I return home in the early evening, I’m determined to get so shitfaced that my throat burns and my stomach turns drier than the Sahara. Even if it’s only temporary, all I want to do is forget the last glimpse of Cori I had before she walked out of the pub—

with her hand in Cooper’s. But temporary is cut even shorter with a hard knock on my front door, and when I open it, Cori is standing there. I hate the way my body deceives me at the sight of her¸ taking back the pieces of my heart so easily, putting them back together, and filling the empty space within my chest. It’s pitiful, and I’m so damn weak. I want to smile, but I don’t. It doesn’t make me any less pathetic. “What are you doing here?” I ask her coldly, turning around and leaving her in my open doorway as I stride down the hallway toward the kitchen. I open the refrigerator and rummage through it for a beer, finding the only bottle that happens to be a brew that Riley bought. I never

told her, but I don’t like it. I actually hate it, and it makes me feel even shittier. It’s my only option, and my taste buds will have to take a backseat to my needs because I need this beer. The door swings shut, and the patter of footsteps shuffling across the wooden floorboards of the hallway grows louder, stopping at the doorway of the kitchen as I sift through a drawer for a bottle opener. I rub the back of my neck, now suddenly warm and achy with the feel of Cori’s eyes burning into me. I need to open this damn beer. “I needed to see you,” she says. Pulling open another drawer, I find a few wine keys, a strainer, a couple of jiggers, muddle stick, and some bar

spoons, but no bottle opener. I have everything to make a goddamn mojito when all I want is a beer. The world really does work in mysterious ways, constantly trying to find ways to screw you in any way it can, and it doesn’t want me to have what I want. I’m going to find that fucking bottle opener if it kills me. “Does your fiancé know you’re here?” A resentful chuckle rises out of my throat along with those two words. “Cooper doesn’t know I’m here. He’s back at the house with Dad and Jamie. They’re keeping him occupied while they send me to the store for wine, or at least that’s what they told him. Dad and Jamie are winos. They always keep

their stock full,” she says with a light bounce to her voice, and even with my back turned away from her, I know she’s smiling. God, do I want to see that smile of hers, but I practice restraint and keep my body turned. “I don’t have much time.” Time. The imminent clouds of tomorrow loom over us, and I almost wish they would already pass. Because then, life without Cori can start all over again. It’s waiting for the inevitable aftermath that is most torturous. I move quickly, pulling drawers out one right after the other, drawers I’ve already searched, drawers I know a bottle opener wouldn’t be in, and slam them shut in fast, fluid motions.

“I don’t like the way we left things today.” Sweat forms along my upper lip, and I swipe it away with the back of my hand. I start opening cabinet doors, cabinets filled with dinnerware, glassware, pots, pans, condiments— clearly places I wouldn’t find a stupid bottle opener. “Please say something, Nick,” Cori pleads, her voice soft and cautious. Pots and pans and glasses and cups crash against each other as my hands lift, push, and pull through the cabinets. With the raucous clanks and clangs, nails on a chalkboard would be more sympathetic to the ears. “Nick?”

My body channels every ounce of anger coursing through my blood, and turns it into pure, heated energy as I violently slam the door of the glassware cabinet shut, the vibration of the impact rattling the glasses from within, a few of them toppling over and shattering. “How the hell do I own a fucking bar and I can’t find a single fucking bottle opener anywhere!” I roar at the top of my lungs, slamming the beer bottle down on the countertop and turning around to see Cori flinching in the doorway of the kitchen, her body paralyzed by my sudden outburst. I feel my lungs ready to explode with every rise and fall of my chest while my hands shake out-ofcontrol.

She crosses the threshold and takes a step into the kitchen. “Nick, I don’t...I never meant...I don’t know what you want me to say—” I grab the counter behind me and lean against it. My eyes, icy and cold, narrow in on her, and despite the comfortable temperature of the room, I notice when she shivers in response. “Now you’re out of words, Cori? You want me to say something, and yet, you have nothing to say to me?” “Can we not do this? I didn’t come here to argue with you.” “Then what did you come here for? To talk? As far as I’m concerned, you’ve already spoken your piece, you’ve made your decision, so there isn’t really

anything left for you to say now, is there?” She shakes her head from side to side. “I don’t want to leave things like this between us.” “Like what?” I ask, shrugging my shoulders. “Bitter. Angry. Resentful. This isn’t who we are. This isn’t who you are, Nick.” “You’ve been gone a long time. How would you know? Perhaps we don’t really know each other at all anymore. Maybe we never did.” I can tell my words sting when her jaw drops slightly, but she’s too smart to believe it. “You’re lying. I know you don’t

believe that,” she asserts as she walks in my direction and stops in the middle of the kitchen, standing directly under the gleam of the dim lights as the shadows contour her heart-shaped face and hide her eyes. Darkness or not, I can see the fear in them, a thin layer of it glossing over each one. “I don’t know, Cori. I mean, the reason why you turned to Cooper all those years ago was because he understood what you were going through, right? Because I didn’t?” The only other words worse than Cori possibly telling me she doesn’t love me, are the ones she’d said that night at the lodge—that Cooper understood her. That someone she hadn’t

known for more than a few months understood her better than the person who had known her all her life. “That’s not fair,” she argues, running a frustrated hand through her tousled hair. “And that’s not what I meant.” “Oh, really?” I question as I cross my arms over my chest, turning my frown into a smug grin. “Because it sure as hell sounded that way.” “Jesus, Nick! This isn’t you. You’re upset and have every right to be, but please, this isn’t how I want to leave things between us. This isn’t how I want to say goodbye.” I scoff. “So, that’s what this is? Goodbye? I always assumed goodbyes came in depressing letters and white

envelopes. I guess I should thank you for not leaving one on the front seat of my car this time.” “That was low.” “No, it really isn’t,” I protest, pointing my index finger at her. “I can give you low, but then I won’t be able to take it back.” She runs both of her hands over the sides of her head and tugs her hair at the roots. “Be mad at me, Nick. Be angry. I can live with that. But I can’t live with you hating me. Just please don’t hate me.” She catches her breath like she just completed a marathon. She’s worn and wasted. Her eyes, heavy and spent and shaded a pale red, begin to pool with

water in the outer corners of her eyes. Ten seconds ago, that would have done it for me. My weak ass would have strode over to her, thrown my arms around her body, and cradled her tightly. But I’m paralyzed. Speechless. Incapacitated by her belief that I could hate her. God forbid that after death, the universe decides to be cruel, and brings us back in another life as enemies—even then, I would never hate Cori. My mind would force me to, but my soul? No matter what life I’m in, my soul stays with me, and it could never hate her. It’s not remotely possible, and it kills me that the idea would even cross her mind. I push myself off the counter and take slow steps toward her. “Is that what you

think, Cori? That I hate you?” Her anxiety grows in the way she fidgets as the space separating us closes in. “Why wouldn’t you? I hate myself. I figured you do, too.” When I reach her and our bodies can’t be any closer, I cradle her face in both my hands, taking a second to breathe in the sight of her; this may be the last time I do. Her cheeks are pink, matching the color of her trembling lips. Mascara is smudged across her eyelids, and if the dark patches beneath her eyes are any indication that she’s lost sleep over the past few days, it doesn’t make her any less stunning. “How can you say that?” I ask. With

my hands still cradling her cheeks, I bend at my knees, lowering myself so that our eyes are leveled, my lips lined perfectly with hers, and her body tenses when I do. “I love you, Corinne Bennett. I am so desperately in love with you. I’ve always known it. In every photo we took, every embrace, every laugh, every smile—I loved you. In all your stubborn ways and crazy stunts, I loved you. I loved you long before I knew what it felt like to feel your lips on mine, and I loved you even more after I did. I’ve loved you every day you’ve been gone. Even as my heart breaks for you this very second, I love you. I will never stop loving you. So tell me, Cori, how can I hate you when I’ve done nothing

but love you?” I’ve emptied my heart, pouring every ounce of love out of it, the effects of my admission leaving it hollow, cold. Not only is it an empty heart now, but one covered in endless cracks. A cracked and empty heart. I pity the person who’d even want an attempt at fixing it. Cori’s eyelids flutter in sync with her quivering lips, but she remains silent. Her eyes squint, using every effort like a dam of a river bed to hold back her tears, ready to spill out any moment. “I know you feel it, too, Cori. You felt it back then, and you feel it now. Your father and I—we’re the reasons why you left in the first place. The two of us are the only ones who could ever

break through that hard shell you wear, and that scares the shit out of you. Your dad broke through it that night. And after what happened between us, you knew I’d eventually break through it, too. “And I get it. What you and I share, it’s scary. It’s really fucking scary because we could have everything together and lose it all. It’s risky and it terrifies me but I know it’ll be worth it. Because I want you. I want us. It’s been you and me since day one, Cori, and I want it to be you and me for the rest of our lives. Whatever fears you have going into this, we’ll face them together. So please, stop running, and stay with me. Just...be with me.” Her mouth pushes into a frown and

her lips tremble wildly, and when a single tear finds a way to permeate her reluctance to simply let go, I’m handed a small piece of hope, and clutch it in my fist with all my might. Maybe, just maybe, I’ve gotten through to her. “I can’t.” And just like that, I open up my hands to find them empty. The hope— gone. Obliterated. Evaporated into nothingness. I back away from her, scolding my stupidities for getting in the way of my integrity, or what I’ve managed to salvage of it. She brushes her fingers against her cheek, wiping away the wet remnants of the lone tear, the only one that managed to escape the dam. When I look in her

eyes again, they’re empty and dry, like a lake ridden with drought, any sign that water even existed, gone. It’s disturbing. My eyes gloss over, and I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut. “So, this is it then? This is how we’re going to leave it? You’re going to leave and marry Cooper, and I’m going to end things with Riley and—” I hesitate, “live without you. Again.” “Do you have to?” I look at her, confused, because of course I have to live without her. She has given me no choice. But then I realize I’ve misconstrued her question. Stupid, pathetic me. “You don’t have to, Nick. You don’t have to end things with her. You deserve

every happiness. And I know she can give that to you. Please don’t do it for me because I would never ask you to end things with her.” She still doesn’t get it. If she thinks my feelings for Riley have only been temporarily compromised because of her, she can’t be more wrong. It’s sort of like a recovering alcoholic going without a drink for so many years, only to have his sobriety jeopardized when he comes face-to-face with booze. All it takes is one taste to trigger the memories, to help him remember what he’s been missing, and to make him forget the years he survived without it. If he can simply get past the temptation, he’ll realize that life without

it is possible, as the previous years have proved. The truth is, I will never be sober; relapses are inevitable. Whether Cori is sitting in the next room or she’s on the other side of the world, my feelings will always be compromised, and I can’t continue to string Riley along knowing my heart is somewhere else. “You’ve asked me to do a lot of things, Cori, but this one is all me. Riley deserves every happiness. More than I can say for myself. And I can’t give her that.” “I’m sorry, Nick,” she apologizes as she looks down at her feet. She can’t even make eye contact when she says it. I turn away, rest my hands against the

edge of the counter, and hang my head low between my shoulders. It’s the photo of a man defeated. Crushed. A loser in the greatest game of his life. And it’s one I want to rip up and never see again for as long as I live. My head slumped, I breathe out a tired sigh, the last of my energy exerted through my final, achy breath. “I waited six years for you, Cori. I don’t know if I can do it again. If this is it, don’t expect me to wait for you.” Silence ensues, squeezing every last bit of tension out of the room. Cori’s feet shuffle against the silence, the sound of them growing further away, moving toward the threshold of the kitchen. “I’m sorry.”

The quick taps of her shoes echo down the hall, silenced by the loud thud of the door. Here it is. The start of tomorrow. This is what I wanted—tomorrow. So why do I still wish it was yesterday?

It’s been over two weeks, and this piece of paper is still as blank as it was when Mateo shoved it in front of me. He’s certainly taking his job as my best person very seriously. Perhaps too seriously. Because he’s staring down at me in

the same way Mr. Blackman would whenever he’d catch us passing notes in sixth grade science. With the glare of his grey eyes, eyebrow cocked, and one arm planted on his hips while the other holds his coffee mug, Mateo doesn’t look pleased, and I’m certain he’s ready to pull out a yellow detention slip from his back pocket. “Seriously, Corinne? Two weeks and you still don’t have anything?” he questions, the irritation evident in the slight drop of his scruff-free jaw. If anyone has the right to be irritated, it’s me. Mateo rolled out of bed ten minutes ago, and he looks like he’s ready to walk the runway at New York Fashion Week. I’m lucky if I wake up without my

hair looking like a freaking bird’s nest. But if I’m being honest, my irritation has nothing to do with Mateo and his perfectly dark, side-swept hair, or the glow of his skin, or the oleander tint of his cheeks. Okay, maybe it does a tiny bit. I bring my eyes back to the pristine white page. “It’s more difficult than you’d think.” “Since when has it been difficult for you to put words to paper?” he asks as he takes a seat in the chair next to mine at the dining table. “These are your wedding vows, love. It should be the easiest thing you write in your life.” I snap my eyes toward him. “Is it, Mateo?” Papers scatter in all directions

when I reach across the table and yank the wedding to-do checklist from the bottom of the stack. “As easy as it is for you to make little check marks on your damn list?” My voice flares as the thud of the page against the hard surface reverberates beneath my hand. I quickly regret my catty behavior when I catch a hard swallow move down Mateo’s throat. He’s only trying to help. If it weren’t for him, in fact, half of the checkboxes on this list would probably be check-less. “I’m sorry,” I apologize, leaning my elbow on the table and resting my head in my hand. With the other, I pick up the pen and twirl it with my fingers. “You didn’t deserve that. There is just so

much to do and so little time. I mean, where the hell does time go? August has come and gone, and it’s like ‘poof!’ I’m getting married next week. I’m overwhelmed and exhausted.” The six o’clock involuntary wake-up call catches up to me in the form of a long, breathy yawn. My eyes travel to the stacks of papers and wedding magazines scattered across the table, to the clutter of empty boxes in the middle of our living room. Surprisingly, Mateo hasn’t said anything about the boxes or why I’ve failed to start packing them. His OCD should have kicked in by now, and I sort of wish it had because he’d be saving me the burden of having to pack them myself.

The warmth of his hand on my forearm pulls my focus back to him. “Okay, doll. Spill it,” he says as he takes a sip of his coffee. I stop twirling my pen and shoot Mateo a sidelong glance. “Spill what?” I ask, my voice low and nonchalant. “Come on, doll. Don’t you dare shut me out now. Ever since you got back, you haven’t said much about your trip home. You and Daddy Dearest are good now, but you’ve been mopey all week. I get depressed simply looking at you. For the love of God, you’re getting married! You should look like a blushing bride, not Uncle-Fucking-Fester! Those dark circles aren’t very flattering, and I’m only telling you this because I love you

to pieces.” “Not all of us are as blessed as you are,” I say, placing a kiss on his cheek as I stand from my chair, walk to the living room, and plop myself on the couch. Mateo follows with his cup in hand and takes a seat on the opposite end. “Stop avoiding the conversation, love. Plus, you owe me for covering your shifts at the bar for the extra days you were away.” I roll my eyes at him for using that as a bargaining chip. “I said thank you. And don’t forget the offer I made, which you stupidly denied.” “One week of you doing my laundry, and I’ll need a new wardrobe by the end of it. I’m good.”

I stick my tongue out at Mateo, allowing a few seconds of New York City silence to stir the air. He slurps his coffee, eyeing me intently, and when the floorboards of our pre-war building begin to creak above us in uneven and erratic beats, he and I both glance upwards. It must mean Mrs. Marchetti opted for Richard Simmons this morning, rather than Sit and Be Fit, and I giggle at the image. Mateo catches me, his smile mirroring my own, but it isn’t long before my funk returns and tugs the upward curl of my lips back down. “It’s that friend of yours, isn’t it?” he utters. That friend. I hate the sound of those two words as they roll out of Mateo’s

mouth because God, he can’t be more wrong. Those two words hardly come close to explaining what Nick means to me. Take every language in the world, and there wouldn’t be enough words to explain this man’s importance in my life. To refer to Nick as that friend is the biggest insult I could ever dishonor him with. Well, aside from the insult of leaving him after I teased him with my heart, wrapped it up, and dangled it in front of him, only to take it back before he had the chance to open it. If you looked up the definition of Indian Giver, you would find my picture beside it. And here I am. With my heart—still wrapped, barely beating, and completely

broken. Moisture pricks at my eyes, but I fight the urge, breathing steadily until the sting subsides. My legs leave the floor, and I lie across the couch and place my feet on Mateo’s lap. “Foot massage for my thoughts?” I propose, wiggling my toes. He places his cup on the coffee table and takes my left foot in his hands. “Girl, you are lucky you have pretty feet,” he teases. “Because I would not be touching these things otherwise.” And I do what he has asked; I spill it. All of it. Nicholas Kelley and every last drop of the past couple weeks—our reunion, Riley, the lodge, the almost-sex, the unresolved feelings—leaving it to

soak in Mateo’s thoughts, and hoping by some miracle he can help me figure out a way to clean it all up. “Good lord! Shall we cue the hourglass credits and the Days of Our Lives theme song now?” he mocks with wide eyes. “I have to say, I am a little envious you have two men vying for your affections. You know, I’m more than happy to take one of them off your hands if you need me to.” Ignoring Mateo’s attempt at humor, I groan and press my fingers to my temples. “May I remind you that one of those men is hardly aware he’s vying for anything? I hate myself. I’m a terrible person.” “No, love. You are far from terrible.

You’re merely in love and confused.” He sets my left foot on his lap and picks up my right. “Do you remember when we met?” “How can I forget? I couldn’t stand you,” I remind him with a playful wink. “Well, the feeling was mutual. You walked into that bar like you owned the place, strutting around that perky ass of yours, and it was your first day on the job,” Mateo recounts, pausing my foot massage to flip his long, imaginary hair over his shoulder in his best Corinne impression. “You had enough confidence to make your head explode.” I nudge his shoulder with my foot, before sitting up on the sofa and curling my legs into my chest. “If we’re going to

point out flaws here, you have a bad habit of digressing off topic.” “Who said confidence is a flaw? And I haven’t digressed because there is a point to all of this,” Mateo says as he faces me and sits Indian-style. “Look, doll, you are the most confident bitch I know. In everything you do, you own it. I adore that about you. But you’re only human, and it’s okay to be vulnerable. I don’t see that side of you often, but I see it every time you speak of Nicholas. He makes you vulnerable. And that scares you, doesn’t it?” With my head hung low, I look at him from beneath my lashes. “I don’t get scared, Mateo,” I murmur, but my response is so pathetic, I’m not so sure I

convince myself. Now, it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “God, you are a stubborn, stubborn woman,” he groans, shaking his head from side to side. “You are living in denial, and you will never truly be happy if you continue to live that way. The only thing denial does is feed the fear you’ve struggled to starve. So, stop feeding it. It’s not too late to find your happiness. You’re in love with Nicholas, doll. You can’t deny that.” I couldn’t even if I tried. I can’t deny my love for Nick any more than I can deny my need to breathe. “You don’t need me to figure this out for you. That blank sheet of paper and those empty boxes say it all.”

I hug my knees and rest the side of my head against them. My eyes follow the streak of morning sun as it trickles through the window and shines like a halo around the empty boxes. It’s strange, considering this side of the apartment faces a courtyard and never gets much light. Perhaps it’s some sort of a heavenly sign? A nudge from the man Himself up there, telling me that I need to hurry up, pack my shit, and move out of here and in with Cooper. Cue the harps and choir because I hear a hallelujah coming. Only, this hallelujah is not the one I expect. Because I think Mateo is right. If my fruitless attempts at filling that page with my words and these boxes

with my belongings are any indication of what I’ve always known in my heart, then I can’t waste any more time. I know what I need to do. But Mateo might be wrong about one thing. It may already be too late. I’m sitting at the dining table in near darkness when Cooper walks through my door, the only light shining from the table lamp in the living room. With his grey suit jacket tossed over his shoulder and the collar of his shirt unbuttoned, he trudges out of the dark threshold as the jingle of his keys clanks against the table by the entrance. The twelve hours at the office must’ve been unkind to him, as his

disheveled hair and the drag of his step suggest. But the second he meets my gaze, I forget I’m even sitting in the dark because the spark in his eyes and the curl of his grin are enough to light up every corner of the room. The image of him standing there, smiling because of me, wrings the ache out of my heart. He crosses the room with a slight bounce to his step, his smile never leaving him, and throws his jacket over the back of the chair. “A little dramatic, don’t you think?” he teases when he steps in front of me, taking my hand and pulling me from my seat. He lays a sweet kiss on my lips as his hands cradle each side of my face.

“What are you doing sitting in the dark, baby?” I bring my hands to his cheeks. The gentle gaze of his bright blues never fails to make my heart do funny dances in my chest, but when my head finally catches up to it, scolding it to quit acting a fool, it stops. A few of his blond locks fall delicately over his face, and my fingers brush them back into place before moving to the smooth curve of his jaw. “Waiting for you,” I tell him. “Mateo home?” he asks as he places another kiss on my lips before walking to the living room. “At work.” “Good, because I have to tell you, he’s gone mad if he thinks I’m going to

wear a top hat with my tux.” He flips on the lights. “His sense of fashion is about a hundred years behind. It’s 2001. Not 1901.” Carefully, I watch Cooper, each of my hands tugging nervously at the other as he looks around the brightly-lit room. The delight on his face reminds me of a kid on Christmas morning, a kid in awe of the candy-filled stockings lining the fireplace and the mountains of presents wrapped neatly in festive paper. I didn’t think it was possible to hate myself more than I already do, because how do you tell that kid everything is about to be taken away from him? “It looks like I wasn’t the only one who was productive today,” Cooper

acknowledges, running a hand though his messy hair. He walks to the other end of the living room, where the wall is neatly lined with a dozen stacked boxes, filled and sealed tightly. “Maybe we can start moving some of these this weekend. What do you think?” I slowly make my way to the living room. Earlier today, I wouldn’t have been able to walk a foot in this place without falling over something. You can live in the mess you make, or you can clean it up. So, I did it. I packed it all up. I brace my arms against the back of the sofa as my head hangs low between my shoulders, the motion bringing me thoughts of Nick and the day I’d left him

in his kitchen. Quickly, I push myself up. “The school called today. They wanted to know if I’ve accepted the position.” Cooper turns toward me, his face beaming. “Great! When do you start?” I suck in a breath of air before whispering, “I declined it.” I’m not sure he hears me, but when the curl of his mouth slightly drops, I know he must have. “Wait,” he hesitates, his eyes squinting beneath the furrow of his brow. “You declined it? You were so thrilled when they offered it to you. Why didn’t you accept it?” I want to ask Cooper to sit, but there’s something so foreboding about asking a person to do that in

conversation. Whether he sits or stands, it won’t change what I’m about to say; the effect of my words will make the same impact. But before I even say the words, he notices the handwriting on the boxes and moves closer to take a look. My lungs just might explode as I watch him, because with every rise and fall of my chest, I’m inhaling more than I’m exhaling. But I may have underestimated them. “What…what is this, Corinne?” His fingers trace over the Santa Cruz address scribbled in black marker on one of the boxes. And then he notices the other eleven boxes, marked in the exact same way. “It’s a little soon to be packing up

for Santa Cruz, no?” he jokes but it never reaches his smile. “We’re not even married yet. Corinne?” he says my name, looking at me over his shoulder. Moisture pools in the corners of my eyes, my breath hitching when I respond, “I’m going home, Coop.” “Home? Yeah, home with me. You’re moving in with me, obviously.” His smile disappears behind a forced chuckle. “We’re…we’re getting married,” he stutters. I walk around the couch and stand in front of him. The urge to wrap my arms around his neck is quickly subdued by my guilt, and I slowly shake my head as the dreaded words escape my throat. “I can’t marry you, Coop.”

I’ve never seen a person grow so pale in a matter of seconds. It’s as if my admission punctured a hole in Cooper’s chest and drained every drop of blood from his body. “What do you mean? I don’t…I’m not understanding what you’re saying, Corinne. You’re joking. You can’t be serious, right?” I sniff back a tear. “I’m sorry.” “Wait. You are serious,” Cooper realizes, wiping his hands down his face before planting them on his hips. His glossy eyes grow wide with disbelief. “You really are serious. I don’t understand, Corinne. Where...where is all this coming from?” I take his hand in mine, and the cold

feel of it is unsettling. A part of me thinks he might resist, but surprisingly, he doesn’t. I lead him to the couch and we sit, our hands still intertwined. “I haven’t been completely honest with you. And though you may not see it this way, I never meant to hurt you. There’s a reason why you and I got together, Coop. When you came into my life, I was a mess. I let you in because you understood what I was going through. You were there for me. We grew close. We fell in love. And apparently, they say everything else is just history, right?” He doesn’t answer, but I don’t expect him to. I search his eyes for a sign he’s still with me, and he is. But

he’s slowly disappearing behind the curtain of confusion and hurt. I continue. “The thing is, everything else isn’t just history for me. My history means as much to me as my future does. I know I promised you my future, but I can’t give it to you if I’m still holding on to the past.” Cooper releases my hand and leans back into the corner of the couch. He runs his hands over his face, and I notice the trail of wet residue smeared across his left cheek. His eyes stay fastened to the floor, and I hate that he can’t even look at me. “What is it, Corinne? What is it about your past that you can’t let go of?” I take a deep breath before

answering, “Nicholas.” At the sound of Nick’s name, Cooper’s eyes shoot like darts in my direction. Disbelief, anger, and heartache gloss over his eyes, and I can only assume it all makes sense to him now. I lose track of time with each minute briskly melting into the next. One minute, he’s sitting on the couch beside me, taking in everything I have to say, and the next, he’s pacing the living room, his heavy footsteps and voice echoing through the air and vibrating against the windows. I flinch when he slams his hand against the wall. Between each of his achy breaths is a ‘how could you?’ and ‘I never thought you could do this,’

and all I want to do is throw my arms around him and tell him how sorry I am. But even I know there aren’t enough sorry’s in the world to rectify the damage I’ve caused. When he calms, he asks for the entire story—Nick’s and my story—and I give it willingly because Cooper deserves to know it all. He needs to understand why, but all I want to do is curl up in a ball when he asks if there was something he could have done differently. The sting of those words are like taking a thousand of the sharpest needles to my heart, and I bend over my knees and bury my face in my hands as tears prick at my eyes. My breaths are shaky, and I wipe away the moisture with my palms before the tears

break out in floods. The couch dips, and when I sit back up, Cooper is next to me, a crimson halo circling each of his eyes. He brings a hand to my cheek and brushes away a fallen tear with his thumb. I press my face into his hand, finding comfort in the warmth of it. Releasing his hand, he shifts his weight forward and leans his elbows over his knees. “Your friend, Braiden. He calls you Benster, doesn’t he?” he asks, his voice now low and calm. “Yeah. How do you know that?” I question, pulling my legs into my chest and hugging my knees. Cooper shakes his head and smirks, staring down at his crossed hands. “When I was at the bar that night, he kept

referring to you as Benster. I didn’t put two and two together. Now that I think about it…” He trails off. “Love makes you see only the best in people,” I shamefully admit. “It blinds you of the possibility that they could hurt you.” It’s an awful truth and one that I’ve seen both sides of. “I’m sorry, Coop. I’m so, so sorry.” He shoots me a sidelong glance. “I’m sorry, too. Better now than at the altar, right?” he attempts at a joke, trying to make light of the situation as his mouth tugs at a one-sided smile. But I can see how much this is crushing him. There is no doubt in my mind—I love Cooper. A part of me always will. But as I reflect back on my dad’s words,

I realize now the love I feel for Cooper isn’t the kind of love you give to someone you vow to spend your life with. He deserves to have that. And I do, too.

DATE: Monday, September 10 at 9:31am FROM: Corinne Bennett TO: Nicholas Kelley SUBJECT: And the award for the Biggest Chicken Shit on the Planet goes to...

Come on, Nick. Did you honestly think I would begin this e-mail by giving away the best part of it? That would be like giving away the twist of The Others, revealing from the get-go that Nicole Kidman’s character is a ghost. I saw that one a couple of weeks ago. A total Sixth Sense rip-off but still creepy nonetheless. I should’ve noted the spoiler alert at the beginning of the email, but let’s be real here. You were never going to watch it anyway. I always did love watching you squirm whenever we’d put on a good horror flick. It was quite cute, actually. We’d snuggle close to one another, your arm wrapped tightly around me, even though you knew I

wasn’t scared, but you needed the comfort more than I did, and I didn’t mind it at all. Why do you think I made you watch them with me in the first place? I wanted to call you instead of writing this e-mail. And I tried. But do you know how long I stared at my phone, debating whether or not I should pick it up and dial? Imagine the entire Boyz II Men album on repeat to the point that I’ve had to retire my favorite way to depress myself, because I completely scratched the shit out of it (RIP, Boyz. Thanks for the depressing times). The truth is, I was scared to call you. There. I said it.

I. Was. Scared. I don’t know what was worse—the anxiety of waiting for you to pick up, or the agony of waiting for you to call me back if I had to leave a message. Maybe both. No matter what, I was too afraid to find out. Why do you think I wrote that letter when I left six years ago? I was too afraid to face you. I wasn’t any less afraid back then than I am now. I shouldn’t have left you, Nick. The minute I returned to New York, I knew it. New York should have felt familiar. Cooper should have felt like home. Yet, they both felt so foreign to me. I already knew it, but I was too damn stubborn to

see it. I spoke with Tess last week. It wasn’t easy getting that girl on the phone, but you know how tenacious I can be. After the thirtieth call, she decided it would be easier to pick up and hear me out, rather than see my name flash across her caller ID once more. So, we talked. It might not be sunshine and rainbows between the two of us from here on out, but it’s a work-in-progress. I suppose she’s a little suspicious of my intentions when it comes to you, especially when I left, again, but how can I blame her? She’ll never admit it, but she’s our biggest fan, Nick. She always has been.

Tess told me about your breakup with Riley and how she didn’t take it well. Of course she didn’t. She had her heart broken by the person she planned on spending the rest of her life with. I only met Riley once, but I know enough to see why you fell for her. She’s a good person, just like you, Nick. Selfless. Loving. Just amazingly good. But good people get their hearts broken, too, and she lost you. God, Nick. Riley is going through the very thing I’ve feared ever since you and I crossed that line from friendship to more. The reason why I left six years ago. The reason why I’ve stayed away for so long. Losing you.

I know you’re hurting, and I’m sorry for that. But honestly, Nick, I’m not sorry you’re not with her anymore. Is it wrong that I felt more hope than regret when Tess told me about the breakup? That the first thought that crossed my mind was what it meant for me? What it meant for us? Go ahead. Call me selfish. Call me inconsiderate. When it comes to you, Nick, I will always be selfish because I want you for myself. Mateo said the easiest thing I would write in my life were my wedding vows. How wrong he was because THIS is the easiest thing I will ever write:

You’re my best friend. You always will be, but I want it all, Nick. The good and the bad. The friendship. The love. The fights. The makeups. The kisses. The late nights. The early mornings. The lazy afternoons. ’Til death do us part. The 2.5 kids. The minivan. Us. You and me. Cori and Nick. Our initials etched into the cement in front of Kelley’s. All of it. Forever. We may have fallen out of touch, Nick, but I never fell out of us, because I will never stop falling for you. I’ve always known I wanted this…wanted us…and to say that I was in denial would be the biggest understatement.

You said you couldn’t wait for me, Nick, but I’m asking you...wait for me. Please don’t let it be too late for us. After everything I put you through, I don’t deserve your patience, but I’m taking advantage of your compassion and asking you for it; I’m begging you for it. We’ve wasted so much time already. We’ve allowed time to dictate our past, but please don’t allow it to dictate our future. I’m finally coming home for good...to Santa Cruz...to you, packed and ready to go. I have baggage, but who doesn’t? So please...just wait. Now, the moment you’ve been waiting for. The big reveal. The twist. The biggest chicken shit on the planet? Drum

roll please... It’s me. It has always been me, Nick, not you, because you were never afraid to cross that line with me, nor were you ever afraid to love me. So, thank you for being brave for us. Thank you for showing me how to face my fears. But most of all, thank you for loving me. There you have it. Corinne Bennett— vulnerable, gutless, and a chicken shit. Did I also mention jobless? Wow. What a catch I am. I’m on a flight early tomorrow morning. My dad said he’d pick me up at the airport, but...I think he’d understand if

you told him you’d like the honors. But only if you want to. Only if you’ve decided to wait for me. And I hope you have. Because I’m finally coming home. All my love, Cori

I know what it feels like to lose Cori. I’ve experienced it not once, but twice in my life. To watch the person you love walk away because they can’t love you back has to be the most gutwrenching pain one can endure. But at least they’d still be here, even if they

decided to run off to the furthest corner of the world, they’d still be out there, somewhere—out of your life but at least living in the same world as you and breathing the same air. Until today, I didn’t know what it felt like to really lose her. Because now I’m faced with a very different reality: the possibility that she is gone. That Corinne Bennett—best friend and love of my life —no longer exists in this world. That instead of flesh and blood, all that remains of the vivacious, impulsive, beautiful woman I have loved my entire life are the memories of her tucked away in my mind. That I could walk the world from end to end, or travel the infinite trails of the universe, and I still won’t

find her. She still won’t be here. I lost count, but as I redial Cori’s number for what feels like the hundredth time, every busy signal chips away at any hope I have of seeing her again. Each minute that passes without any assurance of her safety, my heart beats just a little bit less and breaks just a little bit more. “Come on, goddamn it!” I curse, glaring down at my phone, as if yelling at it will miraculously put Cori on the other end of the line. Squeezing my eyes shut, I’m ready to hurl it against the wall so it smashes into oblivion, because if I get one more busy signal, I’m going to fucking lose it. But I know I can’t do that because if

—no, when Cori calls—I have to be ready to pick up. My breathing grows heavy but short. I haven’t slowed my pace since Henry’s frantic phone call this morning when he told me to turn on my TV. As I continue to watch the catastrophic events unfold, a tight knot forms inside my chest when I reflect back to yesterday after reading Cori’s e-mail, thinking to myself how I pitied anyone who would wake up to a normal Tuesday morning. And it should have been for some—the routine of work or school ready to greet them as dawn broke through the night, as it does every day. Nothing about today was supposed to be normal for me. I was on top of the

world because the girl I loved would finally be where she belonged—back home and in my arms. We all know now there is absolutely nothing normal about today. Not for anybody. My landline rings in the kitchen, and I’m flying through the living room, picking up the receiver even before the end of the first ring. My arms instinctively brace my weight upon impact with the kitchen counter. “Cori?” I pick up, holding my breath as I wait for her voice on the other end. “It’s me,” Tess answers. I fall silent, my breaths rolling out in slow, defeated exhales. Part of me knew it couldn’t be Cori because she doesn’t

have my house number. In the three seconds it took me to run from the living room to the kitchen, I hoped that by chance, she had asked Braiden, Tess, or Henry for my number. Perhaps she couldn’t reach me on my cell phone because I tied up my line trying to reach her. I realize now that’s the hope talking. “God, Nicholas.” Her voice cracks through the silence. “You haven’t gotten ahold of her, have you?” My vision blurs as moisture pools in the corners of my eyes. “I haven’t.” “Why is this happening, Nicholas? Those people. God, all those people.” She draws in a sharp breath. “She’s okay. I know she’s okay,” Tess tries to

assure, and I’m thankful for her positivity. On the other hand, her hesitation is only a confirmation of her doubt. “I mean, this is Corinne we’re talking about. Right, Nicholas? She has to be okay.” I know what she wants to hear. Yes, Tess. Of course she’s okay. God knows that’s what I want to tell her. But The Rolling Stones said it best —we can’t always get what we want, and especially today, it’s a cruel, ugly truth. “Look Tess, I—” “There are reports of another plane,” Tess interrupts, sniffing through her uneven breaths. “Bound for San Francisco, Nicholas.”

My knees buckle, and I slide against the kitchen counter down to the cold surface of the linoleum floor. My heart feels like it’s given up, but I don’t see how that’s possible, since I’m still breathing. With my other hand gripped around my cell phone, I bring it over my chest, making sure there is still a pulse. Tess’s voice shakes. “What airport was she flying into?” “Um, I don’t—” I hold the receiver between my ear and shoulder and tug a fistful of my hair. Maybe if I pull hard enough, it will ease the pain off my chest. It doesn’t. “What’s her flight number? Nicholas?” “I don’t…no she was flying into…it

wasn’t San Fr…it was San…I can’t remember.” I stutter through my panic, squeezing my temples as a tear slides down my cheek. I try to recall my conversation last night with Henry when I told him I’d meet Cori at the airport. Only now, that conversation sounds as distorted as this kitchen looks beneath my teary vision. The only clarity I have is in Cori’s email because I pretty much memorized the entire thing. Despite me telling her I couldn’t wait, the truth is, I would have waited, regardless if she sent that e-mail or not. I would have waited months. Years. Possibly even forever. Because a life without her would have never made sense. And if I close my eyes, I can

practically hear her reading it aloud, hearing that cute giggle of hers in between her jokes and the soothing octave her voice carries when she’s serious. I’d give anything to hear her voice again. If her phone would at least ring to voicemail, I’d hear it. But as my finger redials, each busy tone is merely another rip at my heart. If I could just leave her a message, I’d tell her I waited. That I’m waiting for her. Just like she asked.

Two days later…

The dashboard clock says it’s one p.m. I crossed the Illinois/Indiana border not long ago, so I guess technically it’s four o’clock, that is, if Indiana’s considered part of the Eastern time zone. It could technically be Central, making it three o’clock. Unless Indiana doesn’t observe daylight savings. Or maybe it’s Arizona that doesn’t observe it. Yeah, Arizona. Definitely Arizona. That means it’s four o’clock. Right? Screw the technicalities. My mind is exhausted, delirious even. I’ve been on the road for forty-seven hours now, gas stops, bathroom breaks, and naps included. I think that includes meals, too, if a couple bags of beef jerky and a few packs of Twinkies constitute as a meal.

Forty-five of those hours have been silent. Switching off the radio the second hour into my drive, I couldn’t take it any longer, with every single station covering the tragic events of Tuesday morning, regardless of the airwaves, regardless if the station was a Rock, Pop, Country, Rap, R&B, Alternative, or Christian Rock station. They were all talking about it. The four planes. The two towers. The Pentagon. 11. 175. 77. 93. Ground Zero. Thousands injured. 9/11. Tragedy and devastation in numbers. Except for one: casualties unknown. That’s the one that gets me the most, that so many lives were lost, the task of identifying every one of those souls

nearly impossible. Even when most are accounted for, some will go unidentified. Unidentified. Another way in which life can be cruel, giving you an identity to live by, only to take it away in death. Robbing you of your name, your story, and everything you lived for. She could have been the single mom, working two jobs to make ends meet just to afford daycare for her child. Or maybe he was the CEO of his company on a routine business trip. Or maybe he was the young college grad, looking forward to his first day on the job in the real world. Or like Cori, the young woman simply going home, ready to face her fears, ready to truly live.

Whoever they were, every one of them had a life. A story to tell. Now trapped in a numerical uncertainty. I couldn’t listen to it anymore, so I’d turned it off. But it doesn’t mean I could turn it off as easily in my head because no matter what, the events that had unfolded that day will forever be scarred into my memory. It’s only been two days since, but come tomorrow, next year, or fifty years from now, the memories will remain fresh in my mind. I’m about forty-five minutes outside of Indianapolis, but if I don’t stop now, my gas will surely run out, and God forbid I have any setbacks, considering how close I am. I pull off the nearest exit on the Interstate and head for the first gas

station I see. It’s only then that I actually take in my surroundings, noticing the flat, desolate geography of the landscape. It baffles me that I would pay attention to this and somewhere behind me, I’d completely missed the Petrified Forest and the Grand Canyon. I think I may have passed the Gateway Arch back in St. Louis. It just shows how focused I’ve been, how consumed I am by my thoughts. The first gas station I come across looks like something out of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Cori made me watch it once when we were kids, and I was creeped out for days. Tess hated me that week; I practically begged her to let me sleep on her floor. Of course, she

dangled it over my head and used it as blackmail for a while. I park beside a gas pump and take in the sight of the small, worn building, simply named ‘Grocery Store’ as written on the tattered sign in bold capital letters on the front. A dull grey is exposed in patches beneath the chipped white of the building’s exterior. Rust lines every inch of the tin rooftop, and what looks like a broken window with a small bullet hole should be enough to send me running for the hills. The place creeps me out, but I stop anyway. I stop mainly because I need gas, but I also think I do it because Cori would get a kick out of this. The thought makes me smile. After I pump the gas, I go inside the

store for a bottle of water, and when I step inside, it isn’t at all what I expect. It’s bright and clean, the shelves neat and fully stocked as they would be at your local 7-Eleven, and at the cash register is a young girl, blonde and petite, probably not older than sixteen or seventeen. Her attention is focused on a small television on the opposite counter, and she isn’t aware of my presence until I step up to the register with the bottle of water, and startle her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear ya come in,” she apologizes, the mid-west twang ringing through her voice. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” I say. “I thought you might’ve heard me pull up out front.”

“No worries. Just a little on edge, that’s all.” I give her a reassuring smile. “I think we all are.” As she rings up the water bottle, my eyes focus on the TV behind her, and she notices. “A dollar twenty-five, please. You know they started openin’ up the airports today. That’s what they’re talkin’ about now. But they’re sayin’ it’ll prolly take days, if not weeks to get all those stranded passengers back home, until everything’s back to normal, ya know?” Normal. I’m not quite sure what normal is anymore. Without responding, I hand her two dollar bills. She opens the register, places the two bills neatly

into it, and pulls out my change. “It’s kinda bittersweet. My dad and I, we run this place, and we’ve had more business the past couple of days than in the past month,” she admits, handing me the three quarters. “Not many people roll through this town, but because of the grounded flights, lots of ’em been driving through here. I’ve met a lot of nice people the past couple days. It’s sorta ironic the way tragedy brings people together, don’t ya think?” I couldn’t agree more. In no time, I’m back on the road again, flying down the Interstate as fast as the speed limit will allow, plus some, and finally, in my forty-eighth hour, I make it.

Never in a million years did I think I would ever step foot in Indianapolis. I don’t hear people really talking about visiting Indiana, and it doesn’t strike me as a destination or a vacation spot. Call me ignorant, but there are only three things that I know about it. One: It’s the home of the Indianapolis 500. Two: It’s the third of four U.S. states that begins with the letter I. Three: Cori is here. After I’d hung up with Tess that morning, I’d rushed to Henry’s house. The six hours of waiting to hear from Cori were the longest six hours of my life. We sat in the living room, watching the news coverage on TV as we waited

for updates: which airlines, what flight numbers, the possibility of other flights affected. Henry was on the phone with Cori’s airline, Jamie on the other phone with Evelyn, and my thumb still dialing Cori’s number again and again. As time passed, and more details started to come to light, the likelihood that one of the four flights being Cori’s dwindled, and though it raised our hopes the tiniest bit, it certainly didn’t ease our anxieties and wouldn’t until we heard her voice. So we waited. And waited. And after several long agonizing hours, that call finally came. She assured us she was fine, shaken up but fine nevertheless. Her plane was

instructed to immediately land in Indianapolis, and when the FAA declared that all flights would be grounded until further notice, I knew what I had to do. Who knew how long air traffic would be halted for? Plus, all other forms of transportation were nearly impossible to come by. And even when the airspace reopened, it would be several days, or weeks even, before flights were fully restored. I couldn’t wait. It didn’t take me long to make the decision to go to her. Henry asked me to bring our girl home, and I couldn’t deny him that. I pull into the lot of Cori’s hotel and quickly slip into a parking space, slamming on the brakes. I practically

jump out of the car, mimicking the motion of my heart flying out of my chest, and run toward the lobby. My legs are moving so fast I don’t even call her to let her know I’m here. I’ve never set foot in the state of Indiana, let alone in that hotel, but for some reason, I navigate through it as if I had, locating the elevator immediately and pressing the button for the third floor. Call it a good guess. Call it intuition. Call it whatever the hell you want. When love fuels your desperation, anything is possible. As soon as the elevator doors open to the third floor, I dart out, whisking around the corners of the hall in search of Cori’s room. My head spins as my

heart crashes against my chest, all while trying to keep up with my moving feet. I practically fly through the corridors, rounding corner after corner like a mouse in a maze until an invisible wall brings me to a standstill. There she is, standing at the other end of the hall in front of the vending machine, and I catch my breath. I never understood what it meant to see stars, but I am well aware of its meaning now. Because I see lots of fucking stars. And it isn’t because I’ve been running like a maniac to get here. I might pass out merely at the sight of Cori as she stands there with her hair piled in a loose bun on top of her head, and her flannel pajama bottoms hanging low on her

waist, exposing the ivory skin below the hem of her tank top. So simple. So natural. And so effortlessly gorgeous. A part of me doesn’t want to believe it, like this is one big reality fuck and in a matter of seconds, I’ll wake up. I pinch myself on the arm just to make sure. The skin turns bright red and throbs like hell in the best possible way, and thankfully, I’m still here. When I flinch from the pain, Cori turns her head and sees me. We stand silent, our expressions deadpan, staring at one another from opposite ends of the hall. Neither one of us moves, maybe because we both want to live in the anticipation just a tad longer. “Please tell me I’m not dreaming,”

she pleads through her shaky breaths. A handful of coins falls from her grasp, making light taps against the carpeted floor as she drops her arms at her sides. I take a step closer. “You’re not dreaming.” “Are you sure?” She brings her hands in front of her and laces her fingers together. “Because ever since I left you, this is all I’ve thought about. If I thought there’d ever be a chance of us standing here, together again like this, then it only happened in my dreams. When I would reach for you or try to touch you, I’d wake up, and I’m afraid I’ll wake up, Nick. I don’t want to wake up.” My lips tug at a smile at the same

time my eyes fill with water. “You’re wide awake, Cori. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere without you.” Before I take another step forward, she dashes toward me and jumps into my arms, hooking her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck in one fluid motion. She holds me tightly, and I bury my nose in her neck and grab fistfuls of her hair as her bun comes undone. I take a deep breath of air when a tear slides down my face and meets the swipe of her nose. Her lips move against the stubble of my cheek when she pulls away to meet my gaze. Cori’s mouth breaks a soft smile. “I’m awake, and you’re here,” she says between her heavy breaths, a tear sliding

down each of her cheeks. “You waited.” She unhooks her legs from my waist before I set her feet on the floor. I hold her face in my hands, her cheeks warm against my skin, and brush away the tears with my thumbs. “I would have waited forever.” “I didn’t think...I was so...God, Nick, I don’t know…” And she breaks. The tears fall down the curves of her face, and don’t stop. My hands become damp with every tear that hits them, every fear that she’s ever had wrapped up in each one, exploding against my skin, and I soak it all up. Wrapping my arms around her, I pull her into me as she buries her face into my chest. The moisture from her tears

seeps through the fabric of my shirt, but I couldn’t care less. She can soak the entire thing. She doesn’t hold anything back, losing herself in me and exposing every one of her vulnerabilities. And it’s the bravest thing she could ever do. I don’t know how long we stand like this. Several minutes. An hour maybe. However long we stand here doesn’t matter because time is finally on our side. Cori pulls her head away from my chest. Her eyes are swollen and red but no longer carry the weight of the fear that was buried within them for so long. “I was so scared, Nick. Being on that plane and hearing about what was happening elsewhere, I didn’t know

what to think. No one knew what to make of it. All I thought about was how I needed to see you again. How I needed to hear your voice. How I needed to tell you I love you. Because I do. God, Nick, I love you so much my heart may explode if I don’t say it enough. I’ve loved you for so long. I was just too afraid to admit it.” For a moment, a pang of guilt washes over me as I think about the world outside this hallway. Nothing but love and joy fill this corridor, and if I wasn’t aware of all the grief and tragedy going on right now, I would assume the world beyond these walls were just the same. Then I realize we can’t feel guilty. We should be thankful we’re standing

here, together, because life doesn’t always give you the happy ending. But it has this time—for us—and if we allowed guilt and sorrow to dictate our lives, there’d be no point in living. People would never heal, life would never move forward, and our stories would never be told. We shouldn’t forget the adversities of the past or the pain of others, but we also can’t forget to live. So we live, Cori and I. We live when our lips meet, our passion igniting into a full-blown fire as we eagerly take possession of each other’s last kiss. The taste of warm, salty tears invades our kisses, and regardless if they’re Cori’s or my own, I don’t care. I pull her body into me tightly, hanging on for dear life

because there is no way in hell I am ever letting this girl go again. Not even the cold hollow of my grave could keep me from her. She smiles against my mouth as I whisper sweet pledges of love between our lips. “I want to go home, Nick,” Cori pleads between our kisses. “Take me home.” I smile down at her. “Well, you are notorious for getting your way,” I say with a grin, winking. “Right, hot shot?” Cori presses her forehead into mine, eyeing me through her long lashes as she tries to fight a smile but fails. “Just take me home,” she insists as she makes a trail of kisses along my jaw, pausing to add, “Chicken shit.”

And I do.

The orange shimmers of dusk begin to seep through the blinds as we prepare for another busy Friday at the pub. I’d say there isn’t a better way to spend the night than with the best rock music and one of the craziest crowds in town, but that would be a lie. Because oh yes—I

can think of a much, much better way to spend a Friday night, and any minute now, that way will be walking through the doors to take me home, where he can have his way with me. I lean over the bar and bite my bottom lip, before my mouth spreads into a smile. “Ya know, if you weren’t a cute li’l thing, I might throw a nut at you,” Norman says as his voice pulls me reluctantly out of my racy thoughts. I want to give him a piece of my mind for the unwelcome interruption, but I don’t. First of all, the guy is like a hundred years old and probably doesn’t realize half the things he says anymore. And secondly, why torture myself with daydreams when Nick can turn them into

reality later tonight? I notice Norman’s empty glass and push myself off the bar, grabbing the bottle of Glenfiddich. “You wouldn’t dare, Norman,” I warn, pouring him another round. “And I’m not Nicholas. I wouldn’t hesitate throwing you out of here.” He swivels the ice in his glass and raises it up to me before taking a sip. “You’re a feisty li’l thing. Nicky boy sure has his hands full with you, don’t he?” He sure will tonight. “Enjoy that one because it’s your last for today.” “You know what?” He places his glass on the bar, slowly lifting his finger at me, as if it requires every bit of

strength. “You don’t give me much credit. If it weren’t for me, that boy would have never come to his senses about you.” “Nuh-uh,” Tess interjects, shaking her head as she saunters behind the bar with an empty tray. “You can’t take credit for that one, Norman. That was all me.” She brushes the loose strands of her auburn hair away from her face before flashing a grin. Placing the tray on the bar along with two glasses, she fills them with ice and water. “So, what are these big plans tonight my dad talks of? Why he’s watching this place instead of you and Nicholas?” I grab my ponytail, twirling my hair though my fingers. “No big plans. I’m

guessing Nick will be tired after the week he’s had, so we’ll probably stay in and watch a movie at his place,” I say, smirking. “Ew. I get it. Spare me the dirty details,” Tess remarks, jutting her palm out. “Oh, come on, Tess.” I nudge her with my elbow. “Now that it’s out in the open, you and Braiden can hardly keep your hands off each other, too.” With her hands on her hips, she cocks her head to the side and declares, “Completely different situation. And we’re not as bad as the two of you.” She raises a suggestive eyebrow, and I can only assume she’s referring to the inappropriate show she walked in on in

the back office a few weeks ago. My cheeks warm as I fight a smile. “I blame it on the all-inevitable honeymoon phase. Gag me.” She opens her mouth and points her finger inside. If this is what the honeymoon phase feels like, then dear lord, I can’t wait to see what’s in store for us on the actual honeymoon. Well, when it eventually happens, and it probably won’t happen for a while, since Nick and I agreed not to rush things. In the wake of the tragic events last September, we realized how short and precious life was, and though that should have given us every reason to move our relationship forward as quickly as possible, we agreed to make every

second of our time together count. Sure, we waited six years to be together, and though marriage is an inevitable part of our future, we merely want to enjoy each other, and do the normal things couples do when they’re in love—go on dates, travel, make love… Fine. There was one exception to our agreement. When we said we wouldn’t rush things, we meant no to a shotgun wedding and to popping out kids the next day. I mean, come on! There was enough sexual tension to last Nick and I well beyond our years when Viagra would be in the cards for most. Our first time happened somewhere in Arizona when we stopped overnight on our trip back home. To describe it as

perfect would be too cliché. I think undeniably mind-blowing sums it up quite nicely. It doesn’t mean I wasn’t nervous as hell because believe me—I was nervous. I’m sure Nick was, too, but he hid it well, taking his sweet time with me as he calmed my nerves and took charge of my body. To this day, I can practically taste the delicious memories of his body coiled with mine; his lips and tongue as it swept over every inch of my skin; the low growl of his voice as he hummed my name in my ear. Nick and I hadn’t fully understood the idea of knowing a person—mind, body, and soul —until we completely unraveled each other that night.

And since then, we’ve probably unraveled each other more times than I can count. Tess places the two glasses of water on the tray and steadies the weight of it on her palm. “So when is Lover Boy due back from…where was his project this week?” I glance at the clock above the bar. “Antelope Canyon. And any minute now.” Hopefully not a minute later. Nick’s photos from his Big Sur project caught the attention of a number of notable publications, and since then, the job offers haven’t stopped pouring in. He’s had more offers than a full-time photographer would be able to handle. Despite my efforts in helping him look

after the pub so he can spend more time away, this place remains his number one priority, and he’ll only take on a project if the timing works in our best interest. That’s one of the many things I love about him; his values and priorities never change, no matter what. “And it looks like it’s my cue to exit,” Tess excuses herself, nodding her head toward the entrance before adding, “Norman, unless you want to watch these two suck face, I advise you skedaddle before it’s too late.” Tess walks off in a haste, leaving me slightly confused, but when I lift my eyes to the front of the pub, I see him. Nicholas Kelley—best friend and love of my life—beaming at me from the

entranceway, his beautiful olive-green eyes hooked into mine. Finding sweet relief, my heart leaps out of my chest and makes a mad dash for him, taking my breath right along with it. Nick briskly walks toward the bar, and I meet him halfway, my grin mirroring his. He lifts me, pulling me in for a hard kiss as I hook my legs behind his back and throw my arms around his neck. Our very public display of affection earns us a few whistles from some of the customers, and I think I hear Norman’s raspy voice hoot when Nick purposely places his hands under my ass. “We ought to keep this PG, wouldn’t you say?” I tease, smiling against Nick’s

smooth lips. “We have an audience.” He places a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth. “They don’t have to look. Besides, we run this place. We can do whatever the hell we want,” he proclaims, sliding his nose against my cheek. “Plus, I haven’t seen my girl in four days. I think they’ll understand.” My hands crawl up the back of his neck and grab fistfuls of his hair. “I missed you like crazy,” I confess, pressing my forehead into his. “But it’s a small price for me to pay if it means you’re pursuing what you love.” Nick pulls away slightly and gazes into my eyes. Just when I think it’s impossible to fall in love with him even more than I have, my heart proves me

wrong because I will never stop falling for this man. “I’ve already pursued my love…and won her heart.” His breath warm on my skin, he smiles against my cheek before whispering, “Took a little longer than I hoped, but it’s like they say—good things come to those who wait.” I suppose I can’t really argue with that, can I?

T-Rob—I blame you for all of this. Growing up, I never understood your passion for books, or how you could spend hours at the library, or why you would need five editions of the same book. Then one day, you shoved that book in front of my face, and I finally understood. Thank you for helping me discover my love for the written word.

Tiffany—I’ve probably said this about a thousand times already, and I’ll say it a thousand times more…thank you! You are certainly a master of this craft, helping me see the bigger picture of my story, and I will always be grateful. My Beta Readers—Thank you ladies! I was lucky enough to find a good group of betas for my first book! It’s nerveracking to put your work out there for people to critique, but I truly appreciate the honesty of my readers. And Robin, WHEN that time comes, I’ll have a bottle of bubbly ready to go with your name on it!

Raeanne—Not only am I thankful to call you my cousin, but now I can proudly call you my cover designer! Thank you for the work and effort you put into this amazing cover. Your artistic talents are going to take you far. Leah—Thank you for not making my cheeks overly rosy, or filtering the color on my bleached hair, or cropping out my big-boned legs. In other words, thank you for keeping me REAL! Okay, I might have initially asked you to photoshop the shit out of me, but thank you for not listening to me! My friends and family (Brodrick/Villongco/Everett)—I am so

lucky to have a huge support system of people in my life. Thank you for your faith, love, and encouragement throughout my journey. Sydney and Zach—Three. Trois. Tres. III. The best stories that I know are the memories I have growing up with the two of you. Thank you for supporting me through this process. Brother—I’ll get you to read my book one of these days; count on it! And Sister—I have the honor of calling you my worst critic, my biggest cheerleader, my beta reader, and my best friend. I love you guys so much! Mom and Dad—See? My English degree wasn’t a complete waste! I hope this

makes up for all of the headaches I caused you in high school. Dad—since you read my book, perhaps I’ll consider writing that alien/mafia/Star Wars crossover love story you want me to write. And Mom—my story made you ugly-cry, so I guess I’ve already found success. Thank you for being my #1 fans. I love you both. David—What can I say? You’ve been so patient with me over the past two years, allowing me to pursue my passion, and I will forever be grateful for that. I may have written a love story, but even the greatest fictional love story couldn’t top ours. Some might call it cliché: Girl meets boy in the big city. But I don’t

care. It’s us and it’s ours. I love you. Audrey—You’re too young to understand or realize it now, but you’ve literally been beside me through this entire writing journey. Every time you’d nap or turn in for the night, I’d sit next to you, typing away on my keyboard while you lay sprawled across Daddy’s side of the bed, dreaming sweet dreams. You’re my biggest inspiration. I love you, my baby. You—Thank you for picking up this book and taking a chance on an unknown author. I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I loved writing it, and if you did, please spread the word! Your support means everything to me.

A San Francisco Bay Area native, Ashley Drew currently lives in Los Angeles. When she’s not going crosseyed after writing for five hours straight, or burying her nose in a book, you’ll find her sprawled on her couch watching General Hospital, having alien conspiracy discussions with her husband over a bottle of bubbly, and dancing to Taylor Swift’s 1989 album with her

daughter. This is her first novel. For the latest on Ashley’s upcoming projects, please visit her website: Ashleydrewwrites.com