“Amber,” Dean said, a plea in his tone after I came out of the bathroom, totally transformed from concert-chic to comic-book-pj-fantastic. “Talk to me.”

I wrung my hands, pacing the space in front of him where he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Was it the kiss?” he asked.

“No,” I said quickly. “Well, yes and no.”

“I didn’t mean to ruin things again,” he said. “If I did.”

I froze for a moment. “You didn’t. I swear. I just…” I started pacing again. “I liked it. Loved it. Dean…I like you. More than I thought possible.”

A wide, easy smile shaped his lips as he stared up at me. It fell in a few breaths. “Why do I feel a but coming?”

“I just,” I said, my stomach dipping. What would I tell a person on the blog? What advice would I give?

I’d urge them to be truthful and strong and love who they were. To not be afraid of rejection, no matter how hard it was.

God, it was so much easier to give advice than take it.

“I can’t be more with you until you know the truth,” I said. “The reason behind my tears the first time we kissed.” Heat flushed my entire body. I couldn’t believe I was about to tell him, but I had to know how he’d react.

And he had a right to know. To decide for himself if he thought I was…damaged.

“Pixie,” he said, standing up to cup my cheek. “DC, remember? You can tell me anything. I’m not going anywhere.”

With those words, I closed my eyes. The story from that night spilled from my lips.

I sucked in a sharp breath as I finished laying the dark pieces of my soul bare. Shocked retelling the tale hadn’t brought tears to my eyes. I took comfort from that strength, but it did little to ease my tangled nerves.

“We made Jake sleep at my house that night,” I said, sighing. “He was in such a rage. And I didn’t want him getting expelled over that jerk.” I wrapped my arms around myself, the cold from revisiting the night having crept into my bones. “I had to talk Mom out of pressing charges,” I said, shaking my head. “Maybe I should’ve let her. Maybe not. I was so confused and in shock I think…” My words died in my throat, telling the story aloud both cathartic and exhausting.

Dean was frozen on the edge of the bed, his fists clenched against the white comforter.

Oh God, he thinks I asked for it, too.

He thinks I brought it on myself dating a guy like Brandon.

I clenched my eyes shut.

I was so sick of the past. So sick of it ruining every good thing about my present.

Warm, almost timid, arms enveloped me.