Because my stomach was still in knots and my brain was trying desperately to take everything back—the blog, the girl’s mistake, the misunderstanding. I hadn’t eaten anything all day, the nausea killing any hope of the bliss I’d experienced the night before. The elation at being loved by Dean.

I knew talking to him about everything would help. It always did.

Didn’t make me any less nervous.

For five minutes, I sat in his driveway, unable to turn off my car. The traitorous voice in the back of my mind, whispering that Dean wouldn’t understand, that he’d be disappointed in me or would judge me over the secret I’d kept.

I shook off the cold fear.

Dean is different.

And he told me he loved me.

He would not only understand, but he’d also help me work the problem just like he had with the Brandon issues.

I nodded to myself and stepped out of the car with a fresh wave of hope washing away the sourness in my stomach.

The door opened before I could knock on it, an older, larger version of Dean smirking down at me. I remembered Sean from the two years we attended Wilmont together, but he had grown into a man since he graduated. His shoulders broad, the evidence of scruff on his strong jaw. His eyes were more blue, where Dean’s had that slate gray to them that always sent shivers over my skin.

“Dean’s in his room,” Sean said by way of greeting.

“Thanks,” I said, stepping in after him. “How are things at Inkheart?”

“Fantastic.” He stopped by the stairway that led up to Dean’s room. “It gets better,” he said. “After high school. Know that.” He winked at me before heading around the corner.

God I hope so.

I’d done such a great job at screwing up these last few months, I wasn’t sure if I could ever dig myself out of the hole I’d created.

Dean’s door was closed, and I shifted on my feet outside of it, not sure if I should knock or simply walk in. My hand darted from a fist to reaching for the knob and back again before I finally rapped my knuckles against the door.

It flew open in a matter of breaths, and I was fully expecting Dean to yank me inside and kiss me like we’d been apart for months.

“Shhh!” He held his finger to his lips, his brow furrowed as he turned his back on me, walking deeper into his room.

Okay. I didn’t expect that.

I tiptoed into the room, quietly shutting the door behind me. “Sorry,” I whispered.

“Tessa is asleep.” Dean’s tone was sharper than I’d ever heard it.

“Okay, sorry,” I said again, not mentioning that it was near five p.m. “Is she sick?”