But what was the point? Once he uncovered it…once he learned what I’d really done…

He’d hate me.

I reached for the keyboard, the motion almost painful.

NightLocker: I need you...DC remember? Doesn’t that mean anything anymore?

PixieBurn: everything & nothing

NightLocker: Amber

NightLocker: Please

NightLocker: What does that even mean?

I paused my response, choking back a sob.

It didn’t matter. He’d find out soon enough.

Might as well endure the break now.

I just wished like hell it didn’t have to hurt so damn much.

PixieBurn: It means

PixieBurn: Hack my gear like this again

PixieBurn: for a chat

PixieBurn: for help

PixieBurn: for anything

PixieBurn: and I’ll crash your entire system

I hated myself a fraction more with each message sent.

NightLocker: No!

NightLocker: Amber

NightLocker: Listen to me

God, did I want to. I wanted him to not be breaking into my system, showing up on my screen…I wanted him here. Telling me we could find our way back to common ground or, hell, hit the reset button and start fresh. Erase every dark piece of our past.

But this was real life.

And it was heavy and hard and harsh.

PixieBurn: goodbye, Dean

I logged off and shut my gear down. He couldn’t find me if I wasn’t online.

Unless he shows up at my door…again.

My heart skipped at the thought—it was betraying me as much as he had.

I’d barely survived his friendship, his light.

I certainly wouldn’t survive his hate, his disappointment, the way he’d judge me when he knew…

Chapter One

Chapter One

Amber

Six months earlier…

“And then I actually got the condom out of the wrapper,” Hannah whispered as we walked toward the largest seminar room in Wilmont Academy. “But I wasn’t expecting it to be…slimy”—a shudder rippled her long blond hair—“so I freaked. And that freak-out resulted in me kneeing his junk.” She clenched her eyes shut, rubbing her palms over her face. “It was a disaster. Jake is probably going to dump me.”

“No, he isn’t,” I said, resting my hand on her shoulder. We stopped outside the lecture room doors as the rest of the school filed in. “You’ve been together, what? Eight years?” I asked, totally blanking on the actual mileage of their relationship.

“Ten,” she said, sighing. “It was the second grade when he asked to trade sandwiches—”

“And you’ve been in love ever since,” I finished for her.

I’d heard the classic tale of love at first sight over a hundred times. Hannah and Jake were the perfect couple—they challenged each other, supported each other, and, well, they loved each other.