Chapters (42)
- TITLE PAGE
- COPYRIGHT PAGE
- CONTENTS
- START READING
- PLAYLIST
- PROLOGUE
- PART 1
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- PART 2
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- EPILOGUE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- PREVIEW: PLAYING WITH FIRE
- PROLOGUE
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I cave. Because I can. Because, at least on paper, it is innocent. Because I radiate, and I never radiate, and I want to radiate whenever Joe and I talk. I want to exist in color. I want to listen to old Smiths records on Joe’s floor while I draw, while he writes. I want the city’s filth, then to come back to the suburbs for the night. Even though I know this arrangement won’t have a happy ending.
Joe: Lucky Dom.
Ever: This is strictly work.
Joe: In that case, I’ll set up a workroom for us.
Ever: I’ll make playlists.
Joe: No Blur.
Ever: I’m no heathen.
Joe: 
My heart hiccups, because Joe is not an emoji person. I can tell without even texting him much.
Ever: Oh, and we’re telling Dom.
There’s a beat before he answers this time.
Joe: Your funeral.
Ever: God. I’m already regretting this.
Joe: Regrets make good stories.
SEVENTEEN
SEVENTEEN
On the drive to Dover, Dom is fidgety and out of focus. When I ask him about it, he tells me that he’s been pulling double shifts to make up for the long weekend he took off, but that he’s still keeping up with all his other commitments.
“When was the last time you slept?” I demand. “Like, really slept. Not just catnaps.”
Now that I’m taking a better look at him, he looks shattered. Like he hasn’t slept the better half of this century.
Dom frowns, giving it some thought. “Two days ago. And on the flight back too. From San Juan.”
“Sleep is not Pilates. Doing it three times a week is not sufficient,” I chide him.
“I’ll get better about it,” he soothes, rubbing at my back. It’s all empty words. I know he won’t. Dom is incapable of slowing down. He wants to make sure he takes big, juicy bites of the world. Every day is a greasy burger. He doesn’t have salad days in between.
“No, you won’t.” I shake my head. “You need to clear your schedule a little. CrossFit. Book club. The movies. Something’s gotta go.”
“It’s easy for you to say. You don’t know what it feels like. To look your mortality in the eye every day. I do. It’s hard for me to pass on things.”
This time, I don’t take the bait. “First of all, you don’t own exclusivity rights on death, mister. I’m going to expire one day too. Second, you still have a lot of time to do them.”
He flashes me a look. “You don’t know that, babe. I’m sorry, you just don’t.”
“You’re being weird.” I nibble on the side of my thumbnail.