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
“Why are you so angry?” I ask. He’s not always angry. Most of the time, he is resigned to our fate.
“Because,” he says, calm, collected, and bored. “We never broke up. Technically, Ever, you’re still my girlfriend.”
It’s like a punch in the face, and as such, I stagger back. “You can’t be for real right now.”
“I can, and I fucking am. No breakup talk—no breakup.” He shoves his shoelaces into his sneakers, as opposed to tying them.
“How we broke up was terrible, but we did break up. I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“You hurt yourself too. You chose mainstream.”
His words hit me. I remember them from all those years ago.
Mainstream people aren’t revolutionary. Nothing good ever comes out of them. Average equals comfort.
But I need comfort. I need safe.
“You stopped being a choice the day I kissed your brother,” I rasp. “We can’t do this to him, and you know that.”
“God, you’re like a broken record. Your morals bore me.” He lets out a short breath. I see his frustration. All the things he’s given up over the years for Dominic. The attention. The sleepless nights. The worrying. Always low on the totem pole. Even now, Dom is the golden child. The one who went to college, who got a good job, who is getting married. “And the worst part is, I am the only aspect in your life where you do the good thing, even if it’s not the right thing. Everything else about your relationships, including Dom, is fucked up because you always take the easy way out.”
He is right. He is right, and it’s time I own up to all my mistakes. Especially the one I left in California.
Joe’s shoulder brushes mine. He stalks out of the room. And then I hear the words that undo me. They pull at me like a frayed old sweater. Until I’m nothing but a long string of pain.
“I loved you, Ever Lawson. But I want you to know, you’re the worst thing that’s ever fucking happened to me.”
EIGHTEEN
EIGHTEEN
I drive us back to Salem, not allowing Dom to get behind the wheel. Now we’re both leaning on the car, the silence between us so palpable I can taste it on my tongue. Since I don’t trust him with a vehicle right now—or a coffee machine, for that matter—I tell him I’ll take his car to my apartment to pick up Loki, and then I’ll bring it back. Dom doesn’t argue. Like with everything else, he is understanding and cooperative. Perfect. He kisses my neck, pressing me against his sports car, his hands on my waist.
“Did you have a good time at Mom’s birthday?” he murmurs into my neck.