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
The way he says the word fucked makes me want to slap him. I don’t believe that’s all we shared. I don’t believe he believes this was all we shared. But what are my options here? To convince him that what we had was good and real? What for? It’s not like we can go back. There will be no do-over for us. No chance to explain. To mend. To heal.
“Wouldn’t you want to know if you were in his shoes?” I ask.
Joe makes an Are you kidding me? face. The good news is, finally something has penetrated his indifference.
“No. I would be pissed if he told me. If I were in love with someone Dom screwed once under a full moon, and he shoved it in my face, I’d break his nose. Twice. Ignorance is bliss.”
Ignorance is bliss is the Antichrist of knowledge is power, which was what he told me the night we were together. Joe obviously did a one-eighty in the time we were apart.
Hearing him say that is pure agony. Not only because it highlights how deeply Dom cares about me, but also because it reminds me that Joe feels nothing toward me anymore.
“This is morally dicey.” I fold my arms over my chest.
“Everything about this situation is morally fucked. I know it, you know it. Let’s just keep our distance and pretend like Spain never happened,” he says bitterly. “I still need to wrap my head around this. Promise you won’t say anything.”
My back is against the wall. I can tell Joe wants to protect his brother. I want that too. But the lie sits heavy on my chest.
Joe’s eyes scan me, never leaving my face, begging for confirmation.
I cave in and nod. This is the least I can do. “All right. Yeah. I promise.”
He leans forward and presses his cold lips against my forehead. I close my eyes. “Thank you,” he breathes.
Before I can answer, Joe thunders toward the door, pushes it open, and disappears, leaving me in a cloud of cigarette smoke.
For the first time in six years, my heart cracks open.
And all the tar-like, gooey grief pours out.
FOURTEEN
FOURTEEN
Christmas Day comes and goes without a hitch. Joe and I perfect the art of ignoring one another yet glaring at each other throughout. We’ve come up with a few looks so far. The This is so crazy, right? look, as well as the What did we ever do to deserve this? glare. When he gives me the I know he is not the one; I can see it on your face glance, I am almost tempted to repay him with a By the way, your brother is great in bed stare.