“Alright, fine,” he huffed. “Let’s go, I’ll drive.”

“I’m walking.”

He blinked. “You’re what?”

“I’m walking home,” I clarified.

He shot me a look like I’d completely lost my mind. “Blake, it’s minimum an hour walk from here to your place. What kind of dumbass walks home alone at this hour?”

“This kind.”

Jamal let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing his temples like I was giving him an actual headache.

Ignoring him, I grabbed the door handle.

“At least let me drive you.”

I glanced at him over my shoulder. “You’re staying.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re driving the girls home later.”

His lips parted, like he wanted to argue, but then something seemed to click in his brain. “They biked here, didn’t they?”

“Yeah,” I muttered, trying to shake the tension out of my shoulders. “Make sure they don’t leave without you. Beverly’s not driving home drunk on a bike.”

Jamal gave me a long look, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, alright. Go ahead, be dramatic. You had your little religious experience, and now you’re making a pilgrimage back home to reflect on all your sins. But you better not get murdered out there, ‘cause I’m not explaining that to your dad. Imagine what⁠—”

I pulled open the door and stepped outside before I could hear whatever smartass comment Jamal had locked and loaded.

The night air was cool, but my skin still burned.

The party noise dulled slightly, but not enough.

I kept walking, my fists clenching and unclenching at my sides as I tried to shake off the lingering heat from Beverly’s touch.

Nothing happened…

I wasn’t lying. Not really.

Because nothing was supposed to happen.

Nothing could ever happen.

Even if, right now, all I wanted was to pull Beverly back to me and finish what she started.

But I wouldn’t.

Because I was Blake.

And Beverly was the one thing in this world I couldn’t have.

20

BEVERLY, 1998

16 years old

The world was spinning. Or maybe it was just me.

Either way, I wasn’t handling it well.

The house was quiet, my steps a little too loud as I stumbled into the hallway, kicking off my shoes with less coordination than I would’ve liked. My dad was working a late shift, and my mom was probably already asleep. But Blake… Blake was here.

I knew he was. I could feel him. Even when he wasn’t in the room, even when we weren’t speaking, his presence lingered like something I couldn’t shake. I hated him for that. For being everywhere in my head.

I tugged my jacket off and threw it somewhere, then fumbled my way toward his room. I was drunk, but not enough to forget what I wanted to say.