Beverly made a quiet, desperate little noise against my mouth, and I was done for. Without a second thought, I rolled onto my back, taking her with me, pulling her on top of me in one smooth motion. She gasped, her hands catching against my chest, her knees pressing against my sides, her weight settling over me in a way that sent a tremor through me.

My hands found her hair as I let my head fall back against the pillow, my lips parting beneath hers as she kissed me, kissed, kissed me. She tasted like soda and vanilla lip gloss and mine.

And in that moment, I realized I would never love anything the way I loved Beverly Price.

Not in this life.

Not in the next.

Not in any version of myself that could have ever existed.

26

BEVERLY, 1998

16 years old

I stared at the ceiling, feeling my heartbeat in places I shouldn’t. In my fingertips. My throat. My spine. My lips.

And my chest? My chest felt like it had been cracked open and left to the mercy of the cold air filtering in through the window.

Feeling lightheaded, I ran my fingers over my mouth, feeling the ghost of his lips there.

Blake had kissed me. Blake had told me, I’m yours, B.

And now? Now I was waiting for him to come back. I was still tangled in my sheets, my body still thrumming from the feel of his hands, his mouth, his weight pressing me down into the mattress.

Blake had whispered something about changing clothes, something about not wanting to sleep in jeans, something about how I should close my eyes and stop looking at him like that. He backed away, ran a hand over his face like he wanted to scrub the whole thing off his skin, and muttered, “I’ll be back.”

So I waited.

Not patiently.

Not even close.

I hated waiting.

I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, twisting onto my side, staring at the door. My whole body felt tight, like a live wire with nowhere to put its energy.

What if he didn’t come back?

What if he left and decided this was a mistake?

I clenched my fingers into the sheets, my stomach twisting at the thought. Because Blake always ran… He ran from feelings, from me, from anything that made him feel too much.

I swallowed, my heart hammering against my ribs as I sat up.

I needed to stop thinking.

I sucked in a sharp breath as the door opened.

Blake stepped inside, his green eyes shadowed under the dim glow of my bedside lamp. His hoodie was gone, replaced with a plain, thin T-shirt that clung to his shoulders and arms in a way that wasn’t fair. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, his jaw locked as he hesitated near the door, like he was debating whether to stay or run.

He looked tired. But not from exhaustion.