The beach is a balm to my lonely soul. Always has been. I grew up on the coast of Lake Michigan and spent weekends running barefoot in the surf and high school nights kissing girls on blankets in the sand. Lake Michigan is no Pacific Ocean, but it’s so vast you can’t see anything but water along the horizon. The waves are nothing compared to the monster currents of the Pacific, but they’re there, even if they’re only a few feet high.

As hard as it was for me to leave home when I was drafted by the Demons, I’m grateful I landed by the sea. I walk along the beach every time I need to think. It helps me chill. Helps me organize my thoughts. And tonight, my thoughts are on my other family, the one I left behind when I left Jackson Harbor.

It’s been two years since I’ve seen any of them. I thought I’d visit, but then Mom moved out here to be closer to me, and . . . well, my good intentions weren’t enough to get me back home.

Carter and I haven’t exchanged so much as a text in months. I’ll get a random message from Shay from time to time, but nothing like those damn “Should I sleep with him?” texts she sent me in the middle of the night two years ago. She’s still with Steve, so I guess she’s probably answered that question by now.

If I’m honest with myself, that’s a big part of what keeps me from flying back to Michigan. Every time I think about booking a ticket, I imagine seeing her with him. I know how unfair and unreasonable my jealousy is. She isn’t mine. Never has been. I tell myself it’s easier to stay away, but I think staying away from Shayleigh might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

And this month she’s in Paris for the first time. With her boyfriend, through some program with their college.

I glance at the time on my phone.

She’s nine hours ahead of me, so it’s dinnertime there. Is her boyfriend romancing her in front of the Eiffel Tower? Is he telling her how gorgeous she is as they walk the halls of the Louvre? Does she believe him, or does she still doubt her beauty?

Fuck it.

I unlock my phone and pull up my text app.

Me: How’s Paris?

Shay: Paris is great. Boys are stupid.

If there was any doubt in my mind that I’m a selfish asshole, the big-ass smile those words bring to my face would have confirmed it.

Me: All boys, or one in particular?

Shay: Who breaks up with a girl IN PARIS?

My breath rushes out of me. Fucking Steve. I thought he was supposed to be the smart kid. I should’ve trusted my instincts.