My clothes are uncomfortable, my panties sticking to the wetness still leaking out of me, and I thought I knew low points before? Guess someone up there is laughing. It’s a hell of a joke, and it’s all on me.

I can’t go back inside.

Can’t face being in the same building as Everett Bray right now.

So I sit beside the fire pit for the rest of the night, until dawn stains the sky and there’s nothing left but embers.

* * *

A long, hot shower makes me feel a tiny bit more human. Let’s say three percent. I use the bathroom in Harry’s barn, even though he’s surely mad at me, because I cannot go near Everett’s place, even though all my stuff’s in there. I just can’t.

I borrow a black pair of Harry’s sweatpants and one of his burgundy college t-shirts, too, knotting the baggy hem near my hips. My hands are steady, but I’m numb.

I know I have no right to borrow Harry’s things. Know I’m a terrible friend.

But I can’t wear my clothes from last night for another single second, and I can’t risk bumping into his uncle. So here we are—and I have another thing to beg forgiveness for.

The Barns are quiet. I don’t know where the Bray men wound up last night, but there’s no sound from any of the buildings. Harry’s bed doesn’t look slept in when I poke my head around the bedroom doorway, but his stuff is still here, so with any luck, he hasn’t gone forever.

I left my phone in Everett’s bedroom.

If I send out physic brainwaves, will Harry hear those instead of a text?

It’s dumb, but I try it anyway, mentally calling out for my best friend through the ether as I fix a strong coffee in his kitchenette. After a moment’s pause, I make a second mug, too.

Maybe I can summon him with an offering. Like the old gods.

And maybe Harry is more celestial than I give him credit for, because as I’m stirring in the milk, the barn door creaks open.

“Hey.”

His tone is off. Awkward. There’s none of the ease we’ve always shared. Even when we broke up at eighteen, we still laughed and joked together, but now as Harry strolls across the open plan barn, his jaw is tight and his shoulders are tense.

He’s still wearing the same black sweater he wore last night. The same gray jeans. And they were fine in the cool night air, but he must be hot and sticky in the scorching sunshine.

I clear my throat and hold out a wobbly coffee. “Hey.”

An eternity stretches between us. When my best friend takes the mug off me, I could drop to my knees and weep.

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it. “I’m so sorry about last night,” I blurt.

He cocks his dark head, watching me closely. “Sorry that it happened? Or sorry that I saw it?”