He tucks a piece of fallen hair behind my ear. “It was instinctual.”

“To dry me?” I laugh.

He drops his hand. “To take care of you.”

The front door cracks open, and Quinn pokes in his head. “Let’s goooooo, we’re going to be late. Talk about your feelings later!”

His yelling jolts me out of the urge to lean into Ambrose and press a heated kiss to his mouth.

He takes a step back, then another, putting purposeful space between us before turning and walking out of the house, grabbing his leather bag and swinging it over his shoulder in the process.

I take a few seconds to gather more air into my lungs, then follow suit.

Between these two guys and the anxiety at school and I already feel like puking, and I’m thinking the hangover has less to do with it as we drive quietly to school, the three of us not making eye contact once.

When Ambrose pulls into the parking lot, things look pretty normal. You know if walking into hell on a daily basis is normal.

“Stick together as much as possible,” I remind both of them before opening the door and getting out. I start walking, and Quinn and Ambrose follow, flanking each side. Students are staring a little bit, but they always stare at Ambrose and Quinn—me too, to be honest, since I’m the fresh meat they can’t quite figure out.

The smell of sweaty bodies, cafeteria food, perfume, and cologne assault me when I open the metal door to the hallway. People are looking at their phones, talking, and then they’re looking at us and talking.

My phone goes off in my hand, and I’m afraid to look down. Students start laughing and gasping, then they’re pointing, and I’m ready to bolt.

“Just keep walking,” Ambrose says.

Quinn looks down at his phone and stops walking, nearly walking into a group full of sophomores, all wide-eyed and staring at us like we’re about to be thrown into prison.

“Shit,” Quinn mutters under his breath.

Ambrose stops walking and looks at his screen, then up at Quinn, then grabs me by the hand and tugs me toward our lockers.

Both guys shield me from everyone pointing, and now I’m thinking it’s worse than I can possibly imagine.

“Don’t look.” Quinn tries to grab my phone from my hand. “it’s not a big deal.”

I jerk my hand away, nearly punching Ambrose in the face, and look down at my alerts.

There’s a random text message from an unknown number. I open up the text and drop my brand-new phone onto the ground. It cracks on impact, just like my heart.

“You didn’t hear this from me, but little foster sister has quite the reputation with the foster dads she barreled through. Check out this news article from the last town she lived in. What a slutty cunt, bet she’s sucking both their dicks.”

Tears fill my line of vision. It’s the news article where I accused my foster dad of rape.