As I slid across the seat, Shay reached over to stop me. “Wait.”

My shoulder settled into the cup of his palm as I turned back toward him. Electric heat charged through me.

I sat back, my nerves charging. “Okay.”

I took a deep breath and so did he.

“Right.” He shifted uncomfortably, then turned toward me, facing me.

That wonderfully addictive buzzing of fear started raging inside of me. I nodded and gave him a little smile. “Yeah?”

“Okay.”

I wet my lips. “Okay.”

A small muscle in his jaw flexed. My heart fluttered. I wet my lips again. He pressed his together.

Then he looked away.

“The tattoo. I know what it meant.”

It took me a minute to even comprehend his words.

When he looked at me, his eyes were creepily clear and unmoving. “I’m the person Kori wanted to forget but couldn’t.”

I turned to look out the windshield. Anywhere but in his eyes. Looking at them was like looking through a clear but impenetrable wall. It had been erected so fast, I felt sucker punched by its presence.

Not only did I feel deceived, naive, and ignorant of the depth of their relationship, I also felt angry. There had to be a good reason for Kori to not want to see, hell—remember, a person ever again. Clearly he had some kind of mysterious hold over her. And I wanted to know what it was.

“The motel in Golden.” I couldn’t keep the accusation out of my voice. My words were sharpened by pain. “Why did she want to meet you there?”

“Why do you think?” he returned with a tight upturn of his lips. It was not a smile.

I was pretty sure he was trying to intimidate me. But I didn’t feel intimidated. What I felt was hurt. Pushed away.

twenty-three

I’d been pulling Kori’s fake ID out and looking at it all week, knowing the clock was ticking down to decision time. On Thursday, the day she would’ve been using it to get into the club in LoDo, to sing with Bleeder Valve, I was still undecided.

I fidgeted through the lunch line. Ahead of me, Chelsea was again systematically removing everything from Marci’s tray. I’d spent most of the week thinking about Marci and her decision to keep her baby despite everything. How she still needed to tell her teachers, her friends. And here all I was scared of was making a fool out of myself by singing in front of some strangers. I don’t know if I just needed a break from my own problems, or if after all the tattoo-getting I’d become more like Kori than I was before. But I was just so freaking sick of Chelsea Westad and her bullshit.

I moved out of the line and set my full tray on top of Marci’s now empty one.

“What the hell, Serena?” Chelsea screeched.