I attempt to smile, but it feels sloppy on my lips. “I miss you too,” I tell her because, shit, I’d say just about anything to feel the love she used to give me. I need to feel that she—hell, anyone—cares about me. To give me any attention at all that takes away this pain inside me.

  I’m in so much agony, and I hate it.

  “Are your parents home?” I ask, too wasted to tiptoe around what I want.

  Her lips turn up in a grin. “No. So . . . does this mean you want to get back together?”

  The lie easily rolls down my tongue, but before I can give it to her, it gets stuck. I waver for a split second, but it’s enough for her to catch on to.

  Her smile drops, and she steps back. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “What?”

  “You just want to use me for sex?” When I don’t move to respond, she lashes out loudly, “Why are you such an asshole?”

  “Because I am!” I yell in frustration before pushing myself off of her car and walking over to mine. I should turn around and apologize for being a dick to her, but misery begins spilling into my emptiness, and suddenly, my throat tightens in emotion, preventing me from saying anything, so I don’t even bother trying.

  “Wait,” she calls out as she follows after me. “Don’t drive.”

  She’s too nice, but it’s the wrong kind of nice.

  “I’m serious.” She holds out her palm. “Give me your keys.”

  “Kassi,” Emily shouts from down at the dock, “just let him leave.”

  “You should get back to your friends,” I tell her as I slide into my car and then drive away.

  HARLOW

  For the past hour I’ve been able to smell the lasagna that my father has been downstairs cooking. He makes it for me every year on my birthday, and even though he’s in the process of moving into his new house, he held true to the tradition.

  Yeah, that bomb was dropped on me last week.

  His new place is only a five-minute drive from here, and when he took me to see it a few days ago, I cried a little.

  To know he has a new home that isn’t my home destroyed a piece of me. I didn’t want him to know how upset I was, so I waited until I was alone later that evening to let it all out.

  A tapping on my door pulls me away from my math book. “Come in.”

  My dad steps inside and closes the door behind him. “Dinner’s ready, but I wanted to give this to you now.” He holds a tiny box in his hand.

  “What’s that?”

  “Your real birthday gift.”

  “You already gave me money,” I say as I walk over to him.

  “I thought you’d like this better.”

  He hands over the box, and I slip the top off, revealing a key. “Did you buy me a new car?” I tease . . . kind of.

  He smirks. “It’s a key to the new house.” He slips his arm around my shoulders, adding, “Our house.”

  I smile as I look down at the brass key.

  “I want you to know that we’re still a family and that my home is always going to be yours too. So, you can come over whenever you want, okay?”

  After setting the box on the bed, I give him a hug. “Thank you, Dad.”

  Ever since I went away to Hopewell, things have felt off between us. He’s been so distant, traveling a lot more than usual. We don’t talk as much as we used to, and I’ve been questioning if his love for me has diminished right along with the love he used to have for my mom. There have been times I’ve wanted to ask him if it has, but this right here is all I need to know that it hasn’t.

  Dropping a kiss to the top of my head, he gives me a tight squeeze and then pulls back. “I can’t believe my baby girl is eighteen.”

  “Finally.”

  He smiles so wide that it crinkles the skin in the corners of his eyes.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” he says and then stands. “Come on, let’s go eat.”

  We head downstairs, and my mother already has the dining table set. I can’t remember the last time the three of us ate a meal together. As we take our usual seats and start serving our plates, there’s an uncomfortable silence among us. I look past my mother and notice a few more moving boxes stacked against the wall, but the key in my room offers me a tinge of comfort that I’m not completely stuck here with her.

  “So, where is Sebastian taking you tonight?” Dad asks.

  “We’re going to the movies.”

  “You guys have been spending a lot of time together.” His tone is suggestive.

  “We’re just friends.”

  “But you do spend a lot of time with him.” My mother cuts into her lasagna.

  “So?”

  “What about the girls at school or the girls on the newspaper staff?”

  “Mom, really? You’re the one who’s always harping on me to have friends, and now that I have one, it isn’t the right kind of friend?”

  “I never said that.”

  “It’s what you’re insinuating.”

  After taking a bite, she says, “I just want to make sure that you’re surrounding yourself with good people.”

  “He is good.”

  “Well, I’d like it if you could find a girlfriend to spend time with.”

  “Jamie, please. Lay off.”

  I shoot a discreet smile to my dad for sticking up for me.

  “I want you home by curfew,” she says, giving up.

  “I’m eighteen,” I defend.

  “Why does every kid think that once they turn eighteen the rules disappear,” she mutters, and I roll my eyes.

  “Dad, say something.”

  With a subtle nod, he tells her, “She has a point.”

  “She is not an adult.”

  “I understand, but maybe we should give her an extension since she is older.”

  Irritated, she begins stabbing her fork into her salad repeatedly. “He makes me nervous.”

  “Oh, my god, are you kidding me right now?”

  She stares at me from across the table. “Don’t think I’m not aware of what goes on in that house. This town is only so big, and people talk.”

  “That’s enough,” my father says, and I’m about to blow a gasket.

  “You have no idea what his family has been through,” I try to defend, not that it’s any of her business.

  “Both of you, stop!”

  Leaning back in my chair, I huff, refusing to look in her direction.

  The room goes quiet, and after my dad takes a sip of water, he sets down his glass and tells me, “I agree with your mom that you aren’t an adult yet. Yes, you’re eighteen, but while you’re still in school, you’ll have a curfew. Now,” he adds, “the two of us will talk and come to an agreement on extending that curfew, but for tonight . . .” His words drift, and when he faces my mom, he says, “Let her have tonight.”

  Her mouth drops, and I smile.

  “She is not staying out all night with that boy. Are you crazy?”

  “They’re just friends.”

  “This is the problem, Jonathan,” she snaps when my phone buzzes in my pocket. “I’m the only one trying to protect her. You’re her father, and yet, you set no boundaries.”

  Sebastian: On my way.

  “Maybe the problem is that you set too many boundaries. You barely let her breathe.”

  She slings her napkin onto the table. “That is not true!”

  They continue to argue, not noticing when I leave the table and head upstairs to grab my coat. While I slip the key to my dad’s house onto the ring with my others, their voices grow louder, and suddenly, they’re back to fighting about the affair. That is possibly the only good thing about my dad moving out—I won’t have to listen their screaming matches any longer.

  I’m over it.

  As soon as the doorbell rings, I run downstairs, tossing a, “Bye,” over my shoulder that I doubt they even notice, and rush out.

  Their yelling spills out of the house loud enough for Sebastian to hear.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Same fight, different day,” I say, trying to brush it off as we walk over to his car, but I can’t shake it. The incessant gloom that follows me never dulls.

  When he pulls away from the house, I keep my focus out my window while I bite my cheek to keep myself from falling apart.

  “Hey,” he says gently, laying his hand on my knee.

  A thousand pounds of ache splits me open, and I blink fast to keep the tears away. I’m trying so hard to be strong, to not feel this way, to not be myself, but this gaping wound is everlasting, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending that everything is fine.

  “Do you think we can do something else tonight?” I hate that my voice trembles.

  At the light, he pulls a U-turn, and I don’t need to ask where he’s taking me—he just knows. I keep my forehead pressed against the cold window as he drives over to Marina Beach. My chest is tight, and when I look up into the sky, I wonder if that’s where the other half of me is—the better half. It has to be somewhere, right?

  After he parks, I go down to the sand and sit on a piece of wood as I stare out over the water that shimmers under the light of the moon. It isn’t often we get a clear night, and the reflection it casts without the clouds is brighter than usual.

  Sebastian sits next to me, and I feel bad. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Ruining our plans.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  I look over at him to find he’s already looking at me, and I get an overpowering need to drop the character I’ve been playing since I left Hopewell. The magnitude of this low I can’t find my way out of has been gnawing away at me, but the fear of what will happen if someone finds out is what keeps me silent. Yet, there’s a look in Sebastian’s eyes that lets me know that maybe I don’t have be afraid of him finding out.

  “Can I tell you something without you getting all worried?”

  “You can tell me anything.”

  Having this come so close to the surface has me splintering, and my eyes rim with tears. They’re always there, eager to break free. It’s utter agony trying to keep myself together, but I can’t anymore. I just can’t.

  “I’m sad.” The words come, and the proof slips down my cheeks as my throat constricts painfully, causing my voice to strain when I tell him, “Like, really sad.”

  His brows cinch in concern. “It’s bad?”

  “Yeah.” I breathe on a desperate whimper, and he threads his fingers with mine. “I had to tell someone because all I do is hold it in and it’s so painful pretending that everything’s okay when nothing is.” He pulls me close, and I tuck my head against his neck. “All I want to do is cry—all the time—and I have no idea why.”

  “Why haven’t you told anyone?”

  “Because there’s no one I trust. If I say anything, they’ll all freak out.”

  He draws back and takes my face in his hands, asking seriously, “Do I need to be worried?”

  “No.”

  “I need you to be completely honest with me because this scares me.”

  He has every reason to be scared—he’s seen what I’m capable of. “No, I promise.”

  He nods, but he’s reluctant. “Come here.”

  When he holds me again, the relief of him knowing makes breathing a little easier, but it doesn’t do anything to lessen my sadness as I quietly weep against his shoulder. I hate that I’m like this, but what else can I do when I’m already doing everything? Maybe some things are meant to be broken for a reason, whatever that reason may be.

  He pushes back and before I can wipe my face, he stands, confusing me when he peels off his shirt.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting in,” he says before unzipping his pants.

  “That water’s freezing. Are you crazy?”

  He smiles. “Yeah, I am. Haven’t you heard? We both are.” The chilly air already has goose bumps exploding over his skin as he scrambles to remove his socks. He then pulls me off the driftwood to stand in front of him, and his tone is deliberate when he tells me, “But you’re eighteen now. They won’t ever be able to lock you up again.” My chin quivers, but before my emotions get the better of me, he says, “Come on; take your clothes off.”

  The mood shifts instantly, and I stifle a giggle when he starts bouncing around in nothing but his boxer briefs. “No way!”

  “Get in with me,” he dares with a smile that melts my defenses, and when I start to shake my head and back away from him, he just grins. “Come on, Low. Take your clothes off.”

  God, the joy sparking in his eyes gives me a tiny twinge of jealousy, and I’m so desperate to feel what he’s feeling that I pinch my eyes closed, stalling for a beat before mumbling a freeing, “What the hell?” and ripping my shirt off. The cold air bites my skin, and I move in a frenzy as I unbutton and shove my pants down, but he’s already off and running.

  “Wait for me!” I call out, chasing after him.

  “Shit!” he shouts the moment he hits the water, and I’m squealing because damn it’s freezing.

  “Holy crap!” The water is so frigid that it takes my breath away, but I somehow manage to fill my lungs with laughter as the two of us tumble recklessly into a wave.

  He’s laughing too, and we’re so loud that the night fills with the echoes of our mayhem. My heart pounds like a cannonball against my ribs, and when he grabs my hand and tugs me close to him, we’re breathless.

  “I’ve never seen you smile like this before,” he says, completely winded.

  My chest heaves heavily. “Like what?”

  “Like you really mean it.”

  And I do. For the first time in forever, I feel free.

  “God, I can’t take it anymore,” he bites painfully before we bail and run back to shore.

  I’m a fit of giggles as we race to our piles of clothes, scoop them up, and dart to his car. He tosses me a couple of blankets from his back seat and turns the heat on high. We’re nothing but shivers and chattering teeth as we huddle as close as we can to warm up. Our pulses race while we continue laughing in short bursts until our voices fade.

  His forehead is ice against mine, but his breaths warm my cheeks. Slowly, we thaw, inch by inch, until my muscles start to relax, and I slacken against him. It only lasts a moment before he slips his hand behind my neck and, out of nowhere, presses his lips to mine.

  My eyes are open, but his are closed, and I have no clue what he’s doing, what I’m doing—what we’re doing. A second later, he’s pulling back and staring into my eyes—confused just like I am. But I’ve come to know him well, and I don’t get the feeling that the kiss was anything more than him simply wanting to feel connected, to feel grounded, which is something neither of us has felt for a really long time.

  We need it—the connection.

  And even though I have no clue how to kiss a guy, I know I’m safe with him when I pull him back to me. This time, I close my eyes, and he offers me a comfort unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I could stay in it forever, but he abruptly draws back with a devious smile.

  “I have an idea.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a surprise,” he says, grabbing our clothes. “Get dressed.”

  Squirming around in his small car, we manage to pull our clothes back on, bonking our heads together a few times in the tight space.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as he drives across town.

  “You’ll see.”

  When he pulls into a strip mall, I assume we’re going to the Chinese takeout place to grab some food until he pulls into a spot right in front of a tattoo shop.

  “Uh-uh, no way.”

  He shakes his head and laughs. “You’re such a chicken.”

  He gets out of the car, walks around the front, and then opens my door. “I don’t know about this,” I mumble, glancing toward the tattoo place.

  Resting his arms on the hood of the car, he looks down at me and asks, “Are you against getting one?”

  “No, I just . . . I have no idea what I would get.”

  “I’m gonna choose.”

  “What?”

  “You trust me?”

  Nervously, I tell him, “I should probably say no.”

  “But you do?”

  With a heavy sigh, I close my eyes and nod before he takes my hand and helps me out of the car.

  “Oh god.” I cringe as he leads me into the shop.

  “You’ll be fine. I won’t choose a skull or anything like that,” he teases.

  While Sebastian talks to the guy behind the counter, I sit on the bench at the front of the shop, anxious and second-guessing going through with this. They look over at me before going back to talking in hushed voices as the guy sketches something on a piece of paper. I try not to think too much, but all I can do is consider the million reasons why this is a bad idea.

  “You ready?” When I don’t answer, he tells me, “You’re going to love it.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I know you.”

  And believing that he does is all I need to smile and stand. “This is crazy.”

  “So was jumping into the Sound, but you did it anyway.”

  “I’m Sam,” the guy introduces, and I shake his hand before he asks to see my ID and has me sign some paperwork. We then follow him back to one of the booths. “Just have a seat and relax.”

  I sit in the chair and recline, but there is no way I can relax. My heart is racing too fast.

  “You look like you’re going to puke,” Sam says, and Sebastian chuckles. “Is this your first tattoo?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  He smirks as he shoves his hands into a pair of purple latex gloves, and then he asks Sebastian, “Which arm?”

  “Her left.”

  “My arm?”

  Sam pushes the sleeve of my sweatshirt up, and I jump, darting my eyes to him. “I’m just going to clean the area with an alcohol swab,” he assures, but that isn’t what has me in knots; it’s the fact that he’s staring right at my scar. My stomach turns in sheer mortification as I watch him. He muddles on the other side of my shameful tears that have me locked in place.

  After he tosses the swab into the trash, he looks at my failed attempt. With his thumb, he traces along the memento of my darkest moment, but it’s when he lifts his eyes to mine and gives me the tiniest hint of a nod—a nod that conveys understanding—that I calm a little.