ALOVE

SODANGEROUS

ToTheBone

BookOne

ByLiliValente

AllRig htsRe se rve d
CopyrightALoveSoDang erous©2016LiliValente
OriginalCopyrightThisWickedRush©2016JessieEvans
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AbouttheBook

Warning:Thisisonedark,dangerous,dirty-talking,adrenaline-fueledthrillride.Areyouready?

I’vegotabigc*ck,abiggerbankaccount,andzerointerestinHappilyEverAfter.Ijustwanttofeel
alive,tolookintoawoman’seyesandseesomethingthat’sgoingtokeepmymindoffalltheshitI
refusetothinkaboutforanhourortwo.

AndthenImeether,agoodgirlwithabodymadeforsinanduglyproblemsonlyabadmancanfix.

Abadmanlikeme…

GabeAlexanderisthedevil.Oranangel.

He’sacriminalhidingbehindamillionairedollarpedigree,buthealsosavedmylifeandmyfamily.
He’stheworstkindofbadnews,buteverytimehetouchesme,andwhispersfilthy,beautifulthingsin
myear,allIwantismore.

Moreofhiskiss,histouch,andthedangerous,seductivethingshemakesmefeel.

Idon’twanttogobad,butthemanmakesitfeelsodamnedgood…

WarningParttheSecond:ALoveSoDangerousisthefirstinathreepartseries.Itisafull-length
novelthatendsinacliffhanger.ItwasformerlypublishedasOneWildNightandThisWickedRush
byJessieEvans.

“Andsoftnesscamefromthestarlight

andfilledmefulltothebone.”

–W.B.Yeats

CHAPTERONE

Caitlin

“Forgettingadebtdoesn’tmeanit’sbeenpaid”

–Irishproverb

Inaweek,itwillallbeover.
Inaweek,thepiecesofmyfamilywillbescatteredlikedandelionseedsinahardwindandthere’s

notathingIcandoaboutit.

Deepdown,Iknowthat.IknowthistimetheCooneysaresoscrewedtherewillbenosweet-talking

ourwayoutoftrouble.Still,Ikeepshiftingthebillsaroundonthescarredkitchencounterand
punchingnumbersintomycalculator,hopingtofindawaytokeeptheballsintheairandthekidsout
ofthesystem.

Butthestatedoesn’tcarethatI’vebeenrunningthisfamilysinceIwasseventeenanddoingapretty

goodjobofituntilnow.Myfather ’sthelegalguardian.Allitwilltakeisahardlookinourdirection
—thekindofhardlookthatwillcomewhenwegetkickedoutofthehouseandthekidsstartgoingto
schoolsmellinglikethey’relivinginavan—anditwillbecomeobviousthatChuckisanunfitparent.
Beforeyoucansay“throwthebabyoutwiththebathwater,”thefourunderageCooneyswillbe
scoopedupbytheDepartmentofHumanServicesandtrundledofftoseparatefosterhomes.

Allofthatcouldbeavoided,ofcourse,ifthetaxmanwouldgivemeabreak.Butthegovernment

doesn’tcarethatmyfatherdroppedallourmadmoneyat

TheSweetPickle

lastmonth,payingoffhis

bartabbeforetheowner ’sgrandson,Hal,madegoodonhisthreattobeatthemoneyoutofChuck.
Thetaxmanwantsthedelinquenttaxes,andthekids,whoselivesthatmeaslytwelvehundreddollarsis
goingtoruin,bedamned.

You’dhavethecashifyou’dstooduptoChuckandkeptyourmouthshutaboutwherethemoneywas

hidden.

“Right,”Imumbletomyself.“Andletaguywithametalplateinhisshouldergetbeatenhalfto

death.”

“Youtalkingtome,Caitlin?”Dannycallsoutfromthelivingroom,wheremytwelve-year-old

brotherhassettledintoplayoneofhisbloodyvideogameswhilethebabyiswatchingSesameStreet
upstairs.

“No!”Ishout.“Andturnthatdown.Ican’thearmyselfthink.”
Dannyupsthevolumeinresponse.Igritmyteethandshifttheelectricalbilltothebackofthe

queue—it’sAprilandstillcool,wecanmakedowithoutairconditioningiftheelectricitygetsshut
off—butthatonlyfreesupanotherhundredandtwentybucks.Icansnagabagofgroceriesfrom
SisterMaggiedownatthechurch,butthatwon’tfeedthiscrewformorethanafewdays.

Threeboysbetweentheagesofeightandtwelvetakedowna

lot

offood,andevenEmilieisstarting

toputawayhershare.Emmie’salwaysbeenonthesmallsidesoI’mgladshe’sputtingonweight,but

attheratethesekidsaresuckingdownmac'ncheesethere’snowayI’mpayingthepropertytax
withoutsomebodygoinghungry.Unlessaricholdauntfromtheoldcountrydiesandleavesmeher
fortune,thattwelvehundred,seventy-threedollars,andtwocentsIneedbynextWednesdaymightas
wellbetwelvemillion.

Mygramalwayssaidyoucouldn’tmakeasilkpursefromasow’sear,andIdon’tevenhavea

sow’sear.I’vegotthreelittlebrothers,atwo-year-oldnieceI’veraisedsinceshewastwomonthsold,
afatherwhohasn’thelddownajobinsixmonths,ahundredbucksleftinmybankaccount,andbills.

TosaythisisnotthewayIwashopingtospendmytwentiethbirthdaywouldbeanunderstatement.
“Well,lookatyou.”Danielbreezesintothekitchen,videogamecontrollerstillinhand,tograba

fistfulofpretzelsfromthebinonthecounter.Hemunchesashelooksmeupanddown,takinginmy
skintightblackjeansandshimmeringgoldtanktopwithacurledlip.“Lookingslutty.Whereyou
going?”

“OutwithSherry,”Isay,withaglare.“Andwatchyourmouth.”
Withhisdarkblondecurls,greeneyes,andski-slopenose,DannyandIresembleeachothermore

thananyoneelseinthefamily,butwecouldn’tbemoredifferent.Ispendmylifecleaningupother
people’smesses;hespendshislightingfiresformetoputout.He’sasmart-mouthedtroublemaker
who’salreadymadeanameforhimselfwiththeGiffneyP.D.andtheonly“bad”thingI’veeverdone
wasdropoutofschoolwhenIwasseventeentotakecareofthebabyandtheotherkidsaftermysister
ranoff.IworktwojobsanddomybesttomakesurethekidseathealthyandEmmiedoesn’twatch
toomuchT.V.,whileDannyisconstantlyonthevergeofbeingsuspendedforconductcode
infractions.

Thechancesofhimgraduatingjuniorhigh,letalonehighschool,withoutastintinjuvieare

lookinglesslikelywitheverypassingyear,butstill…Ikeeptrying.

It’snotlikeanyoneelsearoundhereisgoingtobethevoiceofreason.
“Seriously,D,”Isay,knockinghishandawaywhenhereachesformyCoke.Itwasthelastonein

thefridgeandIneedcaffeineifI’mgoingtostayawaketocelebratemystupidbirthday.“Idon’twant
anothercallfromMr.Pitt.Youneedtopullittogetherandfinishthisyearstrong.”

“Whatever.”Danielrollshiseyes.“Mr.Pittcansuckmydick.”
“I’mserious,Danny.”HereachesformysodaagainandIslaphishandasecondtime.Harder.“No

morelanguage,”Iinsistinmynagvoice,theoneIcanbarelystandtohearmyselfI’veuseditso
muchwithhim.“It’sthestraightandnarrowforyou.Evenathome.Idon’thavetimetodealwithany
moreofyourcrapthismonth.”

“Whataboutyourcrap?”hemumbles.“Youcussallthetime.”
“Please,D…”Icrossmyarmsandshakemyhead,tootiredfortheusual“butI’manadultandI

workmyassofftofeedyousoIcandowhatIwant”lecture.“Canyougivemeabreak?Justfora
weekortwo?Untilthingscalmdown?”

Hesighs,hislipspullingdownattheedgesashisgazeslidestowardtheenvelopesspreadouton

thecounter.“Everything’sgoingtobeokaythough,”hesays,thesassgoneoutofhistone.“We’re
notgoingtolosethehouse,right?”

“Ofcoursenot,”Ilie,forcingasmile.
IrefusetoletmybrothersworrythewayI’veworriedmyentirelife.Onestomachfullofacidand

holesisenoughforthisfamily.

“I’msortingitout,”Icontinue,gatheringthebillsintoapileandshovingthembackintheshoebox

Ikeepontopofthefridge,wishingIcouldmakeourdebtdisappearaseasily.“Butifyou’vegotany
moneyleftoverfromallthatsnowshovelingyoudidinJanuary,itwouldhelp.Icanpayyouback

oncetipspickupattherestaurant.”

Danielshrugs.“Youdon’thavetopaymeback.I’veonlygotfortybucksleft,anyway.Youcanjust

takeit.”

“Thanks,booger.”Ismile,arealonethistime,rememberingwhyIcouldn’thavemadeitthrough

partsofthepastfewyearswithoutthiskid.

He’sapaininmyass,buthe’salsomyrighthandmanwhenIneedhim.
“Iloveyou,”Isay,rufflinghishair.“Youknowthat,right?”
“Puke,”Dannysays,butthere’sasmiletuggingathislipswhenheliftshishandsintotheair,

wardingoffthehughecannodoubtsenseiscoming.“I’llgogetthemoney,butyouhavetotellRay
togetoutofthebathroom.I’vebeentryingtogetashowersinceIgotbackfrompracticeandhe’s
beeninthebathforafuckinghourandahalf.”

“Language!”Icallouttomybrother ’sretreatingback.“AndcheckEmmie’spull-upwhileyou’re

upstairs.”

“Whatever,”Dannycallsback,butIknowhe’llcheck.
HelovesEmmie,probablymorethanhelovesanyoneintheworld.Dannywasanine-year-old

obsessedwithmonstertrucksandboxingrobotswhenourbigsister,Aoife,leftherdaughteratour
houseandsplit.NothinginDanny’snatureuptothatpointhadindicatedapaternalstreak,buthe
couldn’tgetenoughofhisbabyniece.HecarriedEmmiealloverthehouse,talkingnon-stop,and
draggedherPack'nPlayintohisroomsohecouldwatchoverherwhilesheslept.

Evennow,Emmie’stoddlerbedsitsinthecornerofDanny’sroom,herdolls,babyblocks,and

pinktoykitchenastarkcontrasttotheskateboardpostersandskeletonstickersdecoratingtheother
sideoftheroom.It’sDannywhoEmmiecrawlsinbedwithwhenshehasabaddream,andDanny
whofinallygother

mostly

potty-trainedafewweeksback,savingmesomemuchneededmoneyon

pull-ups.

ThechancesthatDannyandEmmiewillendupinthesamefosterhomeareslimtonone.Andeven

iftheydo,Ican’timagineafosterfamilyagreeingtoatwelve-year-oldboyandatwo-year-oldgirl
sharingaroom.Thereareprobablyrulesagainstthatkindofthing,rulesthathavetobefollowedno
matterhowmuchit’sgoingtodevastatetwokidswholoveeachother.

Mystomachgurglesandacidburnsthebackofmythroat.
“You’regoingtofigureitout,”Imuttertomyself,crossingtograbanantacid.
I’montopofthekitchencounteronmyknees,reachinguptothetopshelfwhereI’vekeptthe

medicinesinceRayateabarofchocolatelaxativeswhenhewasseven,whenthefrontdooropensand
thesmellofgarlicandmeltedcheesewaftsthroughthelivingroomintothekitchen.

Immediately,mybreathcomeseasierandmystomachgurgles—withhungerthistime—reminding

meIhaven’teatenanythingsinceteno’clockthismorning.

“Pizza!”Isaacboomsinhisrelentlesslyupbeatvoiceasthedoorslamsshutbehindhim.“Comeand

getit,Cooneys!”

“You’reanangel!”Icallout,grinningasIhopdownfromthecounter,antacidforgottenasImake

abeelinearoundtheislandintothelivingroom.

Footstepsthunderdownthestairs,andmomentslaterIsaacissurroundedbyjumpingkids,andfour

pairsofgrabbinghands.

“Holdon,”hesays,holdingthepizzaoutofDanny’sreach,browneyescrinklingattheedgeswhen

helaughs.“Washyourhandsfirst.It’stoohottoeatyet,anyway.”

“Wash‘emgood,”IcalloutasDanny,Ray—whohasapparentlydecidedtoemergefrombathtime

seclusioninthenameofsupper—andSeanraceeachothertowardthedownstairsbathroom.

IscoopEmmieupbeforeshecangettrampledandleanintogiveIsaacahug.
“Heythere.”HesquishesEmmieandmeagainstasoftbrownteeshirtthatsmellspleasantlyof

wood-firedpizzaoven,pine-scentedairfreshener,andbestfriend.“Howyouholdingup?”

“Prettygood,”Isay,meltingintothehug.
Isaac’salwaysbeenabigguy—heplayedfootballwhenwewereinhighschoolandatLimestone

Collegeuntilhequittorunthefamilypizzajointafterhisdad’sstroke—butsincehestartedworking
at

Frank’sPies,he’sacquiredatummytogowiththemuscles.Hisgirlfriend,Heather,teaseshim

aboutit,butIkindoflikethepudge.There’ssomethingcomfortingabouthuggingaguywhofeels
likeagiant,cuddlybear,butisalsocapableofrippingabadguy’sheadoffwithhisbarehands.

“Prettygood,youthinkyou’vegottheproblemlicked?”Isaacasksashepullsawaytosetthepizza

boxesbalancedinhisfreehandonthecrumb-coveredtable.“Orprettygood,you’veonlyhadseven
antacidstodayinsteadoftwelve?”

Iwrinklemynose,butamsparedfromansweringwhenDannyskidstoastopbesidemeanddives

forthepizza.

“Holdonasecond!Letmegetplatesandnapkins.”Ihurryintothekitchen,grabbingplatesandthe

rollofpapertowelsandslidingthemacrosstheislandtoIsaac,whodealsoutplacesettingslikea
roundofcards.

Emmie,stillbalancedonmyhip,startstosquirm—obviouslyreadytojointhebigboysatthetable

—soIhurryovertothesink.

“Let’sgetyourhandsclean,doodle.”Ishiftheraround,balancingherbetweenmybodyandthe

sinksoourhandscantangletogetherbeneaththecoolstreamofwater.

Ifocusonherpudgylittlefingers,wonderinghowI’mgoingtoholdupwithoutseeingthemevery

day.Raisingababyandmyyoungerbrothersonmyownformostofthepasttwoandahalfyearshas
beensodifficultandtime-consumingtherehasn’tbeenmuchtimetothink.

Notimetothinkabouthowtheyfeellike

kidsnow,notDad’sorMom’sor—Godforbid—my

pieceofshitsister ’s.Notimetothinkabouthowmuchapartofmetheyare,howmyworldrevolves
aroundthem,orhowmuchIwouldmissthechaosandthelaughterandthecrazyandeventhehard
stuffifitwerealltosuddenlyvanish.

Thisfamilyhascostmemyfairshareofblood,sweat,andtears,buttheyaremineandIlovethem.
Ineedthem.Sofuckingmuch.

CHAPTERTWO

Caitlin

“Ithinkherhandsareclean.”Thewordscomefromovermyshoulder,socloseitfeelslikethey’re

echoinginsidemyskull.

IjumpandturntoseeIsaacstandingbehindme,armsheldout.It’sonlythenthatIrealizeEmmie’s

squirminghasbecomefussing—orascloseassheevergetstofussing.

Emmie’salwaysbeenquietandsmall.Slowtowalk,slowertotalk,andalwayslagginginthepitiful

percentilesonthechartsthedoctorfillsoutonherwell-babyvisits.ButIdon’tpayattentiontothe
pityinDr.Naper ’seyeswhenhetalksaboutherdevelopmentaldelays.Emmieisnodummy.Iseeher
smartsintheclearblueeyesthatlookupatmewhenIscoopherupoutofbedeverymorning.One
dayshe’sgoingtostarttalkingabluestreakandmakeeverydoctorwhoeverthrewaroundwords
like“fetalalcoholsyndrome”eattheirwords.Ibelievethat—believeinher—withmyentireheart.

“NofosterparentisgoingtoknowherlikeIdo,”Iwhisper,tearsfillingmyeyesasIhandEmmie

overtoIsaac.“Theywon’tfightforher,likeIhadtofightforRaywhenthatbitch,Mrs.Porter,
wantedtoflunkhimafterMomleft.”

Isaac’sforeheadwrinkles,makinghimlooklikeasadpuppy.“LetmegetEmmieinherhigh

chair,”hesayssoftly.“Stayhere.I’llberightback.”

Inod,rubbingthetearsfrommyeyeswiththebacksofmyfists,ashamedofmyself.Idon’tcry.I

don’thavetime,especiallynotnow.Ineedtofocusonpullingasolutionoutofmyass,notwastetime
whiningaboutshitthathasn’tevenhappenedyet.

BythetimeIsaaccomesbackintothekitchenwithtwoslicesofpepperonionaplate,myboo-

hooingisover,replacedbythemorefamiliarwavesofacidlappingatthebackofmythroat.When
hetriestohandoverthepizza,Ishakemyheadandholduponehand.“Ihavetoletthestomach
volcanocalmdownfirst.”

Isaacsetstheplateonthecounterwhere,momentsbefore,IwasplayingJengawiththebills.“That

bad,huh?”

Inod,bitingmylip,refusingtogetemotionalagain.It’snotgoingtodoanyoneanygood,leastof

allthekids.“I’vebeenovereverythingahundredtimes.Ijustdon’tseehowwecanswingit.”

“Well…”Isaacletsoutasoftsighasheleansagainstthecounterbesideme.“I’vebeenthinking…I

couldgiveupmyapartmentandmovebackinwithmyparents.Thatwouldputmeinapositionto
giveyoualoan.”

Ishakemyheadmoreemphatically.“Noway.Iwon’tletyoudothat.YouandIanwouldkilleach

other.”

Ian,Isaac’slittlebrother,isasbigawasteoffleshasmysister.Iandidtimeforsexualassault—a

rapehesworehedidn’tcommit,butnoonewhoknewhimwassurprisedwhenhewasfoundguilty.
He’sbeencrashingwithhisparentssincehegotoutofjail,sittingonhisassforthebetterpartoften

months,whiningabouthowharditisforafelontogetajob.Meanwhile,Isaacgaveupgettinghis
businessdegreetotakeoverthepizzaplace,whileIan—whocouldhaveworkedathisdad’s
restaurant,it’snotlikeitwaswithintwothousandfeetofanelementaryschoolorsomething—saidhe
didn’thaveitinhimtosweatoveranovenafterspendingayearcookingfortheotherinmatesatthe
stateprison.And,incredibly,theirmomhumorstheasshole,babyingIanwhilesheleansonIsaacso
hardit’samiraclehehasn’tcrackedunderthepressure.

No,Isaachasenoughonhisplate.Ican’tlethimtakethekindofhitmovingbackinwithhisparents

woulddeliver,notevenforthekids.

“Wewouldn’tkilleachother,”Isaacsays.“Imightpoundhimintoabloodysmearonthewallnow

andthen,but…he’dsurvive.Mostlikely.”

Ismile.“Andifhedidn’t,you’dgotoprison,andthenwhosecouchwouldIcrashonwhenI’m

homeless?”

ThehumorvanishesfromIsaac’sexpression.“You’renotgoingtobehomeless.We’regoingto

figurethisout,Caitlin.”

“How?”Iask,pressingmylipstogetherasIshakemyhead.“Ican’tletthisshitdraganyoneelse

downbut…Ican’tseeawayout.We’redrowning,andIcan’tfindalifeboat,nomatterwhereIlook.”

“It’sgoingtobeokay,”Isaacsays,cuppingmyfaceinhisbighand,agestureIknowismeanttobe

comforting,butonlymakesmemoreawareofhowsmallIam.I’mfivefeetthreeinches,inheels,
andDadalwayssaysIlooklikeI’dblowawayinastrongwind.I’msmall,scrawny,andI’vebeen
foolingmyselfthinkingIcanholdeverythingtogether.Theonlythingtodonowistostartpreparing
fortheworst…orgetsodrunkIforgetaboutalltheproblemsforanight.

Gettingwastedisn’tusuallymystyle—betweenmyalcoholicmomanddadanddruggiesister,I’ve

seenenoughsubstanceabusetoknowbetter—butrightnowashotofwhiskeyissoundingpretty
damnedgood.Andhell,it

mytwentiethbirthday,andI’vegotafakeIDburningaholeinmypurse.

I’mpracticallyobligatedtogetwasted.

IsniffandpullawayfromIsaacwithahardgrin.“Grabmeacoupleofantacidsfromthetopshelf,

willya?IneedtogetsomefoodinmystomachbeforeIgettotheclub.”

“Goodplan,”Isaacsays,lettingtheheavystuffdropthewayhealwaysdoes.
It’soneofthereasonshe’sstillmyfriendwhensomanyothershavecomeandgone.Isaacknows

whentoleavethingsalone,whentoturnablindeyetomyfatherpassedoutonthefloorbytheback
doororignorethefactthatEmmie’srunningaroundthehousewithabarebottombecauseweranout
ofdiapers.Heknowswhentoofferadvice,andwhentojustbethere,makingmefeellessalone.

“ThanksforwatchingthekidssoSherryandIcangoout,”Isay,chompingtheantacidshedrops

intomypalmandwashingawaythechalktastewithagulpofCokethatsetsmyteethfizzing.

“Mypleasure.”IsaachandsmetheplateofpizzaandwatcheswithasmileasIinhalehalfaslicein

threebites.

“Andhavefuntonight,okay?”hesays.“Alltheshitwillstillbehereinthemorning.”
“Don’tIknowit,”Isaywryly,shiftingtocheckonthekidsasIfinishmyfirstsliceofpepperoni.

Miraculously,nofightshavebrokenoutinthetenminutesI’vedroppedmyguard.ThankGodfor
pizzaandplentyofit.

“Imeantyoushouldhaveagoodtime,”Isaacsays,chuckingmeontheshoulder.“Youdeservea

break.Haveafewtoomany;stayoutuntilthesuncomesup.I’llmakesurethekidsareinbedbyten
anddon’tburnthehousedown.”

“Andteethneedtobebrushed,”Isayaroundamouthfulofpizza.“EspeciallySean.He’sbeen

pullingthat‘wetthetoothbrushandstickitbackinthecupwithoutbrushing’thinglately.”

Isaacgivesmeathumbsup.
“AndmakesureEmmiegoespottylastthingbeforebed,”Icontinue.“She’slesslikelytohavean

accidentthatway.”

“Gotit.”Isaacnods.
“Anddon’tletDannyplayanythingviolentwhilethelittleonesaredownstairs,”Isay,finishingmy

secondsliceandwipingmyhandsontherattydishtowelhangingbytheoven.“Thosezombiegames
giveSeanandEmmiebothnightmares.Seansaystheydon’t,buthe’slying.Anddon’tletRaytake
anotherbath.He’susedupenoughhotwaterforoneday,butmakesureDannyandSean—”

I’minterruptedbyahardknockonthefrontdoor.SecondslaterSherryslamsintothehousewitha

whoop.

“What’sup,people!”shecallsoutasshebreezesthroughthelivingroom.
She’swearingasfewclothesaspossible—blackhotpantsandaredhaltertop,pairedwithheelsthat

looksharpenoughtobeusedasamurderweapon—andhercurlyredhairisteasedintoasexymess
thatmakesitclearshe’spreparedtoparty.

“Readytojet,Cait?”sheasks,wigglingherfingersatIsaac.
“Yes,sheis.”Isaacturnsmearoundbytheshouldersandwalksmeintothelivingroom.“Gether

outofherebeforeshestartsmakinglists.”

Iturnbacktohim,handsonmyhips.“DoIneedtomakealist?”
“No!”IsaacandSherrysayatthesametime.
“Isaac’sgotthis.Let’sgo.”Sherrygrabsmyhandandtowsmetowardthedoor.“Wecangetinfree

Elevation

ifwegettherebeforenineo’clock.”

“Inbedbyten,y’all,”IcallouttothekidsasIgrabmypursefromthehooknearthedoor.“And

don’tgiveIsaacanycrap.”

“Havefun!”Raycallsout.
“HappyBirthday,sissy,Iloveyou,”Seansays,earningmyforgivenessforbeingatoothbrush-

avoidingturd.

“Don’tgetpregnant,”Dannyadds,followedbyasharp,“Hey!”whenIsaacthunkshimontheback

ofthehead.

“Havefun,ladies!”Isaaccallsout,grinningasDannytackleshimandtheybothgorollingontothe

carpet.BythetimeSherryandIescapeoutthefrontdoor,Seanhaslaunchedhimselfontothepigpile
andallthreeofthemarelaughinglikeidiots.

Iknowtheroughhousingwillendintears—italwaysdoes—butIresisttheurgetoheadbackinto

thehouseandputanendtothemadness.

Asofnow,I’mofficiallyoffduty.Forthenextfewhours,I’mnotCaitlintheloyaldaughter,Caitlin

theresponsiblesister,orCaitlinthedutifulaunt.TonightI’mgoingtobetheCaitlinwhoknowshow
toletherhairdown,whocandanceallnightandstillhaveenoughenergytohitthedinerbefore
sunrise.I’mreadytocutlooseandhavesomefunbeforefocusingmyentirebeingonfindingaway
tokeepthingsfromgoingtorotandruin.

Ihavenocluethatthiswillbethenightthatchangeseverything,thenight

sweepsintomylife

likeasummerstorm,washingawayallthoseyearsofhardworkandgoodintentions,makingme
someonedifferentthanIwasbefore.

CHAPTERTHREE

Gabe

“Ifmusicbethefoodoflove,playon.”

–Shakespeare

Thebrunettenexttomeintheblackleatherboothoverlookingthedancefloorisgoingonandon

abouthowmuchsheenjoysvolunteeringatthebatteredwomen’ssheltermymotherandherDAR
croniesfundastheirpetproject.

ShannonGriffonsitswithhershapely,tannedlegsdemurelycrossed,hercurve-hugging—yet

tasteful—beigedresstuggeddowntoherknees.Sheextolsthevirtuesofthebravewomenand
adorablechildrenwhotakerefugeattheshelterinwordsaseloquentasherclothing,eachsentence
outofhermouthmoreheartwarmingthanthelast,butallIkeepthinkingisthatthisisanhourofmy
lifeI’llnevergetbackagain.

Anentire,precioushourwastedmakingsmalltalkwithasweet,doe-eyedgirlmymotherinsistedI

takeoutfordrinks,whenIcouldbedownonthedancefloorwithawomanwhomightactuallybeup
forhavingagoodtimelatertonight.

“Don’tyouthinkthat’ssoimportant?”Shannonasks,raisinghervoicetobeheardoverthepulsing

clubbeat.“Imean,Idon’tknowwhatI’ddowithoutaspaceofmyown.Ithinkeveryhumanbeing
deservesthat.”

Inodlazily—hopingshe’llwinddownandI’llbeabletomakemyexcusesandheadfortheexit—

butapparentlyeventhatsmallsignofinterestisenoughtoconvinceShannonI’mengaged.She
launchesintoanothermonologuethatI’mcertainissincere,notsimplyanattempttoimpressher
boss’sson,butIdon’tcare.Idon’tcarethatShannonandIshareapassionforrightingsocietal
wrongs.Idon’tcarethatShannonisaperfectlyniceperson.Idon’tcarethatshehasagoodheartand
ahotbodyandwouldprobablymakesomeoneagreatgirlfriend.

Thatsomeoneisn’tme,andthesoonerwebothunderstandthat,thebetter.
“I’msorry,”Isay,interruptingherlectureontheimportanceoftreatingthepoorwithdignity.“I

havetogetgoing.”

Shannonblinks.“Oh.Okay.”Sheletsoutanoisethatishalfsigh,halfnervouslaugh.“Butwe’re

havingsuchagoodtime.”

“No,we’renot,”Isay,knowinghonestyisthebestwaytomakesureshegetsthemessage,andmy

mothernevertriestosetmeupwithanyone,everagain.“Youseemnice,Shannon,butI’mnot
interested.Notevenalittle.”

Herjawdrops.“I…Ican’tbelieveyoujustsaidthat.”
Iliftoneshoulder.“Iknow.I’mrude.You’rebetteroffwithoutaguylikeme.”Ipatherbareknee,

notsurprisedtofeelnothingwhenItouchher,noteventheslightestsparkofattraction.“I’msure
you’llmakesomefratboyveryhappywhenyougobacktotheuniversitynextfall.”

Shannonsurgestoherfeet,hairflyingassheturnstogoonlytospinbackwhensherealizesshe’s

forgottenherpurse.“You’reajerk,GabeAlexander,andyoucanrotinheckforallIcare,”shesays,
theangerflashinginherbrowneyesmakinghermarginallymoreattractive.

Butonlymarginally.
“Drivesafe.”IliftonehandandwatchShannonstormaway,weavinginandoutbetweenthedark

blackboothsliningthebalcony,withtheswiftnessofagirlwhodrankvirginmargaritasallnight.

VirgindrinkswithMotherTheresa.Sofar,thiseveninghasbeensoG-ratedit’sleftasaccharine

tasteinmymouth.

“Whiskey,”Isaytothecocktailwaitresswhenshetriestodropoffthecheck—mistakenlyassuming

I’llbeleavingwithmydate.“Double.Ontherocks.Thebestyou’vegot.”

Shenods,settingthefeathersontheridiculoushat

Elevation

makesitsfemalestaffwearbobbing

beforeshewalksaway.

Isettlebackintothebooth,thetensioneasingfrommyshoulders.Isupposesomepeoplemightbe

moretenseafterpissingofftheirdate,butI’mhappytohavereclaimedmynight.Shannonwillbe
fine.I’vedoneherafavor,really.Somegirlshavetobeburnedafewtimesbeforetheywiseup,get
overtheir“savingthebadboy”fantasies,andgolookingforaniceguy.

Badboysareawasteofawoman’stime.Mostofusarepastsaving,andtheresthavezerointerest

inHappilyEverAfter.Hell,IhavezerointerestinHappyForNow.Ijustwanttofeelalive,tolook
intoagirl’seyesandseesomethingthat’sgoingtokeepmymindoffallthethingsIrefusetothink
aboutforanhourortwo.

ThethoughtisbarelythroughmyheadwhenIsee

her,theblondeinthegoldtanktopandthe

paintedonjeansthrashinginthecenterofthedancefloorbelow.

Ismile,knowingmynightisabouttogetalotmoreinteresting.

CHAPTERFOUR

Gabe

Theblondedanceslikeawomanpossessed—armsup,headtossingfromsidetoside,hairflying,

hipsswivelingwithasensualabandonthathasthemensurroundinghertwistingtheirneckstogeta
betterlookatherass,butshedoesn’tseemtorealizeshe’scausingacommotion.

Orifshedoes,shedoesn’tcare.Sheisn’tdancingforthepeoplewatching.Thisdanceisabouther

andthemusic.She’sfeedingoffeverypulseofthebass,everyeerienotethefemalesingercroons
aboutcastlesinthesky.Thegirldanceslikethismomentisallthereis,allsheneeds,allshe’llever
have,andIknowrightthen—Ihavetohaveher.

AsecondlaterI’vedumpedfortydollarsonthetableandI’moutofmybooth,movingsmoothly

downthecircularstaircasetothedancefloor,mydoubleshotofwhiskeyforgotten.Ieaseoffthelast
stepandheadstraightformygirl,notsurprisedwhenthemenandwomeninmywaysenseme
comingandinstinctivelyshiftoutofmypath.

Overthepastfewmonths,I’vestoppedgivingashitaboutalmosteverythingandI’vestarted

fearingnothing.OnethingI’velearnedinthattimeisthataveragefolksarescaredofpeoplelikeme.
Humansarehard-wiredtopossessacertaindegreeoffear.Fearkeepsussafefrompredators.Fear
keepsusoutofthepathofoncomingtrafficandourfingersoutoftheflames.Peoplewhoaren’t
afraidaredangerous,unpredictable,likeafieldfulloflandminesyou’rebetteroffnottryingto
cross.

ButIhaveafeelingmytinydanceristhekindwhoenjoysdanger.
Ireachherasthebasslineisescalating,thumpingfasterandfaster,becomingadesperate,hungry

pulsethatfillstheclubandreverberatesoffthewalls.Herhipskeeptime,wigglingintightcircles
thatmakeitimpossiblenottoimagineherblondcurlstumblingaroundherbareshoulderswhileshe
ridesme,fasterandfasteruntilwebothexplode.

Judgingbytheexpressionsonthefacesofthetwomeatheadsinmatchingpoloshoveringbehind

her,thejockswerehavingsimilarthoughts,butwhenImovebetweenthemandtheobjectoftheir
desire,theystepback.Theirlizardbrainscanprobablytellpickingafightwithmewouldn’tendwell,
evenifmybicepsaren’tthesizeofwatermelons.

Notsparingmycompetitionanotherthought,Ishiftmyfocustothegirl’sflyinghairand

undulatinghipsandletgo.Iletgoofeverything—theresidualirritationfromthetimeIwastedwith
Shannon,theburninginmygutfrommylatestfightwithmyparents,theheavygrayweightofthe
undeniablethingsIdragaroundbehindmeeveryminuteofeveryday,andthefrustratedambitions
thathoveraroundmelikeapoisonousfog.Itallvanishes,leavingnothingbutthegirlandmeandthe
music.

I’vebeendancinglessthanaminutewhensheturns—pivotingtowardmeandmovinginclose—

andIknowshe’sfeltit,thedrawoftwolike-mindedcreatures,apullahundredtimesmorepowerful

thantheopposingpolesofamagnet.

Somemaysayoppositesattract,butwhenitcomestohumannature,likecraveslike.
Mygirlshiftscloser,soclosethehairflyingaroundherfacelashesthebareskinbelowthesleeves

ofmyteeshirt,leavingapleasantstingingsensationbehind.Thesmellofher—cedarandsoapand
darker,smokierthings—fillsmyhead,ratchetingupmyawareness.It’sanunexpectedlymasculine
smell,butIlikeit.Itsuitsher,somehow.Shemightbesmallerthanalmosteveryothergirlonthe
dancefloor,butherferocityisevidentineveryhipswivel,ineveryconfidentthrustofherthinarms
intotheair.

Bythetimeshefistsherhandinmyshirt,pullingmetoher,I’malreadyhalfwaytobeinghard.Her

curvespressingagainstmefinishesthejob,butshedoesn’tpullawaywhenmyerectionbrushes
againstherbelly.Infact—fromwhatIcanseeofherpinklipsbetweentheflashinglightsandthehair
swirlingaroundherface—Ithinkshesmiles.

Asuspicionofasmileisenoughformetowrapmyarmaroundherwaistandliftherslimframe,

shiftingmyjean-cladthighbetweenherlegs.

ShestiffensslightlyasIurgehercloser,untileveryrollofourhipssendsmythighintointimate

connectionwithherheat.HerfingersclawintomyshouldersandIcatchaglimpseofherfullbottom
liptrappedbetweenadorablyjaggedteeth.Shesighsandthrowsherheadback,givingmeaglimpse
ofherpalethroatandajawsodelicateIcouldfititinonehand.

Herheadsnapsbackupamomentlater,herhairflyingaroundbothourfaces,andIfeelthelastof

herresistancevanish.Shegivesintothemoment,tothemusic,tothewayourbodiesfitsoperfectly
togetherit’sasifGodmadeustodryhumponthedanceflooroftheonlysemi-coolclubinnorthern
SouthCarolina.

Ipullhercloser,drivingmyfingersthroughherhairasourforeheadstouch.Hernailsdigintomy

skinsohardIcanfeelitthroughmyteeshirt,herbreathiswarmandsweetagainstmylips,andthe
softsoundshemakesasItightenmyfistinherhairisenoughtomakemyskingofeverhotallover.

Isuddenlycan’twaitanotherminutetobealonewithher.Themusicthatwasfuelforthefireisnow

agiantgnatbuzzingaroundmyhead,keepingmefrombeingabletohearthesexylittlebreathsmy
girlismakingasourdancegetsprogressivelymoreerotic.

“Let’sgosomewhere,”Isayinherear—perfectseashellearsosweetlookingIcan’twaittotrace

eachcurvewithmytongue.“Getoutofhere.”

Sheshakesherheadasshepullsaway,givingmemyfirstgoodlookatherface.“Ican’t,I…”Her

wordscutoff,replacedbyashockedexpressionI’msuremirrorsmyown.

AndIdon’tshockeasily.Notanymore.
Butfindingoutthewild,uninhibitedstranger,who’sbeengrindingonmyleginpublic,isthemost

uptightgoodgirlI’veevermet—agirlsogoodshenuclearbombedherentirelifetoenableher
ghettofamily’sbullshit—isshockingstuff.

Still,Irecoverbeforeshedoes,andsmile.
“Caitlin.”Ishouttobeheardoverthenewsong,ahip-hopnumberlesspulsingthanthetechno

numberbeforeit.“Haven’tseenyouinawhile.”

“Youstillhaven’tseenme,”shesays,swallowinghard.“Thisneverhappened.”
Ismilewider.“Oh,comeon.Youseemedtobeenjoyingyourself.Iwas.Sureyoudon’twantto

comebacktomyplace?”

“Nowayinhell,”shesays,hermouthgoingtightaroundtheedges,thewayitdidwhenshe’dturn

inherseatduringstudyhallanddemandthatmyfriendsandIshutup,because“somepeopleneedto
gettheirhomeworkdonebeforework,assholes.”

Backthen,shewassouptightitwaseasytoignorehowprettyshewas,butnowthatI’veseenher

dance,smelledherintoxicatingscent,andhadherbreastsflattenedagainstmychestasshewrithed
againstme,Idon’twanttoignoreit.Idon’twanttoletCaitlinwalkawaywithoutfindingoutifthere’s
morewildchildhidingbeneathherchillyexterior.

Whenshespinsandhurriesawaywithoutsomuchasa“fuckyou,”Ifollow,stalkingheracrossthe

dancefloor.

I’dneverpursueagirlwholegitimatelyhadnointerest,butIknowCaitlinwantsme,andIwantto

feelherfingernailsdiggingintomyshouldersagain,thistimewithnoclothesbetweenus.Iwantto
feelherbreathhotonmylipsasshecallsmynamewhenImakehercome,andcome,andcome
again,untilneitherofuscanholdathoughtinourheadsandthereisnothingintheworldbuthow
gooditfeelstofuck.

Hot,sticky,sweaty,no-holds-barredfuckinguntilthesunrisestomorrowmorning.
Ihavemyshareofaddictions,butthisismydrugofchoice—thehunt,therushasIseehowfastI

cangetthewomanofthenightnakedandwilling.Itusuallydoesn’ttakelong.Tenminutes,fifteen—
maybeanhourifshe’soneofthosesweet,Southerntypeswhostillgivesashitifaguythinksshe’sa
“badgirl.”

AsfarasI’mconcerned,thereisnosuchthingasa“badgirl,”simplygirlswho’veembracedtheir

sexualityandrefusetofeelshameaboutit,andthosewhohaven’t.But,ifwe

must

callwomenwho

liketocomewithavarietyofconsentingpartners“badgirls,”thenI’mafan.

Badgirlsareoneofmyfavoritethingsand—despitewhatIknowofCaitlin’spast—everysecond

ofthatdanceassuredmeshe’smykindofwoman.I’mtheonepursuingheracrossthedancefloor
now,butIwouldn’tbesurprisedtofindmyselfhandcuffedtoherheadboardbytheendofthenight.

Infact,I’denjoyit.

CHAPTERFIVE

Caitlin

“It’sthefirstdropthatdestroysyou,there’snoharmatallinthelast.”

–Irishproverb

Sherryisgrinningassheleansintothebar—grantingthebartender,whobroughtherbandaidsfor

herblisters,abetterviewofhercleavage—buthersmilevanishesthemomentsheseesmyface,
confirmingImustlookasshakenasIfeel.

“What’swrong?”sheshouts,plunkingbackontoherstoolhardenoughtomakeherbreasts

threatentobounceoutofhertop.

“Nothing.”Ishakemyhead.“Ijustwanttogetoutofhere.”
“What?”Sherrysquints,asifthatwillhelpherhearme.
It’squieterbythecircularbarthanoutonthedancefloor,butstillwaytooloud.Everythumpofthe

bassripsthroughmyhead,poundingwhat’sleftofmybrain,afterIrealizedIwasdirtydancingwith
GabrielAlexander,tomush.

FuckingGorgeousGabe,oneofthemanyprivilegedassholesIwasn’tsorrytoseethelastofwhen

IdroppedoutofChristophAcademy,kissingmyscholarshipgoodbye.Asfarasactionswent,Gabe
wasn’tparticularlymemorable.Surehewasspoiled,entitled,goofedoffduringstudyhall,andhad
nocluehowhardmostpeoplehavetoworktoscrapeby,buthewasn’tanymoreobnoxiousthanthe
otherprivateschooltwerps.

No,whatmadeGabestandoutwashowdamned,crazy,stupidbeautifulhewas.Theboyhas

cheekbonesthatwouldmakeasupermodeljealous,jaggedbrownhairthatfallsinedgywavesover
hisforehead,andpiercingblueeyessopaletheyseemedtoglow,toburnwithanicyfirethat
promiseswickedanddelightfulthings.Andtherestofhimisnothingtosneezeateither.Evenbackin
highschool,hehadabodythatinspiredgiddy,heart-litteredgraffitiinthegirls’bathroom,but
now…

Now,heissexintwo-hundreddollarbluejeans.Heisbuiltlikeanathleteandmoveslikean

animal,socompletelyuninhibiteditmakesevenmefeelreservedincomparison.

Me,whodoesn’t

haveashyboneinherbodywhenitcomestimetohitthedancefloor.

IneverfeelmorealivethanwhenI’mdancing.IfIweren’tjugglingtwojobsandhavekidstotake

careof,I’dbeataclubeverynight.Dancingismydrug,myrush,theonlythingthattakesmeoutof
myheadandconnectsmetothatdeep,primalpartofmyselfIkeeplockedawaymostofthetime.

And,upuntiltonight,itwassomethingIpreferredtodoalone.Sure,I’lldancewithaguynowand

then,butnothinglikewhathappenedwithGabe.Thatdancewassoul-shaking,panty-melting,so
damnedsexymyskinisstillbuzzingandmyheartracingandmystomachfeelslikeit’sturning
insideout.Ican’trememberthelasttimeIfeltthisway—ifI’ve

ever

feltthisway—orwanted

someonethewayIwantGabe.

IfIdon’tgetoutoftheclubASAP,IknowI’lldosomethingI’llregret.
Goinghomewithaguyisn’tontheagenda,butespeciallynotaguylikeGabe.Idon’thaveroomin

mylifeforasmug,privilegedassholewhoprobablyspendsmoremoneypermonthoncarwashes
thanIdoongroceriestofeedafamilyofsix.Notnow,wheneverythingathomeisfallingapartand
I’mfeelingthedifferencebetweenapersonlikemeandapersonlikeGabemorekeenlythanIever
havebefore.

“Comeon.”ItugonSherry’sarm,pullingheroffherstool.“Let’sgo.”
Shenodsandholdsuponefingerbeforeleaningoverthebartosaygoodbyetothebartendershe’s

beenflirtingwithallnight.Iturn,scanningtheclubforsixfeetofwalkingsexappeal,butthankfully,
Gabeisnowheretobeseen.SherryandImakeitupthestairsandthroughthefrontlobbyintothe
streetwithoutrunningintoanytrouble,andmychestloosensinrelief.

“Letmegogetthecar,”Isay,holdingoutmyhandforherkeysasshelimpstothecurbbesideme.

“Thatwayyouwon’tmakeyourblistersanyworse.”

“Uh-uh,”Sherrysays.“You’vebeendrinking.I’lltakemyshoesoffandgobarefoot.”
Ishakemyhead.“There’sbrokenglassandcigarettebuttsandahundredothernastythingsbetween

hereandwherewe’reparked.Ihadmysecondwhiskeysourtwohoursago;I’mfinetodrive.Hand
overthekeys,Idon’twantyougettinghurt.”

“Yes,ma’am.”Sherryrollshereyesasshedropsthekeysinmyhand.“You’resuchamom,

sometimes.”

“Allthetime,”Icounterwithagrin.“Berightback.”
Youweren’tactinglikeamomtenminutesago,

Ithink,asIturntogo,mygold,high-heeledsandals

clickingonthesidewalk.

No,Iwasn’t,andthatscaresmeasmuchastheflutteryfeelingstillfillingmychest.Ican’taffordto

losecontrol,evenforanight.I’mallmybrothersandEmmiehaveleft.Ican’tletthemdown.Idon’t
havetimefordistractionslikeGorgeousGabe.Betweenworkingfivelunchshiftsaweekat

Harry’s

andalmosteveryFridayandSaturdaynightatthemovietheater,Ibarelyhavetimetomakesurethe
kidsarefed,bathed,homeworkdone,doctorappointmentskept,Danny’slatestschoolcrisisaverted,
andacoupleofloadsoflaundrydoneperweek.

Idon’thaveroominmylifeforaboyfriendandIdon’tdoone-nightstands.Beforemybigsister

skippedtown,shemadesurethename“Cooney”wassynonymouswith“easylay”—I’vebeencalleda
slutbehindmybacksincelongbeforeIeverkissedaguy—butdespitethegossiparoundthe
neighborhood,thisCooneysisterisn’tintocasualhook-ups.NotthatIthinkthey’rewrong,orthatI
wouldn’tenjoymakingoutwithoneofIsaac’sbeefyfootballplayerfriendsorthenotoriouslyhot
Lombardiboysdownthestreet.

MyproblemisthatI’mprettysureI’denjoyittoomuch.Itwouldbesoeasytogetaddictedtoa

feelingaselectricaswhatIfeltinGabe’sarms,soeasytoforgetallthelivesdependingonmeand
getlostinthathunger,lostinhim.

“Don’tthinkaboutit,”Isayaloud,earningmyselfasidewaysglancefromthetwocollegeboysin

brightlycoloredpolo-shirtswalkingintheoppositedirection,makingmerealizehowlongit’sbeen
sinceI’vesteppedoutofmyroutine.

Athomeandatbothofmyjobs,everyoneknowsItalktomyself.It’ssomethingthat’stakenfor

granted,asmuchapartofmeasmygreeneyesorthescatteringoffrecklesacrossmynose.Noone
batsaneyewhenIwalkaroundtherestaurantmumblingmyto-dolist,butintherealworld,people
thinkgirlswhotalktothemselvesarecrazy.

AndmaybeI

crazy,becausewhenIpullupinfrontoftheclubandseeGabestandingnextto

Sherry—noddingseriouslyasmybestfriendtalksamileaminute—ashockwaveofpleasureshoots
throughme.

I’mhappytoseehim.Veryhappy.
Whichis

bad,sobad,andlikelytogetworseifthedeterminedlookinGabe’spiercingblueeyesis

anythingtojudgeby.

CHAPTERSIX

Caitlin

Iswallow,ignoringthewaymyheartbeatsinmythroatasIrolldownthepassenger ’swindowand

callforSherrytogetin.

“Hey.”Sheleansdown,aguilty-excitedlookonherfacethatmakesmeevenmoreuneasy.“I’ve

decidedtotakeacab.Ishouldgethomeandputsomemedicineonmyblisters,butyouandGabecan
havethecar.”

Mybrowsdrawtogethersoswiftlymyheadjerks.“What?”
“We’retakingthecar,”GabesaysasheeasesaroundSherry.
BeforeIcanhitthelockbutton,he’sinsidethevehicle,settlingintotheseatnexttome,fillingthe

cabofSherry’sVWBugwiththatclean-dirtysmellofhis.Clean,becausethesoapyscentthatclings
tohisskinspeaksoflongshowersandluxurybathproductsandothersensualthings;dirty,because
thebasenoteofmanandspiceandsexthathoversaroundGabeisenoughtomakemymouthwater,
tomakemewanttogiveinthewayIgaveinonthedancefloorandlethimtakecontrol.

“Getout,”Imutterthroughgrittedteeth,shootinghimmymostseriousglare,theonethatmakes

Dannyjumpupfromhisvideogamesandsetthetablewithoutahintofbacktalk.

IneedGabeoutofthiscar—now.
“No,”hesays,makingmyjawclenchharder.“I’mgoingtohelpyougetwhatyouneed.”
“Idon’tneedyourhelp,”Isaywithahuff,insultedthathe’sreducedsleepingwithmetoanactof

pity.“I’mnotanyone’scharitycase,certainlynotyours.”

“Iknowthat.”Gabenods,butmakesnomovetoexitthecar.“That’swhyI’mgoingto

help

youget

whatyouneed,insteadofgivingittoyou.Charitycanbeinsulting,nomatterhowwell-intentioned,
andIthinkwe’llbothhavemorefunthisway.”

“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”Iask,nolongercertainthisconversationisaboutsex.
“Yourfriendtoldmeaboutthepropertytaxes,”hesays.“Iknowwherewecangetthemoney.”
Mymouthfallsopen,butbeforeIcanrecoverSherrybreaksin.
“Okay,wellyoutwohavefun.”Shewigglesherfingersasshebacksawayfromthecar,thegiddy

lookonherfacemakingitclearshethinksshe’sdoingmeafavorbythrowingmetothewolves.

Toonewolf,anyway,onewhowatchesmewithcoolblueeyesthatmakemylipsprickleashis

gazelingersonmyface.

“I’llswingbyyourplacetomorrowmorningandpickupthecar,”Sherrycontinuesasshehops

backontothesidewalktoawaithertaxi.“DoallthethingsIwishIwasdoingtonight.Atleasttwice!”

“I’mgoingtokillyou,”Isay,ignoringtheheatthatflushesmyface.
“Soundsgood.”Shegiggles,obviouslynottakingmythreatseriously.
Butshe’sright,ofcourse.I’mnotgoingtokillher,orevenholdagrudgeformorethanaday.I

can’tstaymadatSherry.She’simpulsiveandcrazyandrunshermouthwhensheshouldn’t,butshe’s

beenmyfriendsincethirdgrade.

SheandIsaacweretheonlyfriendswhodidn’tloseinterestwhenIgotanacademicscholarshipto

ChristophAcademyandswitchedhighschools.Theywerealsotheonlyoneswhocamebytovisitme
whenIquittheacademytostayhomewithEmmie.

Sherrywasmyrock,stoppingbythestoreformorediaperswhenEmmiewastoosickformeto

takeheroutandkeepingmecompanywhenthestressofcaringforaninfantandthreewildboys
threatenedtounravelwhatwasleftofmysanity.Backthen,I’dbeensooverwhelmedIcouldn’thave
imaginedthingsgettinganyharder,buttheyhad.AndIhadsurvived,thewayIalwaysdo—onmy
own,withoutanyhandoutsorknightsinshiningBMWs.

Ihavenoideawhatkindof“help”Gabeplansonshellingout,butIknowIwantnopartofit.
“ShouldIdropyouoffatyourcar?”IaskasIpullbackontotheroad.“Ordoyouneedaride

home?”

“We’regoingtothecornerofGrantandHawthorne,”Gabesays.“Doyouknowwherethatis?”
Igruntbeneathmybreath.“That’smysideoftown.”
“Isit?”heasks,asifhedoesn’tknowIliveonthewrongsideofthetracks—bothsetsofthem.

“ThenIassumeyouknowhowtogetthere.”

“Ido,but—”
“Good,butdon’tdrivepastthepawnshoponthecorner,”heinterrupts.“You’llwanttoparkbefore

wegetthere,preferablyonasidestreet.”Hereachesdown,releasingtheseathandleandscooting
backtomakemoreroomforhislonglegs—histhicklymuscled,longlegs,oneofwhichwas
betweenmythighslessthananhouragowhenweweregrindingonthedancefloor.

Itakeadeepbreathinandletitoutslowlythroughmynose,fightingthememoryandthesizzleof

awarenessitgenerates.

“Listen,Iappreciatethatyou’dliketohelp,”Isay.“ButIdon’thaveanythingworthpawningandI

don’twantyourmoney.”

“I’mnotgivingyoumymoney,andwewon’tbepawninganything,”hesays,hisvoicelow,silky

smooth,andasridiculouslysexyaseverythingelseaboutthemanGabe’sbecome.“Theshopis
closed.Theowner ’sspendingsometimeinthehospitalafterbeinghitintheheadwithabaseballbat.”

“Crap,”Isay,foreheadwrinkling.“Poorguy.”
“Don’twasteyourpity.”GabeleansbackinhisseatasIguidethebugdownLimestoneAvenueand

takearightnearthecourthouse.“Mr.Purduebrokehiswife’sarminthreeplacesandcrackedtwoof
herribsbeforehisdaughterhithimwiththebaseballbat,knockinghimoutlongenoughtogether
motheroutofthehousealive.”

Myeyesgoroundandmystomachlurches.“Howdoyouknowthat?”
“MyfatherisMr.Purdue’sdefenseattorney,”hesays.“I’mworkingattheofficewhileI’mtakinga

semesteroff.Ireadthecasefile.Ithadallthegorydetails.”

Ipeekathim,dividingmyattentionbetweenhimandtheroad.“You’rekiddingright?”
“I’mnot.”GabesighsandforthefirsttimeIseeacrackinhiscool,confidentexterior.Icantellhe

hatesthathisdadisrepresentingamanwhowouldbeathiswife.“ButDadwilldefendanyscumbag
withenoughcashtopayhisretainer,andhe’sthebest,sothere’sagoodchanceMr.Purduewillget
off.Assuminghiswife’scourageholds,ofcourse,andshedoesn’tchangehermindandrefuseto
testifythewayshedidlasttime.”

Ishakemyhead,notknowingwhattosay.“Well,Iguesseveryonehastherighttoanattorney.”
“Theyshouldn’t,”Gabesays,hisvoicehard.“Evilpeoplehavetoomuchprotectionunderthelaw.

It’stheinnocentwhosufferwhiletheytrytoprovethey’vebeenvictimized.Ifyouplaybytherules,

yougetscrewed.Everytime.”

Ichewthecornerofmylip,wishingIcoulddisagreewithhim.Butthesystempoppedmy

optimisticcherryalongtimeago,theyearIspentthreemonthsinafosterhome.Theplacewasten
timesworsethanthehousemycaseworkerpluckedmeoutof,andIwasstuckthereformonthswhile
Chuckandmyscatterbrainedmomtriedtofollowalltherulestoreestablishcustody.

Therehadbeenthreeotherfosterkidsinthehouse,andwe’dpassedaroundlicesomanytimesI

hadtohavemyheadshavedtogetridofit.Ourfostermomgavemethecrewcutherself.She
couldn’tbebotheredtodoallthewashingandcleaningtogetridoftheinfestation,andIthinkapart
ofthesadisticbitchhadenjoyedshavingoffmywaist-lengthhair.Ithadbeensobeautifulandhealthy
andshiny,theonlypartofmyappearanceItookprideinbackwhenIwassoskinnythekidsatschool
madefunofthewaymyknobbyelbowsandkneesstuckoutfromtherestofme.

I’dgonebackhomelookinglikeacancerpatient.Themomentmymomsawme,she’dburstinto

tearsandruntoherroom,refusingtocomeoutforthe“welcomehome”burgersandfriesmydad
hadsprungforfromMcDonald’s.

Ishouldhaveknownrightthenshewasn’tinthemotherhoodgameforthelonghaul.Thereis

nothingthatwouldkeepmefromhuggingoneofmykidsifthey’dbeengoneforthreemonths.
Nothing.

“That’swhysometimesrulesneedtobebroken,”Gabecontinues,pullingmefrommythoughts.

“Sometimesyouhavetotakejusticeintoyourownhands.”

Ibrakebehindarowofcarsalreadystoppedataredlightandturntofacehim,gratefulforthe

chancetolookhimintheeyes.“Wherearewegoing?”Iask,stomachgurglingwithnerves.“Whatis
this?”

Hisfocusslidesmyway,theintensityinhisexpressionenoughtomakemeshiver.“We’regoingto

getthemoneyyouneedtokeepyourhomeandtakecareofyourfamily.”

“How?”Iask.
“You’vealreadysacrificedyourlifeonthealtarofsisterlyduty,”hesays,ignoringmyquestion.

“I’dhatetothinkallofthatwasfornothing.”

“Keepyoursmartasscommentstoyourself,”Isay,grippingthesteeringwheelsotightmy

knucklesstarttoache.“Oryoucangetoutrighthere.”

“I’mnotbeingasmartass,”hesays,agentlenoteinhisvoicethat’salmostasunnervingashis

penetratingstare.“Iheardthegossipafteryouleftschool.Youdroppedouttotakecareofyour
brothersandniecebecauseyourdad’sanalcoholicandyoursisterbailedonherkid,right?”

“Yeah.So?”Iturnmyattentiontotheroadasthecarsbegintomove,gratefulforanexcuseto

breaktheeyecontactthat’smakingmyskinfeeltootight.

“Well,itisn’thardtoreadthewritingon

that

wall,”hesays.“Withfourkidstofeed,nodiploma,no

timeormoneyforyourowneducation,andnosupportfromyourfamily,there’snowayyou’re
gettingout.Unlessyoudumpthedeadweightandletthestatetakethechildren,butyoudon’tseem
likethetype.”Hepauses,crankinghiswindowdownafewinches,lettingcoolairandthesmellofthe
honeysucklestartingtobloombesidetheroadrushintothecar.“Unlesssomethingchanges,you’re
headeddownalong,hardroad,withyourchancesofcreepingabovethepovertylinerangingfrom
slimtonone.”

Iswallow,ignoringthelumpinmythroat,hatinghisprophecy,hatingevenmorethatit’salready

comingtrue.Ihaven’tevenhadtimetogetmyGED,letalonestartcollege.I’llnevermakemy
dreamsofgettingadegreeareality,notwhenIhavetoworkfiftyhoursaweekjusttokeepfoodon
thetable.

“It’snotyourfault,”hesays,againinthatkindwaythatsortofmakesmewanttopunchhim.“Like

Isaid,thesystemisrigged.Americaisn’tthelandofopportunity,notanymore.It’saplacewherethe
richgetricher,andthepoorgettowatchrealitytelevisiononincreasinglyaffordableelectronics.”

“Youthinkyou’reprettyclever,don’tyou?”
“I’mnotclever,I’mrealistic,”hesays.“Igivemysharetocharity,butevenifIgavemytrustfund

away,itwouldn’tchangeaflawedsystem.Factsarefacts,andtheonlywaythatcertainpeoplecan
breakoutistostopplayingbytherulesandstartplayingtowin.”

Heliftsahand,pointingtothenextturnontoOrchardStreet.“Pulloveruphereandgoaroundthe

block.Wecanparkattheendofthestreetandsneakinthroughtheback.”

ItaketheturnontoOrchard,butinsteadofgoingaroundtheblock,Ipulltothesideoftheroadand

shovethecarintopark.

“Sneakintowhere?”Iask,gutchurningbecauseIhaveafeelingIalreadyknowtheanswer.“What

thehellarewedoing,Gabe?”

“We’retippingthescalesofjusticeinyourfavorwithalittlebreakingandentering.”Hissmileis

sopleasantyou’dthinkwewerediscussingthescoreofthelatestRiverDogsgame.“Soundsgood,
right?”

Ishakemyhead.“Noitdoesn’t.Notevenalittlebit.”ButevenIcanheartheuncertaintyatthecore

ofmywords,gooeylikearottennougatcenter.

HowelseamIgoingtogetmyhandsonthekindofmoneyIneedbeforeit’stoolate?MaybeGabe

isright,maybethereisonlyonewayoutforsomeonelikeme.

AndmaybeMr.Purduedeserveswhateverhegets…
“Ican’t,”Isay,heartracing.Thevoiceinmyheadisseductive,butthisisn’tme.I’veneverstolen

anythinginmyentirelife.Butthen,I’veneverknownthepersonIwasplanningtostealfromwasa
monster,either…

“Youcan,”Gabesays,asmileinhisvoice.“Iknowyouhaveitinyou.Isawitonthedancefloor.”
“No.”Ipressmylipstogether.“I’mnotthatkindofperson.”
“Sometimeswedon’tknowwhatkindofpersonweareuntilwe’reputintoanimpossible

situation,”Gabesays.“Situationsthatforceustothinkaboutwhatmatters,andwhat’sthebestthing
wecandowithourlivesinthetimewe’regiven.Tome,takingcareofyourfamilyseemsalotmore
importantthanobeyingalawthatsaysyoucan’tstealfromafuckingevilbastard.”

Ipullinabreathandletitoutinarush.Ican’tbelievehowmuchsensehe’smaking.
Thegoodgirlinmestillwantstoturnmybackontemptationandwalkawayfromallthison

principle,butmygutisscreamingthatprincipleshavenevergottenmeanywhere.Ican’tafford
principles,andwhyamIfightingtoresistsomethingthatdoesn’tfeelwronginthefirstplace?

“Comeon,Cooney.”GabebrushesmyhairbehindmyearandIprickleallover,likemyentire

bodyisasleepinglimbstrugglingtocomefullyawake.“Letmehelpyougetwhatyouneed.”

WhatIneed.
Thewayhesaysit,it’saboutsomuchmorethanmoney.It’saboutthewayhemakesmyskinhot

andmylipstingle,it’saboutthewayhemakesmyheartraceandbanishestheexhaustionthat’sbeen
myconstantcompanionsinceIquitschooltobeafull-timesurrogateparent.It’sabouttheflickerof
hopehelightsinsideme.Thatflameisn’tmuchbiggerthanacandlerightnow,butIcansensehow
easyitwouldbeforittogrow,torisehigherandhigheruntilitsetsmyworldonfire.

I’mstandingatthethresholdofamomentthatwillchangemylife,andnotnecessarilyforthe

better.Iknowthat,Iknowitwitheverythinginme,allthewaydowntothemarrowofmybones.

ButstillInod.

Andtakehishand.
Andlethimleadmeoutintothenight.

CHAPTERSEVEN

Gabe

“Thereisnothingeithergoodorbad,butthinkingmakesitso.”

–Shakespeare

Televisionsetsflickerbehindlivingroomcurtainsandloudlaughterechoesdownthestreetfroma

partyfurtheruptheblockaswemakeourwaydownHawthorneStreet,butnooneseesthetwo
silhouettesmovingswiftlythroughtheshadowsbeneaththebrokenstreetlights.

Caitlinwalkssilentlyalongbesideme,afulltwoinchesshorternowthatshe’sslippedintoapairof

tennisshoeswefoundintheBug’strunk.She’ssopetitethatthetopofherheadbarelyreachesthe
middleofmyarm.Idon’tusuallygoforshortgirls—toohardtomakesixfootoneandfivefootone
matchupincertainsituations—butI’vedecidedtomakeanexceptioninhercase.

Allkindsofexceptions.Breakingalltherulesofengagementtonight…butwhatelsearerulesgood

for?

Ismile,gratefulCaitlincan’tseemyfaceinthedarkness.Iknowshe’sscared—anysaneperson

wouldbe;we’reabouttocommitafelony—andIdon’twanthertorealizehowlittlethisbothersme.
I’mnotasociopath,atleastnotinthetruesense,butshedoesn’tknowmewellenoughtounderstand
thatittookalotoftimeandthoughtformetocometopeacewithbreakingthelaw.Shemightbe
spookedbythesmileandrethinkherdecision,andIdon’twanthertobail.I’veneverhadan
accomplicebefore,butIcanalreadytellthatcrimeismorefunwhensharedwithsomeonespecial.

AndCaitlinisspecial.She’sfierceandshy,hardandkind,wildanddomesticated,allatthesame

time.Iwastoostupidtoappreciatesomeonelikeherbackwhenwewereinhighschool,butnowI’m
intriguedbyhercontradictions,andevenmorecurioustoseehowshe’llperformunderpressure.

“Howarewegettingover?”Caitlinwhispersaswestopbesidethechainlinkfencesurroundingthe

backofthepawnshop.

Ontheotherside,theinnardsofrustedoutmachinery,oldrefrigerators,andavarietyofbattered

bikesandoncebrightly-coloredkidstoyslitterthehard-packedearth,belyingthequalityofthegoods
insidethestore.ButIknowthisisn’tyouraveragesecondhandjunkstore.Mr.Purduehasathriving
businesstoloseifhegoestojail.Thereisgoodmoneytobehadwithinthosecrumblingbrickwalls
andCaitlinandIaregoingtotakeourshareofit.

“We’llclimbover,”Isay,strippingoffmyshirt.“I’llgofirstandleavethisontopofthebarbed

wiresoyouwon’tcutyourself.”

Caitlintakesashakybreath.“Areyousureyou’regoingtobeabletopickthelock?Whatifthey

haveasecuritysystem?”

“Doesthislooklikethekindofplacethathasasecuritysystem?”Ibegintoclimb,knowingit’sbest

nottogiveCaitlintoomuchtimetothink.

“Idon’tknow,”shewhispers.“Butwhatifitdoes?”

“Thenwe’llclimbfasteronthewayout.”Ilaymyshirtonthebarbedwireatthetopofthefence

andswingalegovertotheotherside.IdoubttheGiffneyP.D.willbothertocheckthefencefor
bloodstains,butbesttobesafe.TherewillcomeadaywhenIwon’tcareifI’mcaught,butthatday
hasn’tarrivedyet.

BythetimeIstepdownontotheground,Caitlinismaneuveringoverthebarbedwireatthetopof

thefence.Shehasahardertime—herlegsaren’taslongandsheendsupgrabbingontopartofthe
tee-shirt-coveredwireforbalance—butshemakesitoverwithoutcuttingherselfandstartsswiftly
downtheotherside.Istandwatchingher,headtiltedback,wishingthemoonlightwasstrongersoI
couldgetabetterlookattheno-doubtdeliciousviewofherjeancladass.

Assoonasshe’swithinreach,Iwrapmyhandsaroundherwaistandlifthertherestoftheway

down.

“I’vegotit,”shesays,brushingmyhandsawaywithasharpexhalebeforesteppingoutofmyarms.
“Don’tbenervous,”Isay.“Butdon’ttouchanything.You’renotwearingglovesandyou’llleave

prints.”

“Whataboutyou?”sheasks,followingmeacrossthejunk-litteredenclosure.
“I’llfindsomethinginsidetowipetheknobsdownonourwayout.”Ipullmywalletfrommyback

pocketandfetchmypicksetfrominside.“ButevenifImisssomething,it’sbettermyprintsare
foundthanyours.Ihavealawyerinthefamily.”

“AllIhaveiscrazyinmine,”shemutters,crossingherarmsandhuddlingclosetomyside,casting

anxiousglancesaroundtheyardasIgotowork.“Ialwaysthoughtthegeneskippedme,butnow…”
Sheshivers,despitethebalmyearlyAprilnight.“Ican’tbelieveI’mdoingthis.”

“Everyonehascrazyintheirfamily,”Isay,slippingmytensionwrenchintothebottomofthe

keyhole.“Andyou’renotbeingcrazy,you’rebeingbrave.”

Sheshakesherhead.“I’mstillnotsurethisisright,nomatterwhatawastethisguyis.”
“Wouldyousayyouhaveawell-developedsenseofrightandwrong?”Iteasemypickintothelock

abovethetensionwrench,rakingitbackandforth,gettingafeelforthepins.Therearefive,maybe
six.Itisn’tacomplicatedlock.Weshouldbeinsideinfiveminutes,maybeless.

“Ithinkso,”shesays.“Imean,consideringthewayIwasraised,Ithinkmyconscienceisprobably

inbetterworkingconditionthanmostpeoplewithparentslikemine.”

“DadandMomnotthebestrolemodels?”Ifindthestubbornpin—theoneIneedtosetfirstbefore

Icanmoveontotheothers—andleanin,listeningforthefaintclickthatwillletmeknowithasslid
intoplace.

“Mydad’sadrunk,buthetries…orheusedto,anyway.Andmymomwasn’tabadperson,justa

flakeandanxiousallthetime,”Caitlinwhispersquickly,makingmethinkshe’salittleanxious
herself.“Shewasokaywhenshewasdrinking,butonceshegotcleanshecouldn’thandleallthe
noiseandthechaosatthehouse.SheranoffwithherAAsponsorthedayaftershegotheronemonth
sobrietychip.”

Igruntinamusement.“IalwaysknewAAwasbadnews.”
“Drivingmothersawayfromtheirobnoxiouschildrensincenineteenthirty-five,”shesayswitha

softlaugh.

“Ilikethatyoulaughaboutit.”
“It’seitherlaughorcry,”shesays,bumpingmyadmirationforherupanotch,makingmeeven

morecertainthatIwanttohelpher.

ThethoughtofCaitlingettingkickedoutofherhouseafterallshe’sdonetoholdherfamily

togethersetsmyteethonedge.ThesecondherfriendexplainedwhyCaitlinwasn’tinthemoodfor

partying,Iresolvedtomakeherproblemsgoaway.

IhavefiftygrandinmycheckingaccountandcouldgetmyhandsonmoreifIwantedto—my

grandmotherremovedtheagerestrictionsonmyinheritanceafewmonthsago,sotheskyispretty
muchthelimit.IcouldhavegivenCaitlinthecashasananonymousgift,butI’dalreadyplannedtohit
Mr.Purdue’splacesometimethisweekandcouldn’tresisttheurgetokilltwobirdswithonestone.

Besides,asharedsecretbringspeopletogether,andeliminatingCaitlin’smoneytroubleswillfree

heruptogetintootherkindsoftrouble.

Troublewithme.
Ihearthefinalpinclickandmymouthfillswithasweet,electrictaste.It’sthetasteofvictoryand

forbiddenthings,twoofthebesttastesintheworld.

Iturnthetensionwrenchtotherightandthedoorswingsopen.
“We’rein?”Caitlingrabsmyarm,herfingernailsdiggingintomyskin.
“We’rein,”Isay,marvelingthateventhatsimpletouchisenoughtomakemethicker.
Thisgirldoessomethingtome,somethingIcan’twaittoexplorefurther…assoonaswegetwhat

we’vecomefor.

“Letmecheckforanalarm.”Imoveinside,scanningthewallsoneithersideofthelong,dark

hallway.Idon’tseeanycontrolpanelsorflashinglights,andnocamerasvisibleneartheceiling—not
thatanyonewatchingsecurityfootagewouldbeabletomakeoutourfacesinthenear-darkness,
anyway.

ImotionforCaitlintofollow,andwemovedownthehall,throughapairofswingingwooden

doors,andintothemainportionofthepawnshopwithoutmakingasound.Herstepsareevensofter
thanmineandI’vehadenoughpracticethatImovelikeaghost,barelytouchingthefloorbeneathme.

“Areyougoingtotrytheregister?”shewhispersaswestopbehindthedisplaycases.
Ishakemyhead.“Idoubttherewillbeanymoneyinit.I’mgoingstraightforthesafe,seeifIcan

getlucky.”

“I’llfindthekeystothedisplaycaseandcleanoutthejewelry,”shesays,grabbingseveraltissues

fromaboxonthebackcounter,takingmywarningnottotouchanythingwithbarehandstoheart.
“That’sthemostvaluablesmallstuff.Icanputitinmypockets,andIwon’thavetotrytocarry
anythingwhileI’mclimbingbackoverthefence.”

“Brilliant,”Isay,withawink.“You’reanatural.”
“Saythatafterwegetoutofherewithoutgettingcaught.”Shetakesadeepbreathinandout.

“BecauserightnowIfeellikeI’mabouttothrowup.”

“Don’tthrowup.”Isquatbesidethesafe.“TheymightdecidetotestitforDNA.”
“IsthereDNAinvomit?”
Igivethelockanexperimentalturn,pleasedwhenitsticksinoneplace.“Yes.Inthecellsfromyour

stomachliningandyoursaliva.”

Shehumsthoughtfully,thekeystothedisplaycasetinklingasshepullsthemfromahooknearthe

“Let’skeepitthatway.”Igrabmyownfistfuloftissues.“Inandoutintenminutesorless.That’s

myrule.Fillyourpockets.I’llgivethesafefiveminutesandifIcan’tgetitopenwe’llgetoutof
here.”

“Allright,”sheagrees.
Ihearhermovingaroundbehindmeandglassdoorsslidingopen,butafteronlyafewmomentsI

loseawarenessofanythingbutthesubtlegumminessofthesafe’sdialnearnumberssixty-threeand

thesofthitchintherhythmnearnumbersfourteenandseven.Ispinthedigitsfromlowesttohighest
andbackagain.Itrytwomorecombinationswithnoluck,butonthethirdthesafepopsopenwitha
satisfying

thu-gunk.

“Thankyou,Mr.Purdue,”Iwhisper,grinningasIpullstacksofrubber-band-wrappedbillsfrom

thesafeandshovethemintomybackpockets.

“Youdidit?”Caitlinasksinanawedvoiceasshecrouchesdownnexttome.“JesusChrist,you’rea

full-fledgedcriminal,aren’tyou?”

“Sometimes.”Ileanmyfaceclosertohers,unabletoresisttheurgetoflirt…justalittle.“Wantto

playBonnieandClyde?”

Hergreeneyeswiden.“BonnieandClydekilledpeople.”
“RobinHoodandMaidMarian,then,”Isay,mylipsonlyabreathawayfromhers,closeenoughto

smellthesweet-and-sourcandyscentofherbreathandthewildspiceofherperfume.I’machintilt
awayfromstealingafirstkisstogowiththestacksofbillstuckedintomypockets,whenIhear
muffledvoicesfromthesidewalkoutsidetheshop.

“Who’sthat?”Caitlinhisses,eyesflyingwider.“Mr.Purdue?”
Ishakemyhead,thehairatthebackofmyneckliftingasIpinpointtwo,distinctmalevoices

conversinginfurtivetones.“Iimagineit’s—”

BeforeIcanfinishmysentence—orencourageCaitlintostartmovinghersweetasstowardtheexit

—thesoundofshatteringglassslicesthroughthesilence,followedcloselybytheblareofanalarm.

IliftmyhandstoshoveCaitlintowardthebackdoor,butshe’salreadyonthemove,dartingout

behindthedisplaycasesandbookingitdownthehall.

“Holyfuck,man,somebody’salreadyinhere!”amalevoiceshoutsbehindmeasIfollowCaitlin’s

lead.

Whenthefirstgunshotringsout,I’malreadyshovingthebackdoorclosedbehindme,wipingit

cleanwiththetissuesinmyfist,andsprintingacrosstheyard.Myfootstepspoundthehard-packed
dirt,eatingupthegroundwithadrenaline-fueledswiftness.Bythetimethefencecomesintoview,
Caitlinisalreadyatthetop,swingingherlegoverthebarbedwire.

Mychestloosenswithrelief—she’sgoingtomakeitout,evenifIgetshotinthebackbeforeIcan

follow.ButIdon’tplanongettingshot,notifIcanhelpit.Fourfeetfromthefence,Ijump,makingit
halfwayupbeforemyhandsclawintotheribbonsofmetalandIbegintoclimb.

Unfortunately,myimpactsendsCaitlinflyingofftheotherside,herheelshittingthedirtbeforeher

momentumcarriesherbackontoherass.

“Sorry!”Itaketherestofthefenceinthreepullsofmyarmsandswingover,snaggingmyshirtoff

thebarbedwirebeforeleapingdowntothegroundbesideher,landingwithagrunt.

“Werethosegunshots?”sheasks,scramblingtoherfeetandgrabbingmyhand,obviouslynotin

themoodtowastetimewithapologies.

“Theywere.”Itakeoffatasprint,pullingheralongwithme.“Andtherewillbesirenssoon.Bestif

we’rebackinthecarbeforethen.”

Secondslater,sirenswailinthedistance.
CaitlinandIpickupourpace,reachingthedarkcornerwheresheparkedthecarinrecordtimeand

slamminginside.Secondslater,shehastheBugstartedandrumblingdownOrchardStreettothe
southheadedtowardCaffeyParkwayandthehighway,movingswiftlyawayfromthesirens
approachingfromdowntown.

“Fuck,”Caitlinsays,voiceshaking.“Holyshit-fuck.”
Ilaugh.“Aren’tyougladweparkedheadedsouth,”Isay,breathstillcomingfastasIemptymy

pockets,shovingthemoneyintoaplasticbagIfindonthefloor.

“Fuck,Gabe,”shesays,louderthistime.“Wecouldhavebeenshot!”
“Butweweren’t.”Ifinishemptyingmypocketsandmopthesweatfrommyfacewithmyteeshirt.

“You’redoinggreat,bytheway.Twomilesoverthelimitisperfect.Leastsuspiciousspeedthereis.”

“You’recrazy.”Sheshovesherhairfromherfacewithashakinghand.“Ican’tbelieveIletyoutalk

meintothis.WhatwouldhavehappenedifI’ddied?Whatwouldhavehappenedtothekids?”

“Thesamethingthatwasgoingtohappenifyoudidn’tpaythepropertytax,”Isaylogically.“They

wouldhavegonetofosterhomes.Asfarasthekidsareconcerned,theriskmadesense.Andthistime,
yougambledandwon.”

Sheshakesherhead,butwhensheexhalesthebreathissmoother,longer.
“Canyouemptyyourpocketswhileyoudrive?”Iask.“Ontheoffchancewegetcopsonourtail

andIneedtothrowthisoutthewindow,Iwanteverythinginonebag.I’llwipeyourprintsoffthe
jewelrybeforeIputitin.”

Caitlinreachesintoherfrontpocket,pullingouttwonicewatchesandapairofdiamondstuds

beforemovingontoherbackpockets.Bythetimeshe’sdone,mycuppedhandisoverflowingand
I’mestimatinganothergrandhasbeenaddedtoourstash.

“Thesearegood,”Isay,wipingeachpiecebeforedroppingitintothebag.“Yousnaggedquality

stuff.”

“Isitenoughtopaythetaxes?”shemumbles.“That’sallIwanttoknow.”
“Iwon’tknowforsurehowmuchuntilIrunitthroughmyfenceinCharleston,butI’dsayagrand,

easy.Untilthen,thecashfromthesafeshouldtideyouover.I’lldropitbyyourplaceassoonasI
checktheserialnumbersandmakesurethebillsareclean.”Ileanforward,seeingthemutedlightsof
acitybusstopglowingonthecornerupahead.“Pulloverupthere.I’llgetoutandtakethebus.”

“You’renottakingthebus,”shesays.“I’lltakeyouhome.”
“Pullover,”Iinsist.“ThelongerIstayinthecar,thebetterthechancesofyougettingcaughtwith

stolengoodsinyourpossession.”

“Soyou’dratherhavethestolengoodsin

your

possession?”sheasks,shootingmeanarrowlook.

“Youdoplanondroppingoffmyshare,right?”

“Iplanondroppingoffeverypenny,”Isay.“Nowpullover.”
“I’mnotanidiot,Gabe.”Sheslows,pullingtothesideoftheroadbeneathtwoancientoaktrees

leaningoverthestreetandcuttingthelightsbeforesheturnstome.“Peoplescrewotherpeopleover.
It’sthewaytheworldworks.Mymothertookourgrocerymoneywithherwhensheleft,andmy
sistertookmycarandleftmewithakidtoraise.Youcan’ttrust

family

withmoney,letalonesome

guyyoubarelyknow.”

Shestraightens,liftingherchinanddoingherbesttolookdownhernoseatme.“SoI’dlikemycut

ofthemoneynow.Fortypercent.”

“You’llgetonehundredpercent,onceImakesurethemoneyisuntraceable,”Isay,makingno

movetohandoverthecash,needinghertoknowI’mnotthetypewhofollowsorders.Fromanyone.
EvengirlsIlikeasmuchasI’mcomingtolikeher.“Ihaveenoughmoneytobuyandsellyourentire
family.Twice.Moneydoesn’tinterestme,orhaveanythingtodowithwhatIwantfromyou.”

HerglareintensifiesbutIcanseecuriositysparkinhereyes.“Sowhatdoyouwantfromme?

Everybodywantssomething”

CHAPTEREIGHT

Gabe

“Iwanttogetnakedwithyou,”Isay,capturingastrandofhersilkyhairandtwiningitaroundmy

finger.“Iwanttotasteyourmouthandyourskinandthoseinchesbetweenyourlegsyouwere
grindingagainstmetonight.Iwanttohearyoucallmynamewhenyoucome,andIwanttoseeifyou
comethewayyoudance.”

EveninthedimlightIcanseeherthroatworkassheswallows.“I’mnotawhore.”
“I’mnotaskingyoutobe.”Ileancloser,tuggingonmycaptivestrandofhair,reelingherin.

“We’llfuckbecauseweenjoyit.Justlikeweenjoyedrobbingthatstoretonight.”

“Ididn’tenjoyit,”shesayssoftly,socloseIcanfeeltheairstiragainstmylipsasshespeaks.“I

wasscaredtodeath.”

“Liar,”Iwhisper.“Ibetyouhaven’tfeltthataliveinyears.”
“You’recrazy,”shesays,breathcomingfasterasthetipofmynosebrusheshers.
“Ibetyourskinisstilltinglingallover.”
Shemakesanon-committalsoundthatbecomesasexylittlesighasIpressakisstohercheek.
“AndIbetifIslidmyhandinsideyourpantiesthey’dbewet,”Iwhisper,bitingbackagroanasshe

squirmsinherseat,thighssqueezingtogetherbeforespreadinginasilentinvitation.“Whatdoyou
think?ShouldIcheck?”

“Fuckyou,”shesays.
Idecidetotakethatasayes.
Isealmylipsoverhers,moaningasItasteherforthefirsttimeandfindherevenmoredelicious

thanIexpected.Shetasteslikerainandsaltandthefirstbiteofapeach,sosweetI’msuddenly
starvingformoreofher,allofher.

Iclaimhermouthwithdeepstrokesofmytongue,thingslowinmybodytwistingassheresponds

withhungryswirlsofherown,pushingcloser,deeper,untilourteethgrindtogetherthroughourlips
andmycockstrainstheflyofmyjeansandtheneedtoseeifshe’sasfuckingturnedonasIamgrows
toostrongtoresist.

Ireachforthecloseofherjeans,rippingthebuttonfreewithasharpjerkthatdrawsasurprised

soundfromthebackofCaitlin’sthroat.Butthemomentmyhandslidesdownthefrontofherpanties,
thesoundbecomesahissofbreathandthenasighasmyfingersteasethroughherslickfolds.

Damn,she’swet,aswetasI’dhopedshe’dbe.Wetandhotandsilkysoft,andthereisnothingIwant

moreintheworldthantobeinsideher,tofeelmycockglidinginandoutofallthatsweetheat.Iwant
tofuckheruntiltheworldmelts,untilwebothfallapartandcomebacktogetherineachother ’sarms,
andIwanttostayinherarmsafterthefuckingisover,ifonlytoprovetoherthatsomepeopledo
stickaround.

Atleastforalittlewhile.

“Stop,”shemumblesagainstmylips,soIdo,stillingwithmymiddlefingeruptotheknucklein

herpussy.

“Please,”shesays,breathstillcomingfaster.“Please,stop.”
“Ihavestopped.I’llstopanytimeyoutellmeto,”Isay,kissingherwiththewords,sealingthe

promisewithasweepofmytongueacrossherupperlip.

“Imeant…this.”Shebringstremblinghandstomyarmandwrapsherfingersaroundmywrist.But

shedoesn’tpullmeaway,andherbodyletsoutanotherdeliciousrushofheat,arushthatdampens
myfingerandmakesmycocksoharditthreatenstoburstthroughdenimtogettothegirlsittingnext
tome.

“Areyousureyouwantmetostop?”Ikissmywaydownherthroat,pullingmyfingeroutuntil

onlythetipremainsinsideher.“Orareyoujustafraidofhowfaryouwantmetogo?”Idriveback
inside,usingtwofingersthistime,drawingagroanfromCaitlin’sthroatthatisrawandhungryand
sexyashell.

“Andgoandgo,”Iwhisperagainstherneck,pickingupthepaceofmythrusts.“Andkeepgoing

untilyoubegme

not

tostop?”

HerbreathcatchesasIaddathirdfinger,stretchingherslickchannelasIrubtheheelofmyhand

againstthetopofher,rubbingherclitinincreasinglyfirmcircles,waitinguntilshe’sclingingtomy
armswithtightfingersandburyingherfaceinmyshoulderbeforeIbringmylipstoherearand
whisper,“Begme,Caitlin.Tellmenottostop.”

“Don’tstop,”shepants,aquiverinhervoicethatbetrayshowclosesheistotheedge.
Ipushharder,deeper,makingsureshe’ssecondsfromshatteringwhenIstillmyhandandsay—
“Begme.”
“God,Gabe,”shesobs,herfingersdiggingintomybicepshardenoughtomakemewince.

“Please.”

“Morebegging,”Isay,smilingagainstherskinbeforeIkisshercheek,herthroat,thedelicious

curvewhereherneckbecomeshershoulderandthesmellofheristhestrongest.“Begmelikeyou
meanit.”

“Fuckyou,”shegrowlsevenasshesquirmsagainstmyhand,strugglingtobringherclitbackinto

contactwithmyhand.

“Ifthat’swhatyouwant,”Isay.“Ifyou’retooproudtobeg,thenfeelfreetocomeonoverandyou

canridemeuntil—”

Shefistsherhandsinmyshirt,shovingmeawayforaheartbeatbeforepullingmeinforabruising

kiss.Akissthatstealsmyfocusandthreatenstoerodemycontrol.Afteraminute,it’sallIcandoto
keepmyhandstillinsideher,butafterseverallong,breathlessminuteswithnothingbutthesoundof
ourlipsandteethandtonguewrestlinginthedark,mypatienceisrewarded.

“Pleasetouchme,”shebegswhenwecomeupforair.“Pleasetouchmeandkeeptouchingme,

pleasemakemecomebecauseIwantyourhandmovinginsidemesomuchit’sterrifying.”Shepulls
inabreathandletsitoutwithasob.“Crazyterrifying,butIwantit.Iwantitsobad.”

“Don’tbeafraid.”Iresumemythrustsinandoutofheradorablepussy,apussyI’mtemptedto

christenmyfavoritewithoutevenhavingtastedit—afirstforme.“Youcantrustme.Iwouldnever
hurtyou.Ijustwanttomakeyoufeelgood.”

“Thisissomuchbetterthangood,”shesays,wordsendinginagaspasIbegintocirclemyhand,

grindingmypalmintoherclitsecondsbeforemyfingersthrustinsideher,circlingagainandagain,
untilshethrowsbackherhead,archesherspine,andcomeswithacrythatiswildandsweetandso
perfectIwishIcouldaddittomyfavoriteplaylistandlistentoitonendlessrepeat.

Itisperfect,sheisperfect,soperfectIdon’tevennoticethepolicesirensuntilthepatrolcargoes

rushingpast,wailinglikeahungrybaby.

“Shit,”Caitlinsays,laughingasshetugsatmywrist.“Thepolicejustdroveby!”
“Thekeywordsbeing‘droveby.’”Iteasemyfingersinandoutofheronelasttimebefore

reluctantlygivingintohertugging,andwithdrawingmyhandfromherdrenchedpanties.“They
probablydidn’tevenseethecar.Theshadowsaredark.”

“Whatiftheyhadseenus?”Caitlinasks,achallengeinhervoice.“Whatwouldyouhavedone?”
“Pretendedtoholdyouhostage,”Isay,hookingmyarmaroundherneckandpullingherclose.

“Convincedthemyouwereanunwillingvictimbeforeturningmyselfin.”

Shenarrowshereyes.“You’refullofit.”
“I’mnot,”Isay,beforeIgrin.“Atleastnotaboutthat.”
Sheopenshermouthtosaysomething,butIkissherbeforethewordscanform.
Ikissherwithallmyhungerformoreofher,kissherwithathoroughnessthatpromisesthisisa

beginning,notanend.IkissherwiththetruthofhowmuchIwanther,howmuchshefascinatesme,
atthefrontofmymind,hopingthattruthwillbeenoughtomakeupfortheliesI’vetold.

TheliesI’llcontinuetotell,untilthedayItellhergoodbye.

CHAPTERNINE

Caitlin

Tissweettodrink,butbittertopayfor.–Irishproverb

Onemomentreally

can

changeyourlife.

Onemoment,onekiss,onewildnightwhenyoucoloroutsidethelines,stepoutsidethebox,stop

playingbytherules….

GabeandIonlyspentafewhourstogether,butnoweverythingisdifferent.Now,theday-to-day

grindthatwasgrueling,butsurvivable—evenfunattimes—threatenstobreakme.Now,factsoflifeI
tookforgrantedseemridiculouslyunfair.Now,Iknowhoweasyitistoturnthetables,and

take

what

theworldrefusestogivepeoplelikeme.

Achance.AshotatsomethingmoreifIworkhardandgiveiteverythingI’vegot—that’sallIwant.

Butit’ssomethingImayneverhaveifthingsdon’tchange.

IfIdon’t

make

themchange.

Atsixinthemorning,lyingonmylumpysecond-handmattresswiththethreadbareteeshirtIslept

instickingtomyskinintheJuneheatbecausethere’snowaywecanruntheairconditioningandbuy
groceriesatthesametime,withtheacidrefluxIcan’taffordtotreatburningthebackofmythroat,it
seemslikeanobrainer.IshouldcallGabe.Ishouldtakehimuponhisoffertodoitallagain,tofind
anewvictim,mapoutanotherrobbery,andtakefateintomyownhands.

Thekidswillbeoutofschoolintwoweeks.AfterallthesnowdaysinJanuary,classesarerunning

latethisyear,butcomeJunefifteenth,I’llhavethreekidsindaycare—fourifIcanconvinceTerriat
theKiddieKottagetotakeDanny,eventhoughhe’stwelve,andtechnicallytoooldfordaycare.

Ican’timagineleavingDannyhomealone.He’salreadygettingintotrouble.Sofarhe’sonlybeen

citedfordefacingpublicproperty—heandtheBakerboysdownthestreetdecidedtospraypaint
penisesonalltheneighborhoodstopsigns,andweredumbenoughtogetcaught.Butgivemybrother
asummertorunwildandIhavenodoubthe’llhavemoreincidentreportsinhisfolderdownatthe
policestationcomeAugust.IfIwanttokeephimoutofjuvie,IneedtomakesureDannyhasadult
supervisionwhileI’matwork.

Butadultsupervisioncostsaprettypenny,almostmorethanIcanafford,evenwithafulltime

waitressingjob,aparttimegigsellingpopcornatthemovietheater,andasubsidyfromthestate.
Afterpayingfordaycarelastsummer,Itookhomelessthanfourhundreddollarsaweek.That’s
sixteenhundreddollarsamonthtofeed,clothe,andshelterafamilyoffive—sixifyoucountmy
father.

Sincehe’sbeenshackingupwithVeronica,Chuckdoesn’t

technically

liveatthehouseanymore,but

hestillsleepsheresometimes—whenhe’stoodrunktorememberthathemovedintoVeronica’s
apartmentabovetheLaundromat,orwhenVeronicasobersupenoughtorealizeshe’ssleepingwitha

manwhoregularlyforgetstobrushhisteeth,andkicksChuckoutforafewdays.

Andwhenhesleepshere,Chuckeatshereandmakesmesseshereandinevitablyendsupcostingme

farmoremoneythanhedonatestothefamilycoffers.Hehasn’thadajobinalmostayearanddrinks
awayeverydimeofhisVApensionanddisability.

So…sixpeople.Sixpeopleonsixteenhundredamonth.
It’snowonderIalmostlostthehouseinApril.IfIhadn’trobbedthepawnshop,mythreebrothers

andtwo-year-oldniece,Emmie,wouldbeinfostercare,andIwouldbehomeless.Homeless,after
workingmyassofftoraisefourkidsbymyselffortwo-and-a-halfyears.Afterdroppingoutof
school,givingupmyacademicscholarshiptoCristophPrep,andputtingeverydreamIhadonthe
shelf,Iwouldhavelosteverything.Iwouldhavelostmyfamily,theonlythingthatmakesallthe
backbreakingworkworthit.

Thepropertytaxeshavebeenpaidandthatdangerhaspassedforanotheryear,butwe’renotoutof

thewoods.Itwillbeastruggletogetthroughthesummer,astrugglethatwillcontinueintothefall
whentourismtohistoricdowntownGiffneyslacksoffandmytipstakeadive.Astrugglethatwill
intensifycomewinterwhenI’mforcedtoruntheheatinourdraftyoldhouseandtheelectricbill
skyrockets.

Gabewasright.Thereareonlytwowaysout:eitherletthestatetakethekidsandstartlookingout

fornumberone—somethingIcouldneverdo,evenifIwantedto,evenifEmmie,Sean,Ray,andeven
Danny,thatpaininmyass,didn’tmeantheworldtome—orstopplayingbytherules.

“Andeventuallygetcaughtandgotojail,”Isaytothewater-stainontheceiling,theoneIhaven’t

gottenaroundtopaintingoversincetheroofleakedinNovember.“Andhavetolivewithknowing
I’manawfulperson,andahorribleexampletothekids.”

Butthewordsdon’tsoundsincere,eventomyownears.
ThemanwerobbedinAprilwasamonster,amiserableexcuseforahumanbeingwhobeathis

wifenearlytodeath,onmultipleoccasions.Hedeservedwhathegot,andGabepromisedmethere
wereotherslikehim,otherawful,evilpeoplehe’dlearnedaboutwhiletrollingthroughhisdefense
attorneyfather ’sfiles.

Icouldhelpmakesurecreepswhohavegottenoffscot-freefortheircrimesarepunished.Iwould

belikeaninstrumentofkarma,avengingtheinnocentwhilelighteningmyownloadintheprocess.

AndifIsavedupenoughmoney,IcouldtaketimeofffromworktostudyandgetmyGED.It

wouldn’ttakelong.ThenI’dbeabletotakeclassesatthecommunitycollege,andgetqualifiedfora
jobthatpaysbetterthanminimumwage.I’dhavemoretimetospendwiththekidsontheir
homework,timetoworkwithEmmieonthespeechtherapystuffhertherapistsaidweneedtohit
harderathome,maybeeventimetogooutdancingmorethanonceortwiceayear.

Dancing…withGabe.
MylidsslideclosedandIshiverdespitetheheatthat’smakingmyteeshirtsticktomyskinand

beadsofsweatpoolbetweenmybreasts.

Visionsofthatnight—mytwentiethbirthday,thenighteverythingchanged—playoutinthe

darknessbehindmyeyes:Gabe’sbighandspullingmeintohisarms,hisfingersdiggingintomy
hips,hisice-blueeyesholdingmecaptiveinthatmomentbeforewekissed,promisingwicked,
wonderfulthingsashishandslippedbetweenmylegsandhemademeshatterintoamillionbeautiful
pieces.

Butnotbeforehemadeyoubegforit,madeyoubeghimtomakeyoucomelikesomebimboina

porno.

Iopenmyeyeswithasigh,ignoringthewaymybodyistinglingsimplyfromthinkingabout

Gabe’stouch.

did

beg.Ibeggedhimtobringmeover,andevenworseI’dsortof…likedit.

Lovedit.

Iloveditso

mucheventhememoryisenoughtomakemypantiesdamp,mybreastsache,andmyheartbeatfaster
withwantingmore.MoreofGabe,moreofhiskiss,histouch,oftherushIfeltinhisarms.

Idon’tknowhowmuchofthatrushwasbecausewe’dbarelyescapedgettingshotbytheother

peoplebreakingintothestore,andhowmuchwasGabe—ithadallbeentootangleduptogether—but
Iknowthefeelingwasdangerous.

ItwasthekindoffeelingthatmademymotherrunawaywithherAAsponsor,nevertobeheard

fromagain.Thekindoffeelingthatmademybigsisterbailonhertwo-month-olddaughter,andtake
offtoColumbiawithhernew,drug-dealerboyfriend.

Itwasthekindoffeelingthatcoulddestroywhat’sleftofthisfamily.
Chuckwon’tevenlookforajob,letalonetakeontheresponsibilityofrunningahouseholdand

raisingfourkids.IfI’mnothereformybrothersandEmmie,noonewillbe.They’llgointothe
systemandbeplacedinfosterhomes,homesthatcouldbeevenworsethantheplacementsIendured
whenIwasyounger.

Liceinfestations,shavedheads,olderfosterkidswhopinchandhit,fosterparentswhospendyour

lunchmoneyoncigarettes,andbiologicalkidswhoaregivenyourshareofsupperareshittythings,
butthereareworseones.Farworse,andIrefusetoberesponsibleforanyofmykidssufferinglike
that.

And,intheend,that’swhyIhaven’tpickedupthephone.That’swhyI’veignoredthetextGabesent

aweekagosayinghehadaconjobondeckhethoughtI’denjoy.That’swhyIpretendit’sonlythe
Juneheatthathasmewakingupmultipletimesanight,drenchedinsweat,withmybellyachingand
mythighsshiftingbackandforthinanefforttobanishtheneedthat’sdrivingmecrazy.

Ican’tgivethatneedaninch,orI’mafraiditwilltakeamile,takeeverythingI’veworkedand

sacrificedforandleavemehatingmyselfforturningoutlikemyworthlessmomandsister.I’ma
strongperson,butI’mnotsureI’mstrongenoughtosurviveGorgeousGabeAlexanderandcome
outwholeontheotherside.

“Soforgethim,forgetthatnight,andgetoveryourself,”Isay,withaviciouskicktothethinsheet

coveringmylegs.

Butsomethingsareeasiersaidthandone.

CHAPTERTEN

Caitlin

ThoughtsofGabelingerinmymindasIhustledownthestairstothekitchenandshovefrozen

wafflesintothetoaster,teasingthroughmythoughtsasIslappeanutbutteronbread,dropapplesand
juiceboxesintoRayandSean’slunchboxes,andusethelastofthehamtomakeDannyadouble-
deckerhamandcheesesohe’llhaveenergyforsoftballpractice.VisionsofGabe’sstupid-beautiful
faceflashonmymentalscreenasIpoundbackupthestairs,shoutingforSeanandRaytowakeup
beforeeasingintoDannyandEmmie’sroom,andtiptoeingovertoEmmie’stoddlerbed.

It’sonlythen,whenshelooksupatmewithherbigblueeyesandsmileshersweetsmilethatmy

headsnapsbackonstraight.

“Goodmorning,doodle.”Igatherherintomyarms,kissingthewarmcurveofherneckbeneath

herblondcurls,thatplacethatisstillkittensoftandsmellslikethebabysheoncewasinsteadofthe
busytoddlershe’sbecoming.

Thissweetlittlegirlisworththehardwork.She’sworthlivingrightandstayingawayfromboys

likeGabe,andallthetroublethatwouldaccompanyhimandhiseasyanswers.

Therearenoeasyanswers,andnothingcomesforfree.IfIletmymoralsgetanymoretwistedup

thantheyarealready,I’llpayforit,onewayoranother.

“Ihaveanote,”Dannysaysfromhisbedbehindme,hisvoicethickwithsleep.
“Whatkindofnote?”IkissEmmie’scheekandleandowntofetchherHappy—hernameforher

pink-and-white-stripedblanket—fromhernestofcovers.Sheclutchesitinherchubbyhandsand
pressesittoherfacewithacontentsigh,makingmesmile.

“FromMr.Pitt.It’sinmybackpack.”
Mysmilevanishes.“Whydidn’tyougiveittomefirstthingaftersoftballyesterday?”
“Iforgot,”Dannysayswithagrunt,followedbyaheavythudashejumpsfromthetopofhislofted

bed

“Don’tjumpoutofbed,”IsnapasIturn,hitchingEmmiehigheronmyhip.“You’regoingtofall

throughthefloor.What’sthenoteabout?”

“Specialconference.”Dannygrabsthejeansheworeyesterdayfromthebackofhisdeskchairand

shovesoneofhisskinnylegsinside.

He’sshootingupsofasthecan’tkeeponweight.Bytheendofthesummer,he’llbetallerthanIam.

I’monlyfivefootone,sothat’snotsayingalot,butstill…Ican’tbelievemybrother ’sgettingsobig.
Itscaresmealittle.He’sonlytwelve,buthe’sgrowingupsofast.Soon,he’llbetoooldtocarewhat
hisnaggingoldersisterhastosay,andwaytoobigformetohaveanyhopeofmakinghimlisten.

Dannystretches,hisribsshowingthroughhisskinashepullsateeshirtfromthepileonthefloor

andsniffsthepitsbeforetuggingitoverhishead.“Ithinkhewantstotalktoyouafterschool.”

“Crap,when?”Ishovemytangledhairoffmyforehead.“Nottoday,Ihope.Idon’tgetoffwork

untilfourandIhavetobebackatthetheaterby—”

“Idon’tknow!God,justreadthenote,”Dannysnapsbeforevanishingintothehall,headedtoward

thebathroom.

“Tone,Danny!”IcalloutafterhimbeforeturningbacktoEmmiewithasigh.“Youruncleisapain

inmybutt.”

“Indabutt,”Emmierepeatswithagrin.
“Yes,”Isaywithaseriousnod.“Likeafart.”
Emmie’sgrinbecomesagiggle.Shedoesn’ttalkasmuchasthedoctorswouldlikeanearlythree-

year-oldtotalk,butshelovesfartjokes,andI’mnotabovepottyhumorinthenameofmakingher
dimplespop.

“Youreadyforbreakfast?”Iask,pressingakisstoherforehead.
Shenods,andweheaddownthestairstothegroundfloorbathroomsotheboyscanhavetheone

upstairs.

Therestofthemorningpassesintheusualstateofbarelycontrolledchaos.Raydropsthebookfor

hisbookreportinthetoiletandIendupblow-dryingitwithonehandwhileputtingonmymake-up
withtheother.EmmiespillsherorangejuiceonmylastcleanpairofuniformshortsandIhaveto
dashbackupstairstochangeintothehideousdresswiththepuffedsleevesItrynottowearonFridays
becausethat’sthedayMr.Noelcomesinforpancakesandhishandhasahabitofdrifting.

Seanrealizesheforgottodohisspellingpre-testandDannyhastogiveittohimasI’mchanging

Emmieoutofherorange-juice-soakedsleeperandgivingheraquickwipedownatthesink.No
soonerdoIhavehercleananddressedfordaycarethanRaymanagestobreakthezipperonhis
backpackandSeanburstsintotearsbecausehegottwowordswrongonhispre-testandDannyis
givinghimshitaboutit.

WhenIfinallyherdthesavagesoutthedooratten‘tileight,I’malreadyexhaustedandnotlooking

forwardtoasixhourshiftattherestaurant,followedbyanotherfivehourshiftatCinemaEightlater
tonight.

BythetimeI’vedroppedSeanandRayattheelementaryschool,depositedDannyatthejuniorhigh

withastrongwarningtostayoutoftroubleandanoteforMr.PittsayingI’llhavetopushthis
afternoon’sconferencetoMonday,andsprintedEmmietothefrontdooroftheKiddieKottage—
hopefullygivingmyselfjustenoughtimetograbacoffeeatworkbeforeIhavetoclockin—my
mindisalreadydriftingbacktothateasywayout.

AsImaneuvertheancientfamilyvanthroughdowntownGiffney,itdanglesinmythoughtslike

forbiddenfruit,sosweetandjuicyIdon’tseehowI’mgoingtoresisttakingabite.I’mhungryforit,
starving,soreadyforatasteofthateasierlifeitpromises,Icanpracticallyfeelitexplodingonmy
tongue.

AndthenIsee

him,GorgeousGabe,leaningagainsttheweatheredbricksofHarry’sDiner,his

jaggedbrownhairhanginglowoveronesideofhisforehead,lookingsodeliciousinwrinkledblack
jeansandawhisper-thingrayteeshirtitshouldbeillegal.Themomentoureyesmeet,hisfulllips
drawintoagrinthatpromisesthebestkindoftrouble,andsomethingbreaksinsideme.

Inside,I’malreadyfalling,tumblingintothewaitingarmsoftemptationwithasighofpleasure,

standingontiptoetoclaimhislipsandtastehiswickedtasteandtellhimhowmuchI’vemissedthe
wayhiseyeslightupwhenhe’sthinkingnaughtythingsaboutme.

Myoutsides,however,areadifferentstory.
Ontheoutside,Iamcalm,cool,collected,andnottheleastbitinterestedinwhatGabehastooffer.

AslongasIcanholdthatfacadetogether,I’llbeallright.

“Keeptellingyourselfthat,”ImutterasIslamthedoortothevanshutbehindmeandstartacross

thestreet.

Gabe’sicyblueeyesdriftupanddown,takinginmyuniformwithobviousamusement.“Nice

dress.”

“Whatdoyouwant?”Iaskinaflattone,crossingmyarmsbeneathmybreastsonlytouncross

themasecondlaterwhenIrememberhowlowcutthestupidruffledcollaris.“Ionlyhaveasecond,
orI’llbelateforwork.”

Gabe’ssmiledoesn’tfalter.“I’vemissedyoutoo,sweetheart.”
“I’mnotyoursweetheart,”Isay,butIcanfeeltheblushspreadingacrossmycheeks.
Apartofmewouldliketobehissweetheart,tobeGabe’sgirl,and,moreimportantly,hispartner

incrime.

“Butyoucouldbe.”Hepushesawayfromthewall,closingthedistancebetweenus,notstopping

untilhe’ssocloseIcansmellhissoapandtroublesmell,theonethatmakesmymouthwaterandmy
skinfeeltoosmall.“Whatdoyousay?Upforanotherjob?Thisoneneedsafemininetouch.”

IshakemyheadasIbackaway,mypulseleapingatmythroat.“No,”Isay,evenasmyheart

screams

yes

andmyfingertipsbegintotingle,rememberingtherushofpluckingathousanddollars

injewelryfromthepawnshop’sglasscase.

“Youdon’tmeanthat.”HefallsinbesidemeasIstarttowardthediner ’sfrontdoor.“Comeon,

Caitlin.Comeplaywithme.”

Play.

That’sallthisistohim,somestupidgametohelppassthetimethissummerwhilehe’shome

fromcollegeandworkingparttimeathisdad’slawfirm.Gabe’sdadisasuccessfullawyer,hismom
isahigh-pricedinteriordecorator,andhisgrandmotherisdescendedfromthetownfounders,and
richerthanGod.Gabetoldmehecouldbuyandsellmyentirefamilyatleasttwice,andIbelievehim.
Heisn’tdesperatethewayIam;he’ssimplybored.

Ican’trememberthelasttimeIwasbored.I’mtooexhaustedandoverworkedandstressedouttobe

bored.Boredomsoundslikefuckingheaventome,andthefactthattheboybreezingintothecoffee
shopbesidemedoesn’trealizehowluckyheistohavetheluxuryofboredompissesmeoff,and
givesmethestrengthtoturntohimandsay—

“I’mnotyourtoy,andIdon’thavetimetoplay.”Ilowermyvoice,notwantingmyboss,Gretchen,

tohearmesassingacustomer.“Soleave.Now.Anddon’tbothermeatworkagain.”

Ispinonmyheelandfleethroughthelong,narrowaisleoftherestaurant,shovingthroughthe

swingingdoorsleadingtothekitchenandthetinystaffbreakroomwithoutabackwardglance.ButI
canfeelGabewatchingme,theweightofhisgazemakingmefeelheavierandlighteratthesame
time,makingmybloodrushandmystomachdropandmytraitorousfeetwanttoreversecourseand
hurrybacktohisside.

I’mnotfinishedwithGabe;deepdown,Iknowthat.
Butsometimessuccessissimplyamatterofputtingoffdisasterforonemomentandthenanother

andanother,keepingtheballsintheairforaslongaspossiblebeforetheyallcomecrashingdown.

CHAPTERELEVEN

Gabe

Theladydothprotesttoomuch.–Shakespeare

IfIwereaniceguy,IwouldtakeCaitlinatherwordandleaveheralone.
ButI’mnotaniceguy,andIsawthewayhereyeslitupwhenImentionedthejob.She’shooked,

justlikeme.She’shadataste,andshe’sdyingformore.Allitwilltakeisafewmorenudgesand
she’lltumbleovertheedgeofhesitationintomyarms,whereI’llbewaitingtocatchher.

Catchher,andleadherfurtheralongtheroadwestarteddowntwomonthsago.
Eversincethatnightinherfriend’scar,Ihaven’tbeenabletogetCaitlinoutofmyhead.Ikeep

hearingherlaughandthosesexymoansshemadewhenIslippedmyfingersbetweenherlegs,
rememberingthewayherpalethroatglowedintheflashingredandbluepolicelightsasshethrew
herheadbackandcameonmyhand.ItasteherkisswhenIwakeupinthenight,sweatingdespitethe
airconditioningmymotherkeepssetatsixty-fivedegrees.IseeCaitlin’sold-before-her-timegreen
eyesfloatinginthedarknesswhileI’mlyingawakeinbed,tryingnottothinkaboutthefuture.

I’veneverbeenthekindofpersontogiveuponsomethingIwant,evenbackinhighschool,whenI

wasstillresignedtothepathmyparentshadlaidoutformylife.

Now,Iflatoutrefusetotakenoforananswer.
Caitlinisgoingtoagreetothisjob,andthenthenext,andthenext.We’regoingtohaveasummer

neitherofuswilleverforget,anddotheworldsomegoodwhilewe’reatit.Andbythetimewego
ourseparateways,she’llhaveenoughmoneytogotocollegeandstopwastingherlife,andIwill
havehadher,everywayIwanther.

Ieaseintoaboothonthefarsideoftherestaurantandtakethestickymenutheolderwaitresswith

thegray-streakedbrownbunoffers.She’swearingthesamedressasCaitlin—ashortnumberwitha
blackskirt,redsuspenders,andafrillywhiteapron,apparentlyinspiredbyaBavarianbrewhouse—
buttheeffectis…decidedlydifferent.Ontheseniorwaitress,thedressisastiredandout-of-placeas
thefaded,yellowingpostersofruralGermanyhangingonthewallsofthisSouthCarolinadiner.

ButonCaitlin…
Whenshepushesbackthroughthedoubledoors,everymaleheadintherestaurantswivelsherway.

Thelowcutneckofthedressshowsoffhercurves,whiletheredbandaroundthemiddlehighlights
hertinywaist.Hercaramel-streakedhoneyblondehairispulledintoaponytailthatemphasizesthe
gracefulcolumnofherneck,andwhenshewalks,herskirtswishestemptinglyaroundherthighs.

ThatswishmakesitimpossibletokeepmythoughtsfromdriftingbacktothatnightintheVWbug,

whenshespreadherthighsinsilentinvitation,daringmetofindoutifbreakingandenteringhadleft
herasturnedonasIwas.Ithad,ofcourse,lefthersohotandslickithadonlytakenmeafewminutes
togetheroff.Justthinkingaboutitisenoughtomakemyjeanstighter,andmyhandsachetobe

slidingupherthighstocupherassinmyhands.

Iwantthisgirl.Iwanttohelpher,andfuckher,andstealthingswithher,andmakeherlaughthe

wayshedidrightbeforewekissedgoodbyebackinApril.IwantmoretimewithCaitlinmorethan
I’vewantedanythinginmonths,andthataloneisreasonenoughtokeepmyseat,evenwhensheturns
andscowlsatme.Notmanythingsholdmyinterestformorethanafewhoursatatimethesedays,
butCaitlinCooney,withherwildstreakrunningthroughherpatheticallyresponsible,drearylifelike
acaramelswirlthroughicecreamjust…doesitforme.

Iwatchhercrosstherestaurant,notphasedbythethinningofherlips,orthepinchedlookonher

face.Shecanputanendtoherfrustrationanytimeshewants.Allshehastodoisquitfighting,and
giveintowhatweobviouslybothwant.

“Whatwillyouhave?”sheasks,penclenchedtightlybetweenherfingers,gazegluedtothepadin

herhand.

“You,tomorrownight,”Isay.“Atmyhouse,fordinnerwithmyparents.Nothingelse,justdinner,

conversation,andI’lltakeyouhomestraightafter.”

Hereyesflicktomine,surpriseclearintheirdepths.“Ithoughtyousaid…”Shecastsaglanceover

hershoulderattheolderwaitresswipingdownthestainlesssteelcounterbeforeturningbacktome
andcontinuinginawhisper,“Ithoughtyousaiditwasajob.”

“Itis.Aconjob,”Isay.“I’llpayyoufivehundreddollarstopretendtobemygirlfriendforthe

night.”

“Fivehundred…”Asmileteasesattheedgeofherlips.“You’rekidding.”
“I’mnot.Fivehundreddollarsforonenightofpretend.”
Shenarrowshereyes,obviouslylookingforthecatch.“Why?Whydoyouneedapretend

girlfriend?”

“Mymotherinsistsonsettingmeupwithgirlsshemeetsthroughhervolunteerwork.ShethinksI

needagirlfriendtoturnmylifearound.”That’snotexactlywhymymotherissodeterminedtosee
meinlove,butit’scloseenough.“Sherefusestoletitgo,nomatterhowmanytimesIinsultthenice
youngwomenshedumpsinmylap.AfakesummerloveistheonlywayIcanthinkoftogetherto
leavemealone.”

Caitlinpointsthebusinessendofherpenatmyface.“Ithoughtyousaiditwasonlyforthenight.”
“Fivehundreddollarsforthenight,withanoptiontorebookifmymotherrequiresfurther

conning,”Iclarify.“Futuredatesandpaymentstobenegotiatedonacasebycasebasis.”

Caitlincastsanotherglanceoverhershoulder.Thistime,theolderwaitressiswatchingherwitha

sourexpression.

“Justordersomething,”Caitlinwhispersassheturnsbacktome.“OrI’mgoingtogetinto

trouble.”

“Twoeggs—scrambled—toast,andyouranswer,”Isay.“I’lltakeitalltogo.”
Sherollshereyesbeforebringingpentopad,mutteringbeneathherbreath,“Atleastit’snot

illegal.”

“Notatall.”
“Iwasn’ttalkingtoyou,”shesayswithaglarethatismorecutethanmenacing.“Yourtotaliseight

seventy-six.HavethemoneyreadywhenIgetback.Iwantyououtofhere.”

“Why?”Iask,liftingawrybrow.“AmIdistractingyou?”
“You’reannoyingme,”shesays,butshedoesn’tsoundannoyed.Shesoundsintrigued,andIknow

she’sgoingtogiveinevenbeforeshereturnswithmybreakfastinabrownpaperbagandplopsit
downinfrontofmewithacurtnod.

“I’lldoit.”Sheholdsupafinger,stoppingmebeforeIcanrespond.“ButIwantpaymentupfront,

incash.I’llhavetotakeoffworkatthetheatertomorrownight,andIcan’taffordtodothatunless
I’msureI’mgettingpaid.AndIgostraighthomeafter.No…otherstuff.Strictlybusiness.”

“You’reblushing,”Isay,lovingthefactthatshe’sflusteredbyourrelativelytamehistory.But

maybeshe’sneverbeggedaguytomakehercomebefore.Ihopenot.Iwouldn’tmindbeingthefirst
mantoshowCaitlinhowfunplayingdirtycanbe.

“I’mnotblushing.”Sherollshereyesagain,andhercheeksgrowpinker.“Agreetomyterms,or

it’sanogo.Itoldyou,Idon’thavetimetoplay.”

Butyouwill,ifIhaveanythingtosayaboutit.
AloudIsay,“It’sadeal.I’llpickyouupatsix.”
“Fine.”Shetearstheticketoffherpadanddropsitonthetablebesidethebag.“Butdon’tcometo

thedoor.I’llmeetyouinthedriveway.Idon’twanttohavetoexplainyoutothekids.”

“Theydon’tusuallymeetyourdates?”
“Idon’tdate,”shesaysasIpullmywalletfrommyjeanspocket.“Idon’thavetime,andIdon’t

planonmakingany,sodon’tgetanyideas.”

Idropatwentyontopofthecheck.“I’veneverhadanideainmylife.”
Herlipsquirk,butshedoesn’tallowthetwitchtobecomeasmile.“Yeah,right.You’refullofideas.

Allofthembad,asfarasIcantell.Youknowyourparentsaregoingtohateme,right?”

“Why’sthat?”Iask,thoughIknowexactlywhy,andknowshewouldhavebeenright,evenafew

monthsago.

“I’mahighschooldropoutwhoworksasawaitress,”shesaysinamatteroffacttone,obviously

notashamedofwhosheis,“withafatherwho’sbeenarrestedfordrunkanddisorderlymoretimes
thanIcancount.Yourparentswillprobablybescaredtodeathyou’llgetmepregnant,andthey’llbe
permanentlytiedtothetackiestfamilyinGiffney.”

“HowcanIgetyoupregnantifthere’sno‘otherstuff’allowed?”
Sheswipesthetwentyandthecheckfromthetableandmumbles,“Yourparentswon’tknowthat.”
“Icouldtellthem,”Isay,notwantinghertogo.“Icouldtellthemyou’reavirginwho’ssaving

herselfformarriage.Mymomwouldlovethat,evenifsheisalreadytalkinggrandchildren.”

“Tellthemwhateveryouwant,”Caitlinsaysinachillyvoice.“Aslongasyou’repayingme,Idon’t

care.”

“MaybeIwill.”Ismile,someperversepartofmeenjoyingpissingheroff.
“Fine,”shesnaps.“I’llberightbackwithyourchange.”
Shespinssofastherskirtswirlshigheronherlegs,makingtheoldmansettlingintothebooth

acrossfrommineinhalesharplyandhiseyesbulgeinhisredface.Iwatchherhipstwitchasshe
stormsacrosstherestaurantandbehindthecountertotheregister,knowingIshouldfeelguiltyfor
makingherangry.Butshe’sevenprettierwhenshe’sangry,withhercheeksallredandthosegreen
eyesflashing.

Besides,I’llmakeupforbeinganassholelater,whenItreatherlikeaprincessalleveningandmy

motherspendstheentiredinnerfallingalloverherselftowelcomeCaitlintothefamily.Therewasa
timewhenmymotherwantedonlythebestforme—which,inhermind,includedagirlfriendwith
money,ambition,andtheproperpedigree—butnowshejustwantstoseemeinlove,toseemeso
goneonagirlI’llhaveareasontofighttoreversemylife’ssuddendownwardtrajectory.

Mymotherstillbelievesinhappyendings.ShethinksI’llconvincetheuniversitythatthosefailing

gradesandmissedclassesbackinMarchwereexcusablelapsesinjudgment,andthey’llwelcomeme
backtoschoolinthefallwithopenarms.ShetalksaboutthegrandchildrenI’llbringhometoDarby

Hillforlongvisitsinthesummer,despitethefactthatallsigns—andmyfailuretocommittoanyof
thegirlsI’vecasuallydated—pointtograndchildrenasbeingthestuffoffantasy.

Mymother ’smorelikelytofindaunicornfrolickinginthebackfortythanakidinmyfuture,but

there’snoreasoningwithDeborahonceshe’sgothermindsetonsomething.

That’swhyIneedCaitlin.Icouldhavefoundanothergirltopretendwithme,butIwouldn’thave

beenabletotrustherthewayItrustCaitlin.Wecommittedafelonytogether.Afterthat,deceivingmy
parentswillbeawalkinthepark.IknowIcantrusthernottomentionanyoftheforbiddentopicsI’ll
listonthewaytodinner,tostayontask,andtokeepheremotionaldistanceandnotbedrawninby
mymother ’sattemptstowormherwaydeeperintomygirlfriend’slife.

I’mtrulylookingforwardtogettingonwithmysummeragendawithoutanyblinddatesonthe

horizon,buthavinganexcusetospendtimewithCaitlinisanexcellentbonus.

“I’mreadytoorder,sugar,”theoldmanintheboothacrossfromminesaysinasyrupyvoiceas

Caitlinhustlesbacktoourcorneroftherestaurant.

“I’llberightwithyou,Mr.Noel.Justonesecond.”Sheturnstome,andstartscountingoutmy

change,butI’mstilllookingatMr.Noel,whoislookingatCaitlin’sassinawaynomanoldenough
tobehergrandfathershouldbelookingatherass.

Hell,inaway

othermanshould

ever

beallowedtolookatherass.Caitlinmaynotbemine,yet,

butshewillbe,andtheunapologeticlustinthegeezer ’sfadedblueeyesisenoughtomakemyblood
boil.

“Hey,friend,”Isay,venominmytone.“Keepyoureyeswheretheybelong.”
Theoldmanblinks,hisgazedriftingfromCaitlin’sass,tome,toCaitlin’sass,andbackagain

beforeheseemstorealizethewordsweremeantforhim.“Excuseme?”

“Keepyoureyesonherface,oryou’llregretit.”Islideoutoftheboothandstand,staringdownat

himwithahardlookIhopemakesitclearthisisn’tanidlethreat.“Shedeservesyourrespect,andher
assisn’tonthemenu.”

“Gabestop,”Caitlinhissesbehindme.Shegrabsmyelbowandslipsaroundmyleftside,inserting

herselfbetweenme,andthecreepscootingtotheedgeofhisbooth.“I’msosorry,Mr.Noel.My
friendiscrazy,he—”

“I’mnotcrazy.Mr.Noelknowshewasoutofline.”
“I’llgetpancakessomewhereelse,”themanmumbles,hiseyesonthegroundandhisspottedhand

clutchinghischestasheshufflestowardthedoor.

“Goodidea.”Iwatchhimgo,halfhopingtheperverthasaheartattackonthewayout.He’salready

hadmorethanhisfairshareoftimeonEarth,andhisdeathwouldmeanonefewerslimeballoozing
aroundtheplanet.

Butitseemsliketheworstpeoplearetheoneswhostickaroundthelongest.Thefilesinmy

father ’sofficearefullofoldmenandwomenwhohavelivedlong,shittylives.

Theysayonlythegooddieyoung.
I’mnotsurethat’strue,buttheevilcertainlyseemtolinger.
Theoldmanisnearlytothedoorwhentheotherwaitressrushesover,layingahandonhisbackas

sheleansintoaskhimifhe’sokay.

“I’mfine,Gretchen,sugar.”Hisanxiouseyesshiftmyway.“JustknowwhenI’mnotwanted.”
“What?”Gretchenturns,pinningmewithanoutragedlookbeforehereyesslidetoCaitlinand

freezeover.“Caitlin,comeapologizetoMr.Noel.Rightnow.”

IsnagCaitlin’selbowasshestartsforward.“He

shouldbetheoneapologizing.”

“Letmego.”Caitlintugsherarmawayandpointstotheexit,addingbeneathherbreath,“Justleave.

Please.You’vecausedenoughtroubleforonemorning.”

“I’mtryingtohelp.”Isnatchthebagcontainingmybreakfastfromthetable.“You’rebetterthan

this.Youshouldquit.”

“Leave,”sherepeats,puttingahandbetweenmyshoulderblades,urgingmetowardtheexitwith

morestrengththanIexpected.“Thisisn’thelping.Notevenalittlebit.”

“Allright,ifyouwon’tlistentoreason…”Iambletothefrontoftherestaurant,holdingtheolder

waitress’scoolgazeasImove,makingitclearI’mnotsorryforcallingoutthepervertshehas
tuckedprotectivelyunderherarm.

Gretchengivesasgoodaglareasshegets,butMr.Noelseemsdeterminedtokeephisfocusonthe

grounduntilI’mgone,soI’mforcedtosettleforawhispered—

“Rememberwhatwetalkedabout.”
—asIslipoutthedoor,insteadofthemomentofeyecontactIwouldhavepreferred.
Assoonasthedoorshutsbehindme,IheartheolderwaitresssnapatCaitlin,followedbythe

enragingsoundofCaitlinapologizing.IwanttoturnaroundandkickMr.Noeltothecurbmyself,but
instead,Icrossthesmallparkinglot.Iliftmyfacetothemorningsunalreadyglaringdownfromthe
sky,notallowingmyeyestodrifttowardtherestaurantuntilIreachtheBeamer.

WhenIdoglanceback,IwishIhadn’t.IcouldhavedonewithoutseeingCaitlinwithherhead

bowedandherspinecurvedsubmissivelybeforeMr.Noel,likeadogwithitstailtuckedbetweenits
legs.Sheisn’tthestrong,wild,fearlessgirlwhoclimbedoverabarbedwirefencewithmenow.She
looksbeaten,tired,andsomucholderthantwenty.

Seeingherlikethis—sosmallandunabletofightback,atthemercyofthepeopleshedependsupon

forthisshitjob—stirsupunexpectedfeelings.IsuddenlywanttotakeCaitlinawayfromthisplace,to
holdherhandasIwalkhertomycarandapologizeformakingherlifemoredifficult.Iwanttodo
somethingtomakeupforthecrappeopleintheworld,andbeabetterfriendtoherthanIwasthis
morning.

Thepastfewmonths,I’vedonemybesttodisposeofmyoldfriends.Idon’tneedtomakeanynew

ones,especiallynotafriendwhodanceslikethere’snoonewatching,hasasmilethatmakesmewant
tolearnallhersecrets,andkissesliketheworldisonfire.

CaitlinCooneyisdangerous,andstartingtolooklessliketheanswertomyproblems,andmore

liketroubleIdon’tneed.

Ishouldputanendtothisthingbetweenusbeforeitbegins.IshouldputthemoneyIpromisedher

inanenvelopeandstickitinhermailbox,withanotetellingherI’vechangedmymindaboutdinner.
Ishoulddeletehernumberfrommyphone,andforgetIknowwhereshelives.Ishouldwalkaway
fromCaitlinCooneyandstaythehelloutofherlife.

ButIwon’t.
I’veneverbeengoodatdoingwhatIshould.Idon’tresistTemptation,Ithrowhimabig,loudparty

andinviteTroubletoD.J.

CHAPTERTWELVE

Caitlin

Evenasmallthorncausesfestering.

–IrishProverb

Saturdaynight,Ipacethelengthofthelivingroomforthefifthtimeinlessthantenminutes.I

swipethedustybluecurtainstooneside,peekingattheemptydriveway.

Gabewillbehereanyminute.Anyfreakingminute.
WhydidIsayyestothis?WhydidIagreetothisstupid,stress-inducing,fakedate?
“Won’thehonk?”Heather,mybestfriendIsaac’sgirlfriend,asks.
“He’dbetternot.”IsaacglancesupfromthebloodyXboxgameheandDannyareplayingwhilethe

littlekidsplayoutside.Hesitsupstraighteronthecouch,puffingouthisbroadchest.“He’dbetter
cometothedoorandletmeglareathimsoheknowstobehavehimself.”

Heatherlaughs,twirlingoneofhertightbrowncurlsaroundherfingerasshekeepsaneyeonthe

pastaboilingonthestove.“You’renotCaitlin’sdad,Isaac.”

“ThankGod,”Imumble,glancingtowardthebackdoor,halfexpectingChucktostumbleindrunk

offhisassandruinthisdatebeforeitstarts.

ItrustIsaacandHeathertowatchthekids,butIdon’ttrustanyonetohandleChuck,butme.Mydad

hasbeenknowntogetbelligerentwithnon-familymembers—andoccasionallygetsroughwith
Dannyifmybrotherinsistsonrunninghismouth—butmyfatherhasneverraisedahandtome,not
onceinmyentirelife.Icanalwaysgethimtalkeddownfromtheedgeandtuckedsafelyintobed.

Chuckhasruinedmyplansmany,

many

timesbefore—hehasasixthsensethatalertshimonthe

rareoccasionswhenI’vearrangedtodosomethingfun—butthistimearoundaChuckcrisismightbe
ablessingindisguise.

IhavenoideawhatI’mgoingtosaytoGabe’sparents,orhowI’mgoingtoconvincethemthat

GabeandIareinlove.Ibarelyknowtheguy,andconsideringhowmuchtroublehecausedatthe
dineryesterday,I’mfeelingmoreinclinedtopunchhiminthegutthanholdhishandatthesupper
table.

Liar.Suchaterribleliar.
Isigh,andbusymyselflayingoutplatesandsilverwareforthepastadinnerHeathergraciously

offeredtocook.

aterribleliar.HearingsomeonecalloutMr.Noelbeforehecouldgetahandupmyskirtwas

oneofthehighlightsofmyyear,andtotallyworthincurringGretchen’swrath.Gretchenisalways
miffedwithsomeone.ByMonday,she’llbepissedatoneoftheotherserversandforgetshe
threatenedtofireme,butMr.Noelwon’tbeputtinghishandsonmeagain.AndIhaveGabetothank
forit.

Gabe,whosoundedlikeheactuallycaredwhetherIwastreatedwellatwork,whosoundedlikehe

caredabout

me…

“Buthedoesn’t,”Imutter,tossingthefinalforkontoanapkinandheadingbackintothekitchen.

“He’sahuge,assholeplayer.”

“Thenwhyareyougoingoutwithhim?”Isaacasks.
“Talkingtomyself,”Icallout,snaggingthesaladImadeearlierfromthefridge.
“Idon’tcare,”Isaacsays.“Iheardit,andIwanttoknowwhyyou’rebreakingyour‘nodatingever ’

ruleforsomeguyyoudon’tevenlike.”

“Shedidn’tsayshedidn’tlikehim,”Heathersays,eyesdancinginherpaleface.
She’sgivenuptheGothmakeupshelovedsenioryearofhighschool,butwithherivoryskin,dark

eyes,andthickbrowncurls,shestilllooksliketheheroineofavampirenovel.SheandIsaac,whois
aboutasgothiclookingasacockerspaniel,areamismatchedcouplelooks-wise,buttheir
personalitiesfitjustright.They’reoneofthemostfunctionalcouplesI’veevermet,andIlovehaving
themaround.It’sgoodforthekids—hell,forme—toseearomanticrelationshipcanactuallywork.

“Shesaidhewasanassholeplayer,”Heathercontinues,ateasingnoteinhervoice.“Youcanstill

likeaplayer.Imean,IhavedirtydreamsaboutHowieallthetime,andhetreatedmelikecrapwhen
weweredatingandbrokeupwithmeonmybirthday.”

“Hey,Iheardthat.”Isaacglaresacrosstheroom,makingHeatherlaugh.“Seriouslybabe,Ididn’t

wanttohearthat.”

Heathershrugs.“I’mjustsaying,sometimesagirlcan’thelpfallingforthewrongguy.”
“I’mnotfallingforhim.”Iplunkthesaladdownonthetable,barelyresistingtheurgetogopeek

outthewindowagain.“I’mdoinghimafavor.Hisparentswanthimtohaveagirlfriend,soI’m
pretendingtobehisgirlfriend.It’slike…ajob.”

“Whydohisparentscareifhehasagirlfriend?”Dannyasks,hisdisdainforthis“datenight”

obviousinhistone.

“Someparentsactuallycareiftheirkidsaregoingtogetmarriedandhaveafamilysomeday,”

Isaacsays,thefactthathehastoexplainthattomybrothermakingmychestfeelbruised.“It’sareal
thing.”

“Iwantyoutogetmarriedandhaveafamilysomedaytoo,D,”Isay.“Somedayfar,farfromnow

whenyou’reatleasttwenty-threeandhaveareallygoodjob.”

Dannysnorts.“I’mnotgettingmarried.”
“You’llchangeyourmind,”Isaacsays.“You’llstartlikinggirlssoonerthanyouthink.”
“Ilikegirlsfine.”Dannyblowsupazombie’shead,fillingthetelevisionscreenwithbloodsplatter.

“Ijustdon’twanttogettieddown.I’mgoingtobeanassholeplayer.LikeCaitlin’sdate.”

“Youseethis?Thisiswhatcomesoftalkinggrownupstuffinfrontofthechildren.”Istepoverto

thecouchandknuckleDanny’shead.

“Ow!”Dannysmacksmyhandawaywithouttakinghisattentionfromthescreen.“You’renota

grownup.Youcan’tevengetintoaclubwithoutafakeI.D.”

BeforeIcanaskDannyhowheknowsaboutmyfakeI.D.—orchecktomakesuretheI.D.isstillin

mypurse,andmybrotherhasn’t“liberated”itthewayheliberatedthefireworksIhidinmycloset
lastsummer,orthesixpackofCokeItuckedbehindthebillboxontopoftherefrigeratorinhopes
ofkeepingacanformyselfforonce—there’saknockonthefrontdoor.

Mystomachflipsandacidburnsthebackofmythroat.I’mconsideringgrabbingarollofTums

beforehurryingtothedoortowhiskGabeawaybeforeanyonecanmeethim,whenthedoorswings
open,revealingaverydressedupGabe.He’swearinganexpensivelookingsuit,andholdingared-
faced,hiccuppingEmmieinhisarms.SeanandRayarenotfarbehindthem,poundingupthestairs

andintothehousesecondsafterGabestepsinside.

“Whathappened?”Ihustleacrosstheroom,irritationthatGabedidn’tstayinthedriveway

forgotteninmyhurrytogettoEmmie.

“SeanletEmmiegetonhisoldbike,eventhoughItoldhimnotto,”Raysaid,wordsemergingina

breathlessrushasIreachforEmmieandshedivesintomyarms.

Irunmyfingersgentlyoverherface,wipinghersweat-dampcurlsoffherforeheadasmyeyes

skimtherestofher,findingnoobviousinjuriesasidefromabloodykneeandascrapeonherhand.

“Itoldhimshewasstilltoolittle,”Raycontinues,“buthewouldn’tlisten.”
“Ithastrainingwheels!”Seanshouts,soundingneartearshimself.“It’snotmyfaultshedidn’tknow

howtousethebrakes.”

“It

yourfault!”Rayshoutsback.“Itoldyou,she’sjustababy!”

“Butyou’retheoldest,Ray,”Isayinmy“calmdown”voiceasIstarttowardthekitchen.“You

shouldhavecometogetmeifSeanwouldn’tlisten.Now,isitjustthescrapesonherhandandknee?
Didshehitherhead?”

“He’seight,that’soldenoughtoknowbetter,”Raysays,ignoringmyquestion.“Idon’tknowwhyI

alwaysgetblamedforeverything!”

“Ray,comeon,”Isayasheturnsandfleesupthestairs.“Ididn’tmean—”
Ibreakoffwithasighandarollofmyeyes,continuingintothekitchen,knowingthere’snopoint

ingoingafterRay.WhenRay’supset,helockshimselfintheupstairsbathroomandnothingcancoax
himout.He’lltakealongbathandemergewhenhe’sgoodandready,andnoamountofsweet-talking
onmypartwillmakeadamnedbitofdifference.

“Ipulleduprightasshefell.”GabeappearsbesidemeasIsettleEmmieontheedgeofthesink,

bracingherbackwithoneofhisbighandsasIturnonthewater,surprisingmewithhowcomfortable
heseemsamidstthechaos.“Shecaughtherselfanddidn’thitthepavementtoohard.Ithinkshe’s
morescaredthananything.”

“Well,yeah,”Isay,catchingEmmie’seye,gladtoseehertearshavestopped.“It’sscarynottobe

abletostop.Right,doodle?”

Emmienods,watchingmeruncoolwateroverherkneebeforeglancingupatGabe.She’susually

notbigonstrangers,buthedoesn’tseemtobefreakingherout.I’msurethefactthathecametoher
rescueishelping.

“Butyouweredoinggreatbeforeyoufell,”Gabesays,usinghisnormalvoice,earninginstant

pointsfornottalkingtoEmmielikeshe’sadog,thewayalotofpeopledowhentheytalktolittle
kids.“Stoppingiseasyonceyoulearnhow.IbetCaitlincanteachyou.”

Emmiewidenshereyesatme.
“OfcourseIcan,”Iassureher,answeringherunspokenquestion.“We’llhavealessontomorrow

morning.Butwithjeanson,soyouwon’tgetanowieifyoufall.”

“Owie,”Emmieechoes,squirmingherbaretoesasIgentlypatherkneedrywithapapertowel.
“Canyoumakesureshedoesn’tfalloffthecounterwhileIgetmedicineandaBand-Aid?”Iask

Gabe,flusteredbyhowclosehe’sstanding.

NowthatthesituationwithEmmieisundercontrol,I’mrealizinghowamazinghelooksinhisdark

bluesuitwithanicebluetiethesamecolorashiseyes,andhowmuchsmallerthekitchensuddenly
seemswithhiminit.

Gabeisn’tasbigasIsaac—fewpeopleare,Isaacisasix-foot-fourbearofaperson—butforsome

reasonGabeseemstotakeupmorespace.It’ssomethingabouthispostureorthedirectnessofhis
gazeor…something.I’mnotexactlysurewhatitis,butIknowbythetimeI’vecrawleduponthe

countertofetchabandageandantibioticointmentIfeelself-conscious,andveryawareofthefactthat
Sean,Isaac,andHeatherarestandingontheothersideoftheisland,watchingasGabeandIfinishup
withEmmie.

“There,goodasnew.”IscoopEmmieoffthecounter,pressingakisstohercheekbeforesetting

heronthegroundandwatchinghertoddleoffpastDanny,stillsprawledonthecouch,towardthetoy
chestinthecornerofthelivingroom.

Isaacturnedoffthebloodyvideogameoncetheotherkidscameinside,andthehouseisweirdly

quiet.SoquietitfeelslikeeveryoneislisteningwhenIturntoGabeandask—

“So,um…shouldIchange,orwhat?”
Heglancesdownatmypaleyellowsundresswiththelaceaccentsatthehem.It’soneofmy

favorites,butitfeelstoocasualnowthatI’veseenwhat“dressedfordinner”meansfortheAlexander
family.

“Thisisgreat,”hesays.“Youlookbeautiful.”
“Areyousure?Imeanyou’reso…”Imotionupanddown,cheeksheatingwhenGabesmilesina

waythatmakesitclearhe’senjoyingseeingmeatalossforwords.

“I’msure,”hesays.
Ihuff,blowingafewstraywispsofhairfrommyface.“Okay,fine.Thenlet’sgetoutofhere.”
“ShouldIbeintroducedfirst?”Gabecastsapointedlooktowardtheothersideoftheisland,where

Isaacishovering,lookingmildlythreatening.Isaacisarelentlesslycheerfulpersonwithoutalotof
glaringexperience.Hecanonlypulloffmildlythreatening,evenwhenhe’stryingreallyhard,but
still,ascowlisascowl.

Ishoothimawide-eyedlook,silentlybegginghimtocutitout,butmybestfriendisapparently

seriousaboutstandinginformyabsentfather.Hisglarestaysfirmlyinplace,evenwhenIadda
shakeofmyheadtothebugeyes.

“Yeah,we’dliketobeintroduced,”Isaacsays,ignoringme.
“Ofcourse,”Isaythroughgrittedteeth,stomachburningasIleadthewayintothelivingroom.

“Gabe,thesearemyfriends,IsaacandHeather,fromtheneighborhood,whowatchthekidsformeon
Saturdaynights.Guys,thisisGabe,anoldfriendfromChristophAcademy.”

“Nicetomeetyou.”Heatherwaves,andIsaacholdsoutastiffhand.
IsaacandGabeshakeinawaythatisweirdlygrownup,andalsojustweirdlyweird,andmakesme

evenmoreeagertogetoutofthehouse.Idon’tknowwhyIsaacispullingtheprotectivebigbrother
act—he’stheonewho’salwayssayingIshouldgoondateseveryonceandawhile—butit’smaking
menervous.

Nottomentionhowplain

wrong

itfeelsforGabetobeinsidemyhouse.

Gabeisn’tapartofmyreallife.He’sanalienfromastrange,wildworldIvisitedonceinthedark.

Ineverintendedtointroducehimtomyfamily,andnomatterhownicehewastoEmmie,orthe
friendlynoteinhisvoicewhenheasksIsaachowlongthetwoofushavebeenfriends,IwishGabe
hadstayedoutside.Iwishhe’dneverseenhowshabbytheinsideofourhouseis,andI’dneverseen
himholdingEmmielikeshewassomethingprecioushewantedtoprotect.

“AndthosetwoareSeanandDanny,”Isay,pointingtothecouch,whereDannyisturningonthe

T.V.“Danny’stheblondonewholookslikeme.”

“Donot.Gag,”Dannysays,nottakinghiseyesoffthetelevisionasheflipsthroughourfew

channels.“Remindmetodyemyhairblacktomorrow,Sean.”

“TheonewithcurlybrownhairisSean,”Isay,ignoringDanny.“Andtheotheronewithbrownhair

whodisappearedisRay.Andyou’vemetEmmieso…that’sit.Theentireclan.Readytogo?”

“Wheneveryouare.”GabeturnsbacktoIsaacandHeather.“Nicetomeetyou.Thanksforhelping

megetCaitlinoutofthehouse.”

“We’realwayshereforCaitlin,”Isaacsaysinavaguelyominoustone.
“Goodtoknow.”Gabeputsanarmaroundmywaistthatmakesmeflinchwithsurprise,Isaac

scowl,andHeatherlaugh.

“Down,boy,”shesaystoIsaac,threadinganarmthroughhisbeforesheturnsbacktomewitha

grin.“Haveagreattime,anddon’tworryaboutthekids.We’vegoteverythingundercontrol.”

“Thankssomuch,”Imumble,fleeingtowardthedoor,determinedtoescapebeforethingsgetany

weirder.

Isnagmypurse,shoutgood-byetothekids,andshooGabeoutofthehouseinfrontofmewithan

anxiousflapofmyhands.Themomentthedoorslamsbehindus—providingathinbarrierbetween
myreallifeandmyGabelife—Ifeelahundredtimesbetter.

“ThankGodthat’sover,”Isay,sighingasIleadthewaytotheridiculouslyexpensivecarparkedin

mydriveway.

ThesilverBMWprobablycostmorethanourhouse,andisdefinitelygoingtobethepriciestride

I’veeverbeeninside.Gabe’sluckyhedidn’tgethisfancyhubcapsstolen.Ifithadbeenlater,anda
littledarkeronthestreet,hewouldn’thaveescapedourneighborhoodunscathed.

“Youdidn’ttellmeyouhadabodyguard,”Gabesays,reachingdowntoopenthepassenger ’sdoor

formelikethisisarealdate.

“Isaacisn’tusuallylikethat.”IglancebackovermyshoulderatthehousebeforeIslideintothe

suppleleatherseat.“Idon’tknowwhat’supwithhim.”

“He’sprotective.Ilikeit.”Gabeslamsthedoor,takinghistimewalkingaroundthefrontofthecar

tothedriver ’sside,givingmeanotherlongmomenttoappreciatehowfuckingstunninghelooks.

Whyhe’sbackinGiffney,insteadofofffrolickingwiththerichandfamous,isbeyondme.IfIhad

thekindofmoneyhehas,I’dbuyaone-waytickettoanywherebuthere.Anywherebutthisdeadend
townwithitsdeadendjobsandmydeadbeatdadandallthesadmemoriesandstoriesthatfollowmy
familyaround,makingsurenooneeverexpectsmuchfromaCooney.IfIcouldpackupthekidsand
givethemafreshstartsomewherenew,Iwoulddoitinaheartbeat.

“Iwon’tworryaboutyouasmuchnow,”Gabesaysashesettlesintothecar,banishingthequestion

onthetipofmytongue.

IwasgoingtoaskwhyhesticksaroundGiffneyifhe’ssoboredit’sdrivinghimtoalifeofcrime,

butnowallIcanthinkaboutisGabeworryingaboutme.Whywouldheworryaboutme?Webarely
knoweachother,andworryimpliesalevelofconcernformywelfareIassumedGabedidn’tpossess.

Istudyhimoutofthecornerofmyeyeashestartsthecarandshiftsintoreverse,doingmybestnot

tofidgetwhenheputsanarmbehindmychairandturnstolookthroughthebackglass.Hisfaceisso
closetomineIcansmellthespicy,soapysmellofhim,thatsamescentthatlingeredonmyclothesall
thewayhomeafterIdroppedhimatthebusstopthenightofourheist.BythetimeIgothome,I’d
beenhalfdrunkwithlust,andwishingI’dhadthegutstoaccepthisinvitationtomeetupafterhehid
themoneyandjewelry.

Ihadneverbeentemptedbythatkindofinvitationbefore,butthatnight…
“Whatareyouthinking?”Gabebrakesinthemiddleofthestreet,attentionshiftingtomyfaceashe

putsthecarindrive.

“Nothing,”Isay,voicemorebreathlessthanIwouldlike.
“Liar,”hesays.“Tellme.Idareyou.”
Ilickmylips.“Youfirst.”

“I’mthinkingthat….youhaveafamilyworthfightingfor,”Gabesays,holdingmygazewithan

intensitythatmakesmecertainheknowsallmysecrets.“Andthatthewayyoulovethemisspecial.
They’reluckytohaveyou.”

Iblink,eyesstingingattheunexpectedcompliment.“Well…thanks.They’reeverythingtomeso…”
“Andyou’reeverythingtothem.Don’tdoubtit.Eventhetroublemakeradoresyou,”hesayswitha

winkbeforeturninghisgazetothestreet.“Danny,right?”

Ilaughashepullsoutofourcul-de-sacontoNewberryStreet.“Yeah,Danny.Webuttheads

constantly.”IcastGabeanassessinglook.“Youpeggedhimprettyfast.”

“I’manexcellentjudgeofcharacter.”Hereachesover,capturingmyhandinhis,sendingazinging

sensationshootingupmyarm.

Icurlmyfingersaroundhispalm,tryingtoignorehowintimateitfeelstoholdhandswithGabe,

gratefulthatheseemstohaveforgottenthatIdidn’thonormyhalfofourdare.IfIhadtotellhimI
wasthinkingabouthowmuchIwishedI’dgonehomewithhimafterourlastdate—ifyoucancall
robbingapawnshop,andmakingoutinmybestfriend’scar,adate—itwillbemoredifficultto
ensurethisdategoesaccordingtoplan.

Imayhavebeenhiredtobeafakegirlfriend,butthere’snothingfakeaboutthewaymybodyhums

withhappiness,simplytobesittingnexttoGabe.There’snothingfakeaboutthewayhistouchmakes
meache,orthesoft,meltingfeelinginmychestleftbehindbywhathesaid.

IneverimaginedGabewouldseethebeautyinmyfuckedupfamily,orbethetypetounderstand

thevalueofunconditionallove.Lovelikethat

precious,andabsolutelyworthfightingfor.Thefact

thatherealizesthatmakesmelookathimdifferently,makesmewonderwhatelseGabeishiding
beneaththebadboyexterior.Ihadassumed“whatyouseeiswhatyouget”withhim,butmaybeIwas
wrong.

Thethoughtcreepsinonspiderfeet,makingmeshiver.Ican’tdecidewhichismoredangerous—

theplayer,orthemanwithasecretsoftside.Inmyexperience,secretsbreedsecrets,andnooneputs
asmucheffortintohidingasGabedoeswithoutadamnedgood,andoftenfrightening,reason.

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

Gabe

She’sbeautiful,andthereforetobewooed;

Sheiswoman,andthereforetobewon

-Shakespeare

WhileIdrive,Caitlinscansthelistofoff-limitsdinnerconversationtopicsItypedintomyphone

earlierthisafternoon.Shemuttersbeneathherbreath,andlaughssoftlywhenshereachestheend.
“Theweather?”

“Mymothersupportsglobalwarmingresearch,butmyfatherdoesn’tbelieveinclimatechange,”I

say,guidingtheBeamerontothecountryroadleadingtoDarbyHill,theplantationthat’sbeeninmy
familyforgenerations,wishingCaitlinandIweredrivingintheoppositedirection.

Aftermeetingherfamily,I’mevenlesseagertointroducehertomine.
There’sareasonmyparentsonlyhaveonechild.Onewasallittookforthemtorealizeparenting

wasn’tforthem.Theylikemewellenough,andmymothertooktomanagingmewiththesame
enthusiasmshedevotestoallherpetcauses,butIsawmoretendernesstonightatCaitlin’shousethan
I’veeverseenfrommyparents.

Growingup,mynannywashedmyscrapedkneeswhenIfell,andeasyfamilybanterandshared

jokeswerethingsIwatchedontelevision.IwasexpectedtokeepquietatthedinnertableuntilIwas
oldenoughtocontributetotheconversationinameaningfulway,andneitherofmyparentsspent
muchtimewithmeuntilIwasinhighschool.Iwassixteenbeforemyparentsfinallytookavested
interest—myfatherwhenhelearnedIseemedtosharehisloveofthelaw,andmymotherwhenIwas
oldenoughforhertoplaymatchmakerandsetmeupwiththedaughtersofallhersnobbyfriends.

IalreadyknewCaitlinhadasofterheartthaneitherofmyparents—shewouldn’thavesacrificedso

muchforherbrothersandnieceifshedidn’t—butIhadn’tbeenpreparedforwhatIsawtonight.

TheloveCaitlinfeelsforherfamilyisbiggerthananythingI’veeverwitnessedupclose,

overflowingineverytouch,everykiss,eventhewaysheshoutedatonebrotherandrolledhereyesat
theother.Itwasunexpectedlybeautiful,andmadeherevenprettier—somethingI’dassumedwas
impossible.Caitlin’soutsidesaresomethingspecial,butherheartis…stunning.Evenafterfifteen
minutesofdriving,Istillfeelalittledazed.Mythroatistightandmychestaches,butnotinabad
way,inahopefulway,thoughIdon’tknowwhatthehellI’mhopingfor.

Ihavenorighttobehopeful.Nothinghaschanged.IstillhavesecretsI’mdeterminedtokeep,and

CaitlinandIstillhaveanexpirationdatesetinstone.

Thereisno“YouandCaitlin.”You’reonafakedate,andshe’sonlypromisedyouonenight.
It’strue,buttherewassomethinginthewaysheheldmyhandaswepulledawayfromherhouse,a

tendernessthatwasn’ttherebefore,thatmademethinkshemightbedevelopingasoftspotinthat

heartofhers.

Asoftspotforme…
“Okay,whateveryousay,boss.”Shesighsasshedropsmyphoneintothecupholderonhersideof

thecar.“Notalkingaboutweather,money,anyone’shealth,courtcases,

your

college,

job,or

religion.IthinkIcanrememberallthat,but…whatelseisthere?WhatamIsupposedtotalkabout?”

“Youcantalkaboutthekids,”Isay,butimmediatelyrethinkit.“Thoughmymomanddadaren’t

intochildren.Theypreferpeopleovertheageofeighteen.”

Caitlinfrownsandshiftsinherseattofaceme.“Ithoughtyousaidyourmomwanted

grandchildren.”

“Shedoes.Butshe’llenjoythe

idea

ofgrandchildrenmorethantheactualkids.”Ishrug.“Notthatit

matters.I’mnothavingchildren.”

“Meeither,”Caitlinsays.“TheboysandEmmieareplentyforme.”
Iglanceather,alittlesurprised.“Youdon’twanttobeamother?Seemslikeyou’vegotaknackfor

it.”

“Thanks.”Sheshootsmeastrangelook,butI’mforcedtoturnmyattentionbacktothecurving

roadbeforeIcandecipherit.

“Ifthingsweredifferent,Iwouldwantkidsofmyown,”shecontinues.“ButI’mtiredalready.By

thetimeIgetEmmieraised,Idon’tthinkI’llhaveanyenergyleft.”

“Doesthatmakeyousad?”
“Alittle,maybe,butitdoesn’tmatter,”shesays.“Thingsarethewaytheyare.Nopointcryingover

somethingIcan’tchange.”

Inod.She’sright.Somethingsarethewaytheyare.There’snochangingthem,nomatterhow

muchyouwantto,andtearsareawasteoftimeandenergy.

Otherproblems,however,

can

besolved—withmoney.Moneycanbuyfreetime,freetimecan

breedopportunity,andopportunitiescantransformalife,especiallyforsomeoneasfocusedand
determinedasCaitlin.ThewayIseeit,almostallofhertroublescouldbesolvedwithaninjectionof
moneyintoherlife,andIintendtomakesureshegetsit,onewayoranother.

“Thefivehundreddollarsisinmywallet,”Isay,turningdownthesmooth,freshlypaveddrive

leadingtoDarbyHill,ablackribbonthatwindsthroughgnarledliveoaktreesmygreatgrandfather
plantednearlytwohundredyearsbefore.“I’llgetitforyoubeforewegoin.Imeanttogiveittoyou
atyourplace,butI—”

“Don’tworryaboutit,”Caitlinsays.“I’llgetitlater.Iknowyou’regoodforit.”
“Youtrustme,then?”Iask,slowingaswereachtheendofthedrive.
“ItrustyoumorethanIdid,evenifyoudidalmostcostmemyjob.”Caitlinleansforward,eyes

wideningasDarbyHillcomesintoview.

Thehousedatesbacktothelate1800’s,andwasbuiltaftertheoriginalplantationburnedtothe

groundduringtheCivilWar.It’sacolonialrevivalwithcreamy,palebrickwalls,aburntorangetiled
roofwiththethreegarretwindows,andeightpillarscrowdedaroundtheentryway.Inadditionto
havingatleastfourtoomanypillars,thehouseboastsacurvedverandaoneachside,makingitlook
likeit’swearingoneofthosehipbustleswomeninEuropeworeundertheirskirtsforatime,the
onesthatmadeitimpossibleforthemtowalkthroughadoorwithoutturningsideways.

It’sridiculous,butstunninginitsway.ComparedtoCaitlin’stwo-storyranchwiththesaggingroof

andcrude,concretestepsstandinginfortheporchthatseemstohavebeenstrippedawayandnever
replaced,it’sapalace.

ApalaceIwouldgladlyexchangeforaseatatthecrowdedtableinthecornerofCaitlin’sliving

room.

SinceIdroppedoutofschoolinMarch,I’vespentalotoftimethinkingaboutwhatreallymatters

inlife,andagianthouseisnowhereonthelist.Moneyiswellandgood,butafteracertainpointit’s
anoverloadoficingthatdestroysyourabilitytoappreciatethecake.DarbyHillisamonsterbuiltby
slavesstolenfromtheircountry,andmaintainedbymyfather ’sandgrandfather ’slessthanethical
lawpractice.Itshouldhavebeendonatedtothestateyearsago,butmyparentsdon’tseeanything
wrongwithclingingtoprivilegepaidforwithbloodandpain.

Ihavemorethantheaveragerichboy’sdisdainforabundance,butIshouldknowbetterthanto

assumeCaitlin,oranyoneelseinherposition,canwalkawayfromapayingjobwithoutmakingsure
shehasasafetynetinplace.

“I’msorryaboutyesterday.”Ipullaroundthecirculardrive,parkinginmyusualspotbytheazalea

bushes.“Ididn’tlikethewaythatmanwaslookingatyou,butIshouldhavethoughtaboutthetrouble
ImightcausebeforeIspoke.”

Caitlin’sgazedropstotheconsolebetweenusbeforesheglancesbackup,asmileteasingtheedges

ofhermouth.“Tobehonest,I’mgladyousaidsomething.Noel’sbeenputtinghishandupmyskirt
foryears.NowI’llbeabletowearadressonFridayswithouthavingtowatchmybackeverytimeI
bendovertopickupaplate.”

“Letmeknowifheneedsaremindertobehave.”Thethoughtoftheoldfuck’shandsanywhereon

Caitlinmakesmewishitwasacceptabletopunchseniorcitizens.“UntilIcanconvinceyouit’ssafeto
quit,I’mhappytohelp.”

“I’mnot—”Caitlinbreaksoffwithasighandashakeofherhead.
“What?”Iask,innohurrytogetoutofthecar,thoughIknowmymotherisprobablywaitingby

thefrontdoor.I’msurprisedsheisn’toutontheveranda,watchingthedriveway—shewas

that

thrilledwhenItoldherIwasbringingmygirlfriendtodinner.

Caitlin’sbrowfurrows.“Whydoyoucare?”
“You’remypartnerincrime,”Isaywithashrug,refusingtothinktoomuchaboutthequestion,or

howmuchI’mcomingtocare.

“Thatwasonenight.”
“Therewillbemore.”
“No,therewon’t,”shesays.“I’mnotgoingtodoanythingelseillegal,Gabe.IfIgetcaught,it’snot

justmylifeI’druin.Ican’tputthekidsatrisk.There’snobodylefttopickupthepiecesifIgoto
jail.”

“WhatifIcouldpromisethatyouwon’tgetcaught?”Ireachout,capturingalockofhersilkysoft

hairandtwiningitaroundmyfinger.

“Youcan’tpromisesomethinglikethat,”shesays,butshedoesn’tpullaway.Sheleansinandher

lipspart,andIknowshefeelsthepullIfeel.

It’sthelureoftheforbidden,therushthatcomesfrombreakingtherules—notbecauseofany

desiretobetrulybad,butbecausetherulesarewrong.Therulesareliesthatdeservetobeexposed,
shattered,rippedapartandsewnbacktogetherinashapethatdoestheworldsomegood.Wecoulddo
that,CaitlinandI…dotheworldalittlegood,whilegettinghighonbreakingthelaw.

“Andyoushouldn’tmakepromisesyoucan’tkeep,”sheadds,atrembleinhervoice.
“Idon’t.”Beforeshecansayanotherword,Isilenceherwithakiss.
Idon’tintendittobeapassionatekiss—wehavetogoinsidesoon—butthemomentmylipstouch

Caitlin’stheworldcatchesfirealloveragain.Oursecondkissisevenhotterthanourfirst.Within
secondsI’mdrunkonhersmell,hertaste,deliciouslyjarredbytheelectricitythatleapsbetweenus

likeweweremadetocompleteacircuit.Myfingersburythemselvesinherhairandmytongueslips
insidehermouthandeverynerveendinginmybodyignites.

Thesensationstartsatthebaseofmyspineandspiralsout,wavesofheatandlongingthatcourse

throughme,makingmepresscloser,kissdeeper,tanglingmytonguewithhers.Herfingerscometo
myfaceandhernailsdigintomyjawandImoan,asoundsheechoes,vibratingmylips,abuzzingI
feelovereveryinchofmyskin.

BythetimeIpullaway,I’mhardenoughtoshatterglassanddon’tknowhowI’mgoingtomakeit

throughdinner.TheonlytasteIwantinmymouthrightnowisCaitlin’s.

“Iwanttohaveyoufordinner,”Isay,fingerstighteninginherhair.
“Weagreed,”shesays,breathcomingfaster.“Nootherstuff.”
“After

weleavemyparents’house.”Ipressakisstoherthroat,whereherpulseleapsbeneathher

skin.“Wedidn’tsayanythingaboutmakingoutintheguestbathroom.”

“Stopit,Gabe.”
“That’swhatyousaidlasttime,butifIremembercorrectly,youdidn’t

really

wantmetostop.”I

kissthewarmskinbeneathherearasIletmyfingerstraildownherneck,acrossherchest,downto
cupherbreastthroughherdress,drawingagaspfromherlipsasIfindherpebblednippleandrollit
betweenmyfingers.

Herfingersdigintomyshouldersasherbreathrushesbackin.“JustwhenIwasstartingtothink

youwereaniceguy…”

“Let’sgetinside;I’llshowyouhowniceIcanbe.”Ireleaseherbreastwithextremereluctance,the

kindthatcanonlybeovercomebyknowingI’mgoingtohavemoreofher—allofher—inafew
minutes.“We’llgointhebackdoorandsneakuptheservantstairs.Myparentswon’tfigureout
whereweareuntil—”

Adoorslams,cuttingoffmywords.
Caitlin’seyesflywide.“Yourparents?”
“Mymother,I’mguessing.”
“Jesus,Gabe!”Caitlinbracesherhandsonmychest,shovingmebackacrossthecarbefore

runningahandthroughherhair,smoothingherskirt,andwipingtheedgesofherlips.Bythetime
mymotherappearsatthepassenger ’ssidedoor,grinninglikeshe’sjustbeenawardedtheNobel
PeacePrize,CaitlinhaspulledherselftogetherandI’vethrownacasualarmovermyrapidly
flaggingerection.

Nothingkillsahardonlikeaguy’smother.Especiallymine.

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

Caitlin

TheinsideofGabe’sparents’houseisevenmorestunningthantheoutside.Thereareantiques

everywhere—big,heavy,woodenfurniturecoveredinintricatecarvings,statuesonpedestalswith
namesscratchedintotheirbasesthatmakemethinkthey’reoriginals,delicatelacedoiliesdecorating
clawfootcouchesandchairs,andsomanyoilpaintingsthere’shardlyaclearplaceonthewalls.

IfeellikeI’minamuseum,andI’mprettysureIwouldhavebeentooafraidtositdownonanyof

thefurnitureifGabe’smomhadn’tloopedherarmthroughmineandguidedmetoabluevelvet
couchinthecornerofthediningroom,overlookingthegardensatthebackofthehome.

Ibarelyhavetimetoabsorbthefactthataservant—arealservant,inapaleblueuniformdresswith

awhitestarchedapron—issettingthelong,mahoganytable,beforeIamsmotheredbyanotherhug
fromGabe’smomandpepperedwithexcitedquestions.

“Sohowoldareyou,Caitlin?Whereareyougoingtoschool?Whatdoyouwanttodowiththerest

ofyourlife?Whatareyourhopesanddreams,”shesays,pausingtodazzlemewithaverywhite
smile.“Tellmeallaboutyourself.”

“Oh…okay.”IcastafranticglanceatGabe’sbackasheleavestheroom,wonderingwhatI’ve

gottenmyselfinto.TosayGabe’smomisn’twhatIwasanticipatingislikesayingaSouthCarolina
summerisatadwarm.

InsteadofthecoolreserveI’dexpectedfromanobscenelywealthywomanwithapedigreethat

stretchesbacktotheCivilWar,Deborahiswarm,welcoming,andseemsthrilledwithGabe’schoice
ofgirlfriend.Shedoesn’tcastdisparaginglooksatmycheapsundress,orliftabrowatmynailsthat
haven’tseenamanicuresincemysistergavemeoneathomeformysixteenthbirthday.Shedoesn’t
wrinklehernosewhenItellherI’mworkingfulltimetotakecareofmyyoungerbrothersandniece,
butthatI’mhopingtoattendcollegeinthefuture.Sheonlynodssympathetically,herdarkblondbob
swingingabovehershouldersashericeblueeyes—likeGabe’seyes,butwithoutthehardedges—fill
withcompassion.

“That’salotofresponsibility,”shesays.“Especiallyforsomeonesoyoung.”
Istarttoshrug,butstopmyself,feelinglikethecasualgesturewouldbeoutofplaceinthese

surroundings.“Itis,butit’sworthit.Iwanttokeepmyfamilytogether,andgivethekidsmore
stabilitythanIhadwhenIwasgrowingup.”

Shesighsandhereyesbegintoglisten.“Gabeisluckytohaveyou.I’msogladyoucameintohis

life,Caitlin.”

Iswallow,notsurehowtorespondtoherwordsortheemotionmakinghervoicetremble.Gabe

warnedmethathismomwaseagertoseehimsettleddown,butIdidn’tthinkI’dbedealingwithtears
ofgratitude.

Mercifully,Gabeandhisfatherenterthediningroomamomentlater,sparingmethestressof

formulatingareply.AssoonasIseethetwomentogether,it’sobviouswhereGabegetshisstriking
goodlooks.Hehashismother ’seyes,buthehashisfather ’schiseledcheekbones,broadshoulders,
andlean,athleticbuild.Mr.Alexanderlooksprettyamazingforaguypushingsixty—attractive,fit,
withafullheadofgrayingbrownhair,andclear,intelligent,blueeyesashadedarkerthanhiswife’s
andson’s.

ThecontrastbetweenGabe’sdadandmineisevenmorestrikingthanthedifferencebetweenour

houses.IknowChuckisafewyearsyoungerthanMr.Alexander,buthelooksadecadehissenior.
Chuck’sbodybearstestimonytoeverybadchoicehe’severmade,whileMr.Alexanderoozeshealth
andwealthinawayevenhiswifedoesn’tquitemanage.

Deborah’sclothesareclearlyexpensiveandherhairintricatelyhighlighted,butthere’ssomething

fragileabouther,somethingdelicateandbreakablethatmakesmewanttopunchGabeforrollinghis
eyeswhenheseeshismotherwipingtearsfromhercheeks.

“Mother,please,”hesays,ahardnoteinhisvoice.“Youpromised.”
“Iknow,Iknow,”shesays,sniffingassheforcesasmile.“I’mjustsoexcitedforyou,honey.

Caitlinisadorable.Insideandout.”

“Sheis.She’stoogoodforme.”Gabeglancesdownatmewithalookthatbanishestheurgeto

punchhim,alookthatsayshemeansit,andthathewantsmorefromourrelationshipthansomeone
whowillstealthingswithhim.

Iknowit’sjustpretend,butthelook,combinedwiththelingeringeffectsofthekisswesharedin

thecar,makeiteasytosmileupathimandsay,“That’sridiculous.You’reexactlyasgoodasIwant
youtobe.”

“Butnobetter,”Gabesayswithawinkthatmakesmyskintingle,despitethefactthathisparentsare

watchingus.

Ican’thelpit,andIcan’tquitreplayingourkiss,overandoveragain.Allthroughtheintroduction

tohisfather,andthesmalltalkthefourofusexchangewhilewewaitforthefirstcoursetobe
broughtout,I’mthinkingaboutGabe’slipsonmyneckandthewayhetouchedmethroughmydress.

Oncewegettothetable,thingsareevenworse.Gabesitsnexttome,closeenoughforhimtorest

hishandonmylegunderthetablecloth,teasinghisfingersupanddowntheinsideofmythigh,
sendingagonizingcurrentsoflongingcoursingthroughmybody.Ihavetofighttoconcentrateon
thedinnerconversation,struggletogetmysaladtomymouthwithoutdroppinglettuceonthe
tablecloth.

Idon’tknowwhat’shappeningtome,onlythatIhaveneverwantedanyonethewayIwantGabe.I

wanthimtotouchmethewayhedidbefore,tofeelhisfingersslidingbeneaththewaistbandofmy
panties,pushinginsidewhereI’malreadywetandachingforhim.Ishouldbeashamedofmyselffor
wishingGabewouldfingermeduringafamilydinner,butI’mnot.Thestrengthofmywanting
leavesnoroomforshame,onlydesireanddetermination.

Bythetimedessertarrives—achocolatemoussewithfreshraspberries—mymindismadeup.

ScrewthepromiseIforcedfromGabeandallthereasonswhyit’sabadideatogetinanydeeper
withaboywhoisawalking,talkingcontradiction.Aboywithsecrets,badhabits,awickedwaywith
words,andaconfidenttouchthatleavesnodoubthe’s

way

moreexperiencedthanIam.

Iwanthim,andI’mgoingtohavehim.
I’vespentmylifeputtingasidemyownneedsandcleaningupafterotherpeople’smistakes.Iwant

tomakeamistakeofmyown.IknowI’mplayingwithfire,butrightnow,Idon’tcare.

Rightnow,I’mreadytobegtobeburned.
Themomentdinnerisover,andGabeandIhavewishedhisparentsagoodnightandstepped

outside,Ireachforhishand,squeezinghisfingerstightaswewalktohiscar.

“Idon’twanttogohome,”Isay,heartracing.“Iwanttobealonewithyou.”
“I’vealreadythoughtofaplace,”hesays,provingwe’reoflikemindsashepullsmeintowhisper

hisnextwordsagainstmythroat.“AllIcouldthinkabouttheentiredinnerishowmuchIwanttotaste
you.IwantmymouthbetweenyourlegsasmuchasIwanttokeepbreathing.I’mgoingtomakeyou
comesohardyouseestars.”

Ishiver,despitethehot,humidnight,butbeforeIcanthinkofwhattosay,Gabeopensthe

passenger ’sdoorandguidesmeinsidetheBeamer,hishandfirmonmyarm.Eventhatinnocent
touchisenoughtomakemypulseracefaster.

Fasterandfaster,untilIcanhearmyheartbeatinginmyearsaswepullawayfromDarbyHill.

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

Caitlin

Itisalongroadthathasnoturning.

-Irishproverb

TheridetoMr.Alexander ’sofficeseemstotakeforever,aneternityinwhichIcanthinkofnothing

butthehungerinGabe’svoicewhenhesaidhewasgoingtomakemecomesohardI’dseestars.

Ican’tkeepmyeyesoffwherehishandsgripthewheel—hisbighands,withthewidepalmsand

thoseelegantfingers.Ibitemylip,rememberingthewayitfelttohavethosefingersmovinginside
me,bellyflutteringasIwonderwhatitwillfeelliketohavehismouthtaketheirplace.

“Areyousureyoudon’twantmetotakeyouhome?”Gabeasks,turninglefttowarddowntown.“I

don’twanttobeaccusedofbreakingmypromises.”

“Doyouwanttotakemehome?”
“Hell,no,”hesays,voicehusky.“Iwantyoutoputyourhanddownyourpanties.”
Mybreathhitches.“What?”
“Iwantyoutotouchyourself,”hesays,glancingmyway,theheatinhiseyesenoughtomakeme

feelflushedallover.“You’vedonethatbefore,right?”

Iswallow.“I’mtwentyyearsold.Whatdoyouthink?”
“Showmehowyoudoit,”hesays,slowingthecarafewmilesperhour,makingsomethinginside

mesendupawailoffrustration,angrythathe’scostinguspreciousseconds.“Touchyourselfforme,
Caitlin.”

Myheartlurches,andmyhandtremblesasIreachforthehemofmydress.I’mshockedbyhow

turnedonIam,andevenmoreshockedthatIwanttoobeyGabe’sorder.ThatIwanttoliftmyskirtup
aroundmywaistwithonehandasIsliptheother—slowly,slowly,knowingGabe’swatchingoutof
thecornerofhiseyeashedrives—downthefrontofmywhitesatinpanties.

MythroattightensandmyeyesslideclosedasIeasemyfingersthroughmyswollenfolds,feeling

themoltenslicknessofmyownarousal,tremblingasoneknucklebrushesovermyclit,sendinga
rippleofexcitementsweepingthroughme,makingmynipplestighteninsidemybra.Apartofmeis
mortifiedthatI’mdoingthisinfrontofGabe—especiallywhilehe’sstillfullydressed—butanother
partofmeisalreadyflying,lovingtherushthatsweepsthroughmeashecursesbeneathhisbreath.
Thedesireinhisvoicemakesmefeelpowerful,beautiful,fierceandlovely,andintouchwiththe
mostprimalpartofmyself—likedancing,onlybetter.

Somuchbetter.
“Ican’twaittotasteyou,”hesays,hisvoiceragged.
Myeyessqueezemoretightlyclosed,mybreathcomingfasterasIdipmyhandlower,dippinginto

thewellofheatbetweenmylegs.

“Fuckit,”hesays.“Idon’twanttowait.”

Hisfingersclosearoundmywristandmyeyesflyopen.Hetugsmyhandfrommypanties,

bringingittohismouth,slippingmyindexfingerbetweenhislipsandsuckling,moaningashis
tonguesweepsupanddown,lickingmyarousalfrommyskin.Thefirmpressureofhistongueand
thelightsuctionofhismouthsendajoltofexcitementspeedingthroughme.

I’veneverthoughtofafingerasanerogenouszone,butinGabe’smouth,itis.Itfeelslikeevery

nerve-endinginmybodyhasrelocatedtomyfingerandeveryoneofthemiscelebratingbeing
closertoGabe’slips,histongue,histeeththatdraglightlyovermyskinashepullsonefingerfrom
hismouthonlytoinsertthenext.

HelicksmecleanwithathoroughnessthatmakesitclearhelovesthewayItastebeforethreading

hisfingersthroughmineandsqueezingtight.

“Thisisit.”Heswingsthecarintoadesertedparkinglot,intoaspacemarked“Reservedforthe

LawOfficesofAaronAlexander.”

Hebrakeshard;mypulseleapsinmythroat.
Thisisit.We’rehere.
WeslamoutofthecarandGabetakesmyhand,leadingthewaytowardawhitedoorwithredtrim.

Hepunchesacodeintoanumberpanelbesidethedoorbeforejerkingitopenandhalfdraggingme
upalong,narrowflightofstairs.Ourfeetpoundonthepolishedwood,mimickingthethuddingof
myheartagainstmyribs,andallofsudden,everythingfeelssomuchmorerealthanitdidinthesoft
darknessofthecar.

I’mreallyherewithaboyIbarelyknow—aboyI’mnotevensureIlike,atleastnotcompletely—

andI’mreallygoingtolethimdothingstomethatI’veneverletanyonedo.Afteronlyafewkisses
andafakedate,I’mgoingtoteardownwallsI’vekeptfirmlyinplaceforyears.It’scrazy,outof
character,and,ifI’mnotcareful,IjustmightprovetobemorelikemybigsisterthanIeverdreamed.

Anxietydumpsintomybloodstream,fearthatI’mgettingreadytodosomethingI’llregret,

somethingIwillneverbeabletotakeback,nomatterhowmuchIwantto,makingmefreezeatthe
topofthestairs.I’mpartingmylipstotellGabeI’vechangedmymindwhenheturns,cuppingmy
faceinhishands.

“Don’tbescared,”hesays,asifhecanreadmymind.“Youcantrustme.”Heholdsmygazeashe

drawsmeacrosstheroom.“Iswearyoucan.”

Icatchglimpsesofasmalldesk,alargerone,andsomesortofsittingareainthefarcorner,butit’s

hardtofocusonanythingbutGabe—Gabe’slips,hisbreathminglingwithmine,hisfingertips
digginglightlyintomyneckaswekiss.

Hespinsmeinahalfcircleandthebacksofmylegshitthecouch,mykneesalmostbuckling

beforeIsteadymyself.“Gabe,waitI—”

“Youdon’thavetotouchme.Wedon’thavetofuck,”hesays,handsslidingdowntosqueezemy

hipsthroughmydress.“Thiswon’tgoanyfurtherthanyouwantitto.Ijustwanttotasteyou,Caitlin.
I’vebeendreamingaboutitsincethatnightinyourfriend’scar.”

BeforeIcantellhimI’vebeendreamingaboutittoo,hismouthcoversmineandhistongueslips

betweenmylipsandwe’rekissingthewayGabeandIkiss.Likeit’sthelast,bestthingwe’lleverdo.
Likeourlivesdependongettingcloser,kissingdeeper;likethereisnothingthatmattersbutthis
momentandthepleasurewecanstealfromit.

PrettysoonIforgetmynerves,forgetthereasonsthisisabadidea,forgeteverythingbuttheway

hemakesmefeelshotthroughwithlightning.Ishovehissuitcoatoff,diggingmyfingersintohis
shouldersasIleanback,pullinghimdownontothecouch.Wefallontothecoolleather,Gabeontop,
hishandssmoothingupmybarelegsaswecontinuetokisslikeit’stheonlythingthatmatters.

Heurgesmythighsaroundhiswaistandhishardonpressesbetweenmyspreadlegs,makingme

cryoutbecauseitfeelssogood.Sogood,soright,sothrillingtoknowI’vemadehimthisway.I’ve
crackedhiscoolexterior,madehimcrazywithwantingme,madehisbreathcatch,andawild,feral
soundrumblelowinhisthroatasIliftmyhips,grindingmyheatagainsthimthroughourclothes.

Hecussesagainstmylipsandamomentlatermydressisoff,andmybra,too.Theyaresimplyon

mybodyonesecondandgonethenext,withoutmerememberingshiftingtohelpGabedisposeof
them.

“You’rebeautiful.”Hesitsbackonhisheels,eyesflickingupanddownmybody,apained

expressiononhisface.“Youreallyare.”

“You’renotbadyourself,”Isay,reachingforhistieandworkingtheknotfree.
“No,”hesays,capturingmyhandsinhislargerone.“IfItakeanythingelseoff,Iwon’tstopuntil

it’salloff.Andthat’snotwhattonightisabout.”

“Whatistonightabout?”Iask,ashockwaveofdesirerocketingthroughmeatthethoughtofGabe

andInakedtogether,thoughIknowI’mnotready,notreally,nomatterwhatthelustfulvoicesinmy
headaretryingtotellme.

“It’saboutconvincingyouI’mthebestwaytospendyoursummer.”Hispalmsmoldtomyribsas

hekissesdownmynecktothehollowofmythroat,soft,hotkissesthatmakemegaspforbreathand
mynipplespuckerinthecool,conditionedair.

Hekeepstrailingkissesdownthecenterofmychestwhilehishandscometocupmybreasts,

holdingonegentlyineachhand,carefullyavoidingtheplaceswhereI’mdyingforhimtokissme,
touchme.Hecontinuestokissmeeverywherebutthere,hissoftlipsfeatheringbackandforthacross
myribsuntilmynipplesarepulledsotightthesensationisalmostpainful.

Onlythen—whenI’msquirmingandmoaningandtherecanbenodoubtinhismindhowmuchI

cravehisattention—doeshetakemeinhismouth.

Icryout,drivingmyfingersintohishairandfistingtight,urginghimcloserashelicksandsucks

andbites.

Bites.

Buteventhebitingisperfect,aflashofpainthataddstomypleasureuntilmybreathcomesfastand

theworldgoessoftandredattheedgesandthereisnothingbuthismouthandhistongueandtheway
Iacheforhim,burnforhim,needhimtospreadmewideanddowhateverhewantstodotomeas
longashetakestheacheaway.

“Please,Gabe,”Ibreathe,clawingathisshoulders.“Please.”
“Pleasewhat?”hesays,flickinghistongueacrossmynipple,makingmeflinchandcryoutagain.

“YouknowwhatIlike,Caitlin.YouknowIlikeyoutobegforit.”

“Pleasefuckmewithyourmouth,”Isay,thewordsspillingoutwithouthesitationoranger.I’mtoo

fargonetocarewhathewantsmetodo,solongashegivesmewhatIneed.“Pleasemakemecome,
Gabe,please.Please!”

“Liftyourhips,”hesays,hisvoicetightashisfingersfistinthesidesofmypanties.
IobeyandGabemakesmyunderwearvanishandthenheisbetweenmylegs,spreadingmythighs

withhiswarmhands,mumblingsomethingIcan’tmakeout,butthatsoundspainedandreverentand
sweetallatthesametime.

Assweetasthefirstkissheplacestothecenterofme,onesweet,warm,tenderkissthatthreatensto

unravelmecompletely.Andthenthekissbecomesaswirlofhistongueandsparksshootfrommy
core,sizzlingacrossmyskin,andmyheadfeelslikeit’sgoingtofloatrightoffmybodyandthereis
nomore“me”tounravel,onlyaquiveringmassofheatandneedthatarchesclosertoGabe’smouth,
shamelesslybeggingforwhatIcrave.

Ibitemylipandsqueezemyeyesshut,notknowingwhattodowithallthethingshe’smakingme

feel,allthesensationandemotionandthefearthatI’mspiralingsofaroutofcontrolImayneverbe
thesameagain.

IonlyknowthatthisisbeautifulandwickedandperfectandI’mhigherthanI’veeverbeenbefore.

HigherthanwhenIsaacandIsneakIrishwhiskeyintothemidnightmovieinhisflask.Higherthanthe
timesIusedtosmokeupwithAoife,backwhenIwasthirteenandshewasseventeenandIwantedso
badlytobegrownup,tobeoldenoughtostartmyownbigadventure,thewayshehadstartedhers.

Butmybigadventurenevercame.
InsteadIgotbigresponsibilityandbiggerbillsandtheweightofanentirefamilyonmyshoulders

whenIwasstilltooyoungtovote.Instead,Igottolockupallmylongingfornewthingsandfresh
experiencesandsticktochoicesthatweresafeformyfamily.

Now,that’sallfallingapart,myresolvecrumblingtopiecesinthisman’shands.Now,thereisGabe

andhiskissandhissmileandthewayhelooksatmelikeI’mthemostbeautiful,fascinatingthing
he’severseen.Gabe,whodreamsaboutgivingmepleasure,andismorethandeliveringonhis
promisetomakemeseestars.

Bythetimehecupsmybottominhishandsandpullsmeevencloser,buryinghisfacebetweenmy

legswithamoan,I’msoclosetotheedgethattheslightvibrationisenoughtosendmeover.Icome
witharaggedcry,backarchingasIreachdowntofistmyhandsinhishair,holdinghimcloseasmy
orgasmripsthroughmeinlong,rendingwaves,tighteningmybellyuntilitalmosthurts,butdoesn’t
becausethisisexactlywhatIneeded.

IfloatbacktoearthsoblissedoutIhardlyknowwhoIam.Ican’trememberthelasttimeIfeltso

stressfree,solightandhappyandflatoutthrilledtobealive.Andit’sallbecauseofhim.

Him.Gabe,theboywho’sshatteredmycarefullyorderedworld,andiscradlingmeamongstthe

wreckage.

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

Caitlin

Facethesun¸butturnyourbacktothestorm.

–Irishproverb

“Iwanttoseethatsmileeveryday.”Gabe’svoicepenetratesthepleasurehaze,makingmyeyes

flickopen.

IglancedownbetweenmythighstoseeGabepushedupontohiselbows,watchingmewithan

intensitythat’sunnerving,especiallyconsideringI’mstillspreadwideinfrontofhim.Icrossmy
armsself-consciouslyovermybreastsandstarttobringmylegstogether,buthestopsmewithtwo
fingersonmyrightthigh.

“Don’t,”hesayssoftly.“Notyet.”
Iletmythighfallslowlybackopen,shockedtofindahintofdesirewhisperingthroughmeasI

move.Iwouldn’thavethoughtitwaspossibletogetturnedonagainaftercomingsohardmybones
arestillmush,butapparently…

“Iwanttomakeyoucomeeveryday,atleastonceaday,”hecontinues,tracingalazypatternonmy

thighwithhisfingertip.“Iwanttogiveyouthebestsummerofyourlife,andbytheendofit,Iwant
youtohaveenoughmoneythatyouwon’thavetoworkwhenyougobacktoschool.”

“Why?”Iask,myvoicedeeper,huskier.“Whydoyouwanttohelpme?”
“BecauseIlikeyou.”Hemeetsmygaze,avulnerablelookinhiseyesthatmakesmethinkhe’s

tellingthetruth.“Ithinkyou’resmartandkindandhard-workingandthesortofpersonwhodeserves
betterthanthehandyou’vebeendealt.”Hislipsliftononesideinalopsidedsmile.“Andyou’vegota
deliciousnaughtyside,andIlikestealingthingswithyou.”

Itakeadeepbreath,tryingtothinkclearlydespitethefactthatI’mnakedandthefeelofGabe’s

fingersteasingacrossmythighismakingmetingleallover.“What’sinitforyou?Asidefromthe
factthatyougetoffonbreakingthelaw?”

“Ialsogetoffonturningthetables,”hesays.“Onliftingsomeonelikeyouup,whiletearingthe

badguysdown.”

Hepauses,gazeshiftingbackbetweenmylegs.“AndIgetoffonyou.It’skillingmenottobe

insideyourightnow.”

Itrytobringmykneestogetheragain,buthestopsmewithahandoneachthigh,spreadingme

wider,makingmybreathcatch.

“No,”hewhispers.“Stay.Ilikeit.”
“Youliketotortureyourself?”
“Sometimes.”Hesighs,asadsound.“ButnexttimeIwantmore,eventhoughIknowit’sabad

idea.”

“Itis,”Iagree.“Forme.ButIthoughtonenightstandswereyourthing.”

“Wheredidyouhearthat?”heasks,lookingamused.
Icrossmyarmsfarther,coveringmoreofmybarechest.“Sherrydidsomeaskingaroundatthe

club.Herfriendtendsbarthere.Hesaidyouleavewithadifferentgirleverytimeyoucomein.”

“NotsincethenightIleftwithyou,”hesays.
Myeyebrowspulltogether,andIdomybesttoignorethewaymypulseispickingup,responding

tothefeelofhisthumbspressingintomythighs.“Sowhat?I’msupposedtobelieveyou’refalling
forme,orsomething?”

“Maybe”hesaysinahumorlesstone.“WhichisstupidbecauseIcan’tgetinvolvedwithanyone

rightnow.AndIcan’tpromiseyoumorethanthesummer,nomatterhowmuchImightwantto.”

“Ineveraskedyoutopromisemeanything,”Isay,soflusteredIdon’tknowwhatelsetosay.
Apartofmeisgladtonightmeansmoretohimthanjustanotheronenightstand—itcertainlydoes

tome.I’mnotinlovebyanystretch,butIhadfunwithGabetonight.Ienjoyedhangingoutwithhim
andcouldquicklybecomeaddictedtohiskisses,histouch,tothewayhemakesmefeelbeautifuland
specialandabletorelaxandletgoforthefirsttimeinmylife.He’sunpredictable,butIfeelsafe
whenhetouchesme.

Consideringhe’sthemostdangerousthingtoentermylifesinceAoiferanoff,takingherdrug

dealerconnectionswithher,itmakesnosense,butit’strue.IfeelsafewithGabe,andevensafer
knowingallhewantsisthesummer.Ican’tverywellturnintomysisterormomifGabe’sleavingat
theendofAugust.

Wecanhavethreemonths,asummertorunwildandindulgeallthecrazywayshemakesmefeel,

andthenGabewillgobacktoschool,andI’llgobacktobeingthepersonIwasbefore…exceptwith
money,andoptions.

Thethoughtofbeingabletogotoschoolwithoutjugglingtwojobsatthesametimeisaheady

one,butthere’sstillonemajorproblem—

“YousaidyoucouldpromisethatIwon’tgetcaught,”Isay.“Howwillyoumanagethat?”
“Firstofall,we’llbecareful,”hesays,watchinghisfingertraceswirlsonmyskin.“We’reboth

smart,sothatshouldn’tbehard.We’lltakeourtimeandplanandpracticeandlookatapotentialjob
fromallangles.Andthen,ifsomethingunexpectedhappens,andluckisn’tonourside,Itakefull
responsibility.”

“How?”Iask.“Sayyouwereblackmailingmeorsomething?”
“Blackmailcouldwork,andthey’dprobablyletyouoffeasyifyoutestifiedagainstme.”Heleans

inpressingakisstomythighthatmakesmeshiver.“Orweactlikeit’sahostagesituation,which
wouldbebestforyou.Ifwecanmanageit.”

“Eitherway,you’regoingtojail,”Isay,notunderstandingwhythatdoesn’tseemlikeabiggerdeal

tohim.“Imean,notevenyourdadcangetyououtoftroubleifyou’recaughtredhandedandItestify
againstyou.”

Heshrugs.“Maybe,maybenot.It’sariskI’mwillingtotake.”
“Why?”Iaskagain,somethingstillnotaddingup.“Idon’t—”
“Youasktoomanyquestions.”Hekissesmythigh,higherthistime,closeenoughtomoreintimate

thingsthatIlosemywords.“We’renotgoingtogetcaught.You’reworryingaboutsomethingthat’s
nevergoingtohappen.”

“Youcan’tknow…”Mywordstrailawayashislipsreachtheirdestinationandhekissesmeagain.
Hekissesandlicksandteaseshistongueinandoutofwherehe’salreadymademeache,andpretty

soonIforgeteverythingbutthewayhemakesmefeel.Iforgetallmyquestions,allmyfearsand
worries.BythetimeI’veleftmybodyasecondtimeandfinallyfloatedbackdowntoearth,I’mtoo

wrungouttoaskquestions,todoanythingbutlieheavilyonthecouch,catchingmybreath.

“Berightback,beautiful.”Gabebrusheshisknucklestenderlyacrossmycheekbeforeboundingto

hisfeet.

Hecoversmewithabrown,fakefurthrowdrapedovertheotherendofthecouch,beforecrossing

theroomanddisappearingthroughadoorontheothersideoftheoffice.Ihearwaterrunningandlet
thesoundlullmeasIsnugglebeneaththesinfullysoftblanket.IknowIshouldgetdressed,butI’m
tooexhaustedandsatisfiedtomoveamuscle.

Well…mostly

satisfied.

Evenaftertwoorgasms,I’mshockedtofindIstillwantmore.IwantGabe.Iwanttotouchhimthe

wayhe’stouchedme.Iwanthimnaked,hisstunningbodybaretome,hisskinhotagainstmine.Iwant
tomakehimfeelalltheamazingthingshemademefeel.IknowI’mnotasexperiencedasheis,butI
wanttoatleasttrytogivehimthesamepeaceandpleasurehe’sgivenme.

Whenhecomesbackthroughthebathroomdoorafewminuteslater,Isitup,holdingtheblanket

aroundmybreastsasIcrookonfingerinhisdirection.“Yourturn.”

GabesmilesandeveninthedimofficelightIcanseethatincreasinglyfamiliarsparkoftrouble

flashinhiseyes.“Nottonight.Itoldyou,tonightisaboutyou.”

“ButIfeelguilty.Iwanttomakeyoufeelgood,and,Imean,isn’titpainfulifaguygetstoo…you

know,andthendoesn’t…”Iwaveahandvaguelyintheair.“Youknow?”

Gabechuckles.“Ijustateyourpussyforhalfanhourandyou’reembarrassedtoaskifmyballsare

goingtoacheifIdon’tcome?”

MycheeksheatasIrollmyeyes.“I’mnotembarrassed,I’mjust…”
“Embarrassed,”hefinishes,amusementinhisvoice.“Don’tbe.Anddon’tfeelguilty.Itookcareof

myselfinthebathroom.Wasn’tsureI’dbeabletokeepfromtakingthingsfurtherifIdidn’t.Ithink
I’minlovewithyourpussy.It’sfuckingbeautifulanddelicious.Myfavoriteever.”

“Oh,”Isay,notsurehowtorespond.“Well…thankyou.”
Gabelaughs,areal,heartylaughthatechoesthroughtherelativelysmalloffice.
“Whatever!”Ireachformybra.“Ididn’tknowwhattosay.I’mnotusedtosituationslikethis.Itold

you,Idon’tdate.”

“Good.”Hecrossestothelargerdeskafewfeetfromthecouchandstartsupthecomputer.“Let’s

keepitthatway.Thissummer,it’syouandme,nootherdistractions.”

Inarrowmyeyes,watchinghisfaceinthebluelightofthecomputerscreenasIslipintomybra

beneaththeblanketandreachformydress.“Doesthatgoforyou,too?”

Hegrins,butkeepshiseyesonthescreen.“Yes,Caitlin.Me,too.Iwantyoutobemygirlforthe

summer.Canwegosteady?”

Ipullmydressovermyheadwithlaugh.“Onlyifyougivemeyourclassring.”
“I’llgetitwhenIgohomelatertonight,andgiveittoyoufirstthingtomorrow,”hesays,

motioningmeoverwithahand.“Now,comelookatthis.Ididsomediggingaroundafterourlastjob
andfoundthisguy.Ithinkyou’regoingtobeexcitedaboutgivinghimwhat’scomingtohim.”

“Why’sthat,”Iask,steppingintomypantiesandpullingthemupbeforepaddingbarefootaround

thedesktostandbesideGabe.

“Readthefile.”Heputshisarmaroundmywaist,drawingmybacktohisfrontwithaneasethat

feelsright.

Imeltintohim,bringingmyhandtohisarmandtracingmyfingersbackandforthasIglance

downatthescreen.I’veneverhadthiskindofeasyintimacywithaboybefore—andGabeisthelast
personIwouldhaveexpectedtomakecuddlingfeelnatural—butitfeelsrighttobelikethiswithhim.

EvenwhenIbegintoread,andshockbecomesrageanddisgust,Idon’twanttopullawayfrom

Gabe.Iwanttogetcloser,toputourheadstogetherandwhisperuntilwe’vecomeupwithaplanto
makethesonofbitchwho’sbeenmakingmybrother ’slifealivinghellforthepastyearpay.

“I’min,”Isay,evenbeforeI’vescrolleddowntothesecondpage.
“Ihadafeelingyouwouldbe.”Gabekissesmyneck,humminghappilyagainstmyskin.“I’llbring

dinnertoyourplacetomorrownightandwecantalklogisticsafterthekidsareasleep.Burgersand
friesacceptable?”

“Burgersandfrieswillmakeyouahero.”Iturninhisarmsandhookmywristsaroundhisneck,

pullinghimdownforakiss.

There’snopointinkeepingGabefromthekidsnow.They’vealreadymetmy“date”andifGabe

andIaregoingtobespendingthesummertogether,theymightaswellgetusedtomehavingaguy
visitingthehouse.I’lljustmakesureeveryoneknowsournewfriendGabewillonlybearounduntil
August,andwarnthekidsnottogettooattached.

It’snotthekidsyouhavetoworryabout.
Iignorethevoiceofdoomandtiltmyhead,moaningasGabedeepensourkiss.I’mnotgoingto

getattached.Gabeisfun,sexy,andamuchbetterpersonthanIexpectedhimtobe,butI’mnotlikemy
parentsormysister.I’mnotanaddict.Iknowwhentosaywhen.IcanputthebottledownwhenI’ve
hadenoughandnottakeanotherdrink.I’llbeabletodothesamewithGabecomeAugust.

Butuntilthen,Iintendtohaveasummertoremember.

CHAPTERSEVENTEEN

Gabe

AndwhenLovespeaks,thevoiceofallthegods

Makesheavendrowsywiththeharmony.

–Shakespeare

I’mmoreexcitedaboutbringingburgersovertoCaitlin’shousethanI’vebeenaboutanythingin

longerthanIcanremember.

AlldaySunday—whileIindulgemyparents,joiningthemforchurchandlunchafterward,before

spendingtheafternooncompilingresearchontheaptlynamedMr.Pitt—Ican’tkeepasmilefrommy
face.EveryonceinawhileIrealizehowridiculousI’mbeingandlogicdoesitsbesttodragme
downintothegloomI’vebeeninhabitingforthepastfewmonths,buttheidioticeuphoriaisimmune
tologic.

Byfiveo’clockI’mbeginningtothinkmymotherisright:agirlistheanswertoeverythingthat

ailsme.GettingsweptupinCaitlinwon’tchangethefacts,butifitmakesmeimmunetothe
emotionalsideeffectsofmydownwardspiral…

Well,isn’tthatalmostthesamething?
TheBuddhasaidthathumansaretheresultofallthethingswe’vethought.Themindiseverything,

andwhatwethinkiswhatwebecome.Ifthatweretrueintheliteralsense,I’dstillbebackinschool
gettingmydegree,notdoingmybesttorightafewofmyfather ’swrongsbeforeIbreakittoMom
andDadthatIwon’tbereturningtotheuniversity.Butmaybeit’strueinadifferentway.Maybeit’s
trueinthesensethatthepresentisalltheretrulyis.NomatterhowI’mshapedbymypast,orlongfor
thefuture,

now

isallIhave.

Andrightnow,seeingCaitlinagainisenoughtokeepasmileonmyface.
IleaveDarbyHillearly,takingthetimetodrivethroughdowntowntothesouthsideofGiffney,

whereMorrisBrothersandSonsandDaughtersandSons—oneoftheoldestrestaurantsinSouth
Carolina,passeddownthroughtheMorrisfamilyforfourgenerations—standsontheoutskirtsofthe
historicdistrict.MorrisBrothershasthebestburgersI’veevereaten,sosucculentandperfectly
spicedIsuspectsomeoneinthefamilymadeadealwiththedevilfortherecipe.

I’msurethekidswouldbefinewithMcDonald’s,butIwanttobringCaitlinthebest.Iwantherto

havethebestcheeseburgerwhileweplotourjob,andIwanttotakeherouttocelebratesomeplace
poshassoonaswemakeourfirstdeposittohercollegefund.We’llhireababysitter,eatanamazing
dinner,gotoaclubanddancelikenooneiswatching,andthenspendthenightatahotel,fuckinglike
nooneislistening.

Itsoundslikeanightmadeinheaven.
Allday,I’vebeenreplayingeverymomentofthathourwespentonthecouch.Shewassobeautiful

—notjustherlovelybody,orthesexysoundsshemadewhenImadehercome—butthewayshegave

herselftothemoment,lettinggoandtrustingIwouldbetheretocatchher.Shewaseverybitaswild
andabandonedasI’dhopedshe’dbe,andshe’salreadysodeepundermyskinI’dhavetoperform
surgerytogetherout.

Thegirl…destroysme.Justthinkingaboutherisenoughtogetmehard.
BythetimeIgettoherhousewiththeburgersI’mpitchingmyfifteenthtentoftheday,andam

forcedtositinthecarwiththeairconditioningblastingforseverallongminutes,waitingformy
cocktogetthemessagethatnowisn’tthetime.

Butsoon.Definitelysoon.
Maybeeventonight,afterthekidshavegonetobed.Wecanmakeourplans,plotoutourtimeline,

andthenfuckontopofalltheevidenceofMr.Pitt’scrime.Thecrimehegotawaywith,thankstomy
father,amanwhofeelsnomoralconflictaboutgoingtochurchinthemorning,thensittingdownto
strategizehowtokeepaguiltyscumbagoutofprisonintheafternoon.

I’mnotgoingtobecomeapublicdefenderthewayIplanned,orgettorubmyfather ’snoseinmy

contemptforthewayhepracticeslaw,butIcanstilldosomethingtoblotthestaintheAlexander
familyhasleftonthistownbeforeIleaveGiffney.

AndthefactthatIgettodoitwiththebeautifulgirlopeningherfrontdoortowavemeintothe

houseisonlygoingtomakethesummersweeter.

“Hello,beautiful.”Icrossthetoy-litteredlawnwithburgersinhand,eyestrackingupanddown

Caitlin’spetiteformassheleansagainstthedoorframe.

Incut-offshorts,ablue-and-white-stripedtanktop,andbarefeet,she’sdressedmorecasuallythan

lastnight,butlooksevenmoretempting.She’ssexyinalaidbackwaythatmakesmewanttokissthe
glisteningskinatherneck,gripherassthroughthosefadedjeanshorts,andkisseachoneofher
moon-shapedtoeswherethepeachpolishisjuststartingtochiparoundtheedges.

“Noway.”ShestopsmewithahandinthecenterofmychestasIleanintokissher.“It’stoohot.

I’mnotgettingwithintwofeetofanotherpersonuntilthesungoesdown.”

Iliftabrow.“IcomebearingeightpoundsofmeatandfiveordersofcurlyfriesandIdon’teven

getakiss?”

“You’llgetone,”shesays,grinningupatme.“You’lljusthavetowaitforit.”
“Idon’tliketowait.”Ileaninagain.Thistimesheletsmegetcloseenoughtosmellthesoapand

sweatmixingonherskin—ascentthatmakesmymouthwaterforatasteofher—beforespinning
awaysecondsbeforeourlipstouch.

“Comeon,”shesays,laughterinhervoiceasshedisappearsintothehouse,clearlyenjoying

torturingme.“We’regoingtoeatinthebackyard.Atleastwe’llhaveabreezeoutthere.”

Ifollowherinside,whereI’massaultedbythesmelloftoomanywarmbodiesoccupyingtoosmall

aspace.Thehousedidn’tsmellbadlastnight—justalittlesouranddamp,withovertonesofgarlic—
buttoday’shighwasfifteendegreeswarmerthanyesterday’s.Thefirstsummerheatwaveiskicking
offwithhighsinthelowninetiesandonehundredpercenthumidity,ensuringmyfamilyspenttheday
insideDarbyHill,wherecentralairandheatwereinstalledfortyyearsago.

Ican’timagineanyonelivingthroughaSouthCarolinasummerwithoutairconditioning,but

apparentlyCaitlinandherfamilyintendtotry.

“Youdo

have

airconditioning,”Isay,glancingaroundthehouse,lookingforathermostat.“This

houseisn’tthatold.”

“Wehaveit,wejustcan’taffordtoturniton,”shesays,kickingtoysoutofherpathasshemakes

herwaythroughthelivingroomandintothekitchen.Shesnagsapitcherofteafromthefridgeand
setsitonthecounterbeforebeginningtofillablueplastictraywithglasses.“Sorryforthemess.I’ve

beenworkingwithRayonaprojectforschoolandSeanandEmmiedidn’tcleanupthetoyslikeI
asked.”

“Icouldn’tcarelessaboutthemess,”Isay.“Butit’sfuckingmiserableinhere.”
Sheturnsbacktomewithafalselysympatheticlook.“Oh,poorbaby.Don’tworry;youwon’tmelt.

You’renotthatsweet.”

“Butyouare.”IgrinasIreachout,snaggingherponytailandgivingitatugasIpushheragainst

therefrigerator,droppingmylipstothesweat-slickskinofherthroat.“Infact,Ithinkyou’realready
melting.”Ikissuphernecktowardherear,growlingwhenshepushesmeaway.

“I’mserious,psycho,”shesayswithalaugh.“Nobodyheatinmyvicinityuntilit’sdark,andat

leasttendegreescooler.”

“Turnontheairconditioning,”Isay,hungryforanothertasteofher.“I’llpayforit.”
Shewagsherfingerbackandforthwithasmile.“Noneofthat.Idon’twantyoupayingforthings.I

wanttobeanempoweredladythief.”

“You’reinagoodmood,”Isay,lovinghowmuchmorerelaxedsheseemstoday.“Impending

crimeagreeswithyou.”

“Revengeagreeswithme.”Shecastsaglancedownthehallleadingtowardthebackofthehouse

beforeturningbacktome.“Youwon’tbelieveallthethingsIfoundoutaboutMr.Pitttoday.Icalled
myfriendJennywhoworksparttimeintheofficeatthejuniorhigh.Atfirstshedidn’thavemuchto
say,butthenItoldherhowmanytimesI’vebeencalledinformeetingssinceDanny’sbeeninPitt’s
classandshestartingspillingherguts.Everyonehatesthisguy.

Everyone.Ican’tbelievehestillhasa

job.”

Ifrown.“Youshouldn’thavetalkedtoanyone.Wedon’twantthiswomanrememberingyouasked

questionsaboutPitt.Oncethepolicestartinvestigating,itcouldleadthemyourway.”

Caitlinshakesherheadasshefetchesicefromthefreezerandplunksitintotheglasses.“No

seriously,

everyone

hateshim,Gabe.Therewillbedozensofsuspects,andIwascareful.Ineverasked

Jennyanydirectquestions,justledheraroundtotalkingaboutwhatIwantedtotalkabout.”

Shefinisheswiththeiceandstartsgrabbingsilverwarefromadraweroverflowingwithnoless

thanahundredmismatchedutensils,achaoticcollectionthatwouldgivemymothernightmares.

“Besides,”shecontinues,“Jenny’safriend.Shewouldn’tratmeout,evenifshethoughtIhad

somethingtodowiththerobbery.Whichshewouldn’t,becausesheknowsIwon’tevensneakintoa
moviewithoutpaying.”

Iswipesweatfrommyforehead,wishingI’dknownIwasgoingtobeeatingdinnerintheseventh

levelofhellbeforeIdecidedtowearjeans.“Allright,butnexttime,notalkingtofriends,oranyone
else.Wekeepthisbetweenyouandme.Ifwedon’ttalktoanyonebuteachother,thenweknownoone
willtalktothepolice.”

“Allright.Makessense.”Sheshovesarollofnapkinsmywaybeforescoopingupthetray.

“Speakingofyouandme,thekidsareprettykeyedupaboutmehavingaboyfriend.It’scrazy.Ididn’t
expectittobethatbigofadeal,butIguessourlivesarejust

that

boring.”

“YoutoldthemIwasyourboyfriend?”Iask,stupidlypleased.
“Justforthesummer,”shesays,leadingthewaydownthehallandthroughwhatlookslikea

combinationplayroom/mudroom,wheretrunksfullofblocksandstuffedanimalswarforspace
withanoverflowingcoatracknexttoamountainofmuddyshoes.“Itoldthemyou’regoingbackto
college,soit’snotserious.”

“WhosaidIwasgoingbacktocollege?”
Shepauses,glancingbackatme.“Aren’tyou?”

“Doubtful,”Isay.“ButIdohaveotherunbreakableplans.”
Shenods,ashadowcrossingherfaceforamomentbeforeshesmilesevenmorebrightlythan

before.“Right,soItoldthemitwasonlyforthesummer,butSeanandRayarealreadytalkingabout
whereyou’regoingtodrivetheminyourfancycar,andDannyhasdecidedyou’retheAnti-Christ.”

Imoveaheadofher,holdingthebackdooropen.“Andwhy’sthat?”
“Hesaysyoumakeeyecontactlikeapsychopath,”shesays,withashrugassheducksundermy

arm.“Itoldhimthat’sthekindofeyecontactIlike,andtoshutupandbenice,butI’mnotsurehe’s
goingtobecivil.Justsoyou’rewarned.”

Inod,glancinguptofindDannyalreadyglaringatmefromthefarsideofthelawn,wherethe

threeCooneyboysarekickingasoccerballwhileEmmiescootsthroughthemiddleoftheirgameon
aplastictrain.

“Well,maybeMorrisBrothersburgerswillchangehismind.”
“You’rekidding.”Caitlinturnstomewithwideeyes,glancingfrommetothebag,smilespreading

asshebacksacrossthelawn.“IthoughtIsmelledsomethingmoredeliciousthanDave’sDriveIn.
Youwentforthegoodstuff!”

“Foryou?Always,”Isay,enjoyingthewayshelooksbothpleasedandflusteredbythecompliment

beforesheturnstoshout—

“Food’shere!Rinseyourhandsinthehoseifthey’remuddyandcomeandgetit!”
Momentslater,I’msurroundedbyhot,grass-and-sweatscentedbodiespressingincloseasIsetthe

bagoffooddownonthepicnictableandbegindivvyingupthegoods.Rayslipsontotheseatbeside
meononeside,Seanontheother,whileCaitlingetsEmmiesettledandstartshandingoutcupsand
pouringsweettea.Dannyisthelasttojointhegroup—settlingontotheedgeoftheoppositeseat,as
farfrommeashecanget—buthisglarefadesassoonashegetsacheeseburgerinhismouth.He
doesn’tjointheconversationorasktocomealongfortherideIpromisetogiveSeanandRayafter
dinner,buthe’scivil,andevenlaughswhenCaitlinteaseshimabouthavingatapeworm,sayingit’s
theonlyexplanationforhowhecaneatthreetimesasmuchasanyoneelseinthefamilyandstayso
skinny.

Themealtakesapproximatelyfifteenminutes—aboutfivetimesfasterthananymealevereatenin

theAlexanderhome—andthenthekidsareupplayingagainandCaitlinandIarealoneatthetable,
surroundedbyketchup-streakedburgerwrappersandafewlonefriesthatescapedbeingdevoured
whole.

“Thanksforbringingdinner,”shesays,restinghersweatingglassofsweetteaagainsthercheek

foramomentbeforetakingasip.

“You’rewelcome.”Iwatchherthroatworkasshedrinks,wonderinghowshecanmakeeven

sippingtealooksexy.“Itwasfun.”

“Itwas.”Shegrins.“You’regoodwiththekids.”
“Yousoundsurprised.”
“Iam,alittle.”Sheliftsonebare,lightlyfreckledshoulder.“Youdon’thaveanybrothersorsisters.

It’snotlikeyou’vehadalotofpracticedealingwithsmallpeople.”

“Smallpeoplearejustpeople,”Isay.“Butsmaller.Withlessbullshittocutthroughtofindoutwhat

they’rereallyabout.”

“True,”shesays,castingaglanceinthekids’directionbeforeaddinginasoftervoice,“Speaking

ofbullshit,I’msupposedtohaveaconferencewithPitttomorrow.Idon’tknowhowI’mgoingto
keepfromslappinghim.”

“What’stheconferencefor?”

“Samethingthey’vebeenaboutallyear—Danny’slackofrespectforhiselders.”Sherollsher

eyes.“Imean,it’snowonder.Mymomanddaddidn’texactlyinstillalotofconfidenceintheolder
generation.Danny’sotherteachershavealwaysunderstoodthat,andtakenthetimetoworkwith
Danny,earnhistrust.”Sheshakesherhead.“ButIswearMr.Pitt

deliberately

pushesDanny’sbuttons.

It’slikehewantstoseehimfail.”

“Maybehedoes,”Isay.“Seemslikeheenjoystormentingthepeoplehehasunderhisthumb.”
Caitlinleanscloser.“Iwasthinkingaboutthattoday,thatPittmusthaveenjoyedwhathedidtohis

mother.Otherwise,whykeepheraliveforsomanyyears?Whynot‘accidentally’giveherthewrong
amountofmedicationrightaway?”

“Iagree.Ifhewasafterthehouseandtheinheritance,therewasnoreasontospendnearlyadecade

slidingmealsthroughaslotinthedoorandemptyingthepothegavehertopissin.”

“Whatafuckingmonster.”Caitlin’seyesdarken,andragehardensherfeatures,givingherbeautya

coldedgethatmakesmewanttokissherevenmore.“Ican’tbelievehedidn’tgotojail.Evenifthe
jurywasconvincedtheoverdosewasanaccident,howdidtheyexcusekeepinganelderlywoman
withdiabetesandmentalproblemslockedinanatticfor

eightyears

justbecausePittdidn’twantto

payforthekindofcaresheneeded?”

Ishrug.“Elderabuseisnotoriouslyhardtoprove.Almostnoonegetsconvicted,whichiswhymy

fathertookthecaseinthefirstplace.EventhoughheknewPittwasamurderer.”

Caitlinshakesherhead.“Howdoesyourdadsleepatnight?”
“Verywell,”Isay,withasmile.“It’smymotherwho’saddictedtosleepingpills.”
“No,seriously,Gabe,”shesays.“Yourdadseemedniceyesterday.Meetinghim,you’dneverthink

hewasthekindofpersonwhowoulddefendallthesehorriblepeople.”

“Idon’tknow.”IgrabRayandSean’sdiscardedburgerwrappersandwadthemintoaballbefore

throwingthembackintothebag.“Iguesshe’sdonethementalgymnasticstomakeitacceptable.”

“Thatsoundsfamiliar.”Caitlinsighs,eyesdroppingtothegrayingwoodofthepicnictable.“I’ve

beendoingsomementalgymnasticsthepastfewdays…”

Icoverherhandwithmine.“Butourgymnasticsaretherightgymnastics.”
“Arethey?”Shethreadsherfingersthroughmine.“Imean,doesrobbingMr.Pittmakeanything

better?Itwon’tundowhathappenedtohismom,orkeephimfrombullyinghisstudents,orsendhim
toprisonwherehebelongs.”

“You’resayingthepunishmentdoesn’tfitthecrime.”Inod,consideringherpoint.“Soyouthink

weshouldreviseourplan?ArrangetohavePitttrappedinablazinghotroomwithonlyonetiny
windowtolookoutattheworldforamonthortwo,givehimatasteofhisownmedicine?”

Caitlin’seyesflicksharplybacktomine.“You’renotserious.”
“Icouldbe,”Isay.“Iliketheideaofhittingtheguywhereithurts.”
Sheshakesherheadasshedetanglesourfingers.“No,Gabe,I’mnot—”
“Katydid,thereyouare!”amasculinevoiceboomsfrombehindus,cuttingCaitlinshort.
Asthecolordrainsfromherface,Iturntoseeanoldermanwithsaltandpepperhair,anosewith

thesameski-slopeshapeasCaitlin’s—thoughlarger,andredder—andbloodshoteyesstumbling
downthebacksteps.Hisamplestomachbouncesashemisjudgesthedistancebetweenthefinalstep
andthegroundandhestaggerssharplytotheleftbeforeregaininghisbalance.He’swearinga
stainedblueteeshirtandkhakipants,pairedwithbatteredblackdressshoes,andisaboutthree
spaghettistainsshortofresemblingthebumswhogatheroutsidemyparents’churchonWednesday
morningsforfreebreakfast.

AndIsuspectheisCaitlin’sdad,asuspicionheconfirmswhenhesaysinaslurredvoice—

“Sweetheart,Ihaveaproblem.Ineedsomehelpfrommybestgirl.”
Idislikehimimmediately,evenbeforeIturnbacktoseetheconfident,laidbackCaitlinwhomet

meatthedoortonightreplacedbyapale,vulnerable-lookinggirlwithpanicwrittenclearlyonher
features.

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

Caitlin

Amantakesadrink;thedrinktakesadrink;

thedrinktakestheman.

–Irishproverb

Ijumptomyfeet,makingitaroundthepicnictableandinterceptingDadbeforehegetsclose

enoughtorealizethere’sastrangeratthetable.Chucklosthislastpairofglassesmonthsagoand
can’tseeforshitatadistance.IfIcankeephimawayfromthetable,givehimwhateverhewants,and
sendhimonhisway,thisshouldn’thavetoturnuglyinfrontofGabe.

AslongasChuck’snotaskingformoneyyoudon’thave…
“Pleasedon’tbeaskingformoney,”ImutterasIcrosstheyard.
“Thereyouare.”ChuckgrinsdownatmeasIhookmyarmthroughhisandturnhimtowardthe

house.“There’smybestgirl.”

“What’sup,Dad?”Ileadhimbackacrossthegrass,nosewrinklingatthesour,alcohol-and-garlic-

infusedsmellrisingfromhisclothes.

“Veronicakickedmeout,”hesays.“ShesaysIcan’tcomebackuntilIstartpayingroomandboard.

Ithinkshe’sseriousthistime.Shehadthatlookinhereye.”

Isigh.It’saboutmoney.Ofcourseitis.
WhatelsedoesChuckeverneedfromhis“bestgirl?”
“Dad,Idon’thaveanythingtoloanyourightnow,”Isay,thoughwebothknowthiswouldbea

gift,

notaloan.Forthepastyear,moneyhasonlyflowedonewaybetweenChuckandme—from

me,

him.“Afterpayingthetaxesonthehouse,I’mstrapped.Andthekidsaregoingtobeoutofschool
soon,andI’llbepayingfordaycare…Youknowthat’scrazyexpensive.”

“Aw,comeon,KitCat,youalwayshavealittlesomethingstashedaway,”Dadsays,usingoneofhis

manypetnamesforme,theonesIusedtolovewhenIwaslittleandthoughtthatsomeonecallingyou
asweetnamemeanttheylovedyou.

Now,Iknowbetter.Wordsfrommydadmeanlessthannothing.WordsareweaponsChuckusesto

manipulatethepeopleunluckyenoughtoberelatedtohim.

“Ireallydon’tthistime,Dad,”Isay,determinedtostandfirm.“I’msorry.”
GabeandIhaven’thitMr.Pitt’shouseyet,andwemaystillendupcallingoffthejob.Robbery,I

canstomach,butanythingelseisoutofthequestion.Ididn’tlikethelookinGabe’seyewhenhe
talkedaboutthepunishmentfittingthecrime.

Ilikedthefactthatsomethingdeepinsideofmeagreedwithhimevenless.Ihavenointentionof

becomingoneofthemonstersinGabe’sdad’sfiles,butGabeandIarestandingonaslipperyslope,
andIhaveafeelingitwouldbeeasierthanIcanimaginetoslidedownintothemuck.

“Ican’tgobacktosleepingonthedamnedcouch,”Chucksays,angercreepingintohistone.He

wrencheshisarmfrommine,refusingtoletmeleadhimtherestofthewayintothehouse.“I’vegot
aplateinmyshoulderandabadback.Ineedabed,KittyCat.”

Irunaclawedhandthroughmyhair,sneakingaglancebackatthepicnictable,gratefultoseeGabe

stillsittingwhereIlefthim,thoughhe’swatchingmyexchangewithChucklikeapredatordebating
whetherornottopounce.

Ineedtogetthishandled.ASAP.
“Okay,Dad,fine.”IhatewhatI’mabouttodo,butI’vegotnootherchoice.Thekidsarealready

sharingroomsandIdon’twantChuckwakingthemupinthemiddleofthenightwhenhecomes
stumblinghomedrunk.

“Youcanhaveyouroldroomback,”Isay,thewordsstingingonthewayout.“I’llsetthebunkbed

backupinDanny’sroom,andEmmieandIcanshare.She’soldenoughtosleepinabigbed,and…I
don’tknow,maybeIcansellthetoddlerbedforafewbucks.”

Chuckshakeshisheadsohardhestumblesbeforeregaininghisbalance.“Ican’tsleephere,Caitlin.

It’stoodamnedhot.”

IopenmymouthtotellhimthatIcanturnontheairconditioningifhe’swillingtohandoverhis

VAcheckatthebeginningofthemonth—thatcheckwouldcoverairconditioning

and

anentiremonth

ofdaycare,andIwouldn’tmindgettingmyhandsonitbeforeChuckcandrinkitaway—butherolls
onbeforeIcangetawordin.

“Ineedmyownspace,”hesays,foldinghisarmsoverhisbelly,whichhasgottenevenrounder

sincehemovedinwithVeronica,andstartedeatingherItalianhomecooking.“I

deserve

myown

spaceafterraisingkidsfortwenty-fourdamnedyears.”

Ibitemylip,refusingtocallhimonhisbullshit.Deepdown,IthinkheknowsthatI’vebeendoing

thekid-raisingaroundhereforalongtime,andAoifewasdoingtheheavyliftingbeforeIwasold
enough,buthe’dneveradmititoutloud.Gabe’sdadhashismentalgymnastics,andmyfatherhashis.
Chuck’sinvolvecastinghimselfasthelong-suffering,hard-workingfather,whosefailureslieatthe
feetofthewifewholefthim,thechildrenwhoneverappreciatedhim,andthegovernmentwholet
himdown.

Hisself-imagereliesonignoringthatbythetimeRayandSeanwereborn,hewasatthebaralmost

everynight,andthatforthepastfewyearshe’sonlyseenthekidswhenhewasdrunkoffhisass.

“Well,I’msorry,Dad,”IsayinmyChuckvoice,thatcalm,lullingtonegoodfortalkingdown

drunksandGretchen,whenshegetsheraproninatwistatwork.“Icanofferyouabedhere,butI
don’thaveanymoneytospare.”

Hescowls,histhickbrowsshadowinghiseyes,transforminghischeeryelffaceintosomething

uglier,intothatsneeringmaskIrememberfromwatchingmyparentsfightwhenIwaslittle.

“You’realiar,”hespits.“Justlikeyourmother.”
“I’mnothinglikeMom,”Isay,thoughIknowarguingwithhimispointless.“I’vehelpedyouout

everytimeIcouldaffordto,andevensometimeswhenIcouldn’t.ThelasttimeIbailedyououtwith
Halitalmostcostmethehouse.”

“Cost

thehouse.It’s

house,littlegirl,”Chucksays,jabbingafingerinmyface.“Don’tforget

whereyourbread’sbuttered.”

Ilaugh,ameanlaughIcan’tseemtoholdin.“Givemeabreak,Dad.Ikeep

your

breadbuttered,not

theotherwayaround,andyouknowit.”

“Watchyourmouth.”Hisblueeyesnarrow.“I’mgoodtoyou,CaityMay.Mostfatherswouldn’tlet

afull-growngirlkeephangingaround,sleepingundertheirroof.Mostfatherswouldtellyoutoget
offyourass,andgetyourownplace.”

“Areyoukiddingme?”Isputter,fightingtokeepmytemperincheckandlosing.“Youaresofull

ofshit.Youwouldhavelostthehouse

and

thekidsifitweren’tforme.”

Chuckshrugs,hismouthpullingdownhardonthesides.“Well…maybethey’dbebetteroffwith

thestate.MaybeIshouldputinacall.”

Iseestars—whitehotstarsburstingattheedgesofmyvision—andthenextthingIknowI’m

lungingatChuck.I’mhalfmyfather ’ssize,butI’malsolessthanhalfhisage,stonecoldsober,and
angry.Sofuckingangryitfeelslikemychestisgoingtoexplode.

How

dare

he?How

dare

hethreatenthisfamilyafterallI’vedonetoholdustogether?Itmakesmy

bonesvibratewithrageasIslammypalmsintohisbarrelchestandshove.

IpushhimashardasIcan,butstill,Idon’texpecthimtogoreelingbackward,trippinghardover

thetoytruckSeanleftoutinthegrass,andlandingflatonhisback.Chuck’scryofpainashehitsthe
groundmakesmeflinchandthewaveofangerebbabit,butI’mstilllivid,somadmyvoiceshakes
whenIspeak.

“Getout.”Ipointafingeraroundthesideofthehouse.“Getoffthisproperty,don’tcomebackuntil

you’resober,anddon’tyoudarethreatenthisfamilyagain.”

“Bitch,”Chuckgroansasherollsontohisside,wincingashemoves.
“AndIwantthemoneyyouowemeforbailingyououtwithHal,”Isay,refusingtoletChuck’s

name-callinghurt.He’scalledmeabitchbefore,andhe’salwayssorryforitwhenhesobersup.He’ll
probablybebackheretomorrowbeggingforgivenessforthescenehe’scausingtoday,butrightnow
Idon’tcare.Ijustwanthimgone.

“Selfishlittlebitch,”hesays,strugglingtohisfeet.“Youdon’tcareaboutthosekids.Youonlycare

aboutyourself!”

“ThatmaybeoneofthemostludicrousthingsI’veeverheard.”Gabesoundsamused,andwhenhe

appearsatmyside,helooksascoolandcollectedasalways,butIcanseethetensionsimmeringin
hismusclesashestepsinfrontofme,placinghimselfbetweenmeandChuck.

Itakehiselbowandtrytopullhimback—gettinginthemiddleofthingswillonlymakethisworse

—butit’stoolate,Chuckhasalreadysmelledbloodinthewater.

“Andwhotheholyfuckisthis?”heasks,eyeswideningashelooksfrommetoGabeandback

again.“Youmovedyourboyfriendintomyhouse?Isthatwhythere’ssuddenlynoroomforyour
owndamnedfather?”

“Sheofferedyouaroom,”Gabesays.“Youturneditdown.”
“Shutup,prettyboy,”Chucksays.“Youmaybefuckingmydaughter,butthatdoesn’tgiveyouthe

rightto—”

Chuck’swordsendinagurgleasGabegrabsfistfulsofDad’sspaghetti-sauce-speckledshirt,

liftingmyfatheroffthegroundashespinsandslamsChuck’sbackagainstthehouse.Igasp,hand
flyingtocovermymouthasIstumbleafewstepsaway,notknowingwhat’smoresurprising—that
Gabeisevenstrongerthanhelooks,orthat,forthefirsttimeinmylife,IcanseefearonChuck’s
face.

EvenwhenHalwasthreateningtobeatmyfather ’sbartaboutofhimifChuckdidn’tpayup,the

fearinChuck’svoiceashebeggedmetobailhimoutneverreachedhiseyes.Nomatterhowmuch
shithebringsuponhimself,mydadisthekindofpersonwhoalwaysbelieveshe’llbeabletoslither
outoftroubleintheend.

Andwhyshouldn’thebelieveit?Forfifty-threeyears,that’salwaysbeenthecase.
ThefactthatGabeisthefirstpersonI’veeverseenfrightenmydadmakesthehaironmyarms

standonend,evenbeforeGabesaysinalow,menacingvoice—

“Youdon’ttalkaboutCaitlinthatway.Youdon’tcommentonourrelationship,youdon’tcritique

herchoices,andyoudon’tcomebackhereunlessyou’vegotmoneyinyourhandsandanapologyon
yourlips.Doyouunderstand?”

Dadpullsinabreath,wincingasheexhales.“Putmedown.”
“Doyouunderstand?”Gaberepeats,themusclesinhisarmsbunchingtighterasheliftsmyfather

higherupthesideofthehouse.

“I’vegotabadback!”Dadcriesout,voicepinched.
“Doyou—”
“Fuckyou!”Chuckshouts,hiswordstransformingintoahowlofpainasGabepullshimaway

fromthewallandslamshimbackintothepaneling.

“Gabestop,thekids,”Isay,turningtocheckonmybrothersandEmmie.
“Don’tstopbecauseofus,”Dannysaysinashakyvoice.Hestandsnotfarbehindme,handsballed

intofistsathissides.Hischeeksarepale,buthiseyesglitterwithacruelsatisfactionIdon’tlike
seeingonhisface.Notevenalittlebit.

“Getoutofhere,Danny,”Isay,flinchingasmydad’sbackhitsthewallathirdtimeandhisgroan

becomesahigh-pitchedyelp.“Youdon’tneedtoseethis.Gocheckontheothers.”

“Theothersarefine,”Dannysays,eyesgluedtoGabe’sback.“I’mstaying.”
IglancetowardtherearoftheyardtoseethatRayhascorralledSeanandEmmieintothefar

corner,neartheholeinthefence,andisdoinghisbesttoshieldthemfromthescenenearthehouse.
ButIspotSean’swide,frightenedeyespeekingaroundRay’sarmandIcanhearEmmiecrying.

It’sthesoundofhertearsthatmakesmeturnandgrabGabe’sarm,diggingmyfingersintothe

tightlyknottedmuscle.“Enough,Gabe.Puthimdown!”

Gabehesitates,holdingmydad’sgazeforalongbeat.
“Thebaby’scrying,”Isayinasoftervoice.“Please,just…letitgo.He’snotworthit.”
Gabe’sjawclenchesandforasecondIdon’tthinkhe’sgoingtolistentome,butfinallyhismuscles

shiftbeneathmyhandandheloosenshisgrip,lettingChuckslidedownthewall.Dadlandsinaheap,
breathrushingoutinagroanashispalmsreachbacktobracehimselfagainsttheconcrete
foundation.

“Getout,”Gabewhispers,nudgingmyfathertowardthesideofthehousewithhisshoe.
Chuckstaggerstohisfeet,swallowinghardashebacksaway.HekeepshiseyesgluedtoGabe,

watchinghimlikehe’sabombabouttogooff.Chuckdoesn’tglancemywayuntilhe’sabouttoturn
thecorner,andthenonlyforamomentbeforehestumblesaway,butamomentisenoughtoseethe
hurtandshockinhiseyes.Hurtandshock,withakerneloffuryatthecenter.

IfIknowmydad,itwon’ttakelongforthatkerneltosizzleandpop,andforChucktostart

workingoutawaytomakemepayforhumiliatinghim.

“Shit.”Idropmyfaceintomyhands,drawinginadeepbreaththatdoesnothingtocalmthefear

risinginsideme.

“I’llmakesurehe’sgone,”Gabesaysfrombesideme.
“Don’tbother.”Iliftmyfacefrommyhands,shovingthehairfrommyface.“He’llleave,buthe’ll

bebackinadayortwo,andeverythingwillbeworsethanitwasbefore.So…thanksalot.”

Gabeturnsback,aguardedexpressiononhisface.“Yousoundangry.”
“I

angry,”Isay.“Youshouldhavestayedoutofit.Iknowhowtohandlemyfather.”

“IthinkGabewasawesome,”Dannysays,excitementinhistone.“Ilovedthatshit.I’vebeendying

toseeChuckpinnedtoafuckingwall.”

“Language!”Ishoutovermyshoulderatmybrother,breathhuffingoutasItrytoregaincontrol.

“Just…gocheckonEmmie,okay?”

“ButI—”
“GocheckonEmmie.”Ipointafingertowardtherearoftheyard.“Now!”
Dannyscowlsandcursesbeneathhisbreath,butheturnsandstartstowardthecornerofthefence.I

shiftmyattentionbacktoGabe,forcingmyselftolowermyvoice.“Igetthatyouweretryingtohelp,
butmydaddoesn’trespondwelltothreats.He’sgoingtogetoverbeingscared,anddecidetoget
even.”

Gabetakesastepcloser.“Howwillhegeteven?”heasksinamildvoicethatmakesitdifficultto

believeIwatchedhimloseitinamajorwayaminuteago.“Willhemakeyouworktwojobstotake
careofhiskids,whilerefusingtopayadimetohelp?Comebeggingformoneyandverballyabuse
youwhenhedoesn’tgetwhathewants?”

“Yeah,that’sfunny,”IsayinatoneIhopemakesitclearIdon’tfinditfunnyatall.“Butyoudon’t

understand.Thingscanalwaysgetworse.”

“Inthissituation,Ifailtoseehow.”
“Allkindsofways,”Isay.“Once,backwhenmysisterwasinchargeandshekickedChuckoutof

thehouseforthefirsttime,hehiredacrewofguystocomeripupthefrontporchandleavethe
piecesintheyard.Andthen,whenthemenhe’dhiredfoundoutChuckcouldn’tpaythem,theythrew
arockthroughthelivingroomwindow.WespentChristmasDayfreezingtodeathandhadtopawn
Mom’slastpieceofgoodjewelrytopayforanewwindow.”

Gabesighs,bringingahandtopressathistempleasifthisconversationisgivinghimaheadache.

ButGabedoesn’tknowwhataheadacheisyet,notuntilhe’sbeenonthereceivingendofChuck
Cooney’svengefulside.

“Anothertime,”Icontinue,“rightafterItoldhimIwasmovingintohisandMom’soldroom,since

hehardlyeverslepthereanymore,Chuckshowedupattheschoolandtoldtheofficenottorelease
Dannyintomycare.Hetoldthemhewastheonewithcustody,andhe’dbepickinghissonupfrom
nowon.

“HepickedDannyupforexactly

two

daysbeforehedisappearedandIhadtohaveameetingwith

theprincipalandbegChucktosignabunchofpaperworktogetapprovedtopickmybrotherup
again.Thatcostmetwohundreddollars,bytheway,becauseChuckdoesn’tsignanythingheisn’t
gettingpaidtosign.”

“Youshouldn’thavepaidhimadime,”Gabesays.
“Ididn’thaveachoice,don’tyougetthat?”Iask,exasperated.“Chuckhascustodyofthekids.I’m

notevenalegalcaregiver.HeknowsIdon’thavealegtostandonifhecallstheDepartmentof
HumanServiceslikehethreatened.”

“Butwhywouldthestatetakethekidsawayfromyou?Custodyornocustody?”Gabeasks.“It

shouldbecleartoanyonewhotakesasecondtolookthatyou’redevotedtothem,andthey’rebeing
well-caredfor.”

Icrossmyarms,shakingmyhead.“WhenitcomestotheCooneys,DHStakeskidsintocustody

first,andasksquestionslater.Onetime,Iendedupinfostercarebecausemymomwastakinga

nap

whentheDHSworkershowedup.Shewasn’tevenpassedoutthattime,justsleeping,butthe
caseworkerdidn’tcare.Hetookmeandmysister,andDanny,whowasjustababy,andweallended
upinseparatehomes.”

“I’msorrythathappenedtoyou,”Gabesays.
“Idon’tneedyoutobesorry,”Isay.“Ineedyoutounderstandthatifthestatetakesthekids,Iwon’t

beabletogetthembackwithoutChuck.He’llhavetosignthepaperwork,becausehe’stheonewith

legalcustody.”

Gabestaresatmeforalongmoment,hisblueeyescoolandunreadable,makingmewonderifhe’s

heardawordI’vesaid,beforehenods.“Okay,thenyou’llsuehimforcustody.Myfathercanstartthe
paperwork.I’llspeakwithhimaboutrepresentingyoutonight.”

Ifighttheurgetorollmyeyes.“Gabe,Ican’tsue.Idon’thavethatkindofmoney,especiallynotto

hireyourdad.”

“He’lldothecaseprobono,”Gabesays.“Hedoesafewofthoseeveryyear,andhelikesyou,Ican

tell.He’llbegladtohelp.”

Mymouthopensandcloseswithnowordscomingout,notsurehowIfeelaboutwhatGabe’s

suggesting.Ontheonehand,itfeelslikecharity,andIdon’twantthatfromGabe.Butthethoughtof
havingthelegalrighttotellChucktostayoutofourlivesifhewon’tbehaveisinsanelytempting.
HowmucheasierwouldlifebeifIdidn’thavetoworryaboutChuckscrewingthingsupeverytime
hedoesn’tgethisway?

“Shewantsyou.”Dannyappearsatmyside,asnifflingEmmieinhisarms.
ThemomentIseehersplotchyredfaceandeyelashesmattedwithtears,IknowwhatIhavetodo.I

can’tlethergrowupunderDad’sreignofterror.He’sonlygettingworse.ThesweetDadwhoused
toplaythefiddleforusatnight,andsneakafewbucksofcandymoneyintoyourpocketwhenyou
leastexpectedit,hasn’tbeenaroundinalongtime.ItmakesmesadtoknowEmmiewillneverknow
thatsideofChuck,butIcan’tkeepstickingmyheadinthesand,andpretendingthingsaregoingtobe
okay.

ThingsareonlygoingtobeokayifImakethemokayandthatmeansmakingsureChuckdoesn’t

havethepowertoswingawreckingballthroughthisfamily.

“Okay.”IturnbacktoGabeasIstrokeEmmie’sback.“Ifyourdad’sokaywithtakingthecasepro

bono,Icanmeetwithhimonemorningthisweek.WednesdayorThursdaywouldbebest.Idon’thave
toclockinatthedineruntilnineforty-fiveonthosedays.”

Gabesmiles,thatdevilishsmilethatmakeshimevenmorehandsome.“Unlessyoudecidetoquit.”
“Ican’tquit.”
“Can’tquit

yet,”Gabecorrectswithawinkbeforeturningtotheboys.“Whowantstogoforaride?

I’vegotroomforthree.”

“I’llcome,”Dannysays,clearlyhavingexperiencedachangeofheartwhereGabeisconcerned.

I’mnotthrilledthatthechangewasinspiredbyviolence,but…Iguessbeggarscan’tbechoosers.

“I’llgo.”RaystepsupbesideDanny,hangingclosetohisbigbrother,thewayhealwaysdoesinthe

aftermathofaChuck-splosion.

“Metoo!Metoo!”Sean’sarmshootsupashebouncesonhistoes,thesmileonhisfaceproving

he’sputthedarkpartoftheeveningbehindhim.ButSeanisusuallytheswiftesttorecover,andit’s
notlikewehaven’tbeenthroughthiswithChuckbefore.

Thekidsaren’tusedtoseeingDadpoundedbymyboyfriend,butthey

are

usedtoseeingDad

wastedandcausingtrouble,dolingoutcuffstotheheadwhenDannytalksback,orRayspendstoo
muchtimeinthebathroom.It’stheworstkindofroutine,butoneIhaven’tknownhowtobreakfree
of.TherewasneverenoughmoneyortimeorsupportformetodreamthatI’dhaveachanceat
gettingcustody,therewasnever…Gabe.

“Seeyousoon,”hesays,astheboysraceeachotheraroundthehousetotheBeamer.“I’lltakethem

foraridedowntotheoldmill,andgeticecreambeforeweheadback.”

“They’lldripinyourcar,”Iwarn.
“It’sjustacar.”Gabeleansdowntokissmyforehead,makingmychesttight,aconditionthatonly

getsworsewhenEmmielaughsandpatshischeek.

“Shelikesyou.”
“Ilikeher,”Gabesays,smilingatEmmiebeforehisgazeshiftsbacktomeandthesmilebecomes

somethingmoreintense.“AndIlikeyou.I’llfixanythingImesseduptonight,we’llfinishwhatwe
startedwithPitt,andeverythingwillbefine.Ipromise.”

“Ibelieveyou,”Isay,meaningit.
Itscaresme,butIdo.IbelieveinGabe,andmaybe,evenmoredangerously,I’mstartingtobelieve

inthisdreamyfuturehe’sspinning,daringtoimaginewhatitmightbeliketonotonlysurvive,butto
breakfree,andtakethepeopleIlovewithme.

CHAPTERNINETEEN

Caitlin

You’llneverploughafieldbyturningitoverinyourmind.

–Irishproverb

IignorethewaymyskinhasalreadybeguntosweatintheunrelentingheatoftheJunenight,tug

mylong-sleevedblackshirtdowntomywrists,andpullonmygloves.Theglovesareblackleather,
softerandsupplerthananythingI’veeverowned.

Theyarrivedinthemailboxyesterday,unwrapped,withoutanotesayingwhotheywerefrom,butI

knew.JustlikeIknowthatGabewillbehereinexactlytwominutes.He’salwaysontime.

Ihavetwominutestodecidethisisinsane,turnaround,andrunbacktothevanasfastasmylegs

cancarryme.IknowIshould.Butinstead,Itugthebackofmyblacksockcaploweronmyneck,
makingsureeverystrandofblondhairistuckedsafelybeneath,beforeslidingthemaskovermy
face.

Assoonasthesoftknitsmoothesovermyskin—concealingeverythingbutmyeyesandmouth—I

feelsomethingshiftinsideofme.Theblackuniformhelpssilencethevoiceswarringinmyhead,
reducingmetothesimplestversionofmyself,theonewhowantstosurviveandwon’tletanyone
standinmyway.TheanxietythathasfollowedmesinceIcreptoutofthehousefifteenminutesago
vanishes,leavingcold,steadycertaintyinitsplace.

Pittdeservesthis;hedeservesthisandmore.Themantorturedandabusedhismotherforeight

yearsbeforeadministeringalethaloverdose,allwhilefilmingthemiseryhewasinflictingsohe
couldrelivethenightmareoverandover.Now,helivestotormentthekidshe’ssupposedtobe
helping,stayingonasateacherforthejoyofmakingpreteenssuffer,whenhisinheritancewasmore
thanenoughtosethimupforlife.

Atourconferenceafterschoolyesterday,PittthreatenedtofailDanny,eventhoughhisgradesare

allB’sandC’s.AfterspendingtheentireyearridingDanny’sass,IwouldhaveassumedPittwouldbe
gladtoseemybrothergo,butthebastardwantstokeephisfavoritepunchingbagaroundforanother
year.HesaidhewasrecommendingDannybeheldbacktogivehimanotheryearto“mature.”

TheonlythinganotheryearwithMr.PittwouldmatureinDannyishisdeterminationtogive

authoritythemiddlefinger.Hewouldn’tmakeit.He’dendupgettingtransferredtothealternative
school,where,atthirteen,he’dbeoneoftheyoungestkidsoncampus.He’deitherbeeatenalive,or
drawnintoagroupofkidswaymoredangerousanddestructivethantheBakerboysdownthestreet.
Eitheroneisintolerable.Iwon’tseeDanny’sliferuinedbecauseonenastymansingledhimoutashis
latestvictim.

IhaveameetingwithPrincipalTharptodiscusswhetherornotDannyshouldbeheldbackon

Thursday.I’mhopingPittwillhavetenderedhisresignationbythen.WithoutPittapplyingpressure,I
knowTharpcanbepersuadedthatholdingDannybackisn’tinanyone’sbestinterests.Afterall,

passinghimmeanssheonlyhastodealwithhiscrapforonemoreyearbeforehe’spromotedtohigh
school,insteadoftwo.

“Heythere.”Gabe’swhispercomesfromtheshadowedwoodsbehindme,butitdoesn’tstartleme.
I’vebeenwaitingtohearhisvoiceagainsincewepartedwaysoutsidemyhouselatelastnight,after

agoodnightkissthatscrambledmythoughtsevenmorethanthehourspentplottinghowtogetin
andoutofPitt’shousewithinGabe’stenminutetimelimit.I’mnotsurethetapesGabe’sfather ’sfile
mentionedstillexist—ifIwerePitt,IwouldhavedestroyedthatevidencelongbeforeIwenttotrial—
butGabethinkstheydo,andthatI’llfindthemintheattic.HescoutedthehouseyesterdaywhilePitt
wasatwork,andsaysthegroundfloorisverysparselyfurnished.Therearen’tmanyplacestostorea
boxofold,VHSsurveillancetapes,andGabe’sbettingPittiskeepingthevideosofhismother ’s
sufferinginthesameplacehekepthismother.

“Nicemask,”Gabewhispers,asIturntofacethesilhouetteemergingfromtheshadowsacrossthe

streetfromtheelegant,oldfarmhousewhereMr.Pitt’smotherwasbornanddied.“Andstunning
gloves.”

“Thanks,theywereagiftfromthisboyIlike.”Imoveintohisarms,bloodsingingashisGabe

smellfillsmyheadandmybreastsflattenagainsthischest.Ican’tmakeouthisexpressioninthe
darkness,butIcanfeelhowmuchIaffecthiminthewayhisfingerscurlintomyhips,pullingme
closer.

“Gladtheyreachedyousafely,”hesays.“Anytroubleontheway?”
“Nope,thekidsareallasleep,andIleftanotesayingIwasrunningtotheLaundromattopickupa

loadIforgotthisafternoonincaseanyonewakesup.Iparkedthevanundertherailroadtrestledown
theroad.Onlytookmetwominutestogethere.”

“Shouldtakelessonthewayback,”Gabesays,asmileinhisvoice.“Postjobadrenalineispretty

intense.Youreadytogo?”

“Ithinkso.”Itakeabreathandletitoutslowly,shockedtofindmyheartbeatspeedingonlyalittle.

GabeandIwentovertheplansomanytimesitfeelslikewe’vealreadypulledthisoff.Now,it’sjusta
matterofgoingthroughthemotions.

“Remember,thetenminutesstartassoonasyou’rein,”Gabewhispers.“Findthetapesfirst,then

pokearoundforanythingvaluable.I’mprettysurethejewelryisonthegroundfloorinthemother ’s
oldroom.Itdoesn’tlooklikeit’sbeentouchedsincebeforePittdecidedtostartkeepingherinthe
attic.SoI’lltakecareofthat,butitwouldn’thurtforyoutohuntforothergoodiesifyouhavetime.”

Inod.“AndifIdon’tfindthetapes?”
“We’llrevisittheplanwhenwegetbacktoyourplace,dosomemoredigging,andfindanother

waytoblackmailhim.ButI’mbettingyou’llfindthem.”

“Howmuchareyoubetting?”Iaskinaliltingtone,shockedthatI’mflirtingatatimelikethis.
“I’mbettingdinner,dancing,andaswankyhotelroomFridaynight.Allonme,”Gabesays,giving

myhipsanothersqueezebeforeaddinginasmokyvoice,“AndIpromisetomakeyoucomeatleast
threetimesbeforeIletyousleep.”

Ipresscloser,thefeelofhimgettinghardagainstmystomachmakingmeache.“Andif

win,I’ll

letyouteachmehowtogiveablowjob.”

Gabe’sfingersdigintothecurveofmybottom.“Idoubtyou’llneedteaching.”
“Imight,”Isay,pressingupontiptoestopressakisstothecleftofhischin.“I’venevergivenone

before.”

Hisbreathrushesout.“Never?”
“Never,”Iconfirm,kissinghischeekbeforemovingmylipswithinabreathofhis,hoveringjust

outofreachasIspeak.“ButIwantyoutobemyfirst.I’vebeenimaginingwhatyou’lltastelikesince
thatnightatyourdad’soffice.”

Hegroanssoftly,trappingmysock-cap-coveredheadbetweenhishands.“Stopit.OrI’mgoingto

takeyoutothevanandgetyounakedintheback,andwe’renotgoingtoleaveherewithanyofthe
thingswecamefor.”

“Allright.”Irockbackoffmytiptoesandtakeareluctantstepaway,puttingdistancebetweenus.

“Butpromisetomeetmeatthehouselater.I’llleavemywindowopen.Youcanclimbthetreeoutside,
sneakin,and…staythenightifyouwant.”

“Soundsperfect,”hesays,sendingasizzleofanxiety-laced-anticipationracingacrossmyskin.
IknowIshouldbemorenervousaboutbreakingintoPitt’splacethanpotentiallyhavingsexwith

Gabeforthefirsttime,buttheeventsofthiseveningarealreadyallmixeduptogetherinmyhead.I
feellikeIdidthatnightatthepawnshop,fearandattractionfusingtocreateaheightenedstatethat
makesmefeelmoreawake,morealivethanI’veeverfeltbefore.Ican’twaittovisituntoPittsome
muchdeservedkarmicretribution,andIcan’twaittofeelGabe’sskinagainstmine,thetwoare
tangledtogetherandIdon’tcaretountanglethem,notwhenthecombinedstakesmakethethrillthat
muchmoreintense.

“I’llbebackoutsideintenminutes,”Gabesays,squeezingmyhandaswesteptotheedgeofthe

shadows.“IfI’mcaught,I’llmakeenoughnoiseforyoutohearmeintheattic.You’llhavetimeto
getoutandmakearunforitbeforethepolicearrive.It’sonlyathirteen-footdropfromthewindow.
You’llbefineaslongasyoulandwithbentknees.”

Inod,andimpulsivelyleanin,givinghimonelastkissonthecheek.“Forluck.”
“I’vealreadyusedupallmyluck,”hesays,givingmyhandagentlesqueeze.“Youkeepit.”
BeforeIcanrespond,hestartsacrosstheroad.Ifollow,bootscrunchinglightlyinthegravel

beforewehitthelawnandourfootfallsgosilent.ItailGabethroughthebluemoonlightaroundto
thesideofthedarkenedhouse,amazedthatthenightissoquiet.

Inmyneighborhood,it’sneverthisquiet,notevenattwointhemorning.Therearetoomany

peoplewithbabies,coupleswhobrawlinthemiddleofthenight,andpeopleworkingdoubleshifts
andgraveyardshifts,whateverhourstheyhavetoworktogetby.Thereisalwayssomeonecoming
orgoing,someoneshoutingorlaughingorcryingorcallingadogorshootingarifleintotheairto
scarethestarlingsawayinthefall.

Here,attheedgeoftown,onanarrowdirtroadwherethegentlemenfarmersofanotheragebuilt

theirsprawlingfarmhouses,theworldissilent.Thereisnowindtonight,norustleoftrees,nota
soundexceptfortheoccasionalchirpofaninsecttheheathasn’tlulledintoacoma.Thequietis
smothering,andbytimewereachtheyardbeneaththeatticwindowandIcrawlontoGabe’s
shoulders,I’mfindingithardtobreathe.

Ormaybeyou’rejustscaredoutofyourdamnedmind.
MyhandsshakeasIeasethewindowpaneopenandpullmyselfuptothesill,butI’mnotsureit’s

fearmakingthemtremble.I’mexcitedtoo,soreadyforthisthatIcanalreadytastehowgoodit’s
goingtofeeltohearMr.Pittwon’tbereturningtoteachseventhgradeinthefall.

MybicepsflexandIhookmylegovertheedgeofthewindow,haulingmyselfsilentlyinside,

gratefulforallthoseheavytraysIcarryatHarry’s.Idon’thaveanytroubleliftingmyownweight.I
feelstrong,confident,everycellvibratingwithdeterminationasIstepdownontothedustyboards,
givingmyeyesamomenttoadjusttothedimlight.

Themomenttheydo,mystomachclenchesandtheworstwaveofacidI’veexperiencedindays

surgesupmythroat.Mysourstomachhasbeenbehavingitselflately—havingGabearoundseemsto

agreewithit—butnowGabeisgone,offbreakingintothegroundfloor.

Hemightaswellbeahundredmilesaway.Amillion.
Isuddenlyfeelterrifyinglyaloneandtrapped,thoughIknowGabe’srightand,unlikethewoman

heldcaptiveherebeforeme,I’myoungandfitenoughtojumptofreedomifGabedoesn’tcomeback
tocatchme.

ButasIstareatthestainedmattresslyingonthefloortothefarrightofthewindow,Ican’thelp

imaginingwhatitmusthavebeenlikeforPitt’smotherwhenshewaslockedawayforallthoseyears.
Didshefeellikeshe’dbeenexiledfromreality?Didsheholdoutanyhopeofrescue,ordidthis
nightmarebecomeherworld?Didshediewithnothingbutmemoriesoftheunbearableheatinher
dustyprison,loneliness,andherson’scrueltylingeringinhermind?

Icrosstothemattress,eyesfocusingonamildewedcardboardboxfilledwiththreadbarestuffed

animalsandachinateasetlaidoutonthefloorboards,asifwaitingforsomeonetocomevisit.The
realizationthatPitt’smothermusthaveplayedwiththesetoys,revertingtoachildlikestatewhileshe
wastreatedworsethanthelawallowsownerstotreattheirpets,makesmythroatcloseupandmy
eyessting.

Asecondlater,I’vespunandstartedtowardthepileofboxesandplasticstoragetubsonthe

oppositesideoftheattic,moredeterminedtofindthosetapesthanever.I’mashamedtoliveina
worldwheremonstersroamfree,slippingoffthehookwithhelpfromlawyerswhothinkonlyabout
howtowinandkeepwinning,notwhetherornottheyshould.

Pittnevershouldhavewalkedfree.Heshouldberottinginprison.Thetapescan’tsendhimthere—

he’salreadybeenacquitted,andcan’tberetriedforhismother ’smurder—butIcanusethemtomake
himsuffer.

It’slikeGabesaid,wecan’trewritehistory,butwecantipthescalesbackintheotherdirection.

TeachingPittalessonwon’tbringhismotherback,butitwillmaketheworldamorejustplace,and
mightevenmakePittthinktwicebeforeheindulgestheevilpartofhisnatureagain.

Myfootstepsarelightontheboards—makingonlythesoftestthudsasImakemywayovertothe

partoftheatticPittreservesforstorage.It’sthedeadofthenightandI’massumingPittisasleep,but
there’sachancehecouldwakeup,hearmemovingaround,andcomeinvestigate.Iforcemyselfto
moveslowly,andwhenIreachtheboxesandleandowntoopenthefirstone,Iamcarefulnottolet
thecardboardflapsdomorethanwhisperastheybrushagainsteachother.

Iopenboxafterbox,containeraftercontainer,butdiscovernothingmoredamningthanaboxof

oldTupperware,andatubfilledwithfadedplaidshirts.Meanwhile,thephysicalexertion,combined
withtheheatintheatticandthefactthatI’mwearinglongsleevesandpantsinthemiddleofJune,
joinforcestomakemyheadspin.Withinfiveminutes,I’msweatinglikeeverydropofliquidinmy
bodyisdeterminedtocommitsuicidethroughmypores,andthepulseinmytempleisthrobbingso
harditthumpsagainstmyskulllikeahammer.

BythetimeIfinallyshiftalong,narrowcontainerofbooksandletterstorevealanold-fashioned

fruitcaketinliketheonesmygrandmausedtoholdhersewingsupplies,I’msodizzymyvisionis
beginningtoblur.

I’veneverpassedoutbefore,butI’mprettysureI’maboutto.IknowIshouldstartbackacrossthe

attic—IneedtogetsomeairbeforeIloseconsciousnessandensureI’mcaught—butinsteadIreach
forthetin,pryingitopenwithswollen,heat-druggedfingers.

Inside,IdiscoverDVDs.Eightofthem.Eachwithayearscrawledacrossthesilverinblackmarker.
Justlikethat,Iknow.Iknowhe’stransferredtheVHStapeshementionedtoGabe’sfather—the

one’shethoughtmightprovehewasguiltyiftheywerediscovered—toDVD.I

know

it.IknowPitt

wantedtoprotectthemementosofhismother ’ssufferingthewayserialkillersprotecttheirtrophies.
Iknowhe’s

that

monstrous,andIsuddenlywishIhadn’tshiedawayfromGabe’ssuggestionthat

Pitt’spunishmentshouldfithiscrime.

IwanttoseePittlockedawayinaroomlikethisone,miserableandisolatedwithoutanyoneor

anythingtocomforthim,trappedsofarfromthenearesthousenoonecanhearhimscream.Iwantto
watchhisfaceonatelevisionmonitorasherealizeshe’llbemeetingthesameendashismother,a
slow,torturous,miserable,nightmarishendthatwillleavehimbrokeninacorner,rockingand
mumblingandplayingwithtoys,anythingtotrytoescape,evenifit’sonlyinhismind,evenifonly
foralittlewhile.

Buttherewouldbenoescapeforhim.Hedoesn’tdeserveescape.Hedeservesworsethanprison.

Hedeservestodie,tobewipedoffthefaceoftheearthbeforehecancontaminateitanyfurtheror
hurtanymoreinnocentpeople.

IpulltheclothbagGabegavemelastnightfrommypantspocketandstufftheDVDsinside,

alreadytastingPitt’sbloodonmytongue,sincerelylongingtoseethemandie,totakepartinthe
tortureandkillingmyself.IfPittwerestandinginfrontofmerightnow,Iwouldpullthetrigger,jab
theknife,pullthenoose,andIwouldn’tfeelamomentofremorse.

Istumblebackacrosstheatticwithtearsstreamingfrommyeyestowetmymask,hatingmyself

fornotbeingmorefuckedupbythethoughtsreelingthroughmymindthanIalreadyam.Butno
matterhowloudlymyheadinsiststhatansweringviolencewithviolenceisn’ttheanswer,something
deepinthehollowsofmybonesscreamsforvengeance,forbloodtowashthishorriblehouseclean
beforeIburnittotheground.

Ireachthewindowandhangmyheadoutside,drawingindeeplungsfulofair,butthoughthe

dizzinessfades,myheaddoesn’tgetanyclearer.IkeepthinkingaboutwhatmustbeontheDVDs,
wonderingifGabeandIaregoingtoseeMrs.Pittcrying,beggingtobesetfree,orsimplylyingon
thatbaremattressallalone.Iwonderifwe’llseeherplayingwithhertoys,rockingherstuffed
animals,andsettingoutateapartyforvisitorswhoarenevergoingtoarrive.

IwonderifherdeathiscapturedsomewhereonthelastDVD,andtheacidsurginginmystomach

pushesupmythroatlikeafist.

I’msecondsawayfromgettingsickwhenGabeappearsbeneaththeatticwindow.Justlayingeyes

onhim,knowinghe’sclose,isenoughtocalmmystomach,andsendatremorofreliefquaking
throughme.Hisfaceiscoveredbyhismaskandthemoonlightisn’tstrongenoughformetoseethe
lookinhiseyes,buttheblackbaginhisrighthandmakesmethinkhe’ssucceeded.Whenheholdsthe
bagupandgivesitavictoriousshake,I’msureofit.

Ianswerhimbyholdingmybagoutthewindow,smilingwhenhegivesmeathumbs-upand

motionsformetocomeout.

Wedidit.Wefoundeverythingwecamefor.Therealizationmakesmewanttothrowbackmyhead

andshoutatthestars,butshoutingwillhavetowaituntilwe’resafelyawayfromthishorribleplace.

Ihookthebag’sstraparoundmywristandturn,puttingonelegthroughthewindowatatimeand

slidingoutonmybelly.There’samomentofpainasthewooddigsintomychestandforearms,but
thenIshiftmyweightandslowlystraightenmyelbowsuntilI’mhangingfromthesillbymy
clenchedfingers.

Theheatandmymini-breakdownhavetakentheirtollonmybody.IknowIwon’tbeabletohold

onforlong,butbeforemyarmshavethechancetostarttrembling,Gabe’shandsareonmyankles,
guidingmyfeetbackontohisshoulders.Ifindmyfootingandlockmylegs,findingmybalance
beforeIletgoofthesillandbendmyknees.IjumpforwardoffofGabe’sshoulders,buthecatches

mearoundthewaistonthewaydown,softeningmylanding,makingsuremyfeethitthegrasswitha
gentlethud.

Hepullsmetohim,huggingmetightbeforeheturnsandstartsbackacrossthelawn.Ifollow,and

secondslaterwe’reacrossthegravelroad,movingthroughtheshadowsonthewoodedsideofthe
street.Ihandovermybagandwepartwayswithawhispertoseeeachothersoonandaswiftkiss
beforehedisappearsintothewoodsandIhurrybacktothevan.

Islaminsidebarelyaminutelater,armsshakingasIstartthevehicleandpullawayfromthe

railroadtracks,headingbacktotownadifferentwaythanIcame.IripthemaskoffasIdrive,and
wiggleoutoftheblackshirt,revealingthegreentanktopbeneath.Thetopissoakedthroughwith
sweat,buthopefullynoonewhoseesmeattheLaundromatwillthinkanythingofit,andIcanalways
chockasweatyshirtuptosleepingwithouttheairconditioningrunning.

TenminuteslaterIhavemyalibi—IcheckthedryerwhereIdeliberatelylefttheclothesearlier

today,makingsuremysighofreliefisperformedfacingthesecuritycameras—andI’mbackonthe
road,headingforhome.Iparkthevanandslipinthroughthebackdoor,relievedtofindthehouseas
relativelyquietaswhenIleftit.IhearSeansnoringinhisroom,thehumoftheboxfanswhirringin
bedroomwindows,andthewhineofthefridgeasitstrugglestokeepthemilkcool,butnothingthat
wouldindicateanyonewokeupwhileIwasgone.

IsnagthenoteIleftforDannyandheadupstairs,strippingoffclothesasIheadfortheshower,

wantingtobecleanwhenGabearrivesatmywindow.Cleanandwearingnothingbutabedsheetand
asmile.

We’vefinishedthejob.Now,it’stimetocelebrate.

CHAPTERTWENTY

Gabe

Itismysoulthatcallsuponmyname;

Howsilver-sweetsoundlovers'tonguesbynight,

-Shakespeare

“I’vebeenwaitingforalmostanhour.”
HervoicedriftstomeasIclimbthroughherwindow.Iturntofindherframedinacrooked

rectangleofmoonlightonherdoublebed,wearingnothingbutawhitecottonsheetdrapedacrossher
middle.Itcoversherbreastsandreachesdownfarenoughtoconcealherthatchoftightblondcurls
andthosesweetinchesbetweenherlegsIcan’twaittogetmyhandson…mymouthon…mycockin,
buriedballsdeep.

“Whattookyousolong?”sheasks.
“ImadesuretheDVDswerewhatwethoughttheywere,”Isay,eyestrackingupanddownher

body.“ThenIhidthem.Ididn’twantyoutohavetowatch.”

“Thanks.Idon’tthinkIcouldhave.”
“You’rewelcome,”Imurmur.“Youlook…comfortable.”
“Notreally.”Sheliftsherarmsoverherheadasshestretches,wristscrossed.Moonlightcaresses

herpaleskin,whileshadowsdarkenthehollowsofherarmpits.

Iwanttokissherthere,tastethetangandsaltofhersweat.Iwanttokissherribs,thecurveofher

hip,thebendsinherknees.Iwanttopressmylipstoherankleboneandrakemyteethovereachone
ofhertoes.Iwanttofistmyhandinherhairandholdhersoclose,kisshersodeeply,thatwe
disappearintoeachother.

IneedhersomuchIfeellikeI’mgoingtodisintegrateintoapileoflustfulashifIdon’ttouchher

soon,butIforcemyselftostandstill,memorizingthismoment,etchingeachdetailintomybrain.

ThisisamemoryIwanttokeepfortherestofmylife.ThisisoneofthepicturesIwanttoflash

beforemyeyeswhenI’mfightingformyfinalbreath.

She’ssobeautiful,likesomethingoutofoneofmydreams,thedreamsthatarealwaysabouther.

Always.EversincethenightIfirstkissedheraddictivelips.

“Areyoujustgoingtostandthere?”sheasks,thighsshiftinglazily,shushingagainstthesheet,the

felinewayshemovesmakingmyalreadyswollencockstrainthefrontofmypants.“Orareyou
goingtocomehelpmeout?”

“Depends.”Istepoutofmyshoes,settingmykeysandwalletonthedesknearthewindow,but

keepingmyeyesonher.“Whatdoyouneedhelpwith?”

“Iwentoutwiththisguytonight,”shesays,onehandslidingacrossherpillow,downuntilher

fingertipsbrushthesideofherface.“Andthedatewasreallygood,andreally…bad.”

“How’sthat?”Itakeastepforward,gazegluedtoherhand,theoneslidingdownherneck,across

herchesttodisappearbeneaththesheet.

“Well…thegoodpartisthatwegaveahorriblepersonalittleofwhat’scomingtohim,”shesays,

sheetshiftingasherhandmovesbeneathit.“ThebadpartisthatIhadtocomehomealone…”She
holdsmygaze,achallengeinhereyesasherhandmoveslower.“I’vebeensittingherthinkingabout
themanIwentoutwith,andhowmuchIwanthimtotouchme.Buthetookforevertogethere,and
nowI’msowetit’sembarrassing.”

“Showme.”Myhandsfistatmysides.Ifighttomaintaincontrol,todrawoutthismomentof

anticipationalittlelongerbeforeIjoinheronthebedandshowherhowsorryIamformakingher
wait.

“Showyou?Likethis?”Shefiststhesheetinherfreehand,drawingitupherbodyuntilherpussy

—andtheslimfingersslidingupanddownherslickflesh,teasinginandoutofherswollenfolds—
arebaretome.

“Likethat,”Isay,throattight,ballstighter.“Spreadyourlegswider.Iwanttoseeeveryinch.”
Shespreadsherlegs,butit’sstillnotwideenough.
“Wider.”Mybreathcomesfasterassheobeys.“Nowreachdownandspreadyourlips.”
Againsheobeys,reachingdownandopeninghersextomeinawayIknowsomepeoplewould

findobscene,butthatmakesmesohotitfeelslikemyheadisgoingtoexplode.Seeingherlikethis—
soturnedonandvulnerable,readyandwillingtogiveherselftome—makesmewanttoconsume
her,todevourherpussywithmymouthuntilshecomes,screamingmyname,bathingmyfacein
moreofherheatbeforeIriseupandpushinsideher.Ican’twaittofuckherwithalltheneedthat’s
beenbuildinginsideofme,liketensionalongafaultline,untilitfeelslikemybonesaregoingto
shatterifIdon’trelievethepressure.

Butnotyet,notjustyet…
“Fingeryourself,”Isay.“Justonefinger.”
Shefollowsmyinstructions,thewayCaitlindoesinsituationslikethis.Shegivesmeshitoutside

thebedroomanytimeshepleases,butwhenit’stimeforourclothestocomeoff,shehandsmethe
reins.It’soneofthethingsIadoreabouther,oneofthemanythingsthathaveconspiredtomakeany
minutewithoutCaitlininitseemlikeawasteofprecioustime.

Iwatchherslenderfingerdipinandoutofherslickentry.She’ssowethersexglistensinthe

moonlight,beckoningmetocomeandtaste,toconsumeandbeconsumed,bytheonlygirlwhohas
evermademefeellikeeverytightlylockeddoorinsideofmeisbeingthrownopen,allatonce.
There’squicklybecomingnowheretohidefromtheintense,insane,impossiblethingsshemakesme
feel,butI’mstartingnottocare.ThisthingwithCaitlinfeels…inevitable,likeIwasmeanttospend
thislastsummerwithher,likeIwasmeanttoripmyheartoutofmychestandhanditovertothis
girl.

Stillbeating.
Stillrawanduglyandmessy,butreal,therealestthingI’veeverknown.
“Doesthatfeelgood?”Iask.“Isonefingerenough?”
Sheshakesherhead,chestrisingandfallingfasterassheincreasesherpace.
“Whatabouttwo?”Istripmyshirtovermyheadandtossittothegroundwithoutbreakingeye

contact.“Willtwogetyouoff?”

“No.”Sheshakesherheadagain,moaningsoftlyasshewatchesmeundomybelt.“God,Gabe.

Please…”

“Please,what?”Ipullacondomfrommybackpocketandtossitonthefootofthebedbefore

flippingopenthebuttonsonmyflyandshovingmyjeansdown.Istepfreeofthemandtoeoffmy

socksbeforemakingquickworkofmyblackboxerbriefs.

ThehungerinCaitlin’sexpressionasthebriefsvanishandmyengorgedcockfallsfree,bobbing

heavilybetweenmythighs,isalmostenoughtomakemecome.IswearIcanfeelthatlooklikeshe
justfistedmeinherhandandI’monfire.Myskinishotandfeverishandmyeyesareburningand
mybloodislavacoursingthroughmyveins,determinedtoscorcheverycellinmybodytopiecesif
Idon’tcooloff.

Andthen,withoutmemoryofmoving,I’montopofherandherskiniscoolandherhairiscooler

andstillabitdampandshesmellssoperfectlylikeCaitlin—likenightflowersandspiceand
treasureshiddenincedarboxes—thatsomethinginsideofmetakesflight.I’msuddenlyflying,
soaringmilesabovetheground,beyondthereachoftheordinaryworldandallitspettyconcernsand
everydaytragedies.

Iamaboveitall,andCaitlinisrighttherewithme.
Ourlipsmeetinabruisingkissandhertonguespearsintomymouthandhertastefloodsthrough

me.Herlegswraparoundmyhipsandpullmecloser,closeenoughformetofeelthewetcoreofher
againstmystomachandrealizeshiftingupafewincheswouldputmeinsideher.Ishifttheotherway,
instead,kissingmywaydownherthroat,whereherpulsebeatsthesamefranticrhythmasmyown.I
presskissestohershoulder—oneforeachperfectfreckle—beforemovinglowerandtakingher
nippleinmymouth.

Iwanttowait,Iwanttokisshersinfullysoftbreast,tracetheplacebeneath,wherebreastmeetsribs

withmytongue,tormentheruntilshebegs,butIdon’thavethecontrol.Nottonight,whenwe’vedone
whatwe’vedone,andshewassoperfect,likeshewasborntodothesewicked,wonderfulthingswith
me.

Allthesewonderfulthings,andwhat’shappeninghereinthisbedthemostwonderfulofall.
“Gabe.”Shefistsherhandsinmyhair,pullingmeclosertoherbreastasIteasehertautnipple

betweenmytongueandtheroofofmymouth,trappingherthere,holdinghercaptiveuntilshegroans
andhernailsdigintomyscalphardenoughtosting.

“Gentle,”Iwhisperagainstherhotfleshbeforetransferringmyattentiontoherotherbreast,butI

don’treallywanthertobegentle.

Iwanttodrivehercrazy.Iwantherferalwithlustforme.Iwanttofeelhernailsbreakingmyskin

andherteethdiggingintomybicepasIslaminsideher.

Iflickmytongueacrossherrightnipple,whilecapturingtherecentlyabandonedleftnippleinmy

hand,rollingitbetweenmyfingerandthumb.I’msohardmycockpulseswithanangryheartbeatof
itsown,butIforcemyselftowait.Iwaituntilshe’swrithingbeneathme,untilhernailsareraking
downmybackandherhipsarebuckingintomyribsandshe’scussingmeinafrantic,breathyvoice
thatissofuckingsexyI’mprettysureIcouldcomejustbylisteningtoher,butIdon’twanttocome
anywherebutinherpussy,thatsweet,slick,hotpussythatIknowisgoingtobethebestplaceI’ve
everbeen.

“Fuck,Gabe,”shesays,withamoanthatbecomesawhimperofpain.“Please!Fuckingplease,you

pieceofshit.”

IsmileagainstherbreastbeforeItraphernippleandbitedownhardenoughtomakeheryip.“You

wantmetofuckyou?”Iask,surgingbackoverherslimform,crushinghermouthwithakissbefore
shecananswer.

“Fuckyes,”shesays,fightingtogetthewordsoutaswekisshardenoughformetofeelherteeth

throughourlips.“Yes!”

Ireachdowntothefootofthebed,rippingopenthecondomandsheathingmyselfinseconds,and

thenI’montopofheragain,hersoftskinhotagainstmine,herarmstanglingaroundmyneckand
herlegslockingaroundmywaistasIpositionmyselfanddriveinsideherwithonefiercethrust.

SheisevenhotterandtighterthanI’dimaginedshe’dbe,likeafistgrippingmycocksotightIsee

blackstarsburstingattheedgeofmyvision.

Shecriesout—asoundthatismorepainthanpleasure—andstiffensagainstme.Ifeelherthigh

musclesclenchoneithersideofmine,andstillinsideher,forcingmyselftoresisttheurgetostart
pumping,realizingtoolatethatCaitlinisevenmoreofacontradictionthanI’dassumed.

“Shit,”Icurse,bitingmylipasItrapherheadbetweenmyhandsandstaredownintohereyes,not

surprisedtoseethelustfromamomentbeforereplacedbyafurrowedbrowandlipspressedtight
together.“Whydidn’tyoutellme?”

“Tellyouwhat?”sheasks,hervoicestrungastightastherestofher.
“Thatyouwereavirgin.”
“ItoldyouIdon’tdate,”shesays,wincing.“Ithoughtyouknew.”
“HowthefuckwouldIknow,Caitlin?”Iask,angeratmyselfforhurtinghercreepingintomytone.

“Virginsdon’tactthewayyouact.Virginsdon’tfingerthemselvesinyourcarwhenyoutellthemto,
orcarryonafuckingconversationwhileyou’restaringattheirpussy,or—”

“Sowhat?I’msupposedtoactshyandawkwardandashamedofmybody?Justbecauseothergirls

do?”sheasks,eyesflashing.“Well,sorry,butI’mnotlikethat.AndI’monlyavirginbecauseI’ve
neverhadthetimetogetaroundtogettingridofit.”

“Youmakeyourvirginitysoundlikeanoldcouch.”
“Well,yeah,itmeansaboutthatmuchtome,”shesnaps,shovingatmychest.“ButI’msorry

fuckingavirginissuchapaininyourass.”

“It’snota—”
“Getoffme,”shesays,shovingharder.
“Wait.”Itrapherwristsinmyhands,pressingherarmsintothemattressaboveherheadbefore

addinginasoftervoice,“You’renotapaininmyass.Ididn’tmeantoupsetyou.”

Caitlin’sbreathshuddersout.“Well,youdid.Youmademefeellikeanidiot.”
“I’msorry,”Isay.“I’mjust…Ididn’twanttohurtyou.IfI’dknown,Iwouldhavetakenthingsmore

slowly.Idon’t…Idon’teverwanttohurtyou.”

Thefrownremainsonherface,butthetensionslowlyleaksoutofherarms.“Youdidn’thurtme.”
“Liar,”Isay,pressingakisstohercheek.
“Okay,ithurtatfirst,butnow…it’snotsobad.”
“Notsobadisn’tthewayIwantyoutorememberourfirsttime.”Ikissherothercheekandthetip

ofhernosebeforebringingmylipstohers.

Ipartherlips,apologizingwitheverydeep,deliberatestrokeofmytongueagainsthers,knowing

therearebetterwaystomakeupthanwithwords.Ikissheruntilherbreathcomesfasterandher
tongueswirlshungrilythroughmymouthandmysofteningerectionsurgesbacktolife.ButIdon’t
begintomove.Istayburiedandstillinsideher,kissingheruntilshesquirmsherwristsfreeand
bringsherhandsbacktomyshoulders,pullingmecloserasherfingersthreadintomyhair.Ikissher
untilherthighsfinallybegintorelaxandonlythendoIbringmyhandbacktoherbreast,kneading
thesoftfleshbeforebrushingmythumbsacrosshernipple.

Shesighsintomymouthandarchesherback.Ifollowhercueandintensifymyattention,teasing

androllingandpinchingfirstonenippleandthentheother,untilherhipsbegintorollinlittlecircles
andIreachdown,cuppingoneasscheekineachhand,shiftingtheangleofpenetrationuntilmypubic
bonepressesagainstherclit.

Hergaspashernexthipcircleprovidesfrictionconfirmswe’vefoundthesweetspot.Icirclemy

hips,nudgingatherclitwiththrustssoshallowmycockbarelymovesinsidehertight,slicksheath.
Myballsacheandmystomachclencheswiththeneedtopullbackanddriveinsideher,againand
againuntilIexplode,butthisisn’taboutme.Notyet,notuntilCaitlincomes.

Idropmylipstoherbreast,pullinghernippleintothewarmthofmymouth,flickingmytongue

acrosshertipasIcontinuetorockgentlyagainstherandherbreathcomesfasterandherfingersdig
intomybareshoulders.

“God,Gabe,”shepants,backarching,legsspreadingwider,meetingeachofmythrustswith

increasinglydesperatethrustsofherown.“God…Ican’t…thisfeels….”

“Good?”Ismotherherresponsewithanotherkiss,bloodpulsingfasterasshemoansintomy

mouthandreachesdown,digginghernailsintomyass.

“Sogood,sogood,”shechants,breathpuffingagainstmywetlips.“God,Gabe,God…Ithink

I’m…Ithink…”

“Comeforme,baby,”Isay,fightingforcontrolasourtempogrowsmorefranticandIfeelher

innerwallstighteningaroundme.“God,Iwanttofeelyoucomeonmycock,Caitlin.”

“Yes,”shesays.“Yes!”
Shecriesout,asoundIechoasherpussygripsmetight,herorgasmripplingthroughherwith

sharpwavesIcanfeelmassagingtheachinglengthofmeuntilmyvisionblursandeverybitofblood
inmybodysurgestotheeightinchesburiedinsideherandthereisnomoreholdingback,nomore
control.

Ipullouttotheendofherandsurgebackin,thrustinginandoutofhersweetpussythatissowet

andhotandtightandperfect.Perfect.Likeher,likethewayshefitsagainstme,likethewayshe
makesmefeellikethereisfinallysomeoneintheworldwhounderstands.

Andthenherhandsareonmyfaceandshe’spullingmedownforanotherkissasshewrapsher

legsaroundmyhips,pullingmedeeperwitheverythrust.Ipumpintoher,faster,faster,untilthereis
nothingbutthesoundofourhungrybodiespoundingagainsteachotherandourmoansandsighsas
wekissandlickandbite,fightingourwaytowardtheendofthis,themomentwhentherewillbe
nothingbutpleasure,nothingbutherandmeandGod…

God….
IcallhernameasIcome,myorgasmrocketingthroughmeuntilIcan’tbreathe,can’tsee,can’t

thinkofanythingbutthisbliss.It’ssogood,likethis,withher,somuchbetterthanit’severbeen
before.Iambrokenandmadewhole;Iamshatteredtopiecesandputbacktogetherwithherkiss.I
needher,craveher,wanttokeepherhereinthisbedwithmeforever.Thisismorethanawayto
forget,somuchmore.

AndIamsoveryfuckingscrewed.
BythetimeIcollapseontopofher,catchingmybreathasmycocktwitcheswithaftershocksof

pleasure,IknowI’vemadeahorriblemistake.Icurse,smotheringthesoundinthecrookofCaitlin’s
neckasherfingersdriftupanddownmysweatsoakedback,hatingmyself.Hatinghowweakand
patheticandsoftIam,softasanydumbkidwithhisfirstcrushwhenIthoughtIwassohardnoone
couldevercracktheshellaroundmyheart.

Ihadn’tevenbeensureIhadaheart,atleastnotthewayotherpeopledid.IthoughtIwouldalways

beontheoutsideofthattypeofemotion,toowarpedaroundtheedgestofitwithsomeoneas
perfectlyasCaitlinandIfit.

It’shorrible.Andwonderful.Andpointless,andsuddenlyIfeeltrappedinthisroom,smotheredby

thetenderwayshetouchesme.

Ihavetogetout.Ihavetobealone,findsomeplacewhereIcanthink.
“Don’t,”shesays,holdingmetoherwhenItrytopullaway.“Stay.”
“Ican’t,”Isay,throatsotightIcanbarelyforceoutthewords.“Itoldyouatthebeginningofthis—

I’mleavingattheendofthesummer,evenifIamyourfirst.Ijust…Ican’t.Iwon’t.Thisisgoingto
endintwoandahalfmonths,nomatterwhathappens.”

Shecupsmyface,urgingmefromherneck.Iallowhertomoveme,butkeepmygazeontheblank

wallbehindherhead.Icanfeelherlookingupatme,butIdon’tlookdown.Ican’tlookherinthe
eye,notyet.

“Gabe,”shesays,asmileinhervoice.“Gabelookatme.”
Idon’t,notuntilshelaughsbeneathherbreath.
“What’ssofunny?”Iglancedowntofindhersmilingupatme.
“Nothing,”shesays,withagentleshakeofherhead.“Ijust…youdon’thavetoworry.Itoldyou,I

wasn’tholdingontomyvirginitylikesomeprizepossession.Iwasn’tsavingitforsomeonespecial.
Itdidn’tmeananythingtome.”

Iscowl.HerwordsareexactlywhatIwanttohear.Sowhydotheyhurt?Whydotheymakeme

wanttostormoutofhereevenmorethanIdidbefore?

“Ilovewhatwejustdid,”shesays,coolingtheangerbuildinginsideofme.“AndIfeelreallyclose

toyou—now,andevenbefore,whenwewereplanningeverythingtogether,but…”Shestrokesahand
downmyface,hertouchcalmingandexcitingatthesametime.“ButIdon’twantanythingmorethan
thesummer,either.Ihavetoomuchgoingoninmylifetogetsweptupinsomebigrelationship…
thing.I’mnotgoingtomakeanydemands.Therewon’tbeanytearswhenwesaygoodbye.”

Shepauses,drawinginabreathasherfingertipstrailacrossmyribsandaroundtomyback,

makingmeveryawarethatI’mstillburiedinsideherandnotfeelingnearasspentasIdidaminute
ago.“Ijust…Ilovethis,”shecontinues.“Ilovespendingtimewithyou,andIhaveneverfeltmore
alivethanIdidtonight.Idon’twanttogivethatup,andIdon’twantyoutofeellikeyouhavetorun
awaybecauseI’mfallingforyou.”

“You’renot?”Iask,holdinghergaze,keepingmyexpressionneutral.
“No,”shesays,smilingagain.“ButIwouldreallyliketodothisagain.Soon.Like…reallysoon.”
Mylipscurvedespitemyself.“You’renotinpain?”
“Alittle,but…”Sheliftsabareshoulderashergazefallstomychest.“ButIkindoflikeit.Itmakes

itfeelmore…real,ifthatmakesanysense.”

“Itdoes.”Everythingshesaysmakessensetome,

she

makessensetomeinawaynooneelseever

has.

Shemaynotbefalling,butIam.
Falling,falling,fallen.
I’veneverbeeninlovebefore,butI’mprettysurethisiswhatitfeelslike,atleastforme.LikeI’m

drowningandneverwanttocomeupforair,likeIliveforhersweet,sexysmile.LikeIwouldwalk
totheendsoftheearthforjustonemorekiss,andIwouldripapartanyonewhodaredtohurther
withmybarehands.

Iwasworried

mighthurther—thatshewasgettingassweptupinallthisasIam—butshe’smade

oftougherstuff.Herheadisstillonstraightandhereyeswideopen.She’llbefine,andIdon’treally
matter,notthewayshedoes.

Somaybeit’sokayformetoloveher,tocupthissecretfireinmyhandsandseehowbigitcan

growbeforeit’ssnuffedoutatthesummer ’send.

“Whatareyouthinking?”sheasks.

ThatIloveyou.ThatI’ddoanythingforyou.
Aloud,Isay.“Letmegetridofthis,andI’llshowyou.”
Idisposeofthecondomandreturntothebedandinmomentswe’retangledupineachotherall

overagain.It’sslowerthistime,sweeter.Wetakeourtime,lingeringovereachkiss,eachrushof
breathoversweat-slickedskin,andbythetimeIpushinsideherasecondtimeIamevenmorelost
thanIwasbefore.

Forthefirsttime,Iunderstandwhatitfeelsliketomakelove.Notfuck,notscrew,nothavesex.I

makelovetoCaitlin,amdestroyedandreborninherarms,andIfallasleepbarelynoticingthedull
acheatthebaseofmyskull.

Theachethatwarnsthatthereisnopleasurewithoutpain,nolovewithouthate,andnohappiness

withoutsacrifice.

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

Fiveweekslater

Caitlin

Mayyouhavethehindsighttoknowwhereyou'vebeen,

theforesighttoknowwhereyouaregoing,

andtheinsighttoknowwhenyouhavegonetoofar.-Irishproverb

Iracearoundthesideofthesquat,concretebuilding,bootspoundingagainsttheasphaltasIsprint

towardwhereGabeleansagainstthechainlinkfencesurroundingthestoragefacility.Ipushhard
witheverythinginme,heartslammingagainstmyribsasIfighttoputdistancebetweenmeandthe
nastysurprisethatwaswaitingformeinlockerseventy-three.

“Getbackhere!”Theman’sshoutcomesfrombehindme,butnotfarbehind.
Notnearfarenough.
Ipushharder,armspumpingupanddownlikepistons,becomingflashesofblackthatbluratthe

edgesofmyvision.

“That’smyfuckingmoney!”themanshouts.“Stop,youpieceofshit!”
IreachGabe,grabbingahandfulofhisblackshirtasIroundthecorner,dragginghimalongwith

me.“Run!”Igaspwhenhetripsandnearlyfalls.

I’msooutofbreathIcanbarelyformtheword,butmylookoutseemslikehe’sinworseshape.

Gaberightshimselfandstumblestowardthesidewalk,unsteadyonhisfeet.Notskippingabeat,I
hookmyarmthroughhisandpullhimalongbesideme,pasttheentrancetoanother,low-rentstorage
facility,ashutteredbailbondsman’sshop,andontowardtheresidentialpartofthisfadedCharleston
neighborhood.

Iwonderwhat’swrongwithhim,butthere’snotimetoask.Themanwhocaughtmebreakinginto

hisstorageunitisnearingfifty,buthe’singoodshape.Ahellofalotbettershapethanyou’dexpecta
mantobeinafterspendingtwelveyearsinprison.

Ofcourse,accordingtotheFederalBureauofPrison’sInmateLocator,GrantHarrisonis

still

prison,so…

“Givemebackmymoney!”thevery

not-still-in-prisonHarrisonshouts.Hisfootstepsslapthe

pavementbehindmeashebarrelsdownthemiddleofthedesertedroad,shoutingthathewasrobbed,
settingdogstobarkingbehindthericketyfenceofahouseonmyleftandmyheartleapingupto
lodgeinmythroat.

IhaulGabealongsidemeasIrun,cuttingdownadarksidestreetbeforeemergingonanothermain

road.Mylungsfeellikethey’refullofacidandacrampknifesintomyside,butjustwhenI’msureI
can’tkeepgoingwithGabeleaningevenathirdofhisweightonmyshoulders,heseemstorecover.

Hestandsupstraightandpicksuphispace,pullingaheadaswecutthroughthebackyardofan

abandonedhouseandsprinttowardthesaggingshedwhereweparkedthevan.BythetimeIslaminto
thepassenger ’sside,Gabehastheenginerunningandhisfootonthepedal.

Heroarsoutoftheshed,tiressquealingasheshiftsfromreversetodriveandpealsdown

PinewoodPlace,headedtowardthehighway.

“He’snotthere.Hedidn’tseeuspullout,”IpantasIturntolookouttherearglass,makingsure

Harrisonisn’tgoingtobeabletoidentifythemakeandmodelofthevan.

“Fuck,”Gabecurses.
“AndIgotthemoney,”Iadd,rippingoffmymask.“We’regood.We’refine.”
“We’renotfine.”Gabeyankshismaskoff,tossingittotheflooratmyfeetashetakesarighton

Ferncrest,thenanimmediateleft,followingtheescaperouteweplannedinadvance.“Harrisonis
supposedtobeinprison.Howthefuckdidhecatchyoubreakingin?”

Ishakemyhead,stillcatchingmybreathasIturnbackaroundandreachformyseatbeltwith

tremblinghands.“Idon’tknow,buthe’sobviouslyout,andsleepinginthatstorageunit.Hewokeup
whileIwasgoingthroughthetrunk.”

Gabecursesagain.
“Yeah.Iaboutpeedmypantswhenhestartedyelling.Scaredmehalftodeath.”Iclutchthebagof

moneyinmylap,drawingstrengthfromthehardlumpsinside.It’sfulloftightlyrolledonehundred
dollarbills,atleastthirtyorfortythousanddollars,earnedbytheabuseofGrantHarrison’sdaughter,
Cathy,whenshewasalittlegirl.

Backintheearlytwothousands,Harrisonmadekiddiepornfeaturinghisunderagedaughterand

solditonanundergroundwebsite,makingamintbeforehewascaught.Allofhisassetswereseized
bythefederalgovernment,buthisdaughterinsistedtherewasmoremoney,thatherfatherhadhidden
itawaysomewhere.CathyhiredGabe’sdadtosueherfather,butoverdosedbeforethecasecouldgo
totrial,losingalifelongbattlewithdrugsandaddictionthatstartedwhenshewastenyearsold,when
herfatherusedtorollherajointtohelpherrelaxbeforehefilmedher.

GabeandIreadCathyHarrison’sfileyesterday,andonlyspentafewhourslastnightresearching

thejob.ThefilesaidthatGrant’ssister,Marjorie,hadleasedastorageunitshortlybeforeGrantwas
convicted.GabeandIdidsomediggingandlearnedMarjoriehadmovedtoFlorida,butthatthe
storageunitwasstillinhernameandpaidupforthenextfouryears.WegoogledGranttoverifyhe
wasstillinfederalprison,didadrive-byofthestoragefacilitytomakesuretheydidn’thaveanyone
ondutyatnight,andswungintoCharlestontoacquireindustrialstrengthboltcuttersforthelockon
thefencebeforecallingourpreparationfinished.

SincethatnightatPitt’s,GabeandIhavehittwoprivateresidences,anursinghome,andamedical

practice,allwithoutasinglehitch.WesecuredPitt’sresignationwithablackmailnote—ensuring
Dannywaspassedintotheeighthgrade—didourparttoavengetheinnocentpeoplehurtbyan
embezzler,anidentitythief,acrookeddoctor,andaserialrapist,andhavemadeourselvesahundred
thousanddollarsricherintheprocess.

Ahundred,fucking,thousanddollars.Aftertonight,we’llbeclosetoonehundredandforty.It’s

mind-boggling,moremoneythanIwouldhaveearnedin

fouryears

workingmyjobatthediner,and

it’sbeensoeasy.

Maybetooeasy.AndmaybeGabeandIaregettingcareless.
“Doyouthinkhegotoutofprisontoday?”Iask,breathfinallyreturningtonormal.“Imean,I

guessthat’spossible.”

“It’smorelikelythere’sanotherGrantHarrisoninfederallockup,”Gabesays,turningontothe

highway,headingbacktowardhome.“WeshouldhavemadesuretheoneinEdgefieldwasours
beforewehitthestorageunit.And

shouldhavebeentheonetogoin,whileyoukeptlookout.You

canpracticeyourlockpickingwhenyourlifeisn’tindanger.”

“Therewasnowaywecouldhaveknownanyonewasinthere,”Isay.“AndIgotaway.I’mfaster

thanIwasevenafewweeksago.”

“You’renotfasterthanabullet,”Gabesays,soundinggrouchierthanI’veeverheardhim.“Whatif

Harrisonhadhadagun?”

Mybrowfurrows.“Youweren’tworriedaboutthatwhenwerobbedthepawnshop.”
“Thingsaredifferentnow,”Gabesayssoftly.“We’redifferent.”
I’msilentforamoment,refusingtoacknowledgethewayhiswordsmakemyheartdoagiddyflip

inmychest.We

are

differentnow.Backthen,Iwasn’tevensureIlikedGabe;now,Ican’timaginemy

lifewithouthiminit.Now,Iwanttospendeverywakingminutewithhim,andgotosleepnexttohim
everynight.

Now,Iamcompletelyscrewed,becauseevenifGabelovesmethewayIthinkhedoes,Iknowhe’s

seriousaboutthisonlybeingforthesummer.IfhefindsoutIwantmore,he’llleave.He’llleaveandI
don’tknowwhatI’lldo.Idon’tknowifI’llbeabletoholdittogetherallalonenowthatIknowwhat
itfeelsliketohaveapartner,someonewhomakesmefeelbeautifulandfascinating.Someonewho
getseverypartofme,eventhepartsthataren’tpolished,orpretty,anddon’tliketoplaybytherules.

“Ithinkit’stimetotakeabreak,”hesays,histoneasdeflatedasI’mfeeling.
Abreakdoesn’tmeantheend,butthere’ssomethinginhisvoice,somethingthatmakesmyheart

feelbruised.

“Okay,”Isay,forcinganupbeatnoteintothewordthatIdon’tfeel.“Slowingdownisn’talwaysa

badthing.”

Whichremindsme…
“Areyouokay?”Iturntofacehim,studyinghisprofileintheshiftingyellowlightoftheheadlights

streamingdowntheothersideofthehighway.“Whatwasupbackthere?Didyoufeelsick,or
something?”

“Idon’tknow,”Gabesays,eyesfocusedontheroadahead.“Ifeltallright,butwhenItriedto

run…”Heshrugs.“Idon’tknow.I’mfinenow.Imusthavegottenoverheatedstandingtheresweating
myballsoffinlongsleeves.It’sfuckinghotashelltonight.”

“Doesthatmeanyou’renotgoingtosleepoverattheCooneysweatlodge?”Iask,brushingawaya

browncurlthat’sstucktohisforehead.

Asmileflickersonhislipsbutit’sgonebythetimethenextpairofheadlightssweepacrosshis

face.“Nottonight.Myparentssawmegouptobed.IfIdon’tcomebackdownagaintomorrow
morning,theymightnotice.TheAlexandersoccasionallynoticeeachotheronSundays,andthey’re
myalibiso…”

“Okay,”Isay,ignoringthedisappointmentthatflashesinmychest.“ButI’llseeyoutomorrowfor

dinner?”

“Wouldn’tmissit,”hesays,passingabatteredpickuptruckgoingfiftyinthefastlane.
Sundaynightburgernightinthebackyardhasbecomeatradition.Thekidslookforwardtoitevery

week,andsodoI.IloveseeingGaberelaxedandhappy,playingsoccerwiththeboys,orgiving
Emmiearideonhisshoulderssoshecanpeekoverthefenceatourcrazycatladyneighbor ’snew
kittens.He’ssogoodwiththekids.Itmakesmewish…

Ipressmylipstogetherandstareoutthewindowatthedarkwoodsflashingby,banishingthe

thoughtbeforeitcanfinditstailend.Itdoesn’tmatterwhatIwish.Thisisonlyforthesummer,andit

willbeoverbeforeIcanblink.

Wedon’ttalkmuchmoreonthewayhome,andGabedoesn’teventrytosneakapeekasIchange

outofmyblacksandintotheclothesIwaswearingwhenIleftthehouse.Theairinthevanisquiet,
thickwithtension,liketheairbeforeastorm,andalltoosoonGabeispullingupinfrontofmy
house.

Atoneinthemorning,everywindowisdark,exceptforabluelightflickeringbehindtheliving

roomcurtains,makingmethinkIsaacmusthavefallenasleepinfrontofthetelevision.ItoldhimI
wasgoingdancingwithSherry—whichIdid,foranhour,beforeIleftherflirtingwithherfavorite
bartenderandslippedoutoftheclubtomeetupwithGabe.

IknowIshouldfeelbadforlyingtooneofmybestfriends,butIdon’t.Idon’tfeelbadaboutmuch

thesedays,notlying,orstealing,oranyoftheotherthingsGabeandIdoonaregularbasis.Maybe
thatmeansmymoralcompassismoremessedupthanIcouldhaveimaginedbeforeImetGabe,but
I’mstillthereforthekidswhentheyneedme,mystomachiscalmerthanit’sbeensinceIwasakid,
andI’mhappyinabrandnewway.

Thisisn’tthe“stolenmoment”kindofhappinessIknewbefore—snatchedbetweentheteethofone

crisisandthenext—it’ssomethingthatstartsdeepinsideofmeandspreadsouttoenvelopeevery
aspectofmylife.It’saseedthatwasplantedandnurturedbythissummerwithGabe,andapartofme
isterrifiedthatmyhappinesswillwitheranddiewhenheleavesinthefall.

Buteventerrorcan’tcutasdeepwhenGabeissittingnexttome.
Ileanovertokisshimgoodbye,anditissexyandhonestandintense—thewaykissinghimalways

is—buthetastessadderthanusual,salty,likeatear.

“Areyousureyou’reokay?”Iaskafterwepullaway,runningagentlehanddownhisface.“Is

everythingallright?”

Heholdsmygazeforabeatbeforesmilingasmilethatdoesn’treachhiseyes.“Everything’sfine.

I’llseeyoutomorrow.”

“Seeyoutomorrow,”IechoasGabeclaimsthebagofmoneyfromthefloorboardsandweslipout

ofthevan,goingourseparateways.Hestartsdownthedriveway,headedbacktowhereheparkedthe
Beamerafewblocksover,turningtoblowmeakissattheendofthedrive.Iliftmyhandandwave,
swallowingallthewordsthatwanttocomeout—like

don’tgo,

and

I’llmissyou,and

Iloveyou.

Ilovehim.I

love

himanditiswonderfulandhorribleandit…iswhatitis.There’snochangingit,

nomatterhowmuchithurtstothinkofsayinggoodbye.

ButI’mtootiredtothinkanymoretonight.
Islipinsidethefrontdoor,closingitasquietlyasIcanbehindme,expectingtofindIsaacpassed

outanddroolingonthecouch,butwhenIturn,he’ssittingup,staringatmewithanintensitythat
makesanxietyskitteracrossmyskin.

HejabsmuteontheT.V.remote,andmyguttwists,theinstinctivefeelingthatI’vescrewedup

hittingbeforemymindcansortoutwhatIcouldhavedonewrong.

“Iseverythingokay?”Iask,hangingmybohobagononeofthewallhooksinsidethedoor.“Are

thekidsallright?”

“Thekidsarefine.”Isaactossestheremoteontothecouchcushionsbeforeknottinghisthickarms

acrosshischest.“ButI’mnotsureIcansaythesameaboutyou.”

IfrownasIrunahandthroughmystillsweat-damphair.“What’sthatsupposedtomean?Ithought

yousaiditwasokayifIstayedout.Ifyouwantedmehomeearlier,youshouldhavejust—”

“Thisisn’taboutstayingout,”Isaacsays.“Yourdadcamebyearlier,rightwhenIwascleaningup

dinner.”

IcursebeneathmybreathasIkickoffmyshoesandshuffleovertothecouch,suddenlyevenmore

exhaustedthanIwasbefore.“I’msorry.”IcollapsenexttoIsaacwithasigh.“Youshouldhavecalled
me.Iwouldhavecomehomeandhandledit.”

Isaacshifts,staringdownatmeasIleanback,restingmyheadonthelumpycushions.“Hewasn’t

drunk,Caitlin.HewasassoberasI’veeverseenhim,andreallyfuckingupset.”

Ipullmykneesup,huggingthemtomychest.“Whatabout?”
“Whatdoyouthink?”Isaacasks,sympatheticgazedrillingintomine.ButthistimeIhavethe

feelingI’mnottheonehe’sfeelingsorryfor.“He’sawreckaboutthelawsuit,C.Hecan’tbelieve
you’rereallygoingtotakethekidsaway.”

Igrunt.“Can’tbelieveI’mgoingtogetthestatetogarnishhisVAcheckforchildsupportismore

likeit.”

“It’snotlikethat.”Isaacshakeshishead.“Chucksaidhe’llsignthehouseandpartofhischeckover

toyouandgiveyoufulllegalguardianshipofthekids.Hejustdoesn’twanttogotocourtandlose
hisparentalrights.Heknowsthekidsaretheonlygoodthingsheeverdidwithhislife.It’skilling
himtothinkoflosingthem.”

Ihugmykneestighter,andmyjawclenches.
“Justcalloffthesuit,”IsaaccontinueswhenIdon’trespond.“He’llgiveyoueverythingyouwant.

You’llgetthestabilityyouneedforthekids,he’llstillbetheirdadonpaper,you’llsaveabunchof
stressnotgoingtocourt...Everybodywins.”

“Ifhecaressomuchaboutthekids,howcomeittookalawsuittomakehimdotherightthing?”I

ask.“AndwhyshouldIfeelsorryforamanwhohasdonenothingbutmakemylifeharderfromthe
momentIwasborn?”

Idropmyfeettotheground,bracingmyelbowsonmykneesandsqueezingmyhandstogetherina

singlefist.“I’mgladhefeelslikeshit.It’stimehehadatasteofwhatitfeelsliketobehelplessand
scared.”

“Comeon,Cait.Thisisn’tlikeyou.Youdon’ttakepleasureinotherpeople’spain,evenyour

dad’s.”Isaacputsahandonmyshoulder,squeezingsoftly,buthistouchdoesn’tcalmmethewayit
usuallydoes.

Ishrughishandoff,andstand,pacingafewstepsawayfromthecouch.“I’msorryI’m

disappointingyou,butthisishowIfeel.Idon’tcareifChuckislosinghisshit.I’mgoingthrough
withthesuit.Forthekids.”

“You’regoingthroughwithittogetrevenge,”Isaacsays,lookingatmelikeI’mastrangerwho

wanderedintothelivingroom.“You’redifferent,C.EversinceyoustartedgoingoutwithGabe.It’s
likehe’sbroughtoutthis…fierce,scarysideofyou,orsomething.”

Irollmyeyes,notlikinghowcloseIsaacisgettingtothetruth.“Gabehasnothingtodowiththis.

Hewasniceenoughtoaskhisdadtorepresentthecaseforfree.That’sit.I’mmakingdecisionson
myown.”Icrossmyarms,shruggingasIdropmyeyestothethreadbarecarpet.“Besides,Idon’t
thinkthere’sanythingwrongwithbeingfierce.Sometimesyouneedtobefiercetogetthejobdone.”

“Fierce,butnotcruel.”Isaacstands,steppingcloseruntilhe’sloomingoverme.“There’sa

differenceandyouknowit.”

Ishrugagain,butthemovementissmaller,lessconfident.
MaybeIsaacisright;maybeIambeingcruel.
IfChuckagreestogivemeeverythingI’dgetfromgoingtocourt—exceptforparentalcustody—

thenwhatdoIhavetogainfromgoingthroughwiththesuit?Aslegalguardian,I’dhavethepowerto
makedecisionsforthekids,andifthehouseisinmyname,IcancallthepoliceandhaveChuck

cartedoffifherefusestoleavewhenItellhimto.

Andmaybe,ifImeethiminthemiddle,ChuckwillrememberIdidhimasolid.Maybehe’llstay

sobermoreoften,andstartcomingaroundtospendtimewiththefamily,insteadofstumblingin
drunk,askingformoney,andleavingassoonashegetswhathewants.

“Andmaybepigsaregoingtofly,”Imumbletothecarpet.
Isaacsighs.“Iknowyouaren’ttalkingtome,butIunderstandwhatyou’refeeling.It’shardto

believethatpeoplecanchange,butitcanhappen.”

Noitcan’t.Peopledon’tchange.LookingthroughGabe’sfather ’sfileshasmadethatclear.People

mayaltertheirbehaviororevolveinotherwaysastheyage,butfolkswhoarerottenattheircores,
stayrotten.

Myfatherisoneoftherottenones,Iknowthat,nomatterhowmuchanaïvepartofmewantsto

believethatit’sthealcoholtalkingeverytimeChuckcallsmeabitchorbackhandsDanny.The
alcoholmayfuelthefire,butthedampwoodthat’sburningandstinkingupeverything,isallChuck.
AndI’mdonewithChuck.Idon’thaveanymoreempathyleftforhim,oranyonelikehim.

Ilookup,meetingIsaac’sgentlegazewithahardone.“Mymind’smadeup.I’mgoingthrough

withthesuit,andI’mgoingtomakesureChuckhasaslittleauthorizedcontactwiththekidsas
possible.It’swhat’sbestforthem.”

“It’sbestforthemtoneverseetheirdadagain?”Isaacasks.“Imean,Iknowhe’sashitsometimes,

buttonighthewasgreat.YoushouldhaveseenhowexcitedSeanwastoseehim.Thatlittleboystill
loveshisdad,andwantshiminhislife.”

“He’llgetoverit,”Isay,voicecold.“Therestofushave.”
Isaacstaresatme,intome,likehe’swaitingformetobreakandconfessIwasjustkidding.ButI’m

notkidding.I’mnotthesameweak,one-step-away-from-disastergirlIsaac’sknownsincewewere
kids.I’mincontrolnow.Ihavethepower,andI’mnotgivingitupwithoutafight.

“Fine,”hesays,shakinghisheadashestepsback.“Butforwhatit’sworth,Ithinkyou’remakinga

mistake.”

“Noted.Thanksforwatchingthekidstonight,”Isaytightly,eagertoseeIsaacwalkingoutmydoor

forthefirsttimeinmylife.

“Yeah,well…Ilovethem.”Isaacpropshishandsonhiships,glancingdownathisfeetbefore

meetingmyeyes.“Iloveyou,too.Iwillalwaysloveyou,butthatdoesn’tmeanIhavetolovetheway
you’reactingsinceyoustarteddatingGabe.”

Isigh.“Ineedtogettobed,Isaac.I’mtired.”
“He’sbadforyou,Caitlin,”Isaacsays,stubbornly.“Onedayyou’regoingtowakeupandrealize

justhowbad.Ijusthopeit’snottoolate.”

“Toolateforwhat?”Iask,temperflaring.“Togobacktobeingeveryone’swillinglittledoormat?

Becausethat’snotgoingtohappen,andifthat’stheonlyversionofmeyoucanaccept,maybewe
shouldn’thangoutsomuchanymore.”

“Wehaven’thungoutinweeks.”Isaac’svoiceisashotasmine.“You’retoobusyforyourfriends

anymore.Allyoucareaboutishim.”

“Soyou’rejealous,isthatit?”IsnapbeforeIthinkaboutwhatI’msaying.
Isaacblinks,butafteramoment,theangervanishesfromhiseyes,leavingbehindanaked,

vulnerablelook.“MaybeIam.MaybeIthought…”

Idigmyfingersintomyupperarms,heartbeatingfaster,shockedandscaredandwishingIcould

rewindtimetothreeminutesagoandrunuptobed.Idon’twanthimtofinishhissentence;Isilently
prayforhimtostoptalkingandwalkoutthedoor,butGodisn’tansweringmyprayerstonightany

morethanHeeverhas.

“Ithoughtitwouldbeme,”Isaacsays,voicethick,rough.“Ithoughtthatifyoueverdecidedto

maketimeforsomeoneinthatway…itwouldbeme.”

“WhataboutHeather?”Iask,pulseracinginmythroat.“Youhaveagirlfriend,Isaac,Inever—”
“I’mwithHeatherbecauseIcouldn’tbewithyou,”hesays,makingmystomachlurch.“Iknewhow

badyourmomandsisterrunningofffuckedyouup,andIdidn’tthinkyou’deverletsomeoneinto
yourlifeinthatway.ButifI’dthought…ifI’devenhadalittlehopethatyou—”

“Don’t.”Ibackastepaway,shakingmyheadfast.“Idon’twanttohearit.Just…Let’spretendthis

neverhappened.Justgo,andwe’llpretend—”

“I’mtiredofpretending,”Isaacsays.“AndHeather ’stired,too.SheknowsI’minlovewithyou.We

foughtaboutitthatfirstnightyouwentoutwithGabe.Thingshaven’tbeenrightbetweenussince.
She’sgoingtobreakupwithme,soonerorlater,butI’mnotgoingtowaitaroundforittohappen
anymore.I’mbreakingupwithher.Tomorrow.Ican’tkeeplyingtoher,ormyself.”

Ishakemyheadagain.“I…Idon’tknowwhattosay.”
“Sayyou’llthinkaboutmakingadifferentchoice,”Isaacsays,hopeinhisvoicethatmakesme

wanttostabmyselfintheearssoIdon’thavetohearit,don’thavetorealizehowstupidI’vebeen,or
howmuchI’mgoingtohavetohurtsomeoneIcareabout.

“Ican’t,”Iwhisper,pressingmylipstogether.“I’msorry,Isaac,Idon’t…Idon’tloveyouthat

way.”

Isaac’sbrowfurrows,butthelongingdoesn’tleavehisexpression.“Yeah,notnow,Iknowthat.

But…takesometime.Thinkaboutallwe’vebeenthrough,allwemeantoeachother.There’smoreto
whatwehavethanfriendship,andIknowtherehavebeentimeswhenyou’vefeltit,too.”

Iforcemyselftomeethiseyes,knowinghewon’tbelievemeunlessheseesthetruthinmyface.

“No,Ihaven’t.I’minlovewithGabe,andIdon’twanttobewithanyoneelse.Notnow.Maybe…not
ever.”

“Neverisalongtime.”Isaac’seyesbegintoshine.“He’sgoingtoleaveyou,Caitlin.He’snotthe

kindofguywhosticksaround.”

“Iknowthat,”Isay.“Itdoesn’tmatter.Itdoesn’tchangethewayIfeel.”Ipullinabreath,myribs

achingastheyexpand.“I’msorry,Isaac.Ireallyam.”

Hesniffs,swipingthebackofhishandacrosshismouthbeforehesmiles.“Yeah,well,IhopeI’m

wrong.Ihopehedoesn’tbreakyourheart.Butifhedoes…Ican’tbetheshoulderyoucryon
anymore.”

“Okay,”Iwhisper,hatingthemiserythattwistsIsaac’sfaceashebackstowardthedoor.
“Great,well…”Hegrabshiskeysfromoneofthewallhooks.“Goodluckwitheverything.I’llsee

youwhenIseeyou.”

Iopenmymouthtosaysomethingtomakethisbetter,butIcan’tthinkofadamnedthing.Iwatch

himgo,andthenstandinthemiddleofthelivingroomaloneforagoodfiveminutes.Istandand
watchthetwistedblueshadowsflickeringinthecornersoftheceiling,feelingliketheworldhas
turnedupsidedown.

CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO

Gabe

Cutoffevenintheblossomsofmysin…

Noreckoningmade,butsenttomyaccount

withallmyimperfectionsonmyhead.

-Shakespeare

Sundaymorningdawnswithnumbnessinmyrightarm.
IthinkImusthavesleptonitwrong,butthenIrolloverandthehorizonlineoutsidethewindow

goescrooked,shiftingbackandforththewayitdidlastnightwhenIwastryingtorunfromthe
storagefacility.Iclosemyeyesandopenthem,closeandopen,buttheworldrefusestosteadyand
soonmystomachispitchingrightalongwiththefieldofhaybehindDarbyHill.

Iclosemyeyesandforcemyselftogobacktosleep,notwantingtoadmitthisiswhatIthinkitis—

thecloseofthegame,thebrickwallattheendofthealley,toohightoclimb.

Iwakeuplater—notsurehowmuchlater,butthelightintheroomisbrighter—andtheworldis

steadyagain,butmyarmisevenmorenumbthanitwasbefore.Iclenchmyfistandreleaseit,again
andagain.Iwatchmyhandmovesluggishlybackandforth,butIcan’tgripmyblanketbetweenmy
fingers,andsoontheheadachethatfeltlikeitwasgoingtocrackmyskullopenonthewaybackfrom
Caitlin’shouselastnight,returns.

Ilieinbedforalongtime,headthrobbinglikeathumbwithasplintershovedbeneaththenail,

knowingIshouldgetupandaskmymotherorfathertohelpmetakeapainpill.ButIdreadthescene
I’llcausewhenIconfessIcan’topenthebottlemyself.Itwillallbeover,then.Therewillbenomore
hidingfromit,evenifthenumbnessgoesaway.

Pleasegoaway.Please.Ineedalittlemoretime.
No,Ineedalotmoretime.Ineedalifetime.Ineedafuturetopromiseher,butwhatyouneed,and

whatyouget,arerarelythesamething.ThisiswhatIhave—anumbarm,apoundinghead,and
unfinishedbusinessIneedtogetoutofbedandtakecareofbeforeit’stoolate.

Ishovemysheetandblankettotheendofthebedandliebeneaththeswirlingceilingfaninnothing

butmyboxerbriefs,hopingthecoolairwillhelpbanishthepoundingsensationinmyhead.It
works…alittle,andinafewminutesIfeelgoodenoughtositupandreachformyphone.

ItextCaitlin,punchinginmymessagewithmyleftthumb,tryingnottothinkaboutwhathappensif

myleftarmstartsplayingthesamekindofgamesasmyright.Lessthanaminutelater,shetextsme
back,sayingshecan’tgetawaythisafternoon,butI’mwelcometocomeovertoherhouseearly.

BethereassoonasIcan,Itextback.

Iwantustofindsomeplaceprivatetotalk.Notinfrontofthe

kids.

Okay.Thedotsflickeronmyphone,indicatingshe’stypingsomethinglengthy,butwhentherestof

themessagecomesthroughit’ssimply:

Everythingokay?

No,it’snotokay.I’vepromisedthingsIhadnobusinesspromising.AndnowI’llhavetopaythe

price,andsowillCaitlin.ButIcan’ttellherthatinatext,soIsimplypunchin—

I’llexplainwhenIgetthere.
—andturnoffmyphone.
IforcemyselfoutofbedandshuffleintothebathroomwhereItakeashower,feelingonlyhalfin

mybodyasImakeaccommodationsformynumbarmwithoutthinkingtoomuchaboutwhatI’m
doing.Ishaveanddress,refusingtolookmyreflectionintheeye.IfIlookmyselfintheeyethere
willbenomorehiding.Iwillslipoutofthisfuzzystateofshock,andslipintoaverydifferent
emotionalstate.Onethatwon’tbeconducivetoendingthingswiththeonlygirlI’veeverloved,and
thatwon’tbeanygoodforanyone.

It’stimetoendit—quickly,cleanly—tocutmyselfofffromCaitlinlikearottenlimbbeforeIcan

furtherinfectherlife.

ItellmyparentsI’mgoingforadriveandwillbebackbeforedinner,leavingthesittingroom

withoutansweringmymother ’sinquiryastohowI’mfeeling.That’sanotherconversationbetterleft
untilafterI’vefinishedmybusinessattheCooneyhouse;Idoubtmyparentswouldbekeenonme
drivingwithoutfeelinginonearm.

Ihavetostoptwiceonthewayacrosstown.Once,becausethehighwaystartsshiftingonitsaxis,

andIhavetopulloveruntiltheworldsteadies;onceafewblocksfromCaitlin’shouse,tofirmup
whatI’mgoingtosay.IthoughtI’dhavemoretime,butnowwe’resuddenlyatthefinishlineandI
haven’thadachancetoprepare.

AllIknowisthatIhavetomakeherhateme.Ifwe’dmadeittotheendofthesummer,wemight

havebeenabletopartasfriends,butnowalienatingheristheonlyoption.Idon’twanthercoming
afterme,searchingforanexplanationastowhyI’vesuddenlygonebackonourbargain.Sheknows
metoowell,andknowskeepingmypromisesisimportanttome.Shewouldputherclever,stubborn
headtoworkfiguringoutwhatI’mhidinganditwouldn’tbedifficultforhertofindout.

Hatingmeistheonlythingthatwillkeepheroutofmybusiness,andawayfromDarbyHill,where

mymotheriswaitingtospillallofmysecrets.Myfathercanbetrustedtokeephismouthshut—he
likesCaitlin,andwillseethatwhatI’vedoneisforthebest—sothereshouldn’tbeanyproblemwith
himcontinuingtorepresentherinhersuitagainstherfather.

She’llgetcustodyofthekids,haveenoughmoneytogobacktoschool,andbeabletotrulymove

onwithherlife.She’llbeabletokeepthegoodthingsfromourtimetogether,withoutsufferingthe
fallout.Shemightbeupsetforawhile—sometimes,Ithinkshecaresformemorethansheletson—
butshe’llgetoverabrokenheart.She’sonlytwentyyearsold.Shehasherentirelifeaheadofher,a
lifeshe’llspendlovingsomeonemuchbetterforherthanme.

Thethoughtsendsawaveapainflashingthroughmybodythathasnothingtodowiththe

nightmareinmyhead.

Iparkinfrontofherhouseandshutofftheengine,takingamomenttobracemyself.
BeforeIcangetoutofthecar,thefrontdoorslamsopenandSeanfliesout,followedcloselyby

Emmie,wearingtherainbowtutuCaitlinandIboughtherattheFrenchHeritagefestivallastweekend.
SheissmilingthatsmilethatlookssomuchlikeCaitlin’s,lookingsosweetandinnocentand
obviouslyhappytoseemethatitflaysatmyinsides.

MyheartsqueezesandmychestissuddenlysotightIcanbarelydrawabreath.It’snotjustCaitlinI

love.Ilovethatlittlegirl.IlovethewayshelooksatmelikeI’msomethingcompletelygood,ahero.

ButI’mnohero.I’mamonster.I’masbadasthepeopleinDad’sfiles,lyingtomyselfand

everyonearoundme.TryingtomakeitokaytotakewhatIwantwithoutstoppingtothinkofthe

peopleI’mdestroyingalongtheway.

Thekidswon’tbedestroyed.They’reyoung.Emmiewillforgetyouinaweek,theboysintwoor

three.It’snottoolateforacleanbreak.

Myribsloosen.Idrawadeepbreath,forceasmile,andexitthecar.IruffleSean’shairasIpass

himby,andstoplongenoughtoleandown,pressingasoftkisstoEmmie’sforehead,butIdon’tstop
toaskabouttheirday,orwheretheywanttogoforadriveafterdinnerthewayIusuallydo.

“We’llbeinthebackyard,”Seancallsoutafterme,aplaintivenoteinhisvoicethatmakesmethink

herealizessomething’swrong.“ComeoutafteryoutalktoCaitlin.”

“We’llsee,”Isaynoncommittally,determinednottolietotheCooneykidsanymorethanIhave

already.Itrudgeuptheconcretestepstothehouse,lettingmyselfinwithoutbotheringtoknock.I’m
allowedtodothatnow;I’mpracticallypartofthefamily.

ThethoughtmakesmewinceasIshutthedoorbehindme.
“Bedowninjustasecond!”Caitlincallsfromupstairs.
Hervoiceisaknifeslippedbetweenmyribs.IwouldratherdiethandowhatIcameheretodo.I

don’twanttohurther.Iwanttogivehertheworld,fightforherdreams,promiseherforever.Iwant
tospendmylifemakingherhappy,makingherlaugh,makinghercome—cryingoutmynameinthat
voicethatismyfavoritevoicebecauseitishers.

God,Iloveher,sofuckingmuch,butI’mnotmuchbetterthanaghost.
Butshe’sstillalive—evenmorealivethanthedayImether—andherpotentialislimitless.Ibelieve

inher,morethanI’veeverbelievedinanyone,andthat’swhyIwilldothis.Becausetodoanything
elsewouldhurtmorethantheverbalblowsI’lldelivertoday.

Shepoundsdownthestairsasplitsecondaftermyresolvehasslippedintoplace,Dannynotfar

behindher.

“Sorry,wewerefixingthetoilet.Itbrokeagainand…”Herwordstrailawayasoureyesmeet

acrossthelivingroom.Hersmilefadesandfearflickersinhereyes.“What’swrong?”

“Weneedtotalk,”Isay,voiceflat,emotionless.
“Dannygooutside,”Caitlinsayssoftly,throatworkingassheswallows.
“ButIwasgoingtoplay—”
“Gooutside,”Caitlinrepeatsmorefirmly.“Please.AndkeepeveryoneelseoutsideuntilIsayit’s

okaytocomebackin.”

Dannyhesitates,glancingbetweenmeandCaitlin.Afteramoment,somethingshiftsinhis

expressionandhenods.“Oh…okay.”

Heturnstoleave,butbeforehereachesthekitchenheturnsback.“Areyousureyoudon’twantme

tostay,Caitlin?Watchyourback?”heasks,shootingmeanarrowlook,alookthatisfullofanger
anddisbeliefandasilentprayernottodowhatheknowsI’mgoingtodo.WhatweallknowI’m
goingtodo.

Caitlinshakesherhead.“No…butthanks,D.”
“Allright,”Dannysays.“Callmeifyouneedme.”
“Willdo,”Caitlinsaystohim,butshe’slookingatme,watchingmelikealoadedgun.
Iholdhergaze,wantingtomakeitclearfromthebeginningthattherearenocracksinmyresolve.

Therewillbenobackingdown,nobargaining,nobuyingtime.Thisistheend.Thetrainstopshere
andeveryonebutmeisgettingoffbeforeitjumpsthetracks.

IwaituntilIhearthebackdoorclosebehindDannytosay,“Italkedtomyfatherthismorningabout

whatwillhappenwhenyougetcustodyofthekids.It’sforever.Youunderstandthat,right?”

Shenods,butdoesn’tsayaword.

“You’llbelegallyboundtotakecareofthemuntilEmmie’seighteen,”Isay.“You’llbesigninghalf

yourlifeaway.”

“Iknow,”shesays.
Isigh.“Listen,Ilikeyou,Caitlin,alot,andlatelyI’vebeenthinkingthisthingbetweenuscouldbe

serious,butI’mnotreadytotakeonafamily.Idon’twanttosacrificethebestyearsofmylife
becauseyourparentsandsistercan’tbebotheredtoliveuptotheirresponsibilities.Ihavebigger
dreams.”

Caitlin’sbrowsdrawtogether,hurtandshockmixinginhereyes.“Yeah,Iknowthat,Gabe.From

thebeginning,webothagreedthiswasjustforthesummer.”

“It’sbecomingmorethanthat,andyouknowit.”Isay,forcingirritationintomytone.“Thekidsare

gettingattached;you’regettingattached.”

“Don’ttellmewhatI’mfeeling,”shesnaps.
“It’sbetterifweenditnowbeforewegetinanydeeper.”Itakeasteptowardthedoor,eventhough

allIwanttodoiscrosstheroom,pullherintomyarms,andkissheruntilwebothforgeteverything
I’vesaid.“Despitewhatsomepeoplethink,I’mnotaheartlessasshole.Idon’twanttoberesponsible
formakingkidscrywhenIskiptowninAugustandnevercomeback.”

“Sothat’sit?”sheasks,voicebreaking.“It’sover.Justlikethat?”
“Ithinkacleanbreakisbest.”Ishrug.“Myfatherisstillgoingtorepresentyouforfree,andthe

moneyinthejointaccountinCharlestonisyours.I’llsendyousomethinglaterthisweeklettingyou
knowwheretherestofthecashishidden.Altogether,itshouldbeenoughtocoverexpenseswhile
yougetyourdegree.”

Caitlinnodsandkeepsnoddingforalongtime.Shecrossesherarms,uncrossesthem,dropsher

gazetothecarpet,andthentiltsherheadbacktostareattheceiling.Shelaughssoftly,andrunsahand
throughherhair,butstilldoesn’tsayaword.

“Ireallydowishyouallthebest,”Isay,speakingthetruthforthefirsttimesinceIwalkedinthe

door.

Caitlinpullsinabreaththatemergesasasob.“Idon’tbelieveyou.”
“It’sthetruth.Ithinkyou’reagoodperson,whodeservesgoodthings.”
“No,notthat,”shesays,voicevibratingwithangerasshecrossestheroom,gettingcloseenough

formetosmellherCaitlinsmell,breakingmyheartalittlemoreasIrealizethisisthelasttimeI’ll
everbreatheherin.

“Idon’tbelievethekidsarewhyyou’recallingitoff,”shecontinues,pinningmewithawounded

look.“Iseethewayyousmileatthem.Youcareaboutthem,andyou’re

happy

whenyou’rewithour

family.That’snotfake,Iknowit’snot.”

“Caring,andwantingtoplaydaddy,aretwoverydifferentthings.”
“Bullshit,”shesays,eyesshiningwithunshedtears.“You’rehappyhere;you’rehappywithme,and

yousaidyouweren’tgoingbacktocollege,anyway.Whatotherplanscanyouhavethatareworth
settingeverythingwehaveonfireandwalkingaway?”

“I’msorryifIledyoutobelieveIwasfeelingsomethingthatIdon’t,”Isay,myvoicestiff.
Shelaughs,sendingthetearsinhereyesglidingdownhercheeks.“You

feelsomething.You

loveme;Iknowyoudo.AndIloveyou.”Herfacecrumplesforamomentbeforeshesucksina
breath,regainingcontrol.“Iloveyousomuchitscaresmetodeath,butI’mnotrunningaway.I’m
notbeingacoward.”

“Youcan’trun.”Icrossmyarms,fightingtheurgetoreachforher,tocrushhertomychestand

tellherloveisn’tastrongenoughwordforwhatIfeelforher.“You’retiedtothekids,tothistown.

Youcouldn’trunaway,evenifyouwantedto.”

“Icould,”shesaysinasoftervoice.“Icoulddropthesuit,giveChuckthekids,andcomewithyou,

whereveryou’regoing.”

“Youwouldn’t,”Isay,searchingherface,afraidshemightbeserious.
Sheliftsherchin,andswipesthetearsfromhercheekwitharoughpalm.“Mymomandsisterdid

it,andsomebodyalwayssteppedintopickupthepieces.Icoulddoit,too.”

“Youknowthere’snoonelefttostepin,”Iwhisper,castingaglancetowardthebackyard,wherethe

kidsareplaying.“You’retheonlypersonanyofthemcancounton.Ifyouleft,you’ddestroythem.”

“So?”Caitlinsays.“MaybeI’mtiredofbeingthegirlpeoplecancounton.”
Ishakemyhead,ascowlclawingintomyfaceasmyskullstartstopoundalloveragain.“You’d

breaktheirhearts.Maybeforever.Canyoureallyfuckinglivewiththat?”

Caitlinsmiles,aslow,tremblingsmilethattellsmeI’vewalkedintoatrap.“Youshouldseethe

lookonyourface.You

really

looklikeaguywhodoesn’tgiveashitaboutthosekids.”

Isqueezemyeyesshutanddriveahandthroughmyhair,cussingbeneathmybreath.
“Youlovethem,”Caitlinsays,hopethickinhervoice.“AndIlovethem,andIloveyou,andIknow

wecanbegoodtogether.Wecould…wecouldevenbefamily.”Herhandscometomychest,her
fingersfistinginmygrayteeshirt.It’sthesameoneIwaswearingwhenIaskedhertocomeplay
withme,backwhenIwasstilldumbenoughtobelievethisthingwithCaitlincouldremainacasual,
summerfling.“Staywithme,Gabe.Don’trun.Stay.Please.”

Iopenmyeyes.Herfaceissoclose,andIwanttokisshersobadlyIcantastethesweetnessIknow

I’llfindinhermouth,butIcan’t.Ican’tkissher,Ican’tkeeplovingher,Ican’tstayhereorI’m
goingtoruineverything.

IfIstay,I’llcarryherupstairsandmakelovetoher.I’llholdhercloseafter,andconfessitall,and

she’llstillwantmetostaybecausesheiskindandgenerousandstrong,butitwilldestroyher.

will

destroyher,andIcan’thavethatonmyconscience.Ihavenoillusionsaboutgoingtoheaven—I
don’tevenknowifIbelieveinitanymore—butIwanttogooutclean,withoutemotionalbloodon
myhands.Iwon’tgiveCaitlinandthekidsafrontrowseattomorepointlesssuffering.They’vebeen
throughenough.Ihavetofinishthis,orIwillneverforgivemyself.

“Sometimesloveisn’tenough,”Isayroughly.Icoverherfistswithmyfingersandforceherhands

away.“Ilikeyou,andIlovefuckingyou,butyouarenotwhatIwant,Caitlin.Idon’twantthis.”

“You’realiar,”shesays,butthereisdoubtinhervoiceandfreshtearsstreamdownhercheeks.
“I

aliar,andathief,andasociopath,”Isay.“AndIdon’tplantochange.Isthatreallywhoyou

wanthelpingyouraisethekids?”

“Yes,becauseyou’realsoagoodman,”shesays,withaferocitythatsurprisesme.“Andbecause

I’mallofthosethings,too.”

“OnlybecauseI’vemessedyouup,”Isay.“You’llbebetteroffwhenI’mgone.”
“No,Iwon’t.”Sheshakesherheadhardenoughtosendherhairflyingaroundhershoulders.“I

don’twanttogobacktowhoIwasbefore.Idon’tcareiftheoldCaitlinwasabetterversionofme;I
wanttobethepersonIamwithyou.Iwanttofeelthisaliveandhappyandwhole.Iwon’tgoback,
evenifyouwalkoutthatdoorrightnow.”

“Butplease…pleasestay.”Herforeheadwrinklesandhertear-filledeyessqueezeshutandIcanfeel

herpainlikeit’smyown,becauseitis.

Sheisn’ttheonlyonewhofeelslikeapieceofherbodyisbeingrippedaway.She’sapartofme

now,thebestpart,andforthefirsttimeinmylifeIdon’tfeelalone.Andshefeelsthesame,Icansee
itinhereyes,feelitvibratingintheairaroundus.I’vemetmyperfectmatch,andwe’reinlove.

Theironythatithappenednowisenoughtocrushmyhearttobloodypieces.
“Ican’t.”IchokeoutasIturntowardthedoor.
“You

won’t,”shecounterswithasob.

“Samedifference,”Isay,handclosingaroundthedoorhandle.“I’mleavingtownsoon.Idon’twant

toseeyouagain.Don’tcomebymyhouse,don’tcall,don’tcontactme,ormyfamily,unlessyou
haveaquestionformyfatheraboutyourcase.”

Shedrawsinashudderingbreath,butbeforeshecansayanotherword,Ipushthroughthedoorinto

thesummerheat.It’sonlythen—asI’mrushingacrossthepatchylawnwiththesunbeatingdownhard
enoughtomakebeadsofsweatpoponmyupperlip—thatIrealizetheairconditioninghadbeenon
insidethehouse.

I’vebeentellinghertoturnitonforweeks,promisingitwassafetoletdownherguard,tostop

hoardingeverycent,andspendsomemoneyonthingsthatwillmakeherandthekidsmore
comfortable.

Itseemsshefinallytookmyadvice,justintimeformetoprovesheshouldneverhavelistenedtoa

bastardlikeme.

CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE

Caitlin

Ifit'sdrowningyou’reafter,

don’ttormentyourselfwithshallowwater.

–IrishProverb

Idon’tknowhowlongIsitonthecouchandcryafterheleaves.Itseemslikehours,andonlyafew

moments,allatthesametime.Thepainissointenseitfeelslikeit’sbeeneatingawayatmeforever,
andsosharpit’sasiftheknifeisjustslidingin—freshandagonizing.

Icryandcry,butitdoesn’tmakethehurtgoaway.Itdoesn’teventaketheedgeoff.IknowI’m

wastingtimeandenergy,butIcan’tstop.Iambroken,andthankstoGabeIdon’tknowhowtoput
myselfbacktogetheragain.TheoldCaitlinwouldhavealreadyswallowedallthesefeelingsand
startedthrowingsomethingtogetherfordinner—sincehamburgernighthasclearlyfallenthrough.
OldCaitlinwouldhaveputinconvenientemotionsasideforlater,putherchinup,andsoldieredon.

No,oldCaitlinwouldneverhavehadtheseemotionsinthefirstplace.Shedidn’tletdownher

guard;shedidn’tinvitestrangersin.Shedidn’tknowwhatitwasliketoholdGabe’shand,tolaugh
withhimoveradozenprivatejokes,tolookintohiseyeswhilehemovedaboveherandseethe
pleasure-paininhisexpressionastheymadelove.

Pleasure,becauseeverytimeGabeandItouchitismagic;painbecauseit’salmosttoobeautiful,

tooperfect,tooclose.WhenGabeandImakelove,Iknowhecanseeintoeverycornerofmyheart,
everydarkhollowinmysoul.Hetakesmeallin,everytwistedpiece,andreflectsanimageso
beautiful,Ihadstartedtobelievehisreflectionwasthetrueone.IhadstartedtobelieveIwaslovable,
andthatGabewasgoingtochangehismindandstaywithme,nomatterwhatkindofplanshe’d
made,nomatterhowstubbornheisoncehehassethismindonsomething.

Deepdown,I’dthoughtIwasenoughtoholdhim,andbeeverythinghe’deverneed.
Istillcan’tbelieveIwassowrong.IsawthewayGabelookedatme;Ifeltthereverenceinhis

touch.Henevertouchedmelikesomethingheplannedtothrowaway.Hetouchedmelikewhatwe
hadwassacred.Iknowhe’sanamazingliar,butIdidn’tthinkevenhewas

this

good,sogoodI’dhave

nocluehewascheckingoutuntiltherugwasyankedoutfrombeneathmeandIwasalreadyflying
throughtheair.

Guessthat’swhathappenswhenyoufallinlovewithasociopath,Ithink,butthatworddoesn’tsit

anybetterinmyheadthanitdidinmyheartwhenGabeuseditasanexcusetowalkaway.

Gabemightbeasociopath;

mightbeasociopath—Iprobablyam,itwouldgoalongwayto

explainingwhyIdon’tfeelbadaboutanyofthethingsGabeandIhavedone—butthatdoesn’tmean
wedon’thaveacode.TherearecertainthingsIwouldneverdo.Iwouldneverabandonmyfamily,I
wouldneverhurtaninnocent,andIwouldneverkicksomeonewhiletheyweredown.

AsidefromtheconversationwehadwhenIdrewthelineatrobbery,forbiddingothercriminal

activity,GabeandIneversatdowntotalkaboutmoralsorethics,butIfeltinmygutthatwesaw
thingsthesameway.Gabeisblunt,buthe’snevercruel.He’sself-interested,butneverselfish—quite
theoppositeinfact.IknowhewouldhavegivenmeeverydimeinhistrustfundifI’daskedforit.
He’schangeable,buthispromisesmeansomething.Hedoesn’tgivehiswordorstrikeadealunless
heintendstofollowthrough.

“Sowhyishebackingoutnow?”Iwhisper,myvoicethickfromcrying.
Istand,suddenlyfullofrestlessenergy,andmoveintothekitchen.Igrabatissueandblowmy

nose,mopupmyface,andthinkaboutthequestion.

Why

hebackingoutnow?Somethingmusthavechanged…butwhat?

It’snotthekids;thatsmelledlikealiefrombeginningtoend.It’snotbecausewe’refallinginlove.

We’vebeenfallinginloveforweeks.Ifhewasgoingtorunbecausehewasgettingtooclose,mygut
sayshewouldhaverunthenighthefoundouthewasmyfirst.Buthedidn’trun;hestayedandmade
lovetomeagain,andsleptover,andcontinuedtosleepoveralmosteverynightsince.

We’vehadinnocentfunontheweekendswiththekids,andwickedfunlateatnight,justthetwoof

us—planningjobs,pullingthemoff,andcominghometocelebratenakedinmybed.Theonlything
we’veeverfoughtaboutiswhetherornottowastemoneyturningontheairconditioning,andthat’s
noreasontobreakup,especiallynotconsideringIfinallyturnedthefuckingthingonlastnight.

Ipacebackandforthinthekitchen,runningthrougheverymomentofthesixweekswespent

together,butoutofallthememorieswe’vemade,theonlymomentthatsetsmyradartoblippingis
lastnight.

Lastnight,whenGabewasactingsostrangely.Lastnight,whenhewasdizzy,andwouldhavebeen

caughtifIhadn’tbeentheretohelphim.

Couldthatbeit?Isheafraidwe’regoingtogetcaught?Ifthat’sit,apartofmeinsiststhisriftwill

beeasytofix.Wecansimplystoppullingjobsandbeanormalcouple—problemsolved.

ButIknowit’snotthateasy.ThejobsareasmuchapartofmeandGabeasthejokesandthefamily

burgernightsandthewaywemakelovelikeweweremadetogiveeachotherpleasure.TherushI
feelwhenI’minmyblacksandGabeandIarewhisperingthroughourlastminutechecklistisas
sweetasthekissesafter.Iloveeverythingthatmakesus

us,andthatincludesgivingthehorrible

peoplewe’verobbedalittleofwhattheydeserve.Givinguppullingjobstogetherwouldbelike
givingupmakinglove.Ourrelationshipwouldsuffer,wither,andeventuallybecomesomethingless
thanitwasbefore.

MaybeGabehasalreadyfiguredthatout.Maybehe’srealizedthattherushisanintegralpartof

whoweareasacouple,butthatthere’snowaytokeepdoingwhatwedowithouteventuallygetting
caught.Maybehe’sfinallyrealizedwhatI’veknownsincethebeginning—thathemightnotalwaysbe
abletoprotectme,nomatterhowhonesthisintentions.

Andmaybe

that’s

whyhe’sdoingthis.He’scallingthingsoffbeforeIgetcaughtorhurt,andthe

kidssuffertheconsequences.

That

wouldmakesensewiththeGabeIknow,theonewho’scometo

careaboutmybrothersandEmmie,andwhorealizesI’mtheonlythingstandingbetweenthemanda
hardlifenoneofthemdeserve.

“Butit’smychoice,”Isay,dampeningtheedgeofadishtowel,andusingittowipemysticky,tear-

streakedface.

mychoice,andmylife,andIshouldbetheonewhogetstodecidewhethertheriskisworththe

reward.AndGabeshouldknowbetterthantothinkI’mgoingtolethimmakemydecisionsforme.
Theonlytimehecallstheshotsisinthebedroom,andthat’snotevencompletelyaccurate.Hetakes
theleadwhenwe’renakedbecauseI

allow

himtotakethelead.I’mstillincontrol,andwe’restilla

team,evenwhenI’mfollowinghisdirectionsandmakingmyselfvulnerabletohim.

AndifI’mrightandGabeisreallysacrificingeverythingwehavebecausehe’sdecidedthisisn’t

goodforme,thenthisconversationisn’tover.I’llfightforhimthesamewayIfightforthekids,
becauseheispreciousandirreplaceableandIcan’tbearthethoughtofneverseeinghisfaceagain.

Thefrightened,helplessfeelingthatturnedmystomachtoacidwhenGabewalkedoutthedoor

subsides,replacedbyresolvetokeepfightinguntilIgetthroughtothepig-headedmanIlove.Witha
finalsniff,Igrabapitcheroflemonadefromthefridgeandcupsfromthecupboardandheadoutinto
thebackyard.

Outside,thesunislowerintheskythanIexpectittobeandthekidsareunusuallysubdued.Seanis

stillhalf-heartedlykickingthesoccerballaroundtheperimeterofthefence,butDannyandRayare
lyingonablanketintheshadereadingcomicbooks,withEmmieasleepnexttothem,herflushed
cheekrestingonDanny’slegandherthumbpoppedbetweenherlips.

Isetthelemonadeonthepicnictableandperchontheedgeoftheseat,gratefulfortheshadeand

thebreezethatdriftsthroughthebackyard,coolingmyflushedskininawayeventheair
conditioninginthehousecouldn’tseemtomanage.

“Hey,”IsaysoftlytoRayandDanny,notwantingtowakeEmmie.“Howdoyouguysfeelabout

chickentonight?WecouldgointotownandhitCharlie’s,getabucketofchickenandsomerolls,and
eatitinthepark.”

Raylooksupfromhiscomicbook,browsfurrowed.“Whataboutburgernight?”
“Burgernight’scancelled,”Dannysaysbitterly,notliftinghiseyesfromthepagehe’son.“Gabe

bailed.”

“Gabedidn’tbail,”Ilie.“He’sjust…sortingthroughsomethings.I’mgoingtogotalktohim

tomorrowbeforeIgointowork.”

“Sowecanhaveburgernightsomeothernight?”Rayasks.
“Sure.Youguyswantsomelemonade?It’sniceandcool.”
Dannygrunts.“Screwlemonade.Andscrewburgernight.”
“Language,Danny,”Isay,butI’mtootiredtomusterupathreateningtone.
“Gabeisn’tcomingback,”Dannysays,snappinghiscomicbookclosed.“Isawthelookonhis

face.He’sdonewithus.”

“Ifhe’sdonewithanyone,it’sme,”Isay.“Thishasnothingtodowithyou.Gabecaresaboutallof

you.Somuch.”

“Ifhecaressomuch,whydidhedumpyou?”Dannyasks.
Ifrown.“Whosayshedumpedme?”
Dannylooksupattheleavesswayingoverhead,lipstightaroundtheedges.“Thephonerangabout

anhourago.Itkeepringingandringing,soIwentintoanswerit.Ithoughtyou’dgoneoutfrontor
something,butyouwereonthecouchcrying.”

“Oh,”Isay,sighing.“I’msorry.”
“Youweresooutofityoudidn’tevenhearthephone,”Dannysaysflatly,inthatvoicethatIknow

meanssomethinghasscaredhimandhe’stryinghardnottoshowit.“Iaskedyouifyouwereokay,
butyoudidn’thearme,either.SoIjustgrabbedthecomicbooksandcamebackoutside.”

“I’msorry,”Isayagain.“Iwasupset.”Itakeadeepbreath.“ButI’mbetternow,andIthinkGabe

andIcansortthisout.”

Dannyfinallylooksawayfromtheleaves.“It’sjustweird,”hesays,thehurtinhiseyesmakingmy

stomachache.“Imean…everythingseemedfine.”

“Iknow,”Iagree,mouthpullingtoonesideasIfightawaveofemotion.“Iknowitdid.”

“Ihatesurprises,”Raysaysinasoftvoice.“That’swhyIlikebooks.Evenifthingsarebadfora

longtime,thegoodguysalwayswinintheend.”

“Notinallbooks,”Isay.“Literaryfictionusuallyendsprettybadly.”
Rayshrugs.“That’swhyI’mnotgoingtoreadthose.IlikebooksIcantrust.”
Ismile.“Ilikethose,too.”
Dannysighs.“I’dratherplayvideogames.IsitcoolifIgoin?”
“Yeah.LetmehelpyouwithEmmie.”Islipoffthebenchontotheblanket,gentlyholdingEmmie

whileDannyshiftshislegfree,beforeeasingherbackontotheblanket.Shewhimpersinhersleep,
butdoesn’twakeup,soIsettledownbesideher,knowingnothingwillhelpeasetheacheinmychest
likewatchingEmmiesleep.

“Don’tgetintoodeepwithanything,”IwarnDannyashestands.“I’mgoingtobringeveryonein

togetcleaneduptogoouttodinnerinthirtyminutes.I’llcallthehousephonefrommycellandletit
ringoncesoyou’llknowtoturnoffthebloodandguts.”

Dannynods,andstartstogobeforestoppingandturningback.“Thatremindsme,thephonecall

earlierwasweird.”

“Howso?”IswipeastraycurlfromEmmie’sforehead.
“Itwassomeguy.Heaskedifyouwerehome,andIsaidyeah,didhewanttotalktoyou,butthenhe

justhungup.”

Ilookbackathim,browsdrawingtogether.“Hedidn’tgivehisname?”
Dannyshakeshishead.“No,hejusthungup.”
Ihum,wonderingwhointheworldwouldbecallingforme.GabeandIsaacaretheonlyboyswho

evercallandIsaacismadatme,andGabetoldmehewasnevergoingtocontactmeagain.

“ButitsoundedlikesomebodyIknow,”Dannyadds.“Thevoicewasfamiliar.”
“OneofDad’sfriends,maybe?”Iask.“Theonesthatusedtocomeoverbeforehemovedinwith

Veronica?”

Dannyshrugs.“Idon’tknow.Butitwasweird.I’mnotansweringthephoneanymore.I’mgoingto

letitfuckingringuntilsomeoneelsegetsit.”

“Language,”Isayautomatically,butasDannyrollshiseyesandheadsinside,mymindisstillon

thephonecall.

Iguessitcouldbesomeonefromwork,butHarryandCarlosaretheonlymenatthedinerand

neitherofthemwouldcallandnotleavetheirnames.Someoftheguysatthemovietheater,however,
areperpetuallystoned,evenwhenthey’rerunningthepopcornmachine.Theymighthavecalledto
seeifIcouldcoverashift,forgettingthatIquitmyjobatthetheateruntilaftertheyhadDannyonthe
phone.

Butwhatifit’ssomeoneelse…maybeevenamarkwhohasfiguredoutIwasontheirproperty?It’s

alongshot—GabeandIwerealwayssocareful—butevenachanceoneofthemonsterswe’ve
targetedcalledmyhouseisenough.

Idecidetoinvestinasecuritysystemtomorrowmorning,andputthephonecallmomentarilyout

ofmind.

Itakethekidsouttoeatandplayatthepark,thenherdeveryonehomeandgetthembathedandin

P.J.sandinbedbyten.Then,Ispendtwohoursonourancientcomputerresearchingsociopaths,and
decidethetermdoesn’tapplytoeitherGabeorme.Gabenevertriedtomanipulatemeorturnmeinto
avictim.Gabenevertookpleasureinhurtingme.Eventoday,whenhewastryingtobesohard,I
couldtellitwaskillinghimtosaythethingshedid.

Idecidethat,whateverGabeandIare,it’ssomethinggentlerthanasociopath.Orthatsociopathic

tendenciesmustcoverawidespectrum.Maybebeingasociopathislesslikeaskyscraperhotelwith
cookie-cutterrooms,andmorelikealakesurroundedbyindividualcabins,eachonewithitsown
uniquecharacteristics,butverysimilarviews.

I’mnotsurewhattothink,butIfeelmoreinformed,andlessalone.ThefactthatI’mcomfortedthat

therearethousandsofpeopleintheworldlikemeandGabe—highfunctioning,intelligentpeople
whoenjoybreakingsociety’srules,andrarelyfeelguiltyaboutit—isprobablyconfirmationthatI’m
somewhereonthesociopathspectrum,butbythetimeIsnapthelaptopclosed,I’mtoosleepytocare.

Itrudgeupstairstothebathroom,washmyface,andbrushmyteeth.IchangeintothesleepshirtI

hungonthebackofthedoorthismorning—thepinkoneGabehates—andheadtowardbed,
exhaustiontuggingatthebacksofmyeyes.I’mstilltornupaboutwhathappenedtoday,butI’malso
hopefulthatI’llbeabletogetthroughtoGabetomorrow.AsfarasI’mconcerned,morningcan’t
comesoonenough.

Iopenmydoor,sofocusedongettingmyheadonthepillowthatIdon’tseetheshadowstandingin

thecornerofthedarkenedroomuntilhe’salmostontopofme.

Ifreeze,liftingmyhandstodefendmyselfevenasIopenmymouthtoscream,butthenthereisan

explosionofpainandaflashoflightbehindmylefteye.Theworldgoesfuzzyaroundtheedges,my
kneesturntojelly,andIslidetothegroundwithawhimper,holdingontoconsciousnessjustlong
enoughtohearNedPitt’snasalvoicewhisper—

“You’vebeenabadgirl,MissCooney.”
AndthenIblackout,terrorfollowingmeintothedark.

GabeandCaitlin’sstorycontinuesin

ALoveSoDeadly.

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Acknowledgements

Firstandforemost,thankyoutomyreaders.EveryemailandpostonmyFacebookpagehavemeant
somuch.Ican’texpresshowdeeplygratefulIamforthechancetoentertainyou.

MorebigthankstomyStreetTeam,whoIamconvincedarethesweetest,funniest,kindestgroupof
peoplearound.YouinspiremeandkeepmegoingandI’mnotsureI’dbeone-thirdasproductive
withoutyou.Bigtacklehugstoall.

MorethankstotheFacebookgroupswhohavewelcomedmein,tothebloggerswhohavetakena
chanceonanewbie,andtoeveryonewhohastakentimeoutoftheirdaytowriteandpostareview.

Andofcourse,manythankstomyhusband,whonotonlylovesmewellbutalsosupportsmein
everythingIdo.Idon’tknowhowIgotsolucky,man,butIamhangingontighttoyou.

TellLiliyourfavoritepart!

Ilovereadingyourthoughtsaboutthebooksandyourreviewmatters.Reviewshelpreadersfind
new-to-themauthorstoenjoy.Soifyoucouldtakeamomenttoleaveareviewlettingmeknowyour
favoritepartofthestory—nothingfancyrequired,evenasentenceortwowouldbewonderful—I
wouldbedeeplygrateful.Ifnot,that’scool,too.

AbouttheAuthor

LiliValentehassleptunderthestarsinGreece,eatendinneratmidnightwithFrenchmenwho
couldn’tbetrustedtokeeptheirmouthsontheirfood,andwalkedalonethroughMunich’sredlight
districtafterdarkandlivedtotellthetale.

Thesedaysyoucanfindherwritinginatentbesidethesea,drinkingcoconutwaterandthinking
delightfullydirtythoughts.

Lililovestohearfromherreaders.Youcanreachherviaemailat

lili.valente.romance@gmail.com

orlikeherpageonFacebook

https://www.facebook.com/AuthorLiliValente?ref=hl

Youcanalsovisitherwebsite:

http://www.lilivalente.com/