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PROLOGUE
Oliver
Eight years ago…
I am almost home from school when I see her. A small form, sitting on our front porch, head down, knees up with her arms wrapped around them. It’s Lilly, my younger sister Amy’s best friend and my friend too. We are two years apart in age. I am eighteen, and Lilly is about to turn sixteen. She has been a part of our lives for as long as I can remember. Lilly and Amy have always been inseparable, and because of this, she is like a part of our family. Not that I think of her as a sister, but she has always been special to me. I approach her with caution, not wanting to spook her, as my mind races with questions. Why is she just sitting there, so still? Lilly is usually bouncing around, filled with energy. Is there something wrong with her? I approach her slowly and say in a soft voice, “Hey, Lil?”
Lilly looks up at me with tears swimming in her big blue eyes. And it hits me in the gut like a sucker punch. My heart stops and then races again; something is wrong! I crouch in front of her, asking with a sense of urgency, “Lilly? Are you OK? Are you hurt?”
She gives me a sad half smile and shakes her head. “I’m not hurt, Ol. Do you know where Amy is?”
As she is speaking, I frantically scan her from head to toe, still looking for injuries, and tell her, “Amy is at debate practice this afternoon. She should be home soon.”
At this news, more tears fill her eyes, and seeing it has my stomach twisting and my hands clenching into fists. I am going to find whoever hurt Lilly, and I am going to hurt them back. Feeling protective of her, I sit next to her and, after some hesitation, put my arm around her shoulders. “I’m here now. Want to tell me what’s wrong?”
Lilly lets out a soft sigh and snuggles in closer to me. I close my eyes for a brief moment and take in a deep breath, the scent of Lilly filling my lungs. Coconut and vanilla. She always smells sweet. Maybe it is all the baking she does?
“Zack Petty broke up with me today,” she tells me in a small voice. Zack Petty, the little punk. That’s who I need to find and hurt. How dare he make Lilly cry? And when did she start dating? And why does the thought of this make me feel so unsettled? Lilly is just my friend. Why am I feeling jealous all of a sudden? I get up to pace back and forth, my thoughts making me feel restless. “You’ve been dating Zack?”
Lilly lifts her head to watch me pace, her beautiful face soaked with tears. When did I start thinking of Lilly as beautiful?
“We’ve been together for a few weeks,” she tells me in a shy voice, seeming embarrassed by this information. “And today he dumped me because he wants to ask Bianca Cooke out instead.” At this, she cries again, and I stop pacing to pull her in for another hug. I try to ignore how good she feels in my arms and instead focus on making her feel better.
I squeeze her tight and tell her with complete sincerity, “Zack is a jerk. He does not deserve another tear from you.”
Lilly looks up at me and hiccups into a smile. “You have to say that, Ol. You are my friend, and you must be on my side.” The word friend coming out of Lilly’s mouth feels wrong all of a sudden, but I force myself to move past it to focus on what she is saying.
“Lilly, listen to me. Zack is clearly a terrible guy, with awful judgment if he is choosing to be with someone like Bianca Cooke over you.”
She looks back at me, letting out a disbelieving laugh. “Bianca Cooke is amazing. Her hair is straight, and her skin is flawless. She’s smart and popular and is the captain of the dance team. Bianca is everything I am not.”
I stare at this amazing girl in front of me, taking in her wild, wavy brown hair, her deep-blue eyes, her newly curvy body—which I shouldn’t be noticing so much—and I cannot believe what she is saying. She does not see that she is more incredible, more beautiful, than Bianca Cooke could ever be.
I lift my hand and, with gentle fingers, wipe the tears from her cheek, noticing for the first time how soft her skin is, my fingers tingling as I touch her. This is all kinds of confusing. I clear my throat and lean away from her to gather my thoughts, and we sit together in silence for a bit.
“Ollie, tell me the truth. What is so wrong with me that he would reject me like this?” Lilly asks, breaking the silence and looking at me with her big, sad eyes, and I have to resist the urge to pull her close to me again.
“There is not one thing wrong with you, Lilly Hamilton. You are perfect.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know with complete clarity that Lilly is perfect, the perfect girl for me. And as she smiles at me, a smile that is like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, I am hit with the knowledge that I am in love with my little sister’s best friend. And oh boy, I am totally screwed.
CHAPTER 1
Lilly
Present day…
“Come on, Frankie. Not today. Your time is not up yet, bestie,” I plead with my almost twenty-year-old Honda hatchback. “I just need you to give it one last push. We are almost home.” I sigh as Frankie splutters, lets out her last pained breath, and goes quiet. So this is it. I am officially stranded on the side of the road, in the dark no less, with 0 percent battery life on my phone, questioning again why these things always happen to me. Just last week, I locked myself out of this car (yes, Frankie is one of those old-fashioned gals who still needs a key to get into), and now this. Maybe the union for Honda cars got together and decided to go on strike against just me. Because there is no other way to explain the fact that this car and I are not getting along so well these days. Only two weeks into the new year, and things are going downhill for me. Fast.
I attempt to pull myself together, leaving the internal lectures and plans to make up with the automotive industry for another day, and focus instead on how I am going to get home. I take some small comfort in the fact that I at least managed to get Frankie safely off the road before she gave up her will to live. Given that I know less than nothing about the internal workings of car engines, I dismiss any thoughts of popping the hood and banging about in there. That would just be an exercise in futility. With no other immediate answers coming to mind, and no one in the vicinity to help me, I rest my head on the steering wheel and jump a mile when the horn blares.
“Well, it’s good to know the horn still works,” I mutter to myself while contemplating whether I can create enough noise with my horn to attract some attention. As I am pondering if I should attempt Morse code for SOS using my car horn, a tap on my window has me jumping again.
“Are you OK in there? Do you need some help?”
I groan as I recognise that deep, masculine voice. Of course it would be him. What are the chances of his driving down this particular road at this particular time? The gods are not playing nicely today.
“Oliver,” I say in a casual voice, rolling down my window. “Can I help you?”
“Lilly?” Oliver, my best friend’s older brother, frowns back at me. “Is that you? Are you OK?”
