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PROLOGUE
Greer
14 Years Old
“Someone call the Prosecution Podcast. There’s been a fashion crime.”
“Shut up, Dev,” I shout at my older brother. He’s not wrong, though. The pink frilly dress he’s smirking at makes me feel like a cheap Barbie doll. But I’m wearing it to the dance, and I don’t care what anyone thinks. It’s not like anyone pays attention to me anyway.
He holds his hands up. “No need to shout. Just a little shocked that’s what you’re wearing to the dance. You look about four, not fourteen.”
I push my glasses up my nose and glare at him while he leans against my bedroom doorway. “Well, I’m a little shocked you’re even here. Shouldn’t you be at Roman and Ledger’s house?”
Guilt flashes in his brown eyes before he tucks it away. “Where’s Dad?”
“Drinking in his study.” Like any other day.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
You can curse all you want when there are no adults around to care what comes out of your mouth, but I know she would’ve hated it, so I correct him. “Don’t say that.”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re not my mom.”
The perpetual flutter of butterfly wings in my stomach increases like they do every time I hear that word.
“Well, obviously. But just because she’s dead doesn’t mean you can do things she wouldn’t like.”
He blinks, but the guilt doesn’t leave his eyes. I’ve said the unspeakable, brought up the topic we’re supposed to avoid. The tense air in my room feels like a weight on my chest, suffocating me.
“Greer…” he says, but I bolt past him and hustle down the hallway. My pulse drums a rapid beat in my ears as I sprint down the stairs and fly across the foyer. When I fling the door open, I collide with a hard chest.
“Oomph,” flies out into the still night. “What the…”
I look up into the blue eyes of Roman, Dev’s best friend. “Oh. Sorry.”
He glances down at my dress. “Where are you going all dolled up?”
“Nowhere. I was just trying it on for the dance on Friday.”
His brows raise. “You’re going?”
“Yes. I don’t know. Why?”
“Doesn’t seem like your thing.”
“Well, it is now.”I sidestep him as the butterflies swarm within me, their fluttering now fueled for a reason other than anxiety.
Before I can get off the porch, his long legs move him in front of me. “Seriously, where are you going?”
“For a walk.”
“It’s dark.”
“So.” Dad’s too in his booze to care and won’t even notice I’m not in the house.
His mesmerizing gaze dips down to my bare feet.“You can’t walk around without shoes.”
“I’m just going to the garden.” If he doesn’t move, I’m going to cry in front of him. “Please get out of my way.”
