In the book, after the big betrayal, the girl leaves. She cries, she curses him, she even threatens to out him on social media. But then, on the last page, he shows up in her apartment. He brings her a bouquet of blue irises, and he begs for forgiveness. He tells her, “I was lost until you let me ruin you, Angel. Please let me ruin you again.” He says he’ll never write another book if she doesn’t come back.
She says yes, obviously, because it’s a fucking romance novel and it needs a happily ever after. But the way Talon writes it, the apology is more than words. It’s body language, it’s longing, it’s the terrible, lonely ache of wanting someone so bad you’d rewrite the past just to change the future. The last paragraph is about them slow-dancing in her living room, the world outside blurring into a white-out, just the two of them, forever.
I start crying at the ending. Not ugly sobs, just a slow, steady stream of tears, the kind that sneak up on you and suddenly you’re drowning.
I close the book, let my head fall back against the wall. The dawn is coming up outside, the first yellow light pooling in the alley between buildings. I feel empty, but also full, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with either.
I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my hoodie and crack my neck, trying to shake the hangover of memory.
I flip back to the author bio, thinking maybe it will help, maybe it’ll give me some closure. There’s a picture of Talon, this time in a blue flannel, leaning against a birch tree, a smirk curving the corner of his mobile mouth. The bio is a two-sentence nothing: “Talon McKnight lives in a cabin, where he enjoys single-malt scotch and vintage crossword puzzles. This is his first romance novel.”
There. That’s it. I’m done. But as I close the book, a scrap of paper slips out. It’s printed in black ink, the edges rough cut.
It says:
MEET TALON MCKNIGHT
AUTHOR READING & SIGNING
CENTURY PAGES – NEXT TUESDAY @ 7PM
I stare at it, mouth open, the room tilting slightly. He’s coming to campus? But why? Surely, Talon McKnight is far too famous to do a reading here, at tiny Century College.
The novel slips out of my hands, landing with a thump on the rumpled sheets. I have a week to decide if I want to see him again.
For the first time in months, my body doesn’t feel like a prison.
For the first time in months, I wonder if there’s a story left for us after all.
15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN – ADVICE FROM A FRIEND
Kat
If you put a stethoscope to my chest right now, you’d hear the sound of hummingbird wings and a lit fuse. I’m pacing my room in six-foot intervals, phone jammed to my ear, the floor creaking beneath every bare step. There’s a heap of dirty laundry on one side, a litter of highlighters and ripped sticky notes on the other, and in the middle, the hardcover copy ofAngel’s Sharelike a live grenade on my pillow.
Simone is on the line, voice tinny with the long echo of distance, or maybe just the weight of everything I’m about to confess.
“Sim, it’s psycho,” I hiss, eyes fixed on the book. “He wrote the whole damn thing, but with, like, actual depictions of our sex scenes. The names are changed, sure, but it’s me. It’s literally me, down to the crooked tooth and the way I trip on words when I’m nervous.”
There’s a pause as she chews this over, probably with her favorite mechanical pencil wedged between her teeth. “Wait, are you telling me it’s word-for-word your life?”
I flop onto the bed, phone still glued to my cheek, and grab the book one-handed. The weight of it is ridiculous—like a black box for a crashed plane, every secret encoded in dense, perfect ink.
“It’s everything,” I say, throat dry. “Talon’s got the part where I showed up at the cabin, and how we met each other. But it’s not just that. He’s also got the first role-play, the one where I wore the plaid skirt and pretended to be his student. It’s on page twenty-six. I nearly swallowed my tongue reading it.”
Simone giggles. “That’s iconic. OMG, so dirty. Did you say it’s online yet? Can I get a Kindle version?”
I shake my head.
“No, I picked up an actual hardback because it just came out.”
“Okay, okay, read it to me then,” she begs. “This is gonna be good.”
My face goes instantly hot. “No way! Are you kidding?”
“Kat. You can’t call me at ten p.m. on a school night and not give me the filth. Give me the smut or hang up.”
