Page 83

Not just about Milo having feelings for me and me pretending he doesn’t, but about the possibility that maybe, just maybe, I’m the one who has feelings for him.

Shit on a stick. Do I have a crush on Milo Fletcher?

Judging by the way my heart is still pounding in my chest after watching him go down, I think I already know the answer.

Goddamn it.

Now that’s a stupid move, Max. Remember how much hell Peyton put you through just for being Milo’s friend? Can you imagine how much worse it would be if you two actually started dating?

Yes. Yes, I can.

That’s the problem. Peyton would rain hellfire down on me. Life is bad enough as it is, but if she ever got a whiff of my true feelings for her stepbrother, there would be hell to pay.

It’s safe to say that I’m not particularly interested in finding out just how psychotic she could go.

Fuck that.

I can bury these feelings. I mean, I didn’t even know they existed a minute ago. Why give them any importance now?

Yep. That sounds like as good a plan as any. I’ll just bury whatever feelings I have for Milo until they eventually go away.

It’s not like I’m in love with him or anything. Love is for suckers.

I saw what loving my mom did to my dad. How he deteriorated right alongside her when she gave up on herself. How her downward spiral became his until there was barely anything left of either of them.

There’s no way in hell I’ll ever let someone have that kind of power over me.

Nope. Not happening.

I can get over one silly crush in no time.

Just watch me.

Chapter 15

Sunday

Apparently, death is a great motivator for getting words on the page. Who knew?

Ever since brunch was cut short by Jordan’s anaphylactic shock, I’ve been holed up in my room at the B&B, writing up a storm. And considering she’s the second person from my graduating class to die since returning to Fairhope, I should probably be doing something more appropriate, like reflecting on the fragility of life. Maybe even calling someone I care about or just staring solemnly out a window.

Instead, I’ve written four new chapters.

I’m not sure what that says about me as a person, but as an author?

Best writing day I’ve had in months.

Maybe I should feel a certain type of way about my classmates dying. But honestly? I got nothing. I’ll let my therapist unpack that later.

Right now, the words flowing through my fingertips are all I care about.

And boy, are they flowing. It’s almost as if my fingers have a mind of their own, tapping away and creating this whole new world before my very eyes.

I’m not usually the kind of writer who flies by the seat of her pants. I need structure. A plot mapped out beforehand. Bullet points for every chapter so I know exactly which beats I need to hit and what I need to accomplish before moving on to the next.

But this book?

This book apparently doesn’t give a shit about my process.