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“Are you sure?” he asks, his thumb brushing softly over my swollen bottom lip.

Am I sure?

Not even a little bit.

Still, it’s the decision I’ve made, and if I don’t follow through with it now, I’m not sure I’ll have the strength to make it again.

“Yeah. I’m sure,” I whisper, pulling my hand off him.

“Okay.” He studies me for another second before leaning back into his seat.

I suck in a much-needed breath, grateful for the distance between us.

“Give me your address. I’ll drive you home.”

The words come out surprisingly steady. Thank God, because absolutely nothing else about me is.

“That’s okay. I think I’ll stay here for a while,” he says, giving me one of those wistful smiles of his.

Then he leans in, my heart stuttering, convinced he’s going to kiss me again. Instead, he presses the gentlest kiss to my cheek.

“Good night, Max,” he says before getting out of the car.

My hands are still shaking when I turn the key in the ignition. I pull away from the curb and head back toward the B&B.

Before Maple Road disappears behind me, I risk a glance in the rearview mirror.

Milo is sitting on the curb in front of his childhood home, his forearms resting on his knees, staring across the lawn at mine.

Something about the sight cracks my heart wide open.

Maybe I’m not the only one haunted by all the could-have-beens and what-ifs. By what our lives might have looked like if things had gone differently. By who we might have become if we’d been given the chance to find out.

What kind of future we might have had if Peyton Crawford had never come into our lives.

The question follows me all the way back to my room.

And knowing I’ll never have the answer to it will follow me for the rest of my life.

Chapter 16

Fairhope, September 13, 2013

This is a bad idea. Actually, scratch that. This is a monumentally bad idea.

I should be going home. I should be putting as much distance as humanly possible between myself and Milo Fletcher right now so I can start working on my brand-new, extremely sensible plan of getting over my stupid crush.

Instead, I’m following Paige across the school grounds toward the parking lot to wait for the team to come out after their showers. Apparently, I have absolutely no backbone when faced with a girl batting her eyelashes at me and saying, Please? With a cherry on top? I’ll be your best friend for life.

And what’s worse is that I just remembered that tonight is Friday the thirteenth.

I mean, why wouldn’t it be?

If ever there was a night for bad decisions and even worse luck, this would be it.

“I hate you,” I grumble at Paige’s back.

“You’ll get over it,” Paige calls over her shoulder.