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“You’ve got to go. We can chat later. Breakfast with Melody! Don’t forget!” I herd him toward the door, my excitement bubbling. Because Aurora’s been writing about me, and I need to know exactly what she thinks of me.
It’s conceited, but whatever. The girl’s not exactly an open book otherwise.
“You’re welcome.” Jacob snorts. “And yeah, sure.”
“We were supposed to do dinner and we didn’t,” I point out. “You owe me. You owe me breakfast for that one time you left me with the bill?—”
“I got it,” Jacob interrupts. “Go read, or whatever. I’ll talk to you later.”
I close the door behind him and flop on the couch, then start reading. And the nerves that hit me come only a moment after the first line. Because once I read this, I don’t think I can go back.
But then again, I don’t want to. Knowledge is power, after all.
I spend my sixteenth birthday in the hospital.
We were on our way to Dad’s summer hockey intensive—he took a job as the assistant coach for the ten and ups—when this weight pressed down on my chest. I couldn’t breathe. My heart raced, but no matter how hard I gasped, nothing brought air into my lungs.
The last thing I remember is my dad’s shout.
And then I wake up in the hospital bed, a monitor attached by cords to my chest, another clip on my finger reading my blood oxygen. It’s quiet before I open my eyes.
I remember the near-silence, the hum of the equipment around me, and it dissipates faster than snapped fingers as soon as I open my eyes.
My parents are on either side of me. Mom is always worried—Dad’s the calm one. But he’s anything but calm now, his brows pinching in, his lips in a tight little line. His normally tan face is pale, and his palms are sweaty. He’s holding on to my hand with both of his in a death grip.
The pages are ripped from my hands.
I look up, shocked to be caught by surprise. Aurora stands over me, positively seething. She snatches up the rest of the pages and cradles them to her chest. Her V-neck sweater clings to her, and her jeans make her hips a focal point. Her cleavage, too, probably, if it wasn’t hidden behind the pages she’s attempting to save from me.
“No,” she yells at me. “No, you don’t get to read my personal thoughts on what happened to us, Knox. You don’t get to torture me and invade my privacy, too. Pick one.”
I stand, ignoring the way blood is rushing to my groin. “I want to know what you’re saying about me.”
“I want you to sign the divorce papers.” She stands tall, but her hands are shaking. The edges of the pages flutter against her. “And yet, you keep telling me no. So you should get used to the word, too.”
“Our situations are different.” I wave her off and stare at her lips. She’s painted them baby pink, a little glossy. Everything about her is designed to test my willpower.
“Yeah,” Aurora sneers. “You ruined my relationship. And your brother’s. And Willow’s, and Joel’s?—”
“Haverhill has nothing to do with this.” I breeze past her for the bedroom. I need to get out of here. Getting caught has made me all itchy on the inside, and I kind of feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t do something.
“Joel has everything to do with this!” Aurora yells, chasing after me. When she rounds the corner into the bedroom, the pages of her manuscript are gone. “I loved him! I was going to marry him?—”
“No you fuckingweren’t!” I shout back. I grab her around the neck and tow her into me. Because she’s been driving me crazy since her orgasm marathon yesterday. I stop an inch away from her lips. “If you were going to marry him, you wouldn’t have just said love in the past tense. And you would’ve chased after him when he snatched his ring off your finger. Instead, you come to yell at me. You whine about how I ruined your life, blah, blah, blah. I saved you from a failing relationship, sunshine. You weren’t in love with him. You might’ve married him, but that’s just because you’re afraid of actually falling in love with someone. Sooner or later you’ll see the truth.”
Her chest heaves. “I hate you.”
“Good. Because I’m going to kiss you, and I expect you to fight back.”
Her eyes light up an instant before I cross that final distance between us. As with all of our arguing that somehow ends in making out, it isn’t gentle. It’s more like war between our mouths. Our teeth clack together, our lips become bloody casualties. Her hands are in my hair, tugging and scraping.
I use my grip on the back of her neck and her hair to angle her head. We crash into the wall, lips fused together. I don’t care about breathing or anything. I shift my hips forward, grinding my erection into her belly.
She gasps against my mouth. I want to fuck her, but I made a promise that I wouldn’t. And now she knows why.
“Did he fuck your ass?” I pull back just enough to catch her expression.
Confused thenfurious. More so than before.
