For the first time, the heated adoration on his face flickers. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how did you even find me? Did my parents give you the address?”

Michael frowns and takes a step toward me. I step back.

“What are you talking about?” he asks. “You told me to come.”

I blink. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Your texts, Liv. You told me you needed to see me. Said you couldn’t get away, and asked if I could come here—” He breaks off when he sees the truth on my face. “You didn’t ask me to come.”

But I’m barely listening, because a dangerous buzzing has taken over my brain. Very slowly I turn my head to face him.

Only then does Paul emerge from the shadows. “Surprise, darling.” His voice is lethal.

I meet his gaze, and cruel triumph is written all over his features.

The pieces click together as I read his face. I get it now. I get what’s going on. This is some sick revenge plot. I snooped in his business, behind his back—I dragged his ghosts out of the closet without permission.

Now it’s his turn.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Paul

It was ridiculously easy—just a couple of quick texts to the mysterious Michael when Olivia was out for her morning run.

Runs that I once joined her on. Right up until she went and acted just like the rest of them, reading up on me like I was Soldier X instead of Paul.

But that’s not the point. The point is that my instincts about Michael were dead on: not just a friend, but not a boyfriend either, though he wanted to be. It was written all over his whipped face when she came down the stairs.

It’s not Michael’s face I’m looking at now, though. It’s Olivia’s. I was prepared for surprise and anger. No, I was counting on them. It’s the very nature of revenge, after all. But what I see on her perfect features is pure, undiluted agony.

I am an ass. But then, I’ve always known I’m an ass. It’s time she knows it too. And I’m a big fan of the eye-for-an-eye philosophy. She snoops in my business, I snoop in hers. Did I go overboard? Sure. But it was so f**king easy.

I’d assumed that Olivia’s reasons for fleeing New York were a little more interesting that a clichéd love triangle, but when Michael thought it was Olivia asking him to come see her, he responded in about two seconds. He had it bad, and Olivia was avoiding him.

The need to f**k with her life the way she’d f**ked with mine was too great to resist, and now . . . now I regret it. The tension in the foyer is almost palpable, and my plan no longer feels cleverly devious. It feels cruel.

“Olivia.” Michael moves toward her, hand outstretched, and she makes a little sound of dismay.

Instinctively, I start to move between them, but Olivia practically hisses at me.

“Get out,” she snaps at me. “You owe me that much.”

The magnitude of my manipulation is starting to sink in, and I feel like complete shit. Still, I give Michael a warning glance, as though to tell him not to hurt her. But I’m wasting the effort. He only has eyes for her.

I walk toward the door, pausing beside her. I open my mouth to . . . to do what? Apologize? But she doesn’t give me the chance.

“Leave.” She doesn’t even look at me.

I force myself to walk out the door. For one heart-stopping moment, I don’t know how to live with myself.

But then I remember: I’m half dead anyway.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Olivia

Paul leaves without so much as a backward glance, probably gloating that his revenge is going so perfectly according to plan.

I should be relieved to have the hateful guy out of my sight so I can gather my thoughts, but the truth is, Paul is just one part of this nightmare. A big part, to be sure. And he’s the catalyst. The fact that he would go through the effort of texting Michael with the sole intention of revenge makes me realize there’s a whole level of bastard in him that I didn’t know existed.

Having a moment of space from him should give me a moment to catch my breath. But I can’t seem to breathe.

Gathering my courage, I lift my chin and look at my former best friend. It’s only the second time Michael and I have been alone together since that horrible day when Ethan walked into Michael’s bedroom and saw me making out with his best friend.

Yeah. Forget pinning a scarlet A on my shirt. I deserve a tattoo. On my face.

Paul has no idea just how much he went for the jugular by forcing me to face Michael again.

But still . . . Michael came. He came all the way from New York to Maine for me, when I’ve been ignoring his texts for weeks. I have to know why, even though I think I already know.

“Why’d you come?” I ask. “I mean, I get that you thought it was me asking, but even then . . . it’s a lot of effort.”

His gaze is hot. Longing. “Because I care about you. And I need you to know how much.”

My heart rips. “Don’t. Don’t do this.”

“It’s been a long time coming, Liv,” Michael grinds out. “You never let me explain.” I see pain flash in his familiar brown eyes.

It’s the same pain I felt when Ethan removed himself from my life without so much as a backward glance. Michael and I f**ked up. I mean, we really, really f**ked up, and there’s absolutely no excuse for it. But Ethan never gave us the chance to explain. We can’t make it right, ever, but we didn’t even have the chance to tell someone we loved that we were sorry.