The beat of her heart is hitting my chest, and I can feel her body slowly get stable as her breathing calms.

What am I going to do with this girl? Just when I think I have her figured out, she pulls at me a little more.

Just when I think I can’t stand her, and I can leave, never looking back, I turn right around and want to make sure nothing hurts her.

Her arms, hugged close to her body as I hold her, start to drop as she pulls away from me.

She raises her eyes, looking a little embarrassed and not saying anything as she kneels down, grabbing her backpack.

Standing up, she purses her lips and looks around.

The alarm stops, and I have no idea what’s happening out there—if they think we left out the door or what—but she’s not leaving yet.

“You don’t tell anyone about tonight, and I won’t tell anyone you were here, either,” she says. “Got it?”

She turns to leave, but I grab her hand. “I think people would enjoy this version of you.”

“My friends would hate me.”

“They already hate you. Everyone does.”

For a split-second, I see a frown cross her face, but it quickly disappears. She faces me, a light brown eyebrow arched in defiance.

“Why fake it?” I charge. “Why compete with people and play the games?”

She takes a step, trying to leave, but I pull her back. “Don’t walk away from me.”

“This is none of your business!” she whisper-yells, yanking her hand free and scowling at me. “You don’t know me.”

“Does anyone?”

She looks away, her eyes suddenly glistening. After a moment, she speaks, her voice low. “I don’t want to be alone,” she admits. “They may hate me, but they respect me. I can’t be invisible or laughed at or….” She trails off and then continues. “I don’t know why. I just never had the courage to stand apart. I always wanted to fit in.”

“Everyone wants to be accepted, Ryen.” Does she think no one’s ever had those same feelings? “Why do you write on the walls?”

She stands there, staring off and looking like she’s struggling to find words.

“Misha…” she says, trailing off again.

I tense, my heart picking up pace.

But then she shakes her head, letting the thought go. “It doesn’t matter. I just had ways to vent before, a way to be heard, and now I don’t. I just started doing it a couple of months ago.”

A couple of months ago. Shortly after I stopped writing her.

I blink long and hard.

The fake friends, the hovering parent, the worry and stress of wanting to fit in just like most any other person out there… I was her bouncing board.

I was so caught up in my own loss and anger, I never stopped to think how suddenly abandoning her after seven years would hurt her. Not that I’m responsible for her actions, but I am responsible for mine. She relied on me.

“Why are you here?” she asks, turning it around on me.

I look at the duffel bag in my hand, unashamed I needed a shower, but then that answer would lead to more questions. Why am I living at the Cove? Where are my parents?

“Mmmm,” she gloats, a fake smile on her pretty face. “So others have to own up to you, but not the other way around, huh?” She backs away toward the stairs. “My mom is only a phone call away. I’ll get taken straight home with a slap on the wrist. Hope you enjoy your long, hard night in a cold cell,” she taunts and then calls over her shoulder. “Oh, Mr. Security Guard? Help!”

She spins around, and I reach out and grab her, pulling her back into me. “Shut up!” I growl, clamping a hand over her mouth.

But she immediately slams her elbow into my stomach, trying to get away, and I stumble backward, pulling her with me. She loses her footing, falls into me, and we both tumble to the floor.

I grunt, my back hitting the ground and my arms still around her struggling body. She lies on top of me, her back against my chest.

She squirms, trying to get away, the friction of her ass pressing into my groin. I tense, heat blanketing me.

Fuck.

She pulls my hand away, gritting under her breath. “Let me go.”

“Stop moving then.”

“You don’t get to judge me,” she goes on, turning her face to me, her breath falling on my cheek. “Or jerk me around or make demands. I’m none of your business.”

Her body struggles in my arm, and her ass rubs against me again, making me groan.

But then I hear something.

I take her jaw, forcing her still as I whisper against her ear. “Shhh.”

She suddenly stills, and we both stop breathing as the guards enter the library.

I catch a flash of light through the stacks and hear keys jingle. They’re talking, but I can’t hear what they’re saying.

Ryen casts a worried look up to me, and I stare back, holding her gaze.

“What are you going to do?” I whisper low, for only us to hear as I search her eyes. “You gonna turn me in?”

She lies there, breathing in and out but not making a move. My arm around her waist tightens, and I can’t stop myself from moving my thumb over the skin of her jaw.

Her eyes—those blue eyes—have a dozen different emotions going on in them when she looks at me. She can say the nastiest things, but if I see fear or sadness in her eyes, I’m done for.

Her rash guard has ridden up in the struggle, and a few inches of skin is exposed. I slowly slide my fingers over her stomach, watching as her eyelids flutter closed.