“I don’t know,” I told her truthfully. I had spent the entire night doing everything I could not to replay that kiss in my mind. And to ignore her uniform . . . her goddamn shirt was so tight I could see every bump, every curve, every part of her.

   Leaning down, I rubbed my nose against her cheek, followed by my lips. Her breath caught on a gasp, and she held it. She must have sensed it, too. Whatever this was between us. I felt her hands on my stomach as she gripped my shirt. I had her pressed up against her car by the time my lips moved to her jaw. “Blake,” she whispered.

   My tongue grazed across her skin. “Mmm?”

   She tilted her head, inviting me to keep going.

   I started kissing her neck. When she let out a soft whimper, I was certain she wanted the same thing. My hand moved from her hip, to her thigh, gripping it and lifting it off the ground so I could get between her legs. My other hand settled on the back of her head. Fingers curled in her hair, I pulled back slightly, dipping her head back so I could see her lips. Her eyes were half-hooded, and even in the darkness, I could see the lust filling them. My mouth descended, aiming for hers.

   “Blake,” she said again. Louder and firmer this time.

   Her hands on my stomach flattened, and she pushed me away.

   “What?” I asked, confused as all fuck.

   She straightened up, adjusting her top. She pulled it lower, which only revealed more of her cleavage. Then, her words were like being doused with a cold bucket of water. “How’s Hannah?”

   She got into her car without a word and drove off. Even after my dick move, I was still worried that she was too tired to drive, so I decided to follow her home. Only she didn’t go home. She drove to the restaurant we had gone to on Saturday night. But instead of going into the basement, she rang a buzzer next to the door. A minute later, Clayton, in nothing but his boxer shorts, opened the door for her. They greeted each other wordlessly, and she stepped inside.

   I waited half an hour, like a stalker, for her to come back out. She never did. I drove home, but I couldn’t sleep. I replayed the night in my head over and over again. The thought of her sleeping with that Clayton asshole—kissing him, fucking him—I wanted to throw up.

   I finally ended up going for a run. I skipped school and hung out with Josh the next day. I didn’t want to see her, not when I couldn’t speak to her.

   Hannah called.

   Eighteen times.

   I never answered.

CHAPTER SEVEN

   Chloe

   “Busted.”

   I froze in the hallway and looked over to see Mary sitting on the sofa, book in hand. “Crap.”

   Her eyes narrowed, and it seemed that she was trying to keep her voice firm when she said, “You’re supposed to be at school, young lady.”

   “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” I said, though we both knew that wasn’t true.

   Mary and Dean weren’t too strict with me. We had agreed that I would graduate and that what I did after that was up to me. They knew what my plans were for afterwards, and they supported them. The only rule was that I check in enough while I was there so that they knew I was safe, and I always made sure to do that.

   I slumped down next to her. She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed tight. “Did you stay at Clayton’s?”

   “Yeah.”

   “How is he?”

   “He’s good. Lisa’s coming home from Savannah for the weekend so he’s excited about that.”

   “Is she still enjoying it there?”

   I nodded.

   “And you?” she asked, releasing her hold. “How are you?”

   “Good,” I answered, even though I knew it wouldn’t be enough.

   And right on cue, “Chloe.” I saw what was coming next; I’d been expecting it for a while. “You just seem to be getting more and more distant lately, and I understand that. I do. But we miss you.”

   “I know,” I said quietly.

   She sighed and changed the subject. “So how was work?” She smiled widely, in such a way that I knew she knew something I didn’t.

   “What do you know?” My grin matched hers. I couldn’t control it. I loved Mary and everything about her. I was so, so grateful that I had ended up there, with her and Dean, when things could’ve turned out so much worse.

   “Who was that boy that was here Sunday morning? Are you guys dating?”

   And just like that my mood switched. “No, we’re not dating. Honestly, I just met him that night.”

   “Are you working with him?”

   My eyes snapped to hers. “How—”

   “I’ve seen him there before . . . when we’ve taken the kids. I’m not a perv.” She smirked. “But it’s hard not to notice a boy like that.” A part of me wanted to laugh and agree with her, but an even bigger part of me was afraid. She took my nonresponse and ran with it. “Does he go to your school?”

   “I don’t know. Maybe.” I shrugged and stood up. “I’m going to school; I should at least show up for a class or two.” I swiftly exited the room, then climbed the stairs faster than normal. If she had more questions, she kept them to herself. She knew I wouldn’t want to hear them.

   I knew my future.

   I knew my fate.

   And I knew that I had absolutely no control of any of it. I’d learned to accept that and be thankful for what I did have. The things most people took for granted were the things I made sure to pay special attention to: sunrises and sunsets; driving with the top down—or just driving at all; being able to wake up and know that it was safe to play outside with the kids, and, in a world populated by dictators and strewn with war zones, I wasn’t surrounded by any of them. What I was surrounded by was an uncertain future. One in which I couldn’t muster the courage to have hopes and dreams. Because I knew they were unattainable. That part—I could live with.

   But what I hated about the uncertainty was my inability to form meaningful relationships. Not so much with guys but with Mary and Dean and all the kids that came through there. The only one I had let in was Clayton, and that was because he had been there with me, helping to build the walls around both of us.

   I couldn’t—and I wouldn’t—let anyone else close.

   So when Mary had brought up Blake, I’d frozen and I’d shut down.

   Because over the years of building walls and living my life one day at a time, I’d learned to accept my fate and never hope for more than what I had. I’d never questioned the way I thought about my life.