Ella


I wake up to the smell of bacon and eggs. It’s been a while since I had a good breakfast and my mouth instantly salivates. Stumbling out of bed, I pull a pair of jeans on, noticing that Micha took the garbage out, probably to get rid of the notebook.


“It should bother me,” I say to myself, slipping a long-sleeved thermal shirt over my head. “But it doesn’t. God, is my head really that messed up?”


I wander out into the kitchen. Micha’s mom is cooking over the stove as pans sizzle. Her blonde hair is in a bun and she’s wearing a pink sweatpants suit. A guy, at least ten years younger than her, is at the table reading the sports section of the newspaper and drinking juice. His brown hair is thick except for a small bald spot on the top and he has dark circles under his hazel eyes.


“Good morning, sweetie,” Miss Scott greets me with a cheery smile. “Would you like some breakfast?”


I glance at the stranger at the table, who makes me nervous as he evaluates me. “Umm… where is Micha and everyone else?”


She stabs the bacon with a fork and turns it over. “They went outside. Micha’s really excited that his dad paid to get his car fixed, I think… It was really nice of him.”
“Shit.” I don’t mean to say it aloud and Miss Scott looks at me perplexedly.


“Are you alright?” she asks, scrapping the eggs around in the pan with a spatula.


I snatch one of Micha’s jackets off the hanger near the back door and step outside, not answering her. There is no way in hell he could be excited about that.


Outside, the air is below freezing and sends me into a shivering frenzy. My boots crunch against the snow as I hike to the garage where the Chevelle is parked. The once smashed in side is now as smooth as silk, repainted a smokin’ black, with a cherry red racing strip down the hood. It’s in racing condition but only because of Micha’s father.


“Can you believe he fucking did this?” Micha’s sharp voice surprises me and I whirl around, nearly falling on my ass as my shoes slip on a patch of ice.


Micha’s hand snaps out to catch me, but he slants sideways, losing balance. I grab the hem of his jacket and get my footing for the both of us.


Clutching onto my shoulder with one hand, Micha grasps the beer in his hand like it’s the most important thing in the world. “My father thinks he can pay me off.”


“What do you mean?” I ask, letting go of his arm and turning back to the car.


He strolls around me and jumps up from the ground, knocking some icicles off the trimming of the garage roof. “He sent my mom some money after I helped him out with his little thing to fix up my car as a thank-you.”


I’m unsure how to approach the situation. “Well, I guess it was kind of nice of him. I mean, at least he did something good.”


His aqua eyes are as cold as the ice beneath our feet. “I’d rather him have call me, at least then he’d be acknowledging my existence. But instead he sends my mom a fucking card.” Wrestling a piece of paper out of his pocket, he throws it in my direction, but it makes it only half way between us and falls to the snow.


I swipe it up, dust the snow off it, and open the card. Please use this money to fix Micha’s car up like we talked about on the phone and tell him thank you for helping me. It was a very nice thing he did, and my family and I are grateful for it.


“His family and he are grateful.” He kicks the tire with the tip of his boot and chucks the beer bottle at the wall, and it shatters all over the cement. “He’s a fucking asshole. Like I’m not his family.”


I set the card down on the hood and open my arms to give him a hug, but he backs away. “I just need a moment, okay? Can you go inside or something?”


He’s more wasted than I thought. Up close, the red lines in his glossy eyes are visible and his cheeks are flushed. His hair is sticking up, like he’s dragged his hands through it multiple times. There’s anger in his eyes that only an excessive amount of alcohol can bring out.


“Okay, I’ll be inside if you need me.” I trek for the door, but pause at the steps, noticing that Ethan’s truck is gone. I turn back to Micha to ask where he went, but he’s shutting the garage door as he pulls out another beer from the pack on the shelf, locking away the world as he buries his pain in alcohol.


I think about confronting him—about his drinking problem and pushing me away—but when I make it to the bedroom, exhaustion overtakes my body and I fall onto the mattress, wondering why I came here in the first place.


Depression and anxiety are the devil. Anything can trigger them and flip my mood in a heartbeat. Luckily, Anna taught me to notice when I’m sinking into the hole of despair that can turn into a bottomless pit. She taught me how to realize when it’s taking over and how to fight the darkness. If I work at it, I can get ahold of the light again. But it’s all about pushing through my dark thoughts and not giving up.


About thirty minutes later, I push my way back into the light and storm out of the house, marching straight for the garage. Ethan’s truck is in the driveway and there are footprints leading to the garage.


I shove open the door and step inside. Ethan and Micha are sitting on the hood, with their boots propped up on the front bumper and beers in their hands. Lila is talking on her phone in the corner with her finger pressed to her ear as she attempts to block out their chatter.


Micha’s eyes connect with mine and the rawness in his face almost shies me away. “Hey, where’d you go?” He stumbles off the hood and, with his long legs, strides toward me.


He’s wearing a gray thermal shirt with a tiny hole in the hem and his black jeans are secured around his hips with a studded belt. His hair’s a mess, his eyes lost, and the smile on his face means trouble is about to start.


His hand seeks my waist, but I edge back. “We need to talk.”


Ethan glances at me with his black hair in his eyes and his face carries a warning. “Ella, just let it be.”


“You don’t know what I’m going to say,” I tell him. “So stay out of it.”


“Yeah, but you’ve got that tone like you’re about to bring up something personal and he can’t deal with personal right now.” He shoves the sleeves of his green shirt up and lies back on the hood with his hands behind his head.


Micha blinks confusedly at me. “Wait, what’s up?”


Ethan’s made me nervous so I back down and head for the cooler. “It’s nothing. I can’t even remember what I was going to say.”


He grabs my elbow and reels me into his chest. “Let’s go do something really, really fun.”


I try to squirm away. “I don’t want to.”


His forehead furrows as he scratches the back of his neck. “Why are you acting funny?”


“I’m not.” I bend my arm out of his grip. “I just don’t like that you’re drunk.”


“Why? I’ve been drunk plenty of times.”


“I know and that’s the problem.” I bite down on my tongue. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”


His eyes burn with rage. “You get drunk just as much as I do.”


I shake my head. “That’s not true.”


“It’s completely true,” he snaps and the loudness of his voice causes me to jump. “You drink as much as I do, whether it’s for fun or because you’re trying to bury something. It’s what we’ve all been doing since we were fourteen.”


“Hey, don’t bring me into this,” Ethan argues, climbing off the hood. “I cleaned up my shit.”


“No, you didn’t.” Micha trips over the laces of his boots and slams into one of the shelves, knocking tools and car parts to the ground. Lila’s eyes bulge as she hangs up her phone. “You still drink when you feel like shutting down—all of us do.”


A silent moment builds around us as our breath fogs out and we take in the realization that he’s right. We all started drinking around the age of fourteen. It began as curiosity, but the older we got, the more we used it as an escape from the reality of our lives.


“Well, I’m done,” I finally say, surrendering up my hands as I back toward the door.


“I’m done with you too!” he yells, red faced. “I’m sick of your fucking mind games and problems. I’m sick of it and I want out.”


My hands fall lifelessly to my side. “I meant I was done with drinking, but it’s nice to know where you stand.”


“Ella, he didn’t mean that. He’s just drunk, so stop acting crazy and get over it,” Ethan interrupts, shaking his head at Micha. “You better get your shit together right now, man.”


Micha glares at Ethan. “Stay out of this.” He turns back to me, but I’m already out the door.


He doesn’t follow me as I run down the street. The wind blows in my hair and stings at my cheeks as I try to flee from the hurt and pain, but anxiety nips at my heels.


Micha has never gotten that mad at me. Ever. It’s like a knife to the heart and I don’t know how to pull it out. It hurts everywhere.


When I reach the corner, I slow down and try to regain control of my thoughts. I take my phone out of my pocket and dial Anna’s number.


She answers after four rings and a piano plays in the background. “Hello.”


“Hi, Anna, this is Ella.” I feel bad for calling her when it’s obvious she’s with her family.


After a few seconds I hear a door close and the noise quiets. “What’s wrong?”


I stare up at the graffiti on the street sign. “I did something you told me not to do… I confronted Micha about his drinking problem.”


“And what happened?”


“He said some… stuff.”


She pauses. “What kind of stuff? Hurtful stuff?”


“Lots of stuff. And yes, it hurts.” I press my hand to my aching heart as I hunch over. “Really bad.”


“And what does the pain make you want to do?” she asks as a car drives by and splashes slush up from the street. “Ella, where are you?”


“I’m standing on the corner of the street and all I want to do is run,” I admit. “I want to cry… I want to scream.”


“So scream,” she encourages. “Go ahead. Let it all out.”


“But I’m on the street.” I glance up the road at an older couple walking down the sidewalk. “And there are people around.”


“So what?” she says. “Don’t worry about them. Just let it all out—let the worry and pain go. Don’t hold it in, Ella. We’ve talk about that.”


Feeling like an idiot, I open my mouth and let out a quiet scream.


“You can do better than that,” she insists. “Really scream, Ella.”


Sucking in a deep breath, I give it all I got, letting it all out, and it echoes for miles.


After I clear the congestion out of my chest, I walk down the road toward Cherry Hill where the cemetery is located, thinking about the people I’ve lost. My mom and Grady, both were taken out of my life way too early.


A crisp layer of snow coats the tombstones and trees, the grass is buried, and icicles hang from the fence. Walking up to the leafless tree in front of my mother’s grave, my shoes fill with snow and my nose turns pink. I bend down and brush a bunch of snow from the top of her grave.
I read out loud the words that are far too simple to sum her up. “Maralynn Daniels, loving mother and wife.” There was no mention of her struggle or how she got dealt a shitty hand at life.


My thoughts drift back to a conversation she and I had when I was about fifteen. We were watching television, although she was dazing off a lot and not paying attention.


“Why do you think I’m this way?” she asked abruptly with a contemplative look on her face.


I turned the volume of the television down. “What do you mean, Mom?”


She stared at the wall as if it had held the answers to life. “Why can’t I escape the dark thoughts, like everyone else? Why can’t I think the same as everyone?”


I racked my brain for a good answer to give her. “I don’t think everyone thinks the same, Mom. Everyone’s different.”


“Yeah, but why do some people get it easy?” She looked at me and her green eyes were huge, like she was hypnotized. “They just walk through life without problems.”


I let out a slow breath, knowing my words were going to be important to her. “Everyone has their problems, Mom. It’s just that some people’s are harder.” I inched toward her and the fear in her eyes began to subside. “I think the people who go through more can end up stronger in the long run. They have insight in to what a lot of people don’t have and a better understanding—they can be more open-minded.”


The corners of her mouth tipped upward and she gave me a rare smile. “You’re a smart girl, Ella May, and I believe that one day you’ll grow up to do great things… I really hope you do.”


The knots in my stomach began to unwind. I’d said the right thing and she was relaxed and happy, which had been my goal. I thought I’d made an impact on her, but it turned out I was wrong.


“I’m sorry, Mom,” I whisper to her grave. “I really am… Sometimes I feel like I owe you my happiness.”


The wind rustles around me, whispering through my hair. I sit down in front of the tombstone and sit with her grave in silence, promising myself I’ll come back and visit often, vowing she won’t be forgotten.


I don’t see Micha for the rest of the night. I sleep in the same room with Lila and then sneak out of the house before Micha wakes up from his drunken stupor. I’m not really mad at him anymore for drinking. What he said was true. We all do it to hide our pain and we all need to stop. But his harsh words still haunt me.


Lila and I go out to my garage and I start up my dad’s Firebird so we can go get some lunch. My dad keeps a spare key under the visor, but the car’s been sitting for so long that it takes forever to start. Finally I get the engine to roar to life and then let it run for a while as I tromp through the snow looking for a way to get into the house.


Lila follows me, zipping up her coat, and then she slips on her gloves. “It is so cold here.”


“I know.” I peer up at the frosted window of the kitchen, noticing that it’s not completely shut. “Well, I think I found our way in, although it’s going to be equally as cold in there since the damn window’s probably been open for months.”


I step back from the window and my phone beeps from inside my pocket, alerting me that I have a text message.


Blake: Whatcha doin?


I hesitate then text back.


Me: Trying to break into my house.


Blake: Sounds fun.


Me: Not really.


Blake: I’m just kidding. So what else are you doing? Anything fun? I was thinking of bailing out on my dad a few days early and going back to the campus. When are you going back? Maybe we cold meet up and get some coffee or something.


“Who is it?” Lila peers over my shoulder at the screen and her nose scrunches. “Oh my God, is he seriously texting you?”


I sigh, locking the screen so it shuts off. “I told him he could.”


Lila tsks me with a wave of her finger. “El, I’m warning you now to back off this supposed friendship with that guy. You’re only going to end up in a mess.”


“It is just a friendship.” I move away from the window and toward the car. “And besides, you encouraged it once so you could get a ride from him.”


“And I regret it.” She follows after me, slipping on the ice a few times. “I saw him talking to you at the gas station and there was nothing but lust in his eyes… and now he doesn’t even have a girlfriend so there’s nothing stopping him.”


“You know, I’m regretting telling you that,” I say. “And it doesn’t matter anyway. Even if he did like me I would never do anything with him.”


She grabs my arm and forces me to look at her. “Walk away from this right now. Blake is hot and you two have that whole art thing going on. You may not think anything could happen, but sometimes stuff just does. Trust me.”


“Are you speaking from experience?” I ask as my phone beeps with another text message.


Blake: I didn’t scare u off, did I… look, I know you have a boyfriend, so I’m not proposing a date. Just going to get coffee as two fellow artists who love coffee.


“I’ve had plenty of experiences with this crap,” Lila continues, letting go of my arm. “I’ve had many guys accidently get caught up in the moment and slip up. And I know plenty of girls who have done it too. And you’re so lucky, Ella. You really are. Please, for the sake of all women, just get away from Blake and focus on the beautiful relationship you have in front of you.”


“After what happened yesterday, you still think it’s beautiful?” I ask doubtfully.


“You two fighting makes it more beautiful.” She sighs and her breath fogs out. “I also know that right now you’re mad and the last thing you want to be doing is texting some guy who has a crush on you. You might do something stupid.”


“I’m not mad at Micha. Just upset with… stuff.”


“Same difference.”


Sighing, I text Blake back.


Me: I’m going to be here until the end of winter break. Maybe I’ll c u when I get back.


He doesn’t respond and Lila and I get into the car with the heater blasting at our faces. I don’t really care whether Blake texts me back or not. He was a nice friend, but that was it. My thoughts revolve around a much bigger issue: when I face Micha and tell him it’s over.


Micha


Something wet hits me in the face and I jump up with my fist raised in front of me.


“Settle the fuck down.” Ethan stands over me with a cup in his hand. “It’s just water.”


I wipe my face with the sleeve of my shirt. “What the fuck are you doing?”


He sets the cup down on top of my dresser. “Well, you’ve been asleep for about fourteen hours and so I thought I’d make sure you were still alive.”


Clutching my throbbing head, I check the time on the clock mounted on my wall beside the window. It’s early morning and snow flutters outside.


“What happened?” I swing my legs over the side of the bed, preparing to get up, but a bitter taste in my throat forces me to lie back down.


“Well, you drank practically all the alcohol in the house,” Ethan says, crossing his arms. “And then you ruined your relationship with almost everyone you know, besides me, but that’s because I don’t give a shit.”


I rake my hand through my hair and roll to my side. “What about Ella?”


“That one is probably the worst.” He messes with an alarm clock on my nightstand, rotating the nob on the back.


I turn back around. “Why? What’d I say?”


He makes air quotes and says, “ ‘I’m sick of your fucking mind games and problems.’ ”


I drape my arm across my face as I shake my head. “God damn it. What was I thinking… God fucking damn it!” I punch the headboard and then wince when my knuckles pop.


He props the clock up beside the lamp. “You were drunk, which was the reason the fight started. Ella doesn’t want you drinking so much anymore and I have to agree with her. Yes, we all drink, but it seems like you do it more as a coping mechanism than the rest of us. In fact, you’ve kind of been doing it a lot lately.”


I peer up at him from underneath my arm. “Dude, what the hell have you been reading? You sound like a psychiatrist.”


He backs up toward the doorway with a grin on his face. “How to clean up your best friend’s drunken mistakes. Now, get your ass out of bed, so you can go patch things up with Ella before she runs away again.”


I kick the blanket off me and sway to the side as I get to my feet. “She ran off… She’s gone?”


“Calm down.” Ethan rolls his eyes. “After you yelled at her, she ran to the end of the street, but came back. She bunked up with Lila last night. I guess she doesn’t have a key to her own house, which is weird.”


“It’s not weird.” I signal at him to get out as I grab a pair of clean jeans from my dresser drawer. “Her dad and brother are assholes.”


Giving an agreeing nod, he leaves the room and shuts the door. My stomach aches and my head feels like it’s going to explode, but most of the pain lies in my heart.


I was the only one in Ella’s life who’d never done anything to intentionally hurt her, but now I’m not.


“She’s not answering her phone,” I mutter, pacing the living room floor. The carpet is old and brown and has holes in it, and the walls are this icky shade of green that resembles puke. “What if she’s run off again?”


“Dude, settle down.” Ethan peels open a cheese stick and sinks back into the leather sofa that’s missing an arm. “I texted Lila and she says they’re just out getting some lunch.”


Rubbing my forehead, I plop down into the recliner and kick an empty soda bottle out of the way so I can put my feet up on the table. “God, why is our relationship always so up and down?”


Ethan peels at the string cheese and rolls his eyes. “Because you both have problems, yet you won’t talk to each other about them because you want to spare one another the pain.”
I steal a handful of candy from the dish my mom set out on the coffee table. “Again, what have you been reading? Because you’re seriously on a roll today.”


He crumbles the wrapper up and tosses it onto the table. “I’ve just been around you both forever and I have eyes. Plus, my mom does that shit all the time with my dad. She lets him get away with anything just because she’s afraid of confrontation.”


“Is that what we do?” I mull it over.


His eyes widen in mockery. “Um, yeah. It’s what you’ve been doing since you were kids.” He stands up, dusting some crumbs off his jeans. “Maybe if you two would just be completely honest with one another for once, you’d be okay. I have to go. My mom wants me to pick up a fucking ham for dinner.” Sliding his keys out of his pocket, he departs for the back door. “It’s the day before Christmas, for God sakes. I don’t know how she thinks I’m going to find one.”


“You’re a wise man, Ethan,” I call out, knowing I’m going to annoy him and myself a little, but it needs to be said. “Thanks for spelling it out for me.”


“Don’t get all weird on me because I said what I think.” He steps outside and then the door slams.


I flip through the channels, restless, until the back door creaks open. My mom and Thomas walk in.


“Hey, man, what’s up?” He nods his head at me as he takes a seat in the sofa. He has a pair of cargo pants on, brown work boots, and there’s a stain on his white shirt. “Are you watching the game?”


I toss the remote down on the coffee table. “Do I look like someone who would be watching the game?”


He looks at the tattoo on my arm, the piercing in my lip, and my black shirt and jeans. “Umm… I don’t know.”


Forcing back an eye roll, I leave the couch and meet up with my mom in the kitchen. “Okay, so I don’t get it.”


She’s unloading a sack of groceries into the fridge and peeks up of over the fridge door. “Don’t get what?”


I motion my thumb over my shoulder at the living room where Thomas is channel surfing. “He seems like an idiot.”


“He’s really nice, Micha.” She rummages around in a plastic bag on the counter and takes out a few cans of pumpkin. “And he makes me happy.”


I eye her white button-down shirt that’s tied at the waist and her jeans with diamond studs on them. “He’s making you dress weird.”


“So I’m dressing younger.” She lifts her chin up with confidence. “I lost a lot of my youth and if I want to have fun now then I can.”


“Because you had me?” I steal a bag of chips from her hand. “Or because of dad?”


She shakes her head as I pop the bag open. “No, you were the best thing that ever happened to me. I lost my youth because of my choices, but now I’d like to make the choice to get some of it back and enjoy life a little.”


I cast a glance back at Thomas, who’s laughing at something on the television. “With him?”


She closes the cupboard. “With him.”


I grab a handful of chips, making a mess on the floor. “Fine, if that’s what you want right now then I’ll back down.” I pop my knuckles. “But if he hurts you, I’m punching him in the face.”


She ruffles the top of my head tolerantly like I’m still a kid, then takes out two beers from the fridge and heads for the living room. “And if you’re wanting to make up with Ella, you should know that I just saw her climb inside the window to her house.”


I pick up the chips I dropped on the ground. “How did you know we were fighting?”


She laughs. “Honey, when you two fight the whole world knows.”


I have no idea what she means, but I slip my jacket on and step outside into the freezing cold. Snow drifts down from the sky and coats the ground as I hike over to the chain-link fence. The metal freezes the palms of my hands as I hop over it and knock on the back door.


After two knocks, Lila answers. She has on pink boots with fur on top, a coat, a hat, and a scarf. “Yes.”


“Cold?” I joke, trying to lighten the mood, but all she does is frown. “Sorry, not the best time for jokes, huh?”


She crosses her arms, her blue eyes very unwelcoming. “You know how much I encouraged her to let you in—that you loved her so much and would never hurt her? You’ve basically crushed her and I look like a liar.”


“I’m going to make it better,” I insist, stepping toward the threshold, hoping she’ll move over and let me through.


She stays still, blocking the doorway. “Before I let you in, you have to promise no more drinking when you’re upset and no more hurting her. I swear to God if you continue to hurt her, I’ll rip out your lip ring.”


I put a hand over my mouth to protect my lips. “I promise, never again.”


She moves back to let me in and then shuts the door behind us. “She’s upstairs in her room.”


I head for the stairway. “You know, Lila, you’re pretty hard core. Not many people would dare threaten the lip ring.”


“Well, I’m not most people,” she calls out. “Ella’s my best friend and she needs protecting. Something you usually do, only this time you were the cause of her needing it.”


I leave her in the kitchen and climb the stairs. The house is freezing and the sound of music flows through the air: “One Thing” by Finger Eleven. The door to the bathroom where her mom died is wide open and there’s something colorful all over the tile.


“Ella,” I say, walking toward the door. “Are you up here?”


She walks out of her room with a handful of markers and her eyes widen when she sees me. “How did you get in here?”


“Lila, let me in,” I explain, my breath fogging out in front of me. “Didn’t you turn the heat on?”


She shakes her head and dismisses me, heading to the bathroom. She has her leather jacket and fingerless gloves on. When she reaches the bathroom, she crouches down and scribbles something on the floor.


I approach the scene with caution, knowing it has to mean something important. “Pretty girl, what are you doing?”


She sketches a black line along the tile. “I’m making a shrine… And don’t call me pretty girl, please.”


I squat down behind her and hold my breath as I set my hands on her shoulders. She doesn’t shrug them off, but tenses under my touch. “You have no idea how sorry I am.”


She traces a circle around a woman with wings and a cupcake in her hand. “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m not mad at you.”


My brow knits with perplexity. “Then what’s wrong?”


She shades in the eyes of the angel and then fills in the flame of the candle in the cupcake. “That I was right—about everything.”


I brush her hair to the side as she writes I love you below the angel’s feet. “Right about what?”


She writes, I love you, Mom, and happy belated birthday. Clicking the cap back on the marker, she stands up and turns to face me. “That I ruin you.”


My eyes snap wide as she squeezes by me and rushes into her bedroom. That was not what I expected at all.


I catch up with her right as she’s about to shut the door and brace my hand against, shoving it back open. “You don’t ruin me, Ella May. How could you ever think that?”


“I think it because it’s true.” She chucks the markers onto her dresser. “My problems do anyway.”


I bite at my lip, working to maintain a steady voice. “You know as well as I do that when people are drunk they say hurtful things they don’t mean.”


She swallows hard. “But sometimes they mean them.”


“I didn’t mean it. I promise. God, I wish I could have, like, a redo or something, because I’d slap myself for even thinking those words.”


“Redo’s don’t exist,” she breathes softly. “And I don’t think I should do this anymore—I wasn’t even supposed to be doing this to begin with. I was supposed to stay out of relationships until I got my shit together, but every time I’m around you, it’s impossible. All you do is look at me and I feel like I’m drowning.”


“I’m not sure what you mean,” I say with caution. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”


She puffs out a frustrated breath, collapses onto her bed, and buries her face in her arms. “It could be a good thing, if I wasn’t so messed up… When I’m with you, every part of me is consumed by you.”


I climb onto the bed with her and place a hand gently on her back. “You know that’s the most honest thing you’ve said to me.”


She peeks up at me through her veil of auburn hair. “I know.”


I brush her hair out of her eyes. “Ethan suggested a weird thing to me today. That maybe you and I need to be more honest with each other, instead of always trying to protect each other.”


“I think you were pretty honest in the garage,” she replies coldly. “Micha, if you want to walk away, then do it now because if things get any deeper, I swear it’s going to kill me next time.”


“You have no idea how important you are to me.” I get off the bed and hold my hand out to her, knowing it’s time to pour our hearts out to each other. “Will you come somewhere with me?”


She eyes my offered hand suspiciously. “Where?”


“That’s a secret.” I wink at her, acting calm, even though I’m terrified she won’t go with me—that I’ve ruined everything I’ve worked so hard at with her. “But I promise, it’ll be good.”


She sets her hand in mine, trusting me, and I can breathe again. I make a silent vow that I will never hurt her again.