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  "Mom saw me coming into the house. Asked about the tat in that why would you do that voice. I told her Ryan had done most of it. She'd met him once or twice."

  "And she hated him?"

  "She never said as much, but yeah. She grabbed Emma and made up some excuse about how they had somewhere to be. Then she found me and told me she didn't want me around her daughter. Not if I was going throw my life away."

  "Oh, Brendon. I'm sorry."

  "Don't be. It was—"

  "That's your mom. It must have hurt."

  Like a knife in my chest. But that was how it had to be. "Not everyone deserves to be in your life."

  "Still. I know how much you love Em. How much you... well, you really are a family man."

  "You could say that."

  "It must have killed you, that rejection."

  Maybe. I've always been angry. I think about it and I see red. I see injustice. I see bullshit. Sadness doesn't seep in.

  "Your dad too?"

  "He always followed her lead."

  "And you... did you not see Em for all that time?"

  "I still did. Just not when Mom was around." I'm good at keeping secrets, I guess.

  "Oh." Kaylee takes another step forward. Another. Another. She stops in front of the building. Looks to her phone then to the stone sign. "This is it."

  "First stop tomorrow."

  She nods. "It looks good. Traditional." She gives the tall brick building a long once over. "Were you... were you hanging out with the kinds of people Em shouldn't be around?"

  "Sometimes. I wasn't choosy about my friends. Or the way I spent my time."

  "You mean..." She presses her lips together.

  "You can ask."

  She looks up at me. Runs her fingertips over my jawline. "You mean drugs?"

  "Sometimes. It was never my thing."

  "You'd rather be in control?"

  "How the fuck did you know?"

  It's strange. I never want to share anything. And certainly not with Kay. The way she looks at me—like I'm a guy worth loving—is too intoxicating. I can't bring myself to convince her otherwise.

  But I want to tell her this.

  I want her to know how many people I disappointed.

  How many people I continue to disappoint.

  It's still fucking heavy.

  "Brendon?" She tugs at my t-shirt. Her eyes meet mine. Are you okay?

  "What's next?"

  "Oh." She looks to her cell. Taps the screen a few times. "The English building is this way. I think... It would be stupid, majoring in English."

  "No."

  "Yeah. Reading and writing aren't jobs."

  "They are. But even if that's not what you do—so what? All jobs are communication. That's English."

  "Maybe. I don't know. I think... I think my parents expect more."

  "They just want you to be happy."

  "How do you know?"

  "You'll get it if you have kids one day."

  "Is that what you want?"

  "I don't know. I'm Emma's dad as much as I'm her brother."

  "You're good at it. Whatever it is."

  "Maybe." I try. It would be fucking amazing, having a family of my own. One day. But I'm not sure I'm the kind of guy who should be a dad. Or a husband. "Do you want kids?"

  "I don't know. It's hard enough taking care of myself. That's so far off... I want to figure out this semester before I move on to the rest of my life."

  I follow her along the concrete path.

  The campus is beautiful this late. Big green lawn. Dark blue sky. Yellow streetlamps. Brick and concrete everywhere.

  Every few minutes, we pass a student. Half are heading to or from the library. The other half are on their way home from a night of over indulging. It's in their messy steps and their habit of staring too long.

  We go past every building in her schedule, even the one where her adviser is.

  Finally, we stop at the building where Kaylee is taking her creative writing class.

  She stares up at it. "I never would have taken this if you hadn't pushed me."

  "Is that a thank you?"

  "We'll see how it goes." She turns back to me. "I remember when you were younger."

  I raise a brow, incredulous.

  "There were times when you stormed to your room, all pissed off. But most of the time, you were sitting on the couch, scribbling in your sketchbook. You were a good guy."

  I wasn't. That's what she doesn't get.

  A good brother, maybe.

  But not a good guy.

  I used friends for drugs or booze.

  I fucked women then threw them away.

  I lied to my parents.

  "I wasn't." I stare back at Kay. At all that trust in her eyes. I don't deserve it, but I still want every fucking drop of it. "I was an asshole. I treated people like shit."

  "Even if that's true... does it really matter?" She presses her lips together. "Things can get better. People can get better."

  "In theory."

  "You... you were different before you had ink. You're more yourself now."

  "I've had ink as long as you've known me."

  She shakes her head.

  I turn toward her, pull my jeans down my hip to show off my sic transit gloria quote. "Pretentious high school shit."

  "Excuse you."

  "For me. Not like I took Latin."

  "You wanted the world to know glory is bullshit?"

  Basically. I nod.

  She moves under the street lamp. "I... I have ugly parts too. Things I don't want anyone knowing."

  It's hard to believe. Kay is sunshine and cotton candy. She's the sweetest person I've ever met. Hands down. I shake my head.

  She nods. "I guess that's fair. Since I don't believe you were ever a bad guy."

  "It is." I move toward her. Until my hands are skimming her hips.

  She looks up at me with those doe eyes.

  Her lips part.

  She nods.

  It's like she's begging me to kiss her, touch her, fuck her.

  Her arms slide around my neck. "I like the guy you are now." She reaches up to run her fingers through my hair. "A lot."

  "Kay..."

  She nods. "I know."

  But she doesn't. Because I'm not gonna say shit about how this can't happen.

  She looks up at me. "You... you're—"

  I cut her off with my lips.

  She's soft.

  Eager.

  Pliable.

  I feel her everywhere. In my heart and my head and my bones.

  My palm goes flat against her lower back.

  I pull her body against mine.

  Kiss her harder.

  Deeper.

  Fuck, she tastes good. Like mint and like Kaylee.

  Her lips part to make way for my tongue.

  Her fingers tug at my hair.

  Her nails dig into my back, pressing the cotton of my t-shirt into my skin.

  It's like she's begging for more.

  Like she's begging to do away with every layer of fabric between us.

  My hands move of their own accord.

  One slides over her ass.

  The other slips under her t-shirt.

  She groans as my fingers skim her stomach.

  She arches her back to rock her hips against mine. Shudders as she rubs against my hard-on.

  There are only a few layers of fabric between my cock and her cunt.

  It's too much.

  I need her naked.

  I need her on her back on that cold concrete bench, looking up at me like I'm the center of her universe.

  She pulls back with a sigh. Looks up at me with every ounce of trust in the world. "I..." She leans into my touch. "I looked at your sketchbook."

  What?

  "Fuck." She jumps back. Covers her mouth with her hand. "I... Oh God." Her eyes go to the ground. "I'm sorry."

  She...

  What the fuck?

  Time gri
nds to a halt.

  I can feel every brush of the breeze.

  Hear every distant footstep.

  See every one of her lip quivers.

  It's written all over her face.

  She saw the drawings of her.

  Where the fuck does she get off?

  Could be with you. She's still here. That's why she's hinting at all this shit about being ordered around and tied up. She's into it. She wants it. She likes that you're a sick fuck.

  Her chest heaves. "I'm sorry. It was wrong. A total invasion of privacy. But... if you want things to be even, we can do that. Look at my journal." Her voice cracks. Her eyes fill with terror. "Anything you want."

  No. That isn't what I want. I don't know what the fuck I want. My head is spinning.

  She knows how I want her.

  And she's here.

  She's into it.

  My body is screaming for me to pin her to the wall. To push her jeans to her knees and plunge my fingers into her cunt. To growl you want it rough, angel? I'll show you rough.

  But my head...

  My heart...

  "I'm sorry. I just... I want to know what you're thinking and feeling. I want it so badly. That's no excuse, but..."

  "How much did you see?"

  "Everything."

  "And you..." My tongue trips over itself. There's nothing I can ask.

  This is the only reasonable explanation for her behavior the last few weeks.

  But it doesn't make any fucking sense.

  Kay is sweet. Innocent.

  She doesn't want it dirty and rough.

  She doesn't cross the line like this.

  She knows better.

  "Do you?" Her voice is soft. Apologetic. "Do you really want me like that?"

  The world is red. I blink, but that does nothing to help.

  I pull my keys from my pocket. "Take the car home."

  "But—"

  "Now, Kay."

  "Where are you—"

  "I've got it under control."

  "But..."

  "Now."

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Brendon

  The next thirty minutes are a blur. I'm not sure what I say to the Uber driver that drops me off in front of Walker's place.

  I go straight to his apartment. Number three. My hand curls into a fist. Pounds on the door. It's doing it of its own accord. It knows something I don't, something about being willing to talk, about asking for help.

  Walker mutters something. "If I owe you money, come back tomorrow."

  "You have a gambling problem I should know about?"

  "Fuck." Surprise drips from his voice. "Brendon?"

  "Yeah."

  Walker pulls the door open. Rubs his eyes. Stares back at me. "Don't tell me you owe someone money."

  I shake my head.

  He motions to his attire. Boxers. Just boxers. "You know how it is." He nods to the closed bedroom door at the end of the hallway behind him. "Keep it down. She's sleeping."

  "You're a gentleman."

  He chuckles. "Hey, just because it's one night, doesn't mean I can't show her a good time. Or do you even remember that shit?"

  "It hasn't been that long."

  He motions to the door behind me. "Three months? Four? Six? That's a fucking eternity. Remember when Dean got his Prince Albert? He nearly died doing six weeks."

  "I try not to think about Dean's dick."

  "Hard to avoid when he's always bragging."

  "Yeah." I press the door closed. Click the lock. I want to tell him to fuck off, but it's not like I can deny the allegations. It's been a while.

  He moves into the kitchen. "You look like hell."

  I feel like hell.

  "You want coffee?"

  "Yeah."

  Walker's walls are covered in Star Wars posters.

  "You okay?" He spoons coffee into a reusable filter.

  "Saving the planet?"

  He cocks a half smile. "You just figure that out? I talk about saving for a Tesla every fucking day."

  "It's flashy."

  "True. It's gonna be awhile now. All that money is going to Inked Hearts."

  "You regret that?"

  "Fuck no."

  "It's a lot. But it's..." I want to say it's perfect. It is. It's everything. But my head is a mess. Kay read my journal. The betrayal of that stings. But it's not what has me all fucked up.

  It's thinking of her poring over the pages.

  She knows every dirty thing I want to do to her.

  And she's still around.

  She fucking wants it.

  Kay, the sweet girl who can't cook anything but almond butter and jelly sandwiches, who chooses vanilla ice cream, who owns a fucking rainbow of cardigans—

  She wants it rough.

  "Earth to Brendon?" Walker asks.

  "Yeah?"

  "You okay?"

  I don't say anything.

  "You don't look okay," he mumbles.

  "I'm not." It's all I can get out. This is such a fucking head trip. I can't sew my thoughts together. I can't reconcile the two versions of her in my head—the virgin who blushes at the mere mention of sex and the dirty girl who wants to be tied to my bed.

  "Fuck." He laughs. "That must be bad."

  Yeah. It must. I've known the guy for ten years, and I've never admitted I'm not okay.

  "Go." He motions to the couch. "Sit. I don't want to watch you mope while standing." He tries to play it off as a joke, but concern seeps into his voice.

  I plant on the couch. Tap my fingers against the armrest. This is a nice apartment. Leather furniture. Sleek appliances. Framed posters all over the walls. A bookshelf overflowing with DVDs. Mostly sci-fi.

  I motion to the box set of Star Trek. The Matrix trilogy. Japanese films I've never heard of. A whole row of action movies. "How come we never watch this shit together?"

  The coffee maker drips. Walker moves forward. Rests his ass against the kitchen island. "You know you can just ask for help."

  I say nothing.

  "You can just invite me to do shit."

  "I know."

  "Do you?"

  In theory, yeah. In practice... I motion to the closed bedroom door. "How was it?"

  Walker chuckles. "You're so bad at this."

  I arch a brow.

  He mocks my tone. "How was it?" He laughs. Shakes his head. "Fuck. You know, I always thought you had your shit together. But I guess you're even denser than the rest of us."

  "Been telling you that."

  "Guess I should have listened." He brings the mugs to the coffee table then takes a seat. "I'm gonna put on something. If you beg, I might have mercy on you and make it an action movie."

  "You really want me begging?"

  "Yeah. I don't get off on that shit like you." He chuckles. "Not even gonna deny it?"

  "Why would I?"

  He shrugs. "You never talk about it either."

  "What's to say?"

  "Fuck, Walker, you should have seen the woman I fucked last night. I had her tied to my bed. I had her coming so hard she nearly snapped my neck."

  "Sounds more like Dean."

  Walker laughs. "True." He settles into the couch. "Fuck. You're too pathetic. I'll have to put on The Matrix or some shit. I feel guilty."

  "You're kind."

  He laughs. "I know." He motions to the bedroom door. "She was sweet. Shy. Your type."

  I flip him off.

  He turns toward me, folds one leg over the other, shakes his head. "Are you going to make me guess what happened?"

  "Are you interested?"

  "Fuck. What the hell is wrong with you? We've been friends for ten years. If I didn't care, I would have left you waiting outside."

  I say nothing.

  Walker shakes his head. "Have it your way." He grabs the remote. Flips on the TV.

  It's an infomercial for one of those ab toning belts. A man is showing off his brand spanking new six pack next to a picture of his formally
round midsection.

  "Not sure what's more BS. This product. Or you acting like—what the fuck happened anyway?"

  "It's complicated."

  "Bullshit. Bet I can spell in three letters." He brings his mug to his lips and takes a long sip. It's a Star Wars mug. Black with a white X-wing logo. "What did you do?"

  "It was her."

  He shoots me an incredulous look.

  I nod.

  "Fuck. Really?"

  Not exactly. It's both of us. It's my fucking head. "It's complicated, but yeah."

  He sets his mug on the coffee table. "No fucking way. She's crazy about you. And you're crazy about her. You're just both idiots."

  I bring my mug to my lips. Take a long sip. The coffee is perfect. Bold. Just sweet and creamy enough. But it doesn't do anything to get my mind working. I still don't know how to explain this in a way that makes sense to someone else. Or to myself.

  "What happened? She cheat on you or some shit? I can't see Kay doing that, but then I couldn't see Bree going the way she did."

  Walker's sister got into drugs when she was a teenager. She's still a mess, flitting in and out of rehab, generally causing havoc.

  "Didn't she turn eighteen like three weeks ago? Were you really fucking her when she was jailbait?" he asks.

  "No. We haven't—"

  "You haven't touched her?" He arches a brow. "Really?"

  "I haven't." I run my hand through my hair. "She's so fucking young."

  "Yeah. But she's not a kid. Kay has been taking care of herself for a long time."

  "She's sweet."

  "Your type."

  "Yeah, but... I'm a fucking pervert," I say.

  "No shit. You're into your little sister's best friend."

  "No, I mean—"

  "What? You like it rough so you're a pervert?"

  Yeah, basically.

  "Lots of girls like it rough. You should know. You've fucked most of them."

  "Yeah."

  "But, what, none of them were Kaylee? She's too sweet, too good to be into that shit?"

  How the fuck does he have my number?

  "Get over yourself, Brendon. You don't have a monopoly on dirty thoughts."

  "That's not—"

  "With any other woman, you'd be into her inexperience. How is Kay different?"

  "She's Kay."

  "That's retrograde shit. You're better than that."

  No. I'm really not. I shake my head.

  "Yeah. You are. Kaylee is an adult. She knows what she wants. If you can't handle that, then you don't deserve to be around her at all."

  "Fuck off."