Chapter 12
twelve
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
It’s been two months since my boyfriend, Zane, moved to Seattle. My friend Rissa is doing my hair, teasing it into perfect waves while I’m trying not to fidget.
“You’re going to make me burn you if you don’t sit still,” she warns.
I roll my eyes, forcing myself to stop bouncing my knee. “Sorry. Just nervous, I guess.”
“About what? We’re going to have so much fun,” she says, curling the last section of my hair. “No dates means no drama. Just a bunch of us girls partying the night away.”
She’s right. Going stag with my friends is probably the best decision I’ve made all year. No stress, no expectations. Just dancing and having fun with people I actually like.
“There.” She steps back to admire her handiwork. “Take a look.”
I stand and walk over to check myself out in the full-length mirror.
My black dress hugs every curve; and the plunging neckline shows just enough cleavage to be interesting without giving everything away.
Dark smoky eyeshadow makes my green eyes pop, and my black hair—which matches the color of my nail polish—falls in soft waves down my back.
“Damn,” I murmur, turning to check out the back. “We clean up pretty good.”
Rissa adjusts her purple dress with a giggle. “Hell yeah, we do.”
The doorbell rings, and I hear my mom calling up the stairs. “Girls! Your limo is here!”
We grab our clutches and make our way down to the foyer where my parents are waiting, cameras ready.
“Oh, wow!” Mom gushes. “You both look absolutely beautiful.”
Dad just nods, looking a little misty-eyed as he gives me a quick kiss on the forehead. “Stunning.”
Logan walks in from the kitchen, checking his phone, looking handsome in his tux. “Our limo just pulled up too,” he announces. He stops when he sees me and his eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, sis. You look... not terrible.”
I punch his arm. “Gee, thanks.”
Footsteps sound on the stairs behind me and I turn to see Rowan wearing a perfectly fitted black suit that makes his shoulders look even broader than usual. His hair is styled back from his face, and for a heartbeat, all I can do is stare.
Our eyes lock, and something electric passes between us.
His gaze travels slowly down my body and up, lingering just a beat too long on my cleavage before snapping back up to my face.
The intensity in his eyes makes my skin tingle, but before I can decipher what it could mean, he quickly looks away.
“Okay, everyone!” Mom trills, waving her hand to gather us together. “I need at least one good group photo before you all scatter!”
With a groan, I move into position, careful to stand as far away from Rowan as possible. But, of course, Mom ruins that strategy right off the bat.
“Lizzy, scoot in closer to Rowan. Logan, you’re blocking Rissa. There we go—perfect!” She beams, camera raised. “Say ‘prom night’!”
We all plaster on our smiles while she snaps about twenty pictures from different angles, while Dad stands behind her, looking amused.
“Just one more,” she promises. “Oh, you all look so grown up!”
Having just turned eighteen last week, Rowan’s body heat radiates in the minuscule amount of space between us. It’s maddening how it makes my skin prickle with awareness when his chest brushes against the back of my arm.
“Come on, Mom. Our limo’s waiting,” Logan grumbles, checking his watch. “Rowan and I need to go pick up our dates.”
“Who are you taking again, Rowan?” my mom asks.
“Michelle Withers.”
I struggle not to roll my eyes. Michelle is a straight-up bitch.
“Well, be safe and have fun,” she says, giving us each a hug. “I want you all home by one a.m. No exceptions.”
“Okay,” I say, giving my dad a quick kiss on the cheek before heading out the door.
Rissa and I climb into our limo, where two other friends are already waiting with plastic cups filled with something that definitely isn’t soda. The door closes behind us, and we pull away from the curb.
“Oh. My. God,” Rissa squeals after taking a healthy sip of her drink. “Did you see how Rowan was looking at you? I thought he was going to spontaneously combust!”
“Whatever,” I scoff, accepting the cup Lisa hands me. “No, he wasn’t.”
“What are you, blind?” Rissa continues, eyes wide. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you! I’m pretty sure there was a moment there where he forgot Michelle even existed.”
“You’re delusional,” I mutter, taking a sip and wincing at the burn of cheap vodka mixed with even cheaper fruit punch.
“I’ve seen it at school, too,” Kara chimes in. “He totally eye-fucks you all the time.”
My cheeks heat up. “Can we please talk about literally anything else?” I beg. “Like how we’re going to crash the after-party at Mike Peterson’s lake house?”
“Fine,” Rissa smirks, tapping my knee. “But just so you know, I call dibs on maid of honor once you and Rowan finally admit you’re into each other.”
When we finally pull up to Lakeside High, I can hear the music thumping from inside the gym. Since the theme is Hollywood Night, spotlights sweep across the night sky, and a red carpet leads the way to the entrance.
“Ready to have the night of our lives?” Rissa giggles, linking her arm through mine after we step out of the limo.
“Let’s do this,” I say, grinning with excitement.
The gym has been transformed with twinkling lights and silver stars hanging from the ceiling. A giant disco ball spins lazily above the dance floor, sending fragments of light skittering across the walls and floor.
“Holy shit,” I murmur. “They actually pulled it off.”
We make our way to our table, dropping off our stuff before heading straight to the dance floor. For the next hour, we lose ourselves in the music, dancing like nobody’s watching. It’s perfect—exactly what I need—no drama, no boys, just me and my friends having the time of our lives.
When the DJ transitions from Tik Tok by Kesha to the classic Heaven by Bryan Adams, we decide to take a break.
“I’m thirsty,” I shout over the music. “Anyone else want some punch?”
Lisa and Kara shake their heads as Rissa is pulled onto the dance floor by some guy from our Chemistry class.
My body is humming with energy as I weave through the crowd toward the refreshment table. I’m actually having fun—way more than I expected to. Not even seeing Rowan dancing with Michelle earlier was enough to sway my mood. Maybe prom isn’t so overrated after all.
Just as I finish filling my cup, someone bumps into me from behind, sending me stumbling, ice-cold punch splashing over my hand and onto the table.
“Oh, sorry,” I say, the words automatically tumbling out of my mouth. When I turn around, I find myself face-to-face with Michelle in her tight, red, hooker dress, glaring at me.
“Watch where the fuck you’re going,” she snaps, eyes narrowing when she sees it’s me she’s knocked into.
I force a tight smile. “You bumped into me, but whatever.”
As I turn to walk away, her perfectly manicured hand clamps around my arm. “I’ve seen the way you look at him, you know,” she hisses, leaning in close enough that I can smell the vodka on her breath.
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t play dumb, you little bitch. You’ve been eye-fucking my boyfriend all night.”
“Screw you, Michelle. I don’t give shit about Rowan,” I growl, yanking my arm free. “Maybe you should lay off the spiked punch.”
“Listen, you little freak,” she growls, her face contorting with anger. “Stay away from Rowan. He doesn’t want you. You’re just a pathetic little girl he just happens to be living in the same house with.”
Balling my hands into fists at my sides, the familiar heat of rage starts building in my chest, crawling up my spine. “And you...” I seethe. “...are a pathetic, used-up skanky cunt.”
Michelle lets out a shriek and raises her hand.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Rowan growls, grabbing her arm and yanking her away from me.
Not wanting to stick around to hear whatever bullshit he has to say, I push past them, shoving my way through the sea of dancing bodies.
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat as I burst through the gymnasium doors into a dark, empty hallway.
The music fades away behind me, replaced by the echo of my heels against the linoleum floor. My hands are still shaking with rage as I storm down the corridor, dim lights casting eerie shadows across the lockers.
I slam into the girls’ bathroom, grateful to find it empty. Bracing my hands against the cool porcelain sink, I take several deep breaths, trying to calm the inferno raging inside.
“Fuck,” I mutter-hiss, glaring at my reflection in the mirror. Even though my eyes are wild with fury and filled with angry tears, my mascara is still perfect and my lipstick unsmudged.
The only reason Michelle isn’t sprawled out on the gym floor right now with a bloody nose is because I’ve worked too damn hard to get my shit together.
Three years of therapy, learning to control my temper, channeling my anger into my art instead of using my fists.
I’m not about to throw all of that away two weeks before graduation just because some insecure bitch tries marking her territory.
Technically, he was mine first. Even if it never really went anywhere in the first place.
I splash cold water on my wrists, an old trick my therapist taught me as a way to cool down.
Screw Rowan and screw that dirty whore Michelle. The last thing I’ll ever do is let anyone know how much Rowan Cole still affects me. Or that I still love him.
Determined to go back out there and have a good time, I shove open the bathroom door and immediately slam into a rock-solid chest.