Before. It’s kind of a magical word. Warmth swells up inside me. I’ve never felt this close to anyone in my life.

After that, we eat vegetable soup, which is delicious. Then we curl up with my old iPod, his now. He doesn’t have a dock, so we share the earbuds, listening to a playlist Shane has created especially for this occasion. It’s past nine by this point, and I’m wondering if he ever plans to play me the song he claimed to be working on when he pushes to his feet and heads down the hall to his room. Am I supposed to follow?

No. He’s coming back.

Ah, he’s got his guitar, wearing his shy-delightful smile. By the twinkle lights, he looks so beautiful that it hurts me to see him, and I think in wonderment, He’s mine.

Shane settles beside me. “I wrote this for you, Sage. I hope you like it.”

And I’m too breathless to respond as he starts to play.

“Rock bottom, left for dead, / Furies screaming in my head— / I was off the rails, way off track / Somehow you brought me back.”

This song is soft and slow, his voice deepening, lending the lyrics greater intimacy. He gazes at me as he sings, and I melt. My hands are folded in my lap, and I restrain the urge to throw myself at him. My body isn’t big enough to hold this feeling. God, he wrote me a song.

Shane launches into the second verse, cradling the guitar tenderly. “You’re the one who makes me whole / When I’m broken in my soul / The queen of bright and shiny things, / Not designer clothes or diamond rings.”

I push out a shaky breath, listening.

“So you’re the calm and I’m the storm; / I’d sell my soul to keep you warm. / You’re the angel in my bed; / You’re all the words I never said.”

My cheeks heat when he says I’m the angel in his bed. Technically, he was in mine, but I’m thinking that will change tonight. But words, which ones? The big three? I can’t stand this. It’s too beautiful and personal. I ache all over.

“Princess, let me fight for you / I’ll go to war if you want me to / But I’d rather take you home tonight / Hold you close and treat you right.”

I remember the way his fist balled up when Dylan was giving me shit. Shane really would fight for me, I suspect, but it’s enough that he wants to. Because of him, I don’t hate that nickname anymore; I used to hear “princess” and flinch, but now it makes me smile.

His voice drops, so intense and heartfelt, and his eyes blaze blue fire as he plays. “Other men could give you more / But none of them could love you more / They can keep the world if I’ve got you / I’m forever yours, forever true.”

Did he just say he loves me? I’m pretty sure he did. For a few seconds, I’m so overwhelmed that I can’t speak, let alone move.

“Well?” he prompts, looking worried.

“It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. I can’t believe you wrote that for me.”

“I’d do anything for you,” he says softly. “That was just a song.”

“That was the best present anyone’s ever given me.” Sliding off the sofa, I take his hand. “Wanna show me your room?”

Shane’s off the couch like a shot. “It’s not decorated like the rest.”

“Doesn’t matter. I just want to be close to you.”

The twinkle lights from the other room cast enough of a glow for his room to seem less stark. His bed’s right there, so there’s no doubt why I wanted to see the room. Otherwise, there’s not much scenery.

Shane comes up behind me and I spin, leaning toward him. He meets me halfway with a kiss so sweet that the top of my head tingles. One-armed, he puts his guitar down and then draws me up against him. His hands drop to my hips, the boldest he’s been in touching me.

Tonight, he can have everything.

I wrap my arms around his neck, and the world disappears. The next thing I know, we’re a tangle of arms and legs, lips touching again and again. He runs his palm over my hip, stealing under my shirt to graze my bare belly. My whole body reacts.

“Do you want—”

“Yes.” I answer before he finishes the question.

And then we’re both in a hurry, though I keep my top on. Shane scrambles for a condom, and I don’t care why he has them. I’m just glad he does. He’s so close. We’re both trembling. He kisses me as it happens, and I know this changes everything. I don’t care. For these moments, he’s part of me. I’m part of him. It’s quick and strange and deep, like diving from a high board. I come up for air, gasping, holding on to him as he shakes.

Afterward, he holds me. I stroke through his hair. “Tell the truth, did you plan this?”

“What do you think?”

“You had protection.”

“Would you believe I was a Boy Scout and my motto is Be Prepared?”

“Unlikely.” I use his word. Our word.

“Then, no, I didn’t plan it, but let’s say I hoped.” His smile is too beautiful for this world, and I am dying of love.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I go to school the next day … and everything is different. People are whispering, staring at me. I check my clothes to make sure nothing’s unzipped or tucked in where it shouldn’t be. No, no wardrobe malfunctions. No TP clinging to the back of my shoe. It’s weird, and I don’t spot Shane at our locker. God, I hope he’s okay. Maybe something happened to him last night after I left, and that’s why everyone is talking. They just don’t know how to break the bad news to me.

Shit. I’m about to panic when I get swept into the pre-bell rush. Somehow I end up in my first class, but nobody will make eye contact. Whatever it is, this is bad. I can’t hear the teacher. I can barely keep from screaming. I look for him in the hall between classes, but I don’t see him. My stomach doesn’t settle until Shane sprints into geometry, a few periods later.

He smiles at me and whispers, “I overslept.”

Some of the sour feel eases from my stomach. At least whatever’s going on, Shane is all right. The strange behavior from the rest of the school continues until lunch, however. People aren’t greeting me like they did, no friendly smiles or fist bumps, no “sup, Shage” when I’m walking with Shane. In fact, one guy mutters to him, “Wow, you’re brave, dude.”

This can’t be what I’m afraid it is. It can’t. Then Dylan strolls by, smiling. He makes eye contact and his expression ripens into a grin. He aims a finger gun at me and pulls the trigger.

Worried, when I reach our table, I ask Lila, “What’s going on? Have you heard?”

She shakes her head. “They aren’t talking to me. People know I will cut a bitch if they start something with you.”

Today, our crew is sparse, just me, Ryan, Lila, and Shane. I spot the others scattered among other tables. Whatever it is, I guess they heard … and they’re gone. I try not to mind; I mean, they’re freshmen and sophomores. They can’t afford any social errors.

After lunch, I’m at my locker with Lila. It becomes crystal clear when a guy I don’t know steps up to me, ignoring his friends’ nervous laughter. “So … is it true?”

“What?” I fold my arms, pretending to be bored, when it feels like I might hurl. I have an inkling where this conversation is going, based on Dylan’s clue.

“That you killed your mom.”

My breath goes in a rush, and I literally see sparks, so Lila has to catch me. She helps me lean against the lockers, then she takes a step forward. “You will step off right now, unless you want to eat your nutsack.”

When the kid doesn’t move, she lunges at him and he flinches backward. It’s enough for her to clear a path with an arm around me. I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m puking up the lunch I packed. Then I sit down on the toilet, not crying, but shaking. I can’t stop.

He did it. That’s the thought looping in my head. Dylan promised he’d dig until he found something to wreck me with … and he did it. I even riled him up two days ago, gave him a reason to keep hate alive. I shouldn’t have let Shadow Sage off her chain.