By three o’clock that afternoon, I’m feeling a lot better. Enough that the smell of coffee and fresh pastries didn’t turn my stomach when we grabbed a quick bite at a quaint local café. But now the hangover has been replaced with melancholy.
I’m saying goodbye to my sister today.
Of course there are texts, and phone calls, and email, and face time, and I’ll see her when I fly down for our friends Storm and Dan’s wedding in a few weeks, but . . . it’s not the same. I remember the two months away from her while she was in Dr. Stayner’s care. I felt like someone had ripped a chunk of my heart out. Outside of that time, I’ve seen her face every single day of my life.
Every. Single. Day.
Even when she was in the ICU after the accident, even when she was messed up with alcohol and drugs, even when she was working those crazy hours tending bar at Penny’s, I still always peeked in on her asleep in her bed, just to get a glimpse of her face. To prove to myself that she hadn’t died on me too.
Knowing this day would come hasn’t made it any easier. Now, standing here, I’m sure I’m losing something. It’s as if I’m saying goodbye to a part of my life that I’ll never get back.
“Well . . . ,” Kacey says, looking up at me with glassy blue eyes and a tight smile as we stand next to a taxi. My sister doesn’t cry much. Even after everything we’ve gone through, and how far she’s come, she normally manages to use inappropriate humor to shrug off any threats of sadness. Now, though . . . now I see a single tear trickle down her cheek. “Little sis,” she mumbles, sliding her hands around my neck to pull me down so our foreheads meet. “You did it, Livie.”
I smile. “We did it.” It would have been easier for her had she left me with Aunt Darla and Uncle Raymond three years ago. Heck, it would have been expected. She didn’t have to burden herself with a mouth to feed. I think a lot of other siblings in her situation would have simply walked out the front door and never looked back. Not Kacey, though. “Thanks to you—” I start to say. She cuts me off with her typical stern brow.
“Oh, no. No thanks to me, Livie. I’m the train wreck of a sister who somehow, miraculously, didn’t derail your future with my mountain of shit.” She closes her eyes as she whispers, “It’s me that owes you. Everything.” She pulls me tight to her in a hug. “Remember, I’m never too far. You let me know if you ever need me and I’ll be here in an instant. Okay?”
“I’ll be fine, Kacey.”
“And even when you’re not, I’m still here. Okay?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
I hear my phone chirp, indicating an incoming text. Thinking it’s Storm—because she’s the only one aside from Kacey who texts me—I check my phone.
Tell me you did one out-of-character thing last night?
“You have got to be kidding me!” I burst out.
“What’s going on?” Kacey asks with a frown, leaning in to peek over my shoulder at the screen.
“What kind of doctor texts his patients?” I mean, non-patients.
“You have about five minutes to respond before he calls you. You know that, right?” Kacey says.
I nod. I’ve learned that Dr. Stayner is a very patient man . . . unless he wants answers. “What should I tell him?”
She shrugs and then grins. “I find shock value works best with him.”
“Well, I definitely have enough material for that.” She waits with arms crossed as I type:
I drank enough Jell-O shots to fill a small pool, and then proceeded to break out every terrible dance move known to mankind. I am now the proud owner of a tattoo and if I didn’t have a video to prove otherwise, I’d believe I had it done in a back alley with hepatitis-laced needles. Satisfied?
My stomach tightens as I press “Send.” He keeps telling me to leverage that inner sarcasm he knows is in my head.
Ten seconds later, my phone beeps again.
That’s a good start. Did you talk to a guy?
I stare wide-eyed at my phone, processing his reaction—or nonreaction—to my night of scarring debauchery.
That gives Kacey a chance to grab my phone out of my hand.
“Kacey, what are you doing!” I chase her around the cab as her fingers furiously type; she’s cackling the entire time. I don’t know how she can run and text, but she does. Not until she’s hit “Send” does she slow enough to toss my phone to me. I fumble as I catch it and quickly check to see what my sister has done.
Not only did I talk to a guy but I’ve now seen two penises, including the one attached to the naked man in my room this morning when I woke up. I have pictures. Would you like to see one?
“Kacey!” I shriek, smacking her against the shoulder.
It’s a moment before the response comes.
Glad you’re making friends. Talk to you on Saturday.
There are a few seconds of silence, during which my shock outweighs anything else, and then we burst out laughing, lifting the entire mood of this goodbye.
“Okay, I’ve got to go now or I’ll miss my plane,” Kacey says with another tight hug. “Go forth and make thy mistakes.”
“More than last night?”
Kacey winks. “I didn’t see you making any mistakes last night.” Opening the taxi door, she waves at me before climbing in. And she keeps waving from the back window, her chin resting on the headrest, as the taxi disappears around the corner.
CHAPTER FOUR
Regret
I’m sure most girls do everything in their power to stage a run-in with Ashton Henley after getting drunk and making out with him on a random street corner.
But I am not most girls.
And I have every intention of avoiding him for the rest of my Princeton career.
Unfortunately for me, fate has decided that forty-eight hours is all I get.
After standing in line at the bookstore for hours, I’m rushing back to the dorm to unload twenty pounds of textbooks before I can join the late-afternoon campus tour. This 250-odd-year-old campus, with acres of stunning Gothic-style architecture, is rich with history that I want to see in person. I don’t have time for diversions.
Of course, that’s the perfect time for an ambush.
“What do ya got there, Irish?” A hand swoops in and grabs the course registration paper that’s tucked in between my chest and my books. I suck in a breath and shiver as his finger grazes my collarbone.
“Nothing,” I mutter, but I don’t bother with more as there’s no point. He’s already intently reviewing my course list and is chewing a very full bottom lip in thought. So I just sigh and wait silently, taking the opportunity to notice things I couldn’t when I was drunk and it was dark. Or when I was naked and cornered. Like how, in the late-afternoon sunlight, Ashton’s shaggy hair has more brown in it than black. And how his thick brows are neatly groomed. And how his eyes have the tiniest green speckles within the brown. And how his impossibly long, dark lashes curl out at the ends . . .
“Irish?”
“Huh?” I snap out of my thoughts to find him staring down at me with that smirk on his face, implying he said something to me and I missed it because I was too busy gawking.
Which I did. Because I was.
I clear my throat, my ears burning with the rest of my face. I want to ask him why he keeps calling me that, but all I can manage is, “Pardon?”
Thankfully, he doesn’t tease me. “How’s the tat?” he asks as he slowly slides the paper back to where he got it from, his finger once again grazing my collarbone. My body, once again, shivering and tensing at his touch.
“Oh . . . great.” I swallow, hugging my books closer to my chest as I avert my gaze in the direction of my residence. At the groups of students milling about. Anywhere but at the breathing reminder of my night of scandal.
“Really? Because mine is annoying the hell out of me.”