“That’s so sweet,” Cami says, wiping at her own eyes.

“I know.” I sniffle and wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “Are there tissues?”

“I think we’re all too drunk to try to go find some,” Mia says. So I just wipe my nose again on my shirt, then lie down flat on the carpet, my face cradled on the back of my hand.

“I miss him already.”

IT’S REALLY, REALLY bright in here. And my eyes are closed. I groan and open one eye, just a slit, to find that all of the lights are still on in Cami’s living room, and all of my friends are passed out on the floor and the couch. Actually, it looks like Cami and Riley are cuddling on the couch, both snoring.

At least I’m not the only one who snores.

I roll onto my back and the first wave of nausea kicks in violently.

So violently, that I stand up and run for the bathroom, then when I get there I fall to my knees and throw up into the toilet. So much that I’m pretty sure I just lost some vital organs.

Suddenly, someone presses a cold washcloth to my neck, but I can’t even look back to see who as I continue to hurl. My stomach is heaving so hard I can’t breathe and I can feel my face going beat red.

God, this hurts.

Everything hurts.

“Oh my God,” I wail when I’m able to take a breath, my face still halfway into the bowl.

“I’m so sorry, Add,” Mia whispers, rubbing big circles around my back. She flips the cloth over so I get the cool side on my skin. “I’m so very sorry.”

“Make it stop, Mia.” I’m begging and sobbing, and then throwing up some more. I can’t stop throwing up.

I can’t stop hurting.

“It’ll get better,” she croons, holding my hair back. “I know it hurts so much now that you want to die, but it’ll get better. I promise.”

Mia would know. Mia’s been here.

I lay my cheek on the toilet seat and try not to think about the fact that my cheek is on a toilet seat. I don’t think it’s wise to move yet.

“He said he couldn’t do it, and when I asked him what he couldn’t do, he said he couldn’t do us.”

“Bastard.”

“But he didn’t tell me why and that hurts almost as much because I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“Oh sweetie, I don’t think you did anything wrong.” She’s brushing her fingers through my hair, soothing me.

“I must have done something, Mia. You don’t dump someone for no reason.”

“Dickery,” she whispers, making me chuckle.

“The thing is, he’s not a dick. But I guess he’s not my problem anymore.” That makes me tear up all over again. “I miss him.”

“I know.”

“I loved the way he touched me. He made me feel important, Mia.”

I hear her sniffle, making me cry harder. I’m so fucking sick of crying. “And I hate sounding so damn whiny, because I’m not a whiner.”

“You’re entitled. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet.”

I nod, but that makes me nauseated all over again, so I spend the next five minutes, which feels like at least an hour, heaving into the toilet.

Finally, I’m gripping on to the lip of the toilet weakly, my shoulders shaking. “I don’t think I have anything left in me.”

“Are you sure?” Mia asks.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, stay put, I’m going to get this rag cold again and I’ll help you to Cami’s spare bedroom.”

“Mia?” I grip onto her hand before she can back away.

“Yeah.”

“Love you.”

“I love you too, friend.”

Chapter Sixteen

Jake

I couldn’t go home. I’d just get lectured by Max, or worse, I’d deck him and fuck that friendship up, and that would just add more shit to an already shitty day.

Maybe the worst day of my life.

Because I had to let her go, and it was the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done. When I close my eyes, all I can see is the heartbreak on her gorgeous face and it makes me feel like a grade-A piece of shit.

Which, I am.

But it’s better to hurt her now, before we get in too deep and before I do something that does far more than just hurt her feelings.

No, I couldn’t go home. Instead I came to a bar on the outskirts of Hillsboro, not far from my house. I’ve been here all morning. I think it must be sometime in the afternoon by now because a new bartender came on shift, replacing the young redhead who served me all morning.

I don’t really fucking know what time it is. Or care.

The middle-aged bartender wipes down the bar with a white rag and nods toward my glass. “Get you another?”

I nod. “Jack and Coke.”

He turns to fetch my drink, then slides it over to me, and just as I’m lifting the glass to my lips, I hear next to me, “Well aren’t you the sexiest thing I’ve seen in here in a while.”

The stranger’s voice is rough from too many years of cigarettes. I ignore her, sipping my drink, hoping she’ll just take the hint and go away.

But she doesn’t. Damn it.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before,” she tries again.

No, you haven’t. I sip my drink again, still ignoring her.

“Hey,” she says and lays her hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”

Finally, I glance over at her, barely taking in blond hair and bright red lips. I shake my head and raise my glass to my lips. “I’m not interested in whatever it is you’re offering.”