Isn’t it strange, that it hurt me more when he died? Because I realized the bite would heal. I would get better, but he was dead forever. He’d betrayed me, leaving me there to carry on alone with my mama and my little life.

And Cuba had betrayed me too, telling me he loved me when he didn’t. And the sting of that bite would never heal.

Spider poked me in the arm, reminding me to pay attention.

“No, come with me to the dance. Be my date.”

I set down my taco. “What do you mean?” I asked. “Like a date, date?”

He rubbed his forehead and then glanced over at Mila. “Mind if I catch up with you a bit later?”

Mila gave me an odd smile, like she knew something I didn’t, and then packed up her lunch and said good-bye. As she walked away, the tension crackled in the air, most of it emanating from Spider.

He fiddled with his soda can, his brown eyes growing hooded as he watched me. Hot and filled with promise, his gaze made me sit up straighter. I’d sensed a change in him lately, not missing how his hands lingered longer than a friend’s should.

“Is this some plan to get a girl off your back?” I did that for him sometimes, pretended to be his new love interest to discourage the stalker types.

“No.” He came around the table and sat in a chair next to me, smelling like smoke and spearmint. It tickled my nose, and it wasn’t unpleasant, reminding me of his dorm room. “Cuba isn’t the only bloke at BA. And we’d be good together.”

Oh. I cleared my throat. “We are good friends, but Cuba taught me a bad lesson, and I’m not revisiting…” I floundered when his lips tightened. “Spider? Are you mad?”

“It pisses me off to see you write me off because of what he did. You’re not over him.”

“I am over him,” I said, louder than I intended, catching the stares of other students.

“Why did you talk to him today, then? Didn’t he do enough to you last year?”

“It was part of our class assignment, if you must know,” I snapped. “And don’t talk to me like I’m stupid. I know full well what happened. Hello, I was there. ”

His nose flared. “I was too. But, obviously, it doesn’t matter how bloody awful he treated you because you’re still in love with him.”

The blood pounded in my veins at his words.

This entire day had been wrong. Since the moment I’d rolled out of bed, I’d sensed a sucky day, and then Cuba had made contact at my locker, and now Spider was acting strange. Besides all that, some lingering, ugly thing was jabbing at my head, just waiting for me to remember.

“Say something, Dovey. You’re distracted as fuck and if it has to do with him—”

“Just stop. Stop saying his name. Please,” I said, my fingers twisting the napkin on the table.

He groaned and threw his hands up. “I’m right sick of you moping over him. Just learn to trust somebody else.”

“I’m not moping. I’m fine.” I hadn’t been fine in a year.

He barked out a laugh, but it sounded humorless. “Why won’t you give anyone else a chance, then?”

“I went out with Jacques.”

He waved his hands, dismissing me. “You used him. I mean a real relationship.”

“Like with you?”

“Why not me?” he stated earnestly, some of his earlier irritation fading. “I’m your friend. I care for you. And maybe I’ve only been going through every girl here, waiting until you noticed me. Maybe I’ve decided to risk it. Go big or go home, right?”

I blinked, struck speechless. One part of me wanted to explore the possibility of us because I was attracted to him—how could I not be?—but the other side didn’t trust him with my heart. Hell no. Not with the way he treated his girlfriends.

Because he was just like Cuba.

“You mean the world to me,” I said. And he did. Without him, I was basically friendless.

“But?” Spider asked.

“I—”

Cuba sauntered by, his long legs encased in low slung jeans, his impossibly broad shoulders stealing my gaze. His roses and thorns tattoo peeked from under the sleeve of his shirt, and my mouth got dry, remembering those biceps and how tight they’d held me. Why did he have to be so beautiful? My eyes searched his face, looking, waiting, yearning for him to see me.

But his head never turned in my direction.

“Fuck you,” Spider said to me in a low tone, his face reddening.

I flinched, my eyes back on Spider. “I’m sorry,” I said, reaching for his hand, but he jerked away, snapping out of his seat.

“And that’s my answer.” Giving me a grim look, he walked out of the cafeteria.

I felt hurt by how fast he left me. But then anything to do with Cuba had always pushed Spider’s buttons.

I got up and took the remains of our lunches to the trash. As I passed the jock table, my eyes sought Cuba. As usual.

He was back at his seat, sunglasses off, staring down into his uneaten lunch while Sebastian and crew talked around him. Perhaps feeling my gaze, he lifted his head and our stares connected. I didn’t know what I’d see there, maybe left-over anger from this morning, but not the hopelessness he allowed me to see now. I’d seen a similar expression this morning at his locker, but the emotion I now read in his eyes clawed at my chest.

And in the face of his desolation, a trickle of truth came to me.

It all made sense.

It dawned on me the ugly thing I’d failed to see.

Today was the day his mother had killed herself.

Caving in to the inevitable, I moved toward him, my feet pointing his way, being drawn like a magnet in his direction. I wanted him to know he wasn’t alone. That I understood his darkness today. I’d lost my own mother to pills and alcohol when I was ten.

He stiffened at my approach, his gaze hurriedly dropping mine. I winced and waited for him to look back up, but who was I kidding? He’d never needed me.

Even in his darkest moment last year, he’d rejected me.

Emma tugged on his arm, and he turned to her, a fake smile on his face.

I had to turn away.

“Lie until it becomes the truth.”

–Cuba

STROKE, BREATHE, STROKE, breathe.

I swam in the Olympic-sized swimming pool inside the athletic center after class. Football was officially over, but I continued to work hard at keeping in shape. There’s something about pushing myself with exercise that numbs me out and makes me forget. And I’d gotten addicted to the high of powering through exhaustion. Conditioned by years of sports, my body was my machine and the only thing I had real control over.