PROLOGUE

Let Her Go

Xander, 18 Years Old

A black Jetta with heavily tinted windows swerves around the corner and comes to a stop in front of me, blocking my path as I walk through her school parking lot. The window rolls down and the thumping of the stereo’s bass assaults me. I grin, recognizing the song immediately.

Logan Taylor pokes his head out to meet my stare. “Hey, dude, where you been?”

“Hey, man. Good to see you. I’ve been here and there. You?”

He hangs his arm out the open window. “Same. It’s been weird not jamming with you every day.”

“I know. Talk to your aunt.”

“Do I look suicidal?” he says, then blows the hair out of his eyes.

I just shake my head because there’s nothing else I can say. Not wanting to discuss Mrs. Taylor, I check out the curves he’s sitting in. “New car?” I ask as my eyes sweep the sleek, shiny body in front of me.

He shakes his head. “I wish. It’s my dad’s, and anyway you know I’d never pick a yuppie-mobile if I had my choice. I’d much rather have a car like yours any day, but no chance of that.”

I laugh. I do love my car. It used to belong to my father—it was his sixteenth birthday present from my grandparents and he kept it all these years. When I was little I always admired it even if it only sat in my grandparents’ garage. My dad never drove it anymore. He said it wasn’t a family car. So when my dad gave me his shiny red Corvette for my own sixteenth birthday, I couldn’t have been more excited.

“You here to see my cousin?”

“You know it,” I say with a grin.

“She’ll be glad to see you, man. She’s been in a funk. Her mother has her going out on auditions almost every day.”

I roll my eyes and sigh at the same time. I can’t wait to get her out of this town. I take a deep breath before responding. “She told me you’ve been getting her where she needs to go. Thanks for looking out for my girl.”

“Hey, she’s family and I love her. I’d do anything for my cousin. . . . You know that. Listen, I have to jet, but call me and let’s get together,” he says, then speeds off.

I shuffle onward with a slight smile on my face from knowing I finally get to see her. I take the short walk over to our meeting spot and the bell rings just as I arrive. The doors open and she walks my way. Her earrings glitter where they dangle from her ears—the sun reflecting off the star-shaped sapphire stones that are the exact same color as her eyes. Watching the way she moves, I can’t help but think she’s the total package . . . looks, personality, brains, and a rocking body. There’s a mysterious allure about her that I can never explain—she has an innocence that I’d do anything to protect. She’s confident yet shy, strong but not, a rebel and a conformist all in one. And I f**king love her.

A huge smile breaks across her angelic face when she sees me standing near the basketball court and my heart goes crazy. Her small frame whisks in my direction and her long, platinum blond hair blows in the wind. She lifts her hand to her mouth and forms a perfect O as she blows me a kiss. She looks beautiful, and all I can do is grin. My gaze quickly drifts to her chest and then down to her narrow hips. She’s wearing a white button-down that’s a tad too tight and a navy skirt that’s a little too short. Don’t get me wrong—my body reacts to hers with just a single glance. That’s how much I love the way she looks. But I hate the thought of all the other guys seeing what’s mine, especially when I’m not around to put them in their place.

Pulling off my red Brent Academy polo and tossing it on the bench behind me, I slide my shades on and stand in my khakis and white T-shirt waiting for my girl, Ivy Taylor, to get closer. I keep my eyes fixed on her, ignoring all the other students around me. Sure, some of the guys walking by give me crooked looks, but that’s as far as they take it anymore. They’re used to seeing me by now—I’ve been waiting for her most days after school since I started driving. At first they didn’t like me on their school grounds, but after a few fights they learned to leave me alone or get the shit kicked out of them. Just because I dress like a preppy ass doesn’t mean I am one.

Today I skipped out of school early—leaving my brother at the pristine private school we attend so I could see my girlfriend. Ivy attends a magnet school in the heart of LA. She lives nearby in a rent-controlled apartment building with her mother and three much younger sisters. Their father took off on them long ago and Kelly Taylor, Ivy’s mother, is nothing if not resentful about it. In fact, her spiteful attitude is sometimes directed at me, and lately she’s restricted our time together. She says she got a new job with later hours, so now Ivy has to go home right after school and I’m no longer allowed over when she’s not there. Coincidental? I doubt it. I can see through her—she views me as a threat to her golden ticket.

There’s no one to blame except myself for not keeping my big mouth shut, but I couldn’t help it. Her vendetta against me started when she overheard Ivy and me planning our rehearsal schedule. She made the idiotic statement that her daughter was a born actress and she should be spending her time rehearsing for parts and preparing for auditions, not playing in a band. She even went so far as to ask me, “Don’t you agree, Xander, that with Ivy’s looks she should be an actress, not a singer?”

“Do you even know Ivy?” I asked with a dry laugh.

“Yes, I know my daughter. And I know that with her beauty, she’ll be an instant superstar. She just needs a push in the right direction. She needs to put herself out there more is all. Did she tell you an agent contacted me?”

I looked at her, dumbfounded, shaking my head. Because no, Ivy hadn’t told me.

She grinned. “Well, one did—last week. He spotted Ivy when the band was playing at that school in Anaheim and thought she’d be perfect for a TV show airing in the fall. She auditions for it next week.”

Ivy’s head dropped as she spoke. “Mom, I told you, there’s no way I’m wearing a bathing suit on camera.”

Mrs. Taylor snapped, “Ivy, maybe the lifeguard part isn’t right for you, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t another role you’d like in the series. You need to go for the exposure, if not for the practice.”

“Mom, I don’t want to act,” Ivy reluctantly told her mother.

“We’ve talked about this. Singing in a band will take you nowhere. The money is in acting.”

“She doesn’t care about where the money is,” I retorted, glaring at her mother. I mean, come on, Ivy’s a modest, shy girl. It took forever for her to feel comfortable around me. Traipsing around a movie set half-dressed isn’t exactly her thing, and honestly, I don’t think I could handle it anyway. I didn’t even bother to address where the money is. That was just a ridiculous statement. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Taylor, but everything isn’t about money. Ivy’s never even expressed the slightest bit of interest in acting—it’s always been you making her go on auditions that she doesn’t want to go on. I think Ivy needs to decide what she wants to do herself.”

“That’s easy for you to say. Money has never been an issue for you or your family,” Mrs. Taylor said.

I didn’t respond. She was wrong. Yes, my grandfather had money, but my mother had been living paycheck to paycheck over the last couple of years. My father’s erratic work schedule never guaranteed enough to even pay the mortgage, and if it weren’t for my grandparents we’d have lost our house. But that wasn’t something I was going to get into with her. I may have had a smug look on my face, I don’t know, because she stared at me for the longest time and so did Ivy. The difference? Ivy’s stare said, “Thank you.” Mrs. Taylor’s stare said, “Fuck you.”

The truth is, I know Ivy very well. We’ve been together for four years. We met through Logan. He and I were playing on the same basketball team when he told me he was looking to put a band together. I asked who he had lined up. He told me he played the drums and he had a cousin who sang, played guitar, and wrote songs. When I asked what his cousin was like, he said, “She’s a talented girl whose voice draws you in the minute you hear it, and the beautiful tone of her guitar playing only sucks you in further.”

His description of her intrigued me enough to make me consider joining. When I met Ivy, I could tell right away that she was a soulful artist who sang about what she knew, what she experienced. Once I heard her sing, I definitely wanted to hear more, and before I knew it, I was playing guitar with Logan and his cousin, Ivy Taylor. We called ourselves Poison Ivy and modeled our band after No Doubt. Which is fitting, because Ivy looks like a young Gwen Stefani. For the record, I agreed to play in the band because I was hot for Ivy, but I stayed because she really could write a song, sing a note, and rock a rhythm guitar like no other girl I knew. It didn’t hurt that I fell in love with her the minute her fingers hit the chords. That smile she gave me when she played and sang was one I knew I couldn’t live without.

Now it’s been almost a week since we last saw each other, and my train of thought is instantly derailed the minute she jumps into my arms. “You made it! I’ve missed you so much.”

I fall back onto the bench with her on my lap, my hands gliding up her warm thighs, and I tug her skirt down. “Hi, gorgeous. I told you I’d be here. I just couldn’t skip out of school early this week until today. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I get it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I hate not seeing you. It sucks.”

Circling my hands around to her fine ass, I push her closer to me and grin. “I think what you mean to say is you love me so much you can’t bear to be without me that long.”

Her fingers travel to my hair and she yanks on it and says softly, “Stop putting words in my mouth, even if they are true.”

Reaching up, I take her hands in mine and stare into the depths of her blue eyes. Today they are the darkest of blues—stormy. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.” I breathe out. Then after another moment I whisper, “God, I love you.”

A quiet sigh escapes her lips and the look in her eyes tells me everything I already know but still love to hear. She nuzzles her nose close to my ear and the warmth of her breath on my skin instantly excites me. “I love you, too, Xander. And I can’t wait until the fall so we can see each other every day without our family issues getting in our way.”

I attach my lips to hers and kiss her with the passion that always ignites between us whenever we touch. I think about the freedom we’ll have to be together, and I get lost in just the idea of it. Pulling away, I brush my tongue across her lower lip. “I can’t wait either,” I murmur. The thought of us on our own together has my body going into overdrive. The muscles in her thighs tighten and the sound of her breathing becomes louder. I hold her face in my hands and just look at her—she takes my breath away. She always does . . . she always has and she always will.

She leans in and kisses me slowly. It’s not the same as the way I kissed her. Her kiss is one of need, not want, and I can feel it. I respond with slow, steady flicks of my tongue, but before I’m done letting her know I’ll always be here for her, someone is tapping me on the shoulder. I twist around to see a short, gray-haired woman in a yellow suit pointing her finger at me. “Excuse me, young man, but that kind of behavior is not allowed on school grounds. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Ivy scurries off my lap, smoothing her skirt. “Sorry, Vice Principal Myers. It won’t happen again.” She forces a smile at the woman, who has scolded us a few too many times over the years.

“Oh, Ivy, I know it won’t, my dear,” the iron-faced lady says while shooting daggers at me with her eyes.

It happens every damn time, and I wonder if she remembers me or thinks Ivy’s kissing a different guy each time she catches us. I try to apologize, but like usual she turns around in a huff and marches toward the other end of the basketball court to break up another couple heading in the same direction we were. Standing up, I wrap my arm around Ivy’s waist and lead her to my car. Leaning over, I whisper in her ear, “Your skirt is a little short, don’t you think?”

She looks down as if she forgot what she’s wearing. She shrugs her shoulders. “Honestly, I don’t.”

“All you have to do is bend over and every guy will think your ass is just begging to be spanked.”

She laughs. Before I can comment further she snakes her arm around my waist. She looks up at me trying to stifle her laughter. “Xander, I’m pretty sure you’re the only guy that thinks that way when he looks at me.”

“Trust me, baby, I’m not. But keep it up and I’ll be doing more than just thinking it.”

She giggles again. She thinks I’m kidding—but I’m not.

The hot sun beats down on us and reflects off the paint of the cars in the parking lot, nearly blinding Ivy. I turn to face her. I walk backward and remove my sunglasses to place them on her pretty face. Twisting back, I slap her ass and clutch her by the hand, then sprint for my car, about fifty yards away. We are both panting when we reach it. After I open the door for her, she pushes the seat forward and throws her red sack on the floor, but fails in her attempt to swat me with it first. I shake my head and grin. When her eyes adjust to the shade, she removes my sunglasses. Her face is a vision as she props herself back on her elbows and pulls her red combat boots into the car. With love written all over her face, I decide to drop the clothing issue. “You all set?” I ask.