Aaron shrugs his big shoulders and sighs again, kicking one boot up to rest the sole against the tree trunk. He doesn't look at me as he continues.

“If I was stronger, we could've been. But I wasn't. And neither were you.” He turns back to me, but I can't deny it. That memory of his father's funeral plays fresh in my mind. I can hear my own thoughts echoing back at me. I don’t know how to help. That happens sometimes, when one broken person tries to lean on another. We’re too rickety to keep the other standing. “So I let you go. It killed a part of me I wasn't sure I could ever get back.” Aaron taps two inked fingers—interestingly enough, the two with the A and V on them—against the Bernadette tattoo on his right arm.

“Wasn’t sure,” I say, my heart beating like a live thing inside my chest. I feel lightheaded and dizzy, like I might need to reach out and hold onto something to stay standing upright. Unfortunately, the only thing to grab onto right here is Aaron himself. I’ll admit: part of me is afraid to touch him. I don’t know what’ll happen between us if I do. “Past tense. But you feel differently now?”

Aaron’s mouth curves up into a smile. There’s enough good boy hidden underneath that cocky smirk that I feel a bite of nostalgia, but not too much that I don’t think he could curb stomp someone for me.

Fuck if Aaron Fadler doesn’t make me feel safe. Even after everything. Even with everything we’re dealing with now.

“You didn’t just say it to me,” Aaron says, pushing off the tree and stepping forward. He doesn’t touch me, but I wish he would. I grit my teeth against the emotion and curl my hands into fists by my sides.

“Say what?” I ask, but I already know. “You’re right. I do love him.”

“You told Vic you loved me.” Aaron’s smile gets a little wider, but I don’t know what he expects will come of this. We can’t just go back to the way we were … but then, I don’t see why we can’t start something new? That rose and sandalwood scent of his wafts over me, and I close my eyes. “I didn’t think you’d be able to feel for me ever again. And then to say it to Vic’s face?” Aaron chuckles and shakes his head, reaching up to run his fingers through his chestnut hair. “That, I really didn’t expect.” He pauses again, his smile softening into something deeper, more melancholic. “You love Vic though, too, don’t you?”

I can’t deny that—it would be a lie—but I also can’t force my mouth to say the words either.

“Does it matter?” I ask instead, my voice much softer than I want it to be. “Love isn’t logical, and it doesn’t have limits.” I look back up at Aaron to find him watching me like I’m something precious, like dandelion fluff that might blow away in the wind if he breathes wrong. See, Aaron doesn’t know the new Bernadette very well. He might’ve been an expert on the old one, but he has a lot to learn. “What are you proposing?” I ask, and he shrugs.

“Well, to start off, I’d like to take you out for a milkshake.” His smile gets a little saucier, ratcheting up into a grin. “And then maybe we can talk about not hating each other?”

“I’ve hated you in a way I’ve never hated anyone else,” I say, giving a small shake of my head. “I can’t explain it, but I think there’s a special sort of hate that blooms from love.”

“Yeah, it’s called love-hate, and I hear the sex is off the charts.” Aaron cups the side of my face, running his thumb along my bottom lip. When he leans in close, I get butterflies. Fucking butterflies. Like I’m fifteen all over again. “But we can take it slow.”

“Why?” I ask, tilting my head to look at him. He really is gorgeous, always has been, but even more so now that he’s filled out and dripping with ink. “The sex is the easy part. It’s the feelings I struggle with.”

I turn and start down the sidewalk, listening for the easy fall of his footsteps as he hesitates and then follows after me.

“Sex isn’t easy, Bernadette. Don’t start telling yourself that.” Aaron walks a bit faster, overtaking me with his long strides. I catch up to him at the next crosswalk, but neither of us says anything. Instead, he reaches down and takes my hand in his, curving his HAVOC stamped fingers around mine.

That gets me right in the heart, an arrow that I can’t pull out for risk of bleeding to death.

We walk the last few blocks together like that, like a fairy-tale couple who lives in a tower, safe and solid against the wicked of the world. I notice as we go that Aaron’s eyes track side alleys, thick foliage, empty houses with For Sale signs in the yards. Occasionally, he nods, and I get chills down my spine.

We’re being watched, by Havoc’s crew.

“How many people do you have working for you?” I ask, thinking of Halloween and the dozens of skeleton-masked boys—and interestingly enough, girls—that appeared from the crowd. Aaron smirks slightly, eyes focused on the old-fashioned soda fountain down the block. It was built in 1915 and used to be a popular Fuller High hangout before Havoc kicked their asses across the railroad tracks. They still serve malts and Shirley Temples and all that old-timey shit in there.

“Even I don’t know the answer to that.” Aaron pushes the door open, bells tinkling in our wake, and I swear to fuck, every face in that room turns to watch us with wary eyes. Where Havoc goes, trouble follows. “Only Vic and Oscar do,” he adds as we head up to the counter and several students clear the red-leather stools to make room for us. “I could ask if I wanted, but I don’t.”

Aaron orders two chocolate shakes for us and then parks his chin in his hand, elbow resting against the cracked old countertops.

“I can’t believe they fire-bombed my van today,” he says absently, tapping his fingers against the side of his face. The car is trashed, by the way, a burnt shell of its former self, and yet another flame-washed memory of his mother. We told the cops it seemed like a random act of violence; they didn’t believe us for shit. I’m sure the news of today’s incident has already made its way back to the Thing.

“Are you going to get another car?” I ask, thinking of the two grand I buried in the backyard. That’s enough for a shitty clunker. Maybe I should buy one? I don’t have a license, but frankly I need to get on that shit. Having a car and being able to drive it, that’s a tool I need in my arsenal.

“Havoc will get me another car,” Aaron replies smoothly, sitting up as our milkshakes are slid across the counter to us. He stirs his with a metal straw as I cock a brow in question.

“Aaron, you are a part of Havoc. You’re the fucking A in the equation. How much money do you guys have squirreled away?” It’s difficult for me to gauge what the guys have going on finance wise. They all still live in relative dumps, Oscar and Callum don’t have rides, and yet, Vic gave me two thousand bucks and told me I have twenty grand to plan our wedding.

Our wedding …

Shit.

Just thinking about it gives me the chills.

“About fifty thousand,” he says, lifting those beautiful eyes of his to mine. They’re mosaics of color, like some wicked god dropped to earth for an afternoon to play with gold and green tiles. A lot of care was put into those irises of his. “We’d have more, but Victor likes to reinvest. We pay all our guys, too.” He shrugs his big shoulders and gives a caustic laugh. “Once he gets his inheritance, everything will be different.”

I exhale and take a sip of my drink, just to give myself a moment.

“Do you have any idea how much is on the line?” I ask, looking down at the ring on my finger. The temptation to run is still there. I think it’ll always be there, this sweet far-off promise of a life without worries, without bloodshed and pain. But I’ve made my bed here, and I plan to sleep in it—even if it’s a forever sort of sleep.

“Millions,” Aaron says, looking up at me. He leans close, one of his legs going between my own. I swallow hard, but I don’t say anything as his knee brushes up against the crotch of my pants. “So much money that it’s hard for me to hate the idea of you marrying Vic.” Aaron reaches out and slides his warm hand over the top of mine.

“Hard for you to hate it, but you still do?” I ask, and he smiles. This time, it’s a real smile, one that’s painted in shadows and darkness. He isn’t pretending to be the old Aaron, all soft fluffy clouds and sunshine. This time, he’s letting me see a little piece of who he’s become over the last few years.

“I hate it so much that it keeps me up at night,” he tells me, shifting his knee so that it rubs against me in a tantalizing sort of way. There’s a dam between us, one that’s going to come tumbling down. As soon as it does, I won’t be able to resist the flood. It’s going to sweep me away and drown me. “You as his wife, Bernie?” he says with another low laugh. His eyes meet mine, and a zing shoots through me, like a bullet pinging around inside my body, making me bleed, causing internal damage. Might be sort of fucked that that’s the analogy I go straight to, but I can’t help it. Aaron … he’s painful to look at sometimes, a reminder of things that could’ve been. “You were meant to be mine.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and turn back to my shake. Screw you for making me feel fifteen again, I think as I put my lips around the end of the straw. For some stupid reason, I turn my eyes to his just as I take the damn thing in my mouth.

“If you wanted me to be yours, why do you let Vic push you around? Stand up for me, Aaron.” I suck on the straw, and his eyes flash. Aaron reaches out, grabbing me by the elbow and yanking me off of the stool.

“I let him push me around because I feel like I don’t deserve you, Bernie. I let you go once; how can I ask you to come back?” He smirks at me, pulling me up against his chest. It’s impossible for me to miss the hard bulge pressing into my stomach. Aaron has a huge dick; there’s no hiding that. “But maybe you’re right? Maybe I’m thinking about this in the wrong way? I’m not the good guy anymore, and I can never be that person again. So, maybe …” He leans down and licks a bit of chocolate from my lower lip. “I just take what I want, regardless of whether I deserve it or not?”