He’s right. It is screwed up. The very fact that I can look at this guy without wanting to rip his throat out is screwed up. To want to form any kind of connection with him? That’s beyond screwed up.

But if there’s no connection, no bond, then that means what Chase and I did meant nothing.

“I get it, okay?”

His pained words draw me back to the present. “Get what?”

Chase lowers himself beside me and kicks his long legs out. In the moonlight, the scruff on his jaw looks blonder. “You were a virgin,” he mutters.

I don’t see the point in denying it, so I nod.

His expression grows more upset. “I should’ve figured it out, picked up on the signs, but I...I was too...” He trails off.

“Too what?”

“Too into it, okay?” Shame colors his voice and hangs in the droop of his broad shoulders. “I hadn’t been with a chick in three years, Beth. I wasn’t a virgin last weekend, but I might as well have been, considering how bad I wanted it and how eager I was.”

I bend my head to mop up my tears with the sleeve of my T-shirt. The action means I can’t look at him, and that’s a good thing. I don’t want to see his face right now.

“I get it,” I murmur. I still won’t look at him, though.

“But the only way to move forward is to put it behind us. It didn’t mean anything, right?”

A whimper slips out. I bite hard on my bottom lip and valiantly try not to cry again.

“Beth,” he says in frustration.

I stare straight ahead.

“Fucking hell, Beth. What do you want to do?” Chase stumbles to his feet and starts pacing the pavement. The shards of light from above emphasize the agitated crease in his forehead. “You want to start going out? Hook up again? I went to fucking jail for killing your sister.”

My face collapses. My shoulders sag, unable to support the weight of guilt bearing down on them. “I’m a terrible person,” I whisper.

His blond head snaps toward me. “What? You’re not.”

“Yeah. I am.” I don’t bother wiping my tears anymore. I let them stream down my cheeks and dribble off my chin. “I’m the slut who slept with my sister’s killer.”

“You didn’t know,” he says roughly. “And you’re not a slut. No girl is for having sex or liking it.”

I know this, but... I weakly meet his gaze. “Then why do I feel like one?”

He has no answer for that. He doesn’t try to comfort me. Doesn’t move toward me, touch me. He simply stands there, staring at me with regret in his eyes. I stare back, wondering what he sees when he looks at me. Wondering why I can look at him without wanting vengeance for what he did to Rachel.

Pain slices through my heart. Rachel. God, why did she have to die? I miss her. I really... I banish those thoughts to that steel-walled dungeon in the very back of my heart. Thinking about Rachel is pointless. It just hurts to do it. And missing her won’t bring her back. It won’t change the fact that this boy in front of me is the reason my sister isn’t here.

“Are you even sorry?” I find myself blurting.

He looks startled. “What? For what happened Saturday? I—”

“No,” I interrupt. “For what happened three years ago.”

Stunned silence crashes over the darkened street. Chase runs a hand through his hair again, the movement quick and stilted. His gaze drops to his scuffed sneakers and I can see his chest rise and fall in a quick rhythm, as if he’s breathing hard.

Still he doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t answer the question. A stupid question, really. Because even if he’s not sorry, it’s not like he’s going to admit it.

The silence drags on, finally broken by the sound of an engine. Two huge spotlights point at Chase’s back, blinding me. I stand up. Chase quickly moves to the side to allow the taxi to pull up to the curb.

“Beth?” the driver asks after rolling down his window.

I nod. “Yeah, that’s me.” Without acknowledging Chase, I open the car door and slide into the back seat.

Before I can close the door, Chase steps forward.

“Beth,” he says gruffly.

I bite the inside of my cheek. “What?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

He visibly swallows. “Yes, I’m sorry for three years ago. More than you will ever know.”

My eyes start stinging again. I tear my gaze off Chase and address the driver. “Can we please go?”

He steps on the gas and we leave Chase in the rearview mirror.

14

To my complete and total shock, Jeff is waiting on the curb when I arrive at my house.

“Where have you been?” he whispers, grabbing my arm and dragging me away from the front walk.

I jerk out of his grip, still stunned at the sight of him. “What do you mean? Where should I have been? You left me on the street!”

“I went back, and you weren’t there,” he accuses.

My head pounds. “I have to get inside. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” I’m not sure how I’m going to sell this to my parents, but I’m going to have to try.

He grabs me again before I can leave. “You can’t go inside. I already covered for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I called them after I couldn’t find you and told them you fell asleep in the family room and I didn’t think I should wake you up.” He points angrily to his Audi parked half a block down. “Come on. You’re crashing at my house and I’m driving you to school in the morning. That’s what I told your parents is happening.”

I rub my fingers in my eyes, trying to sort out my feelings. Confusion is my default state these days. I sift through my choices, but Jeff’s right—his plan is the best one, because that’s the one my parents are supposedly on board with.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

He arches a brow. “You’re not going to thank me?”

My jaw drops. “Thank you? You left me in Lincoln!”

“Keep your voice down,” he orders sharply, but his eyes have softened. “I know I did, and I’m sorry. I really am. I just can’t control my temper when it comes to that killer.”

I don’t entirely forgive him—I could have been seriously hurt tonight, thanks to Jeff abandoning me—but it’s too late and I’m too hungover to have this argument. So I nod and mumble, “Whatever, it’s fine. Let’s just get out of here.”

* * *

I wake up at 8:00 a.m. in an unfamiliar bed. It takes several seconds and a lot of blinking to remember where I am—Jeff’s sister’s room. He dragged me up here last night when we got to his house. And I think he mentioned his parents were out of town, which is a huge relief. How awkward would it have been making small talk with my dead sister’s boyfriend’s parents over breakfast?

But there’s no breakfast in the cards. I’ve just finished washing up in the private bath when Jeff knocks on the door, announcing it’s time to leave.

I stare down at my wrinkled, day-old clothes. “But I’m wearing the same clothes I had on yesterday,” I tell the closed door.

“Raid my sister’s closet” is his response. “There should be something that fits you.”

In the walk-in closet, I rifle through a couple skirts and several tops in varying shades of floral and pastels. Jeff’s sister must’ve really loved pink in her high school days.

Five minutes later, I’m dressed in a pink skirt, a white polo and a deep pink, sleeveless V-neck sweater vest. I tie my hair in a ponytail as I duck out of the bedroom. Jeff’s waiting in the hallway, and he appraises my outfit with a grin.

“No offense to your sister, but I look like a golf course model,” I grumble.

He furrows his brow. “You look pretty. I like that look better than what you usually wear.”

“What I usually wear is T-shirts and jeans.”

“Exactly. You’ve got a nice body, Beth. You shouldn’t be afraid to dress it nicely. Not that I think you should dress like a slut like Macy does, but it’d be nice for you to wear something more girlie.”

His criticism is irritating, but he did cover for me with my parents last night, so I try to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “Girlie isn’t my style and Macy doesn’t dress like a slut.”

“I can see her bra every day,” Jeff retorts.

“So what? If you don’t like her bra, don’t look at it.” Fuck, Jeff is annoying. Was he like this with Rachel?

“Fine, but she is a slut. Everyone knows Macy will have sex with anyone who shows the least bit of interest. Calling Macy easy is an insult to easy girls everywhere.”

I tighten my jaw. “That’s rude, Jeff. And not even true. Not to mention it’s a complete bullshit double standard. I don’t hear you trashing Troy, and everyone talks about how he tries to bag a cheerleader from every school Darling plays against. Macy’s sex life is none of your business.” Why is he even harping on Macy?

“I don’t like that you hang out with her. She’s a bad influence.” Jeff keeps talking as if I don’t exist.

“I’m done talking about Macy.” And her nonslutty ways. I don’t care that she’s slept with a lot of guys. I wish I had her confidence. She’s completely unbothered by her sexual activity. Maybe what I need to do is sleep with more guys. Like, maybe the reason I’m obsessing over Chase is because he’s the only one I’ve been with.

“Just saying.”

I refuse to speak to him for the rest of the car ride. After he parks in the school lot, I hop out of his Audi as fast as I can. “Thanks for the ride,” I mutter and then dart toward the entrance.

He catches me before I get more than a car length away.

“I know you’re not like Macy, Beth. From what I hear, you haven’t dated at all.” He pulls me toward him. His face is uncomfortably close to mine. “I like that,” he says seriously. “I like that a lot.”