He kisses me again. Suddenly, anything seems possible. I feel it every time we’re together now—possibility.

When we come up for air and he grabs the waistband of my jeans to tug me closer, every part of me is on fire. I never imagined feeling the way I do right now—like nothing matters more than the boy in my arms. Like no one has ever understood me the way he does.

Marco runs his hand across my stomach and presses his fingers against my back, urging me closer. I drag my fingers over his side, feeling goose bumps spring up beneath my touch. Our legs twist together and Marco rolls onto his back, taking me with him. I feel waves of heat, and a tingling sensation that starts in my belly travels down to my toes, dragging me to the edge and then releasing me again just before I break.

“Marco.” The need in my voice when I say his name creates an unbearable tension.

“Frankie…” My name sounds like a moan, and I feel how much he wants me as I press against him.

“Maybe we should slow down. I—” What? Want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone, and it scares the crap out of me? And I’m feeling things I’ve never felt—sensations I never realized my body could feel—and I’m terrified to lose control?

I can’t tell him the truth.

Marco freezes, his fingers touching the silky strip of fabric underneath the zipper of my jeans. His chest heaves against mine, and without his hands and lips to distract me, I realize how fast my heart is beating. He has probably slept with dozens of girls. Maybe more. He’s not the kind of guy who takes things slow.

He slides his hand up to the curve of my waist, just above the waistband of my jeans, and pulls back so he can look at me. His dark eyes lock with mine. “Have you ever done this before?”

I know what he’s asking, but I don’t want to answer. I bite my lip and turn my head away.

“Don’t do that, Frankie. Look at me.” His voice is low and raw from kissing me. It’s crazy how much I love the way Marco says my name. He moves his hand away from my waist and brings it up to my face, tracing a path along my jawline. He turns my face toward him gently. “Look at me.”

I force myself to meet his gaze. Marco’s brows pull together, worry branded on his beautiful features.

Please don’t ask. Just kiss me.

I repeat the words over and over in my head, hoping I’ll develop telepathic abilities in the next ten seconds.

He takes a breath, and I know the question is coming. “Are you a virgin?”

I bite my lip and cover my face with my hands. I nod—the tiniest movement imaginable. I want to evaporate into the air.

“Shit.” He eases off me and pulls me up against his chest, and his cheek brushes mine as he brings his lips to my ear. “Don’t hide from me. You don’t have to be embarrassed. I’m the jerk.” He rests his forehead on my shoulder. “We can take things as slow as you want. I’ll never ask you to do anything you aren’t ready for. Just don’t go anywhere, okay?”

I uncover my face and slide my arms around Marco’s neck.

He notices the time illuminated on my alarm clock. “Lex will be here in a few minutes to pick you up.”

“It’s not enough time.” I press my face against his chest.

He strokes my hair. “I know. Having you in my arms like this is all I want.”

“Will you text me tonight and tell me that ten more times? Or twenty?”

Marco grins. “I’ll tell you a hundred times.” He bites his lip. “But I want you to be sure. All this sneaking around … if it’s too hard—”

“It doesn’t matter how hard it is.” I take his face in my hands. “Because I’m in love with you.”

I fell for him the first night I kissed him, but falling in love didn’t happen because of one mind-blowing event. It happened during dozens of everyday moments—watching him carry his sister’s backpack, listening to him talk about his mom, hearing the sound of my name on his lips. Now it feels like I’ve loved him forever.

Marco stares at me with a dazed look, like I just told him I was a mermaid. “Don’t feel like you have to say it just because I did.”

“I love you, Marco Leone. And it’s the always kind.”

CHAPTER 32

HANDCUFFS AND HEARTBREAK

The streetlight in front of the apartment building blinks, on the verge of burning out. Lex parks in the spot in front of the balcony, and Cujo stands on his hind legs, paws up against the window ledge, as if he senses I’m out here.

Colored lights flicker behind his pointy ears. Dad leaves the TV on for Cujo if he’ll be gone for a long time—a crime show channel, because he thinks our dog likes reruns of Law & Order and Cold Case.

Our dog.

I stare at the two-story garden apartment building with the shitty outdoor staircase that sucks even more if it’s raining, the identical balconies with the parking-lot views, and the sliding glass doors that offer zero privacy.

This place is home, and that’s okay.

The fact that I can’t stand to look at Dad doesn’t matter. I feel like myself here—or at least like I’m getting closer to figuring out who I am now.

“Do you believe everything happens for a reason?” Lex looks straight ahead, her expression impossible to read. We used to sit outside behind my house for hours, lying on our backs and staring at the stars in silence. A person really understands you if you don’t have to say a word to hear each other. “Frankie?”

“I’m not sure. That would mean Noah’s death happened for a reason, and I can’t think of one that makes sense. Maybe some things do and others don’t.”

Lex props her elbow against the window. “It feels so arbitrary.”

“I know.” I get out, but I don’t close the car door. “I’m worried about him, Lex.”

She knows I’m talking about Marco. “Worrying won’t change anything. It’s just a way to fool yourself into believing things will turn out differently.”

I’m not sure what she means. As she drives away, a heaviness settles in my stomach. Marco isn’t the only person I’m worried about.

* * *

The note on the kitchen table is barely legible.

Working late. There’s pizza in the freezer.

Don’t forget to lock the door. Dad