I pull Aracely to her feet. Dallas is right. None of them will pay for this. Swamp doesn’t get away with shit. We’ll pay for everything, and tomorrow, my brothers will be in front of a judge.

As soon as Aracely rises, she shoves me off and runs back into the fray, reaching down and yanking Amy by the hair, dragging her off Carissa.

I turn back to Clay who stands in the street, chaos swirling around her, making her look like the eye of a storm. The rain pouring down her face looks like tears, her eyes glistening too.

“We’ll always be this,” I tell her, loud but there’s too much going on for anyone to hear us. “Do you see that? Me loyal to my family, and you afraid of yours and your friends. This is all we’ll ever be!”

Why did she have to come tonight? She should’ve just left me alone.

“No one is worth this much trouble,” I tell her. “Not even you.”

Her eyes fall, and for the first time, I see her speechless. She knows it’s true. We’re never going to hold hands, and I will always choose my family over her.

Amy crashes to the ground at Clay’s feet, crying out as she lands on her elbow. Red instantly starts staining the rainy street.

Clay barely notices, looking down and blinking as if she were beamed into this brawl and is trying to figure out what’s going on.

Aracely grabs her hair and yanks her head down. Clay’s face contorts in pain, but she doesn’t make a sound as Ara shoves her with her foot and she lands in a puddle, breaking her fall with her hands.

Aracely advances, I dive in to stop her, but she takes hold of Clay again, fisting her hair at the scalp and dragging her.

“Ara!” I bark.

But no one hears me. I glance up, searching for my brothers, the rain shrouding everything. Dallas holds his hand over his eye, probably to keep it from bleeding as he swings his foot back and kicks something on the other side of Milo’s car. I can’t see whomever he’s finally subdued.

Trace is on the ground, underneath Luke Houseman, choking him from the bottom, while Milo tries to get his legs under him and shake his head clear.

Aracely releases Clay, but only for a moment. Fisting Clay’s tank top, Ara pulls, ripping the back of the fabric, and I can hear it scream from here. Clay hugs herself with her arm, holding it to her body as everything seems to happen in slow motion.

Ara lets her go, takes out her knife, swings out the blade, gathers a handful of Clay’s hair, and…

I suck in a breath. Breaking into a run, I pull my own blade out of my back pocket, unsheath the knife, and reach out, yanking one of Aracely’s braids. She growls but releases Clay just in time, and I put myself between the two women, glaring at Ara.

“She’s mine,” I bite out. “Mine! Get the fuck away from her or she’ll be Army’s tonight, too.”

Aracely pins me with fire in her eyes, and I know that nothing makes her crazier than Army with another woman. Because he’s what she really wants. Even though he has no interest in her.

She rises, glaring at me. “She won’t always have you around, you know?”

And she walks off, the threat hanging in the air.

I peer down at Clay, her arm still holding her shirt to her body, no bra underneath the camisole. I untie the wet shirt around my waist, throwing it around her.

“Are you hurt?” I ask.

She shakes her head as she lets her tank top fall away and slips her arms into my shirt. She stares off, not focusing on anything. Does she even realize Aracely was about to chop off her hair?

“I’m not gay,” she says quietly, and I have to strain to hear her over the rain. “I’m just in love with you.”

My mouth goes dry. What?

Tears pool in her eyes. “I can’t apologize for everything I do to hurt you, Liv.” She finally looks up, blinking against the rain. “Because I can’t promise I’ll stop.”

I watch her.

“But I promise,” she goes on, “I hurt every time you do.”

My chin trembles.

My instinct is to push back. What does that mean? You think that justifies the last three-and-a-half years?

But the pain in her eyes splits my heart down the middle, and in that moment, I don’t care what else she has planned for me, because I can push back too. Just don’t stop.

Sirens pierce the air, and we both twist our heads, seeing blue and red lights flash through the rain, making their way down the street. Some of the girls scatter, running to cars, while others race in between buildings, disappearing.

I shoot to my feet, pulling Clay to hers.

“My brothers,” I gasp.

They scatter, Dallas racing away in the truck, and I can’t tell if he has everyone with him, but the streets empty quickly, and I am not going to be taken in for this.

I grip Clay’s hand. “Come on.”

I run, pulling her behind me, but it only takes a moment for her legs to catch up, and before I know it, we’re around the corner. I slam into the boutique door, the neon sign reading Lavinia’s dark. I look around, noticing the streetlights off, as well. The power is out.

Pulling my keys from the breast pocket on Clay’s shirt—my shirt—I open the shop door, and wait for Clay to dip in before I follow her.

Lightning flashes, thunder roars, and my heart almost stops, the mannequins inside looking like people. I pull the door closed, locking it from the inside.

I move to the window and peer through the blinds. “See anything?” I call.

I should be with my brothers, but everything happened so fast. The last thing Dartmouth needs to hear is that I was arrested for brawling.

But Clay doesn’t answer me.

Stepping away from the window, I walk into the main room, drapes hanging to my left and sectioning off three dressing rooms. A riser sits in the center, an armchair on each side, and mirrors spread out around the walls. Clay stands at the windows to my right, next to the tiara and jewelry displays.

But she’s not looking out the window. She’s staring at me.

“Clay?” I prompt.

Is she okay?

My flannel hangs on her, water dripping from the unbuttoned sleeves, and I see the upside-down V patch of skin, starting underneath her breasts and falling below her belly button. She didn’t have a chance to finish buttoning the shirt.

Her hair is darkened with rain, drops shimmering across her face, while her skirt sticks to her thighs.

Red and blue lights flash beyond the curtains, and I jerk my attention to the window, it only taking a moment for them to pass and fade away down the street.

Clay moves, pulling her little handbag over her head and reaching inside for her phone before she tosses the purse down.

I should check my phone for water damage. The video she took on it pops in my head, filling me with excitement. I don’t have any pictures of us together, except for team photos.

She moves closer, inching forward and dragging her finger over the glass tables along the wall. I know what she wants. Her nipples look like berries poking through my shirt, and my eyes fall to her legs again, the water bringing out the tone of her thighs and her tan. I want to lick my lips, but I don’t.

“I want you to leave me alone,” I tell her quietly.

She walks her fingers—index and middle—playfully across the table, seemingly satisfied now to have me all to herself. “You know what I want?” she questions. “I want you to stop lying to me.”