Blake’s hand rests lightly on my arm. I pause, just inches away.

His eyes are dark in the moonlight, his chiseled cheekbones casting shadows across his face.

My heart stops. This is it. All it would take is me leaning just a little bit closer…for him to lower his head, and find my lips with his…

As if drawn together by some force beyond us both, our mouths meet in a kiss.

Warm. Soft.

Perfect.

I sway into him, reaching up to slide my fingertips against the scratchy stubble of his jaw. He tastes of beer and peppermints, and Blake, his tongue sliding between my lips and slowly stroking into my mouth.

Dear Lord, this man could kiss me into oblivion.

For a moment, I’m suspended in the bliss of it; the heat of his body, the feel of him so solid against me. I fall into the dark intimacy of our embrace, until finally, we come up for air.

I slowly exhale, unsteady on my feet. I feel like every bone in my body has been replaced with molten, shimmering heat. I smile, reaching for him again, but something unreadable flashes in Blake’s eyes.

He lurches back. “See you tomorrow,” he says, hoarse and sharp, then he turns on his heel and walks quickly away. I watch his figure disappear down the street, then the shadows swallow him up and he’s gone.

I’m left alone.

5.

5 Years ago…

Blake

The first time I kiss Zoe Barnes is the second-worst day in my life.

The worst was the day my parents died. They went out for groceries and never came back; just like that, a bullet hole ripped through my heart, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stitch the pieces back together.

We’ve all been over it, every way we could. If Ash hadn’t been studying for a final; if Dex wasn’t rehearsing with his band. If I hadn’t eaten the last of the cereal; if Tegan hadn’t needed two dozen cupcakes for her field hockey team’s holiday party.

If¸ if, if.

A hundred small coincidences and choices that could have gone a hundred different ways, but they all conspired for one terrible result: a patch of ice, a dark stop sign, a truck driver who’d been too many hours on the road.

Two coffins lowering into the cold, hard ground. And just like that, everything changed.

We spent that first Christmas alone in a house that had never felt more empty, just the four of us to make it through. And after that, things only got harder. Ash got the worst of it, I guess: he was the oldest, just out of business school, suddenly responsible for us all: trying to pay the bills and keep a roof over our heads. Dex threw himself into his music, and Tegan turned overnight from a happy kid sister to a sullen, emotional wreck. We were falling apart, so it was down to me to hold us together any way I could. Joking, teasing, playing the fool to get a laugh. Self-destructing was a luxury I didn’t get to enjoy, not when I was busy smoothing over their tempers and making sure the grief didn’t tear us all apart.

I pretended I was fine, but it was an act, all of it. Fake it ’til you make it, I guess. I was hurting as much as the rest of them but the last thing my siblings needed was another problem to worry about. So I became the expert in playing make believe. I always liked theater and acting in school, and this was nothing new: playing a part, saying the lines they needed to hear, keeping the scene moving through the sleepless nights and crying jags. From then, it was easy to start taking classes, auditioning for stage productions and commercials by day, and going home to play the part of the stable, well-adjusted brother at night.

I’m good. Too good, maybe. Because today it’s the third anniversary of their death, and I’m driving aimlessly through the Hollywood Hills, while the others go pay a visit to their grave.

I glance down at the phone on the passenger seat. Another three missed calls.

Guilt twists in my chest. I already know what they’ll say. But I can’t do it, no matter how much Tegan begs. The thought of stepping one foot inside that cemetery makes every muscle in my body turn to stone.

It’s too much. Too black. I’ve spent so long pushing the grief down that I can’t risk a crack in my armor. Because if I break, even for a second, I don’t know what I’ll do.

I’d rather just keep on pretending.

I take a left on Mulholland, driving the twisting narrow road above the valley. The views are gorgeous up here, even in December. That’s the thing about California: it’s easy to act like everything’s great when every day dawns blue-skied and sunny. A city of actors, walking around with bright smiles on their faces. From the guy at the grocery store, to the girl serving your coffee, it’s like everyone in town signed some silent pact to keep reality pushed to the deep, dark corners of our minds.

Ignore the pain. Shut out the hurt. Smile, and everything will be OK.

I drive for another hour, until finally I head back home. I brace myself for Tegan’s silent disappointment, but when I pull into the driveway, it’s still empty—except for the girl sitting on her suitcase on the front step.

“Zoey?” I get out of the car. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Me either.” Zoey gives me a smile, but it’s tired and doesn’t reach her eyes. “Apparently my parents forgot I was coming home for winter break. I got back to the apartment in New York, and nobody was there. They’re still overseas. Turkey, maybe. Or Greece”

Ouch. Zoey’s parents travel so much that she’s become a regular fixture at our place for the vacations. She and Tegan are inseparable, and she’s become pretty much an honorary little sister to us all.