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  “This is my fault,” I shrieked, tugging on John’s arm. “I kissed him. I kissed him.”

  “I don’t care who kissed whom,” my brother snapped. “You’re never going near him again.”

  “Fair enough. It was an impulse thing anyway. Didn’t mean anything. Can we just go?”

  Rhett lowered his hands. I wasn’t sure if I was lying about the ‘impulse’ comment or not. Either way, he looked hurt by my words. But that wasn’t possible, right? I was the fourth girl he’d kissed today. Surely, he’d just find someone new to kiss later.

  My brother ushered me away, toward the front of the restaurant, leaving Rhett behind. And I let him because I didn’t know what else to do.

  “I need to pay for your milkshake and the appetizer I ordered,” John grunted. “Then we’re gone and never coming back to this hole again. Got it? Rhett Morgan sleeps around with everyone. He probably has crabs, and his crabs have something even more disgusting. He’s no good and will work at this bar for the rest of his meaningless life. You’re never going near him again.”

  Wow. I didn’t know my brother could be such a judgmental jerk.

  “It didn’t mean anything,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  We went back into the restaurant, John tugging me along. A big part of me wanted to glance up, toward the bar in the back of the room and look for Rhett. Had he come back inside? I felt horrible about my brother punching him. I hoped he knew that I was sorry. But I kept my head down and followed John.

  Our untouched appetizer of fried calamari sat on the table. The server approached us, carrying my milkshake. John asked for the check and asked her to box up our food so we could take it home. It took a few minutes and then finally she returned. She handed John the takeout box and me my milkshake. She also slipped something into my hand when John wasn’t looking.

  A piece of paper.

  My heart started slamming even harder than it was already. My skin burned. I couldn’t look at the paper the whole way home for fear that John would see. But once we arrived home, I rushed up to my room to see if the paper was what I thought it was. It was. It was a note. A note from Rhett. The note read:

  Come find me when you’re no longer jail-bait.

  CHAPTER 2:

  2 years later…

  SYDNEY

  What and if. Alone those words never meant much to me, but string them together—what if—and suddenly I was faced with the most horrifying sentence ever. It was a sentence that used to fill me with hope. Now the words filled me with regret. What if? It was all I could think about—and feared that it would be a question that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

  One week ago Ben Turner was alive and well. One week ago my life made a hell of a lot more sense. One week ago I still had the same silly dreams and hopes that I had been holding onto all four years of high school. Now, nothing made sense. I could barely breathe let alone think straight. Why? Why would God take him away from this world so young?

  “Lost at Sea.” That was what all the local news stations had been blaring on repeat. And hearing that phrase over and over made me want to punch something and I thought if I heard it one more time I would go insane. Because I knew Ben would turn up. I knew it was only a matter of time before they found him—alive—and everything would go back to normal. But then, after only four days, the massive search party off the coast of California was called off and the phrase changed to something infinitely harder for me to stomach.

  “Lost at Sea, Declared Dead.”

  In the blink of an eye, the metaphorical carpet had been ripped out from underneath my feet and my entire world flipped upside-down. And what made it all so much worse—and it was already pretty damn awful—were all the questions I knew I would never have the answers to. What if this was all my fault? What if I should have tried to stop him, rather than encourage him, from leaving for the Coast Guard in the first place? What if I would have told him how I felt? Could that have changed things somehow?

  Last summer, when other kids my age were exploring first loves and first jobs, I’d decided to take a few courses at the community college. What else can I say? I was a nerd to the core and I signed up because I had nothing better to do with my time. Only…I never expected a particular someone to be in one of my classes.

  Imagine my surprise when I walked into the room on that first day and found Ben of all people staring back at me. I swear to God, I heard a hallelujah chorus in my head when I saw him sitting there. He’d been alone—none of his usual crowd surrounding him like a buffer. And when he’d spotted me walking into that classroom, even though we were barely more than acquaintances, he’d smiled his gorgeous ‘Crest-commercial’ smile in my direction. He probably only smiled because I was the only other familiar face in the room and although he wasn’t the type to sit alone, he’d smiled at me nonetheless.

  Before that day I’d thought I’d moved on from my ‘school-girl’ infatuation. When I’d seen Ben having sex with Sonya two years ago and then subsequently kissed Rhett Morgan by the dumpsters, something inside me had changed. Maybe it was a punch to the face of reality or possibly a little loss of innocence, or maybe just the empowerment I felt from kissing someone else…ever since that moment, my feelings for Ben had subsided. In the time since, I’d even kissed a couple different boys and been on a handful of awkward dates. Nothing life-changing, of course, or even worth reminiscing over. But I couldn’t deny it, when I walked into that classroom and spotted Ben—it brought me right back to where I’d been prior to seeing him with Sonya.

  All those dulled feelings started burning red-hot again. Because this time one little important detail had changed. Ben no longer was with Sonya. Their breakup had been ‘heard round the school,’ so to speak, and it was common knowledge that they were over. That fact opened my eyes to possibility once more, and I took a chance the old me wouldn’t have dared. I sat down in the seat next to his.

  “Hi, Sydney,” he’d whispered. “Glad I know at least one other person in here.”

  “Same,” I’d responded.

  And that was the start of our friendship.

  The real Ben wasn’t exactly as I’d assumed. In the days following that first day, I’d really gotten to know him. Previously I thought I knew him pretty well. But it turned out that I’d been wrong. Sure, I knew facts about him, like the fact that when he wore the color blue his eyes would make my knees feel wobbly, and when he spoke he could draw the attention of an entire room. But I quickly learned that studying a person from afar didn’t mean you actually knew anything about them.

  There was a sadness inside Ben—this heaviness that weighed him down. It was something I noticed immediately. The class we shared was a calculus class and it was over my head. I’d always been good at math, but this was harder than I’d expected. Ben had the opposite problem. If anything the class was too easy for him. Almost immediately he recognized that it was difficult for me and he helped me in every way he could. He was kind and patient, staying after class to explain lessons when I didn’t pick things up as fast as he had. Ben had an altruistic side to him and it was his most attractive quality.

  But that sadness. At first I attributed it to his breakup with Sonya. He never spoke of her, but I could see it in his eyes. Something was killing him so I figured that must be it. Sure, we’d talk about movies and laugh about the ridiculous outfits our professor wore, but there was more going on with Ben—more that I wished I could ask him about. Until one day—minutes before our last class and our final exam, we were sitting on a bench outside the classroom flipping through our notes in a final study session before the big test, and that was when Ben let me in.

  “I’m joining the Coast Guard,” Ben confessed.

  I froze. I’d been gnawing on the end of my pencil, anxious as all hell, because of our impending exam and because this was my last day with Ben. In the past few weeks we’d become friends. But I wanted more than a friendship…I wanted a relationship. I wanted to tell him how my hea
rt always beat harder whenever he was near or how special he could make me feel with just a single look. If I didn’t tell him this today, I feared I would never get another chance. That was a lot of pressure to put on myself, especially when I had no idea where to begin or if Ben even felt a fraction of what I felt. But I had to try. Except, now he was dropping this bomb on me and it made me reconsider everything I had planned to say.

  “That’s why I’ve been taking these classes,” he continued. “After today I’ll have enough credits to graduate early and skip senior year. I’m getting out of this town. I’ve already been talking with a recruiter. No one else knows, but I’m doing this. I have to…for my own sanity.”

  Carefully breathing in and out, I attempted to process his words. My already frantic mind grew even more so. He wanted to skip senior year and leave? What? I could feel my opportunity to tell him how I felt slipping through my fingers. “Wow,” I whispered, trying not to sound disappointed. “That’s…unexpected.”

  “Yeah. I know.” Ben’s pretty blue eyes focused on his notebook as his disheveled dark hair fell over his forehead and covered those eyes. He sighed, tugging his fingers through his locks. And it occurred to me as he did this—Ben was nervous. Or scared as hell. I couldn’t decide which. Either way, I wanted to erase whatever it was that seemed to be crippling him. To do that I knew I had to push aside my own feelings and tell him what he needed to hear.

  “It’s unexpected, but also pretty badass,” I said, feigning some enthusiasm.

  “What?” He looked up at me. Surprise and sincerity flooded his face. He was probably stunned by the fact that I—good girl Sydney Michaels—just used the word ‘badass.’

  “Yes,” I answered, unable to stop myself now that I’d started. “You heard me correctly. It’s badass. Your leaving would be a giant ‘fuck-you’ to this town. I think that’s what you’re really going for.” I grabbed his hand, squeezing it. “Whatever your reason, you should do what makes you happy.”

  The heaviness that hit my heart as I said this was crushing. The last thing I wanted was for him to leave, but I genuinely wanted him to be happy and the reward that came next made all my lies worthwhile.

  Ben wrapped his arms tightly around my shoulders and held onto me like a life preserver. “Thanks,” he whispered. “You have no idea how badly I need someone to support me on this.”

  “No problem,” I mumbled into his shoulder—his very warm, muscular, heavenly shoulder.

  After a moment, he broke his embrace. “Can I email you while I’m away?” he asked, clearing his throat and gathering up his math book and binder.

  The blood that was racing through my veins sped even harder. “Yes.”

  “Good. My decision to leave isn’t a ‘fuck-you’ to the town or to a certain someone. I’m leaving because some mistakes can’t be fixed. But know that…that I will miss you, Sydney.”

  “I’ll miss you too.”

  That conversation took place exactly six months and four days ago. It would forever be cemented in my brain. We exchanged many emails and several phone calls in those six months. And yet, there was never a clear definition as to what our relationship was—friends? More than friends? Perhaps a little of both. In the end I suppose it didn’t make a difference. Ben died when he fell overboard on a rescue mission off the coast of California. It happened at night, he was in full gear, and there was suspicion that the floatation device he was using wasn’t fully inflated. They waited forty-eight hours before officially declaring him dead, and his body was never recovered.

  And today…today would be Ben’s funeral. Today his family and the world would bury an empty casket, saying goodbye, and forever killing the ‘what if’ I had dreamed about for the past four years of my life.

  It felt like I was stuck in a nightmare from which I couldn’t wake up. Alive but not fully alive. Aware but not fully aware. Breathing but only just barely—each breath more difficult to manage than the one before it.

  Today was also my eighteenth birthday. And the only reason I knew the date was because my brother John had once again made pancakes for breakfast, something that had become sort of an annual tradition. But I didn’t care what day it was or how old I was or what was for breakfast. Because Ben was dead. Nothing else mattered now.

  “Sydney, wear this,” Mom told me as she unzipped her dress bag. She’d driven straight through the night and had arrived only ten minutes ago from Florida. She hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours—the proof in the four empty cans of Red Bull she’d chucked in the trash after walking in the door. But she was here and she looked more determined to be my mother than ever before. That was the thing about my mom—ninety percent of the time she wasn’t around, but when it mattered most I could count on her to show up, even if showing up meant driving through the night when she couldn’t get a flight.

  From inside her bag she pulled out something black, lacy, and entirely too sexy for a funeral. I hardly had the energy to stand, let alone care what she’d brought me to wear. So I accepted her dress without complaint.

  “Change,” she commanded. “Then I can help you with your hair and makeup. Today’s going to be a bitch and a half, but I’ll be here. Same with John. We will help you get through this.”

  I swallowed, fighting down a ginormous lump in my throat. I wanted to thank her. And to thank John. Because John had never looked so frightened and unsure in his life—clearly freaked over my nearly catatonic behavior. But I couldn’t manage to say a single word. So instead, with the dress locked tightly in my fingers, I turned around and headed upstairs for my room.

  Getting ready was the easy part. I didn’t need Mom’s help. On autopilot, I showered, groomed, and perfected. Typically, I never spent extra time bothering over superficial things like makeup, but for a brief moment pampering myself helped me to forget the emotional boulder that had been weighing on me for days. I only focused on the things I could control—like blow drying and meticulously curling my hair.

  The hard part came after I finished getting ready, when my hands were no longer busy, and I had nothing to focus on but my thoughts. The ride alone, in the backseat of Mom’s car as she drove John and me to the funeral home, was unbearable. It was too sunny outside. All the songs on the radio were too happy. And when we pulled into the parking lot, my heart began to sting too agonizingly. It was as if someone had a grip around that very vital organ and was squeezing the life out of it.

  From my seat in the back I watched as so many of my classmates emerged from their cars, some appropriately dressed in black and others in regular clothes. They were heading toward the building where everyone would say their final goodbyes. It seemed the entire school had shown up for this. Teachers, staff, locals…everyone. And watching them…anger flooded me.

  How many of them really knew Ben or genuinely cared for him? How many of them were here simply because of his popularity? Why was death made into a greater tragedy when it happened to someone handsome, young, and well-liked?

  Bitter thoughts were consuming me. Then I spotted Ben’s family as they stood outside the doors to the funeral home, greeting people and receiving hugs, and the anger inside me slipped away as fast as it had come.

  There was Georgina. The most beautiful girl I’d ever seen in real life. She had long, silky, dark brown hair that fell like a curtain down her back. She and Ben were eleven months apart. Their birthdays fell perfectly so that they were in the same grade at school. Her arms were tucked in close against her body and her face showed all the pain my heart felt. Ignoring everyone around her, she slipped inside the funeral home. I didn’t blame her. I couldn’t have stood there listening to everyone give their sympathies—both real and fake—either.

  Ben had two other sisters, one older, with lots of tattoos that I suspected were my brother’s work, and one several years younger. They stood with Ben’s parents, some blonde guy with a ponytail, and what appeared to be other relatives. These people were semi-familiar to me because they all attended every
single football, baseball, and swim meet of Ben’s. I knew because I’d attended many of those same events myself over the years.

  Seeing them all and seeing the sadness on their faces…well, it crushed my already broken heart into even smaller pieces. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I stepped out of Mom’s car. John followed. Then he held me close as we made our way past the family. He said a few words to Ellie, Ben’s oldest sister, as I stayed tucked under his arm. Then we went inside the building. Mom being Mom, unable to cope with ‘adult’ issues like this, waited for us in the car.

  The funeral was a blur. I missed Ben’s eulogy because I couldn’t hear or think past my own pain. I openly wept, which was completely unlike me, but I couldn’t contain my emotions. Then, almost as soon as it had begun, the pastor was saying his final words and John was walking me back to the car.

  One detail from the day stood out in my mind. A random man—the same random man, the one with blonde hair and a ponytail, who’d been standing with Ellie Turner and the rest of Ben’s family outside. I noticed him outside again as we left. I noticed his brown eyes were filled with tears. Who was he? A cousin? A friend? It didn’t matter. But he helped me realize something. Ben was loved by so many people. Not because he was handsome or popular, but because he was a good person. When it came time for my funeral, I hoped to be half as lucky. And I vowed to myself, if I ever fell in love again, I wouldn’t hesitate a second time to tell that person how I truly felt.

  CHAPTER 3: