LISA

Jennie's voice comes through soft and raspy in the gaps between my harsh breathing: "Where should I go?"

"I don't know." Part of me wants to tell her to get on the next plane out of Thailand, alone. But the selfish—and much stronger—part knows that if she did, I wouldn't make it through the night without drinking myself sick.

Again. My mouth tastes like vomit, and my throat burns from the brutal way my system expelled all that liquor.

Opening the center console between us, Jennie pulls out a napkin and begins to wipe the corners of my mouth with the rough paper. Her fingers barely touch my skin, and I flinch away at the icy cold.

"You're freezing. Turn the car on." But I don't wait for her to oblige.

Instead I lean across and turn the key myself, blasting the air from the vents. The air is cold at first, but this expensive-ass car has some trick to it, and warmth quickly spreads through the small space.

"We need to get gas. I don't know how long I was driving, but the fuel light is on, and that screen says so, too." She points to the lavish navigation screen on the dash.

The sound of her voice is killing me. "You've lost your voice," I say, even though it's incredibly obvious. She nods and turns her head away from me.

My fingers wrap around her chin, and I turn her face back to me. "If you want to leave, I won't blame you. I'll take you to the airport right now."

She gives me a puzzled look before opening her mouth. "You're staying here? In Thailand? Our flight is tonight, I thought—" The last word voice

comes out as more of a squeak than anything else, and she breaks into a coughing fit.

I check the cup holders for some water or something, but they're empty.

I rub her back until she stops coughing, then I change the subject.

"Trade me places; I'll drive over there." I nod toward the filling station across the road. "You need water and something for your throat."

I wait for her to move out of the driver's seat, but she rakes her eyes over my face before shifting the car into drive and pulling out of the parking lot.

"You're still over the legal limit," she finally whispers, careful not to strain her nonexistent voice.

I can't exactly argue with that. There is no way that a few hours of dozing in this car has sobered me completely. I drank enough liquor to black out most of the night, and the resulting headache is massive. I'll probably be drunk for the entire fucking day, or half of it. I can't tell. I can't even remember how many drinks I had . . .

My jumbled counting is cut short when Jennie parks in front of a gas pump and reaches for the door handle.

"I'll go in." I climb out of the car before she can argue.

There aren't many people inside at this early hour, only men dressed for work. My hands are filled with aspirin, water bottles, and bags of snacks when Jennie walks into the small store.

I watch as every head turns to look at the disheveled beauty in her dirty white dress. The men's looks make me even more nauseated.

"Why didn't you stay in the car?" I ask as she approaches.

She waves a hunk of black leather in front of my face. "Your wallet."

"Oh."

Handing it to me, she disappears for a moment, but takes her place next to me just as I reach the counter. In each hand is a large, steaming cup of coffee.

I drop my pile of things on the counter. "Can you check the location on your phone while I pay?" I ask, taking the oversize cups from her small hands.

"What?"

"The location on your phone, so we can see where we are."

Grabbing the aspirin bottle and shaking it before he scans it, the portly man behind the counter remarks, "Allhallows. That's where you are." He nods at Jennie, who politely smiles back.

"Thank you." She widens her grin, and the poor bastard flushes.

Yeah, I know she's hot. Now look away before I rip your eyes from your head, I want to tell him. And next time you make a god-awful noise when I'm hungover, like you did with that aspirin bottle, it's all over. After last night, I could use the outlet, and I'm not in the mood for this mopey shit's eyes to be raking across my girl's chest at seven in the fucking morning.

If I weren't immensely aware of the lack of emotion behind her eyes, I would probably have pulled him over the counter, but her fake smile, black-rimmed eyes, and dirt-stained dress stop me and yank me from my violent thoughts. She just looks so lost, so sad, so fucking lost.

What have I done to you? I silently ask.

Her focus shifts to the door, where a young woman and child are entering, hand in hand. I watch her as she watches them, following their movements a little too closely, if you ask me; it's borderline creepy. When the little girl stares up at her mum, Jennie's bottom lip trembles.

What the hell is that about? Because I threw a fit over the new revelation in my family?

The clerk has packed up all of my stuff and holds the bag somewhat rudely in front of my face to get my attention. It seems that as soon as Jennie stopped looking at him, he decided he could be rude to me.

I snatch the plastic bag and lean toward Jennie. "Ready?" I ask, nudging her with my elbow.

"Yeah, sorry," she mutters and grabs the coffees from the counter.

I fill the car up, all the while considering the consequences of driving Vance's rental into the sea. If we're in Allhallows, we're right next to the shore; it wouldn't be hard.

"How far are we from Gabriel's bar?" Jennie asks when I join her in the car. "That's where the car is."

"Only about an hour and a half, traffic considering." The car slowly sinks in the ocean, costing Vance tens of thousands; we take a cab to Gabriel's for a couple hundred. Fair trade.

Jennie twists the top off the small bottle of aspirin and shakes three of them into my hand, then frowns and stares down at her screen, which has started to light up. "Do you want to talk about last night? I just received a text from Kimberly."

Questions begin pushing through the muddied images and voices from last night and into the surface of my mind . . . Vance locking me outside and walking back into the burning house . . . As Jennie continues to stare at her phone, I grow increasingly worried.

"He's not . . ." I don't know how to ask the question. It won't seem to pass over the lump in my throat.

Jennie looks at me, and her eyes begin to fill with tears. "He's alive, of course, but . . ."

"What? He's what?"

"She says he was burned."

A slight and unwelcome pain tries to seep through the cracks in my defenses. Cracks that she caused in the first place.

She wipes one eye with the back of her hand. "Only on one leg. Kim said one leg, and that he's to be arrested as soon as he is released from the hospital, which should be soon, any minute, really."

"Arrested for what?" I know the answer before she gives it.

"He told the police that he started the fire." Jennie lifts her shitty phone in front of my face so I can read the long text message from Kimberly for myself.

I read it all, not learning anything new, but getting a good sense of Kimberly's panic. I don't say anything. I have nothing to say.

"Well?" Jennie asks softly.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you even slightly concerned about your father?" Then, taking in my murderous glare, she adds, "I mean Christian."

He's hurt because of me. "He shouldn't have even showed up there."

Jennie looks appalled by my nonchalance. "Lisa. That man came there to help me—to help you."

Sensing the beginning of a rambling spell, I interrupt her. "Jennie, I know—"

But she surprises me by holding a hand up to silence me. "I wasn't finished. Not to mention he took the blame for a house fire that you caused and was injured. I love you, and I know you hate him right now, but I know you—the real you—so don't sit here and act like you don't give a shit what happens to him, because I know damn well that you do." Violent coughing punctuates her angry speech, and I push the water bottle to her mouth.

I take a moment to mull over her words as she settles her cough. She's right—of course she is—but I'm not ready to face any of the things that she just mentioned. I'm not fucking ready to admit that he did something for me—not after all these years. I'm not ready for him to suddenly be a fucking father to me. Fuck no. I don't want anyone, especially him, to think that this somehow evens the score, that I will somehow forget all of the shit he missed, all of the nights I spent listening to my parents screaming at one another, all of the times I rushed up the stairs at the sound of my father's drunken voice—the way he knew and didn't tell me all the while.

No, fuck that. It's not fucking even, and it never will be. "You think because he gets a little burn on his leg and chooses to take the blame that I will forgive him?" I run my hands through my hair. "I'm supposed to just forgive him for lying to me for twenty-one fucking years?" I ask, my voice much louder than I intended it to be.

"No, of course not!" she says, raising her voice right back at me. I worry that she might blow out a vocal cord or something, but she goes right on.

"But I refuse to allow you to brush this off as some small thing he did. He is going to jail for you, and you act as if you couldn't be bothered to even ask how he is. Absent, lying, father or not, he loves you, and he saved your ass last night."

This is bullshit. "Whose side are you fucking on?"

"There aren't any sides!" she shouts, her voice echoing in the small space and not helping my ringing headache one bit. "Everyone is on your side, Lisa. I know you feel like it's you against the world, but look around you. You have me, your father—both of them—Karen, who loves you as her own, and Jisoo, who loves you much more than either of you will ever admit." Jennie half smiles at the mention of her best friend, but continues her lecture. "Kimberly may challenge you, but she cares for you, too, and Smith, you are literally the only person that little boy likes." She gathers my hands in her shaking ones and rubs her thumbs across my palms in gentle caresses.

"It's ironic, really: the woman who hates the world is most loved by it," she whispers, her eyes glossy and full of tears. Tears for me, so many tears for me."Baby." I pull her over to my seat, and she straddles my waist. Her arms lock around my neck. "You selfless girl."

I bury my face in her neck, almost trying to hide in her messy hair.

"Let everyone in, Lisa. Life is much easier when you do." She rubs my head like that of some pet . . . but I fucking love it.

I nuzzle farther into her. "It's not that easy." My throat burns, and I feel like the only breath I can catch is when I'm breathing in her scent. It's clouded by the faint smell of smoke and fire that I've seemed to smother the car in, but still calming.

"I know." She continues to run her hands over my hair, and I want to believe her.

Why is she always so understanding when I don't deserve her to be?

The honking of a horn brings me out of my hiding place and reminds me we're at the gas pumps. Apparently the man in the truck behind us doesn't appreciate being held up one bit. Jennie climbs off my lap and buckles herself in the passenger seat.

I consider keeping the car parked here just to be a dick, but I hear Jennie's stomach rumble, causing me to reconsider. When was the last time she ate? That I can't remember tells me it's been too long.

I pull away from the pumps and pull into the empty lot across the street, where we slept last night. "Eat something." I push a breakfast bar into her hands. I pull to the back of the lot, close to a cluster of trees, and turn the heat on. It's spring now, but the morning air is crisp and Jennie is shivering. I put an arm around her and gesture as if offering her the world.

"We could go to The Grand Palace. I could show you some sight seeings."

She surprises me by laughing.

"What?" I raise my brow at her and bite into a banana muffin.

"After the night you ha-had"—she clears her throat—"you're talking about taking me to sight seeing?" She shakes her head and reaches for her steaming coffee.

I shrug, chewing thoughtfully. "I don't know . . ."

"How far is the drive?" she asks, a lot less enthusiastic than I thought she would be. Granted, if this weekend hadn't turned into complete shit, she'd probably be more excited.

"Six hours or so to Bangkok."

"That's a long drive," she muses and sips at her coffee.

"I thought you would want to go." My tone is harsh.

"I would . . ."

I can clearly tell that something about my suggestion is troubling her.

Fuck, when am I not creating trouble behind those gray eyes?

"Why are you complaining about a drive, then?" I finish off the muffin and rip open another.

She looks slightly offended, but her voice remains soft and raspy. "I'm just wondering why you would want to drive all the way to Bangkok." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and takes a deep breath. "Lisa, I know you enough to know when you're brooding and withdrawing from me." She unbuckles her seat belt and shifts her body to face me.

She can see right through my bullshit. How does she always do that?

"No," I lie. "I was simply thinking you would like to see the something and Bangkok. Sue me." I roll my eyes to avoid that damn look in hers, not willing to admit that she's right.

Her fingers play with the wrapper of a breakfast bar. "Well, I'd rather not go there, really. I just want to go home."

I let out a deep breath and grab the bar from her hands, tearing open the wrapper. "You need to eat something. You look like you'll pass out any moment."

"I feel that way," she says quietly, more to herself than me, it seems.

I'm considering shoving the damned thing into her mouth, when she takes it from me for a bite.

"You want to go home, then?" I finally ask her. Not wanting to ask where exactly home will be for her.

She grimaces. "Yes, your father was right. Thailand isn't as I imagined."

"I ruined it for you, that's why."

She doesn't deny it, but she doesn't confirm it either. Her silence and the way she's vacantly staring out at the trees pushes me to say what I need to say. It's now or never.

"I think I should stay here for a while . . ." I say into the open air between us.

Jennie's mouth stops its chewing, and she turns, narrowing her eyes at me. "Why?"

"It doesn't make sense for me to go back there."

"No, it doesn't make sense for you to stay here. Why would you even consider that?"

Her feelings are hurt, just like I knew they would be—but what other choice do I have?

"Because my father isn't my actual father, my mum is a lying"—I stop myself from calling her the name I want to—"and my biological father is going to jail because I caught her house on fire. It's a ridiculous drama series on its own." Then, to try to get a reaction out of her, I wryly add, "All we need is a cast of young girls with too much makeup and impractical clothes, and we would have a hit."

Her sad eyes study mine. "I'm still not seeing why any of this would make you want to stay here. Here, as in away from me—that's what you want, isn't it? You want to be away from me." She says the last part as if saying it aloud verifies it as truth.

"It's not that . . ." I start, but stumble. I don't know how to put my thoughts into words—that's always been my biggest fucking problem. "I just think if we had some time apart, you could see what I'm doing to you. Just look at yourself." She flinches, but I force myself to continue. "You are dealing with problems that you would've never be faced with if it wasn't for me."

"Don't you dare act like you're doing this for me," she snaps, her voice as cold as ice. "You are as self-destructive as they come, and that's your only motive behind this."

I am. I know I am. It's what I do: I hurt other people, and then I hurt myself before anyone can hurt me back. I'm fucked-up; that's just the way it is."You know what?" she says after getting tired of waiting for me to speak up. "Fine. I'll let you hurt both of us in this self-depriving mission of your—"My hands are on her hips and she's back on my lap before she can finish. Jennie tries to climb off me, scratching at my arms when I won't let her move an inch.

"If you don't want to be with me, then get off of me," she seethes. No tears, only anger. Her anger I can handle; it's the tears that kill me. The anger dries them away.

"Stop fighting me." I gather both of her wrists behind her back and hold them in only one of my hands. She glares, her eyes warning me.

"You don't get to do this every time something makes you feel bad. You don't get to decide that I'm too good for you!" she shouts in my face.

I ignore her and bring my mouth to the curve of her neck. Her body jolts again, this time out of pleasure, not anger.

"Stop it . . ." she says with absolutely no conviction. She's trying to deny me because she thinks she should, but we both know that this is what we need. We need the physical connection that brings us to an emotional depth that neither of us can explain or deny.

"I love you, you know I do." I suck at the tender skin at the base of her neck, reveling in the way it turns pink from the suction of my lips. I continue to suck and nibble at the skin, just enough to create a cluster of markings, but not hard enough to make them stay for longer than a few seconds.

"You sure aren't acting like it." Her voice is thick, and her eyes follow my free hand as it moves across her exposed thigh. Her dress is bunched up at her waist in the most maddening way possible.

"Everything I do is because I love you. Even the stupid shit." I reach the lace of her panties, and she gasps when I run a single finger across the moisture already collected between her thighs. "Always so wet for me, even now."

I slide her panties over and push two fingers into her wet flesh. She whimpers and arches her back against the steering wheel, and I feel her body relaxing. I move the seat back farther to give us more room inside the small car.

"You can't distract me with—"

I remove my fingers from her and plunge them back in, stopping the words before they can fall from her lips.

"Yes, baby, I can." I bring my lips to her ear. "Will you stop fighting me if I let your hands go?"

She nods. The second I let them go, they move to my hair. Her fingers bury into the thick mess of my hair, and I tug the front of her dress down with one hand.

Her white lace bra is sinful despite its holy coloring. Jennie, whose black hair and white ensemble contrast in the most extreme manner with my dark hair and dark clothes. Something about the contrast is so fucking erotic: the ink on my wrist as my fingers disappear inside her again, the clean, unmarked skin of her thighs, the way her soft moans and whimpers fill the air as my eyes drag shamelessly up her tight stomach and back to her chest.

I tear my eyes away from her perfect tits long enough to scan the parking lot. The windows are tinted, but I want to be sure we are still alone on this side of the street. I unfasten her bra using one hand and slow the movement of my other. She whines in protest, but I don't bother to hide the smile on my face.

"Please," she begs for me to continue.

"Please what? Tell me what you want," I coax her, the way I have since in the beginning of our relationship. It has always felt like unless she spoke the words aloud, they couldn't be true. She couldn't possibly want me the way I want her.

She reaches down and pushes my hand back between her thighs.

"Touch me."

She's swollen and waiting and fucking soaking, wanting me, needing me, and I fucking love her more than she could ever comprehend. I need this, I need her to distract me, to help me escape all of this bullshit, even if only for a little while.

I give her what she wants, and she moans my name in approval, taking her lip between her teeth. Her hand moves under mine to grip me through my jeans. I'm so hard that it hurts, and Jennie's touches and squeezes aren't helping.

"I want to fuck you. Now. I have to." I glide my tongue over one of her breasts. She nods, her eyes rolling back in her head, and I suck at the sensitive tip while kneading its twin with the hand that isn't between her legs.

"Lis-aa . . ." she groans. Her hands are eager to free me from my jeans and boxers. I lift my hips enough for her to tug my jeans down my thighs.

My fingers are still buried in her, moving at a tender pace, just enough to drive her fucking crazy. I remove my fingers from her and bring them to her swollen lips, pressing them into her mouth. She sucks at them, her tongue running slowly up and down my fingers, and I groan, quickly withdrawing them before I come from that alone. I lift her by her hips and lower her back onto me.

We share the same relieved moan, both desperate for one another.

"We shouldn't be apart," she says, pulling me by my hair until my mouth is level with hers. Can she taste the cowardly goodbye on my breath?

"We have to be," I say as she begins to swivel her hips. Fuck.

Jennie lifts herself slowly. "I won't force you to want me. Not anymore." I begin to panic, but all my thoughts are lost as she slowly lowers herself back down onto me, only to pull back and then repeat the same torturous movement. She leans forward to kiss me, her tongue lapping around mine as she takes control.

"I want you," I breathe into her mouth. "I always fucking want you, you know that." A low sound rips through me as her hips quicken their movements. Holy fuck, she's going to kill me.

"You are leaving me." She glides her tongue across my bottom lip, and I reach down to where our bodies are joined and bring her swollen clit between my fingers.

"I love you," I say, unable to find any other words, and she's silenced by my pinching and rubbing her sensitive bud of nerves.

"Oh God." Her head falls to my shoulder, and she wraps her arms around my neck. "I love you," she practically sobs as she comes, squeezing all around me.

I follow directly after, filling her with every drop of me, literally and metaphorically.

MINUTES OF SILENCE PASS, and I keep my eyes closed and my arms wrapped around her back. We are both covered in sweat; the heat is still pouring from the vents, but I don't want to let her go long enough to turn it off.

"What are you thinking?" I finally ask.

Her head is resting on my chest, her breathing slow and steady. She doesn't open her eyes when she responds, "That I wish you could stay with me forever."

Forever. Have I ever wanted anything less with her?

"Me, too," I say, wishing I could give her the promise of the future that she deserves.

After a few more minutes of silence, Jennie's phone buzzes on the floorboard, and on instinct I reach across and grab it, shifting her body with mine.

"It's Kimberly," I say and hand Jennie the phone.

Two hours later we are knocking on the door of Kimberly's hotel room.

I'm almost convinced that we are at the wrong room when I take in Kimberly's appearance. Her eyes are swollen and she doesn't have an ounce of makeup on. I like her better that way, but she just looks so wrecked right now, like she's been crying all her tears plus somebody's else's.

"Come in. It's been a long morning," she says, her normal sass completely absent.

Jennie immediately hugs her, wrapping her arms around her friend's waist, and Kimberly begins to sob. I feel incredibly uncomfortable just standing in the doorway, given that Kim irritates the shit out of me and that she isn't the type that wants an audience while she's vulnerable. I leave them in the sitting room of the grand suite and wander into the kitchen area. I pour a cup of coffee and stare at the wall until the sobs turn into muffled voices in the other room. I'll keep my distance for now.

"Is my dad coming back?" a smooth voice says from somewhere, causing me to jerk in surprise.

Looking down, I see the green-eyed Smith has taken a seat in a plastic chair next to me. I didn't even hear him approaching.

I shrug and take a seat next to him, staring intensely at the wall. "Yeah. I think so." I should tell him just what a fucking great man his father . . . our father really is . . .

Holy shit.

This strange little specimen of a kid is my fucking brother. I absolutely can't wrap my head around it. I look over at Smith, which he takes as a cue to continue his line of questioning.

"Kimberly said that he's in trouble, but he can pay his way out of it.

What does that mean?"

I can't stop the scoff that comes from my mouth at his intrusive eavesdropping and thorough questioning. "I'm sure that's the case," I mumble. "She just means that he will be out of trouble soon. Why don't you go sit with Kimberly and Jennie?" My chest burns at the sound of her name as it comes from my mouth.

He looks over in the direction of their voices, then assess me sagely.

"They're mad at you. Especially Kimberly, but she's more mad at my dad, so you should be okay."

"You'll learn that women are always mad."

He nods. "Unless they die. Like my mom did."

My mouth falls open and I look at his face. "You shouldn't say shit like that. People will find it . . . odd."

He shrugs his shoulders as if to say that people already find him odd.

Which is true, I suppose.

"My dad is nice. He's not bad."

"Okay?" I stare down at table to avoid looking into those green eyes.

"He takes me a lot of places and says nice things to me." Smith places a piece of a toy train on the table. What is with this boy and trains?

"And . . ." I say, swallowing the feelings that come with his words. Why is he rambling about this now?

"He will take you places, too, and tell you nice things."

I look over at him. "And why would I want that?" I ask, but his green eyes tell me that he knows much more than I assumed.

Smith tilts his head and swallows a little swallow, watching me. It's both the most scientifically detached and the most vulnerably childlike I have ever seen the little oddball. "You don't want me to be your brother, do you?"

Damn it. I desperately search for Jennie, hoping that she will come save me. She would know exactly what to say.

I look at him, trying to appear calm, but certain I'm failing. "I never said that."

"You don't like my dad."

Right then, Jennie and Kimberly enter, saving me from having to answer him, thank God.

"Are you okay, honey?" Kimberly asks him, ruffling his hair slightly.

Smith doesn't speak. He merely nods once, adjusts his hair, and takes his train car with him into the other room.