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him
through wet, spiky lashes. “Why are you crying?”
    “I’m
not, but I’m pretty fucking close to losing it,” he says
gruffly. He takes my face in both his hands and leans his forehead
against mine. “You’re so strong, you know that?”
    “I’m
not. I weak,” I disagree. “I’m on a date with the
guy who tormented me for years and—”
    “No, baby, you
are so strong. So damned strong I’m in awe of you.” He
lifts his head, staring off into the distance. “You want to
know what started all of this? What really lit a fire under my ass to
make things right with you?”
    I do and I don’t.
I don’t want his pity, but I do want to know what compelled him
to be here.
    “There was
this guy, a freshman. His name was Brian Locke. I’d talked to
him once or twice. Right after Fall Break our resident advisor found
him in his room. He’d—he’d hung himself.”
    “Oh my God,”
I whisper. I’m equal parts horrified and sad for Brian and his
family.
    “That’s
not the worse part though.”
    How could someone’s
life, gone in an instant, not be the worst part? “It’s
not?”
    “No one
noticed until his… room began to smell.” He fixes his
gaze on me. “For six days, no one noticed he was missing. Six.
Days. He’d left a note behind, and it practically chronicled
his entire childhood of being bullied. But what made him feel like he
had no way out—his ex-girlfriend told his parents that he was
gay before he could.”
    Our breaths mingle
together. White puffs of air in the silence.
    “After that,
one of the Christian groups on campus joined up with the LBGQT group
and held a vigil for Brian. I went to it, McKenzie, and I stood there
and listened as person after person talked about being bullied, what
it did to them, and how they were coping. And each time, all I saw
was your face up there, your words being spoken, your tears…your
heartache, and I knew I had to do more than just apologize. I had to
make sure you were okay, because I couldn’t have that on my
conscience anymore.”
    “I’m
okay,” I say, more for my benefit than his. “But I’m
not going to lie to you and say that I never felt like Brian—that
by the end of our senior year never waking up again seemed like a
really good option.”
    His face pales, eyes
widening a fraction, before he lets out a stream of curses.
    I press a finger to
his lips, my entire being, my soul, and my heart softening toward him
and his obvious pain, even as heat leaps between us. “But I
didn’t,” I remind him. He gently pulls my finger away.
“And I can’t say why I didn’t and why Brian did.”
    “Yeah, but I
made your life hell.”
    I can’t
have that on my conscience anymore. Suddenly
it hits me—West didn’t come here because I was hurting. He came here because he felt bad. He felt guilty. Going to Brian’s vigil had given him a conscience
that he’d never had before, or at least never listened to
before now.
    This wasn’t
about me. It was all about Weston Diaz.
    Just like always.

Chapter Six

    West
    “Ready to
eat?” McKenzie says brightly, as if I didn’t just pour
out my heart to her. As if we hadn’t just shared a moment while
she’d allowed me to comfort her, even as she sobbed out her
hatred of me.
    Confused as hell, I
agree, holding out my hand. She eyes it, like I’m offering her
a poisoned apple, and then takes it. Before I can say another word,
she plows ahead, almost dragging me along.
    “Stop,”
I demand, right before we get to the entrance. “Stop and tell
me what the hell is going on.”
    Halting in the
middle of the parking lot, she tilts her head to one side, hair
falling over one shoulder. Pretty eyes are wide with innocence.
“We’re on a date, and getting ready to go inside.”
    “You know what
I mean.”
    “What I know
is that as soon as this sorry excuse for a date is over that I’ll
go back to my old life and you’ll go back to yours, absolved of
guilt.”
    “One date with
you will absolve me