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what she was going to say anyway. What she would always say when she wanted to cut me deep.
    â€œEverything okay?”
    I whirled around to see Asher had come up behind me. My face burned. God, why wouldn’t he just go away? Why couldn’t he see that I was not the girl he wanted to flirt with? That he belonged with that blonde earlier. Or one of the other people who fit into his world.
    Not me. Definitely not me.
    I squeezed my eyes shut. Then opened them again.
    â€œI have to go,” I said. “It’s an emergency with my mom. Please tell Beth I’m sorry? That I’ll make it up to her later?” Ugh. I really hated bailing on my best friend on her big day. But Beth knew my mom. I hoped she’d understand.
    He looked surprised, but to his credit, he nodded. “Can I help?” he asked. “Do you need me to get you a cab? Or drive you somewhere?”
    I shook my head. Then I remembered my speech. I reached into my pocket, shoving the paper in his direction.
    â€œCan you give the toast for me?” I asked.
    He took the paper, looking down at it. His eyes danced a little as he looked back up at me. “Does this mean I win?” he teased.
    I sighed. Of course it did. Because people like Asher Anderson always won.
    And people like me were destined to lose.

four
    Â 
PIPER
    M
ichael! Where’s Michael?”
    I grunt as rough hands shake me awake, nails like daggers digging into my bare flesh. Waving my arms I try to shoo them away.
    I’m so tired.
    I just want to sleep.
    â€œFive more minutes, Mom,” I beg.
    â€œWhere’s your brother? You were supposed to be watching your brother!”
    My eyes shoot open. I sit up. Looking around, my heart beating fast in my chest as my foggy brain tries to comprehend what she’s screaming about.
    Michael.
    Something about Michael.
    My eyes lock on to the dark water. The waves crashing to shore.
    Oh God. Michael.
    Little Michael . . .
    â€œWHERE’S YOUR FUCKING BROTHER?” my mother screams.
    *   *   *
    I jerked up in bed, my body drenched in sweat, my heart pounding, my breath coming in short gasps. I pulled my knees to my chest, burying my head against them.
    â€œIt’s just a dream,” I told myself, trying to steady my breath as the therapists had taught me to do long ago. “Just a bad dream.”
    But, of course, it wasn’t.
    It wasn’t even close.
    â€œShit,” I muttered under my breath as I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. I’d gotten the stupid thing at a garage sale a year ago and it had never worked right. Now I’d evidently slept through my phone’s backup alarm as well.
    Not surprising, I supposed. After leaving the wedding to hit the grocery store and then bring the groceries to Mom, I’d been almost an hour late for my shift at the Holloway House. I’d told them I’d stay an extra hour at the end to make up for it. Which meant not getting home until well after two AM .
    And then the dreams had come. The horrible, horrible dreams. I hadn’t had dreams like these in years—I’d thought they were gone forever. But evidently being on the beach yesterday had brought everything back with a vengeance.
    God, I was going to be a zombie at work today.
    Groaning, I swung my feet around, stepping down onto the cold tile floor. For a city with such a temperate climate like San Diego, mornings could still be pretty cold. Not quite cold enough to justify wasting money on heat, mind you, especially now that I had no roommate to split the bill with, but just cold enough to make me cringe as I made my way to the coffee pot.
    After pouring myself a cup, I headed to the bathroom then stared at myself in the mirror for a moment. My hair was a hot mess, curls all askew, but there was no time to shower. People without curly hair had no idea what pain and suffering we curly girls went through on a daily basis. All they had to