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itisn’t—”
    Theburnfrommythroathasclimbedtomyeyes.Iblink.
    Hudsonsqueezesmyhands.WhenIlookupathim,hiseyesareclear—bluewater,sparkling.“Jolene toldmeyouleft.Nothingelse.”Ofcourse.Shedidn’thavetosayanythingelse.Breakingmypromiseto Hudson,notshowingupforhimrightafterhismomleft,wouldhavebeenenough,andsheknewit.“Iwas pissed,”hesayswithaquickbreathandasmallnodtohimself.“ButnowIgetit.”
    “Getwhat?”Istillhaven’ttoldhim why KrisandIleft.ButbeforeIgetachance,Hudsonlowershis headtoourhandsandtakesabreath,thenblowsitoutthroughthetightcircleofhislips.Itwarmsour fingers.
    “YouleftwithKris.”
    “Yes,and—”
    “Youstuckwithher.”
    “Yeah.”
    Heliftshislipsfromourhands,butnotenoughformetoseehisface;onlythathe’snoddingagain.
    “Iwouldhavedonethesamething.ForCal,Imean.Ifheneededme.That’sloyalty.”Hudsonlooks up, finally. I can see the brown specks in his eyes, like markers on a map I have memorized. “And the rest,”hesays.Therest.Thereissomuchmore.Hudsonstilldoesn’tknowwhatJolenedid.“—howyou guysunpluggedfromeverything.Noparties,noposting.Youtwodidn’tjoinin,andyoudidn’tgiveashit.
    Thatwashard-core,”hesayssolemnly.“Brilliant,really.”
    MythoughtsofJoleneandKrisgetcutoff.
    HudsonthinksI’mbrilliant.AndeventhoughIknowhe’swrong,thathe’smakinghistoryintofiction,I don’tstophim.BecauseIlikehisversionsomuchbetterthanreality.Iwanttohearmoreabouttheme thathesees.
    “Really?”Iask.
    “Yeah.”
    Inthefewsecondsthatfollowthereisonlythesoundofourbreaths,thefeelofhishands,thedigof hisring.Hudsonstudiesme:cheeks,nose,neck,andeyesinquicksuccession.
    “I’mnother,”Isay,chinup,backstraight. Seeme, Ithink. Chooseme. Iwait,andsodothedullthuds aboveus.It’sliketimeissuspended,untilheleansintomeandwhispers:
    “That’sthepoint.”
    Hudsonrunshisthumbalongmycheek,abovemychin,acrossthelengthofmybottomlip,andpauses.
    Idipmyheadintothecurveofhisneckandbrushmylipsagainsthisskin.Notquiteakiss.Morelikea memory.Itwasmyfavoriteplaceonhim.Andit’sthere,burrowedinthefamiliar,winter-scentofhim—
    asHudsonrunshisfingersupmyneckandthroughmyhair,ashesiftshisfingersthroughthestrandsand tugsonthemjustenoughtotipmyheadbackuntilwe’refacing—thatIlosemysenseoftimeandplace.
    Thenmyphonerings.
    Kris. Shit.
    I freeze. Hudson and I are tense and tangled, holding each other tight; but with each ring, the room comesbacktome:themetalheadboard,thecrystalchandelier,thelavenderwalls,theglassendtables.
    Myphone,stillringing.Ishouldbereachingforit.Ihavetoreachforit.ButI’vecrossedaline,andI’m notsurehowtogetback.IwanttotalktoKris,butIdon’twanthertotellmethisisamistake.I’mstill trying to decide what to do—take my hand off Hudson’s neck or put it farther into his hair—when the ringingstops.
    Iexhale.
    Hudson untangles himself, but his eyes never leave me. Instead, he drops his chin and tips his foreheadforwarduntilit’srestinglightlyagainstmine.Astraystrandofhishairfallsagainstmyface.I can’tfeelanythingbuttheonespotwherewe’retouching.Ican’tthinkanythingbut It’snotenough . For over a year I’ve waited, stepped aside like a swinging door, while Jolene walked down the halls with him,andeverythingwecouldhavebeen.Andallthattime,thisiswhatIwasmissing.Thisiswhatshe tookfromme.
    NowI’mtakingitback.
    “Staywithme,”hesays.AndIdo.
    UNCORRECTEDE-PROOF—NOTFORSALE
    HarperCollinsPublishers
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    CHAPTER6
    AFTER SAYING GOOD-BYE to Hudson behind Bella’s house, I can still feel his imprint on my collarbone, cheek, and chin, like bruises. Not because he kissed me—we never made it past almost—but from the way he held me. (Head on my shoulder. Nose to my neck. Palms pressed flat to my back.) The spots