Page 18 of Into the Light

“Yeah, but I got held back, so I’ll be in Isles through the summer.”

“Why?”

“I failed the spring semester last year. After the incident, I never went to any of my finals.” I shrugged like it was no big deal, but her big doe eyes gave me some sympathy, and I held up a hand. “Stop. You, of all people, know what it’s like to have people feel sorry for you in this whole situation.”

She laughed . . . but not like a normal laugh, no, this one was manic and crazed. “You think I know what it’s like for people to feel bad for me?”

She stood, walked over to where I was sitting, then paused. “You have no idea what it feels like to have every single person blame me for someone’s . . . incident.” She couldn’t say “death.” “I am the single most hated person on this campus. No one, including you, felt sorry for me.”

She raised her hand, then my cheek stung, and my hand moved to my cheek.

“Did you just slap me?” I asked, looking down. What the fuck?

“Yeah. You’re being a . . . pendejo,” she quipped, her tone serious. I scanned her face to ensure she wasn’t joking.

Then, like a bolt of lightning, it all hit me at once, and I burst into laughter so hard that I had to clutch my stomach. “What did you just call me? Do you even know what that means?” I asked between fits of laughter. I couldn’t contain myself, and there she stood, arms crossed, a hint of cleavage peeking out from her top.

“What?” She exhaled in reply. “Santiago says it all the time to the grocery store clerk who always clucks her tongue at him.”

Santiago . . . her bodyguard. The one I had hired after Ash’s incident, but I made him tell her it was Ash who arranged for her protection before his death. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. It had become necessary to ensure her safety, especially after everything that had transpired with Mr. Ortiz.

I pulled the waistband of her sweatpants so she was standing between my legs. With my other hand, I grabbed her jaw and pulled her so our mouths were a whisper apart.

“Call me that again, Em, and I am going to show you what anassholeI can really be,” I hissed in her mouth. Fuck, I was so close to her thick, plush lips I could practically taste them.

She pulled away, then opened her bag and threw the camera in my face.

“If you want to act like one, Rain, then here.” There was her lower lip again, quivering.

“Why are you here, Ember? Why does any of this matter to you? Can’t you move on?” I barked out, clutching the camera and standing so I had her cornered against my bookshelves. The inner anger demon I kept trying to bury, suddenly awakened, and I wanted to fucking rage and punch something. Instead, I pushed her away. Whenever people got too close, like Ember or Pico, I was best at getting them to leave me be.

When Ash died, when my mother failed to protect me and married Mr. Ortiz, and when I was forced to do something I hated, I realized I had no say in the life I wanted to live. The quiet life where I got to write thrillers and horrors. That person wasn’t allowed to exist, so I let the rage consume me.

Aside from the thumping of the music downstairs, a light pattering of rain smacked the windows.

“I am trying, Rain, but I just don’t understand what happened. I don’t understand why he would leave. I th-thought he loved me . . .” Tears streamed down her face.

Fuck, I hated seeing her cry because it reminded me of my mom and all the years I watched her sit in her room and cry over my deadbeat dad. The dad hooking up with Ember’s mom because all he gave a shit about was getting ahead in the business and never enough about us.

I walked toward her, closing the distance between us, and I so badly wanted to reach out to her and pull her into my chest, but I couldn’t because his voice was in the back of my head. All I could think about was if she was thinking about him when I comforted her.

“He did love you, Em,” I said, hoping my words provided her the comfort she needed. “He loved you so much, but I told you he was complicated. Shit, I can’t even figure out half the shit that happened that night, and I promise you I’ve been trying for these last eight months.”

“Is he breathing down your neck?” she asked, her tears slowing. I could only assume she was talking about Mr. Ortiz.

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?” she muttered, and, for some reason, those words hit me hard because they didn’t come with the same sorrow or sympathy other people had. Nor were they laced with a sad look or a let-me-fix-you vibe. No, it was a genuine question.

All I could think about was how much I would give to hold her, to touch her. How perfect she would feel in my arms while I glided my hands down her curves. God, I was betraying my best friend. These feelings were wrong and deceitful. I had to fucking stop. I needed to answer her question. The faster I did, the faster she’d get out of here.

“No,” I confessed after a pregnant pause. She offered me a tight-lipped nod.

“Me neither.” The words escaped her mouth as a sob rolled through.

“I know,” I said, then she closed the gap between us, grabbed my shirt, pulled me in, and cried into my chest, just as she hadthatnight.

She cried for what felt like hours into my shirt. I let my arms fall onto her back, my hands resting between her sweatpants and the hem of her shirt, relishing in the warmth of her skin. It was like we were the perfect fit. I kept my arm on her lower back as my other hand cradled the back of her head while she sobbed into my chest. In reality, it had only been a few minutes before that feeling of cheating crept back into the forefront of my mind. Before all I could think about was my brother. Before . . .

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