Page 150 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

to repeat another unfortunate vice of leaving my needs in the past

while I use my body as a pedestal for someone else.

At least the difference is clear: Leah deserves to be raised, and Farrah

deserved to be dropped.

LIFELINE

Leah

My body has a weird fascination for three o’clock in the morning.

I sit up, wiping my eyes while I make sense of the blurry red numbers

on the alarm clock by the bedpost. I don’t need to read it to know the

time, and I don’t have to check the side of the bed to know it’s empty.

I felt him leave.

I hurry into the bathroom, seeing my birth control packet on the

nightstand as I go. I take it into my hands, knowing we lay in bed for

hours together before finally falling asleep. I didn’t take a pill, and

that seems to be the pattern lately.

I pop the cap open, seeing the way I’ve ultimately screwed up my

medication. The thought of a test still nags at me. I know I need to

tend to Percy right now—finding him would be an excellent start—but instead, I first grab the box of tests in my top drawer and undo it

quickly.

It’s a quick process, and I replace the cap at once, washing my hands

while I leave it on the sink before heading out to search for my new

roommate. Making it downstairs, I don’t see him in the kitchen,

somewhere he likes to spend his time. For a man in a heavy rock

band, he sure loves to cook, and I’m thankful for that.

Ainsley was always the one to do that after Dad passed.

“Percy?”

My voice nearly echoes through the unmoving house, not even a

moth flapping its wings into the spotlight on the porch. It’s so calm.

Too calm.

A hint of light comes from the shop outside, and I fear the worst

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