Sawyer nudges her in the ribs this time. “Hush, you.” Fluttering her lashes, she gives me an innocent smile. “You were saying?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Even if there was, I’m not saying shit because you two will just run back and tell Jace and Cole which is something Bianca doesn’t want to happen.”

“I won’t,” Sawyer assures me. “You’re my friend and so is Bianca. I love Colton, but he’s gonna have to realize that my friends are going to tell me secrets and part of being a good friend means being trustworthy and keeping certain things to myself.”

Dylan shakes her head profusely. “Nope. This shit is bound to backfire. If you two want to talk I won’t stop you, but I won’t listen to it.”

Before anyone can say a word, she covers her ears with her hands and starts humming a Jimmy Eat World song.

Something I wouldn’t even know if it wasn’t for my cousin’s obsession with them and alternative rock music.

Sawyer gives me her undivided attention. “Spill the tea, sis.”

“There’s no tea to spill,” I grunt. “And don’t ever refer to me as sis again.”

“Fine.” She takes a bite of her chicken. “But you two are talking?”

“Maybe.”

She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Oak.”

“Fine,” I admit, because it’s easier than sitting here arguing with her. “We’re kind of…down-low friends.”

She blinks. “I see.”

I wag a finger. “And there it is…judgment.”

I should have known better.

She places her chicken back on her plate. “No judgment. It makes sense why you guys would have to be friends in secret. Not only because of Jace and Cole, but you know…Stone.”

The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end at the mention of the prick’s name. “Right.”

Appearing uneasy now, she chews her bottom lip. “It must be hard for you.”

That’s the understatement of the century.

“It’s not exactly a goddamn picnic,” I mutter.

Sympathy fills her eyes. “Then maybe you shouldn’t be friends.” She holds up her hand. “Bianca is great, and she wouldn’t intentionally hurt anyone.” She thinks about this for a second. “Well, not anymore. Point is, if you still have feelings for her, it might not be the best thing in the world to subject yourself to the pain that comes along with seeing her.” Picking up her water bottle, she takes a sip. “Dylan said you’ve been doing really well and going to AA meetings every day. I don’t want you to put yourself in a situation that might cause you to relapse.”

“Sawyer’s right,” Dylan chimes in.

“Hey, I thought you didn’t want to hear any of this?” Sawyer points out.

Sulking, Dylan bites into her chicken. “I didn’t, but I also don’t want Oak to feel like he can’t talk to me.” She looks at me. “Therefore, your secrets are safe with me, too.” She points her drumstick at me. “However, I think you need to listen to Sawyer. Seeing Bianca is obviously hurting you, and—”

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to know you almost killed the person you love most in this world?” I growl before I can stop myself. “Only, instead of killing her, you destroyed her life and everything she ever knew, and then left her to pick up the broken pieces without you, and there’s not a goddamn thing you can ever do or say that will fix it.”

Their mouths fall open and they softly shake their heads.

“That’s right, you fucking don’t.” I stand up. “This shit isn’t about me or my feelings, it’s about hers. And whatever she wants…whatever she fucking needs from me…I’ll do it.”

Because her happiness is the only thing that matters.

“Holy cow,” Sawyer sighs wistfully. “Bless it. They’re like the modern-day Romeo and Juliet.”

Wincing, Dylan nods in agreement.

“They both died in the end, remember?” I point out as I walk into my kitchen to grab a soda from the fridge. “Anyway, can we change the fucking subject because I’m done talking about this shit?”

They don’t answer, but I definitely hear them whispering shit to each other.

When I walk back into the room, I find Dylan looking all kinds of confused. “Poems?”

My eyes drop down to the notebook she’s holding.

Fucking hell.

These two shit stirrers just don’t know when to leave shit the fuck alone.

“You write poems?”

Thinking quick, I swipe my notebook from her hands. “No.”

Dylan looks at Sawyer. “But you just said—”

“Not a damn word, short stack,” I growl in warning.

Dragging her gaze around the room, Sawyer shuffles her feet.

Dylan’s visibly offended. “How come you told Sawyer but not me?”

“I didn’t tell Sawyer,” I inform her, recalling the time she peeped over my shoulder during a study break back in high school. “Sawyer’s a little snoop.”

“Hey,” Sawyer shoots back. “That’s not fair. Your poems are amazing and deserve to be shared with the world.”

Eyes wide, Dylan makes grabby hands. “Gimme.”

I hold it behind my back. “Not a chance.”

She pouts. “Come on, Oak. I want to see them.”

She tries snatching it from me, but I place one hand on her forehead, keeping her at bay. “And I’d like to be able to suck my own dick, but some things in life aren’t meant to happen.”

Next thing I know she’s launching herself at my back like some kind of spider monkey. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

I’m so busy trying to wrangle her to the ground, the notebook slips out of my hand.

Quick on her feet, Dylan grabs it and jumps up triumphantly.

Then she runs and locks herself in my bathroom.

“Not cool,” I roar, banging my fist on the door.

“Hush,” she yells on the other side. “I’m reading.”

“Just great,” I mutter.

“They’re really good,” Sawyer assures me. “I don’t know why you hide them.”

I turn to look at her. “Because they’re—”

“Amazing,” Dylan whispers as she comes out of the bathroom.

Sawyer’s face lights up. “Right?”

Dylan clutches my notebook to her chest. “It’s like emo crack for the soul.”

Fuck my life. She might as well chop off my nuts.

“Gee thanks.”

“No,” Dylan says emphatically. “I mean that in the best way.”

She suddenly stops talking and I can practically smell the wood burning from her thinking so hard.

“Have you ever thought about writing songs?”

That chicken must have been laced with some good shit because she’s talking crazy.

“I don’t sing.”

She laughs. “I know. But lots of musicians hire songwriters or buy songs from writers.” Her blue eyes become saucers. “Holy shit.” Her gaze flicks to Sawyer. “Landon.”

Sawyer practically squeals. “Oh, my God, Landon.”