He grimaced. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Nikki slugged him in the gut. “Hey, we’re cheerleaders. We excel at cheering people up. Though I’m not sure why Q would be sad about your sorry ass leaving.”

He just laughed and mussed her hair.

Blake returned with red plastic cups of beer and passed them around.

Somehow I ended up on the couch with my legs thrown over Angel’s lap.

She rolled her eyes. “Who invited Jamie? I swear, if she throws herself at Carey any harder, I’m going to kick her ass.”

I followed Angel’s gaze to the other side of the living room, where Jamie wrapped her arm around my boyfriend’s waist. Carey tried to sidestep her, but Jamie followed, trailing a hand down his arm. Blake stood behind him, cracking up while he watched the whole scene. Carey shot me a pleading glance, and I grinned, blowing him a kiss. Blake’s smile turned into a frown, and I stuck my tongue out at him, wondering what the hell his problem was.

“Carey can handle her,” I said to Angel. “But I should probably go save him. Come with?”

I stood and helped her up, then we headed toward the boys. Jamie scowled when she saw us.

“Why do you put up with her?” Angel asked. “It’s gross how she’s always crawling over him.”

“I’m not happy about it, but I trust Carey.” I didn’t add that I felt kind of sorry for Jamie. It had to be hard growing up with Jim Winterburn for a father.

Angel sighed heavily, and I bumped her with my hip. “What?”

She smiled. “Nothing. I’m just jealous of you guys.”

I raised a brow. “You’re jealous of how I’ve just spent three months alone and how it’ll be August before I see Carey again? Or maybe you’re jealous of how he’ll probably be in Afghanistan or Iraq while we finish out our senior year?”

I tried to keep my tone light, but Angel must have heard my unhappiness. She hugged me. “Well, when you put it that way, who doesn’t want a Military Ken? Seriously—you know I’m here for you, right? And Nikki will be too.”

With perfect timing as ever, Nikki let out a shriek of laughter. Gabriel Palucki had yanked her onto his lap and was tickling her to her obvious delight. Angel and I shook our heads. Where the boys were concerned, Cyclone Nikki left a devastating path.

“Okay. I’ll be here for you,” Angel amended, and we snickered.

Familiar hands clamped on my shoulders from behind and turned me so I was facing Carey and Jamie again. I looked over my shoulder into Blake’s shadowed hazel eyes, and he pushed me forward.

“Do him a favor, and save the poor bastard. He’s too polite to tell Jamie to go to hell.”

“Yes, sir!” I mock-saluted him, and Blake scowled again. “You keep looking at me like that, Blake, and your face is going to get stuck that way.”

Finally his expression lightened up and he laughed, against his will, if I had to guess. I headed for Carey, whose eyes lit up when I launched myself at him. He caught me in midair, holding me against his chest, and I looped my arms around his neck.

“Good-bye, Jamie,” I said, without taking my eyes from my boyfriend’s. “Things are going to get embarrassing if you stand there watching us kiss.” My feeling sorry for her only went so far. She needed to keep her hands to herself. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her slinking away, her cheeks flushed a brilliant red.

Carey planted a chaste kiss on my mouth, rather than the passionate one I’d wanted. He’d done that a lot that week. Maybe he saw my disappointment, because he kissed me a second time, lingering a little longer.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, sensing something was off.

“Nothing.” He squeezed me tighter when I continued to frown at him. “What could be wrong? I have the best friends in the world and I have you. Things are perfect.”

We were pulled apart again by friends all wanting to spend time with Carey before he left. He had a way of making people feel special, and I couldn’t blame them for wanting a piece of that.

But later, I wondered if I should have pushed Carey that night.

Our last perfect night together had somehow felt like the beginning of the end.

Chapter Three

On the way home from Bob’s, I accidentally-on-purpose steer the Jeep down Carmichael, Sweethaven’s main street. Breen’s Auto Body sits in the middle of the block, and Blake’s motorcycle is parked to the side of the ancient brick building. For the past two years he’s worked at the garage after school and on weekends. Carey’s parents have taken him in as a kind of surrogate son since Carey left.

On days like today, I envy him. I wish I could be with the Breens, grieving with them instead of driving around alone. I am so sick to death of myself. Of the loneliness that has cleaved itself to me like a disease. People can tell I’m in quarantine from a mile away, and they avert their eyes and hold their breath so they don’t catch what I have.

My foot eases up on the gas when I see Blake bent under the open hood of a station wagon. On impulse, I pull into the garage’s driveway. He hears the sputtering of my engine—he’s worked on it many times in the past—and his head turns toward me. Our eyes meet, and I wish I could read his mind. I once thought I knew his moods better than anyone’s, except for Carey’s. But Blake has become a stranger.

He straightens and glances around, wiping his hands on the dirty rag tucked into his back pocket. I know he is checking to see if Mr. Breen is around to spot us together. Nobody but him seems to be working the Saturday evening shift. Blake hesitates a moment longer before walking over. He climbs into my passenger seat, easing my camera case onto his lap to make room.