Page 70 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

His breath fogs the cold air.

“I can’t hold both.

“I can’t hold that and you at the same time.” His hand comes up again, and he dabs my chin with his sweatshirt, focusing on that, his eyes on my mouth.

“You just took a fuckin’ punch for me.”

The wind slices through us,

and he shivers.

“I just broke you. Let me fix this.”

His throat works around a swallow.

“Then you can break me.”

39 / EVERY ROSE HAS ITS THORN

MILEY CYRUS

The blacked-out Mercedes is too quiet on the way to the penthouse.

It pulled up minutes after the VantaCARd app confirmed—I think.

I don’t remember booking it.

Felt like magic. Or memory loss.

One second, I’m outside with Andrew, snow in my lashes, hands trembling, mouth empty after the confession about Brandon.

Next second, I’m in the car, dark as night, heat blasting, leather cradling my legs.

My face is pounding.

Andrew’s on the other side of the cabin.

Neither of us has said a word.

As we ride, the city’s smearing neon and sleet across the windows.

Andrew’s slouched deep into the backseat, facing the window, head thrown back into the leather, thighs spread, one knee bouncing and cocked my way, aimed at me like a stupid, broken compass that hasn’t figured out I’m the wrong direction.

One elbow’s braced on the door, and his hat’s yanked low as if it can hide his thoughts.

My blood’s dried across the chest and shoulders of his crewneck, crimson and crusting now.

Red looks good on him. Tragic, even.

He should be gone by now,

Jersey-bound with a busted heart.

Instead, he’s next to me.

Maybe blood turns him on. Maybe it’s out of pity ‘cause I took a punch for him. Maybe he’s got a thing for girls who fuck other guys. Maybe he’s making sure this night doesn’t stain his conscience.

Probably thinking it this second, like—Got her in the car, makin’ sure she gets home safe. Look Ma, I’m a good gentleman.