Page 78 of Savage Heart

“You were throwing up . . . I thought you’d had too much to drink.”

“I was pregnant, and my nerves were all over the place. I nursed a ginger ale all night. I haven’t had alcohol since prom. One and done,” I add, more glibly than I feel.

He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, and glances over at me, his eyes pained.

“I can’t believe you took the blame,” he says. “You let the entire town think you killed Lincoln. You let me hate you. You let all of us hate you.”

I flinch. “I thought I deserved it. It doesn’t matter how sick I was—I should’ve been the one driving that night. So it was easy to take the blame. It was my fault Lincoln died that night.”

Chapter 20: The Night

Iris, age eighteen

A disco ball throws fractured stars across the gym walls, and I feel lighter than I ever have. I’ve always been the girl who says no thanks and keeps her soda clutched tight because everyone in town knows my mom’s name for the wrong reasons.

I’ve promised myself I’d never be her.

But tonight, the music thumps through my bones, and I dance the night away.

Another cup appears in my hand. Then another.

Everything softens. Colors smear. I feel fearless. Maverick’s laugh is close to my ear. Lincoln is shouting lyrics off key. I am going to miss them so much. I wish we could always stay like this, young and carefree and together.

I probably should skip the after-party. Maverick was smart to go home on a high note. And when Lincoln and I get there, I know I’m right. But I try to make the best of it. Lincoln brings me another drink, and we dance and dance and dance.

We end up walking to my trailer, wobbling and leaning against each other, laughing. He helps me inside, and we fall back on my bed in a tangle of limbs, laughing harder.

I wake up to sunlight. Too bright. It drills straight into my skull. I groan and roll onto my side, my eyes squeezed shut. Everything aches.

And then I freeze.

I think I kissed Lincoln.

It slams into me so hard my stomach turns.

“Oh my God,” I whisper.

The sheet rustles beside me, and I open my eyes.

Lincoln.

He’s so close I can see a faint freckle on his shoulder. He’s not wearing a shirt. The blanket is twisted around our stomachs. My skin suddenly feels bare.

I glance down and suck in a sharp breath.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

I yank the covers over my bare chest and shuffle my legs. No underwear.

I suck in a sharp breath as my brain scrambles to catch up. Lincoln shifts.

This cannot be happening. We crossed a line, and I’m only catching little fragments of it here and there. I put my hand on my pounding head, and Lincoln opens his eyes. They widen when he sees me staring at him.

He glances down and back at me. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah. Oh shit,” I whisper.

He swipes his hand over his face. “We can’t tell Maverick. Ever.” He glances at me again, his eyes pleading. “Promise me you won’t. He wouldn’t understand.”