“Blake!”

My eyes snapped to hers, and I shook my head, clearing the thoughts that were running wild in my mind. And then I laughed, because I didn’t know what else to do. She was driving me insane. “It’s okay,” I told her. “You’d just be a distraction anyway. Go. Leave.”

She chuckled and walked away.

I stared at her ass.

“Holy shit,” I mumbled.

“Blake,” Mary said, walking back into the kitchen. “That’s kind of my daughter you’re drooling over.”

I wiped my mouth. My cheeks burned. “Sorry.”

She laughed.

I was glad she found it funny. My dick sure as shit didn’t.

Chloe

“I don’t think this is it, Chloe.”

I looked down at the picture in my hand. Mom and Aunt Tilly as teenagers, hanging out with their friends by a lake . . . or a river. The picture had faded and creased over the years, so it was hard to make out. “Yeah, I don’t think it is, either.” I tried to hide the sadness in my voice, but Clayton could always tell.

“I’m sorry,” he said, walking up the rocky embankment toward me. He pulled me to him and wrapped his arms around me.

“It’s okay,” I hugged him back and spoke into his chest. “I’ll just keep searching. We’ll find it next time.”

He squeezed me tighter. “You bring any food? I’m starving.”

“Mary called.”

I quirked an eyebrow.

That made him laugh, but only for a moment, before he sighed and set his sandwich on the rug we were sitting on. “You know I’ve never been one to give you advice or judge you or try to make you think that what you’re feeling is wrong.”

He was right, which meant that whatever he was about to say held a certain significance. I watched as his eyes roamed my face, searching for something that probably wasn’t there. Clayton had been through a lot in his life. His eyes—to me—always held a familiarity to them. A sense of home, if ever I had one. Despite how much he’d grown up the past few years, his eyes always reminded me of the kid who I was first introduced to.

I dropped my sandwich, faced the river, and brought my knees up to my chest. “Out with it,” I told him

“I just worry about you, Chloe.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I know you’re rolling your eyes.”

I turned to glare at him.

“You think I need to see you to know what you’re doing? That’s ass, and you know it.”

“Whatever.”

“All I’m saying is that I worry. I worry that you’re not getting the best out of your life.”

I went to interrupt, but he raised his hand to stop me.

“Just let me speak, please?”

I nodded but kept my eyes on the glistening water.

“I get why you do what you do . . . why you shut yourself off from the rest of the world and the people around you. But I’m scared for you. I’m scared that maybe you’ll do it, and it will all be for nothing. Maybe you’ll live to be a hundred.”

“There’s a fifty-fifty chance I carry that gene, Clay.”

“I know that. And you know that I know that. But that’s a fifty percent chance you don’t carry it, Chloe. And even if you do—it doesn’t necessarily mean cancer, and it might not get you as young as it got them. It might come a lot later in your life. It might not happen at all. Don’t you think that means something? That has to mean something. And the fact that you refuse to get checked . . . I mean . . . things have advanced since your mom—”

“What’s your point?” I didn’t want to hear what he had to say. I’d heard it all before. From Mary, from Dean, from the counselors they’d made me see when I was eleven.

He sighed heavily and moved closer so our sides were touching. “I’m just saying that maybe you’re missing out. Maybe if you open your eyes a little you’ll see that it’s not all bad. Maybe it’s okay to let someone in. To let them understand you. Maybe Blake—”

My breath caught.

He didn’t let it stop him from continuing. “I don’t know Blake, but neither do you. It’s just—from what I can see—he cares about you. More than you probably know. And I don’t know what’s happening between you two, but he’s trying. I know he’s the first guy—or person really—that you let in, even just for a little bit. But maybe you should try . . . Just try.”

The lump in my throat ached as much as the pain in my chest. I wanted him to stop talking.

He threw an arm around my shoulders and pulled me to him. “I dunno, Chloe. You had a mom who loved you. An aunt who took you in. Foster parents and siblings who adore you. You have a guy interested in getting to know you. If you take all that in, and the life that you’ve built for yourself, maybe it’s worth it. Maybe it’s worth that fifty percent chance at living.”

I released the sob I’d been trying so hard to contain and dropped my head into my hands. And I cried. I cried for my mom. My aunt. And I cried for Clayton—because he’d never had any of those things.

“I love you, Chloe. I’m so glad and so honored to know you. To be a part of your life. My point is that maybe others deserve that chance, too.”

Wiping my tears on his shirt, I whispered, “I can’t, Clay.” I looked up at him. “What would you do if you were me . . . if you thought your time was limited? Would you purposely hurt the people you cared about?”