Shame (Ruin #3)(2)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

“You want me to say something?” he sneered. His blue eyes might as well have been steel as they pierced through every inch of my body. “Fine.”

I braced for impact.

“I hate you.” He said it slowly as if he wanted me to hear each word and commit it to my memory. “I love you.”

“What?” Tears fell across my lips. “What did you say?”

“Both.” He put his hands on his hips. “I feel both.”

I took a tentative step toward him. “Which wins?”

“The one you give power to,” he said seriously. “The one I choose to give power to.”

“Love?” I begged, pleaded, my voice hoarse.

Tristan’s smile was sad as he took a step back and gave his head a solid shake. “No, sweetheart. I’m sorry, but no.”

He left.

Hope died in my chest.

I stared down at the ground, closing my eyes, wishing for snow, wishing for a do-over. Wishing I could go back and make the footprints straight in the snow, wishing I wouldn’t have chosen death.

But that’s the thing about choices; you don’t regret them until after they’ve been made. It may be a second later, or a year.

Shame always comes.

And you’re about to know mine…

CHAPTER ONE

Simple fact about me: I get bored easy, and she was an easy target. Young, beautiful, with the fiery eyes of a temptress. “Impress me,” I’d say, and she’d laugh and go about doing exactly that. My body liked it, my mind craved it. She forced the demons down better than any drug, and I freaking worshipped her for it. —The Journal of Taylor B.

Lisa

I RAN BACK TO my dorm and nearly collided with the door before I was able to grab it. I hated having to dig through my purse to find my stupid key card; it seemed like it always hid for at least ten minutes while I pulled out my keys, my wallet, my gum, my cell, that little tiki key fob I still hadn’t added to my main ring of keys yet. I mean, the list went on and on and on. Finally, of course, I’d realize I kept my key card in my back pocket only to have stood in front of the damn door while it rained!

Ugh. College.

I took the stairs two at a time and unlocked my dorm room.

“Loser pants,” Gabe said from the couch without looking up. “You left your door open again.”

“I gave you a key.” I rolled my eyes.

“You gave Saylor a key,” Gabe grumbled. “I had to freaking steal that thing, make like seven copies, and return it.”

“Seven?” I put my bag on the counter and walked around to the mini-kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. “Why seven?”

“Fun story about marriage.” Gabe thrust his finger into the air as if letting me know he was about to make a speech. Though by now I knew his speeches bordered on inappropriate most the time; hence the dread pooling in my stomach. “Saylor loses everything. It’s like sex…” He paused. “Sex with me, mind you, not any other dude because let’s be honest, when it’s from me, it’s just—”

“Gabe,” I sighed. “Get there faster.”

“Right.” He turned off the TV and turned around to face me.

God, it was still weird seeing him with blond hair. A few months ago his whole secret identity had come out. Ashton Parker Hyde, the pop star and actor who was the object of every teenage dream five years ago, had gone into hiding, and since I’d been his closest friend, I’d followed him. My reasons were different from his, obviously. He was escaping a painful past. I was trying to forget mine

We’d both been famous, but I was a child model, easily forgettable. He had been a god. No seriously, ask social media. They stalked him like crazy. You’d think he’d dye his hair back to black just to get a break once in a while, but nope, as far as he was concerned, Ashton was here to stay, though he went by Gabe. He rationalized that just made everything easier for his professors and new wife, Saylor, who, because of his hidden identity, had nearly castrated him.

But that’s another story. I shook my head, clearing the cobwebs, and threw him one of my waters. “You were saying?”

He grinned. I had to look away. He was too pretty, and I kind of hated how both he and Wes, another Lifetime-Channel-story-come-to-life, were both the happiest people on the planet, while I was living by myself and receiving stalker hate mail.

“She’s forgetful.” He shrugged. “So I keep seven of everything.”

“Again, why seven?”

“It’s the number of completion.” He rolled his eyes. “Duh.”

“Is there a reason you’re here and not home? With Saylor?”

He looked guilty down at the couch. “I, uh, cable was out?”

“Try again.”

He looked behind me and pointed. “The, um, fridge light needed to be changed.”

I grinned. “It’s fine.”

“And—” He shot up from the couch and ran to the door, opened and closed it. “You need grease in the, er…” He scratched his head. “…hinges.”

“Wow!” I clapped twice. “You know what a hinge is.”

He flipped me off.

I stuck my tongue out.

In two steps I was in his arms, my cheek resting against his muscled chest. Two tattooed biceps squeezed tight around me as he rested his chin on my head. It was comforting just being in his arms.

I’d missed him.

I hadn’t been without him for years. It had always been us against the world. Then he’d gone and gotten married, and I’d felt truly lonely for the first time since leaving LA.

“I’m worried about you,” Gabe whispered, pulling back and cupping my face with his hands. “You need… a… bodyguard or something.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head. “No, I’m fine.”

“You’re too pretty.”

“I’m fine!” I laughed again and stepped out of his embrace. I didn’t want him to know how freaked out I’d been the last week. The hate mail — aka fan mail — had gotten worse. I kept changing my PO box, and people kept discovering it. I mean, it was the usual stuff, the you’re so pretty and I watch you stuff, which I could deal with — mostly. But a few of the letters had had pictures of Taylor.

And that didn’t set well with me.

If Gabe even knew, he’d flip his lid.

“I’m not above embedding a GPS unit in every article of clothing you own, including your favorite Donald Pliner sandals.” He crossed his muscled arms and leaned against the back of the couch.