• • •

I'm numb. Gray's arms are around me. Navya's still talking. She's been talking for over an hour, her words running away with her as she tries to balance telling me the truth and saving my feelings, but she doesn't know much more than the barest facts. Liam's frat is on probation. That's why he's been so busy this week. Not regular frat stuff. An investigation. A competition.

When I can persuade my hands to work, I lean away from Gray and reach for my phone but he clamps his hand over mine.

"Don't text him," he says, but I'm not going to. I can't talk to Liam right now. I don't know what the hell I can say. Shaking off Gray's hand, I load up Twitter and type sola theta chi theta into the search bar. There are a few tweets already, spreading rumors of a suspension. One catches my eye, a tweet belonging to a username and face I don't recognize:

lol so i go to SoLa and apparently our theta chi theta chapter just got done for holding a hog roast. so gross. idk why they'd even WANT to fuck the fatties. sounds more like a punishment

My skin crawls. Hog roast. I guess I'm just some pig he had to sleep with.

Navya takes my phone, but not before I catch a glimpse of another tweet. A blurry picture of Liam and me eating at the ice cream place, and a caption that reads I guess we know who won lmao. fatten up that piggy #sola #thetachitheta #oinkoink

Hot tears spill down my cheeks. When I open my mouth to speak, only a choked sob comes out. Gray throws his arms around me again and I let him. His cheek is damp and his breath is hot against my ear when he calls Liam an asshole. Navya tries to take my phone from me but when I feel it buzz, I grip it tighter.

"Storie," she murmurs. We both glance at the screen. As soon as I see Liam's name, I open the message. At first, all I see is the last message I sent him, the words I regret now: I wish you were here. Then I register his text below it.

me too. I'm coming over.

Navya and Gray read the text too. Sadness fills Navya's eyes; indignation takes over Gray's face.

"No he fucking isn't," he says. The hate in his voice doesn't suit him. "Tell him not to. Tell him you know."

But I can't. My fingers are frozen. I can't believe it, let alone type it. No matter how much fury is swirling in my gut, I can't bring myself to reply. So I leave Liam on read, I turn off my phone, and I lie down with my hands clasped over my stomach. My huge, disgusting stomach. Gross enough to win a contest I didn't know I was playing.

"Do you think it's true?" I ask. "Is it really true?"

Navya says nothing. Her silence answers my question. My heart sinks.

"Maybe he didn't know," she says, her voice weak. "Maybe he wasn't part of the contest."

Her words sound fake. She doesn't sound convinced. It's not her fault, though – I can't be mad at her for not wanting to hurt my feelings. I just feel like such an idiot. A helpless whale of an idiot. And I clearly have atrocious taste in guys.

"I was careful," I say. My voice comes out barely louder than a whisper, pathetically hoarse. "I was so cautious. I was convinced it was a joke for so long. But he convinced me he loved me. He lied to me."

"No." Gray looms over me, his face filling my vision. "Even if he did know about this disgusting bullshit, that doesn't mean the whole thing was fake. He does love you. I don't think that's a lie."

"Is that supposed to make it better? Does that excuse him, if it started as a dare but he ended up falling for me?" I duck out from under Gray to sit up, my face uncomfortably hot and wet. My eyes itch and my chest feels so tight I'm sure I'm on the cusp of a heart attack. Dread courses through my body, stronger and more painful with every second that I think about Liam.

"No." Gray sighs. "No, it doesn't make it better."

"It makes him a shallow bastard," Navya says. "That's saying he only bothered to get to know you for the dare and had no plans of falling in love."

Gray nudges her. "That's not helpful," he mutters. It's dim in here but I'm sure Navya's cheeks are a shade darker when she drops her eyes and squeezes my knee.

"It's true," I say. "It's worse." I take a shuddering breath and try to swallow away the nausea in my gut but it just sits there, lingering like a sour aftertaste. I feel like I've run a marathon, my body bruised by the weight of Navya's news, my brain firing pulses in all directions, sending so many signals that I don't know which to follow and which to ignore.

Usually, there's a rational and irrational argument going on in my head, but right now, I can only hear one side of the story: I've been betrayed. I've been used, the butt of a joke. I've been stupid. I was too careless. I let him in. I stopped questioning. I pushed away my doubts and let myself fall in love with him. With his family. He got under my skin and what I thought was Cupid's arrow has been a poisoned dart all along.

The more these thoughts swell in my head, the sicker and dizzier I feel until I have to launch myself off Gray's bed and stumble to the bathroom. My knees cry out when I drop onto the hard floor and heave into the toilet. My body has finally caught up to my mind and processed what I heard, and I guess this is its way of purging me of him.

Someone presses toilet paper to my mouth. I didn't hear Gray and Navya follow me in but they're surrounding me, Navya crouched by my side while Gray rubs my back like I'm a kid. I feel so pathetic but when I try to apologize, I just cry. Heavy sobs wrack my aching shoulders and I simultaneously feel as big as a whale trapped on the sand and as small as an ant crushed on the sidewalk. I try to bury my face in my arms, limp on the toilet seat, but Navya pulls me away, her arms surprisingly strong around me.

"You're going to be ok," she says, her voice firm. "You're in shock and you're hurt, but you're strong as hell, Storie, and I know you can get through this. Gray and I aren't going anywhere. If you want to talk, or you want me to talk to Liam, or you-"

"I want to sleep." I have to force the words out past the bitter bile in my mouth. Gray passes me a glass of water that I thirstily glug. I know I won't be able to sleep, and I know that being alone will only worsen the worst thoughts that consume me, but I can't talk. I've got nothing left to say. "You guys stay here. I'm going home."

When I stand, Gray holds my shoulders and stares into my eyes. He has such a deep stare that I swear it penetrates my soul, like he can see right into my thoughts and read my mind. His hands are warm and comforting.

"Whatever you need, Storie," he says. "We're right here. And if he shows up, if he dares to show his face here after what he's done, I will kick his ass."

I'd laugh if his face wasn't so serious, if I wasn't so sure that he means exactly what he's saying, so I nod. He gives me a smile and envelopes me in a soft hug, and I'm relieved when neither he nor Navya protest when I leave. Gray and I may live in each other's bubbles, but he knows when I need space.

Right now, I really need space.

• • •

It's pitch black outside. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the night sky, only interrupted by the pale light coming from the living room of my house. Mom and Tad are probably still there, watching TV and wondering where we went. I can't face Mom's questions right now, the panicked concern that will lace her features when she sees the state I'm in, so I don't go through the front door.

Instead, I trudge across the frozen grass to the trees at the end of the garden. It's freezing out here, my breath fogging the air, and I stripped off my coat in Gray's room so the cold hits me harder, but I don't care. The more the ice stings my skin, the more it distracts me from the pain behind my eyes.

I come to a stop by Dad's tree. The tiniest seedling has broken through the frozen ground, wire mesh around it to protect it. I pray the weather doesn't hurt it, that it can continue to thrive even when the ground freezes over and the snow comes. Reaching over the mesh, I graze the tiny, delicate green leaves that look gray in this light.

"I wish you were here," I murmur.

My throat tightens, my voice thickening. Kneeling out there in the cold, the frost soaks through my leggings and my skin is numb, but I can't leave. This is the closest I'll ever be to my Dad again and the thought overwhelms me for the millionth time.

"I miss you, Dad. I need you," I say, my voice breaking halfway through. "I don't know what to do. You'd know what to do."

When it's too painful to talk, I swallow hard and close my eyes against the bitter wind that freezes the tears on my cheeks, and I bow my head over the leaves. I just want to hear my dad's voice, one last time. I ache for his soothing tone, for the crinkle around his eyes when he pieces me back together again. I need his hug, his certainty, his experience.

All I get is an icy blast that knocks me sideways.

Maybe I'll just stay here. It's tempting, the thought of just giving in. Giving up. But I'm hit with the sense that my dad is watching me, that he's willing me to woman up. So I force myself to my knees, my hands burning with the cold, and I look over my shoulder. My dad isn't watching me, but Tad is.

He's standing at the back door, squinting as he peers into the darkness. Then his face changes. "Storie?" he calls out. I say nothing. He's by my side in a flash, crouching with his hands on my shoulders. I don't know if it's the cold or the heartbreak but I feel faint, his face swimming before my eyes.

"Storie? What happened? Are you ok?" He touches my cheek, his fingers hot against the searing cold. "God, you're frozen. You need to come inside." He takes my hand, gently tugging, and I awkwardly clamber to my feet. I feel like I'm in a daze but I manage to follow him to the kitchen, where the warmth hits me like a slap to the face.

Tad sits me down at the table, puts the kettle on, and pulls up a chair next to me, looking at me like I'm his child, like he just found his own daughter a sobbing crumpled heap in thirty-degree weather. I hate him seeing me like this. He didn't sign up for this. I just want to crawl away and disappear.

"Storie," he says, and I can hear his concern in my name. It crushes something inside, if I even had anything left to be crushed. "What's wrong?"

I don't know where to start. Everything's wrong. My boyfriend lied to me. He betrayed me and he hurt me and he humiliated me. The one time I loosened the reins on my heart, the one time a guy saw past my body, I got hurt.

"Where's Graham? Didn't you two go out together?" His eyebrows knit together. That's a question I can answer a little easier.

"He's next door," I say, my words sounding muffled.

"Did you two fall out?" he asks, like we're a couple of kids whose spats needed to be mended by their parents. I shake my head and when I can't come up with a feasible excuse, I just tell the truth.

"His girlfriend's here."

Tad's eyebrows shoot up, but he manages to replace his curiosity with that fatherly worry in a fraction of a second. Before he can ask if Navya and I had a fight, I take a deep breath and try to condense my heartache into as few words as possible.

"Liam lied to me and used me to win a contest. Navya came over to tell me," I say. Maybe I could've used fewer words, or better ones, but I don't feel like elaborating. But Tad tilts his head, his lips pursed.

"What do you mean?" he asks. "A contest?"

My nose wrinkles. I don't even ask it to. My face just forms a natural grimace at the thought of what Navya told me. "His frat," I mumble, almost incoherent. "They had a contest to sleep with the fattest girl."

My respect for Tad grows when he doesn't wince at the word fat. Then my cheeks burn when I realize I just told my soon-to-be stepdad that I've slept with my soon-to-be ex. As soon as the word ex floats through my mind, my poor composure breaks and just like his son, Tad's reaction is to wrap me in a tight hug, like he can squeeze the sadness out of me. I wish he could.

"Storie, I ... my God," he says.

"You don't have to say anything."

"I don't know what I could say." His grip loosens and he pulls away to meet my face. "You don't deserve that, Storie. That behavior is disgusting, and that isn't something you should have to deal with. That is ... completely unacceptable."

"I know." I sound like a kid. "I just ... I think I want to be alone."

Tad purses his lips again, then presses them into a thin line, his eyebrows so furrowed that they meet above his nose. "I'm not sure you should be alone. You need to warm up, Storie, and I don't want to leave you like this."

He stands when the kettle boils and roots through the cupboard for cocoa powder, mixing up a couple of hot chocolates. "Your mom's gone to bed and you don't have to talk to me about anything, but how about you come and warm up in the living room? I've got a log fire burning and a nice warm drink." He holds up the mugs and gives me half a smile.

So I do what he says. I change out of my wet clothes into warm pajamas and join him downstairs. The two of us have never spent much time alone together, but I see him every day. Short of selling his house, he's moved in. Tad's part of my family now. We need to be able to watch a movie together.

And we do. I don't pay much attention to what's happening on the screen, but he picked a light-hearted romcom and it does help a little, until I see the glow of headlights sweep around the corner and towards the house. When they come to a stop right outside, Tad sits straight.

"Who's that?" he mutters, frowning at his watch. It's after ten.

"Liam."

He stands with indignance in his eyes but I get to my feet and shake my head.

"I'll talk to him."

"Storie..."

"I need to." I tighten my grip on the blanket that's draped around my shoulders, and a moment passes before I can persuade my feet to move. My feet grow heavier the closer I get to the door. When I open it, I can't go any further. Liam gets out of his car and when my eyes adjust to the light, I see his grin as he comes towards me.

"Hey, Storie. God, I missed you. This week's been such bullshit."

"I know."

He's unfazed, reaching out to hug me. I step back.

"No. I know," I repeat. "I know what happened this week. I know about the contest. I know that we're done."

His face blanches. He drops onto his heels. Any hope that he didn't know is out of the window, that last shred of dignity I was quietly hoping for. Of course he knew. Now he just looks like a kid caught doing something bad. Like he never thought in a million years that I'd find out.

"I can explain. I need to explain," he says.

"It's a bit late for that. Did you think I'd just never find out?" I don't know where my composure is coming from when I want to scream and cry and crumple to the floor. I just don't want to embarrass myself any more than I already have.

"Yes," he says. "I prayed you'd never find out, because you didn't need to know."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

He jumps when I swear. I hate the hurt look on his face. I'm the one suffering here. "No," he says, stammering a little. "I'm not kidding. I tried to make sure you didn't find out because I didn't want to hurt you, Storie. You don't understand."

"No, I don't."

"So let me explain."

I should kick him out. I should make him get back in his car and drive back to his frat house, to go back to his disgusting brothers, but I don't. Because I need to know. I need to hear whatever it is that he deems to be a worthy explanation.

We go to the kitchen. I'm sure Tad is listening from the living room, but I don't care. I need someone else to hear what Liam's about to say. We sit. Liam says nothing. He's white as a sheet, blue eyes panicked. I know that look. Rich white guy got caught doing something bad, and now he has to explain himself out of the situation. I hate seeing it on my boyfriend. It shouldn't be there.

"What did you hear?" he asks.

"That you and your frat are suspended for having a contest to sleep with the biggest girl on campus," I say, holding his eye contact even though it's killing me. "That you won. Obviously."

"No." He shakes his head.

"Enlighten me. And be honest. Whatever you say isn't going to change my mind, so just be honest." It's taking everything I have to hold myself together. I'm just completely numb. Liam nods. He takes a deep breath, his hands clasped tightly on the table top.

"There was a contest," he says. His voice is low. I want to puke again. "It was a stupid idea. It wasn't mine, but I ... went along with it. And I met you."

"Because of the contest." It's not a question. My voice is flat.

He hesitates before he nods. "That's when the ... other thing happened. When Davis was a jerk to you. That wasn't the plan. I never wanted him to scare you. He was just a way to introduce myself and he took it too far."

"You took it too far." I can't help but cry now, though it's a wonder I even can. "Did you not think that?"

"I know. I know, Storie. I hate myself. I was a dickhead. I didn't realize how bad it was at first. I figured we'd flirt a bit, we'd sleep together, and that'd be it. You'd never know."

"Are you listening to yourself right now? Do you realize how despicable you sound?"

"Yes. But I pulled out of the contest, Storie. I came to my senses and realized it was bullshit and that you're fucking incredible and I was a jackass for what I did."

I think back to the start of our relationship. He used to be so eager to sleep with me, then he wasn't anymore. I guess that's when he pulled out. "We still slept together."

"After the deadline," he says. It stings. "I love you, Storie. I'm so fucking in love with you, I don't know what to do with myself. I've tried so hard to make sure you'd never have to know about this because I knew how much it would hurt you. I fell in love with you."

"If there hadn't been a contest, you never would have spoken to me," I say. "You were only interested in me in the first place because I'm fat enough for you to win. It was just a joke to you, right? Sleep with the big girl, win the contest, everyone lives happily ever after? Fuck you, Liam."

There's too much I want to say but I can't get my words to work. I can't explain my humiliation. I can't explain how awful it feels to fall in love and realize the whole relationship has been built on a foundation of a degrading competition. He never wanted to love me. He never wanted to date me. He just wanted to fuck me.

"I fucked up," he says. "I realized that and God, I was so scared I was going to lose you. I can't lose you, Storie."

My skin is prickling, my stomach curdling. "Maybe you should have realized that before you used me. But you had no intention of falling in love with me. That was a joke to you. Don't you dare make me feel bad for turning out to be someone you could actually like."

"No! No, no, I don't want that at all. God, Storie, the last thing I want to do is hurt you."