Jamie took another pull from his beer. “Yeah,” he said, forcing the lump in his throat down deep, where he kept it, safe and sound, other than this one day each year. Except this year there was another reason for that lump. This year he’d broken his promise—not by being with Summer Grace, but by hurting her.

She looked over at their friends. “We all know it’s true, don’t we? I mean, everyone here loved him, but Jamie and Brandon were never happier than when they were hanging out together. Unless they were competing over a girl. Or a game of Frisbee. Or a sandwich. Two peas in a pod, my parents used to say. He was never happier than when he was with you, Jamie.” She stepped closer, grabbed his beer bottle from him and took a sip. As she tucked it back into his hand she whispered, “So was I.”

Even in the moonlight, he could see the baby blue of her eyes beneath the long lashes. Eyes that seemed to look right through him, to recognize the desire he’d felt for her since the first time she’d crawled into his bed when she was fourteen years old. He’d been seventeen at the time, a walking, out-of-control hormone factory. He’d been staying the night at the Rae house—something he’d done often. She’d woken him with a soft, wet kiss, lying on top of his prone body. No fourteen-year-old should have known how to kiss like that. But this girl . . .

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Summer Grace,” he murmured, letting the others think it was about Brandon, if they wanted to. And it was. But it was also about them.

“Come on. Let’s walk it out like we always do,” Mick suggested.

Allie squeezed Summer Grace’s shoulder. “Come on, honey.”

Allie had only been back in New Orleans a few months, but Jamie knew she and Summer Grace had kept in touch while she was off doing her pastry chef gigs in Europe, same as she had with him—and now he knew they’d solidified their friendship in a whole new way.

He stayed back and watched the two women walking side by side, their heads close together in the stark moonlight, everything cast in monochromatic shadows. And he knew suddenly that he wanted to be the one walking with Summer Grace tonight. Soothing her. Making sure she was okay.

He’d spent too many years underestimating her. She’d been Brandon’s little sister for so long—a smart-mouthed temptress who’d tested his patience along with his resolve to keep his hands off her. But lately he’d found out so much more about her. Like how smart she was. How competent. How independent. Maybe a little too much so. He couldn’t count the times over the years he was certain her sass would get her in trouble. But she’d come through all right so far, and now that sass only added to the attraction.

But it was more than simple attraction. She made him smile, made him want to ease her fears—and instead he’d only proved them right. He’d told her he wanted to be with her, to see where things led, then he’d left her the next day. “Asshole” didn’t even begin to cover it. He was irresponsible, too. He hadn’t checked in to make sure she wasn’t experiencing subdrop, knowing full well that sometimes people in drop were unable to reach out when they needed to. And maybe most important of all, he hadn’t told her that when he’d looked into her eyes that night, he’d felt like he was finally home.

The group had started to move down the path and he hurried to catch up with them, staying quiet as they walked up one row and down another, past the wall crypts and mausoleums. This was part of their yearly ritual, to tread the ground for Brandon. Get drunk together. Celebrate him. Remember him.

It suddenly occurred to him that Brandon might not appreciate their yearly remembrance of him. He’d like that they all found a reason to get together en masse once a year, but he might say “Get over it, already. Move on. Don’t mourn for me—live for me. Throw a party, not a wake.”

Sometimes Jamie’s life felt like one continuous wake. A memorial to Brandon. To Ian. To the other young life he’d lost. Was he so afraid of yet another loss that he was pushing away someone he cared for before they’d even had a chance?

In silent meditation Jamie did his best to shift his thoughts from Summer Grace to her brother, but he was hyperaware of her presence at the edge of his vision, her arm linked through Allie’s. He couldn’t help but notice the gentle sway of her slender hips in her denim cutoffs, her tiny waist outlined by her tight black tank top.

He was definitely going to hell, because instead of maintaining his focus on the group’s silent meditation and their purpose there, all he could think about was tossing Summer Grace over his shoulder, carrying her off to some dark corner of the cemetery and kissing her until he’d gotten his fill of her lips. He remembered how beautiful she’d been in his chains. How much she’d loved it, and how perfectly she’d matched him, need for need.

And Jesus, this was not the time or the place. He subtly adjusted his tightening jeans and kept his pace slow, his friends ahead of him.

When they got back to their starting point, they all sat down on the ground, leaning against the iron gates and stone vases, some empty, some full of wilting lilies, and told their stories while they went through the beer until they were all at least a little buzzed.

Summer Grace was more than a little buzzed, he noticed, and too far away.

“You remember that time Brandon drove his car right across school campus?” Neal asked. “He tore the hell out of the lawn. I thought the dean would have his ass, but he managed to charm his way out of it, like he always did. That was crazy.”

“He always did have a wild streak,” Allie said. “But that was what the girls all loved about him. I don’t think I knew anyone—cheerleaders, stoner girls, theater nerds—who didn’t have at least a small crush on him.”

“And it wasn’t just the students,” Marie Dawn said, laughing. “Remember when he got caught kissing the art teacher’s aide in the supply closet at the end of senior year? That French girl, Gabrielle. He almost didn’t get to go to graduation. What was that art teacher’s name? She almost had a stroke when she caught them.”

“Mrs. MacGuire,” Neal said. “She was an old crone.”

“But the aide was hot,” Mick chimed in.

“Hey!” Allie protested.

“Well, she was. Hot enough that he kept seeing her until after graduation. Brandon got all the hot girls. Except you, of course, baby.” Mick leaned down and kissed Allie’s cheek.

“She was the last girl Brandon kissed,” Summer said quietly.

Jamie nodded. “Yeah, she was. Gabrielle . . . She came to the funeral, you know. She stood in the back and left before it was over. But I saw her. I saw her crying.”

They all sat silently for a moment, thinking, he knew, of the funeral. Summer Grace got up then and walked off slowly, as if no one would notice her absence. As if he wouldn’t immediately feel it.

“Jamie,” Allie whispered, reaching out to smack his arm. “Go after her, would you?”

“If I say no, you’ll just smack me again,” he muttered, already getting to his feet to follow her—as if he wanted to do anything else. The cemetery at night was no safe place for a girl alone, and he knew she was upset, thinking of her brother. Probably upset with him, too, and he couldn’t blame her.

But Jesus, the girl moved fast. By the time he peeked down the row she was nowhere in sight.

“Summer Grace?”

He moved quickly, peering down the side aisles through the dark, and was just starting to worry when he finally saw her leaning up against a stone urn in front of a moss-covered vault.

“Hey. You okay?”

She shrugged. “Marie Dawn was right. I love having Allie home again, but it makes it harder, too, you know? Now we’re only missing one.”

“I know.” He stepped closer. “And I know I’m probably the last person you want here, but I need you to know I am here. I know you’re missing him. Even more than I do.”