The drive from my parents’ house didn’t take long. The baseline of Andrew Bayer’s “Bullet Catch” rattled the speakers, and I grinned. I freaking loved this track. The dirty beats made my heart race every time. When the breakdown hit, Dastien squeezed my leg.
He was smiling. I love this one, too. It’s kind of perfect, right?
He cranked the volume as he hit the gas, and we wound through the curves of a back road, pushing his fancy-ass car to its limits.
This. This was why I was with him. He’d totally played this track for me
—for us—because he knew it’d make me happy.
The greens and browns of the forest blurred past. As we neared campus, a brick fence loomed. The gates to St. Ailbe’s were just ahead. I held my breath, waiting for Dastien to slow down, but he blew straight past.
I gripp
