I’m never leaving my bedroom again.

Maybe I’m not ready for adulthood or college or big decisions. Maybe I’m just a stupid, eighteen-year-old kid. What was I thinking, trying to scheme Tristan into a relationship? He doesn’t want a child for a girlfriend. Sex is one thing, but going public when his persona is so important to his multi-billion-dollar company? I was naïve to think that was ever a possibility.

Still wearing my bikini, I roll over and bury my face in a pillow. It’s wet from my tears and I dive headlong into another crying jag now, the sound muffled.

I miss Tristan.

I love him so much.

Even...