This is the explosive sequel to "To Capture a Heart."
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Some truths ruin lives. Others set them free.
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Veronica had it all-until, in the span of a few brutal days, she lost everything.
The fallout is fierce. Tensions are at a breaking point. Lo...
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It started like any other Tuesday—except Avi was the one driving us to school.
He'd stayed at my place the night before, crashing on the couch after things got too loud at his. Mom didn't ask questions—just left out an extra blanket and made pancakes like it was normal.
He said it was fine, that he was fine—but even now, behind the wheel, I could tell he wasn't all the way back. His hands were steady, but his silence had edges.
"You sleep at all?" I asked, glancing over.
Avi gave a tight shrug. "Some."
Which meant not much.
He tapped the steering wheel lightly at a red light, eyes distant. Every few minutes, he'd just... drift—mentally, not physically. Like his body made it to Tuesday, but the rest of him was still stuck back in whatever fallout he left behind.
By the time we pulled into the lot, the school was already waking up—early band kids lugging instrument cases, the hallway smelled faintly of wet paint and way too much cologne—someone in the junior wing had clearly gone to war with a can of Axe body spray again.
Ash was rambling about her history presentation while walking backward with the precision only she could manage—platform shoes, caffeine buzz, and all.
"I swear, if Mr. Linden interrupts me one more time, I'm quoting Hamilton and then bursting into flames. Just—poof—historical combustion," she huffed.
"Sounds iconic," I said, unlocking my locker. "Promise you'll do it mid-sentence? Really give it that dramatic flair."
"You're the only one who gets me," she sighed, twirling off to meet Ryan, leaving me grinning.
I was still riding high from Saturday's win. Tyler's kiss, the jersey, the cheers... one of those weekends that makes you feel like maybe—just maybe—life is figuring itself out.
Then I opened my locker.
I tossed my bag in, reaching for my notebook—and froze. My blood went cold.
Click. Clatter. Snap back to reality.
Pinned to the back wall of my locker was a photograph. A glossy 5x7.
Of me, Tyler, and Julian.
At the gazebo.
At night.
A moment no one else should have seen. It was grainy but unmistakable. We were sitting close. Laughing. Unaware.
Unwatched—or so I had thought.
Beneath it, a slip of black paper. Red ink scrawled across it, like someone had bled secrets onto the page: "Secrets are easier to bury when they're still secrets."
