Enjoying Life with 3 Dogs, 2 Kids & an ADHD Husband.

Anyway–this scene comes in pretty close to the story’s climax. Shade just found Summer talking to Cody in a deserted hallway during the school dance. The boy clearly isn’t in good shape, not at all, and he’s wanting to know if there’s something going on between our heroine and another guy. Here goes:

My heart broke at his defeated tone. I couldn’t help it; I caved. “No, Cody and I aren’t an item. I was just…well, never mind that. I don’t understand, though—why does it matter to you?”

But deep down, I knew why it mattered. I didn’t need his relieved sigh to tell me, or the feathery stroke of his hand against my hair. “Why do you think, Summer?”

And then he was crushing me to him. There was no gentleness in this kiss, but none of the rage from a moment ago, either. It was pure hunger, sucking me down into a whirlwind of need. He bunched his hands in my hair and smashed me back against the wall. My arms snaked around his neck, urging him closer, closer. I couldn’t get close enough as the heat of his skin burned into mine, searing me with delicious warmth. I never wanted it to end. I craved…more. Wanted…everything.

Until Shade started shuddering. Violently.

My head rattled, and the rough stone cut sharply into my scalp and bare back. I twisted out from under him. “Shade? What’s wrong?”

He stared right through me for a moment, like he couldn’t see me at all, his entire body still lurching with spasms. Then he shook his head. Sweat droplets littered the air around us. “I don’t…I’m not sure. I haven’t felt right since I went off the meds. And I meant to tell you this sooner, but Summer—I think there’s something really wrong with me. I’m remembering things…I can’t possibly be remembering.” Another convulsion wracked his frame. He threw one forearm against the wall and buried his face against it, as if to ride out the storm pummeling him.

Cautiously, I laid my hand on his shoulder. “What do you mean? What kinds of things?”

He raised his head, and I sucked in my breath. A lifetime of agony etched itself onto his sweat-drenched features. “Horrible…horrible things,” he whispered. “I don’t know…I can’t…I don’t want you to hate me.”

“Hate you for what?”