We all knew it, didn’t we? Me, Dad, and my older brothers—we all knew the truth. I never had what it took to go anywhere in life. Even on the night of junior prom, my girlfriend saw it. She saw through me.

I was dressed in my absolute best, but she dumped me after three songs. As bad as it was, maybe I should’ve counted myself lucky. Cindy was nice enough to break me down in private rather than in front of our classmates.

I’d been drunk all night. It shouldn’t have surprised me when she pulled me out of the gymnasium. We walked down a couple of hallways—Cindy walked, and I stumbled—before she told me we were over. We were done. She took off after that, and I let her. There was no chase, no apology. To be honest, I don’t think I cared about our relationship nearly as much as I cared about failing something else.

Cindy was clearly upset over the breakup—I could tell. But I was so drunk I watched her run away and truly believed she’d come back. As she ran, I heard her voice cracking until she was gone. It wasn’t until after I threw up on the floor that I understood I wouldn’t get a second chance.

Instead of going back to the party, I walked outside to find my car. That should’ve been the end of my night. But when I got to the parking lot, I saw him.

He was slim compared to a football player, taller than me by at least an inch, and had wild brown hair. Even if he was new to town, it was his junior prom too. Regardless, he didn’t wear a suit or tuxedo that night. No—he wore one of his usual sweaters and ripped jeans. Maybe he didn’t feel like dressing up and dancing with classmates who treated him like shit every day.

I didn’t feel like dancing either.

His name was Nick Carter, and he was standing on the hood of my car, pissing on the windshield. Technically, it was my dad’s car, but it was mine for the night.

There was no love at first sight. No butterflies. No fireworks. Devastated and beaten, I wanted to devastate and beat someone else. Nick had volunteered to take the punishment. Lucky for us, I was too drunk to hurt him.

I tried.

While he struggled to put away his dick and zip up his pants, I chased him around the car, trying to cave his head in. From there, all I could remember were snapshots. I couldn’t connect a single blow, and the alcohol had already gotten to me. I broke down into tears.

I cried?

I never cried—especially not in front of people. Whatever dignity I had left vanished as I sank to the concrete. He stood there watching. On my knees, I didn’t scream or wail, but my face contorted as I fought what was happening. And then he did the strangest thing.

He came closer.

Eventually, my head rested against his belly while he combed his fingers through my short hair like I was some miserable animal.

That’s how we met. I found Nick when I was at my lowest. But somehow, we didn’t stop there.

The very next morning, I woke up in his bed.

His skin—the way it clung to mine—had me worried but relaxed at the same time. Part of me was in perfect balance with our morning after, but another part of me knew I had to get up. The world froze, giving me a choice between freaking out or going back to sleep.

I was in an unfamiliar place with a guy I didn’t know outside of school. We were naked, so I knew what had happened, even if I couldn’t remember most of it. Had Nick been smooth enough to stay silent, I might not have acted so cruelly in the moments that followed. Had he played dumb and gone back to sleep, it would’ve given me time.

But Nick sat up. And he opened his mouth to speak.

Every word he said made me more upset. Why couldn’t he have just shut up?

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I said.

We went from sleeping peacefully together to standing at odds. Nick was on one side of the bed, and I was on the other, trying to gather my clothes from the floor.

“I won’t,” he answered.

“I was drunk. I didn’t mean to do this,” I said, pulling up my pants.

“It’s okay,” he said.

“Nothing fucking happened,” I yelled.

I couldn’t find my shirt. Frantically, I looked around for it, but I couldn’t drop my eyes from Nick. While I worried about getting dressed, he stood completely nude with only a pillow in front of himself. When I couldn’t locate the last of my clothes, he awkwardly picked them up from the floor on his side of the room and handed them to me.

I took the garments, my expression unchanged. But I had stopped yelling.

“This didn’t happen,” I said, arguing against what I knew in a defeated tone.

Not only had I failed to keep a girlfriend—I’d failed at being straight.

I couldn’t see it yet, but someone new had finally walked into my life’s story. Nick changed it from a solo to a duo.