Free Aflame (Fall Away #4) by Penelope Douglas

and I’d brought Gavin, as well, trying to get my father used to a new guy in my life.
    “Hey,” he whispers in my ear, coming up from behind. “I’m thinking it’s time to get out of here.”
    I smile, taking Gavin’s hand off my stomach and spinning around.
    “I don’t know if we can,” I state. “We’ve both been drinking.”
    Keeping hold of his hand, I lead him to the counter, hearing “This Is the Time” by Nothing More traveling up through the open basement door.
    “Madoc will let us use a room. We can just crash here tonight.”
    My heartbeat throbs in my ears, but I don’t say anything. Use a room?
    Gavin and I have been seeing each other for about two months, and there is no doubt that we get along. We are both pre-med, in the same academic fraternity, and he gets along with Madoc, although they’re not close.
    Jax, on the other hand, will still have nothing to do with him.
    My father has also had trouble warming to him, and I know why. His relationship with Jared is close, and it’s hard to move on. I understand that.
    But I’m trying to move forward. Gavin is fun and smart, and when I’m with him, I don’t think about Jared.
    It’s the only time I don’t think about him.
    I’m trying to find some semblance of happiness again, but instead of getting easier, it’s getting harder.
    Every day it’s more and more apparent that I don’t love him, and it’s bothering me.
    Lots of people have sex without love, but I’ve realized one thing. It’s different. It’s not as good.
    “I’m sure we could find a room to sleep,” I say quietly, giving him a small smile.
    He looks at me. “Don’t you have a room here?” he asks. “I thought I heard Madoc mention it once.”
    I stall, trying to figure out how to answer as I dump out my drink and fill my cup with water.
    “I do.” I nod. “But—”
    Then I jerk, seeing some guys crash into the kitchen, coming from downstairs and yelling as they filter down the hallway.
    “But?” he presses.
    I look back at him, distracted by the noise.
    “Hey!” someone shouts. “Check out this video of Trent!”
    I blink, dropping my cup in the sink.
    Ignoring Gavin, I round the corner and go to where the guys are sitting in the living room crowded around an iPad. Peering over someone’s shoulder, I watch footage of Jared—uploaded today, by the looks of it—speeding around a track filled with sharp twists and turns, and even though I can’t see his face behind his helmet, I know it’s him. I’d know his body anywhere.
    I lose my breath watching him as I allow myself a small smile.
    God, he’s beautiful. The way he leans and steers the bike, in perfect control.
    And he’s doing it.
    He’s doing what he wants to do and living how he wants to live. I watch, and no matter how much I still hurt, I’m so proud of him.
    I feel Gavin at my back, but I don’t look. The footage on the YouTube video switches to a commentator, and my stomach knots, seeing Jared in the background.
    He’s signing autographs for some kids as a few race girls—the ones who work the crowd in their sexy outfits—climb onto the bus behind him. Another teammate clutches Jared’s shoulders behind him and whispers into his ear before they both start smiling as if sharing a private joke.
    The guy then pushes Jared toward the same bus as the girls and follows him up the steps, the door closing.
    “Man, that’s the life,” a guy off to my right comments.
    I back away and try to keep an even-keeled expression, even though my heart feels like it’s splintering.
    Gavin follows me upstairs, and I don’t know why, but I take him straight to Jared’s and my room.
    I need to do this. I don’t want Jared anymore. I don’t want the pain. I don’t want to take a chance that I’ll ever be his and go through this again.
    Months of heartache, months of trying to move on, and it still feels like he’s everywhere.
    I’ve made love to Gavin, and now I can make love to him in Jared’s