November 9

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First published in the USA by Atria, an imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc., 2015

This edition first published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2015

A CBS COMPANY

Copyright © Colleen Hoover, 2015

This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

No reproduction without permission.

® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.

The right of Colleen Hoover to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

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Paperback ISBN: 978-1-4711-5462-1

eBook ISBN: 978-1-4711-5463-8

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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I wonder if he would bleed. There are napkins on the table, but not the good kind that could soak up a lot of blood.

“So, yeah. I’m a little shocked, but it’s happening,” he says.

His voice causes my grip to tighten around the glass in hopes that it stays in my hand and doesn’t actually end up against the side of his skull.

“Fallon?” He clears his throat and tries to soften his words, but they still come at me like knives. “Are you going to say anything?”

I stab the hollow part of an ice cube with my straw, imagining that it’s his head.

“What am I supposed to say?” I mumble, resembling a bratty child, rather than the eighteen-year-old adult that I am. “Do you want me to

His fingers drum the sides of his coffee cup as he watches me silently for several beats.

He thinks I’ll eventually give in and tell him what he wants to hear, but he hasn’t been around me enough in the last two years to know that I’m not that girl anymore.

When I refuse to acknowledge his performance, he eventually sighs and drops his elbows to the table. “Well, I thought you’d be happy for me.”

I force a quick shake of my head. “

for you?”

A loud burst of disbelieving laughter escapes my mouth. “Releasing sperm into the vagina of a twenty-four-year-old does not a father make,” I say, somewhat bitterly.

His smug smile disappears, and he leans back and cocks his head to the side. The head-cock was always his go-to move when he wasn’t sure how to react onscreen.

He must not recall that he was my acting coach for most of my life, and this look was one of the first he taught me.

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