Prologue

PROLOGUE

Morgan

Eight years old

“Rhett, Morgan, I’d like to speak to you for a moment,” Dad says, then heads toward his home office, the room he spends the most time in when he’s not working at one of his other offices—here in Birchbark, or in Detroit, or in Washington, DC.

It feels like he’s always busy, always working, and never wants to spend time with us. Not like my best friend Dusty’s dad. He takes us fishing and hunting. We go camping, hiking, and exploring waterfalls. Sometimes when I sleep over at his house, his dad will help us set up a tent in their yard so we can stay outside all by ourselves.

Most of the things we do here as a family are all with Mom. She makes excuses for Dad, and I pretend I believe her because I don’t want her to be sad. I think she gets sad more than she wants us to know. I don’t want her to realize I know it’s her he loves the most, that he gave her us to make her happy. If there’s one thing I see, it’s that he’d do almost anything to see her smile…except staying home more and not caring about his career more than anything else.

“Yes, sir,” Rhett says, shoving to his feet, eager to get there first, eager to be Dad’s shadow. There’s nothing he won’t do for Dad’s attention. Rhett’s a year older than me but doesn’t see our dad the way I do. Rhett looks at him like he’s a king or something, and he plans to be just like Dad. That’s one thing our father does like—he wants both his boys to be mini-Gregory Swifts, and for whatever reason, he puts more pressure on me about it. Maybe because while Rhett would do anything to impress Dad, I’d rather be with Mom.

Knowing I don’t have a choice except to get up and follow, I do it, but with a whole lot less excitement than Rhett.

Rhett is already sitting in one of the chairs in front of Dad’s desk, my father in his behind it.

“Sit down, Morgan.” There’s no patience in his voice as he watches me.

I move closer and plop down beside Rhett, who is sitting with his back straight, eager gaze on our dad. He’s such an annoying suck-up. He always tells me I have to do more to make Dad happy, but why doesn’t Dad ever have to make us happy?

“Your mother is taking a nap, but we decided it’s time to tell you both she’s pregnant. She’s twelve weeks along, but we wanted to wait before we said anything.”

That makes me sit up straighter. Something else they might not realize I’ve caught on to is how much my mom wants another baby…how much she wants her girl. It doesn’t make me sad that she feels that way because she shows us how much she loves us. She’s proud of her boys. I love baking cookies with her and reading books with her. She helped me put up the tire swing, and she goes swimming in the lake with me. When we spend time together, I never feel like she’s doing it because she has to, but because she wants to.

And she wants to share that love with a little girl too—wants dresses and pink and hair she can put in pigtails.

“She’s going to have a baby?” I ask, as if he didn’t just tell us that.

“Two, actually. Your mother is having twins. I’m going to be honest with you because you’re the men of the house while I’m working. This is a high-risk pregnancy for her. I’ll be depending on you both to take care of her.”

My heart leaps into my throat, trying to burst its way out of my body. “Is she okay?” I blurt out at the same time as Rhett’s, “I’ll take care of her! Whatever you need, Dad!”

I swear, all he cares about is making Dad proud. Is he even worried about Mom?

“Yes, she’s okay, and she’s going to be okay,” he says like that’s something he can guarantee. That’s the thing with him—he thinks he can control everything.

Dad finishes talking to us while Rhett kisses his butt the way he always does. My feet are itching to get out of this chair and go see my mom to make sure she’s okay.

Dad looks at me. “Morgan, I’d like you to stay a moment. Rhett, you can go.”

My brother’s whole body sinks in on itself, wearing his disappointment like his skin, before he straightens up, burying it and trying to show Dad how well he can follow orders and that he doesn’t feel emotions, because our dad definitely doesn’t.

“Yes, sir.” Slowly, he leaves the room, lingering like he’s hoping to hear some of what Dad says to me.

“I know you and your mom are extra close, Morgan. I want you to help her rest as much as possible. The two of you enjoy all your little adventures, but you need to keep those to a minimum. There’s a good chance she’ll be on bed rest soon.”

I nod, words trapped in my throat.

“I will.” Why is he saying this again to me when he just said it to both me and Rhett? “It’ll be my most important thing.”

He gives me a smile, something he rarely directs at us. “I know it will. Your brother can get distracted by school and those sorts of responsibilities, but those things aren’t your strengths. You’re a little…softer, like your mother, so there are certain situations where you’re more suited to help.”

Now it’s me sinking in on myself. For Dad, being the kind of boy Rhett is, caring so much about being the best at everything, is better than being like me. Right now, he tries to pretend being softer is a good thing, but he doesn’t believe that, not really.

“Can I go see her now?” I’d much rather be cuddled in bed with her than in this room with him.

“Let her rest, Morgan. You can see her later.”

I nod and leave the room.

“What did he say?” Rhett asks the moment I get into the living room.

“None of your business,” I snap, going to the back door.

“You’re so annoying. Dad can’t even count on you like he can me.”

“You kiss his butt all the time!” I throw back before slamming the door and not giving him the chance to reply.

The front of our stupid too-big house faces the water, the back toward the woods. My feet carry me straight for the trees. It’s a two-mile walk to Dusty’s place. His place is smaller than ours, homier. His parents work what my dad calls blue-collar jobs, whatever that means. Maybe if he had one of those too, he would spend more time with us like Dusty’s dad does.

Dusty’s the only one who knows how annoying Rhett is and how I feel about my dad. He’s the only person I can talk to about stuff besides Mom, but a lot of what I feel would make her sad, so I keep it inside.

Dusty is the best friend ever. Just throwing rocks in the creek with him usually makes me feel better.

I can walk this path with my eyes closed, know exactly where to turn and which trees mark how far away Dusty’s place is, so I’m able to turn off my brain as I go. It doesn’t take me long to get to the one-story, white house his parents have been fixing up.

I knock on the door, and his mom answers. She works at night and his dad during the day. “Hi, Mrs. James. Can Dusty play?”

“Of course, sweetheart. How are you?” She ruffles my hair just like she would with Dusty, just like my mom does with me. She and Mom talk sometimes. We tried to get the families together, but my dad and his dad didn’t have much to talk about, so it didn’t work that well. Mom can and does make friends with anyone.

“I’m good,” I say as I hear Dusty’s footsteps running down the hallway.

“Wanna go in my room? We can build Legos,” he says, his blond hair messy, a smudge of dirt across his cheek. He’s got a hole in the knee of his jeans, something my parents would never let happen. He pushes his black-rimmed glasses up his nose. He’s only had to wear glasses a year, but he’s already broken three pairs when we were out playing and roughhousing. His mom always says they didn’t have eight-year-old boys in mind when they made glasses, and that just keeping him in them will put them on the streets. I don’t think she really means that. I wouldn’t let that happen, even if I had to sneak them into our house myself.

“Can we go outside?” I ask, and his smile evens out some. Not because he doesn’t want to go outside, but because he knows I’m upset. I don’t know how Dusty can always tell, but he can.

“Yeah. Sure.” He shoves his feet into his shoes with a hole in them. His mom doesn’t let him wear his nice school shoes outside the way mine does. If mine get dirty, we just buy new ones, but that’s not something Dusty’s family can do. Thinking about that makes my heart hurt. I don’t ever want Dusty to go without something.

“Inside before the streetlights come on,” she warns. While the back of his house bumps up against the woods, the front is on a street with other houses. The neighbors get together and have block parties, which Dusty always invites me to.

While it’s still early in the afternoon, she knows time can get away from us. We could run around playing all day and night if they’d let us.

“We’ll be back!” Dusty says, then to me, “Race you!” And we’re off, out the door and running through the woods. We’ll head back to the road when it’s close to streetlight time.

He picks up a long stick and starts swinging it like a sword. We’re surrounded by trees, by this huge world of nature we love to explore. Every place should look like Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.

“What’s wrong?” Dusty asks.

“Mom’s pregnant.”

“That’s good, right? She wants another baby.”

She does, and I want her to have one, but not if it’s going to make her sick. “Yeah, but Dad said it’s high-risk…and that she might have to stay in bed.”

“Is he gonna stay home and take care of her?”

“No. Me and Rhett gotta help do that.”

Dusty stops walking, reaches out with his free hand, and rests it on my shoulder. He’s warm and comforting. It doesn’t make sense, but somehow, him touching me helps. I want to burrow into him, ask him to get closer, but that feels weird. I don’t want Dusty to think I’m weird.

“You’re worried she’s not gonna be okay?”

I nod.

And then, without me having to ask, Dusty pulls me into a hug. He’s never afraid to do stuff like this the way other kids are, the way my dad or my brother never would either, and I like it, like the ways Dusty shows he cares. He would never think I’m weird, so I don’t know why I was worried.

“I’ll help you with her if she needs it. Mom will too. She’ll be okay. I promise.”

My hand fists into his shirt, and somehow…I believe him. Where I didn’t with Dad, I do with Dusty. He’s never lied to me before, and I know he never will.

*

Dusty

Seventeen years old

“Hey, Mr. Martin.I’m here to pick up my mom’s car.” It went into the shop with almost a thousand dollars of work that needed to be done—money my family doesn’t have just sitting around. Our saving grace is that Mr. Martin, the mechanic, knows my family well and is willing to accept payment arrangements. I hate doing that, know my folks do too. We don’t want to need help from other people, but Dad had fallen off a ladder at home and had been out of work for a month. That really set us back.

“Here you go, young man. It’s all ready for you.” He hands over the keys, and I pull my wallet out.

“We can still make three-hundred-dollar payments?” I ask, and he frowns.

“Oh, the bill has been taken care of. I thought you knew.”

Goddamn Morgan. There’s no doubt in my mind he’s the one who did the paying. It’s just the kind of thing Morgan would do, and he wouldn’t have told me ahead of time because he knows I wouldn’t let him. But I’m also not the type to make a big deal about it now. If I cause a fuss, it will just draw more attention to the fact that we need the help. “Oh yeah. I forgot about that. Thank you again.”

I get in the car, but instead of going home, I turn straight for Morgan’s. In some ways, we’re an odd match to people when it comes to our friendship—the kid who has everything and the one who has nothing, but in the ways that matter, I have more than Morgan. Money isn’t everything, and I know he feels like that’s all he has to give, but it’s not. He’s never made me feel less than for the things we don’t have. He would rather be in my tiny house than his any day. Morgan is down-to-earth and kind, and I know there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for me.

I’m also crazy in love with him.

And even though he’s gay, he doesn’t see me like that. I’m his brother, more than his real one is. Rhett, at least. Easton is just a kid. He’s only nine—quiet, lost, ever since his twin sister Ella drowned a few months back.

And Morgan…Jesus, I hate that he’s suffered another loss. First losing his mom to a postpartum hemorrhage when the twins were six days old, and now Ella.

And through all that, he is still thinking of me.

I pull up on the side of the Swift house and park my car. As soon as I head for the door, Morgan bursts through it, eyes frantic as he runs down the stairs. “We can’t find East. I don’t know where he is. Dusty…”

My name is a plea on his lips, soft and urgent, one he would only share with me. “We’ll find him. He’s okay. We’ll find him.”

Rhett runs out of the house a moment later. “I can’t believe you fucking lost him!” he shouts.

“I didn’t lose him! In case you didn’t notice, you’re here too.”

“Yeah, but I’m getting my shit ready for college. You knew I was busy.”

“Stop fighting,” I shout at them. “We need to find Easton. Nothing else matters right now.”

But what does matter is it’s not either of their faults. Their dad should be here. He should have been here for years, but he’s always working, flying to DC, continuing his job with the United States House of Representatives, leaving the mess their family has become to his older sons, just like he did when Morgan’s mom died.

“Come on. Let’s go find him.” I take Morgan’s hand and drag him with me. Rhett goes toward the woods, while Morgan and I head straight for the water, toward the Birchbark Lake access on their property.

“Easton!” I call out.

“East! Where are you?” Morgan shouts. We comb the length of the water and don’t see anything. “What if he…”

Ella drowned right here at home, and what if East went into the water too.

“He’s not. He’s fine.” He has to be. I don’t know if Morgan could survive it if he wasn’t.

“You don’t know that. It was my fault before. It’s my fault now. I…”

“I found him!” Rhett says, coming toward us with a blond kid who’s all arms and legs. “I’ll watch him this time since you can’t be bothered with it.” He steers Easton toward the house, the youngest Swift with his head down, not speaking. He hasn’t spoken much since they lost Ella. Before he was a jokester, always laughing and being silly. It’s hard to believe he’s the same kid.

“God, I fucking hate him so much.” Morgan’s hands ball into fists.

I can see where he’s coming from. Rhett is a dick, but also…hell, I think he’s suffering in his own ways too. “It’s not your fault. None of it is your fault,” I tell him, because that’s what I think he needs to hear the most, and it’s true.

Morgan swipes at his eyes, one tear having leaked free. “I hate it here. I can’t wait to get out. Rhett gets to go. He’s leaving for college, and I’m stuck here. I doubt I’ll be able to leave even after we graduate. I just want to go.”

I try not to let his words hurt me. It’s his life, and it’s not like I expect him to stay. I’ve always known Morgan would want to leave…just like I know I belong in the UP.

“You’re the only thing here that makes it bearable,” Morgan adds, and pulls me into a hug. I inhale his scent, amber and musk, sear it into my senses.

“I want you to go with me when I get out of here. Just me and you. I know you don’t hate Birchbark like I do, and you have your family and stuff, but…I want you with me. My best friend.”

His best friend. That’s all I will ever be to him. And while it should be enough—and in a lot of ways it is—I want more.

“Well, no one is going anywhere today,” I say rather than answering. “And you’re lucky I’ve settled down now. I was going to kick your ass for paying for Mom’s car.”

Morgan shrugs, no regret for his actions. “Money is all I have to give you. You were there when Mom died…you helped us with Ella and Easton. Hell, you were just a kid too, and since I had to be home more to help with them, you were at my place with me. You could have found another friend or been out living your life, but you were here with me. Now…after Ella…” His voice breaks on her name.

I want to tell him he gives me more than money—his friendship, his love, even if it’s not the way I want it. I want to take his hand and bring him down to the dock to lie there and talk to him for hours like we used to before Ella drowned.

I don’t do either of those things. Instead, I say, “Money is the least important thing you give me. Come on. I’ll help you cook dinner for Easton before I bring the car back to Mom.”

Morgan takes my hand, nods, and we go toward the house.