Chapter 16

Hunter

The next morning, I’m walking out of my bathroom in my sleep pants, rubbing the towel over my wet hair. Alone.

I thought for sure she’d come last night.

I thought she’d sneak into my bedroom a half an hour later, unable to sleep, because she was too worked up.

But no. She just went to bed after all that and didn’t need more. Unlike me. It took me for-fucking-ever to finally drift off, especially because I just wanted to get to sleep, so I could wake up to her climbing over my body to get at her vibrator underneath my pillow.

I’m not saying I’m mad. Just…frustrated. I guess the vibrator wasn’t better than her fingers because I woke up twenty minutes ago alone.

Or maybe she’s feeling weird about it after-the-fact. I’ve baked cookies with her. Taken swimming lessons with her. Shared giant pretzels at the fair with her. Maybe I shouldn’t have come on her. That was probably going too far.

It was like a frenzy, though. God, she was hot. And I still love the way we play. No matter how it changes.

“You okay?” someone asks.

I pop my head up, my heart skipping a beat. I stare at Hawke standing right in front of me on the second-floor landing of my grandfather’s brownstone.

“Dude, what the hell?” I blurt out, dropping my arm. “You scared me.”

I realize my eyebrows are pinched, and I probably looked in pain when I came out of the bathroom because I’m dying with my need for Dylan.

I drop the expression, heat stifling me as if he could tell what I was just thinking. Dylan’s his actual cousin, and Hawke is like Jax. They know things, and you don’t know how they know them.

Why is he here?

“How’d you get in?” I ask, looking downstairs for Rebels, but I don’t see Farrow or anyone.

“Secret entrance,” he tells me. “Dylan’s house next door has one too.”

Secret entrance? I head down the stairs, forcing him to follow me. “How do you know that? I don’t even know that.”

He doesn’t reply, and I walk into the dining room, tossing my towel on the table.

I look around. “Where is it?” I ask.

He just gives me a half smile. “Ask Dylan,” he tells me. “If she wants you to know, she can tell you.”

“Well, now I really want to know,” I bark. “I don’t need a team of Pirates invading my house in the middle of the night.”

“If I tell you, you’ll seal it, and Dylan might need to get in for her safety.”

Huh?

“Or get out for her safety,” he adds.

I arch a brow.

But he’s right. I will seal it. I don’t want my brother or his crew finding out and slipping in. Hawke will tell me once Rivalry Week is over.

“So, what’s up?” I ask as I walk to the window and pull aside the curtain. Hopefully he knows to hide his car.

But all I see is Constin leaning on his bike in front of Dylan’s house.

“I understand you were in Frosted the other night?” Hawke announces, browsing the books stuffed in the old curio cabinet meant for fancy china.

“You mean when Dylan disappeared through a wall?”

“Through the mirror,” he corrects. “Please keep that to yourself, okay?”

“You thought I would share that with the Rebels?”

I would never put Quinn’s business, or my family’s safety, at risk. And I certainly wouldn’t tell anyone, no matter how much I trusted them, before talking to Dylan about it.

I release the curtain and turn toward him. “So only our family knows about it then?”

“Some Pirates do.”

“But not me?”

“Man, we would’ve told you,” he retorts, “but it’s not exactly the kind of thing you call to divulge over the phone to someone you’ve barely seen in a year.”

Or to someone playing football for a rival school. “Fine,” I also admit, “And maybe, I would tell Farrow eventually.”

“No, fuck, please don’t do that.”

With the way his face scrunches up in disgust, I can tell he doesn’t think much of Farrow Kelly. I laugh quietly, because Farrow’s never going to be far away, I don’t think, and Hawke will have to contend with him more than he yet realizes. I glance at the Green Street tattoo on Hawke’s neck, which I learned he only has so they would let him have Aro without any more grief. “We’ll revisit this discussion another time,” I say.

He pulls a book off my shelf, holding up Algorithms to Live By. “Can I borrow this?”

“Sure.”

It’s his dad’s anyway.

“So, what is it?” I ask. “Behind the mirror.”

“Rooms.” He flips through the book. “It’s better to see it rather than try to explain it. But it’s related to the story of the house next door.”

I wonder how much of that story is true. Everyone made a big deal about Dylan staying there, enough to keep me up most of her first night here to watch the house, but it’s been almost a week and no ghosts.

Every story starts somewhere, though, and the idea of secret rooms between Rivertown and Quinn’s shop is intriguing.

“Fill me in after the game then,” I tell him.

I need to concentrate right now.

“You look good,” he says, stepping closer. “I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah, I’ve missed you too. I like Aro.”

A smile spreads across this face, his azure-blue eyes filled with something I’ve never seen in them before.

He’s in love.

“What about you?” He tips his chin at me. “What the hell was going on in that picture of you and Dylan in your towels?”

I’m about to tell him I’m not talking about it, but something hits the floor above. We both look up.

That’s my room.

He fixes a knowing look on his face. “Maybe your parents need to know about you needing just as much adult supervision as Kade?”

I pick up my towel and ball it up. “Don’t blackmail me.” I shoot the towel into his chest like a basketball. “My grandfather will fit you with a pair of cement galoshes.”

I walk off, toward the stairs.

He shouts behind me, “Please, Ciaran is practically my grandfather too. He loves my dad. More than he likes yours!”

I almost laugh as I climb the steps. That’s probably true. My mom’s dad is constantly in one argument or another with my father. But I think Ciaran knows my mom couldn’t have gotten a better husband. No one could have.

I open the door to my room and see Dylan frozen, mid-crawl on my bed. She’s dressed in a T-shirt and sleep shorts as she reaches under my pillow.

I close the door and rush over, grabbing her vibrator before she can reach it. “No, nuh-uh.” I hold it away from her. “We have to go to school now. You should’ve been here earlier.”

She hops off the bed, looking at me with her puppy dog eyes. “Please, I just need thirty seconds.”

She shoots out her arm to take it, but I hold it high over my head as she claws for my arm. I try not to laugh, but I can’t stop the slight grin on my face. How the hell did she get in here? Did she use the secret entrance, too, because that tree between our houses isn’t like the one at her house in the Falls. She’ll kill herself trying to scale it.

She grabs onto my neck, leaping up to snatch the vibrator out of my hand, and I’m about to give in, because it doesn’t matter anymore that I got little sleep, wishing she was here all night. She definitely liked what we did and wants more.

She bats my hand, and the vibrator goes flying onto the bed. She scrambles, and so do I, but my long arms reach the toy first. I take it, she fights me, and I crash back on the bed, slipping it inside my pants. She sits there on her knees as I smile and slide my arm underneath my head. “No,” I tell her. “You can’t have it.”

But fire lights in her eyes, and I almost stop breathing, reading her thoughts a split-second before she moves.

She throws a leg over my body and climbs on, rolling her hips over both dicks inside my pants.

“Oh, fuck.” I suck in a breath, grabbing her waist in both hands as she throws off her shirt.

“Turn it on,” she pants.

“Dylan…” I groan, reaching inside and feeling for the button. I press it, shivers rocking through the device and against my groin. My heart about stops. Oh my God.

Her lips hover over mine as she dry-fucks the cock in my pants, her hot breath filled with moans and whimpers as I let my hands roam inside the back of her shorts.

I pull them down a little, hungry to feel her skin, but she takes the hint and rolls off me, slipping out of the rest of her clothes, and then climbs back on top. All in two seconds.

Sitting up, she rocks back and forth, her breasts too much to take. I arch up and take one in my mouth, sucking on it as she lets her head fall back, crying out.

My eyes go wide. Shit.

I almost put my hand over her mouth, because I’m about to come, too, and I can’t think about anything else. I yank her hips into me again and again. “You’re driving me insane, Dylan.” I glide my tongue up her long neck, feeling her nails digging into my shoulders. “Come on, fuck me.”

“Hunter,” she whimpers and pulls me up close. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she hugs me, fucking me faster. “Hunter, I—”

But three knocks hit the door. “Hey, where do you keep the coffee?”

She startles, looking down at me, and I try to answer, but my throat is dry. “Fuck,” I whisper.

“Is that Hawke?” she pants.

But then her faces pinches in pain, and she moans. I clasp my hand over her mouth.

“Hunter,” Hawke barks.

“I’m getting dressed!” I growl, dropping back to the bed so she can grind harder. “It’s on top of the fridge.”

She crashes down on me, her chest to mine as she pumps her hips.

I grip her ass in both hands. “You almost there?”

“Yeah.”

The headboard bangs against the wall, and my mouth falls open, knowing the whole house can hear that. But then her lips meet mine, and I forgot what I was going to say.

“He’s going to hear,” she whispers.

“I can’t care about that right now.” I hold her face, kissing, nibbling, and biting. “Come on. Ride me. Come on.”

Sweat breaks out on my forehead, a blaze flooding my stomach down low, and I jerk as she thrusts. I bury my nose and mouth behind her ear, inhaling her scent as I squeeze my eyes shut.

Oh, fuck. “Ugh,” I moan, the muscles inside me contracting, building, climbing, and then…pleasure floods my body, exploding with a wave of heat and her face blurs in front of me.

Her whimpers get louder and faster, and I feel every muscle in her body tense before she shudders and shakes in my arms.

And then she relaxes.

Her chest caves, and I gently cup a breast in one hand and a hip in the other. God, I wish I was inside of her.

Her breathing calms, her body melting into mine, and I pull out the vibrator, shutting it off. She shifts on top of me, and I wince, feeling the mess in my pants.

“Do you think he heard?” she asks.

I hold her head to my chest. “I’ll just tell him I was doing what I was told. Taking care of you,” I say.

She flashes me a smirk and climbs off, pulling the sheet up over her as she slips back into her shorts. I pick up her shirt, handing it to her. Pulling it on quickly, she sits up and leans on one arm, looking down at me.

I wait for her to say whatever it looks like she wants to say, but instead, she gazes around, taking in my room.

It’s not like my bedroom at home. Or the one I have at my grandfather’s house. I came here with one goal and didn’t invest in staying. No maps on the walls or terrariums on the dressers. No stacks of books on the floor or the model Zeppelin I built with my dad and Kade when I was seven. Just a desk, dresser, bed, chair, and closet. Sparse. Clean.

She scoots off the bed and rises to her feet. “Do you remember when you put all those bird feeders in your yard to study which food they preferred?”

Yeah. But I don’t answer out loud, just watch her as she inspects the receipts I dug out of my pocket and put on my dresser, along with the medical tape for football injuries.

She goes on, “And then you threw some small, leftover cuts of beef out there, and it attracted the wolves?” She smiles, glancing at me. “Your dad was so mad, but he was trying to hold it back because he didn’t want to dissuade your creative curiosity or something?”

I sit up, swinging my legs over the bed. I need another shower.

“Or that time you ran out to see the tornado?” she asks. “Or the CDs and mixtapes you used to make for me?”

I rub the back of my neck before tilting it hard to crack it. “Are you…” I clear my throat. “Are you feeling guilty about what we just did?” I ask her.

“No.”

“Then why…”

I fall silent, not wanting to ask why she’s bringing up the past, because she’s just going to ask why I never do. I don’t like to think about back then. I always felt bad. I was either enduring Kade or following her, and being myself never got me what I longed for. We just had a very good morning. Why does she want me to remember anything before now?

Maybe she just wants her friend back? Maybe she’s only here, naked on top of me a minute ago, because she misses how we used to be, and that’s all she really wants.

I’m not sure I can remember a time when all I wanted from her was friendship. I’ve always wanted more.

Standing up, I pull out fresh clothes to take into the bathroom with me.

“Constin was parked in front of your house,” I tell her. “Any idea what he wanted?”

“He knocked on the door and asked me to homecoming.”

I dart my gaze to hers. “And what did you say?”

“I said maybe.”

“You said what?”

I scowl, but I don’t mean to. She licks her lips, wide-eyed and looking so sweet as she gives a half-hearted shrug. “Well, nobody else has asked m–”

I descend on her mouth, kissing her hard. Everyone else doesn’t matter. I’m always her date.

I give her bottom lip a little bite before pulling back. “I’ll get rid of Hawke,” I tell her, now that that’s settled. “You go get dressed. I’ll take you to school.”

She nods, smiling, and leaves through my door instead of the window. I almost follow her to see this secret entrance, but as soon as I move, I flinch again, feeling my wet pants.

Shower first.

The school day passes quicker than I expected. From the moment she leaves to get ready for class and I step into the shower, I can’t stop thinking about a playlist and what I would put on it for her. Dylan loves everything. She could dance to polka if her mood suited.

And then I think about all the CDs I burned for her or mixtapes I made her, because the cars her dad loved still had tape decks and CD changers.

I liked making those lists for her, but I made them because I wanted to be important to her. To give her something Kade never would, as if it would make her love me.

I don’t want to sink back into doing things for the wrong reasons.

So, I don’t do anything.

I don’t make her a playlist over the course of the day because it would feel like surrender.

Just like I don’t tell my brother how much I miss him.

And I keep my mouth shut around her at lunch, and how I’m starting to dread that her time here is halfway up. I don’t want to be away from her when she goes home.

I should tell them both all of that, because while being myself never got me what I wanted, I’m not happy being whoever I’ve been trying to be the past year, either.

By eight p.m., I cruise into the Falls, Dylan already at Helm’s Field with Farrow and everyone else. I pull up to where their cars are parked, same place as when we came to set off the fireworks, on the other side of the fence.

We could’ve sat in the Visitor’s section to watch the Pirates and Knights, both teams we hate, battle it out, but that would mean buying tickets, and no one here is giving their money to Shelburne Falls. At least until it’s our turn to play next week. We’ll be coming back here. Unfortunately, our field lacks all the amenities, like sufficient seating, concessions, and groundskeepers.

Farrow, Constin, and Calvin lean on the hood of Farrow’s car smoking and passing around a Thermos of something that’s probably not coffee, while others loiter around, various vehicles and motorcycles littering the area.

Circling the front of the car, I avoid the field, seeing players running in their uniforms out of the corner of my eye, and hearing the tackles, the whistles, and the cheers. The game should be over soon, but I don’t check the scoreboard.

Instead, I watch Dylan.

She walks over to me dressed in a crewneck pullover sweater with thick stripes, half tucked in to tight, ripped jeans. A brown leather belt with notches all the way to the buckle is wrapped tightly around her waist, and all I can think about are the images of everywhere my hands roamed this morning.

I sit on the hood of my car, leaning back against the windshield, and I meet her eyes as she stops next to my car. “Our parents are probably here,” I tell her.

Even Jared and Tate and Jax and Juliet always showed up to support us. My dad is probably standing on the sidelines with Kade’s coach. I wonder which side he’ll stand on next Friday.

“You’re allowed to go say hi,” I tell Dylan, smiling a little. “If you want.”

The prisoner exchange isn’t all that serious. I’m sure her parents would like to see her.

But she’s quiet for a moment. “It’s okay,” she says. “The space is actually nice.”

“For your dad or you?”

She gives me a look. “What do you know?”

I face the field again, finally glancing at the scoreboard. “Just what my dad fills me in on during our weekly chats.” And then I paraphrase for her. “‘Jared won’t let you race, and sometimes he has trouble using his emotion words.’” She snorts, and I keep going. “‘And you’re just biding your time until you graduate, and he no longer has a say in what you do.’”

She shakes her head, but amusement is written all over her face. “Pretty much.”

I get it, though—enjoying the space. No talking at least means no fighting.

But the truth is, we’ve had it pretty good. Loving, two-parent households, and none of us are on drugs. There are hills to climb once in a while, but I’ve never felt like I was on my own, and I don’t think Dylan has ever felt like that, either.

“What do you think about it?” she asks. “My dad not wanting me to race motorbikes.”

I draw in a breath and meet her eyes. “I think your dad loves you and he’s scared for you.” I drop my eyes to her mouth, feeling my heart quicken. “And…you’re just as stubborn as he is, and you’re going to be really glad when he takes his place in your corner eventually.”

She looks away, her chin trembling a little.

“He’ll come around, Dylan.”

“Do you think so?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

The expression on her face relaxes, and she opens my driver’s side door, stepping on the hinge and stepping onto the hood behind me. She slides down the glass, and I rise up a little, letting her in as she fits me between her legs and wraps her arms around my stomach.

She hugs me. “Thank you.”

I lean back into her, and we watch the game in silence.

I guess I don’t have any room to give advice or to tell her that everything will work out when I didn’t trust that at all. I just left.

I shouldn’t have. I have just as much right to be in that house as Kade does.

“Do you want him to win or lose?” she asks me softly.

I swallow hard as I watch Kade get into position and turn his head in my direction, knowing I’m here.

I want to win.

Which means he’d have to lose.

That’s not what I want. I don’t want him unhappy.

“I always want him to win,” I tell her.

We watch as the fourth quarter moves on, and the Pirates lead forty-nine to thirty-eight with one minute left in the game. The Knights have the ball with first and ten, and even if they make a touchdown, it’s unlikely they’ll make two, even if the offense can get on the field again before time runs out. I watch Kade throw, a Knight sacking him, but I don’t watch the score or listen to the announcers.

And I only know the Pirates won when Dylan shoots her fists into the air, cheering.

“Whoo, whoo, whoo!”

Farrow and the rest of the Rebels scowl in our direction, but I just chuckle, pulling her arms back down. “I think that’s sufficient.”

“I would cheer for the Rebels if they were on the field too.”

Yeah, it’s a bye week for us. No game till next Friday.

Half the stadium cheers, players congratulating each other on the field, and people start to leave the stands, heading for their cars.

My brother will talk to our parents outside, shower, and go out with friends. Rivertown and High Street will be swarming with activity. They’ll all be looking for him.

“Is it okay if you catch a ride with Farrow?” I ask her. “I have something I need to do.”

She holds my eyes for a moment, and I can tell she’s suspicious. But then she just says, “Okay.”

I hop off the hood, and she slides off, stepping toward Farrow and only releasing my hand when she has to.

They all leave, but I stand there for a while longer, waiting for the traffic to dissipate. Maybe Kade will come back out. After his shower, alone. Without his friends.

He doesn’t.

Everyone leaves, the stadium nearly empty, and the long stream of taillights slowly disappear down the road.

When the night is quiet again, I get in my car and drive home. Past High Street and the party on the sidewalks, and down the dark highway to the mansions on the northwest end.

One of the garage doors is open—the one my father uses—and I see my grandpa’s Audi, his driver sitting inside, tapping away on his phone.

I park and walk up to the front door, turning the knob. It opens, and I step inside, smelling food instantly.

Portraits and paintings decorate the walls, all the same ones I remember from the last time I was here. The black and white one of Kade and me covered in mud when we were five after playing in the rain sits on the foyer table. His arm is around me, both of us with our silly grins, having lost our first teeth.

I stroll past the staircase, hearing talking and laughter in the kitchen as my grandfather, mom, dad, and A.J. come into view.

I lean in the doorway arch. “Hi.”

Everyone pops their heads up, A.J. gasping. “Hunter!”

She races toward me, and I barely have time to catch her before she crashes into my stomach. My mom and dad smile, my dad shrugging out of his jacket.

I tug my little sister’s ponytail, seeing that she’s dressed in my old Pirate jersey, probably because she was just at the game. “Hey, Captain,” I say, gesturing to the family. “Everyone’s still alive, I see. Good job.”

She’s the one in charge. We’ve all known it since her birth.

She takes my hand and pulls me toward the kitchen island. “You have so much college mail.”

“Everyone wants me, huh?”

I look at the stack of envelopes she digs out of a cupboard underneath.

“Or your tuition money,” she tells me.

Everyone laughs, my dad snorting.

My grandpa simply tips his chin at me. He sees me pretty regularly.

My mom hugs me tightly. “Please tell me you’re staying.”

I pull back, looking down at her. “A couple of hours.”

She drops her eyes, hesitating before she turns away and gets busy filling a bowl with something savory.

I hover over her, seeing beef stew. “Ooh, smells good.” I reach for the bowl. “Gimme.”

But I see her lips tremble.

“Please don’t,” I whisper, looking into her eyes and the tears she’s holding back. “I’ll be home soon. Just let me finish what I started, okay? I promise.”

“Don’t forget you have us, okay?”

Her jaw flexes, and I can tell she’s trying to control herself. My mom has never been much of a crier. Most of the time she never had a reason to be.

“I won’t,” I tell her.

I smile and take a spoon as she hands me the bowl, and I head to the island to sit next to my grandpa.

“You eating enough?” Dad asks. “Not fast food, right?”

“No, we’re cooking.”

“We?” Mom inquires.

I glace at A.J. sorting my mail, checking off boxes on a spreadsheet she has pinned to her clipboard.

“Um, Farrow,” I finally spit out. “Farrow Kelly. He’s a senior, too, but a year older. Grandpa installed him in the house as a chaperone, I’m pretty sure.”

I glance at Ciaran, but he just eats.

“Have I met him?” Mom asks.

I fill the spoon with stew. “You should,” I say, throwing my double meaning out there for my grandfather to pick up.

He simply clears his throat and holds out his bowl to my mom. “May I have some more, please?”

He flashes me a scowl, and I spoon in another mouthful.

“So…senator?” I look to my dad. “That’s going to make me get a haircut, isn’t it?”

I thought being mayor of Shelburne Falls would be enough, but I spotted an article online mentioning him for next year’s election. To be fair, he has discussed it with me. I just hoped he wasn’t serious.

“If I have to wear pantsuits,” my mom chimes in, “you’re at least getting a trim.”

“Are you kidding?” Dad teases. “The only reason I’m in politics is to see your ass in pantsuits.” He puts an arm around my grandfather. “Your daughter has the nicest…”

“Shut up, ya gobshite,” Ciaran growls.

I break down mid-bite, shaking with laughter with everyone else.

A.J. giggles, repeating the curse. “Gobshite.”

“Greeeat.” Mom gives Grandpa a dirty look. “Thanks a lot.”

She turns off the stove and then pushes a cutting board filled with sliced French bread toward me. This is how we often ate as a family. The dining room sits through the doorway to my right, but we only used it on special occasions and holidays. Every other time, we ate at the small table to my left, or here at the island, some days just shoveling in food while standing next to the stove.

I loved it.

We were busy, one parent or the other always rushing off to take one of us to a music lesson or sports practice, and they had full-time careers on top of that. There was no pressure to uphold the façade of always having everything under control, and it meant that the older we got, the more freedom we had, because what we really wanted most after a certain point was privacy. I didn’t want to tell them about my day every evening over dinner, feeling pressured to lie and say I was “fine” when I didn’t want to tell them the truth either. I didn’t want forced conversation and questions because being involved is what they thought made a healthy family. When my friends were lying to their parents, mine were the only thing that was easy for me.

After cleaning my bowl and stacking my dishes in the dishwasher, I walk upstairs. Opening the door to my room, I head to the closet and pull out my suit, still sealed inside the garment bag the tailor delivered it to us in. Kade has several. Dad loves suits and always made sure we had one to wear for impromptu occasions, but I haven’t worn this one yet.

I open it up, checking the size of the jacket and pants.

And I hang it back up.

I was fitted for it a year and a half ago. It won’t fit me now. It’s not like Dylan will care what I wear to a school dance anyway.

But I will.

I turn my head, gazing at my bed and seeing that the navy-blue comforter rests at the bottom in a zigzag fold, the tan coverlet pulled up over the pillows at the head.

I don’t make my bed like that. Neither do my parents or the house cleaners they bring in to help. I know they have my sheets washed every few weeks, in case I show up.

I step over to my bed and pick up one of my pillows, pressing my nose into the case. I close my eyes, smelling her shampoo, clean and crisp, like green apples and amber. She must’ve slept here not long before the prisoner exchange.

I guess I could take a suit from Kade’s closet. It’s tempting.

But I won’t. I set the pillow back down on the bed and go to search for something else nice in my closet. But just then, my dad passes by the doorway and stops.

“Hey,” he says. “Come see the GTO.”

I close my closet door, and then my bedroom one behind me, glancing at Kade’s room across the hall as I pass. His door is open, three tall green lockers anchored to the wall next to his bathroom. Those weren’t there when I left.

I head back downstairs with my dad. “You know, if you keep modifying that car, it’s going to be unsellable.”

“I’ll never sell it.” He stops just before the door to the garage and slips into his leather shoes. He pushes up the sleeves of his pullover, a blue Oxford underneath. “One of my grandkids will get it, since none of my children have taste or style.”

Sure.No one can tell my dad he’s wrong about anything, especially clothes or cars.

We head out, stepping into the garage, and walk past my mom’s Infiniti, as well as her old motorbike that she just could never get rid of. The rest of the garage is filled with something for every occasion. A truck, an SUV, a Jeep Wrangler, a McLaren convertible, and a Tesla for everyday use, because it’s important to be seen as an environmentally conscious politician.

We stop at his silver GTO, the first car he ever owned in high school. He lifts the hood and grabs a wrench, leaning down to remove the engine cover. “Speaking of grandkids…” His eyes rise up to me.

It takes me a minute to realize what he’s getting at. The picture of Dylan and me coming out of the bathroom in towels.

“Nothing happened.”

“Something happened.”

I lean down under the hood on the opposite side of the car. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Nothing happened that night to warrant concern. I mean, lots has happened since then, but he wasn’t asking about last night. Or this morning.

I just want to keep her to myself for now.

Dad twists the bolts, keeping his eyes on the task at hand. “Kade is very sexually active,” he says in a calm tone. “I’ve never been ignorant of anything either of you do.”

He was no angel as a teenager, either, so he doesn’t delude himself when the vodka in his bottle is watered down, or Kade claims the condoms in the dryer that he forgot to remove from his pocket belong to a friend.

He continues, “But even though I worry about his level of disconnect in relationships, I worry just as much about you, because you connect hard.” He meets my eyes. “To everything you love, you always have.”

My body tenses.

“If she hurts you,” he says softly, “whether she means to or not, you did nothing wrong.”

Pain squeezes my throat, and I stand up straight, trying to look anywhere but at him.

“You deserve her,” he says.

I clench my teeth to keep my chin still, because he knows that no matter how tough I talk inside my head, or how many times she smiles at me, I still think I fade in comparison to my brother.

“You deserve her,” he repeats.

“Deserve who?” someone asks.

I startle, looking over at my uncle Jared walking into the garage. Quinn stands outside, wrapping A.J. in a bear hug. I forgot she was back for the weekend.

I blink away the water in my eyes as Dad clears his throat. “And uh, remember,” he tells me, “women need to be primed before intercourse.”

I jerk my eyes to Dylan’s father and then to mine. What?

“You know, get her body ready,” he goes on. “A little foreplay. Sounds like you’re figuring it out anyway. Good job.”

I dart my eyes to Jared again, the pinch between his brow deepening.

“And don’t forget to bring a towel into the bedroom beforehand, either,” my dad says, “because then you have to leave to go get it, and that’s a hassle. Women like men who bring their own towels.”

Jared turns his head slowly toward me, his scowl darkening, because he’s no doubt seen the picture of his daughter and me coming out of the bathroom too.

“And get in that habit quickly.” My dad won’t fucking shut up. “Because after our first time, we’re doing it all the time. Like frickin’ rabbits.”

Oh my God.

“Would you like some condoms to take back to Weston with you?” he asks.

I blink long and hard, feeling Jared’s glare, and I get the hell out of there. Walking back to the door, I dive inside, hearing tools drop to the floor, a scuffle, and my dad’s laughter. “Dude, you’re wrinkling me.” I slam the door shut.

Son of a bitch. Seriously.

Maybe I really should stay in Weston. His jokes are going to get me killed here.

Steering toward the kitchen, I see my mom sitting at the island, working on her laptop. Her reading glasses catch the light of the chandelier, and her hair lays over one side of her head as she looks down, taking notes.

“Take some food with you?” she asks, already knowing I’m here.

She looks up and gestures to the two glass Pyrex dishes with lids stacked on the counter.

“That’s actually great.” I inch in. “Thank you.”

She nods and goes back to jotting down whatever she’s researching.

“And thank you for trusting me to be on my own over there,” I say.

“I think that’s what your brother needs.” She keeps writing. “Some time to build life skills, like cleaning his own bathroom, washing his own sheets, cooking some meals…”

I know she’s trying turn my absence into something positive, but I know she wouldn’t choose for me to learn anything by being separated from her.

“What should I have done better with you?” she asks, finally looking up again.

I give a half-hearted shrug, not because I don’t know, but because it’s not her fault.

Parents are parents. Human like everyone else. They project their own dreams and hopes, standards and expectations, because it’s innate to worry that we’ll never figure it out on our own. We’re all screwed up by our parents to some extent, but there was never a time when I didn’t know how lucky I was. Never.

I lean my elbows down on the island. “How about a haircut?”

She smiles and reaches over, digging scissors out of the drawer.