Chapter 1

1

ZACH

JUNE

The sound of bows aggressively attacking violin strings assaulted my ears as I climbed into my father's black BMW late in the afternoon on a Friday in mid-June. The display read Paganini: 24 Caprices, Op1: No. 5 in A Minor , which didn't make a damn bit of sense to me, but neither did my father's fascination with Classical music. I wasn't sure if he genuinely enjoyed the musical genre or if he thought it made him appear more cultured, which was ridiculous since we lived in fucking Nebraska. Not that people here didn't have any cultural knowledge, they just didn't care who else did or didn't keep up with such things.

"How was camp?" Dad asked as he pulled away from the curb, navigating the airport traffic with practiced skill while I buckled my seat belt and settled my duffel bag on the floor below me.

"It was fine."

"Just fine?" There was a bite to his tone, indicating his displeasure with my response.

I stared out the window as we headed north toward the highway. The truth was, the answer to his question was complicated. I'd flown to California earlier in the week to attend a mini-camp with the UCLA soccer team I would be joining as a freshman in the fall. I'd been nervous to meet the guys, hoping I'd fit in, hoping the coaches wouldn't take one look at me and decide they'd been wrong to offer me a full-ride scholarship.

It didn't matter that I'd always made friends easily or that I'd been scouted by soccer teams nationwide since I was in the eighth grade. There was always a part of me that thought this time they'd see right through me and discover the guy they thought they saw, the popular star athlete, was really just average at soccer and nothing but an uptight nerd.

As it turned out, the camp had been pretty great. I'd clicked with most of the other guys, and the coaches had seemed pleased with my abilities. Practicing with older, more experienced players had been challenging in a way the sport hadn't been for me in a long time. It made me want to work harder, to show them I deserved a spot on the team.

I loved soccer, had always loved soccer, but the problem was that my dad sucked the fun right out of it. For a long time now, conversations about soccer revolved around being the best on the team, getting noticed by the right coaches, and getting a scholarship to the right school. It was never about what I wanted or whether I was having fun or achieving my dreams. It made me want to lie, to tell him it was a shitty camp and I'd hated it there, just to piss him off.

"Yeah, it was fine." I didn't have to look at him to know he was irritated. Annoyance radiated off him.

"You could be a little more grateful. I'm sure plenty of others would love to take your spot on the team."

"I know."

"Zach, you really?—"

"Did you get to see any celebrities?" my sister, ever the peacekeeper, chimed in from the back seat.

I turned and looked at her, flashing a smile. Drea was three years younger than me and a pain in my ass. I adored her and would miss her when I went to school this fall. "I didn't leave campus."

She threw herself back against the leather seats and crossed her arms. "You could have seen someone at the airport."

"Sorry to disappoint. I guess you'll just have to come out and visit."

"Really? That would be amazing." Her thumbs began flying over the face of her phone. "I have to tell Mandy. She's gonna die."

The sound of her chatter washed over me, and my eyes drifted closed as we turned onto the highway toward Astaire. As I floated on the edge of sleep, I could almost believe it was my mom talking. The inflection and tone of Drea's voice were so similar.

It still hurt to think of my mom. I felt a squeeze somewhere behind my heart at the thought of the woman who'd been my biggest cheerleader. She'd been the light of our household, her humor and warmth contagious, and when it was stolen from us by a car accident almost two years ago, we were plunged into a darkness so deep, I wasn't sure we'd ever completely recover.

The car slowed and I opened my eyes just as we passed the city limit sign for Astaire. I'd gotten used to this little town when we'd moved here last fall, and I supposed it was an okay place to live, though I couldn't imagine spending the rest of my life here. I needed someplace with a little more action. Where you could go to concerts and professional sporting events and take a date to a restaurant a little more upscale than Sherry's Soft-Serv or Fred's Diner.

Our house backed up to the lake just outside of Astaire, and it was one of the few things I'd actually liked about moving here. All of the bedrooms in the house faced the water, and though I'd never really given it any prior thought, I'd come to realize that living here had brought me a sense of peace unlike anything else since Mom passed. I'd spent many a sleepless night staring across the lake, sometimes watching long enough to catch the sun rising over still waters. I'd watched it transform with the seasons, reflecting the golden hues of fall foliage, freezing over during the Nebraska winter, and bursting into life again this spring.

"How was camp, really?" Drea approached, standing beside me at my bedroom window while we watched a canoe cut its way through the water on the far side of the lake.

"It was really good, actually."

"Why didn't you tell Dad that when he asked?"

"You know why."

She sighed, leaning her head against my shoulder. "He doesn't mean to be such a dick."

"I know. But that doesn't mean he gets a pass for it. How was your week?"

I felt her shrug, but her head remained on my shoulder. It was a comfort. "It was fine."

"Was it really?"

"It was. I hung out with Mandy mostly. Went to dance class. Went shopping with Aunt Amy. It was chill."

I waited, debating whether to press, but I had to know. "Did you eat?"

Another sigh, though it felt more like resignation rather than frustration. "Yes. Three meals a day." She pulled away and looked at me. "I'm okay, Zach. I'm eating. I have an appetite. You don't have to worry."

"I'll never not worry."

"Well, try not to. I'm much healthier than I was a year ago. I take my meds. I talk to my therapist. I miss Mom. I'm still sad. But I'm not depressed. It's not the same."

I looked at her big brown eyes, so bright and lively, and I believed her. I still saw some sadness there, but it wasn't the same as that haunted quality she'd had when we'd lost Mom and she'd fallen into depression and stopped eating.

"You promise you'll tell me if you start struggling again?"

"What are you going to do about it from California?" she sassed, and damn if it wasn't my biggest worry.

What would happen when I was fifteen hundred miles away? Would Dad go back to working late, leaving Drea to fend for herself? What if she fell into a depressive episode and Dad was so absorbed in his own shit that he didn't notice until it was too late?

"I'm serious, Drea. I can't leave Nebraska if there's a chance you're not going to be okay. It'll kill me."

"You can't ever know that, Zach. I can't promise I won't have an episode again. And you can't live your life sitting around waiting for it to happen. You have to trust me when I say I'm taking my meds and talking to my therapist. Aunt Amy helps too."

She'd grown up so much in the last two years. I swore she was fifteen going on thirty. "I can't help it. Worrying about you is kind of my thing."

"I love you too, big brother."

I tugged her ponytail but pulled her in for a hug. Dammit, I was going to miss her in the fall.