“And?”

He shrugs. “What’s wrong with being different?”

I blink because I was expecting the just-say-no-to-selling-pot lecture. “Are you changing your mind on me being a seller?”

“Nope, but if you quit selling thinking you’re going to fit in, you’ll just end up selling again. I don’t like some aspects of where I came from, but having some distance from it, I realize there are things that I love.”

“Like Noah?”

“And Beth.”

I roll my eyes. Beth and I were never friends. I never cared how Isaiah used to be twisted up by her. Never cared that she kept him dangling for a period of time during their life. But Beth and I don’t have to be friends. Some people were never meant to be close.

“And you.”

I smack my knee hard into his. “Stop with the sentimental. I’m getting the vapors and will end up passing out.” I fake fanning myself.

Isaiah chuckles then it fades. “I’m serious. You’re the first person to see me as me. That—was powerful.”

I sigh because...well...Isaiah was the first person to see me too, beyond my dad and Grams, and I hate that he’s right on the powerful.

“I know you’re mad,” Isaiah says. “But I’m glad Logan told us about your grandmother.”

I blow out a frustrated breath. “He’s worse than a narc.”

“He’s helping you. If I had known that’s why you were selling...” Isaiah’s fists curl. “I should have tried harder to figure you out.”

The donut bag crackles as I shift and I make-believe what life would have been like if I had told Isaiah, but then my imagination fails. Three years ago, he was on the verge of meeting Noah, if he hadn’t already. He had a job at Mac’s auto shop thanks to me. If Mac couldn’t help me, there’s no way his employee could have.

Yeah, Isaiah would have helped me if I had asked, but he’d also be enslaved to Ricky to make that money. I’m okay with only one of us being damned.

“Why keep your grandmother a secret?” Isaiah asks. “Why did you tell everyone she died?”

“Daddy said he was scared she would be used against him. He knew she wouldn’t be able to protect herself.”

Dad told me once that Grams could barely look him in the eye before he brought me home. Somehow, my presence bridged the gap between them even though she disapproved that Daddy talked to me about his business. In the end, it was the only thing he knew to talk about. It was his job, his hobby, his life. But he never pushed me to sell, not until he knew prison was unavoidable.

“He always kept where we lived a secret and when he figured out he couldn’t escape prison, he thought it would be easier for me and him if people thought she had passed.”

“Like how you’re fighting tooth and nail to keep Logan’s name out of this so he can’t be used against you.”

“Give the boy a prize.” I only wish Logan could understand this.

“Was she as bad then as she is now?” Isaiah asks. “Your grandmother?”

All the honesty pouring out of me over the past few hours almost feels like hives on my skin. “No. She was starting to show a few signs. I saw then. Dad didn’t. He had other things to worry about so I kept it to myself. When he went away though, her mental health declined quickly.”

Isaiah soaks it all in, just like the two of us are soaking in the rays from the sun. Don’t really remember the two of us ever doing this—sitting in the sun. Sunbathing sounds like an indulgence and we always seemed to skulk in shadows.

“Your father set you up to carry a heavy burden,” Isaiah finally says.

“Life sucks.”

“Yeah, but why don’t you let us carry some of it for a while?”

I pop my mouth open to tell Isaiah to back off when we notice Logan walking from wherever he had disappeared. He wears his baseball hat, the bill tugged low, and his pack is on his back. His hands are shoved in his pockets and he just looks so...alone.

My heart twists. I understand alone. “None of his friends knew?”

“No, and they’re really fucking pissed.”

“Are you?” I glance over at Isaiah to read his expression.

His shoulders move up then down before he tears at a weed in the ground. “I get it, but don’t. I consider him a friend.”

Isaiah’s gray eyes aren’t storm clouds which means he’s not mad, just hurt. Probably like the rest of the guys in the cabin. Not one of us deal with hurt well. Anger is more of a friend we rely on. “What does type 1 diabetes mean?”

“Don’t know. West is the only one with a fancy enough of a cell plan for internet service and he’s trying to read up on it now. Sounds scary. Confusing, too.”

Sounds a lot like me. “Can he die from it?”

“I don’t know. I hope not.”

A tiny bit of the anger I had recedes, not because I’m happy he told, but for the first time I slightly understand why he betrayed me. Logan keeps saying he doesn’t want me to die and thinking that there’s something wrong inside of him that could go wrong, like a ticking time bomb, creates an edge of fear in my soul. I don’t want Logan to die, either.

Understanding someone’s point of view, it turns out, can be a real bitch, especially when I’m hell-bent on not feeling up to forgiving.

Logan

Sun’s high in the sky, baking every single one of us. Sweat pours off me and my muscles scream in protest with each new bale I pick up and toss onto the flatbed. No one’s talking. Not unusual for when the work goes on for so long and has been this intense, but no one’s said a word since I got back and we started.