My father has already made up his mind about him, though. “I need a bathroom,” I say. I need a breather before getting in the car with my father.

The officer points down the hallway. I rush into the bathroom and wait until the door closes before sucking in as much air as I can fit into my lungs. I slowly release it as I walk to the mirror.

I stare at my reflection. Before Samson, when I would look in the mirror, I would see a girl who mattered to no one. But every time I’ve looked in the mirror since meeting him, I’ve seen a girl who matters to someone else.

I wonder what Samson sees when he looks in the mirror?

Does he have any idea how much he matters to me?

I wish I would have told him last night when I had the chance.

TWENTY-FIVE

It’s seven in the morning when my father and I pull into the driveway. Pepper Jack Cheese is wagging his tail, waiting by the passenger door when I open it.

I just want to be with my dog right now.

I’m tired of answering questions, and P.J. will be the first living thing I’ve encountered in the last few hours that hasn’t thrown questions at me.

My father walks up the stairs and I choose to remain on the stilt level of the house. I sit at the picnic table and scratch P.J.’s head as I stare out at the water. I get maybe three minutes of peace before I hear quick footsteps descending the stairs.

Sara.

“Oh my God, Beyah.” She rushes to the picnic table and sits across from me. She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand, forcing a sad smile. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head. “I won’t be okay until I speak to Samson.”

“I’ve been so worried. Your father left in such a hurry, and then he texted my mother and said Samson got arrested. What happened?”

“It’s not his house.”

“He broke in?”

“Something like that.”

Sara runs a hand down her face. “I’m so sorry. I feel terrible. I’m the one who pushed you on him.” She leans forward and grips my wrist, looking at me with sincerity. “Not all guys are like him, Beyah. I promise.”

She’s got that right, but it’s a relief that Samson isn’t like other guys. He could be like Dakota. Or Gary Shelby. I’d much rather fall for a guy who has a shady past and treats me as well as Samson does than fall for a guy who treats me like shit while looking good to the rest of the world.

“I’m not mad at him, Sara.”

She laughs, but it’s a nervous laugh. Kind of how she used to do when we first met—when she couldn’t tell if I was kidding or not.

“I know it looks like Samson is this terrible person. But you don’t know him like I do. He wasn’t proud of his past. And he was planning to tell me everything eventually, he just didn’t want the truth to ruin the rest of our summer.”

Sara folds her arms over the picnic table and leans forward. “Beyah. I know you’re upset and you care about him. But he lied to you. He lied to all of us. Marcos and I have known him since March. Everything he’s ever told us is a lie.”

“Like what?”

She waves her hand to the house next door. “That he owns that house, for one.”

“But what else?”

Her lips fold into a thin line. She shifts in her seat while she thinks. “I don’t know. I can’t think of anything specific right now.”

“Exactly. He lied about where he lived and went along with the rich-boy narrative you guys labeled him with. But he did everything he could not to talk about himself so he wouldn’t be lying to you guys.”

She snaps her fingers. “That guy at dinner! The one who called him Shawn. He lied about going to boarding school in New York with him.”

“He lied because we forced an answer out of him.”

“I would respect him a lot more than I do now if he would have just told us the truth in that moment.”

“That’s not true. He’d have been judged back then, just like he’s being judged now.” Everything is so black and white with people like Sara. The real world doesn’t operate under a simple system of right and wrong. People who have never had to trade a piece of their souls just to have food or shelter can’t understand the scores of bad decisions desperate people are forced to make. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Sara.”

She sighs like she’s not finished trying to convince me to get over him.

It’s going to take a lot more than a shady past for me to get over a guy who didn’t bat an eye at my own shady past.

Sara is obviously in agreement with my father when it comes to Samson. I’m sure everyone is. “I’d really like to be alone right now.”

“Okay,” Sara says. “But I’m here if you want to talk.”

Sara leaves me to my thoughts and heads back up the stairs. When she’s back inside the house, I scratch behind P.J.’s ear. “I guess it’s just me and you on team Samson.”

P.J.’s ears perk up as soon as my phone begins to vibrate. I immediately jump up and pull it out of my pocket. My heart is stuck in my throat when it says the caller I.D. is unavailable. I answer it right away.

“Samson?”

“You’re receiving a call from an inmate in Galveston County Jail,” the recording says. “Please press one to accept or two to—” I press one and put my phone to my ear.

“Samson?” My voice is full of panic. I squeeze my forehead and sit back down.

“Beyah?”

He sounds so far away, but I can finally feel him again. I sigh with relief. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice isn’t filled with fear like mine is. He actually sounds calm, like he’s been expecting this moment. “I can’t talk long. I just...”

“How long can you talk?”

“Two minutes. But I was just told I can have visitors tomorrow at nine.”

“I know. I’ll be there. But what can I do today? Is there anyone I can call for you?”

There’s a pause on his end. I’m not sure he heard the question, but then he sighs and says, “No. There’s no one.”

God, I hate that. P.J. and I really are all he has right now. “I don’t think my father is going to bail you out. He’s pretty upset.”

“It’s not his responsibility,” Samson says. “Please don’t ask him to do that.”

“I’ll figure something out, though.”

“I’ll be here for a while, Beyah. I really fucked up.”

“Which is why I’m going to help find you a lawyer.”

“I’ll be entitled to a public defender,” he says. “I’ve been through this before.”

“Yeah, but they’re overworked as it is. It wouldn’t hurt to try and find a lawyer who has more time to prepare and fight for your case.”

“I can’t afford a lawyer. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m not actually rich.”

“Good. You know your money was my least favorite thing about you.”

Samson is quiet, even though it feels like he has so much to say.

“I’m going to spend the rest of today applying for jobs. I’ll start saving up to help you hire another lawyer. You aren’t alone in this, Samson.”