A long exhalation comes from me.

“Guilt?” he whispers.

I stare at him, refusing to answer that niggling question. “Regardless of the reason, don’t you think you need to stay home for a while?”

He nods, brushing my words away. “How are you? Football good? You hear from any scouts?”

Jesus. I wish he’d wake up and see what’s going on. “Season starts in one week. Home game. I’d like to see you there.”

“I wouldn’t miss it, son. I’m just…overwhelmed at work.”

Dane picks that moment to show up, stumbling into the kitchen from the same outside entrance I used. I hear the roar of Liam’s car as he pulls out.

“Dad! Hey! You came home!” He smirks as he leans against the counter. His jeans and gold Dragons shirt are rumpled. There’s a joint tucked behind his ear.

Dane’s flat eyes find mine, and I shrug. This is on you, dude. You knew Dad was arriving today.

“Late night?” Dad says tightly, eyeing him, lingering on his ear.

“I tried to tell you,” I murmur as I walk past Dad to grab milk for some cereal.

Dane sighs. “I’m standing right here, bro.”

“I wanted you to hear it, asshole,” I say. “Did you enjoy your night?” I pull out the rolled joint. I really don’t care about the pot. I’ve done my own dabbling on and off, but I dislike the lack of control.

He snatches it back. “Practically legal.”

“Not in Tennessee,” Dad mutters as he takes it from Dane. He rakes his gaze over his son, no doubt seeing the bloodshot eyes. “What did you do last night?”

He shrugs, shifting his eyes from me to Dad. “Liam had a shindig at his place.”

I bark out a laugh. A party I wasn’t invited to, not that I give a shit. “Who was there?”

Dane straightens, giving me a glare. “Most of the defensive guys, some girls from Hampton High. Very low-key.”

Yeah, I bet. I’ve been to Liam’s parties. He lives on a ten-acre estate in the boonies and his parents give him free rein to do whatever he wants out at the barn.

Dane eyes the kitchen stairwell that leads upstairs to the second floor. “I just want to crash.”

I look expectantly at Dad, hoping he’ll do something.

“Your curfew is midnight on weekends,” he says to Dane as he rubs his jaw. I think I see helplessness in his eyes. “Pull an all-nighter again, and you’re grounded. Your car is still in the shop, but once it gets out, you won’t get it back until I say so, got it? And I’ll take that phone away. Football season is here and you need to focus.”

“Didn’t know you cared so much,” he mutters.

A few moments tick by, the tension in the room ramping up.

Dad lets out a long sigh. “I do care, Dane. I’m going to take some time off. I just need to handle a few more meetings in New York—”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Dane says, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. “Heard it all before.”

Anger blooms red on Dad’s face, his fists tightening. “I’m going to make an appointment with Dr. Forest for you.”

Dane slams down his water. “Fuck that. I’m not going to therapy.”

“You will,” Dad says. “I’m still your parent—”

“You don’t have a clue what I do!” Dane cries out. “I hate this empty fucking house and I hate you.” Those last words whimper off, his voice cracking in anger. He’s perilously close to tears, and his fists clench even as he eyes the stairwell again.

Dad closes his eyes.

“Head on up,” I say softly to Dane. “Sleep. I’ll get us takeout for lunch later. We can all sit and talk.”

He shuffles off, but before he gets to the steps, he stops and looks back. “Dad, I don’t…I don’t hate you. I’m just tired.”

“I know, son. We’ll talk later.”

He nods and goes up the stairs.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, I turn back to my father.

He slumps. “He’s just like Vivie, all the ups and downs.”

“It’s worse now, and if you can’t see it, you’re choosing not to.”

Frustration hounds me. Jesus. I want to be a man, but I’m just a kid, only seventeen, and I don’t know how to fix this—my dad, my brother, our spiraling relationship.

He picks his coffee up. Worry lines his face. “I’ll work on this, okay? I promise.”

Later, after I’ve gone out and picked up lunch, I head up the stairs to check on Dane. I don’t see him in his bedroom or his bath, so I head to mine, and that’s where I find him. Huddled under my covers, clutching a pillow to his chest. The blinds are up and I ease them shut then put the TV on mute, letting it play. For some reason, I bring up a blog on my phone about how to watch the Star Wars movies in chronological order of events, and I click on A Phantom Menace. I wince. That’s the one with Jar Jar Binks, and I’ve seen it, but this time, it will be with fresh eyes, and I’ll think about Ava and her enthusiasm, her lips on mine—

Shit.

I bring the movie up on the TV, and soon I’m sucked right back into my childhood when I watched it with Dane and Dad.

With a sigh, I sit down on the side of the bed with him next to me. Even while sleeping, it’s clear by his drawn expression and the paleness of his skin that he isn’t really resting.

He’s going to be okay, I tell myself as I watch the movie.

He will. He’s all I have, and I’ll make sure of it, no matter what.

15

“Welcome back to the hellhole, Louise,” I murmur as I get out of my car and pat her. Another week has slowly passed by and it’s the start of a new one, but I’m still freaking here, digging my heels in.

Today is week three, and I’m going to get through it. I AM.

With a sigh, I jog through the parking lot toward the entrance. My hair is up in a high ponytail and swishes against my back. It’s scorching hot today, and I whip off my blazer and drape it over my arms before heading in. My shoulders shift inside my snug shirt, moving around to loosen the seams. It’s not a good fit for me, and I guess I’ve filled out more since last year. I could put in a request for a new uniform since all scholarship students are allowed three new ones each year, but there hasn’t been time.

Several Sharks, maybe seven or eight—Knox, Dane, Chance, and Liam included—lean against the wall in the foyer when I open the door. Girls encircle them.

“Slut,” comes from a low male voice in their group as I pass, and the girls giggle, the sound grating and clawing, but I keep walking.

Tyler, I remind myself. He’s the endgame.

A low thump comes from behind me and I turn around to see that Knox has shoved Brandon against the wall, pinning him with one hand, the other at his neck, knotted in his collar. Their backpacks lie scattered on the marble tile. Knox’s face is flushed and Dane pulls at his arm, trying to talk him down.

As I stand rooted to the spot—dammit, why am I standing here watching them?—Chance’s gaze sweeps over the hallway, probably checking for teachers, and stops on me.

He freezes, his nostrils flaring as he studies me, taking in my face.