It’s midnight. Finally.

I turn off the lights in the living room. I’m going to do something I’ve wanted to do all night.

I step toward the window, twisting behind me one last time to check that it’s completely dark. If there’s even just a little bit of light, Luca may be able to see me.

I pull the curtain open just a tiny bit, careful not to let my silhouette be clearly seen from outside.

As I expected, Luca’s outside.

He’s leaning against his parked car. It’s starting to collect some dirt on its usually shiny black body.

Luca should take that car to the carwash. He used to do that about every week, but he’s been sitting out there for ten days now, and the car hasn’t budged from its spot in this outdoor carpark.

Normally, the car would be tucked into Luca’s garage where it would be safe from the elements. Looking at it right now, I can tell the car’s been through a lot these past few days. I even see a couple of white splatters on the hood—a sign that the local pigeons aren’t happy about it spending so much time here.

Luca doesn’t look much better than his car either.

His shirt is starting to look more grey than white, and dark hair is taking over his face.

Charming, right? You’d think a guy would at least shave and put on a clean shirt when he’s trying to talk to a girl he likes.

But then again, who ever said he likes me? He probably didn’t. I’m the idiot for making assumptions.

He was just using me to get drugs. I wonder how long this has been going on. Based on the codes on the pill bottles, this could’ve started when Peter was still alive.

A chill shoots down my spine at the thought that even Luca’s friendship with Peter might’ve been a lie.

It’s possible Luca only got close to Peter in order to get to the drugs. And now that Peter’s gone, Luca needs another sucker to help him. That’s where I, apparently, come in.

I can’t believe I’m saying this. But maybe my mom was right. Maybe Luca is a dealer.

I don’t think I was ever in any danger of him getting me hooked on drugs, though. If he wants me to maintain a steady supply of drugs, he needs me to keep my business running. That means he needs me to have my act together and to trust him.

He almost succeeded.

I scold myself as worry takes root in my heart.

I shouldn’t care about him, but I can’t help wondering . . . Is he eating and drinking okay? And where does he go when he needs a bathroom? Is he actually using those drugs himself? Will he go through withdrawal soon? How is he going to endure that, while living in his car?

Luca . . . are you okay?

My breath catches when Luca raises his gaze and stares straight at me.

He can’t possibly see me, though. There’s no way.

As Luca’s eyes shift focus, I breathe a sigh of relief.

He didn’t see me.

Let’s keep it that way.

I close the curtain, go to my bedroom, and let myself fall into bed.

I can’t see him from here. But the image of Luca, standing alone and forlorn under the yellow street lights, follows me all the way into my dreams.

* * *

“Sarah, are you ready to talk yet?” Luca’s eyes are pleading. They appear sincere.

But then again, obviously, I can’t trust my own judgment of Luca’s character. If it weren’t for me finding indisputable proof of his theft—which is a serious crime, by the way—I still would trust him, like a chump.

It angers me that he tried to deceive me, but it makes me furious to think that he may have done the same thing to Peter, too.

I ignore Luca. If I look at those duplicitous eyes too long, I might cave and start to believe his lies again.

He’s a liar. He’s a liar. He’s a liar.

I say these three words to myself, over and over again, like a mantra, as Luca follows me to my car. Unfortunately, I don’t have a garage, so I can’t escape a confrontation with Luca every time I need to go out for some errands.

I could call the cops, I suppose, and tell them Luca’s harassing me. I could perhaps get a restraining order, too.

But I can’t bring myself to do any of those things.

It’s not just about his criminal records. In a small town like Ashbourne, news travels fast, and a restraining order would bring this whole thing a few notches up in gossip-worthiness. I don’t need that kind of attention.

On top of that, I also don’t want Luca’s drug-seeking ways to cost him his business.

Maybe I’m being too soft on him, but I’ve seen how much addiction can change people—when our dad died in a freak accident, Peter shut down and buried himself in all kinds of substances, legal and illegal.

I can’t really blame Peter, though. He was only eighteen and nobody expected our dad to die at the young age of thirty-seven. He was just running some errands when a speeding car careened into him and killed in instantly.

All of a sudden, there was a heavy burden on Peter’s shoulders. He had to run the clinic, make enough money to pay the bills, and take care of me, too.

I mean, just his work alone was stressful enough. Statistics say that nearly one in ten veterinarians in the country suffer psychological distress, and more than one in six have had suicidal thoughts. This job drains you.

Luckily, somehow we managed to convince everyone to let me stay with him.

Getting out of that hole was difficult for Peter. I can’t imagine making Luca go through that and deal with the loss of his business at the same time.

I wonder if my own issues give me a soft spot for addicts.

I open my car door and twist to look Luca in the face before I step inside. He watches me closely, like he’s afraid he’s going to miss my words.

“Go home, Luca. Or I’ll call the cops on you.” It’s just an empty threat, but I have to say it. I want him to realize how serious this is.

“I’m not going home until you agree to talk to me,” Luca says stubbornly.

I let out a big sigh as I take my seat in the car.

“I’ll wait here. I’ll be here when you get home. Whenever you’re ready to talk to me, I’ll—”

Luca’s voice shrinks into a barely intelligible muffle when I pull the door shut.

I put on my seatbelt, turn on the engine, and drive away. Luca’s reflection on my rear-view mirror gets smaller and smaller, but again, thoughts of him continue to follow me wherever I go.

* * *

After I stock up on some groceries and send a few letters at the post office, I drive home, taking the long way to peek at Luca’s tattoo shop.

It’s closed—no surprise there.

Judging by the pile of envelopes building up by the mailbox, Luca hasn’t been here at all. Or, if he has, he’s been ignoring his mail. He could miss something important, like a bill, and end up having to close the tattoo parlor down, at least temporarily.

A small drop of water wets my windscreen, and I lift my gaze up to the heavens. It’s still early in the afternoon, but the sky is dark and the clouds are hanging low, heavily pregnant with rain.

My mind flies to Luca and his stupid car, waiting just outside my clinic. By the looks of it, he’s going to spend a few hours just sitting in his car today.

When I reach the clinic, the light drizzle has turned into a full-blown storm. But unexpectedly, Luca’s not sitting inside his car where it’s warm and dry.

Instead, he’s standing in the middle of the parking lot, water drenching his whole body. My mom’s with him, and they seem to be shouting at each other over the sound of the rain. Hands are flying in the air as they both make enraged, aggressive gestures at each other.

Great. The two junkies left in my life, arguing right outside my home.

When I first met Luca at the funeral, he mentioned a bunch of junkies who were supposedly after the drugs stored inside the clinic. Now, I wonder if he was referring to himself and his friends—not that I ever saw him hanging out with a bunch of thin, angry-looking junkies . . . But I never saw him with my mom either, and yet, here they are.

“Ah! There she is!” Mom declares when she sees me stepping out of my car with an open umbrella.

They looked like they were engrossed in their argument so I was hoping to go inside unnoticed, but obviously that’s not going to happen now.

“My smart girl,” my mom says as she comes over, raindrops dripping down her black waterproof coat.

I frown. I’ve been called “smart” before, but never by my mom.

“Mom, I don’t have time for whatever this is.” I keep walking, carrying two plastic bags full of groceries with one hand.

“Sarah, do you want help with that?” Luca asks, pointing at the plastic bags.

I shake my head and continue on my way.

“Ha! You think she’s going to listen to you? She knows what you are now, because I told her,” Mom says triumphantly, her purplish lips curving up into a grin that exposes her yellow teeth.

“Mom, why are you here?” I ask.

I’m tired and the last thing I need is more drama, but the way Mom’s dancing on Luca’s suffering just rubs me the wrong way.

Somehow, even though Mom’s right this time and Luca turns out to be a lying thief, I can’t shake my dislike of her, or my fondness of Luca.

“I was told by someone that our friend here has been living in his car,” Mom says casually. “So I came here to check up on him. I didn’t expect it to rain this hard.”

“How nice of you,” Luca says, sneezing. “As you can see, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Luca,” I say. I swear even though these two are older than me, they’re acting like toddlers right now. I add, “You need to go home.” I turn to my mom and look her in the eye. “You too. You both need to go home.”

All I want right now is to climb into my bed and hide under the covers, preferably in fetal position. Although the clinic’s open, it’s my day off, and I want to spend it soaking my bones in depression.

Luca should be proud of himself. He wanted to cure me of my dark addiction and here I am, no longer craving it. He was successful. Yay.

“Daughters aren’t supposed to tell their mothers to leave, dear,” Mom says as she turns around and walks away. Lifting a bony finger in the air, she adds, “But I was leaving anyway. I’ve seen what I came here to see.”

“You should go home, too,” I say to Luca when Mom’s out of earshot.

He slowly shakes his head. Rain splashes over him, and he drips more water every time he moves.

“Don’t be stubborn, Luca. I know the truth now. It’s not something I can just get over.”

“You think the truth is that I’m a dealer and a junkie, like your mom said?” Luca asks, pain flashing in his eyes.

I shrug.

“You believe her over me?” Luca asks again.

I shrug again.

I can tell Luca that I found his pill bottles, I guess, but I don’t feel like explaining myself to the guy who treated me like a fool. I mean, he hid something from me, too.

Luca drops his head and chuckles. “I don’t believe this. I told her you were too smart to believe her.”

“Are you going home now?”

“Sarah. I’m not a junkie, much less a dealer. I’ve been clean for years. I swear.”

Okay, maybe he’s not a junkie. Maybe he’s clean. But he still stole those pill bottles. I have no idea what he does with them, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t see how he’s going to convince me he’s innocent.

“Go home, Luca.” I turn away and start toward the door again.

“Sarah, please. You have to believe me.” Luca follows me. He sneezes. “I swear I’m clean.” He hesitates before he adds, “Your mom was trying to blackmail me because she thought I had some drugs she could get her hands on.”

I stop in my tracks. This is new information. And it does sound like something my mom would do.

“That’s a serious accusation,” I say.

“It’s true. I have proof. I can show you.” Luca pats on his back pocket and pulls out a phone—a wet phone.

“Are you sure that thing still works?”

“It’s water-resistant.” Luca’s dark eyebrows are knitted in concentration. He wipes his phone screen to clear the drops of rain. Several taps and swipes later, he shows me a text message from my mom.

It was sent this morning. So she really came here just to see Luca defeated and humiliated.

When I raise my gaze to Luca, I notice he’s wrapping his arms around his body and shivering. The wind is growing stronger.

I look around us. There are no signs of the storm dying down any time soon. If Luca goes back into his car, he’ll be sitting in a puddle of rain for hours. He’s too stubborn to go home.

I take a deep breath. I feel like I’m rewarding good behavior, like I’m negotiating with a terrorist. All the pet training books say not to encourage bad behavior because it’s just going to get worse, but it’s not like I’m going to keep Luca around.

Regardless of what my mom did to him, he still stole those bottles. There’s no excuse for that.

Still, I can’t let him walk back to his car, all sad and shivering. He looks like a dejected dog with his tail between his legs.

“Come inside,” I hear myself say. “You can take a shower and change into something dry. I’m sure some of Peter’s clothes would fit you.”

Luca’s face brightens up for the first time in days. His facial hair is still too long and his eyebags are still too big, but the brilliance of his green eyes has returned. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging.

I hope I’m not making a big mistake.