Channing was sitting on the top of my truck when I left school, his feet dangling over the front. He might have been lounging there, looking all cool and shit, but I was still pissed. I couldn’t deny how damn good he looked, though, so I schooled myself. I couldn’t let him get away with the crap he’d pulled. No way. Or the way he’d talked to me.

I had a lecture already prepped in my head. I’d had the rest of detention to perfect it, but when I got to him, he dropped to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he announced.

Seriously. Those two words.

I had my hand up, my pointer finger ready to go, but his apology thwarted my plans. I shook a fist at him instead. “Not cool, Chan. Not cool at all.”

He sighed, hanging his head. “I know. I know.” He slid his hands through his hair, making the ends stick out, and even that looked good on him. He’d changed from the T-shirt he’d had on earlier to a shirt with the sleeves ripped off. Bodybuilders sometimes wore them in the gym, but on Channing’s lean frame, it showed more of his recent tattoos.

I saw claws wrapping around his torso, disappearing under his shirt. “When’d you get those?”

“Huh?”

“Those.” I touched them, moving the shirt over to show the rest of it. Half the claw mark tattoos were on his chest.

“Oh.” He shifted under my touch—gently, but still moving my hand away from him. “Just a while ago, with Moose.”

I tried not to feel slapped by that move, but I failed. That hurt.

Channing didn’t talk about how his mom had died. He’d been quiet for the few months they knew beforehand, and he’d kept quiet for six months after. He’d crawl in my room at night and just lie with me, holding my hand. But not talking.

I was never sure what to say, if I should press him or not. I was starting to think maybe I should’ve.

All the fighting lately, it was connected.

“How’s Bren doing?”

He never talked about his sister either.

He shrugged, a stark look in his eyes. “She’s little. She’ll bounce back.”

I fought against rolling my eyes. Couples were supposed to talk, right? Well, we were failing at that.

“And your dad? Is he still being an asshole?”

A grin tugged at his mouth, and he snorted. “Maybe that’s where I get it, right?”

“So he is? Still being an asshole?”

“The fucker could die for all I care.”

I wasn’t even going to ask about his half-brother. I knew the guy’s mom hated everything Monroe.

“Channing,” I sighed, but a truck wheeled in behind us. Two upperclassmen waved, hollering, “Monroe! We’re about to go fuck some shit up over in Fallen Crest. You in?”

“Hell yes.”

I tried not to see how relieved he looked as he started for the truck.

Catching my eye, he stopped and kissed my neck quickly, whispering, “I love you. I’m sorry.”

Then he was gone, vaulting into the back of the truck.

The two guys grinned at me, one giving me a peace sign before they roared away.

I stood in the exhaust trail behind them and shook my head. It was then that I realized how much I loved Channing Monroe, because while he was being all tortured and twisted, and growing into a dick, I still thought he was the hottest thing to walk this Earth.

I was messed up.