My heart drops when he walks through my door, hat backward, clothes disheveled, his backpack dragging on the floor behind him. His tired gaze finds mine, and I shake my head. “You shouldn’t be here,” I tell him, slowly moving toward him.

Lachlan lifts his chin, his lifeless eyes squinting. “I’m not saying goodbye to you,” he says, his voice wobbling.

It’s the exact same words he said last night, and I wish I didn’t have to fight him on this, but: “I don’t want that, either, dude, but I have to be the grown-up here, and if your brother—”

“There’s something wrong with him, you know?”

“What do you mean?” I rush out, my heart pound, pound, pounding. “Is he… is he sick or something?”

Lachlan shakes his head, drags his backpack across the floor, and slumps down on the chair. “Not like my mom was sick, but… Dad says you can’t see it, and sometimes, Logan can’t even see it himself.” His voice is so soft, so desolate, my stomach turns at the sound of it. “Dad says that he’s… he’s self-destructive. Do you know what that means, Red?” His gaze drops. “Because I don’t. I tried to look it up, but it didn’t make sense to me. And it should. Because we’re buddies, you know? He’s my best friend. He’s my favorite of all my siblings, and I know I shouldn’t say that, but it’s true. And I should be able to help him. But…” He looks up, his eyes clouded with unshed tears. “But I don’t know how.”

I stand in the middle of the store, wordless, my heart torn to pieces. Not for Logan, but for a boy who sees too much and feels too much and aches in ways I can’t even imagine. Logan and I slept together. That was it. But Lachlan… God. Logan is someone he loves, someone he looks up to. My breaths weaken. So do my knees. So does my will. “You can stay,” I tell him. “But I need to speak to your dad.”

He nods. “He’s picking me up tonight. He wants to speak to you, too.”

* * *

I keep staring at the clock, the door, the clock, the door. Lachlan never said what time his dad was coming, and he’s been so quiet, so focused on his drawings that I don’t want to interrupt him. At 5:30 p.m., Mr. Preston shows up, his giant frame barely fitting through the doorway. I instantly heighten a few inches and smile so stupidly wide; my cheeks sting with the force. Hand outstretched, I make my way over to him. “Mr. Preston,” I greet, and his smile is warm and genuine and everything mine isn’t.

“You must be Aubrey.”

His hand dwarfs mine.

Lachlan’s chair scrapes when he stands, quickly moving his sketchbook behind him. Hiding it. My smile drops. “I didn’t realize the time,” he tells his dad. “I’ll get my stuff.”

Mr. Preston pulls out his wallet, hands over a fifty to his youngest. “I just ordered some pizza. Can you go get it? Give Aubrey and me some time alone.”

As soon as Lachlan leaves the store, Mr. Preston turns to me. “I should’ve come here earlier.”

“It’s fine.”

“Lachy’s told me a lot about you. He also tells me that you don’t mind having him here, but I just want to make sure.”

“Honestly, sir, Lachlan is basically the only person I see all day, so having him here keeps me sane.”

He nods at that, a slight smile appearing beneath his facial hair. “It’s quiet, huh?”

“Understatement.”

“It’ll pick up, just give it some time.”

I nod.

He does the same.

Then we just stand there, awkwardly. I shuffle on my feet while he rubs the back of his neck. We’re looking down at the floor but glancing up at each other. He breaks the silence just as I’m about to. “Lachlan also told me about last night… with Logan.”

“Yeah…?”

“I want to apologize to you on behalf of my son.”

“I appreciate it, but it’s not necessary.”

“Logan… he’s—”

“Self-destructive?” I finish for him, repeating Lachlan’s words from earlier. Without waiting for a response, I turn, walk behind the counter so I can get some distance and clear my head. I’d expected to speak about Lachlan. Not Logan. I don’t want to speak about him, don’t want to think about him. If I do, the tears will return. Because I’m angry at myself, and angry at him, but neither of us can take back the words we dropped like bombs set to destroy. “Like I said, I appreciate it, but we don’t need to talk about it anymore.”

Mr. Preston sighs, the single sound filling the entire room. “Okay,” he says, nodding. “Okay. Well”—he looks behind him—“what time do you close up here?”

“Nine, normally. But I’ll probably hang back.”

“Got work to do?”

I shrug. “The store’s smaller than my house. It feels less…” I trail off, catching myself before I give him too much.

“Lonely?” he asks, and I press my lips tight. “Young lady, at one point, I lived in a house with seven children, and I still had moments of loneliness. Having people around doesn’t take the loneliness away. You know what does?”

“What?”

“Pizza.”

“Pizza?”

He opens the door. “Are you coming?”

“To your house?”

“Well, unless you want to take one of the pies home and eat alone, then yes. My house.”

“But…”

“Are you expecting customers?”

My eye roll makes him chuckle.

“All retail stores close at five here. Restaurants at nine. You won’t be seeing anyone else tonight. And if it’s Logan you’re worried about, he’s not home. Won’t be for a while. So?” He tilts his head to the side, his eyes focused on mine.

I succumb to his offer. “I’ll grab my stuff.”

His smile widens. “I’ll wait.”

We walk side by side toward the pizza shop, my three steps for every one of his. “I know you don’t want to talk about this,” he starts, staring right ahead, “but Logan—he’s the most carefree of all my kids. He walks around this town giving zero shits—pardon my language—about what anyone thinks of him, and to me, that’s a good thing, because people here like to talk. You understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It takes a lot to affect him, to get a reaction out of him, and so when something or someone does, it’s because he cares, Aubrey. He takes out what little emotion he carries on the people he cares about, which is normally his family. He says a lot of things he doesn’t mean. And we know that. But, I thought it important to share this with you—just in case you don’t know him well enough to know that, too. And because… well, because he’s my boy, and I want to see him happy.”

Guilt.

Sorry.

Disappointment.

I write down all three words on the notepad my therapist handed me—our standard routine—and pass it back to her. She looks down at what I’ve written, then up at me. “Guilt and sorry are too similar,” she says. “You’re going to have to do better, Logan.”

With a sigh, I lean back in my chair. “But what if they’re about two different things?”

“Interesting.” She taps her pen on her chin a few times. “Tell me about the guilt first.”

I’ve been seeing Amanda as her patient for a couple years now. Before that, I saw her as Lucy’s friend… who also happens to be Big Logan’s girl, and I know she’s not going to like what I’m about to say. “I was an asshole to Lachlan.”

Eyes wide, pout protruding, she whines, “How? Why? But he’s so cute!”

“I know.” I sigh again. I have a feeling there’ll be a lot of sighing in this session. Guilt, sorry, and disappointment can do that. “I don’t know what got into me. I was just… I was so mad.”

We’re in the pool house behind Big Logan’s dad’s house—where she and Logan live. The pool house has been converted to her out-of-hours office. She doesn’t allow a lot of people beyond the high brick fence and barbed wire. It’s almost prison-like, security cameras and everything. But, knowing what all went on with Big Logan, it makes sense. She asks, “Was your anger linked to the disappointment at all?”

I shrug. “I guess.”

“Who disappointed you?”

“A little bit of me, and maybe…”

“Maybe…?”

“Well… see, there’s this girl…”

“Ahh.” She scribbles down a few words on her notepad. “There’s always a girl.”

I shake my head. “That’s the thing, there’s never been a girl. I mean, besides Mary.”

“Mary is a drug, Logan. She’s not a person. She has no emotion. No say. No control over your life… unless you let her. Did you let her?”

I quirk an eyebrow. “You mean again?”

“How are your flashbacks going?”

“Wow. Straight to the point, huh?”

“I’m trying to work out if anything’s linked. That’s all.”

I’m not here to talk about the flashbacks, so I change the subject. “So, this girl…”

Amanda presses her lips tight but nods for me to continue, “I guess she assumed some shit about me that wasn’t true.”

“Like what?”

“Like, that I’d been screwing around with other girls.”

“Are you two exclusive?”

“No,” I say quickly, then take a breath. “Okay, so we hooked up before I left for Cambodia, right? Three weeks pass and we don’t see each other—”

“Because you were gone those three weeks?”

“Yes. And then when I get back, we bump into each other again and… you know…”

“Have sex?”

“Yes.”

“And she thinks you were with someone while you were away?”

“Yes. And with a different someone when I got back. I guess she overheard things and jumped to conclusions.”

“And I just want to confirm, you weren’t exclusive?”

“Right.”

“So… why the guilt?”

“Because…” I shrug. “Because it upset her, I guess, and I didn’t like seeing her upset, even though I didn’t do anything.”

“Have you told her you didn’t do anything?”

I nod. “Last night, after the whole treating-Lachlan-like-shit thing.”

“And that’s the first time she mentioned it to you?”

“No.”

Her eyebrows rise. “When did she tell you about what she thought she knew?”

“Like, two weeks ago.”

“And what did you do then?”

“I…” I look down at my hands and sigh again. “I walked away.”

“And is that where the sorry part comes in? Are you sorry for walking away?”

“Part of it, I guess.”

“What’s the other part?”

“I treated her worse than I did Lachlan. I said some shit that… Jesus.” I scrub my hands across my face, frustrated that it had to come to this. “I said some horrible shit.”

“Why?”

“Because Mary.”

She exhales loudly. “Mary’s not a reason or an excuse, Logan. Why?”

I rush out, “Because I was mad at her for thinking those things about me.”

“Logan,” she says, her voice stern enough for me to face her. “Can you blame her for thinking those thoughts?”

Another sigh. “I guess not.”

“Right.” Amanda nods, focuses on the pen scrawling across her notepad. I sit up higher, try to read what she’s writing, but she just smiles, turns the page closer to her. “Your dad seemed pretty worried when he called me this morning.”

“Yeah, I had um…”

“He likes to call it an episode,” she murmurs. “And, we, in the psychology world, like to call this” —she points to me—“a breakthrough.”

“How the fuck is this a breakthrough?”

“Because you like a girl, Logan. You care about someone that isn’t a member of your family. And that’s a big deal for you. Your guilt, sorry, disappointment—they all have one thing in common.”

“And what’s that?” I ask.

She smiles full force. “They all belong to you. Which means, you have the power to change them.”

The Preston estate (according to Google Maps) is huge. The Preston house? Not as extravagant as I thought it would be. Why I pictured crystal chandeliers and white marble floors, I have no idea. It’s big, yes, but it’s also cozy. Warm. Familial. Framed pictures of every one of the kids (from every year, I suspect) hang on the wall next to the staircase, the lower as infants, leading right up to what I assume is now, but I can’t see from just inside the door. Mr. Preston’s walking ahead of me, boxes upon boxes of pizza in his grasp. Behind me, Lachlan says, “You can go inside, you know?”

“Right.” I put one foot in front of the other, while I look at the pictures, trying to work out who each one is, trying to remember all their names.

“It’s in age order,” Lachlan says. “Logan’s right in the middle, if that’s who you’re looking for.”

I was, I realize too late, and the admission has me disappointed in myself. “I was looking for you, you goofball.”

“Sure.”

I pass a dining room that looks like it hasn’t been used as its purpose for a while. Computers and camera equipment sit on the table instead, and I assume it’s where the twins do their thing. The kitchen is about the size of my entire house, with a large table in the middle. I count ten chairs before a boy I’ve only ever seen through a computer screen says, “Lachy’s bringing his girlfriends home now? Starting young, huh?”

Mr. Preston laughs, and Lachlan shakes his head. “She’s my friend,” he says and then points to the other boy. “This is Liam.”

I raise my hand in a wave. “I’ve seen a few of your videos. You guys are so entertaining.”

He smiles wide. “Thanks.” And then Mr. Preston dumps the pizzas on the table and they all sit down and begin to eat like boys do—as if it’s a race to the finish. I’m barely through one slice when Mr. Preston’s on his fourth, and I smile to myself when Liam pours two sodas in a glass and sets one next to him. “You’re welcome,” he says, and I giggle out loud. I can’t help it.

Lachlan says, “I told you.”

And Liam asks, “Told her what?”

And Mr. Preston states, “Linc’s not here.”

And Liam says, “Oh.”

And then the back door opens, and my heart drops, and Logan’s walking into the house, head lowered, Chicken by his side. He says, “Whose turn is it to wash the pig? He stinks.” When no one answers, he looks up, his eyes immediately finding mine.

I stand. “I’ll leave.”

“Stay,” begs Lachlan.

Mr. Preston says, “I thought you had an appointment.”

Logan responds, “I did. We finished up early.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me.

Liam says, picking up his plate, “We’re going to the editing room.”

“Linc’s not here,” Lachlan says.

“Oh.”

I pick up my phone and keys off the table. “Thank you for dinner,” I tell Mr. Preston. “It was very nice of you to invite me.” I’m tapping at my phone, loading the Uber app.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” he says.

Lachlan tugs on my sweatshirt. “Stay.”

And then Logan’s clearing his throat. “You should stay,” he says. “I’ll go.”

“No one is going,” Mr. Preston mumbles. “Sit down. Everyone. Eat your food.”

I hold up my phone. “My Uber’s already on its way.”

“What the hell’s a Goober?”

“Uber,” Liam laughs out. “It’s the new taxi cab, or in your case, horse and carriage.”

“Watch your mouth,” Mr. Preston warns, but he’s kidding, the smile on his lips proof.

Logan opens the back door, lets Chicken out. Lachlan says, “It’s my turn to wash him. I’ll do it after dinner.” He turns to me. “You want to help?”

“But my Uber…”

“Cancel it.” Logan jerks his head toward Lachlan. “He wants you here. I’ll get the bath ready.”

As soon as we hear the front door close, Lachlan turns to me, whispers, sadness linked to his words, “You should talk to him.”

Liam asks, “You know Logan?” Then he rolls his eyes. “Of course, you know Logan. What girl doesn’t?”

“Liam,” his dad says. Another warning, only this one’s serious.

I cancel my Uber and eat another slice of pizza while the boys devour multiples, and then Lachlan stands, puts his hand on my shoulder. “You ready?”

Inside the Preston garage is a large kiddy pool already filled with water. Around the pool is some kind of contraption like they have at dog groomers with a belt that goes below the dog’s tummy to keep them in place. Next to the contraption stands Logan Preston. Usually tall, proud, and cocky, he stands with his hands in his pockets, his head lowered. He’s not wearing a cap. Instead, his dark hair sways in all different angles, directions, chunks of it higher than others, as if he’s been pulling, tugging on the ends. He asks Lachlan, his voice low, “Where’s all his bath stuff?”

“Shoot,” says Lachlan. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll come—” I start, but he’s already gone, sprinting away, and the kid’s fast. Super-human fast. There’s no way I could catch up with him. There’s no way I’d even try.

“Red?”

“Don’t call me that.”

Logan sighs. “Aubrey, then. Will you talk to me?”

I shake my head, cross my arms. “I don’t think there’s anything left to say.”

“There’s a lot to say.”

“Like what?”

“Like… I don’t know. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah? Because that’s an absolute contrast to the words you spoke yesterday, and if this is your version of an apology, it’s not good enough.” My voice is strong, unwavering. It should be. I’ve practiced these words on repeat all night. All day. I add, “If you were simply angry that I made assumptions without speaking to you first, then that’s fine. I’d understand that. But the things that you said to me, about me—they were horrible, Logan, vile, and I won’t ever understand it. And honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive you.”

He licks his lips, tugs his hair, locks his eyes on mine. “I can’t be the only one to blame here, Red—I mean, Aubrey. You assumed that stuff and then you were gone, and not just gone gone, but, like, off-the-grid gone. Do you know how many times I tried calling you?”

I stay silent, because I have nothing to say.

“And I wasn’t with anyone—”

“It doesn’t matter,” I cut in.

“Why? That’s how all this started, right?”

“Because even if you did that stuff, it’s not like I could…” I exhale loudly and admit a truth I’ve been trying hard to deny. “It’s not like I could be that mad about it, you know? We never… you and me… we were never…” My words die in the air, while my insecurities come to life. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” I look over my shoulder. “Where the hell is Lachlan?”

When Logan doesn’t answer, I turn to him, my breath catching when I realize how close he’s gotten. He’s so close he could easily reach out, touch me. Please, God, don’t touch me.

“Did you see what I was carrying the day I went to see you?”

I shake my head, annoyed, my heart thumping wildly. Where the fuck is Lachlan?

“Red, I—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Blue eyes blink, blink, blink. Then: “I had my work jacket.”

“What?” I huff. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

He shrugs, his thumb going between his teeth, his lips moving around it. I think he says, “I don’t have a lemmami yacki.”

“What?” I ask again, my eyes narrowed.

He clears his throat, drops his hands. His words are clearer when he says, “I was never an upperclassman, so I don’t have a letterman jacket.” My heart, my world, stops the second realization hits. My mouth opens, but there’s no air in the atmosphere to jump start my pulse. Logan scratches the back of his head, and he’s nothing but wild hair and wild eyes and wild words. “I wanted to ask you to go steady, you know? Like you said that night. I wanted to ask you on Friday night, but… but you left.”

“I don’t know what to say.” It’s barely a whisper.

“Say yes, Red.” He steps forward, his hand reaching for me. Not my hand, but my wrist. “Please say yes.”

My eyes drift shut when his fingertips brush my skin. “You called me a kiddy fiddler, Logan.”

His touch is gone. “I should not have said that. I have… I have… issues.”

“Maybe you should lay off the weed, then.”

He laughs once. Bitter. “No shit.”

Lachlan returns, bucket filled with bottles in his hands. His gaze switches between Logan and me when he says, “I can come back.”

“No,” I rush out. Then look at Logan, repeat the same word, but with a completely different meaning. “No.”