“You’re wearing my shirt.” He steps closer one pace and his eyes dip then rise.

  Dimple.

  I lift a shoulder.

  “I wear it a lot. So what?”

  I’m playing cavalier, but I take a step back. He quits his quest to move closer in response. He doesn’t say it out loud but his mouth curls to say “oh.” My porch light flips on, which means someone walked closer to the front door to flip the switch. We both look toward the light then back to each other.

  “I know it was meaningless,” I say quickly.

  His brow pains while he stares at me and chews at his lip. Several quiet seconds pass before he nods, the movement small and fast.

  “I’m a fuck-up a lot of the time, Ari, but I am not a cheater. I wouldn’t…won’t…” He shakes his head without finishing the words. He doesn’t need to finish. My breath hitches with emotion at the sincerity in his eyes.

  “Okay,” I swallow. My hand pats nervously against my leg and my nod grows bigger and bigger until I move to lunge toward him. I don’t make a full step before his arms wrap around me and hold me so tight my feet lift from the ground. His lips rest at my neck, repeating “I love you” as if they’re magic words with the power to stop time.

  I think maybe they are, or at least powerful enough to travel back to a before—to a time when I didn’t feel the pangs of jealousy and he was still an anonymous and gifted teenager who could pretend his dad was just about anybody else.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  When I was little, I used to sleepwalk.

  I have a hazy memory of this but also read about in the book my mom made. Right after Ella died, I sleepwalked a lot. My mom says it was like I was looking for her in my dreams.

  I must be doing that again.

  The sound is so vivid—so clear. I’m aware of my arms reaching up, trying to free themselves of the constraints of a blanket, but I don’t know what I’m searching for. I don’t know what this sound is that keeps breaking through the comfortable wave of sleep I’m riding.

  It’s a crash. Maybe I’m throwing glass. I can’t tell, but my body is starting to get warmer. My legs kick like I’m running. Maybe I am.

  There’s a loud echo of glass.

  Glass falling in the street.

  My street.

  Outside my window.

  My eyes pop open wide and try to make sense of the darkness. I can’t tell if the sound I heard was imagined or real. I don’t know what time it is, and I barely register where I am. My hands feel to my sides, the familiar tufts of my blanket, the long pillow I put between my knees, the wrinkles of my sheets.

  A sliver of light draws a line from my ceiling down the wall and into the hallway. The longer I stare, the more I begin to recognize shapes.

  My dresser.

  Jesse’s sweatshirt hanging on the back of my door.

  My backpack, and the longboard I never ride.

  Glass shatters again—a piercing sound; I wonder if it’s a gunshot. I leap from my bed and rush to the hallway, finding my dad at his doorway, one hand on the frame and the other on his chest. He’s breathing hard, I wonder if he dreamt these noises too.

  “That was outside,” I say. His eyes stay wide on mine, lit only by the faint nightlight that helps guide us down the dark hallway to the stairs or my bathroom.

  My dad nods, and my mom steps up behind him, rubbing her fists in her eyes.

  “What’s going on?”

  Another crash echoes. My dad rushes down the stairs, missing the last few steps and nearly falling. He grabs the railing and steadies himself at the bottom, shoving his feet into a pair of flip-flops he left by the door, the ones he uses to grab the mail. Bessy rushes out with him, so I follow as fast as I can, calling her name.

  “Bessy! Bessy!” It’s a shout of a whisper, as if the resounding pings of metal and glass that keep repeating on our street haven’t woken more than just us up, not that there are many neighbors around to disturb.

  I catch our dog at the end of the driveway and scoop her up in my arms. I’m sure she’ll pee on me. She does that when she’s nervous or when she runs. She just did both.

  I walk down the street toward my father. He’s standing on our side of the road, but on the other is Jesse’s brother. He’s wearing jeans and a hoodie that’s too big for him, dangling down below his knees. He keeps shouting at the house. It’s the one someone’s moving into. The trucks are still parked along the roadway and in the driveway, but nobody’s been by in at least two full days.

  “I hate you!” Conner’s young voice is shrill in the night, his words vibrating off framed homes nearby and the tall one in front of him. He cocks his arm back and flings a heavy chunk of concrete at the large bay window at the front of the house. My eyes jet to the shards of glass. He’s been at this a while.

  My dad’s head twists to look at me; he curls his arm toward him emphatically. My mom rushes out to take Bessy from my arms and I jog over to where my dad is standing.

  “I don’t know his name,” my dad says. His face aches, and I know it’s because Conner is reminding him of Ella and maybe me right now. But this is something different. Something has him angry, and I’m terrified I know exactly what it is.

  “I know him a little. Through Jesse. I’ll go get him,” I say, just as Conner picks up a handful of smaller stones and pummels the house with them. They don’t break any glass this time.

  I’m careful as I approach him, not so quiet I sneak up and startle him, but not loud enough to a make him afraid. I don’t want him throwing those rocks at me.

  “You are a bad, bad man!” He’s screaming at the top of his lungs, the words breaking up with his tiny voice. His throat must be raw.

  “Conner,” I say his name at a normal volume. It still scares him and he jumps to the side, his face ghost white as a scream leaves his body with barely any sound because of the harsh force.

  I hold my hands out in front of me.

  “It’s Arizona. It’s me.” I step closer to him and he drops the jagged rock in his hands and rushes the rest of the way.

  His body slams into me, and he cries hard into my side. I kneel down so I can hold him tightly. His body convulses, and his sobs turn into moans that just keep coming.

  “I hate him,” he says through the wails.

  “Hate who, Conner. Who do you hate?”

  I rub my palm on his back. I smell Jesse’s cologne on the sweatshirt, and I wonder why he’s wearing his brother’s shirt. I wonder if it’s the same as it is with me—a way to keep him close.

  “Jesse’s dad. That mean guy with the truck. I hate him, I hate him so much.” He starts to cough, choking on his tears and spit and the snot dripping down his face. He rubs his face against me and I let him. He’s still shaking.

  “We all do,” I say, giving him the only answer I can think to give. “Did he do something?”

  My heart is pounding rapidly, but I can’t tell if it’s mine I feel or Conner’s. I’m so afraid he showed up, that Alton hurt Jesse or their mom. Or Conner.

  “Did Alton come see Jesse tonight?” I ask.

  “No,” he whimpers. He’s nearly hyperventilating against me. I lean back on my heels to rub his arms and look him in his eyes. I try to slow my breathing down and force him to mimic me.

  “So, Alton isn’t here?” I ask.

  He shakes his head emphatically, and my insides wash with relief.

  The burn is coming.

  “Not yet,” he adds.

  My hands pause on his shoulders for just a breath. I swallow hard and squeeze gently before reminding myself that he’s scared and angry, so I can’t be.

  “Oh, is he on his way?” I ask.

  My stomach gets tighter and my mouth grows sour.

  “He bought this house. He’s going to live here.”

  I don’t see for nearly a full ten seconds. Everything gets really bright, then suddenly dark around the edges, like an effect on a digital photo. My focus tunnels onto Conner, and I feel my weight pulling me to the earth. My dad’s arms scoop me up, and somehow Conner gets home. I don’t know how much time passes, but when I wake up I learn that Jesse is missing and his worst nightmare has come true.

  He was just in my driveway, I swear. We embraced and held each other while the air grew cold and the stars lit up the sky. And now he’s gone. All I did was fall asleep and I woke up to his world falling apart.

  Rag showed up just as my mom was holding a cold washcloth to my head. My dad took Conner back home and he met Rag in the driveway and brought him inside. He doesn’t have any answers on Jesse, but he does know how this tailspin began.

  I sit up and pull the wet cloth from my head and hand it to my mom.

  “It was never once about Jesse. None of it,” Rag begins.

  My dad drags a chair from the kitchen to make enough seats, and Rag sits with his hands clenched at his knees while the three of us listen intently at the edge of the couch.

  “What do you mean?” I’m not sure how far back in Jesse’s life this story goes.

  “That reality show deal…it wasn’t ours. It was never about Jesse or the band. It was just a test to see how much drama Alton could build into his life.”

  My forehead dents.

  “Why? I don’t understand,” I say.

  My dad breathes out a heavy sigh at the end of the sofa, and both my mother and I turn to look at him as he leans back and covers his face with his palms.

  “The trucks. All of that equipment. They’re moving Alton in to film a reality show.” My dad pieces it together, and the bones in my chest crumble.

  “Yes,” Rag affirms. “And the worst part is Jesse signed something that said it was okay to use him.”

  “Use him how?” I sit up, guarded and alert. The feeling is quickly coming back to my fingers and toes. My blood is teeming and pulsing. I want to fight.

  “However…like, if he sets up a meeting with him, or some of the short bits they filmed at our gig. It’s all for the pilot, but they really want the family dynamic and all the drama.”

  “Jesse isn’t eighteen,” I say, interrupting Rag and leaning forward to catch my dad’s gaze. He takes a deep, thoughtful breath.

  Before my parents quit their old jobs, my dad was a contract lawyer—a good one.

  “It’s true,” he says, but I sense the hedging in his words.

  “I know where you’re going, and unfortunately yes…he had his mom sign it too,” Rag explains.

  “Sign what? How?” I stand, starting to feel the push of nervous energy and a sense of urgency to just do something!

  “It was right after Alton’s last visit,” Rag says. “He’s not anything to Jesse—no legal rights at all—so he told him his mom would have to sign off. Jesse basically rushed it by her and told her it was a pipe-dream audition, no big deal. He was sick with guilt but figured she would never have to know.”

  “She’ll know when a camera crew shows up at her door,” my dad says, verbalizing the thought that just flashed through my head.

  “Shit,” I say, mouthing sorry to my parents for swearing.

  “Shit is right,” my dad emphasizes. I get a pass.

  “And you don’t know where Jesse is?” I ask Rag.

  He shakes his head and pulls his phone from his pocket, something he’s done every minute since he’s gotten here. He has a look of hope on his face at a text message, but when he opens it he frowns.

  “It’s just Logan,” he says, sliding his phone back into his pocket. He stands and rounds the chair, holding onto the wooden back with two hands, his fingers gripping it hard.

  “How did Jesse find out?” I ask.

  Rag’s eyes flit to mine just long enough to translate the hard line of his mouth.

  “They called his mom,” he says.

  My eyes flutter closed.

  “Is she all right?” My mom steps up from the couch and carries the wet cloth she was using on me back into the kitchen. She immediately begins packing a plastic bag with a few things from our cabinet and the refrigerator. Both my father and I glare at her with confusion.

  “She has two other kids, and she’s probably worried sick and upset…I’m taking her some things and introducing myself. You know where to find me.” She glances between the two of us and we don’t protest. She’s determined, and I’m grateful.

  My mom is out the door in minutes. I wait for her exit before I speak up again.

  “Did you look at the Yard?” I’m sure Rag has, but I feel desperate. I bring my phone to my lap and cradle it in my hands, swiping to Jesse’s number and pressing CALL.

  “First place I looked,” he says.

  I nod while I watch the phone ring and go immediately to voicemail. He has it turned off, or set to ignore. He’s hiding, and he’s probably spiraling right now. It’s dangerous for him to be alone.

  I call again even though I know the result will be the same. It is.

  “I want to go back out there and throw rocks at that house. I want to make it unlivable.” I pace to the front window and bend the blinds to stare at it. It’s going to be sunup soon. It’s a school day, not that Jesse goes to those often.

  “Can you call me in?” I turn to catch my dad’s eyes. He thinks for a moment and when he realizes what I mean, he nods.

  “You have four days of school left. Screw it, take the week,” my dad says, pulling out his own phone to dial into the automated system. He leaves the message then hangs up and starts to laugh. The timing is weird, so I hold out my arms for explanation.

  “That dean who moved your in-school suspension so you didn’t miss these last four days before break is going to be pissed off.” My dad belly laughs at the irony, and I think he likes the rebellious defiance of it all just a little bit.

  I smile a little. A bright spot in this shitty night.

  “Does his mom…”

  “Amanda,” Rag fills in the name for my dad.

  My father nods.

  “Amanda…does she have a restraining order?”

  I see where my father is going with this. His legal mind is starting to churn.

  Rag simply laughs a response.

  “The man was MIA for most of Jesse’s life, and he really didn’t try to insert himself after…” Rag stops himself from sharing too much, from telling my dad that Jesse held Alton at gunpoint. “After that one big argument when he tried to take Jesse away. He pretty much was nonexistent after that, minus the few random pop-ups for money.”

  “So, no legal documents,” my dad reiterates.

  “No. Only the contract he just signed,” Rag says.

  “Can you get me a copy?” My stomach churns with hope and the drumming of my heart. My dad is determined to find a loophole, some solution to fix this. The fact that he’s doing it for a boy he also wants to kick to the moon means he’s really doing it for me. He also hates injustice. And I think Conner’s six-year-old sobs probably drove him into fighting mode something fierce.

  “Yeah…I’ve got one in my car. Hold on,” Rag says, a dose of energy injected in his steps as he jogs out to his car. I think while he’s away. I don’t know where else Jesse would be if he’s not at the one place I know he likes to escape to, unless…

  Rag rushes back in with the contract and hands it to my dad, and I do my best to get Rag’s attention. When our eyes meet, I hold my finger to my mouth and motion for him to come into the kitchen.

  “You want a water or something?” I ask, opening the fridge and bending down to pull open the lower drawer.

  “Thanks,” Rag says, a slight shake of his head that basically says “dude, what?”

  “Biddy’s.”

  I watch it all sink in, color filling Rag’s cheeks, the pressure falling from his arms as his shoulders relax. His eyes close and he whispers the name back to me.

  “Biddy’s. Of course.”

  “Let’s go. I’ll come with you.” I stand and hand Rag a bottle of water. He holds it in his palm but pushes the bottom of it into my shoulder. I glance from the bottle to his face.

  “No. You do not need to go there,” he warns.

  “I’ve been there before.” I hated it, and really, I made a pledge never to go back, but that was before I knew in my heart that Jesse was there. I’m so certain, I can practically visualize him sitting in that shitty trailer, that smell wafting throughout the room, and his former step-father lingering around in search of more ways to get even.

  “Don’t matter. I got this. He’ll come with me,” Rag says, turning to leave, his keys already in his hand. I grab his shoulder to stop him.

  “No, he won’t. He’ll come if I’m there, though.” His eyes simmer. He knows I’m right. Jesse will dig in and want to blow off more steam; he’ll fight his cousin, and he’ll maybe disappear somewhere else. If I show up, I can disarm him. I can get to his heart.

  “Fine,” he says.

  “Dad, we think we know where Jesse is. I’m going with Rag. We’ll be right…” I stop when I notice my dad is gathering his things and dialing someone on his phone. He stops and shirks his shoulders.

  “What? I’m coming with you,” he says, holding up a finger.

  My father seeing Biddy’s house is a tremendously bad idea on so very many levels.

  “Hey. How’s it going over there?” He covers his opposite ear and walks a few steps away to talk to my mom. I listen as he responds with a few “ohs” and “uh-huhs.”

  Rag’s eyes pierce mine like lasers, and all I can do is stare back harder and say “I know!”

  We both know what my dad will be walking into at Biddy’s. It’s a side of Jesse I don’t want to share more of with my parents, but it’s a side of Jesse that exists.

  “Right, Ari thinks she might know where Jesse went, so I’m going with the kids,” he twirls his finger as if there’s no more debate.

  That means there’s no more debate.

  “This is a bad idea,” Rag grumbles.

  “He just called us kids. Do you think we can argue with him?” I say.

  We both sigh simultaneously, and it’s the exhausted and defenseless kind that means we’ve hit the wall and the only way to get to our boy is to climb or drill. We’re tired. But we keep on fighting.