RAMSAY.

The house was dark when Scout pulled into our driveway.

The boxing thing had been an emotional release for me. The first time he’d offered to take me back home, I shook my head and moved to the smaller punching bag. He watched me for a long time before I heard him go pick up a jump rope.

He worked out. I saw him on his phone, so maybe he told his uncle he’d train at his house. I didn’t know. I never asked. I just moved around his garage. He had weights. Other punching bags. A post sticking up with sticks pointing out at odd angles. There were exercise balls and other things I didn’t know how to use. After an hour, I got my phone and headphones out. I turned on the music, and eventually, as my body got tired and my mind went numb, I settled in the corner. There were a couple of couches, so I curled up and pulled out my homework.

I studied as Scout continued working out.

He only stopped a few times to grab food—or, fuel, as he called it.

My stomach had growled, as I hadn’t eaten anything at lunch, so I grabbed one of his sports drinks from the fridge set up in the garage. I only went into his house to use the bathroom, and that was just inside the door. Each time, I went directly back to the garage. I could’ve snooped. I didn’t think Scout would’ve cared, but I didn’t.

I continued my homework until I was able to read ahead in two of my classes.

When Scout pulled up to my place, I reached for the door and got out. I didn’t say a word. Neither did he. He left, and I went inside, already knowing my mom was working a double tonight. She’d sent me a text on her break, informing me, but I still hated seeing the note she’d left on the counter. It was next to some money for me to order food.

I left the note and cash where they were and headed upstairs. I knew my plans for the night.

I got ready for bed, but grabbed my blankets and pillows and took them all downstairs. I locked the doors and went through the house, double checking that all the windows and the back doors were locked too. Then, with a bottle of wine and a bag of chips in hand, I curled up on the couch. The TV was turned on.

I set my alarm for the morning and watched The Fallen Crest Diaries, popping open the wine and taking a big slurp of it.

I was halfway through episode five, season one, when a loud knock sounded at my back door.

I screamed, launching myself off the couch.

The pounding continued.

“Who is it?!” I yelled.

“It’s Clint!”

I groaned, willing my heartbeat to return to normal as I made my way to the back door.

“And me!”

I stopped right before I got there. That was Alex.

If he was here . . . “And me!” That was Trenton. All three had showed up.

I lifted the curtain so I could see them, and moved around, trying to see who else was with them.

Clint frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Checking to see if you brought my aunt and uncle too.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “Let us in. We brought pizza.”

Just the mention of that had my stomach growling again. I opened the door and grabbed the box Alex held.

“Hey!”

I took it into the kitchen, and Trenton shut the door, locking it.

They each had their bookbags and some other grocery bags, and when Clint dropped one on the counter, I saw he had a change of clothes in there. “You guys think you’re spending the night?”

“We know we are.” Alex passed me, grabbed a slice, and went to the fridge.

“Uh . . .” Trenton was at the couch, and he held up my bottle of wine. “We need to talk about this, Rams?”

Clint snorted. “Right on.” He went to the cabinet and grabbed another, taking the top off. “We each get our own.”

Alex’s eyes widened, but he took the wine from Clint and took a drink. Wincing, he handed it back as Trenton came over, reaching for it.

“How was the game?”

Trenton shrugged. “We won, but not by as much as we should’ve.”

“You’re coming next time?”

I nodded at Alex. “I couldn’t, not today, after . . .”

“We get it.” Clint gave me a look and a small nod. He understood.

“Scout said you hit the bag for an hour straight,” Alex said. “How are your arms?”

“Like jelly. I’m going to hurt tomorrow.”

“Dude.” Clint reached over, took my wine from Trenton, and slid it back to me. “What do you think that’s for?”

He was right. I took another drink. My stomach was swishing around. Wine. Numbness. My body was beyond tired, and now there was pizza. Best night ever. My cousins deciding we were doing a sleepover? That was the cherry on top.

“No party for you guys tonight?”

All three threw me looks. Clint rolled his eyes. “Right. After today? When our cousin needs us?”

That warmed me up. “Thanks guys.”

“Topic change. What are we watching?” Clint eyed the television. “Oh. No. No, no, no. We’re not watching that soap-opera, teen-drama shit. No way. We’re watching a horror movie or something—anything but that stuff. Seriously.”

Alex laughed. “We’re aware you’ve already binged the whole first season.”

“Wha—I did not.”

Trenton picked up the pizza box and carried it to the couch. “It was either you or Dad, and I don’t think Dad even knows what that show is, so you’re caught, Clint. ’Fess up to it.”

Alex brought the wine over.

Clint’s mouth was hanging open, his pizza forgotten in his hand. “I—I’d never—”

“You did!” Alex yelled, disappearing into the hallway. He came back carrying a bunch of blankets.

Trenton looked around, frowning. “Where are your pillows?”

I pointed to where Alex had just come from. “In the closet.”

“I got ’em.” Alex went back and returned with his arms full of pillows.

Clint still hadn’t moved.

Alex dropped the pillows on the floor, and then he and Trenton moved the coffee table to the side. They’d begun spreading out the pillows when I had an idea. “Wait.”

I darted upstairs to the guest room and pulled out two air mattresses.

“Oh, sweet.” Alex had followed me. He picked one up and gestured to the top corner of the closet. “We can line those up on the floor for anyone who wants extra space.”

I grabbed the foam mattresses he’d pointed out and followed him back down.

“Oh yeah. That’s what I’m talking about.” Trenton came over, all smiles, and grabbed one of the air mattresses. He took it over, plugged it in, and spread it out as the air pumped in. “These are perfect.”

“I call couch.” Clint was about to sit when a pillow whacked him in the face.

Alex glared. “Help set up.”

“Yeah, douche.” Trenton added.

Clint motioned. “You guys got it covered. Besides, everyone knows my real job is to be emotional therapist for Ramsay.”

I started laughing as I took the wine out of his hands.

“Hey.”

I pointed at the blankets and the foam mattresses. “Help, then drink.”

He growled, but it was all an act. He was fighting a grin as he spread the mattresses out.

By the end, we had a whole mecca of blankets from the couch to the television. The mattresses raised everything up, so the couch just seemed like one end of a giant bed.

It was glorious. I loved it, and I curled up in the corner of the couch with my favorite blanket over me. I kept my wine on the corner of the coffee table within arm’s reach. My phone was quiet, I’d eaten three delicious slices of pizza, and was already half asleep when Clint won the battle and pulled up the latest horror movie.

Alex and Trenton stretched out on the mattresses, their feet toward the TV and heads propped up by pillows. Clint was on the other end of the couch. When Alex switched positions so he was on his stomach, his head toward the TV, I knew he’d be sleeping within minutes.

And he was, his soft snoring filling the room.

Clint moved his foot, getting my attention.

I raised my eyebrows at him.

He held up his phone, and I saw him texting.

My phone lit up a second later.

Trenton moved to his side, letting out a loud yawn, and pulled his blanket tighter. He’d be next to fall asleep.

Clint: You and Scout hung out tonight? What was that about?

Me: Nothing.

He kicked my foot, glaring at me.

Me: I mean . . . there’s a weird attraction between us, but we also hate each other.

Clint: Are you serious?

Me: I don’t like it either, but I think tonight was just about distracting me. I really can’t explain it.

Clint: What did you guys do?

Me: I punched his bag for a long time. He trained, and then I studied on his couch in the garage. We didn’t even talk.

Clint: Really?

Me: Yeah.

Clint: Alex is worried about you and S. I am too. Trenton too.

Me: You don’t have to be. For real.

Clint: We don’t want you to get hurt again. It feels like we just got you back, you know?

I sent him a smile because my chest warmed.

Me: Thank you. Love you guys for coming over and doing this.

He grunted, and Trenton lifted his head to look at him.

“Sorry,” Clint said softly.

Trenton closed his eyes and curled into a ball.

Clint: The consensus is that we don’t like you and Scout, but we can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. I know Alex is going to talk to Scout privately, which he said is none of anyone’s business, but you know what that’ll be about. Could you let me know if things change with you and Scout? Not that I want to know—because I don’t, but I love you and feel like we should know. So we’re aware. Is that cool?

Clint: That was a fucking long text.

I grinned, laughing softly.

Me: I will.

Me: What’d you do after school?

He frowned.

Clint: ?

Me: You know what I mean. There’s no question if you did something. I know you did something. What’d you do?

His mouth went into a flatline.

Clint: Better if you don’t know.

Me: Clint . . .

Clint: Leave it alone, at least for now.

I frowned.

Me: Tell me if I need to know, okay?

He didn’t reply right away. I kicked his leg.

He grunted, but texted.

Clint: I will.

Me: Good. LOVE YOU

He grunted and flashed me a slight grin before he tossed his phone to the floor and settled back down.

A girl was about to get butchered on the television, and I had a moment because I realized that between my cousins, the drama of finding out who did what at school, and Scout, I hadn’t thought that much about my dad or Max today.

All that warmth had firmly settled in my chest. It wasn’t moving.

The horror movie was so bad that it was making me laugh. The guy was butchering the girl with a rubber chicken. Who used a rubber chicken to commit murder?

Clint kicked my foot, rolling his eyes. “Shut up. It’s not that bad.”

“It’s pretty bad.”

He started laughing, covering his mouth so he wouldn’t wake his brothers, but he agreed with me.

It’d been the perfect fit for the night.