I let myself dream it, for a little while, anyway.

“When you come to visit me, you’ll get to play on the grass and climb trees right in your yard,” he tells me, ruffling my hair.

I nudge away, grinning. “Stop it. I’m not a baby.”

We rise to our feet, and he looks at me, shaking his head. “Does Dad have those parties a lot?” he asks me about all the noise last night.

I nod, leading the way back toward the house. “Yeah, but it’s best to stay out of the way.”

“Why?”

I shrug and stare off down the street. “Some of the people don’t like kids.” Or they like them too much.

I’m thirteen now, and even though I barely remember what it was like to live with my foster family, I know how bad things make me feel.

And what I feel now is a lot worse than what I felt when I was five. No one should have to see the dirty things I see going on at my house. I thought it was normal, but I don’t think it is. My friends at school don’t have dirty houses that smell bad.

During the parties, I usually leave and camp out on the wood chips underneath the playground. When I get home in the morning, everyone is passed out or too out of it to be bothered with me.

I see the old gray car coming down the road, and my stomach flips.

I turn to Jared. “Let’s go to the park,” I urge.

“It’s almost dinnertime,” he points out. “Plus, I wanted to see if I could use Dad’s phone to call my mom and Tate.”

My cheeks ache, because I’m trying not to cry, and I want to bury myself in his T-shirt. It’s such a stupid feeling, and I feel dumb, but it would make me feel better.

Jared is bigger, and he always wears black. If I can wrap my arms around him, I can dive into where it’s dark, and I feel as if maybe I can hide.

I see them get out of the car, my father’s friend Gordon and my father’s girlfriend, Sherilynn. I turn toward Jared, giving them my back.

“Jax!” Gordon calls, and I wince.

Jared’s eyes flash over my head, and then he looks down to me. “Who is that?”

I try to calm my breathing, but my stomach is lurching. “That’s Gordon. Dad’s friend.”

“Jax!” he calls again, and pain shoots through my stomach. I reach out, wrap my arms around my brother’s waist, squeezing the wind out of him as I bury my face in his shirt.

Jared’s here. Jared’s here. Jared’s here. He’ll protect me.

But Jared was only fourteen. He couldn’t help me.

It was then that I knew my days as a child were over. There was no one coming to save me, and I was simply a prisoner by choice. I was on my own, and I was done being helpless.

I punched the black bag, jabbing my fist at it again and again, swinging my right and then my left. My fists, wrapped in tape, threw blow after blow. Right, right, left. Right, right, left, rear back, kick, right fist again.

Sweat drenched my chest and back, and my hair stuck to my body as I whipped around and threw four uppercuts on the bag behind me and darted out my leg again, jabbing the bag to my right.

“I want you to be better.”

I growled, throwing punch after punch, blow after blow, until my knuckles burned.

“So, are you hiding?”

I jerked up and spun around to see Tate in the doorway.

My chest rose and fell as fast as my heartbeat. “Hello to you, too,” I mumbled sarcastically before turning to continue my attack on the bags.

We hadn’t seen each other in weeks, and I knew my brother’s girlfriend was going to start in on me about Juliet.

I knew it, because she’d tracked me down. After dropping Juliet off the other night, I’d come straight to Madoc’s house to stay awhile and get my head straight with some distance. After five days of being here, I was still working on that.

“Look, I’m not going to pry,” she continued. “K.C.’s not talking about it, but I saw you drop her off last weekend, and I know something is wrong. Katherine called, too. You haven’t returned her texts, and she was worried. I said I would check on you.”

I punched the bag, zoning in on the small tear in the leather. I hadn’t meant to worry Jared’s mom.

“I know you want to be alone, but Jared’s coming home this afternoon,” she said, “and I want you there.” She circled around to stand on the other side of the bag, holding it for me. “Please come home.”

I hesitated, blinking, and then continued lighter punches. Jared would kill me if I hurt her, after all.

“Her name’s Juliet,” I reminded her.

“I know.”

“I can’t come home, Tate.”

Her long blond hair swayed as I jabbed the bag harder and harder.

“Yes, you can,” she implored, grunting every time I hit the heavy bag. “You can always come home.”

I looked down at her. “She must hate me,” I whispered, more to myself. “I can just picture her nose turned up so high that she’s probably getting nosebleeds.” I punched the bag harder, feeling guilty at Tate’s wince.

But then she laughed. “Actually she hasn’t talked about you.”

I stopped and stood up straight. After what had happened at the fun house and at the Loop, I was sure she’d have to talk to somebody.

But she wasn’t talking about me? Like at all?

“Yeah.” Tate nodded. “She’s fine. Hasn’t said one word about you. She’s getting busy applying for her student loans. She’s thinking about changing her major to education to be a teacher, and she’s getting her job back at the movie theater for the summer.”