“Yeah. The pale blue really brings out the color in my eyes.” She looks around the room. “Leo?” she asks me.

“I’m here,” he says, stepping out from behind Dad, seeing her in the hospital for the first time. He raises a hand, refuses to look her in the eyes. “I miss you,” he croaks.

Laney frowns, looks at me. “Can you give us a minute?”

We give them the minute, but the minute turns to fifteen and I’m sick of waiting. I go back in the room to see Laney holding Leo, his sobs catching in her gown. She raises a finger and I go back out, wait some more. Eventually, Leo appears, wiping at his eyes. “We’re ready,” he tells me.

Laney squeals when I tell her the news. “So we can be together? You’re not going anywhere?” She hugs me tight, and I tell her to be careful—her stitches—but she doesn’t seem to care. Her hug is replaced by Dad’s, Brian’s, and then my brothers. Leo holds me the longest, tells me he was scared, that he didn’t know what he’d do without me, and the truth is, I was scared, too, of what I would do without them.

I call in another favor from the head chef at Pino’s, and he’s more than happy to oblige. Everyone knows about the shooting, about Lane, and he offers to make her meals every night she’s in the hospital, on the house. I pick up the food, and Lane and I have dinner on her bed, the room light dimmed, and swear it, you couldn’t wipe the goofy grins off our faces if you tried. “Are you sad about not beating Lord Voldemort’s record?” she asks.

“Voldemort?”

“He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.”

I shrug. I haven’t even thought about it. Haven’t gone on a single run since prom. “Not really. It’s petty compared.”

“Yeah,” she says. “Besides,”—she points to herself—“You got the grand prize right here.”

She’s crazy.

And I love Crazy Laney.

I get home at 6:59, get Lachlan ready for bed. I asked that I be the one to tell him, so he has no idea. I get into bed with him. “Guess what?”

“You’re dumb and I’m not?”

“Well, yeah.” I roll my eyes. “But… I’m also not going anywhere.”

“No baddy jail?”

“Nope. You’re stuck with me until you’re thirty, kid.”

He laughs uncontrollably, the sound contagious. He jumps on the bed, and I let him. I look around his room, see his shrine dedicated to me, see the trophies, the medals. And a calm washes through me, a vision of my future. I take one more look at the trophies, say goodbye to my old life. A life that never defined me like my family does. Like Laney does.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

LUCAS

The minivan smells like hot dogs and stale socks, and I smile in Dad’s direction because he just said, “I’m proud of you for doing this, Luke.” I should do more than just smile because I’m lucky. Really, I am. And everyone’s told me so. Numerous times.

The day after Mrs. Kennedy paid Lane and me a visit at the hospital, two things happened. UNC called, offered me back my scholarship. I told them I’d think about it. The biggest thing, though, was that Lane’s lawyers showed up at the hospital, along with Mrs. Kennedy, and they helped guide us toward a decision that would affect Laney’s future, her life.

In the back of the van, the twins fight over an iPad, Lachlan licks the window, Logan listens to gangsta rap through his giant Beats headphones and Leo reads. Everything is back to normal. Only, it’s not. Because I’m on the way to my graduation ceremony, while across town, Cooper Kennedy’s pleading guilty, accepting a plea bargain that puts him away for eight to ten years. The back half to be spent in minimum security where his mom will do everything she can to help heal him. He wasn’t a bad person, she told us, he’s just really troubled. I wanted so badly not to believe her, but he’s her son. And truth is, my mother would’ve done the same.

I sit in a robe in the middle of a row of chairs, listening to Grace (the valedictorian) relay her speech about what a great four years high school has been, how high school is and will always be the greatest years of our lives, how excited we should all be about our future, how the rest of our lives start now. Next to me, Lois settles her head on my shoulder, excused from the alphabetized seating and name calling so I can help her up the steps and onto the stage. She didn’t want to use her crutches.

Two days ago, she was released from the hospital under the doctor’s advisement, not hers. That night, she and Brian also celebrated their freedom, away from the hospital, away from debt. Their “insurance” covered everything.

Names are called, one after the other, and the families cheer and they clap, and when my and Laney’s names are called, we slowly make our way up the steps, shake hands with Principal Jenkins. The cheers intensify, all for Laney, now known by the town as The Girl Who Got Shot.

After the ceremony, I help Brian move some bags from his trunk to the minivan. Laney’s moving in with me. At least temporarily. She’s set on life going back to normal, which means Brian going back to work. I’ll be taking her to rehab, check-ups, taking care of her. I called Lucy, asked if we could have the cabin and they use the apartment, just for the summer, to save Lane from climbing the stairs. I also asked if she and Cam could help out with the boys so I can focus on Lane. Of course, she said yes. She’s a Preston.

“I stripped the sheets so we should be safe,” I tell Lane, opening the cabin door for her. “And I filled the pantry, bought everything you like. I got some good recipes online, stuff even I can make. And I brought over all your craft stuff. I figure you can still use your hands so…” I drop her bag by the front door and pat down the couch for her.

“I love you, Lucas,” she says, her smile heard in her words. “And I love that you’ve done all this for me.”

“It’s no problem.”

“But you know what I’d really love?” She leans on her crutches, exhausted.

“Rest. Of course. I’ll get the bed ready.”

She laughs. “Luke.”

“What?” I check over her. No blood everywhere. “What’s wrong?”

“I want you to pick me up, carry me to the bedroom, and I want you to make out with me for, like, five hours straight.”

I grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

I run a finger between her bare breasts, around the dressing covering her wound, down to her panties, and back up again. We made out for a total of five minutes before she wanted me to take off my t-shirt, which of course I did. Then she asked me to take off hers, then her bra, then her pants, and then we made out for another minute more before she winced in pain and I told her we should stop. So now she’s lying on the bed, her leg elevated, looking up at me while I smile down at her. “The doctor said we should wait a couple of weeks, make sure everything’s healed before we start sexing again,” she says.

“You asked him about it?”

She shakes her head lazily, worn out from the long, active day. “I think he could tell by the way we were around each other.” Her words are slow, drawn out, and I can tell she’s losing the fight to fake it.