Blake’s eyes narrowed slightly. “The road?”

   “Yeah.” I turned away. His eyes had the power to wreck not only me, but also the walls I’d spent my life building. “The Road,” I repeated, as if saying the words again would make him understand. Lying back, I leaned on my elbows so we were level. And I waited. I knew the questions were coming, and even though Clayton was the only one who knew my answers, for some reason, I didn’t feel the need to hide them from Blake. “After graduation, I’m taking off.”

   “Taking off?”

   “You keep repeating my words, like they’re questions.”

   “Yeah, well, your answers aren’t really answers. They’re just words.”

   “How are answers formed, if not with words?”

   “By words that form explanations.”

   “Explanations are the same as answers.”

   He laughed. “Shut up and explain.” He poked my shoulder with a single finger. “Properly.”

   I sucked in all the air my lungs could handle and then let it out in a whoosh. “I’m just gonna get in my car and drive. No destination. No maps. Nothing. Just drive.”

   “For the entire summer?”

   I turned to him, finding it difficult not to look at him when he was that close. “Kind of like an endless summer.”

   I could see the question in his eyes before his mouth opened, but before he had a chance to voice it, I cut in. “It’s kind of the plan for the rest of my life.”

   “The rest of your life?” he said incredulously.

   “And there you go, repeating my words again.”

   He shook his head as if clearing a thought. “I’m confused.” And he looked it. Which made him even cuter. “Are you going on your own?”

   I nodded.

   “Forever?” His tone had changed—past confusion—into something completely different.

   I nodded again.

   “Why?”

   “Because.” I shrugged. “There’s nothing keeping me here. I don’t have family. I don’t have any friends—”

   “I’m your friend.”

   That made me laugh. “I guess. But I’ve known you . . . what? A week? As far as being a reason to stay, I don’t think that really cuts it.”

   He sighed. It sounded as dramatic as it did genuine. “And you’re going by yourself?”

   He seemed closer, or maybe it just felt that way. The air around us intensified as I forced myself to answer. My voice came out shaky when I finally did. “Yes. Why?”

   Blake

   “Why?” I said back.

   Her laugh was all-consuming as she pushed playfully against my chest. I fell back onto the warm metal of her hood. “You just keep repeating what I say.”

   I did. But I really couldn’t form any other words. “I just worry about you,” I said, looking up at the night sky.

   It was silent for so long that I thought she’d left me. Just as I was about to turn to her, her hand swept down my arm and onto my palm. I heard her exhale right before she laced her fingers with mine. “You don’t need to worry about me, Blake,” she said quietly. But she was wrong. And I realized it then—that even if I tried, I couldn’t help but worry. It could have been because of the way we’d met, or it could have been because she meant more to me than anyone ever had. “I don’t know, Chloe,” I said. “I kind of feel like someone has to, you know?” I turned to her, wanting to see her reaction.

   She was already facing me; her eyes glazed with her unshed tears. She blinked quickly, letting them fall and wiping them away before I could do it for her. “You can’t do that, Blake. You can’t worry about me like that.”

   Josh’s shadow fell on her. “Here, Free-Pussy Hunter.” I sat up, reached for the joint he offered, and placed it between my fingers. I watched as his eyes moved down to Chloe and my joined hands. He didn’t say anything. He never would. She must’ve noticed, though, because she tried to pull away, but I held on to her tighter.

   There was no warning that they were coming. No sirens. Just the flashing of blue-and-red lights.

   “Tommy,” Josh said, almost as a whisper.

   Why would he be thinking about Tommy?

   He turned his back on the cop car, just as their doors opened and two uniformed officers stepped out. “Hunter, man, I can’t lose him.” He pulled out the bag of weed from his pocket, his hand shaking as he did. Eyes wide, he turned his head slowly from side to side. I’d only ever seen him like this once before—the day he’d realized Natalie was gone. He was scared shitless.

   I could see there was no time to throw the bag in the bushes or even put out the lit joint I was holding. Without thinking, I took the bag from his hand.

   Even though it all happened in a matter of a few seconds, it felt like an eternity. The joint between my fingers was pure fire in my hands. I dropped the bag onto my lap, just as a flashlight shone in my eyes, blinding me. “Hunter,” the cop asked, “is that you?”

   And that was when I knew it was over. My future. Whichever road I travelled—I was done. Basketball. My dad. All of it.

   “Thanks, baby.” Chloe’s soft voice broke through the silence. She picked up the bag from my lap and took the joint from my fingers. Then proceeded to smoke it.

   “What the hell are you doing?” I tried to whisper, but I’m sure it came out louder than I’d wanted.

   “Whose marijuana?” the cop asked, now shining the flashlight at her.

   “Mine. Obviously.” She took another drag. “He was just holding it for me.”

   “I call bullshit,” the second cop said.

   “Yeah?” She jumped off the hood, letting go of my hand as she did. “Clayton Wells is my foster brother. You can call bullshit all you want, or you can call him and ask him where I got this weed from.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

   Blake

   A cab had picked us up from the half-court and dropped Josh at his house before taking me home. Josh hadn’t said a word after the cops took Chloe away. I knew he felt guilty and that it was all his fault. I hadn’t even thought twice about taking the fall for him. He was my best friend, and had a shit ton more to lose than I did. Chloe, though—she hadn’t needed to do any of it. In the grand scheme of things, we were nothing to her. Like she’d said, she’d known me a week.

   I’d gotten in my car and driven to the station. I’d panicked when they’d started asking questions about my relationship with her. I didn’t know shit. I didn’t even know how old she was. So I’d done the only thing I could think of: I’d called that seedy place she had taken me to a week ago and asked for Clayton. He’d shown up fifteen minutes later. That was seven hours ago. Seven hours with nothing more than a single nod of acknowledgment when he’d walked in. He’d spoken to the cops about her and then had taken a seat opposite me—his long legs kicked out in front of him. A few officers had greeted him by name, and I wondered how they knew him.