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“The police.”

“Oh my God, you’re being ridiculous. No one’s going to think you’re a creeper. Please come play with me.” I throw out my best pout, and I see the resolve in his eyes cracking slightly. He stares up at the arcade in front of us, uneasiness washing over his features. When he looks back at me, my heart breaks just a little bit for him. This isn’t the face of a man looking back at me right now. It’s the golden brown eyes of a little boy who’s been through more shit than I could ever even imagine.

Okay, so maybe the arcade was a really bad idea.

“I can’t go in there, Ad,” he says, his voice rough with emotion, and I look back up at the arcade for a second before making my decision.

“You know what? I’m starving. You wanna go eat?”

He stares out the window for a second before clearing his throat and nodding. “Yeah, I could eat.”

Pulling out of the parking spot, I try to figure out what it is about this building that gets to him so much. As we were growing up, Trey always seemed to have this standoffish quality to him. After his mom overdosed and the Harringtons adopted him, all those sharp edges softened ever so slightly but he still seemed unreachable sometimes. It was only over the past year and a half that I realized that those edges are a vault keeping his secrets locked away. Sometimes, I wonder if he keeps them locked away so tightly because he’s afraid of what will happen if he admits them.

Over the past year, though, I’ve slowly been encouraging him to open up, and he’s been trying, even if it is like trying to pry something open with a crowbar. He’s talked to me a lot about his mom, about her drug problems but he doesn’t really talk about his dad, and I don’t know if it’s because he was so young when he left, and he doesn’t remember him or if the things that lurk in his memories are too dark to voice. I hope with all my heart that it’s the first but deep down, I worry that that’s not the case.

I pull up in front of one of our favorite burger places, and Trey flashes me a smile, his stomach grumbling loudly. I laugh and park the car. “Wow, I didn’t realize you were that hungry.”

“Neither did I. You better feed me before I die over here,” he jokes, climbing out of the car. It amazes me how well he can just switch off his emotions sometimes. Truly like he’s locking them away behind a steel door. But I wonder how long that door will be able to hold, and I worry that he’s under the impression that he can keep those secrets locked away for the rest of his life.

After climbing out of the car, I meet him around the front, and we walk into the restaurant in silence, finding a small table in the back. As soon as we sit down, the waitress is at our table taking our drink orders. When she leaves, Trey starts picking at his napkin, and I can practically see his mind racing.

“I’m sorry, Ad,” he finally says, glancing up at me.

“For what?”

“I just…my mom…she used to drop me off there when she went to score, and I haven’t been back there since the night she died except for that stupid birthday party that Daisy had there.”

Tears sting my eyes, and my heart breaks for him again but I know that he’s already shutting down again so I don’t offer him my sympathies. “Wait, are we talking about the birthday party where Tucker threw up all over Daisy’s cake?”

He smirks and nods. “Yeah, we were pretty hung over.”

Frowning, I just stare at him, confused. Trey doesn’t drink, like, at all. “I thought you didn’t drink?” I ask him, and that darkness crosses over his face again.

“I did in high school. You know, that typical rebellion except that I could see I was going down a dangerous path – becoming like my dad so I stopped.”

“Oh.”

I never met Trey’s dad personally. I’ve heard from everyone else that he’s an awful, miserable person. Truly scum of the earth but even on his worst day, I can’t ever see Trey like that.

“So, how’s it going with the boyfriend?” he asks, completely shutting down, and I sigh, trying once again to adjust to the abrupt change in his mood.

“Um, good. We’re good.”

“Uh-oh.”

“What?” I ask, looking up at him. “I said we’re good.”

“It’s not really what you said. It’s how you said it. What did he do?”

Our conversation is interrupted as the waitress sets our drinks down on the table, and we order our food. When she leaves, I look up at Trey and sigh because the look on his face makes it clear to me that he’s not going to drop this.

“Come on, what did he do? I’m your friend, Ad. You can tell me anything.”

I sigh and shake my head. “Nothing. He didn’t do anything.”

He watches me closely for a minute, almost like all my inner thoughts are printed across my face. I’ve never felt like a person could see into my very soul the way Trey does. Understanding flashes across his face, and he nods. “Ah, I see. Is that the problem? Is good ole Kyle just a bit too boring for you, Addilyn?”

“Shut up, Trey,” I snap, throwing my straw wrapper at him, not wanting to admit that he hit the nail on the head, and he just laughs because he knows me better than anyone else.