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She jammed her hand against the rusty lock and cracked it open forcefully. Analise immediately covered Taylor’s mouth and put a finger to her lips, bracing for Ulla’s footsteps.

Taylor stayed put, but his eyes dropped to the hand over his mouth, and his hot, moist breath tingled her palm.

When no sound came from Ulla, Analise hissed to him, “What are you doing!”

He gently removed her hand. She noticed his half-lidded eyes and smelled him.

“You din’ answer . . . ” he slurred. His face crumbled for a moment.

She presented the dead phone to prove her innocence. “I’m so sorry—wait—you drove here!”

His grin was crooked, and she spun her mind over what to do next. “Stay there,” she whispered and stumbled in the dark, looking for her sneakers and sweatshirt. Once she had them on, she lobbed one leg over the windowsill, then the other, ducking through the opening and into Taylor’s arms. “Where are your keys?” she stage-whispered again.

He frowned and fumbled with his jacket and jeans pockets. She took his hand and led him from the house. Their footsteps crunched over leaves and dead grass. His Jeep was hiked halfway onto the curb.

She opened the unlocked passenger door, pushed him in, then rounded to the other side and found the keys still in the ignition.

Taylor slumped into his seat. “Do you know how to drive a stick?” He giggled and then palmed his face. Analise would have loved to hear him laugh, but not under intoxicated circumstances.

She put her seat belt on. When Taylor made no move with his, she exhaled in annoyance and reached across to do it for him.

She adjusted her seat, pushed the clutch, and revved the engine. “Why were you drinking?” she asked, easing the clutch and shifting into first gear.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Analise released a condescending snort. “That’s a great reason.”

“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know why I’m drinking.”

“Your dad?”

“Among other things,” he muttered.

“I can’t believe you drove over here drunk.”

“I wasn’t drunk when I left.”

She stopped at a light and looked over at his face, the red glow illuminating his dull, vacant expression. “He didn’t even want to be at my game,” he said, “but I’m sure my mom pressured him, and you know when he left to take a phone call?”

Her gut tightened. The light turned green. She shifted gears.

“Business call?” he spat. “Fucking cheater.”

“It wasn’t,” she confessed, her own anger percolating.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Analise pressed the clutch, shifted to fourth, fifth, and gunned the Jeep onto the freeway.

“Tell me,” he demanded.

“What’s your address?”

“Four seven double oh merry-fucking-lane. Cough it up, Berglund.”

She examined his boyish eyes. They seemed to be the only permanent remnants of childhood left in his adult body. If she told him and confirmed his worst fear, would she risk losing that sight? Would the truth be cruel?

Taylor faced the window. “It won’t surprise me. In fact, I’ll feel better. I won’t feel crazy. I won’t have to listen to my mom’s bullshit excuses for him.”