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PROLOGUE

Marshall

The sound ofmuffled voices through the wall gets louder and louder. Mom and her new boyfriend are fighting again. It doesn’t matter who the guy of the moment is, things are always like this—the honeymoon period followed by an up-and-down relationship where one minute they love each other and the next they hate each other.

She loves to argue, to have the last word, and thrives on drama, and so does every boyfriend she chooses. It’s a recipe for disaster, and I’m just along for the ride.

I can’t wait to get the fuck out of this house. If it was my choice, I wouldn’t ever sleep here, and a lot of the time, I don’t. For most of my life I’ve spent more time at my best friend John’s house than I do at my own. His parents are great and accept me as if I’m another son to them. John treats me like a brother. He didn’t so much as blink when I told him I’m bisexual, something I’ve only shared with him. He has my back and even said he would ask his parents if I could officially move in with them, but no matter how chaotic my life is at home, I’ve never been willing to let him do that.

I feel guilty for wanting to leave my mom because I know she feels like everyone leaves her, like she’s something to be thrown away, but what she doesn’t realize is how she’s passing that down to me. She always chooses the man she’s dating over me, will leave me for weeks at a time with John so she can party and travel and do her own thing, then when things go to shit, she reels me back in. Tells me it’s just the two of us against theworld. And sometimes it feels that way until she meets someone new again.

The yelling continues.

Then heavy stomping down the hallway until it’s too far away to hear any longer.

That’s Lyle.

Softer stomping.

Mom.

The front door slams, shaking the house. That means he went outside, wanting to leave, but she’ll try to get him to stay. If I hang around any longer, they’ll be making up, and I definitely don’t want to hear that part.

I can go to John’s. I know that. He’ll probably be pissed at me if I don’t. John is the kind of guy who wants to be everything to everyone. He can do anything, but he’s also not a dick about it, which I don’t think happens very often. But damn, I feel like a loser having to depend on him, always knocking on his window in the middle of the night so he can let me inside. For his parents making extra dinner in case I show up.

When Mom and Lyle stumble back into the house, her bedroom door closing almost as hard as the front door had moments before, I get out of bed. Hearing your mom have sex? That’s never fun, and in our tiny two-bedroom house with its thin walls, I hear everything.

I tug on a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt. I have clothes at John’s that I can wear to school tomorrow, and I keep toiletries there too, so I just pull my shoes on, grab my backpack, and head out. Mom won’t notice I’m gone, or if she does, she won’t think twice about it. She’s not the type of parent I have to check in with and tell her what I’m doing.

Even though I’m seventeen and have my license, I don’t have a car, so I jump on my bike and ride to John’s. I’m hoping to save enough money to buy a cheap used vehicle soon.

All the lights are off in John’s house, and I stand out front for a moment, studying it. The house has two stories, with a fresh light-blue paint from last year. There are flowers out front and a garden in the back. John’s basketball hoop is in the driveway, where we spend a lot of time shooting. Their whole street looks straight out of a family TV show, one where there might be a little drama sometimes, but at the end of each episode, everything is tied with a nice, perfect bow. They’ll always come together and do what’s right while supporting each other.

I head around the side of the house, surprised when I see the lamp on beside John’s bed, through his downstairs window. It’s late, and we have school tomorrow. He’s usually in bed earlier.

I knock gently, and a moment later the curtains pull apart and there he is—brown hair messy like he’s been running his fingers through it, the way he does when he’s nervous. John wears his heart on his sleeve, especially around me, so I immediately know something’s wrong.

He opens the window, and I jump up and climb inside. There’s no reason not to use the door—his parents would never care about John having me in—but this is just something we’ve always done if I come over at night.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m freaking the hell out.” John sits on the edge of the bed, his leg bouncing up and down.

I frown. “What happened? Is it your mom?”

“Callie’s pregnant.”

My mouth drops open. It’s not as if I didn’t know John and Callie have sex. They started dating when we were fourteen—our freshman year. They were each other’s first everything. She’s the first girl John asked out, the first girl he liked, held hands with, kissed. They lost their virginity to each other, but I also know John always uses condoms. He’s too responsible not to do something like that.

“Shit…shit…how?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Condoms aren’t a hundred percent. She just told me tonight. I’m going to be an eighteen-year-old dad,” John says, and I’m not surprised. There’s nothing wrong with making the choice that’s best for you, and John would support the right to choose for anyone, but I know him, and I know Callie well enough not to be shocked.

“Fuck.” I sit down beside him.

John is the star quarterback on our high school football team. There’s no doubt he’ll get into a D1 school to play football. He’s a straight A student, one who manages to party on the weekends like a lot of teenagers, but also work and volunteer and be a great boyfriend to Callie, best friend to me, and a good son to his parents.

“If anyone can handle it, you can.”

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