I WAKE UP TO STREAMS of sunlight on the crook of Carson's neck. Warmth surrounds me, and we cling to each other like saran wrap; my legs twisted in his, his arms secured around my waist. I never thought I'd be happy to wake up in this trailer park again.

He stretches and yawns, his hair is ruffled and his eyes are puffy with sleep. "Damn, I almost thought I dreamt that up."

"Hey, you're awake," I say.

"Yep. So, last night was... wow."

I bite my knuckle. "Wow's one way to put it."

Outside, two guys—Garnett and Lucas, I bet—shout at each other.

"Damn it, Luke!"

"Piss off!"

Whether I'm dating their brother or not, I still don't like those guys. But when Carson bursts out laughing, I can't help but join him.

"Welcome to my mornings," he says. "C'mon, let's get breakfast."

Carson lends me one of his hoodies. The oversized, red fabric swallows me, and it smells like last night—smoke and cologne and Carson. If I've ever been addicted to anything, it's his smell. Thinking about it makes me want him again. But then I remember everything else, and my stomach flops. I pull my phone from the back pocket of my jeans. Go figure, it's clogged with about fifteen messages from Mom. They start calm and spiral from worry to anger before she settles on a final text: Please let me know you're safe.

I reply: I'm fine. I stayed at Carson's. Don't worry, I'll get to school and be home for work later.

I've never acted out like this. I hope Mom doesn't blame herself, but either way... I don't regret it. I needed that time to clear my head and be happy. And last night was probably the best night of my life. But now with the sun shining, reality settles over me like a cloud of dust. Dad. At some point, I'm going to have to face him again, but I don't want to think about that right now. I tuck my phone in my pocket and follow Carson into the hallway.

The smell of maple syrup wafts from the kitchen, and Dorothy hums London Bridges. Shit, now I have to face her after clearly sleeping with her son. If it was my mom we were about to give a 'special surprise' to, she'd be livid—not outrageously, but in that quiet we'll talk about this later type of way.

But when we get to the kitchen, Dorothy's face lights up. "Oh my goodness, Jillian! You're here! I didn't even realize!"

"Hi..."

Dorothy flips a pancake. She's wearing a long, pale yellow dress with lilac flowers over it. It looks familiar. Then it hits me: the dress from the photo.

"I made breakfast," Dorothy chirps. "Pancakes. You like pancakes, right, Jillian?"

"Yeah, I love them..." I trail off and look to Carson for comfort. When he pulls out a chair for me, I sit in it.

"My mom's as good at making pancakes as I am at mac n' cheese." Carson slides into the chair next to me, and I smile at him.

Dorothy opens the window above the sink and hollers, "Garnett! Luke! Get in here, breakfast's ready!"

Garnett and Lucas barrel in like two hungry kids even though they're in their twenties. When they see me, they both freeze—Garnett with a frown, Lucas with an unmistakable scowl.

"The hell are you doin' here?" Lucas asks. "I figured that was your junkmobile out front."

Garnett elbows him and mutters, "You really need to ask? Shut up, man." He then kisses his mom on the side of the head and thanks her for making breakfast.

A minute later, we're all at the table with our plates and glasses of pulpy orange juice. The awkwardness is like an unreachable itch under my skin; the last time I talked to Carson's brothers, I bitched at them to stay away from my family. Now I'm at their breakfast table. Garnett doesn't look at me, but Lucas's eyes—sharper and more snake-like than Carson's—stare me down. We pass the maple syrup.

"So, Jillian," Dorothy says, "how's your mom? Oh! Or your aunt? We haven't seen Colleen around for a while."

I stiffen. "Colleen's in rehab, actually."

"Oh, poor Colleen. I couldn't even imagine being away from my boys. That must be so hard on her."

"Yeah, but it's better for everyone this way."

"How so?"

I'm not about to talk crap about my family, but I also don't like lying, so I say, "Colleen's struggling with the booze again... it's not good for her to have it kicking around him all the time."

"We used to have booze kickin' around all the time," Lucas says. "Nothing wrong with us."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Isn't this great?" Dorothy rests her chin on her clasped fingers. "Carson always shoos his girls away before breakfast, but now we actually get to sit with one!"

"Mom," Carson says. I keep my head down.

"He used to bring the one around," Garnett says. "Orange haired one."

Mandy.

"That one was screwing around on him hard." Lucas smirks at Carson. "Glad to not have her slutty ass anywhere near us anymore."

"Shut up." Carson crams a bite into his mouth. I slice my pancake into little squares with a butter knife, but don't eat.

"Jillian isn't like that," Dorothy says. "She's a sweet girl and her mom raised her right. Right, Jillian?"

Everyone looks at me. The hairs on my neck raise, but calm when Carson touches my arm.

"Jill, you don't have to answer that."

Lucas points his fork at me. "Let 'er talk, Carse."

My cheeks are on fire, but I square my shoulders. "If you're asking if I'm going to cheat on Carson, the answer's no, of course not."

"Better not." Lucas keeps eating. "'Cause if you do, we're gonna have a problem."

Carson drops his fork. "Lucas, I swear to God, man."

"What? Just don't wanna see you get hurt again, Carse."

"But you hurt him." The words pop from my mouth like a rocket. Everyone looks at me, wide-eyed, and Lucas's gaze darkens.

"What did you say?"

Damn it. I didn't mean to say that out loud, but it's too late to back out now. "I'm talking about Carson's face, Lucas. He still has scars from when you shoved him into a broken vase."

Lucas laughs. In this light, he looks so much like Carson that I have to turn away. "You think you know everything, huh? Why don't you try asking Carse what really happened that—"

"That's family business, Jill," Garnett cuts in. "Doesn't matter if you're dating our brother. Keep your nose out of it." Despite his words, Garnett's voice holds more of a friendly warning than a threat. "We're leaving. Thanks for breakfast, Mom." He shoves away from the table and slaps Lucas's shoulder, beckoning him to join. Our eyes don't leave each other as he leaves.

Hot blood pumps to my skull, but when Carson's brothers are gone, regret rolls in. What the hell was I thinking? I should've kept my fat mouth shut. Now the room drips with tension, and even Dorothy looks uncomfortable.

"Sorry about Lucas," Carson mumbles. "He's just... an asshole."

"No, it's fine." My voice shakes. "I shouldn't have said anything like that."

"Don't worry."

But I am worried. At this point, adding fuel to the fire might as well be my middle name. How can I ever come here again?

"I wish you could stick around, Jillian!" Dorothy exclaims. "We could spend the day together. I'd love to get to know my boy's girl."

"Sorry, I have school..."

Dorothy's eyes fall on Carson. "Are you sure you're feeling up to class today, baby?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine."

"You're looking a little pale." She puts her hand on his forehead. "And you're burning up."

He sips his orange juice. "I feel fine, Mom, really."

"Well okay. But if you're not feeling well maybe Jillian could stay and help you feel better."

"We have school." Carson's always patient with her, but his eyebrow twitches as he picks up his plate and cup, bringing them over to the counter. "Just forget it, Mom. We're going. You ready, Jill?"

"Oh, yeah." I collect my dishes and scoot my uneaten pancakes into the trash bin. This trailer is suffocating me; I need out now. Between Dad, CPS, and Carson's asshole brother, school sounds like the one place I can go to escape drama. Talk about a different dimension.

As I'm dropping my plates into the sink, something on the counter catches my eye. There's a dusting of white powder next to a ring of condensation from a cup.

***

Lucas's words keep me in a bad mood all day, and to make it worse, Val's home with the flu so I can't even rant to her about anything. At lunch, I wait by Carson's locker and scroll mindlessly through my phone. He should've been here twenty minutes ago, and I'm beginning to feel like an idiot for waiting so long.

People glance at me as they pass. Carson and I aren't the PDA type, but everyone with eyes can see we're more than friends. It causes whispers. When we showed up together this morning, I heard Mandy's friends say, "Let's see how long this lasts," and I'm pretty damn sure they were talking about me.

Just as I'm about to give up and go to the cafeteria alone, Carson jogs up with his backpack falling off his shoulder. His skin is pale and his eyes are rimmed with red. "Hey, sorry," he says through a yawn. "Totally dozed off in the library."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just sleepy, that's all. Sorry."

I want to kiss him, but everyone is so annoyingly nosy. Instead, I touch his hand, and his ice-cold fingertips graze mine.

"So, this is why you've been avoiding me."

We turn around. Shae stares at us with blue eyes framed by lashes so pale they're practically frosted. Carson's grip on my hand tightens.

"What the hell, Blue," Shae says. "I've been texting you all weekend, you couldn't even reply once?"

After I talked back to Lucas this morning, I'm not getting involved in any more drama. Still, this is so classic Shae—ever since we were kids, he's acted like he owns Carson. One time he got so mad at Carson for inviting me to help with their snow fort that he threw a hissy fit and stormed off the playground. Now that I think about it, that was probably the first time I became aware of how much he dislikes me. Shae and I have stayed at a distance since then; he lets me come to his parties, but he doesn't talk to me. Ever.

"I was busy, Shae," Carson says. "Working."

"Yeah." He looks at our interlocked hands and death glares me. "Seems like you were real busy, Blue."

After biting his lip, Carson lets me go and says, "Give me a sec, Jill." Him and Shae go stand by the lockers. I hang back and cross my arms. Worry rises in me; Carson's been doing so well at keeping clean, and I'm scared if he starts hanging out with Shae again, he'll be tempted to use. They used to be the same height, but Carson's growth spurt shot him up while Shae's only 5'5 and skinny as a rail. But they really have been best friends forever, so they need to figure their shit out.

"Some best friend you are," I hear Shae say over the hallway chatter. "You blow me off for Jill Williams the second she bats an eye at you. You didn't even do this with Mandy. I don't get it."

"We are best friends," Carson says, "but I told you before I need some time to chill out."

"Why? So you can try to impress her? She's never gonna accept you, Blue."

"She already has."

Shae punches him in the shoulder. "Until you screw up."

Carson presses his fist into Shae's chest and backs him into a locker. "Do not mess with this, man. I'm serious."

Shae's eyes narrow at me over Carson's shoulder. I don't look away. Whether him and Carson are best friends or not, Shae needs to know I'm not going anywhere. Especially after sleeping with Carson, I feel closer to him than ever. Shae lowers his voice so I can't hear what they're saying. Whatever it is, it diffuses the situation, because Carson steps back and wrings his hand along the back of his neck. Just like that, they fist bump and part ways.

"He wants me to come to the lake this Friday," Carson says to me.

"I thought you were fighting?"

"Don't know. He's still my best friend. I feel bad. And you could always come with me. It's just the beach, not at Shae's place. It'd get him off my back if I just came out."

Do I want to go to some beach get together with Shae? No. But I have a bad feeling in my gut. I should trust Carson, but if he goes without me, what if he...

"All right, I'll come with you," I say. "But if Shae's a dick to me, I'll just leave."

"He won't be. Not if I can help it."

***

After school, Carson and I head downtown and get slushies to kill some time before work. We walk along the strip under the afternoon sun. My straw squeaks against the plastic lid as I sip it, and a numbing pain creeps through my skull at the cold.

Compared to last night, today has been blah at best. Both Lucas and Shae are in my head, but especially Lucas. Carson walks next to me with his one hand in his pocket, the other holding the slushie. He stares at his feet.

"Something's been bugging me," I say.

"I'm really sorry, again, about today. Should've known Shae would be weird about us together."

"No, it's not that. It's about what Lucas said this morning."

Carson's jaw tightens, but he straightens up.

"About what really happened the night he hurt you," I clarify.

"What about it?"

"I thought you said it was because of your dad?"

"It was, but... it was a bit more than that, I guess."

Did he lie to me before? "Like what?" I ask.

"Look, my brothers are assholes. I know that. But they do care about me, and that night, Lucas was all mad 'cause he didn't want me using."

"But you were clean around then."

"Yeah, I was. It was just about how I'd gotten high a few weeks before that. It's like, an ongoing thing, I guess. Garnett and Lucas think it's cool to get wasted all the time, but they get mad at me for doing—" He stops himself and averts his eyes. "Anyway, it was just that, piled onto all our other family horse shit. That's all Luke meant."

Our stares meet, and Carson half-smiles. I scan his face for any reason to doubt him—something about this doesn't smell right. But I want to believe Carson would never lie to me, especially after last night.

"Okay," I say. "But just so you know, you can tell me anything. I won't get mad at you. I don't want you to feel like you have to hide stuff from me, okay?"

Carson opens his mouth to respond, but a strum from a guitar on an amplifier reverberates through the sky, loud enough to startle a flock of birds from a maple tree. The cheer from a crowd follows.

Oh God.

Without thinking, I storm toward Chester Park. Carson chases after me. People cluster around the bandshell, and on the stage is my dad with a black electric guitar and an amp, a mess of wires tangled around his feet. Carson and I converge with the growing crowd, and I shield my eyes from the sun with my hand.

"Hey everyone, it's been a while since I've been back," Dad says into the mic. He plays another quick chord. "But I'm here now, so I thought I'd put on a little show. How's everyone doing?"

The crowd cheers. At least a third of the people are from school, but there are a lot of parents, too. Kids even. Damn it, what is he doing?

"Good, good." Dad strums again. "How 'bout I play a little song for you all then? It's been a long time since I've played without my band, but I wanna do a little somethin' for my hometown. How 'bout a cover? This one goes out to my daughter."

Asshole. Thank God no one notices me; they're too absorbed in Dad to turn away. He starts playing Bob Seger's Turn the Page, a song about touring, how exhausting it can be, and trying to move forward while being stuck on the same old road. And it's like a slap to the face. Because I know he's been partying since the day he left, just like he'd partied every day before that. Now he's trying to sound like it was hard on him? Like it hurt?

"This is such crap," I say. "He always acts like some kind of victim. He still doesn't get how hurt I was when he left. No, he doesn't even care. He just wants me to forgive him so he can feel better. It's not about me, it never has been."

When Carson doesn't reply, I look up at him. He smiles at the stage with starry eyes.

"Tell me you're not enjoying this," I say.

He snaps out of it. "What? Uh..."

"Wow. You're a fan, aren't you?"

"No!" Carson glances toward the stage, then back at me. "Look, he's a bad guy, Jill. I'm on your side a hundred percent. But it is sort of cool, I mean he's famous—"

"Cool? Really? After everything I told you he put me through, you think it's cool that he's here?"

"No. Look, sorry. Hey, come here." He pulls me into his chest and traps me in his arms. Even though I'm pissed as hell, I melt when I breathe in the smell of his hoodie. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "It's not cool he's back. I shouldn't have said it, and I didn't mean it how it came out."

I pull away and try to get a grip. "I'm sorry, Carson. I'm just a mess right now. I do get it—he's a rock star. Everyone wants to meet someone famous."

"It doesn't matter. He treated you like shit, it's not cool he's back. Sorry."

"It's okay. I'm sorry. I'm just... freaking out lately. I don't know how to react to any of this."

I rub my temples. Dad's still playing, so I take a deep breath and watch him in his natural habitat. On a stage, in front of a crowd drunk on his music. He lives for this, and in the videos of Judas Cradle I've watched on YouTube, he normally spirals around the stage like some sort of Tasmanian devil. Now he's stationary, and his eyes are shut softly as he sings. And instead of feeling angry and bitter and resentful, I'm exhausted. Defeated. I want this part of my life to be over, because I've wasted seventeen years being hurt by my dad and I have no idea how to make it stop.

After anything, there's only one thing I haven't tried.

But is it possible to forgive someone selfishly?

To accept his apology not so he feels better, but so I can move on?

I don't know. But I hate myself for even considering it.