Shana's daddy carried me back to our trailer and her mama brought me a steaming bowl of chili to eat for dinner.

It never did end up raining that night. Shortly after dusk, the storm clouds dissipated quickly, giving way to silver moonlight and clear skies.

Sprawled on the double bed that I shared with my mom, I had my SAT prep book spread across my lap. I'd done unexpectedly well the first time, but wanted to see if I could push a little harder to improve my scores and any chances at scholarship money.

I was dozing off when someone called my name from outside the window. It had to be Peyton, but I leaned over and peeked through the blinds anyway. I smiled and waved at him.

"Hang on, let me get to door," I said, grunting as I tried to roll off the bed.

"It's open," he said. "Just stay there, I'm coming in. I didn't want to scare you to death by walking in without warning." He disappeared from view, so I quickly pulled the worn white sheet over my legs.

Seconds later, he ducked into the trailer, making the space suddenly seem a lot smaller. After all, at the end of the day, the trailer was only twelve feet across by sixty feet long.

I regularly picked up after my mom, but there was only so much I could do in the limited space and clutter still largely dominated it.

Peyton stepped around a half-packed rolling suitcase and made his way down the short hallway until he stood in the doorway to the tiny bedroom. "You really should lock the door."

"I know. I meant to. I forgot."

He looked at my face, then at my legs. "Why didn't you tell me you hurt yourself?"

"How do you even know about that?" I asked, keeping my tone light. "It barely just happened."

"I overheard Lottie on the phone, so I got it out of her."

I wondered what else he'd heard. More than a few people had seen Jake carrying me to his car, and if that wasn't juicy gossip, I didn't know what was.

"I'm okay," I said. "It's just a little sprain."

Peyton reached into his pocket, pulled out an iphone, and held it out to me.

"What's this?" I asked.

"A phone. For you."

I took it and turned it around in my palm. It was brand new.

"I've already set everything up so it's good to go," he said.

I was probably the only teenager on earth who didn't have a cell phone. I used to have one of those prepaid cheapies, but didn't replace it when it got lost. Truth be told, I didn't have friends to text or call. The only person I ever called was Peyton when he was at school, and I just borrowed my mom's or Shana's phone for that.

"I can't afford this." I said.

"Don't start all that with me again," he said, the sharpness of his tone surprising me. "It's exhausting Layla. I paid for it. I'm paying the monthlies. It's yours. Just drop it."

I opened my mouth to argue, but shut it again when I realized how worn and stressed he looked. His skin looked ashen, dark circles like bruises beneath his eyes. His mouth was drawn into a tight line and his jaw ticked with frustration.

I looked down at the phone and swiped. And smiled at the picture set as the background. It was a shot of me from the other day, on the dock by the lake. I had my back to the camera and my legs in the water, the surface of the lake holding a beautifully undulating reflection of the glowing sunset.

"It's more for my peace of mind anyway - you shouldn't be wandering around town without a phone. What if something serious were to happen? What if you got into an accident or your bike fell apart on the road or something? Then what?"

I would've hitched a ride, but I knew better than to tell him that. Instead, I opened up the camera app and snapped a picture of him.

He wasn't amused.

"Next time, if you need help, you call me," he continued. "If anything happens when I'm not around, you call my lawyer. Whatever you need, whenever you need it, he'll take care of it. His number's in there. It's under -"

"Lawyer?" I asked with a grin. I was terrible with names.

He nodded curtly.

He looked terribly unhappy in the photo I took so I switched the camera to video and aimed for his face. "Smile Peyton," I said, flashing him a smile of my own to encourage him.

He glowered at me.

"Awwww come on honey," I coaxed, putting on an exaggerated country accent. "Show the judges your pretty white teeth!"

But he just stood there scowling until I gave up and put the phone down. "Well, someone's in a shitty mood tonight," I said. For good measure, I pouted, bowing my head, pursing my lips and lowering my eyelashes. He was a sucker for that and usually gave into me when I trotted it out.

Not this time.

"Talk to me Layla," he said softly. "Tell me what's going on."

"Scrabble!" I cried, scrolling through the phone again. "You know you're going to have to play this with me all day now don't you? And I'll beat you every time."

He didn't reply so I pressed on.

"Gosh it's been so long since I've played games. Are you sure you trust me enough not to charge a shit ton of apps to your account?" I teased.

"You can buy anything you want Layla," he said, all serious, still staring at me.

I stared back.

He took a seat on the edge of the bed.

Warily, I watched him as he reached out, took the sheet in his hand and slowly dragged it off my body.

"It's looks a lot worse than it is," I said softly.

"Who did this?" he asked just as softly, his eyes locked on the bruises.

"I did. I fell."

"Was it Lottie?" His voice was so low and so soft that I could barely make out the words.

"I don't know," I said.

The light left his eyes and his face darkened by ten shades.

"Peyton." I reached over, grabbed his wrist and gave it a light shake. "Hey, look at me. Peyton. Look at me."

When he finally turned his face to mine, the look on it chilled me to my bones. The flatness of his eyes, the alabaster tone to his skin, it all reminded me of her. Subconsciously, I dropped his wrist and recoiled.

Upon realizing what I'd done, I moved closer to him, twisted ankle be damned. "Peyton," I said softly, and lightly touched my hand to his cheek. "She wasn't even there. It could've been Kylie. Or somebody else -"

"It was Lottie. You know it was," he said darkly.

"Even if it was," I said patiently. "It was an accident. They put this er... slime in my locker as a practical joke. I slipped and fell. They couldn't have known that would happen. They couldn't have planned that."

My lips defending their actions made me want to puke, but I did it anyway. Because Peyton...

Because there was another side to Peyton.

I knew that part of him, and it was ugly, and twisted, and brutal and broken.

"Thank you for the phone," I said in my sweetest voice, inching closer to him, close enough that we were nose to nose. I smiled my best smile and fluttered my eyelashes, trying to get him to look at me, trying to break the spell.

It didn't work.

His entire body was tense and he remained as still as a marble statue, just as cold and just as beautiful.

Because still waters ran very, very deep.

I touched him, running my hands over his shoulders, touching the back of his neck, trying to quiet the raging inside, trying to reach him to pull him out.

But it took something from the outside to break him out of it.

My mom walked in through the door.

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