4 years earlier

"Truth," Colby said, waving a homemade fan before her face. It was hotter than the blazes. Being outdoors wasn't their first choice, but it was better than being tasked with chores, were they to be caught skulking around at either of their homes.

"Alright," Wyatt replied. He furrowed his brow, stroking his chin in a manner he hoped appeared maniacal and taking his sweet time.

"Come on, already!" Colby said, giggling at his ridiculous face. They were seated in the shade beneath their favorite tree, having moments before been splashing in the river to cool themselves. It was a more subdued game of truth or dare, as it was only the two of them, and dares were difficult to come by in the middle of the pasture. Still, it wasn't impossible.

"Okay, I have one," he said, leaning over his crossed legs. His hands were folded before him, and he studied her before he spoke, a wicked grin on his face.

"What?" she shrieked, flushing with the intensity of his analysis.

"Do you really have a crush on Ari?"

There it was—the question that had been itching at his mind for days. How he prayed it was a lie...

"On...Ari?" she asked, confused. "As in Aurelius Castillo?"

He nodded, waiting patiently and intently wiping all emotion from his features.

"Are you out of your mind!?" she cackled. "How in the world could you think that's even worth asking?" She threw her head back, laughing at the absurdity of it.

Sweet relief! Perhaps Ari wouldn't be competition after all. Her continued amusement at his foolish conjecture had him shifting uncomfortably. How had he been so wrong?

"Mari and Wynn swore it was true!" he said, and she raised an eyebrow. Oh...

Of course. They knew his feelings for Colby better than he did. It was probably an ill-conceived attempt to get him to act. Somehow, it had actually worked.

"Alright, my turn," she said, still snickering and wiping a stray tear from her eye. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," he said, taking a deep breath. "Only, I wanna dare myself."

"Well..." She gave genuine consideration to this new development. "Okay, I guess you can do that."

Eyeing him suspiciously, her bright blue eyes shone with curiosity. A subtle smile played on her pouty pink lips, and he knew he was about to change everything.

"I dare myself to kiss you," he said, his eyes meeting hers earnestly. He couldn't be sure it was something she wanted, and so he waited. He wouldn't go through with it unless he knew for certain.

She leaned nearer to him, closing her eyes. Her delicate face was glowing, the tips of her cheekbones a perfect shade of crimson. The scent of her minty Chapstick was suddenly overwhelming to him.

Shit! he thought. How does this work?

He swiftly realized the fatal flaw in his spur of the moment plan: he'd never done this before. Neither had she.

Up until a few years ago, the thought of putting his lips on any girl voluntarily made him grimace. He'd always wondered how his mom and dad kissed so readily, not to mention willingly. Over the years, though, the cooties faded, giving way to a strange little spark of desire. And he didn't want to try something so unexpectedly intriguing with anybody else.

Throwing caution to the wind, he resolved to give it his best.

He placed his hands on either side of her face, his thumbs gently grazing her cheeks. He tipped her chin upward, erasing the distance between them as his eyes fell closed. His mouth met hers for the first time.

There was no greater feeling in all the world.

"It's about time," she whispered against his lips.

Indeed, it was.

Colby

"How ya doin', B?" Wyatt asks quietly.

He's seated beside me on a rickety wooden bench in the lobby of the police station. We each have a wrist cuffed to either side of the thing, and I'm being careful not to let any bare skin touch its grime encrusted splintering surface.

I sincerely hope I'm up to date on my tetanus shots.

"For the eightieth time, I'm fine," I respond, giggling. Despite the fact that I'm sitting here waiting to be booked for my first night in jail, this is the best night I've had in years.

Wyatt squeezes my knee with his strong hand, his brow furrowed.

"I feel awful," he repeats, shaking his head. He's been apologizing every few minutes for the entire half hour we've been here, but honestly, there's no place I'd rather be as long as he's here.

"You shoulda run or something," he says, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He casts his eyes downward toward the filthy laminate floors, designed to give the illusion of real marble, only I don't think I've ever seen marble curl up along the edges.

"You can't always take the fall for people you know," I tell him. I inch closer to him, peeling myself away from the viscid stain that they've slathered all over the bench. It must be part of their 'scared straight' program because I'm more terrified of all the parasites littering this place than anything else.

I rest my head on his shoulder for the second time tonight. He gently runs his fingers up and down the length of my spine, and I'm undone.

We've wasted so much time.

The white noise of the police station fades away, and I focus on the rhythmic drumming of his heart— steadfast and consistent, like him.

"I don't do it for everyone, you know," Wyatt continues suddenly. I've almost forgotten what we've been talking about, so I wait a moment for him to elaborate. "I only tried to save your ass tonight 'cause you were so smooth out there. You've got some guts, you know that, B?"

Heavy footsteps make their way toward us, and I glance up to find our officer friend smiling pleasantly as he lumbers forward.

"I heard you got South's flag tonight," he says excitedly, bending down to unlock the cuff linking me to the bench.

"Yes, sir," Wyatt and I reply in unison. We both do our best to look contrite, but I sneak a quick peek at Wyatt, catching that mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

"No need for the formalities, kids. The name's Jesse," he says, chuckling. He extends a hand to me, helping me to my feet. "Ladies, first."

My pants try to take things to the next level with the bench as they cling to the numerous layers of sticky stain, but finally detach as I rise to follow Jesse over to his desk. He rustles through the unruly stacks of paper on his desk until he finds the forms they made Wyatt and me fill out upon our arrival.

"I'm a former Raider," he states proudly, as he pecks away at his yellowed keyboard, undoubtedly making my new criminal record official. "In fact, I was part of the team that snatched the flag back in '07," he adds, beaming.

Ah. No wonder he's been so lenient with Wyatt and me.

"Listen, I don't wanna book you two, but I've gotta go through the motions here. Seems like Officer Banks got his panties in a bit of a twist over the whole thing," he continues, snorting. "He's a South alum. I guess catchin' y'all tonight feels like a win for South in his book."

"We didn't intend on any panty twistin', sir," Wyatt replies candidly, and it doesn't take looking at him to know there's a devilish grin playing on his lips.

Officer Jesse cackles, scanning my fingerprints into the system.

"You're all set Ms. Byers," he says, planting his hands firmly on his desk. He kicks his chair out from behind him as he rises to his feet. "Sit tight and we'll get your boyfriend all set here. Then y'all can get cozy in that cell 'til someone can come pick you up," he adds with a playful wink, nodding over his shoulder at a set of concrete walls, enclosed by gray steel bars.

Jesse meanders on over to Wyatt, removing his cuffs as he had mine. They return to where I'm seated, and Jesse pulls up an extra chair from a neighboring desk for Wyatt to sit in beside me.

"Officer Banks never said if he recovered the flag after he busted you," Jesse says eagerly, his words dripping with an unspoken question. He's focused on Wyatt's police form and has already started uploading his information into his stone-aged desktop computer. I wouldn't be surprised if the screen on this relic was still black and green.

"My buddy tucked it under his arm before we all scattered," Wyatt replies coolly. Jesse nods with approval, again clicking furiously at his computer.

The monitor hums loudly, echoing through the silent halls of the nearly vacant police station. On second thought, it may be the harsh fluorescent lights emitting the electrical buzz reverberating throughout the facility. Whatever the case may be, being here with Wyatt is worth every moment of this.

It's not like I'd have wanted to go home anyway.

Wyatt and Officer Jesse are wrapping up with their chatter, and it would seem that Wyatt has very effectively charmed him into forgiving us for any and all wrongdoing.

The three of us stand and make our way across the room to the dull gray holding cell. This is the part I've been dreading since we got here. Being shut into a tiny little closet of a cell was never high on my priority list, but at least I won't be in there alone.

The doors at the front of the station fly open, and another officer walks through holding the arm of a filthy looking older man who can barely keep his footing.

"Heyyya Jesthe!" the dirty man shouts, waving wildly. "Officther Dan here sayths I can come and sthpend the night." He seems completely unaware of the fact that he's handcuffed. Either that, or he doesn't care.

Wyatt and I turn curiously toward Jesse who hangs his head with shaking shoulders. When he glances up, he's still laughing, and his eyes are brimming with tears.

"Don't mind old Buck over there," Jesse explains, still chuckling. "He gets hauled in here about every other night for public intoxication along with a myriad of other minor offenses. He's harmless... he's essentially our station's mascot."

I smirk at Wyatt who is eyeing Buck warily, but doesn't seem too concerned.

"Good to have ya back for the night, Buck," Jesse hollers cheerfully, acknowledging the old man's greeting.

He unlocks the door to our cell, which is one of only two that I see here. The rusting metal hinges screech as they rub against each other. Wyatt places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me into our swanky accommodations for the evening. He stands protectively behind me, folding me into his embrace.

Even with the musky odor permeating this old, rundown building, breathing him in is the best scent I can imagine.

"Let me just get Buck taken care of, and I'll get y'all the calls you're allowed," Jesse says as he locks us into the stark space.

I won't be needing my call. As disgusting as this place is, I think I'd rather wait here with Buck than use it. Between Alex, Mom, and my Dad's chaotic hours that he's been trying to manage, I'm content to be out of there for tonight. I do feel guilty leaving Luke at home without anyone to lean on, though. He's too young to deal with all of this.

"Dammit, Buck!" Jesse grumbles, drawing my attention once more. "Gimme that." He stalks over to old Buck. Seems he has managed to hold on to a mostly drained bottle of rum.

Jesse takes the bottle from Buck and tosses him a sucker from a jar on his desk.

"Thanksth Jesthe," Buck says, flashing a two-toothed smile. I cringe as he smacks at the sucker with his gummy mouth. "What're you two in fur?" he bellows to Wyatt and me. Jesse winces at the volume of Buck's voice, booming into his ear. I suppose it could also be his potent breath.

"Umm," Wyatt stifles a laugh. "Trespassing."

Old Buck nods in understanding."Drunk an' disthorderly!" he shouts, further increasing his volume as he points at his chest. He smiles his wide, nearly toothless grin.

Jesse walks around his desk, helping Buck safely to his feet, and the pair stagger over to the holding cell next to Wyatt's and mine. I'm pleased to see the care with which they handle the inebriated man. You never know the circumstances people are facing privately—what could lead somebody to a life that brings him to this police station every other night. I have a feeling his life has been difficult.

Who am I to complain about mine?

Once Jesse has Buck all locked up, Buck shuffles over to the cot in the corner of his space. He squats down to sit on the edge, nearly missing it.

"Oof! Almothst took a tumble!" he says, resituating himself on the tiny bed.

"You're up for your call, Ms. Byers," Jesse says, unlocking our cell door.

"Thanks, Jesse, but I don't need mine," I say, smiling sheepishly. "Wyatt can go."

Wyatt's expression fills with concern as he breaks himself away from me. "Stay over here," he whispers, eyeing Buck on the other side of the barrier.

"You don't have to tell me twice," I say, amused by his concern. What does he think I'm going to do, make old Buck my new BFF?

Wyatt reluctantly follows Jesse toward the phones, and I'm grateful that we're in this giant mess together.

"Where'd they pick ya up gorgeouth," Buck shouts from his cot, his legs swinging wildly like a little kid in a shopping cart.

This is going to be a long night.