in the darkness. “I’d like to see you around more often.”
Oh, shit. I don’t have the energy for this tonight. “Listen, I hope I didn’t give you any ideas by accepting your help. I’m not looking for . . .” I’ve always sucked at these conversations. Whether I’m trying to flirt or let a guy down gently, it never comes as naturally to me as it does to Bailey. “My life is kind of complicated right now.”
He arches a brow and rocks back on his heels. “I just asked about your boyfriend, and you think I’m coming on to you?”
“I . . . well . . .” I roll a piece of gravel under the toe of my sandal. “I’m sorry. A lot of people think that since Brogan’s accident, I should . . .” I hate this, but I force myself to lift my chin and meet his gaze through the darkness. Away from the porch light, I can’t make out his features at all, but I’m questioning myself now. Maybe he does look familiar. Maybe I’ve seen him around before. Not here, but where? “I just didn’t want there to be any confusion.”
“Your dad needs you. You should come around more for him.”
Nodding absently, I climb into my car to dodge the guilt trip I don’t need. I’m doing all I can for my father. At Nic’s funeral, Mom tried to talk me into going back to Arizona with her. In the years since she left, she’s gotten a teaching degree and now has a good job teaching Spanish at a high school out there. She told me I could live with her and go to college there. She practically begged me, and I declined—not just because my relationship with her is screwed up, or because I didn’t want to be that far from Brogan. Part of me relished the idea of running away after that horrible night, but I could never leave my dad alone.
No, I don’t need a guilt trip. Guilt is a constant for me.
I pull away from the trailer park as quickly as I arrived. I’ve had to take unscheduled hours off from the Woodisons four or five times in the two months I’ve worked there. Thus far, Gwen has been accommodating when it comes to my absences, but I don’t like to push it. Besides, there are too many memories here. Too much pain.
When I pull into the Woodisons’ circle drive, the floodlights click on, cutting through the darkness of the country night. I take the spot next to Arrow’s Mustang, throw the car into park, and climb out. I close my eyes and take a deep breath of the clean country air. The old neighborhood suffocates me. Or maybe that’s from being around my dad. My guilt and frustration with him get so tangled that I don’t even know whom I’m angry with anymore—myself for leaving him to live in that hovel, or him for doing nothing to pull himself out.
Dad and I aren’t so different. We both want to escape our lives. The difference is the path we take. I’m searching for freedom through school and work, and Dad finds his escape in booze.
“Way to feel self-righteous, Mia,” I mutter. But that’s why I took the job with the Woodisons, isn’t it? Dad would rather see me dealing drugs like Nic than have his daughter work for Uriah Woodison. I knew that, and I told Dad I was living with Bailey and took the job anyway, telling myself that Uriah owed me this, that I was doing what I needed to do to help Dad and get myself through college, promising myself that what my father doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
But were those my only reasons? Or did part of me hope this might get me closer to Arrow?
Before tonight, he hadn’t spoken to me since our fight on New Year’s Eve. He came to the hospital the evening after the accident, but the only indication that he even knew I was there was the moment his eyes skimmed over the bloodstains on my white dress. He sat in the waiting room with his teammates and didn’t say a word to me. Not I’m sorry about your brother or—what I really needed to hear—It’s not your fault.
I stare at Arrow’s Mustang and fight to keep my breath as grief threatens to rip it away. Arrow might be angry with me, but I’m disappointed in him. I needed him after the accident,