Nick froze. Until Hunter touched him, he hadn’t realized how much he’d expected this revelation to bring about nothing but revulsion.

In a flash, a memory came to him. He was standing at the stove with his mother, learning how to make macaroni and cheese. He had to be eleven or so. She’d put an arm around him and kissed him on the top of the head.

He’d leaned into the contact, and she’d said, “You’re the only one who still lets me do that. My gentle boy.”

He’d let her do it still, if he could. He missed her touch more than anything.

She wouldn’t have judged him. He knew. He could have told her.

He rubbed his hands down his face before his eyes could get ready for a fresh round.

“Are you going to tell Gabriel?” he asked.

“No,” said Hunter. His voice changed and he looked over.

“Do you want me to?”

Well, that was a loaded question.

Nick finally shook his head. “No. You’d seriously keep it a secret?” he said skeptically. “He’s your best friend.”

“I know a lot about keeping secrets,” Hunter said. “And this one isn’t mine to tell. But I know it’s going to tear you up until you let it go.”

Nick knew that. This secret already was tearing him up.

A key pressed into the front door, and Nick jumped. He knew— knew—it was his twin brother. He quickly wiped his eyes on his sleeve and took a quick gulp of coffee. He’d run for his room, but he’d never make it up the stairs before Gabriel came in the house.

With a quick flash of fury, he wanted to tell him. He wanted to fling the truth in Gabriel’s face. He wanted to pick a fight, to let this rage and fear and pain pour into something.

Then Gabriel was in the foyer and Nick couldn’t breathe.

Gabriel took one look at them and shook his head before pushing between them to head upstairs. He smacked Hunter on the back of the head. “Leave my brother alone, jackass. He’s already got enough freaks pining after him.”

It was a miracle Nick didn’t shatter the mug between his hands.

Hunter didn’t move until Gabriel disappeared into the bathroom. Then he said softly, “Look, I get it. Why you don’t want to tell him.”

Nick had to put the mug down or he was going to spill coffee everywhere. “Really? You sure? He’s so subtle. ”

“He doesn’t understand—”

“No, but I do. He thinks g*y guys are creepy freaks. Got it.”

Nick didn’t want to stay here. He was almost shaking with rage.

He couldn’t imagine sleeping under the same roof as his brother.

But he had nowhere to go.

Hunter took a breath. “He doesn’t think you are a creepy freak, Nick. I think you should give him a chance.”

“Fuck him. He doesn’t deserve a chance.”

“Wow.” Hunter pushed the hair back from his face. “All right. Your secret, your call.” He stood.

“Hey,” Nick said, losing some of the rage. “Thanks. It—it means a lot.”

“No problem.” Hunter paused and leaned against the bannister. “You’re wrong, by the way.”

“I’m wrong?”

“I’m not his best friend, Nick. You are.”

CHAPTER 20

Quinn studied herself in Tyler’s bathroom mirror. Steam clouded the glass, but she could make out her face, her neck, and the edge of the towel wrapped around her body. A shadowed bruise remained across her cheek, but the swelling was gone, along with her headache.

She was glad for the lingering bruise. She didn’t want to forget her mother’s voice or the way she’d swung that trophy.

Or the things she’d said.

Whore. You ruin everything.

The worst part was, Quinn believed her mother. Hell, she had proof. She dated guy after guy who was perfectly content to sleep with her and shell out the bucks for a movie or a dinner, but when she needed a friend? Yeah, busy. Or the dance team at school, who’d kicked her to the curb for a bad attitude. Well, who could blame her, with those bitchy girls. Attitude was just a way to endure it all.

Maybe that was her fault, after all. Maybe she had ruined it.

But then Nick. And Becca. No one wanted her. No one needed her. Even when she was needed—like for Adam’s dance audition—she couldn’t get it together to show up with any reg-ularity. Clearly her fault.

Besides, it wasn’t like Adam had asked what was wrong when she’d texted him earlier. He’d almost brushed her off like he’d expected her to space out. Suddenly furious, Quinn picked up her phone to read the text again.

No worries, he’d said. Let me know when you can meet again.

Okay, maybe she was reading negativity into that. He didn’t know what was going on. Maybe she should have texted something like, Sorry. My room was turned into a crack den. Catch you tomorrow maybe?

Yeah, and then what would have happened? He probably wouldn’t have believed her.

Quinn remembered this one time her mom had thrown a knife at her head. Two years ago, the first week of freshman year. They’d been screaming about something inconsequential—

as usual—and her mother had grabbed a steak knife from the block on the counter and flung it at her.

Quinn had run to Becca’s, using the key her best friend’s mom had provided, sitting shaking in a kitchen chair until Becca came home.

Becca had thought she was being overdramatic. “A knife,”