And right under it, in his handwriting, even and blocky: I’m not perfect either.

CHAPTER 15

Gabriel poured Cheerios in a bowl and chased them with milk. Not much of a dinner, but food was food, and he was the only one home.

He had no idea where Nick was. Probably out somewhere with Chris, doing something with Quinn and Becca. Or maybe just out somewhere, doing Quinn. Like Gabriel gave a crap.

He dropped into the kitchen chair and set the bowl beside his textbook. The house was so silent that the sound echoed in the kitchen. Gabriel had his cell on the table, sitting next to the trig book, taunting him by remaining completely silent.

He’d never given a girl his number and walked off. At the time, it seemed like a great idea put the ball in her court, leave her with a line and ten digits scrawled in her notebook.

Now it was like water torture, knowing she had it, knowing she was making the deliberate decision not to call.

Christ, was this how girls felt?

His pencil had dug trenches in his notebook. One page of questions had been assigned for homework, and he was stuck on the first one.

Find the focal diameter of a parabola with focus (2,4) and di-rectrix y = –1.

It was almost enough to make him call Nick.

And he hated to admit it, but there was a small part of him that wished Nick would call. Or text. Something. Almost twenty-four hours had passed since they’d last spoken. That hadn’t happened . . . ever.

The front door slammed, and his older brother’s work boots clomped down the hallway. When Michael stopped in the kitchen doorway, Gabriel looked up.

Michael was filthy, covered in sweat and dust. Stains streaked across his T-shirt. His expression was puzzled. “What are you doing?”

Gabriel half shrugged. “Homework.”

An eyebrow raised. “Homework? Should I call a doctor?”

Gabriel took a spoonful of Cheerios and gave him the finger.

“That’s better.” Michael walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. “You all right?”

I made my twin brother hate me.

I can’t try out for basketball.

I gave my number to some girl who thinks I’m a thug.

Gabriel looked back at his textbook. “Yeah. Fine.”

Michael turned and walked back down the hall. “Cheerios?

Order a pizza or something. I’m starving.”

Since his phone wasn’t doing anything better, Gabriel dialed for pizza. A minute later, he heard the upstairs shower turn on.

He went back to staring at the math problem. Maybe he could Google it.

Victory! He was right in the middle of the fourth question when the doorbell rang. He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes was record time for pizza.

He had cash in his hand, but there wasn’t a pizza guy on the porch. A young woman stood there, wearing jeans and a canvas jacket, blond hair spilling across her shoulders. Her eyes looked vaguely familiar, and Gabriel tried to place where he knew her from.

“Hi.” She gave him a gentle smile. “You look a lot better than the last time I saw you.”

His brain engaged. The chick firefighter! She looked smaller without all the gear.

Then he froze, feeling the doorknob go slick under his hand.

This had to be about last night. She would have been there, right? She must have recognized him.

But wouldn’t she be here with cops or something?

A little frown creased her mouth. “I’m Hannah. Hannah Faulkner.”

“Yeah.” His breath rattled around in his chest.

“Are you all right?”

He peered past her. No cop cars in the driveway, nothing other than a late-model Jeep Cherokee that was beat to hell, like she’d driven through the outback to get here. “What are you doing here?”

She looked a bit taken aback. “I hoped to talk to you about the other night. The fire in the woods.”

God, it was like he couldn’t breathe. “Yeah, and?”

Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her jacket. “I probably shouldn’t have stopped by without calling, but I was in the neighborhood, and I thought maybe I could say hi to your brother, too.” She shrugged a little, a touch of pink on her cheeks.

“You know. If he’s around.”

Wait. A. Minute.

“Sure,” said Gabriel, feeling his heartbeat settle. He stood back and held the door open. “Come on in the kitchen. Mike’s in the shower. You want a soda or something?”

He practically shoved her into a chair with a can of Pepsi, then left her there with the reasoning that he should warn Michael a girl was in the house, before he came down the stairs in his boxers or something.

That would really make her blush.

Gabriel took the steps two at a time, just as Michael was coming out of his bedroom. His hair was wet and trailed over his shoulders, and he was wearing a pair of faded sweatpants and an ancient T-shirt that looked like he might have stolen it off a homeless guy.

Gabriel shoved him in the shoulder. “Go hit your face with a razor or something. God, would it kill you to shave more than once a week?”

Michael pushed past him. “I’m not sure the pizza guy will give a crap ”

“No, idiot,” Gabriel hissed. “That Hannah chick is here. Put some decent clothes on. Here” he stepped around Michael, into his bedroom “I’ll help you.”

He started yanking open drawers to Michael’s dresser. Worn jeans, old Tshirts, faded sweatshirts.

“This is pathetic,” he said.