Jimmy Devereux the cop knows I’m going somewhere with this, but when his shoulders sag, I know James Devereux the father won out. “Frankie, you’ve always been a good kid. But you’re going down the wrong road, and hanging out with criminals won’t help you get back on the right one.”

“Is it even possible for me to get back on the right road? If we’re working from your definition, I’m a criminal. Not ‘strong enough or honest enough to do the right thing.’” I do a bad impression of his voice. “Isn’t that what you said?”

The color drains from his face. “That’s not what I meant.”

I look him in the eye. “I don’t believe you.”

CHAPTER 26

NO GOING BACK

I con Lex into driving me to school early on Monday, and I head straight for Lot B, where Marco hangs out with Cruz and the other street racers who idolize them.

I’m all raw emotions and exposed nerves, playing a torturous game of what if with myself. What if Dad and Tyson are wrong about Marco, but there’s no way to prove it? What if Marco thinks I gave them information, and he never wants to speak to me again?

This situation must be some kind of mix-up, a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time—or, if you’re Marco, having the wrong best friend. But I need Marco to tell me that himself.

I need to hear him say he’s not a thief.

Pretending I don’t have feelings for him isn’t an option anymore, because Marco made me care. Now every feeling is that much bigger, stronger, and more dangerous.

I spot him standing next to his Mustang, and my legs stop moving. One of the guys hanging out with him and Cruz says something, and Marco laughs. All I see is the boy who gave up everything for his sister, who held me when the flashback hit, who feeds a one-eyed stray cat … the boy who is afraid to want anything for himself.

He’s not a criminal.

He can’t be.

Marco notices me, and his face lights up.

What if it’s true and I have to walk away? Will I be able to forget that smile?

Cruz waves, but I haven’t moved. I’m not even breathing. Marco’s smile fades, and he jogs toward me.

“What’s wrong?” He reaches for me and I step back.

“Wait.” I hold up my hand so he’ll stop talking. My mind cycles through variations of the same question, searching for one that doesn’t sound like an accusation.

“Frankie?”

“Do you steal cars?” The moment the words leave my lips, I want to hit rewind and take them back.

Marco steers me away from the parking lot. “Is this a joke?”

“That’s not an answer.”

A familiar numbness wraps itself around me. It feels like I’m watching the situation from the outside, the way it did when a band of idiots planted a tree for my dead boyfriend, or my mom dumped me at Dad’s like a bag of garbage, or the flashbacks swallowed me whole without showing me the one piece of the story I need to see.

Marco leads me behind the gym, across from Lot B, where no one will overhear us. “Who told you that? Somebody at the rec center?”

He’s not denying it.

The truth etches itself into every line on his beautiful face.

“Is it true?” I already know the answer, but I don’t want to believe it.

“Shit.” Marco knots his fingers in his hair like he wants to rip it out of his scalp.

Everything I thought I knew about him—everything he said to me—was it all lies? “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Marco moves closer, but he doesn’t touch me. “I wanted to, Frankie. I swear. But I didn’t know how to explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain. You’re a thief. Do you know how I found out? My dad dumped a pile of surveillance photos on my bed—of you and Deacon. And me!”

He shrinks back. “What are you talking about?”

Anger explodes inside me. “My dad is a cop!”

My heart pounds, and I can’t catch my breath.

I told him. The one thing Dad asked me to keep secret.

I crossed a line that I can’t uncross.

“You can’t tell anyone, Marco.” I lower my voice to almost a whisper. “Please. He works undercover, and no one can know.”

“I won’t say anything, I swear.” Marco stares at the ground.

“I’m trusting you.”

“I don’t know why.” Marco looks dazed. He turns toward the wall behind him and leans his forehead against the brick, his palms on the wall. “I screwed everything up. My life. Sofia’s. Yours…”

“Tell me why. I deserve that much.” I shouldn’t drag this out, but I can’t force myself to walk away yet.

“When my father went to prison, I inherited his debt.”

“Who does he owe? The bank? Credit card companies?”

“I wish.” Marco turns around slowly, but he won’t look at me. “The car he crashed—the one Sofia almost died in—it was worth sixty grand, and my old man never delivered it. So the guy he worked for came looking for me. He gave me a choice. Work off the money my dad owed him, or watch Sofia grow up in a foster home. He threatened to report us to Child Services. It would take a social worker about ten minutes to figure out that our legal guardian doesn’t live with us.”

“Who is your guardian?”

“My aunt. But she had no idea until my dad was arrested and the court contacted her.” Marco shakes his head, eyes still trained on the ground. “I guess my parents just wrote down her name.”

“If she knows, why isn’t she living with you?”

“She manages an estate for a big shot on Capitol Hill and his family. My aunt is in charge of everyone who works there, and she loves it. But it’s a live-in position. What could she do? Ask her boss to let her niece and nephew move in?”

Or quit and take care of them.

Marco takes a deep breath. “I know it sounds like an excuse, but I didn’t have any options.”

“So you started stealing cars?” I try to imagine the kind of choice he’s describing, but I can’t. Dad was right about one thing. Working at the rec center in the Downs isn’t the same as living there.

“At first I tried to pay off the debt with the money I made working at Kong’s, but the guy my dad owed kept tacking on interest. So I started stripping cars, but it still wasn’t enough to cover the debt.” Marco’s shoulders shake. “I didn’t want to do it. But I couldn’t let them take Sofia.”