One that talks about birds, freedom, and change.

I SLICE THE LAST sandwich in half and place the full plate in the fridge, along with the remains of the ham and cheese Isaiah bought while I sang Mom to sleep. Isaiah busies himself by putting the boxes of cereal and crackers in the pantry. He bought food Mom can easily fix for herself.

“Haven’t you punished me long enough?”

Isaiah asks.

The chains that permanently weigh me down become heavier. “Are you going to sling me over your shoulder and force me to leave again?”

“No,” he says. “Everyone knows Trent’s in jail. The worst thing that’s going to happen to you here…” He glances over at the closed door of my old bedroom. “Maybe I should toss you over my shoulder again. This place is no good for you, Beth.”

“I know.” And that is exactly why I want to leave…with my mom. A small part of me is curious as to what Isaiah knows that I don’t. I could open the door to my old room and find out, but I shake away the thought. I don’t want to know. I really, really don’t.

“You should go back to work,” I say. He changed from his work clothes to his favorite black T-shirt and jeans, which means he intends to stick around. I don’t want to be responsible for him losing a job he loves. The garage he works for is across the street from the strip mall, which explains why he reached me so quickly.

“I got off an hour ago. I stuck around to bullshit and to tinker with a newer Mustang someone brought in. She’s real pretty. I think even you would like her.”

I’ve missed this. Isaiah telling me about his day and his excited tone when he talks about cars. With his gray eyes, Isaiah looks me over. I’ve missed him. His voice. The tattoos covering his arms. His constant, steady presence. The last is what I miss the most.

Isaiah is that one relationship I’ve never had to question. The one relationship where I don’t wonder if it’ll change when I wake in the morning.

I take the two steps and wrap my arms around his chest. One arm at a time, Isaiah embraces me. I love the sound of his heart. So steady. So strong. For a brief few seconds, the chains lift. “I’ve missed you,” I say.

“I’ve missed you too.” Isaiah rests his head against the top of mine. One hand reaches up and cups the back of my head. His fingers graze my cheek and my spine straightens.

We’ve touched many times over the past four years. All those times we touched we were high. Since my arrest, Isaiah has touched me way too much sober.

One night last year, we pushed too far when we were high. Sort of like me and Ryan.

Unlike me and Ryan, Isaiah and I pretended it never happened. If it weren’t for Ryan, I probably would have forced amnesia on our night together in the barn.

And then I remember…Isaiah told me that he loved me.

“When we graduate, Beth, I promise I’ll take you away from here.”

“Okay,” I say, knowing I’ll be long gone before graduation. I slip out of his grasp and wonder if I misunderstood Isaiah. Maybe he didn’t tell me he loved me. Maybe he did and once again we’re ignoring things. “Denny call you again?”

“Yeah, and he’ll keep calling me. Do all of us a favor and just call me first. If you have to see your mom, let me be by your side when you do it. I’ll kill Trent if he touches you again and I’d rather not go to jail.”

“Sure.” Even though I won’t call. The next time I come into Louisville, it’ll be to collect Mom and leave town for good.

“Rico’s throwing a party tonight,” Isaiah continues. “Noah’s going to be there. I promise the two of us will have you back at your uncle’s before you can be missed.”

A sinking hollowness dwells in my soul. I hit Noah. “Is he mad at me?”

Isaiah shakes his head. “Mad at himself.

Same way I am. We should have approached everything different with you, but we arrived right after Trent. Noah and I were terrified Trent was going to hurt you again.”

I pull out my cell and check the time. I have five minutes to get back to Ryan. Running a hand through my hair, I consider my options. I want to see Noah and I want to spend time with Isaiah. I’d like to push Ryan in front of a bus for what he did to his brother. My heart trips over itself. What I really crave is for Ryan to give me his gorgeous smile and tell me he made a terrible mistake.

What is wrong with me?

I bite my bottom lip and face Isaiah. “I need to talk to Ryan first.”

Ryan

BETH WALKS OUT of the shabby apartment complex, Isaiah on her heels. The same mantra circles in my brain: I’m not losing Beth. I’m not giving up on us.

I could have approached her earlier, but I decided to respect Beth and stick to our original plan: go shower and change at the pitching facility, then pick her up an hour later.

I modified one part of her request—I’m picking her up where I last saw her. An hour ago, I watched as Beth followed Isaiah into this building with a grown woman passed out in his arms.

Giving Beth her space—knowing she was with him and not me—was one of the hardest damn things I’ve ever done. But I’m going to keep Beth. Regardless of the words I say to her, she is my girl.

Beth stops when she sees me leaning against the passenger door of my Jeep. Her eyes widen and her face pales. “What are you doing here?”

“We have dinner plans.”

She blinks and Isaiah stiffens behind her. He may be looking for a fight, but I’m not. “Can we talk for a second, Beth?” I stare at Isaiah.

“Alone.”

“I go only if she tells me to go.” Isaiah has a cool demeanor, almost friendly, but all of it is forced.

“Isaiah,” says Beth. “I need to talk to him.”

From behind her, Isaiah places a hand on her shoulder, kisses the top of her head, and stares straight at me. Bile rises in my throat. The only thing keeping me from punching him is Beth’s expression. Her striking eyes become too large for her face. Good girl. I like that she didn’t expect a move like that from him.

Isaiah hops in an old Mustang and glares at me as he starts the engine. It turns over immediately with an angry rumble. He backs out and leaves the lot.

Beth kneads her fists against her eyes. A million questions float in my brain, but right now I’m only interested in salvaging us.

“I’m sorry.”

She slowly lowers her hands. “For what?”

That this run-down shithole is her previous life. That she doesn’t trust me enough to let me help her with her problems. That I’ve been stupid enough to think she was nothing more than a spoiled brat who freeloaded off her uncle. For being the ass she told me I was weeks ago.

“Mark was my best friend,” I tell her.

“When he left, I felt like he took part of me with him. When my Dad threw him out, I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t stay and fight—if not for him, then for me.”

I’ve never told anyone that before. Not even Chris or Logan. Beth’s the first person to ever call me out on something so major—so personal. I deserve whatever wrath will come next.

With a weighty sigh, Beth deflates to the crumbling parking curb. “I get it.” She looks small and lost again and my heart rips from my chest.

I sit on the curb and everything in my world becomes right when she rests her head on my shoulder. Wrapping an arm around her, I briefly close my eyes as she inches her warm body next to mine. This is where Beth belongs—tucked in close to me.

“You were still an asshole to Mark,” she says.

“Yeah.” The regret eats at my stomach. “But what do I do? It’s him or my dad. The two of them have drawn battle lines. I’m supposed to choose one or the other, but I need them both.”

Silence. A balmy breeze dances across the parking lot.

“She’s my mom,” Beth says with the same heaviness I’d heard in Scott’s voice when he talked about Beth as a child. “In case you were wondering.”

“I was.” But I wasn’t ready to push her. My fingers lightly trace her arm and I swear she presses closer to me. I’d love to kiss her right now. Not the type of kiss that makes her body come alive. The type of kiss that shows her how much I care—the type that involves my soul.

Beth lifts her head and I drop my arm. She needs her space and I need to learn how to give it.

“We suck at dating,” she says.

I chuckle. We do suck at it. Hoping for a perfect moment, I was going to wait until after dinner to give her what I’ve brought with me, but the one thing I’m learning with Beth is that perfection will never happen. I shove my hand into my pocket, pull out the thin satin strip of material, and dangle it in front of her. “This is my gift to you. This is my wow.”

Beth blinks once and her head slowly inclines to the left as she stares at the ribbon.

How do guys do it? How do they give gifts to the girls they have feelings for and stay sane? I want her to be wowed so she’ll stay on homecoming court, but more…I want this gift to prove that I know her and that I see beyond black hair and nose rings and cut-up jeans. I see her as she really is—I see Beth.

“You bought me a ribbon,” she whispers.

“How did you know?”

My mouth is dry. “I saw a picture of you when you were young in Scott’s office and you talked about it…in the barn.”

Her words were hypnotic. “Ribbons,” she said in a whimsical voice. “I still love ribbons.”

In a dawdling, methodical movement, Beth holds out her wrist. “Put it on me.”

“I’m a guy. I don’t know how to put ribbons in a girl’s hair.”

Beth’s lips break into a smile that’s part wicked and part laughter. “Tie it on my wrist.

I’m not sure if you noticed, but I’m not exactly the hair-ribbon kind of girl anymore.”

As I wrap the long strip of material around her wrist and do my best to tie an acceptable knot, I suck up the courage to ask, “Are you wowed?”

Her pause is debilitating. “Yes,” she says a little breathlessly. “I’m wowed.”

Beth offers me a rare gift: blue eyes so soft I’m reminded of the ocean, a smile so peaceful I think of heaven.

“Let’s go to dinner,” I say.

Beth’s expression grows too innocent. She bites her lower lip and my eyes narrow on those lips. I ache to taste them again. In the back of my mind, red flags rise, but I don’t care. I’d do anything to keep her looking at me like that forever.

“Actually,” she says, “I have another idea.”

TWO BLOCKS FROM THE STRIP MALL, we enter well-defined gang territory. I’ve heard rumors about the south side of the city, but never believed them. I thought they were urban legends created by girls at sleepovers. I’ve been on the main roads of this area a hundred times with my friends. I ate at the fast-food restaurants and shared sit-down meals with my parents. I never knew that behind the bright colors and manicured landscaping off the main strip sat tiny boxed houses and freeway overpasses littered with graffiti.