He had fallen asleep like that, like he was protecting me.

“Mackenzie.”

I woke to Ryan saying my name and gently shaking my shoulder. “Wake up. We gotta go.”

“What’s wrong?” My eyelids were freaking heavy, but I sat up. A big ass yawn on my lips.

“Tom’s parents are home.”

“What?”

“We gotta go. Quick.” He scrambled off the couch, and I could hear footsteps above us.

“Was Tom here last night?” a woman’s voice asked. “I thought he was at Nick’s.”

More footsteps, and a man’s voice rumbled, a murmur through the ceiling.

I hurried after Ryan. He led me up some back stairs and then circled through the garage and to a side door. A door was open between the main floor and garage, and I heard the woman ask, “Was he drinking?”

The male voice grew louder. He was coming toward us. That was when I saw the car doors still open. They were unpacking.

“He had the pizza. The whiskey’s out, but I can’t tell if he drank any of it.”

“We’ll definitely have a talk with him,” the man replied.

He was right there, almost to the doorway.

Ryan slipped out the side door, and I pushed him the rest of the way. We clicked the door shut moments before we heard heavy footsteps from the garage.

Ryan shot me a look, letting out a deep breath. “That was close.”

“Too close.”

“I’ll call Tom. He’ll cover for us.”

“We’ll owe him one.”

“No.” Ryan shook his head. “I’ll owe him one.”

I didn’t agree with that, but he looked determined.

We moved out of the yard and headed up the driveway to my house. I couldn’t hear or see movement inside, but I knew my parents were probably having coffee. That was what they liked to do since Willow. Before, they would’ve been rushing through the kitchen, yelling at us. We all would’ve been rushing around, whether it was a weekend, weekday, or summer day. There were always activities to go to.

The quiet creeped me out.

“Are you going in?” Ryan asked.

I twisted around. I’d been standing on the front steps, staring at the door. I must’ve looked whacked out, like some space cadet who couldn’t sleep by herself, couldn’t handle being around her family, and couldn’t even bring myself to walk up to the porch.

“You’re too nice to me.”

“What?” Ryan stepped closer.

I saw that he had his phone in hand. “Are you going to call Tom?”

“Yeah. I’ll let him know what happened last night so he’s prepared in case they call when they’re done unpacking the car.”

I nodded. Yes, that would be soon. It didn’t look like they had much more to do. “I suppose you should call now.”

“Yeah.”

But he wasn’t. And I wasn’t leaving.

We stood there. I watched my front door. He watched me. We sounded normal. We probably even looked normal, but one of us was very much not normal.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

An irritated huff came from him. “Is this the same thing as last night? You and me?”

“You and me, you being nice to me, doing this. Are you going to get in trouble?”

“The only one who might get in trouble is you. Tom will cover, say he stopped by earlier for food and that’s it. Trust me. This isn’t our first rodeo.”

But why was he being nice to me? Why was he going out of his way to help me? We didn’t even kiss, so he wasn’t doing it for an easy hookup. He was just sleeping next to me.

“Stop. Okay? Stop.” He touched both of my arms, coming to stand in front of me. “I can see the wheels going in there. Stop.”

“But why—”

He cut me off, his hands squeezing once before falling away. He stepped back. “Because I want to.”

“But why do—”

“I don’t know, okay? I don’t know either. I . . . I don’t know either. It is what it is. I don’t want to think about it any more than that.”

And that was the end of it. The questions plaguing me went away as if he’d silenced them. We didn’t have a formal goodbye. I nodded and slipped inside my house. The door was unlocked and the alarm off, so one of my parents had already been outside this morning. Once I was inside, I went to the living room window and watched. Ryan continued to stand in our driveway a moment longer before heading back down the road.

“Good morning, honey.” My mom sailed past me on her way to the kitchen.

No, “Oh, you’re up,” or “Where were you last night?” or “When did you get home?” Just “Good morning, honey.”

I followed her to the kitchen and stared. She never looked at me—not while she filled her coffee cup, not while she put a piece of bread in the toaster, not while she poured some orange juice in a glass. Her head remained down as she buttered the toast.