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I’ve always loved the gardens. There is a maze to the left of

the house, one I used to spend a lot of time in when I was

younger, playing pretend or reading a book. And beyond it,

set back on a small hill surrounded by mature oak trees, is

the family crypt. It doesn’t look as though it’s far from the

house, and I suppose it isn’t, but by the time we reached it, I

was breathing heavy.

Which was embarrassing because I’m soccer girl— I’m in

good shape— or at least I used to be back before I started taking naps every afternoon and not caring.

I turned and felt my cheeks flush when I found his eyes

already on me. After clearing my throat and attempting to

sound as normal as I could, I spoke. “What’s your name?”

“Nathan,” he said.

“Does Nathan have a last name?” Crap. Now he was going to

think that I actually cared.

A hint of a grin touched the corner of his mouth, and God

help me, but my cheeks stung even more. I bet they were as red

as the apples in the bowl on Gram’s table.

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“Last name is Everets, and you?”

“Blackwell.”

He tossed his brushes on top of the paint can at his feet.

“Where are you from, Monroe Blackwell?”

Nathan approached the iron fence, which was faded and

chipped and looked like a black and white cow had exploded

all over it.

I shoved my hands into my back pocket and blew a curl out

of my eye.

“New York.”

“And you’re here because…”

I’m here because no one knows what to do with me.

“Look, I don’t really want to do this talking buddy thing, so

I’m just going to let you get started, okay?”

He shrugged but didn’t say anything, and for some reason

that irritated me. I wasn’t used to being dismissed like that. I

was used to being under a microscope— used to having every

action analyzed and picked apart. I was used to my parents,

teachers, and friends hanging onto every word that came out of

my mouth as if it was gospel.

Of course, the gospel according to Monroe isn’t exactly full

of rainbows and unicorns, but as long as I was talking, they were happy. Because a talking Monroe wasn’t as scary to deal with as

the nonverbal version I’d been several months ago. Back then, I

was almost straitjacket material.

Back then…I shuddered. Nope. Not going there today.

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Once more, I yanked on my cami straps, pulling on the mate-

rial a little so that it wasn’t plastered to my chest. Even though there was shade from the oak trees, I thought that it would be

pretty awful to spend the afternoon out here painting. Because

it wasn’t just hot, the heat was oppressive.

It made me wonder about Nathan.

His shorts were Abercrombie, his boots Doc’s— his afore-

mentioned boxers, again Abercrombie. He didn’t talk like an

idiot even though the bandana was hick, and he looked like he

came from money. It made me wonder why he was stuck out

here painting some old lady’s iron fence on an afternoon meant

for pools or beaches. Or anyplace other than here.

He glanced back at me and I turned quickly, because even

though it looked like I was staring at him— I wasn’t. Well, I

wasn’t staring at
him
exactly.

“What does your tattoo mean?” I said in a rush.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk.”

“I don’t,” I stammered, hating how flustered I felt.

He didn’t say anything for a moment; in fact, several

moments passed before he looked at his shoulder and shrugged.

“It’s Celtic.”

Wow. Wasn’t he just brimming with information?

“Celtic, as in…”

He cleared his throat in that way my dad does when my

mom grills him about something and he doesn’t want to answer.

For whatever reason, this Nathan was more closed off and

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unfriendly than I was, which made me even more interested in

him— or rather, in why he was like that.

“As in I don’t know what it means, I just thought it looked cool.”

I didn’t believe him. You don’t get ink for no reason.

“Well, at least you didn’t get your girlfriend’s name on your

skin because…”

His head snapped up.

I
did
not
just
say
that.

God. Now he was going to think that I was fishing to see if he

had a girlfriend and I wasn’t. My cheeks stung and I knew they

were even more red than before. Well crap. Now he was really

going to think I was into him,
in
that
way.

Instead, he looked at me as if I was a retard. “That would

be stupid.”

Okay, so the girlfriend thing was a sore subject and he totally

didn’t care what I was thinking. In fact, he seemed kinda pissed.

“It’s been known to happen,” I retorted.

His eyes narrowed as if he was trying to figure me out, and

that’s when I realized it was time to go. I was sinking out here, and suddenly the effort to stay on solid ground was too much. I

felt a little woozy and thought of my bed.

I took a step back. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Sure. Nice meeting you, princess.”

“It’s Monroe,” I shot back with the voice of a five- year- old.

Hello. What was it about this boy that turned me into an imma-

ture child with no filters?

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Nathan bent over to open up his paint can without saying

another word, and I hurried back to the house. Not once did I

look back. Not even when I reached the maze and could have

snuck a peek without him seeing.

I marched straight into the house and, once inside, drank

two glasses of water before the weariness of my life— my very

existence— pulled me down. It took way too much energy to be

anything other than apathetic.

It was a heavy feeling and one I was used to, so I did what I

always did when it hit. I trudged upstairs, flopped onto my bed,

and thought longingly of the little blue pills that were no longer mine to enjoy.

I closed my eyes, turned and snuggled into my pillow, and

prayed for sleep.

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When my cell dinged for the fifth time in just over an hour, I

swore and yanked it out of my shorts.

Rachel.

Did the girl not understand that some of us have to work?

Didn’t she know that some of us have court- appointed work

dates to keep our asses out of juvie? Anger rushed through me

with a hot, hard thrust, and I had to take a minute. What part

of that didn’t she get?

Ever since the accident, she acted as if nothing had changed.

Like we were the same. Like she
needed
us to be the same to deal with the fact that Trevor was in the hospital and probably never

coming out.

But I couldn’t do that, and whenever I tried to talk to her

about it, she shut me down. She tried to change the subject or

tried to have sex. She was willing to do pretty much anything

not
to talk about that night, but pretending that everything was going to be okay was freaking exhausting.

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God, Rachel was so exhausting.

I heaved a sigh and glanced at the text message.

Find a way to come. I miss u.

Her words were like sugar, but they made me angrier than I

already was, and I considered calling her right there and then.

I considered having it out
right
there
and
then
, but after a few moments, I turned off my cell instead and shoved it into my

front pocket. This had to be done face to face.

I dunked the edge of my paintbrush in the can and spread

another coat of fresh black paint over the iron fence section I

was working on. It was close to five and I was about half done

with the job. I figured if I got an early start on Monday, I’d have the entire fence finished by noon. Or I could just keep painting

until dark, because it’s not like I had anything better to do.

I paused for a bit and grabbed a bottle of water out of my

bag, my gaze focused on the smaller house, beyond the planta-

tion home. I took a good long drink, not taking my eyes from

the place.

Monroe.

No, more like Princess Monroe. I smiled at that. Princess

Monroe with the big chip on her shoulder.

What the hell was her story?

I suppose most guys would consider her hot. Heck, I consid-

ered her hot. That little tank top she had been wearing showed

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some curves, and with all that dark hair and big eyes, she was

definitely nice to look at. But her attitude was not something I

wanted to tangle with. I was pretty sure she was high mainte-

nance and a snob to boot. She was from New York City, after all.

Shit. I screwed the cap back onto my water bottle and tossed

it back into my bag. Technically, I was still with Rachel, even if mentally I’d left weeks ago, so why was I even thinking about

this girl?

“Nathan?”

Surprised, I turned as Mrs. Blackwell walked toward me.

Where the hell had she come from? She was a nice lady and I’d

always liked her, especially considering she was a huge football

fan. She didn’t miss a Friday night game and sure liked to ride

Coach when she didn’t agree with a play.

I smiled. “Hey, Mrs. Blackwell. I’m okay to keep going, if

that’s all right with you.”

She smiled back at me, and as I studied her, I realized exactly

where Princess Monroe got her unusual eye color. Funny, I’d

never noticed it before, but then again, it’s not like I spent much time checking out anyone over the age of twenty- five. That

would be weird.

“You most certainly will not. It’s five o’clock and you’ve been

out here for hours.” She glanced at the fence and her eyes soft-

ened some more. “It looks wonderful, Nathan.”

For a moment, the two of us stared at the half- done fence that

surrounded her family crypt. The iron had been forged into a

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pretty intricate design, and though I thought it was kinda creepy—

keeping your family bones on the property— I wasn’t about to

judge anyone. Around these parts, a lot of folks did the same.

“All I did was slap some paint on it, Mrs. Blackwell. It’s pretty hard to screw that up.”

“I suppose.” She smiled and turned back to me, her hands on

her hips. “Your uncle called. He’s been trying to get hold of you but your cell phone must be dead. He’s still having problems at

one of his work sites, so he won’t be able to give you a lift home.”

Her eyes settled on me with a clarity that made me uncom-

fortable. Of course she knew about that night. Of course she

knew that I was suspended from driving. Everyone in the whole

freaking county knew about that night.

I thought of the fridge at home. It was full of Dad’s beer, and

I knew that if I locked myself away in the dark and took the

time to get good and drunk, then maybe I wouldn’t think about

that night. I wouldn’t care about the dark holes in my head. The

ones that I’d been desperate to fill. The ones that shouldn’t be

there. The ones that would tell me why I’d been so damn stupid.

But for now, I just wanted to forget everything.

“Come have dinner with us— ”

I started to protest. “No, really, Mrs. Blackwell, I’ll just head home. I don’t mind.”

“Nathan Everets.”

I stood a little straighter, because in my world, when a lady

spoke at you like that, you paid attention.

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“I know for a fact your parents are on holiday, and I’ll bet you

haven’t had a proper meal all week.”

“Honestly, I’m cool with working some more and heading

home before dark.”

I didn’t want to see Monroe, and I sure as hell preferred to

be by myself.

“It’s not a bother, really, and after dinner, I’ll have my grand-

daughter drive you home.”

I shook my head, but she wouldn’t listen, and five minutes

later, I found myself in a small bathroom just off the kitchen,

scrubbing the dirt and grime from my hands and trying to clean

up as best I could.

My stomach rumbled as the smell of good old Louisiana

barbecue wafted in from the kitchen.

“Better than the frozen crap at home,” I muttered. My mom

had made me a few casseroles, but they were still in the freezer

where she’d left them. I’d been surviving on frozen pizza and

burgers from The Grill whenever Link came to visit.

One last glance in the mirror told me it was as good as it

was gonna get, so I tugged off my bandana and shoved it in my

pocket, pulling out my cell as I did so. I turned it back on, and a quick glance told me Rachel had texted a few more times, the