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“Okay,” I agree, keeping my voice down because the way he’s looking around the parking lot tells me he’s paranoid about anyone watching. I don’t care where he’s taking me—I’ll follow him anywhere at this point.

I hop in my truck and let him take the lead, taking us both out of town and down a country road. My mind is whirling with all the possibilities. And yeah, maybe part of me—a very small part—is a little apprehensive.

What if it’s all a trick?

But I know deep down I can trust him. Without trust and blind faith in certain people, what do we really have in this world?

Soon we’re driving through an entrance almost covered by trees and a large wooden sign that says BIG BEND LAKE in large capital letters. Big Bend has a lake? I didn’t know that.

Not that I’ve spent much time exploring since I moved here.

We drive down a gravel path around a fairly small lake, but the water is glistening in the late afternoon sun. I park next to his truck and quickly climb out to join him. “I didn’t know this was here.” I look out at the water, surrounded by several large leafy trees and lots of green grass.

“Yeah, it’s pretty hidden out here.”

He leans on the hood of his truck, looking out at the water, and I join him, mimicking his position. “It’s pretty.”

I turn in time to see a slow, slight smile on his lips as he gazes out at the water. “I come out here a lot. Mostly after practice but sometimes after dinner. It’s quiet. Hardly anyone ever comes out here.”

It’s quiet again, neither of us saying anything as we stare out at the rippling water. It’s actually a little chilly today after weeks of extreme heat, and the wind has picked up. I think it’s supposed to rain later. You can smell it in the air, I swear.

“I saw Adler by your locker this morning,” I say, hoping to keep my tone light and not let on that it kind of makes me want to rip the guy apart, just seeing the look of distress on Calvin’s face this morning, which is now back.

“Yeah,” he says, not looking at me.

Don’t push. Don’t push. Don’t pu⁠—

“What did he want?” Okay, so I guess I’m not going to listen to myself.

He shrugs his big shoulders, still looking away from me and out at the water. “Same thing as always.”

“To piss you off,” I guess.

I know he’s uncomfortable with the conversation. I really don’t want to be pushy or make him uncomfortable, but something deep inside is telling me he needs this. That maybe he needs a tiny little shove to open up. To get all that toxic shit out.

“Always.” His voice is low and a little grumbly.

“What happened?” I mess it all up by jumping right to it, but I’m in this now. “Why do they give you so much shit?”

His entire body goes stiff, and his jaw ticks as it clenches tight. He doesn’t say anything, and I don’t think he’s going to. “Why do you care?” He doesn’t sound angry. Just curious. Like he really can’t believe I’d want to know.

“Really?” I ask, tilting my head to the side and staring openly at him. “You have to know I care about you by now.”

His face is one of genuine surprise, and it nearly cracks my heart in half. “Why?”

“Jesus Christ,” I say, shaking my head, frustrated beyond belief by what he must have experienced in his life to get here. I know because I’ve lived it too. My father and mother were oppressive as fuck growing up, but still—I did get the sense they cared about me, even if it was just a little. Even if it had conditions. Calvin? I’m not sure he’s even had that. “Because I care about you. I think you’re a great guy.”

“You don’t even know me,” he says like he’s confused. Like he believes that.

“I know you,” I say firmly, looking into his eyes and wanting so badly to reach over and take his hand, but I don’t dare. “I know you, and I care about you, and I just want to know what happened. Why everyone at school seems to know something about you. Something you clearly don’t want them to know. Something hanging over your head.” I put my hand on my chest, over my rapidly beating heart. “Something you can trust me with. Get it off your chest.”

“I don’t want it off my chest. Last year was shit, but it’s in the past,” he says angrily, and good. I want him angry. I want him so furious he can’t stand it because at least it’s a feeling. It’s showing some sort of emotion and not that goddamn blank stare he gets when he’s confronted by those assholes at school.

“It’s not in the past though. I see you having to still deal with it every day, and I don’t even know what it is.”

“What do you want from me?” We’re facing each other, the air between us full of tension, but I’m not going to back down. I don’t think he wants me to back down. I see it. The pain. The exhaustion. The doubt. The fear. All of it. And I want to take it all away if he’d just let me try.

“I want you to talk to me. I want you to trust me. I want you to tell me what happened out loud and from your perspective.”