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He doesn’t answer. He just opens the passenger door and helps me inside before reaching across me to buckle the seat belt.

I watch him circle the hood and climb behind the wheel. Before I can ask him anything else, he starts the truck and pulls away from the curb.

We drive back to Maple Road in complete silence, every passing second giving my mind another opportunity to conjure up something worse than the last.

When he finally pulls up in front of my house, he kills the engine and unbuckles his seat belt, then mine.

“Milo?” I ask. “You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

“I’m scaring you?” His voice is quiet, but there’s something wounded beneath the anger.

“Just talk to me.” I reach for his hand, but he pulls it away and shoves it into the pocket of his varsity jacket.

“You first,” he says, pulling something from his pocket and holding his closed fist between us. “Mind telling me why my sister has a set of keys to your house?”

My heart stops when he opens his hand, my spare keys lying in his palm.

“Oh, my God.” I snatch them from him and clutch them against my chest. “Where did you find these?”

“In Peyton’s room.”

“What were you doing in Peyton’s room?”

“Really? That’s what’s concerning you right now?” He cocks a brow.

Honestly, yes. What the hell were you doing in Peyton’s room?

I bite my lower lip to keep the question from slipping out.

Milo lets out a frustrated groan and drags a hand through his hair. He knows I’m not letting this go.

“Fine,” he mutters before telling me everything. “Jennine called me earlier and asked me to stop by the house to grab a curling iron Peyton borrowed from the salon. Peyton was invited over for dinner at Misty’s tonight, and since she wasn’t answering her calls, Jennine called me instead. That’s why I was in her room.”

The mention of Peyton’s name alongside Misty’s hurts more than I want to admit, but I do my best to ignore it.

“I found your keys on her vanity, Max. Why did she have them in the first place? You two aren’t friends.”

Understatement of the century.

“Please.” He grabs my hands in his. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

Milo doesn’t like that answer. Not in the fucking slightest.

“Fine,” he says, jaw clenched. “If you won’t tell me, then I’ll just have to make Peyton do it.”

Before I can stop him, he’s already out of the truck.

Fuck.

I scramble out after him, leaving the door of his truck wide open as I race across the street. Thankfully, I catch up to him before he reaches his porch.

“No, Milo! Don’t!”

“Why not?!” He turns and shouts, only to immediately feel like shit about it when I wince at his tone. “Jesus. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he whispers, taking my face between his hands. “Fuck, Max.” His voice cracks around my name, pressing his forehead against mine. “How the fuck am I supposed to protect you if you won’t talk to me? If you won’t tell me what’s going on?”

I can hear the desperation in his voice.