“It’s none of my business,” he said. “And I don’t know what happened between you and…him. I understand you’re not ready to tell me about it, and you may never. That’s fine. I just want you to know that I’m here.” He dropped his hand back in his lap. “In whatever way you need me.”

I swallowed the thick lump in my throat, trying like hell not to cry for an entirely different reason this time. His frame glittered at the edges, but I held it together.

Kiss him.

Thank him.

“Why?” was the only word I managed to speak.

He furrowed his brow like he’d never expected me to ask that question.

“DC.” He spoke the letters of our code word, and I chuckled softly.

“What?”

He shrugged. “It’s more than an alert to teachers approaching. It’s…ours.” He gestured between us. “You and me. A small pact. We are in this together. We will always be there for the other.”

“That’s how you’ve thought of it all this time?” The question came out a whisper, but in the quiet car, it was enough that he caught every word.

He nodded as he shifted in his seat. “Too much?”

I shook my head quickly. “Perfect.”

“Good.” He opened his door, rushing around the side to open mine. I took his offered hand as he walked me to my front porch. “So,” he continued once we reached the door to my home, “whenever you’re ready to tell me what’s really going on up here—” He smoothed his index finger over my forehead. “Then…DC.”

I leaned into his touch, craving the warm comfort and the explosive shocks. He smiled down at me, and as I looked up at him, all I wanted to do was kiss him. To redo the moment from earlier. To prove to him and myself that I could let go of my past and trust someone again.

I’d already been healing…slowly…ever since the blog and open communication between me and the people who wrote in with their own troubles. There was something cleansing about reaching out to others and helping them, and through that, somehow, helping myself. But I didn’t know if I should or could act on that wobbly strength I’d slowly gathered.

“Night, Pixie,” he said, taking a few steps back, the motions almost looking like a struggle. Like he didn’t want to leave, either.

I sighed, grateful for his strength. For his words. For everything. “Night, Dean,” I said, and opened the door before I could chase him across my yard and tackle him. The boy was turning me inside out with emotions—thoughts and wants I was certain wouldn’t happen again for years.