But he didn’t talk about any of that. Not this time. He sat up, rubbed his eyes. “Skunk,” he said, wrinkling his nose, and all of a sudden he’s a little boy and we’re ten years old and the world is so big and full of wonderful, terrible things.

I put my arm around his shoulder and he leaned into me so fast and gratefully that it made my throat hurt.

“You’re okay,” I said. “We’re okay.”

“We’re not,” he whispered.

I knew he was right, so I didn’t say anything. His breathing slowed down. Solomon was safe, now. We were both safe, so long as we stayed there. Stayed still. Every awful thing was asleep. The night protected us, a deep black star-studded security blanket. I gave him his soda and he guzzled it greedily.

Anything could happen once he stepped down off my porch. Returned to the real world with all its terrors and uncertainties. But in that moment, we had each other.

“You’ll be up all night if you drink that,” he said, taking the Diet Coke away from me when I popped the top.

“That was already the way things were going.”

His eyes were huge, and wouldn’t move away from mine. I tried not to look into them, but they were unrelenting. “Why?”

I started to say, It’s the meds, but decided against it. The last thing Solomon needed was another reason to be afraid of medication.

I’d gotten on antidepressants three weeks before. They were just starting to take effect. And they worked . . . mostly. The ground I walked on was feeling less and less like thin ice that might crack open at any moment and plunge me into the dark freezing water where I’d sink like a stone. Any side effects seemed slight when compared to that.

“It’s this photo project,” I said hastily. “It’s a ton of work.”

“What’s it going to be about?”

“That’s the work. Figuring out exactly what I want to focus on.” Then I said, “Connor was asking about you.”

Solomon stiffened. Sat up. “You two are still a . . . thing?”

“You sound like him,” I said. “Always wanting to put a label on it.”

“But you still see him. Still hook up.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Is that a problem?”

“Of course not,” he said, leaning forward, holding his head in his hands. So, yeah, This Was Very Definitely a Problem.

I didn’t know what his deal was with Connor. Less than a year younger than us, he’d always been Solomon’s adoring little stepbrother. If something went wrong between them, I couldn’t imagine what it was.

“I should go,” Solomon groaned.

“Don’t,” I said. “Sleep here tonight. You can crash on my floor.”

“Your father would murder us both.”

“Not both,” I said. “Probably just you.”

“Very comforting.”