Robbie had been at school when the wreck happened; by the time he knew, the scene had been cleaned up. But later, he’d found the zigzagging tracks left by the truck’s tires, and in the ditch they’d pulled the truck out of, there’d still been a pool of crushed window-glass like a thousand worthless diamonds.

Robbie pushes the thoughts aside with a swallow. “I don’t think Danny remembers him at all. Johnny remembers some, but he’s not one to think about what can hurt him, you know?” He doesn’t know why, but instead of steering the conversation somewhere else, Robbie admits, “I think about him all the time, though.”

He can feel the weight of Lance’s eyes on the side of his face, but he doesn’t turn. Before Lance can say anything, they round the curve an eighth of a mile from Robbie’s driveway and four cows appear, standing in the middle of the road in the drifting snow.

Robbie swears, hits the brakes as hard as he dares, and holds the wheel in a double-vice grip. The truck slows abruptly, its brakes vibrating as the tires skid on the packed snow, and then they slide a solid four feet even with the brakes locked. The closest cow, a big, black creature with a band of white around her midsection, stares at them placidly like she’s well-versed in the laws of physics and knows she’s safe, but Robbie’s heart is in his throat until the moment the truck is still.

His hand is back on Lance’s shoulder. Robbie realizes it, then looks over without taking it away. This time, his forefinger extends past the collar of the coat, and the pad of his fingertip just brushes the warm, smooth skin of Lance’s neck. Lance is looking back at him, his lakewater eyes wide, and his lips are parted. Robbie doesn’t remember his lips being such a delicate, deep pink, but now his gaze is fixed there, where he can also see small white teeth, one slightly crooked lower incisor, and the tip of a red tongue.

The cow moos loudly at them and Robbie jumps, taking his hand off Lance and pushing the heel of his palm hard into the middle of the steering wheel, all in one motion. The horn blares, and the cows hike up their tails and scatter. Robbie tests the gas, and is pleasantly surprised when the truck inches forward. Not stuck, then. He reaches into his jeans pocket for his phone.

“I don’t remember anyone having cattle around here.” Lance’s voice sounds steady, but maybe a little quieter than it was before, like he feels the charge in the air from moments ago as keenly as Robbie. Robbie hopes not. He hopes he’s alone in this strange awkwardness, which he ascribes mostly to how he’s tripped all over Megan’s old rules where Lance was concerned: Don’t touch him too much. Don’t spend too much time alone with him.

Don’t encourage his delicate young feelings—that had been the spirit of the rules. But the rules seemed silly back then, and they seem even sillier now. Then, he capitulated mostly because he wanted to appease Megan. Robbie himself always knew that Lance would outgrow his crush on his own, and he’d been right. Look at Lance now. Though Robbie hesitates to say it, even in the relative safety of his own head, Lance is objectively beautiful. ‘Handsome’ isn’t quite the right word, though that works, too. Anyway, he’s not at all the sort of person who needs to pine for anyone; instead, he’s the sort of person who only has to crook his finger to bring anyone he wants running.