“Oh,” I say, taken aback. That took a turn, but I’m quick to remind myself that Mr. Watson is an alcoholic and the last thing Tucker needs is me getting into a scuffle with his dad. “I’d run the whole thing into the ground.” Even though I could totally take over the family business if I wanted to, but yeah, sorry, my heart’s not in the construction biz. This hair is too good for a hard hat.

Sorry, Tucker mouths through a grimace, apologizing again. That’s all it takes for everything to get through my thick skull to my brain. It wasn’t me who Tucker was embarrassed of when we were younger. It wasn’t me who he didn’t want to be seen with during our group project.

I can’t believe I didn’t piece it together sooner, but I can sense his frazzled nerves over anyone seeing this side of him. Whoever Tucker brings into his life is committing to more than just him, and judging by the tension radiating from him, he knows it. And somehow, I take a little bit of pleasure in witnessing this. Not because I like to see Tucker suffer, but because seeing the most difficult corners of his life makes me feel closer to him. It makes me want to keep him close.

“Maybe one day, Tuck’ll turn this place into something,” he says. “My castle.” He gestures around to the run-down garage, with its broken gas pumps and cracked windows. Tucker catches his elbow before he trips.

I lean across the seat, toward the open passenger window, and give Duke a well-deserved scratch on the head. “All due respect, Mr. Watson, but I think Tucker is meant for much, much bigger things.”

Mr. Watson lets out a short, acerbic laugh.

I know that this guy is probably just fine when he’s sober, but I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to punch someone else’s dad like I do right now.

Tucker smiles tightly, pulling his dad toward the door. “Come on, Duke. Inside.” He looks up to me, and I can see the million thoughts passing just behind his eyes about what me meeting his dad might mean to him. Uncertainty. Discomfort. And even a little bit of relief. “Thanks for the ride,” he tells me.

“Anytime.”

Twenty-Four

On Saturday night, me, Hannah, Clem, Alex, and Kyle are all gathered around Kyle’s family’s dining room table.

Kyle looks over a clipboard. “Alex, baby, you did one last sweep for breakables? Did you get my mom’s framed photo of Nana on her wedding day? The one in the hallway bathroom.”

“Yes, for the tenth time,” Alex says. “Can I please start making those blue frozen drink thingies I found on Pinterest?”

Kyle sighs. “I don’t want us to blow through our ice supply too quickly. Once it’s out, it’s out.”