They were almost home when Nick figured out what Michael had meant about Tyler.

He was the first kid Michael had pulled out of the water.

Covered in blood with a dislocated shoulder, but when I brought him around . . .

Tyler had been hit by a rock, too. Michael hadn’t just lost Emily that night.

He’d saved Tyler’s life.

Quinn blotted at the cut on Tyler’s cheek, being a little rougher than she needed to be. “Why did you pick a fight with him?”

“I didn’t pick a fight.”

“You’re telling me you were only standing there and Nick Merrick walked up and started bringing down a tornado on your ass? Yeah, okay.”

Tyler looked at her, not flinching as she pressed a cotton ball full of antiseptic against his face. She honestly didn’t know why she was bothering—the cut was an hour old, and he could probably light a candle and heal himself. Or something.

When he spoke, his voice was rough and angry. “I hated them before, but now—” He gritted his teeth. “I hate that he’s using you, Quinn.”

“He’s not using me,” she said quietly. “It’s—it’s an illusion. I’m not doing anything for him. And he’s my friend. I hate that you got into it with him.”

“If he’s your friend, he should be protecting you.”

She flung the cotton in the trash. “I can take care of myself.”

“How? By clinging to any guy who will give you a second glance?”

“Fuck you.” She swung a fist to punch him in the chest.

He caught her wrist and, when she fought, wrestled her back against the wall. She glared up at him, breathing heavy, seething with anger.

He got right in her face. “Get as mad as you want, baby girl. You know it’s true.”

She hated him. Hated him.

She would not cry. Would not.

He held her there. “You sure do make it tough to help you. I’m almost inclined to give Merrick a free pass.”

“At least he doesn’t treat me like this.”

“Like what? It’s okay for you to punch me, but when I stop you, I’m the asshole? Is that part of your screwed-up morality?”

Quinn didn’t have anything to say to that.

Tyler kept going. “You keep acting like I’m hurting you because I don’t want to sleep with you. Guess what, sweetheart. I don’t want to sleep with someone who keeps acting like it’s a form of payment.”

She flinched hard, unable to swallow past the sudden lump in her throat.

“Do you even like me?” he said. “Or did I just show up at the right time?”

That made her sag under the tension of his hands. She looked away from him, clenching her jaw against tears and speech. Her hair fell across her face, and she studied the bathroom tile.