“No,” she said. “Why did you kiss me now? After you knew about Nick?”

He looked at her. “Because I could.”

She licked her lips, tasting smoke from the fire. “I don’t understand.”

He looked back at the flames. “I could have screwed with you to mess with him. I thought about it. Last night.” He shrugged it off and looked at her. “I didn’t want to do that.”

Quinn couldn’t decide if she’d destroyed everything, or if she’d cleared a path for something to grow.

Tyler looked at her. “Why were you sitting behind the 7-Eleven Monday night?” She opened her mouth, and he gave her a hard look. “The truth.”

She hadn’t even told Nick the truth.

When it got right down to it, she didn’t even want to admit it to herself.

Quinn stared right back into his eyes and made her voice as challenging as his was. “Because my mom drinks like a fish and it turns her into a crazy bitch.”

He studied her for a long second. “Is that all?”

He didn’t say it like it wasn’t enough of a reason to be upset. He said it like he knew that it wasn’t a complete answer, like he knew there was more behind it.

Quinn shook her head. “I have to wait until she passes out or falls asleep if I want to go home. Otherwise she’ll start screaming at me.”

“She hit you, too?”

Quinn shook her head.

Tyler didn’t believe her. “So she wasn’t the one to knock you around the other night?”

Quinn looked at the sand. “She’s slapped me before, but she’s never left a mark.”

“I know you said Nick didn’t hit you. Who did?”

“Would you just smoke another cigarette or something—”

“Jesus, you’re hardheaded. Answer the question.”

“My brother.”

She felt Tyler draw himself up, and she peeked over at him. The look of fury on his face was almost terrifying, and she was glad she wasn’t the target.

“What happened?” he said.

“It’s nothing—”

“Shut the fuck up about it’s nothing. What happened?”

Her mother had defended Jake for so long that Quinn was shocked to hear someone act like her brother’s actions were not okay. “He’s home from college. He keeps smoking pot in my room. He has his friends there all the time. The other night, he slammed my face into the wall because he thought I stole his money or his stash.” Her voice started to break, and she kept talking fast, as if fractured words would hold off tears. “I can’t even get my clothes out of there to crash somewhere else, because his friends think I’m fresh meat. They keep touching me, and I can’t—I can’t even—”