“You don’t know anything, Layne.” Her father’s fist was tight on the table. “Arson is a big deal. They don’t just arrest someone on suspicion. There will be proof, and an investigation—”

“Apparently someone reported him for starting the fire at the farm. But he didn’t do it. He couldn’t have done it.” Her hands were shaking. “Because he was with me.”

Her father was staring at her. Simon, too.

Neither said anything.

She took a deep breath. “We were lying on the hill by the back paddock. He—”

“Lying? On the hill?”

“Talking!” she said. “Just talking! But the fire started while he was with me, so I know he couldn’t have done it.” Her father wasn’t saying anything, so she rushed on, feeling tears prick her eyes with sudden emotion. “Can you call the police? Can you tell them? You can ground me forever. You can hate me. Just, please—”

“No.”

Layne flinched. “No?”

“This arson case has been all over the news. Unless you can provide an alibi for all the fires—” His eyes narrowed. “You can’t, can you?”

She shook her head quickly.

“It won’t matter. And I’m not dragging you into some investigation just because you had a fling with the local bad boy.”

“It’s not like that! He’s my friend—”

“Sure he is. Go to your room, Layne.”

“But—”

“I said go!”

She backed away, feeling tears on her cheeks now. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Please . . . just . . . we could help him . . .”

Her father’s eyes flashed with anger. “He doesn’t deserve your help.”

Simon scraped his chair back from the table to stand. “Yes,” he said emphatically. “He does.”

Her father looked speechless with shock.

“He’s my friend, too,” said Simon, anger almost making the words unintelligible. He signed while he spoke, but even his hands were tight with rage. “You would know that if you ever bothered to talk to me.”

Their father looked almost bewildered. “Simon . . . you don’t—”

“Shut up! You wanted me to talk, so listen.” Simon had to pause for an emotion-filled breath. “Gabriel Merrick deserves her help.” He glanced at Layne and touched the bruising around his eye. “He deserves mine, too.”

“Why?” she whispered.

Simon glanced at their father and scowled. “Are you sure you don’t have to check your e-mail?”

“That’s not fair, Simon.” But her father put his phone in his pocket without even glancing at it.

“No,” said Simon. “What’s not fair is you treating us like we left with Mom.”

Now her father flinched.

Layne caught Simon’s wrist to stop his verbal assault and signed. Please stop. He’s all we have left.

“Wait a minute,” said her father. “What does that mean, I’m all you have left?”

Layne snapped her head around. “You . . . you followed that?”

“Of course I followed that. What does that mean?”

“But . . . you never sign—”