When he sits up to adjust in the seat, his knuckles whiten from his firm grip on the steering wheel as he gives the old truck some gas. The radio can only shed so much light in the cab, but there’s enough to see he’s tense. “Want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“Whatever is on your mind,” I reply, angling his direction. “Is it Mia?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “We’re good, better than it’s ever been.”

Mia may not be my favorite person, but that’s based on their past. If they’re good, better than ever, then I’ll support my friend. “That’s good to hear.”

I leave room between us for conversation, which he eventually fills. “Do you ever think about the class divide between Beacon and Beacon’s Pointe? There’s what? Ten, fifteen miles max dividing the two towns, but they’re worlds away in more ways than financially.”

“I’ve thought about it, but does it matter?”

“Of course, it matters.” He looks at me like I’m not speaking the same language. “We drive out there to serve them at their pool parties and children’s pony shows or whatever shit they decide to throw a random celebration for. That doesn’t ever get to you?”

Dane’s never been a friend who requires accolades, pats on the back, or anything more than knowing you’re loyal. We’re alike that way. So his insistence that I understand or agree with him is not typical behavior. “I don’t think I can give you an answer that will suffice.” I hate arguments in the car, not that we’re arguing, but the growing intensity of the conversation is unsettling.

“It’s like they live on another planet. They have fancy-ass parties while we struggle to pay our bills.”

“I hear what you’re saying, and sure, I’ve wondered what it would be like to be rich, but it does us no good to wish for what they have, and we never will.”

“You might.” He grins, and though I never had a brother, Dane’s always tried to fill the role.

“Maybe.” I watch the road. “Hopefully.” I can’t shake the feeling that he’s acting strange. What rattled him? “We’ve worked many parties in The Pointe. What brought this on tonight?”

I’m answered with a shrug as he resettles with one hand on the steering wheel and the other tuning the music station. “I’m glad you’re getting out of this place.”

Life is usually less complicated on these drives, but not tonight for some reason. He’s never been high-strung, but he’ll defend himself or those he cares about without a second thought, which makes me think there’s more to this conversation. What is he protecting me from?

He turns into town and takes the first right, traveling slower like the speed limit requires and passing busy bars and restaurants on the way. Doesn’t matter that it’s almost midnight. This college town is bustling with people ready to blow off steam after a long week.

Traveling to the far end, past the entertainment district, the street we turn onto is quieter. The lights and sounds from town are just out of reach when he turns down my street.