“When she . . .” He could see that he had struck a nerve, but he couldn’t exactly backtrack.

I blinked. He was referring to my mom, of course. Despite his reserved nature, he sure liked to ask questions that packed a punch.

“Left?” I finished for him. “No, she didn’t take anything.”

Not even us.

Not even me.

I didn’t really feel like talking about my mom, but I was happy he asked—happy that he had remembered the swing. He was a good listener; I’d give him that. We sat with nothing but the stars between us for a while, which was fine by me. All I wanted was to sit next to Kael, to know he was there. In that moment, it was enough.

The peace didn’t last long, though.

“Oh, man, you wiped out!”

“No, hey, Austin—watch!”

“Dude! You are crazy. I mean, what the fuck!”

It was just a lame video game, but it had put Kael on high alert. It was hard not to notice how hyperaware he was of his surroundings. I couldn’t imagine how tough that must be, to never be able to relax. It must be exhausting. He turned to say something but was interrupted by wild shouts from inside the house.

“You got him, man. Killed him with one shot!”

“Fuck yeah! Dead as a fucking doornail, man!”

I shook my head. Kael clenched his jaw.

At least we agreed on something.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Kael asked, picking at his fingers.

How the heck was I supposed to respond to that?

“Do you think you’re making me uncomfortable?” The best way to avoid answering a question was to repeat it. I had learned that from my dad.

He let out a breath. “That’s not an answer. But yeah, probably?” he said, cracking a smile. I loved the way his whole face changed when he smiled.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, my answer is no. But one minute you’re ignoring me and the—”

“Ignoring you?” he asked, startled.

“Yeah,” I explained. “You were kind of blowing me off.”

He seemed genuinely surprised. Almost hurt. “I wasn’t trying to.” He hesitated. “It’s kind of hard to adjust to being back here. It’s only been a week and it’s so . . . different? It’s hard to explain. I don’t remember it feeling this weird last time I came back.”

“I can’t even imagine,” I told him. Because I couldn’t.

“It’s the small things. Like using those coffeemakers that brew individual cups or being able to shower every day and wash my clothes in an actual machine.”

“I’m guessing there aren’t any Tide Pods in the Army,” I said. My dad always hated them—even when he returned and could use them, he refused. He liked old-school powder and it grossed me out.