AFTER, I WATCH him get dressed, glad he stays shirtless because it keeps him as vulnerable as we just were to each other, exposing his lean arms, the faint remainder of the summer sun not quite disappeared from his skin. We didn’t go all the way, but far enough for me to sense that invisible line, how easy it would be to cross; even in this bare, too-quiet house, I feel warm, in touch with him in a way I’d started to believe I never would. “Where are you going to go tonight?” I wait as he picks up his shirts, shakes them out. “What if we just stay? Try talking things out with your mom?” I think of her standing in the doorway yesterday, waiting. Listening. “I bet she misses you.”

“Doubt it. There isn’t much about me that she likes.”

“What did you guys fight about?”

“Everything. Anything.” He pulls his shirts on. “She wants me to be somebody else. Did the same thing to my dad.” He shrugs. “I’ll find a place tonight. Don’t worry about it.”

“Like where?” I wish I could bring him home with me. As if my parents would go for that. Hi, guys, meet my first boyfriend—can he move in with us? I’ll take care of him myself, promise! Cut to Ma beating me severely around the head and neck. “Promise me you’ll stay with Trace or Moon.”

“Promise.” Kincaid puts his hand on my thigh, holding my gaze. “We should get going.” Meaning his mom will be back soon. The last thing I want is her coming home before we’re ready, finding us up here, figuring out what happened between us.

He’s first out of the room, trailing his hand back for mine, and we lace fingers.

It’s only later, once I’m home, that I realize we never straightened the sheets.

A text kicks off my Sunday morning: Heads-up. Cops coming your way.

It pops up on my phone around nine thirty, from Sage to all of us—Bree, Moon, and Trace. I’m in the kitchen getting breakfast, moving slow, seeing everything through the grayscale filter of yesterday afternoon. Being with Kincaid. I want to spend my day lounging in it, gradually wrapping my mind around everything we did together, who it makes me now. Trying to figure out how to heal the damage between Kincaid and his mom, even though I don’t know exactly where the break is, how to find it if he won’t give me more details. Maybe the real question is how hard to push when somebody you care about is sending signals that they want you to stop.

But. Now the cops are coming, and I shoot a question mark back, adding to Bree’s.