“Who are you?” one of the boys asked. The kid’s sneer informed Luke that he didn’t care about anything and wasn’t threatened by adults. Luke knew the mindset well. It was the type that would land the kid in jail one day.

“I’m her brother,” Luke answered.

That got their attention. “The guy from the earthquake?” the girl asked.

“Yep,” Blair replied. “This is the brother who lived, though he does a pretty good job of acting like he’s dead.”

In one sentence, she’d summed him up perfectly. “You’re leaving now with the brother who lived,” Luke told her.

“No—”

“You can walk out of here with me, or I can carry you out of here,” Luke said.

“Go ahead and try to carry her out of here,” the future felon threatened.

Blair put a restraining hand on the boy’s torso as he moved to stand, keeping him in place. “So,” Blair said casually, glancing at her friends, “the brother who lived just finished a seven-year sentence for felony theft. I wouldn’t fight him if I were you.” She pressed to her feet, brushing off the back of her ripped jeans.

Future Felon rose, too. “I don’t care. I’ll take him on.”

“I hope you do. I hope all five of you take me on.” Luke meant it. He’d been in a bad mood since kissing Finley yesterday. Fist fights were better than workouts at the gym. He’d feed off the struggle, the adrenaline, the pain.

“I’m coming with you,” Blair told Luke.

“You don’t have to,” Future Felon said to Blair.

“It’s fine,” she said firmly. “I’m going. I’ll see you guys later.”

Her friends murmured good-byes as the two of them walked away.

Intervening to protect her friends from a fight with him was the first intelligent thing he’d seen Blair do.

“No smoking in my truck,” he said.

She glared at him. He glared back. After a few seconds, she tossed the cigarette on the asphalt and stubbed it out with the toe of her combat boot.

She was such a poser. It was embarrassing.

They climbed into his truck, and he drove toward their parents’ house.

“I don’t know what you were trying to prove just now,” she said. “I’ll be back out there with them tomorrow.”

“Unless we strike a deal, and you hold to your side of the bargain.”

“What kind of deal?”

“I’ll work on your car if you stop smoking, vaping, and getting drunk at parties.”

A few blocks rolled past. She looked out the passenger side window with a pouty expression. “I should’ve known that you wouldn’t work on my car just to be nice.”

“Right. You should’ve known.”

She didn’t respond.

“Well?” he asked. “I thought you wanted to be able to drive your car when you turn sixteen.”

“I do.”

“How bad?”

“Bad.”