Dangerous Boy (28 page)

Logan’s—no, Trent’s—face stares back at me, along with a headline: L
OCAL
G
IRL
E
SCAPES
A
TTEMPTED
M
URDER BY
B
OYFRIEND
.

Another headline to go with the others that will come up if you Google Trent Townsend.

Even though I now know his real name is Trent, I still think of him as Logan. It’s Logan I fell in love with. Logan I miss. Trent is a stranger.

“Hey DQ,” a voice calls, and I look up.

“Hey yourself.” I stand up, throw my backpack over my shoulder, and grin up at Bick.

“You ready to go? Cows wait for no man,” he says.

“You’re such a dork,” I say, adjusting the straps of my backpack. My collarbone finally healed, though there’s still a tiny bump.

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Am I a beggar?”

He bumps my hip with his. “Hey, you wanted help for your dad, and I come cheap.”

“Hey, he’s making you dinner. And besides, I pay you in tutoring,” I say.

“True, but are your services any good?”

I drop my jaw, indignant. “You got a B on your last chem test!”

“Fine, fine. I agree. You’re worth the effort.”

“Wow, I’m so flattered,” I joke, fluttering a hand over my heart.

Bick looks down at me as we walk off campus, heading to his giant truck. It was fixable after all, though it took half of the ag mechanics crew and a whole lot of hammers and parts.

I don’t know what this is, between us. He started helping a lot at my house, after my collarbone broke and Daemon nearly killed me. Just showed up one day with Adam and did my chores.

But even after Adam went back to business as usual, Bick kept coming around. And then…I started to feel something,
something that terrified me. It’s nothing like the swept-away feeling I had with Logan. It’s this achingly slow build, as the two of us edge closer and closer to a place I’m afraid to go, but unable to resist.

I know that, unlike Logan, it’s okay to trust Bick, this guy I’ve known so many years, this guy who would do anything for me if only I ask.

Sometimes being strong isn’t about keeping people away. Sometimes it’s about letting them in.

“So if I pick up an extra milking on Saturday,” he says, “what do I earn for
that
?”

I roll my eyes. “The pleasure of my company?”

“You’re gonna hang out in the milk parlor for four hours with me?”

“Maybe. Maybe I’ll even help,” I say.

“Good. I might let you.”

We’re at his truck now, and we stop next to the passenger door. Bick puts his hand on the handle, but he doesn’t open it right away. “Are you going to go visit him soon?”

I rest my hand on the truck to steady myself. I knew he’d ask, eventually. I just don’t know the answer. “I’m not sure.”

“I’ll go with you, if you want. It’s a long drive. Lots of freeway miles.”

“Thanks,” I say quietly, grateful that he understands, that I don’t even have to ask him to go with me.

I guess the big irony of my list of fears was that the biggest one was never on my list: I was afraid to talk about them, let anyone help with them. Things with Logan went so horribly
wrong, but I’d been willing to ignore it for so long because of what he was doing for me. How he was helping me get over the things that scared me.

But I never should have put that on his shoulders. I should have trusted my friends, too.

In the months since Logan’s been locked away, Allie’s taken me to swimming lessons and Bick’s helped me learn to change lanes and merge on the freeway. Adam even took me four-by-fouring again, though he agreed to stick to the easy trails until I grew more confident.

Bick pulls open the passenger door, staring down at me. “Have you talked to him lately?”

I let my eyes lose focus, tracing over the small bump in my collarbone. The doctor says I’ll always have it. He called it a badge of honor.

It’ll always remind me of Logan. Of my first real boyfriend.

He’s locked up about two hours north of here. Not in prison. His cell has padded walls. They don’t believe that his brother’s soul is fighting for dominance, they just think he’s crazy. That he has multiple personality disorder or something.

But I saw it for myself. I know what really happened that night.

He writes to me, sometimes, says Daemon hasn’t come back since he fell over the edge of the cliff. He thinks because his heart stopped for a few minutes in the ambulance, that Daemon finally died for good.

I don’t know if I believe him. I hope it’s true for his sake.

I blink away my thoughts, stop tracing over my collarbone
and meet Bick’s eyes with a small smile. “No, I haven’t seen him. I’d like to go, though. Soon.”

“Sure. We can do that.” Bick waits while I slide in, then pushes the door shut behind me. I’m surprised every time he does something sweet like that. He was always so rough around the edges.

But I guess even Madison saw past his exterior. And maybe she hurt him, but I see her, sometimes, watching us together, and I know she’s jealous. I know she misses him. She has a good reason to.

He slams the door behind me and walks around to his side. He starts the truck up, and the big block engine he installed rumbles the floorboards. Before shifting into gear, he studies me. “Do you have to sit so far away?”

I look at him and feel a blush spread across my cheeks. And then I slide over so that our knees are touching.

“That’s better.”

And then he shifts his truck and leaves the school grounds behind.

I owe a huge debt to Gillian for finding the heart of the story and guiding me to it. Your insight and attention to detail amaze me. Many thanks, too, to Jocelyn and the whole crew at Razorbill.

Thank you, Zoe, for spending a day spinning ideas with me when I had none.
Dangerous Boy
is the result of those e-mails, and it wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for you. And thank you, Nancy, for your help on covers and deadlines.

My gratitude to Dave and Brooke for your patience and love even when I’m knee-deep in edits.

Lastly, thank you to my readers, because without you, none of this would matter.