“I just want to talk,” she says, her hands stretched out, like she’s helpless.

“You could have called. Go home, Gaby. My mom will be home any minute, and she doesn’t need to see you here. I don’t need to see you here,” I say, moving toward my house, toward my door.

“Kens,” she says, saying my name the way my new friends do. She hasn’t called me Kens since we were little, and she no longer has the right to.

“Gaby, you cannot be serious! Coming here? Right now? I mean, are you serious about this?” I can feel my temper boiling, and I notice Owen’s truck pull up behind her, which only makes my nerves fire away more. I don’t want him to see this. I don’t want to be here. I want to disappear!

“Please, Kens…” she starts, and I interrupt.

“Don’t talk to me like that! Don’t say my name like that! Like we’re…what? Friends? Jesus, Gaby! You slept with my father!” I scream, and I notice another guy standing next to Owen, both of them near the front of the truck, watching me—watching this.

“I didn’t mean to. It just happened. I fell in love with him, Kensington. I love Dean. And I tried not to, but your dad, he loves me too. We didn’t mean to hurt you, hurt your mom.” She’s saying so much. She’s saying too much, and I notice Owen ushering whoever is with him toward the house—away from my embarrassing display—and I’m grateful.

The distraction lets Gaby get closer without me realizing, though, and soon her hand is touching my arm, and I recoil quickly.

“Don’t you fucking touch me. You…you!” I push her as I let go of myself, let myself feel the rage. “You were my best friend, and you betrayed me. You betrayed my MOM! We took care of you, let you stay in our house. My god! What were you doing in my house? Uhhhhhhggggg! You called him Dean! Like he’s your boyfriend! Oh…my god!”

“It wasn’t like that, Kens. I promise,” she starts, but I hold my hands up, then I shove her back on her feet. I move her, and she lets me, until she’s at her opened car door.

“Just…go, Gaby. Please…just go,” I say, my head shaking, and the tears filling up the corners of my eyes. Gaby’s face is a reflection of mine, but I have no sympathy for her. I want her to feel the pain of a million needles—I want her heart to ache and her breath to choke her. I want her to cry and never stop. And I want my mom to feel better. I want to move back to the city, away from this place. But I can’t even do that, because that’s where Gaby is, where Dean is.

She climbs back in the car and slowly moves away. I break, reaching down and filling my hands with small rocks from the side of the yard. “I hate you!” I scream, my voice cracking from the force, and I let the rocks fly at the front of her car, pelting it and leaving small marks behind. I reach down for another handful, and cock my arm, ready to throw.

“Don’t,” Owen says, his hand wrapped around my small wrist, locking me up, unable to move. I snap to his eyes, and they’re no longer void of feeling like they were this morning. There’s sympathy in them, and that’s the only reason I let my muscles relax. “It won’t make you feel better. Let her go.”

The stones fall from my fingers, and I bring my hands up to my head, scratching into my hairline with frustration as I pace. “What will?” I ask, and he quirks an eyebrow up. “Make me feel better. What will make me feel better?”

“Nothing,” he says, and his answer comes so fast that it makes me sad. I’m sad because I get the sense that Owen is right, and he’s speaking from experience.

“I’m. So. Angry,” I say between deep breaths, letting my guard down a little more, but tensing when I realize that the guy who was in the truck with him is still here, standing a few feet away. Owen follows my gaze, the corner of his lip raising slightly, then lowering fast.

“That’s my brother, Andrew,” he says, and the younger version of him nods once in response, stepping forward and reaching out his hand. His manners feel so natural, and strange, given how much he looks like his older brother.

“I’m Kensi,” I say, shaking his hand.

“I know,” he says, smiling enough to show his teeth. Owen gives him a sharp look, and he scrunches his shoulders up defensively. “What? I know her name. So what?”

Owen keeps his disapproving look on his brother for a few more seconds, and I can sense a silent exchange happening between them.

“You ever hit someone?” Owen asks, making a sharp turn in the conversation, his eyes back on mine. They’re still bright, and…gorgeous. But there’s also a challenge lingering in them, this flare I see every now and then, when he’s confronting me, taunting me—pushing me.