Crossing the line

Chapter Seven

July 1989

“Excuse me, Mr. Dower, but I was wondering—” Tabitha wrung her hands and glanced nervously at Mr. Dower’s wife Marisa. She didn’t like Tabitha, but she tried to forget that and glanced up at the dark-haired man. “Have you seen Clay?”

Terrance Dower stopped mopping the front of Maple’s One Stop shop and arched an eyebrow at Tabitha. He lowered his voice so his wife couldn’t hear him. “I try hard not to see Clay when he’s in here, if you catch my drift?”

Tabitha nodded, knowing what he meant. Clay had developed the habit of shoplifting. Which was the reason Marisa Dower hated her so much. She had inherited the store from her mother, and it was her pride and joy. She sat at the front counter where they sold the lottery tickets, watching the place like a hawk. Even if Tabitha didn’t steal, she was usually with Clay when he did. Mrs. Dower’s anger wasn’t odd. It was Mr. Dower who was the unusual one because he’d caught Clay stealing food plenty of times and just looked away when he did.

“I can’t find him,” Tabitha said in a hushed whisper, knowing Terrance Dower was her best bet at finding Clay. “I’ve looked everywhere, and I figured if he was hungry, he’d—”

“Darlin’, you’re mumbling.” Mr. Dower leaned down lower and looked her in the eye. “Now tell me again what’s the problem.”

“He ran away.” Tabitha’s voice was soft and fearful because she didn’t want Clay to get in trouble. “And I don’t know where he’s at.”

“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” he said confidently. “He’s probably just off finding trouble like boys do.”

Clay hadn’t been home in three weeks. When his mother moved out and left him with her boyfriend, Clay packed up and left after the first black eye. Up until two days ago, he’d been keeping in contact with Tabitha, but now she couldn’t find him. He wasn’t finding trouble. He was homeless and hungry, and Tabitha didn’t know how to verbalize all that in a way that wouldn’t have Mr. Dower calling the sheriff.

She nodded and turned away. “Thank you.”

“I might have seen him this morning,” Mr. Dower called out as Tabitha walked to the door.

Tabitha breathed a sigh of relief as she turned around and smiled at him. “Really?”

“You want Terry to help you look for him? He’s just in the back doing inventory.”

She shook her head, because Mrs. Dower was sending long, furious glances at her husband that made it clear she didn’t want Terry anywhere but in the stockroom. Tabitha would have declined anyway. Their youngest son, Terry, seemed like a decent kid, but he was already in middle school, and that made her nervous. She was always waiting for older boys to turn mean like Brett and Vaughn.

Boys could be cruel. She didn’t trust them, even the nice ones like Terry Dower.

Which was why it was so weird that her only two friends were boys.

Maybe Wyatt would help her look without telling his dad. He and Clay hated each other more than ever, but this was different. It sort of felt like an emergency. Clay had been getting thinner since he ran away. She couldn’t leave him out there all alone. He thought he didn’t want her help, which was basically what he told her the last time she’d seen him, but Tabitha didn’t really care. He was getting her help if he wanted it or not, and she’d even risk telling Wyatt about it to make sure he was okay.

Clay was going to be furious. Being homeless was making him really grouchy.

“I’ll find him.” She gave Mr. Dower another smile of gratitude, because now she knew Clay was still in town, and he’d at least managed to steal something to eat this morning. “Thank you.”

She got onto Brett’s old bike she’d parked outside the store and decided to ride to the rec center. Wyatt practically lived there since his grandfather died. Big Fred Conner had taken over as sheriff, and he was a very busy man. He took full advantage of all the after-school and summer programs and signed the Conner twins up for everything.

Unlike Clay, Wyatt was always easy to find.

The rec center wasn’t a far ride, but the bike didn’t cooperate that well, and the summer heat was unbearable. She was sweaty and miserable by the time she got there. She parked her bike in the rack on the side of the building, putting it next to Wyatt’s brand-new Huffy that he’d gotten for his birthday. She didn’t bother locking her bike up. No one would want it.

She worked on retying her long hair in a ponytail and wiped at the sweat running down her temples. Her shirt was sticking to her, and her jeans were stained from the rusted chain. She brushed at them as she walked up the front of the rec center.

Tabitha hated for anyone to see her looking dirty, but Wyatt most especially.

She made a detour to the ladies’ room to wash her face. She winced at her reflection in the mirror. Her freckles had multiplied under the summer sun, and she was burned from riding around looking for Clay the past few days.

“Hey, Tabitha.” Jules walked into the bathroom with Serena Dennis, sounding bouncy and upbeat as usual. “What’re you doing here?”

Tabitha turned to the two girls, who were both pressed and perfect-looking in their karate outfits. Jules was exceedingly tan, which caused her light blue eyes to stand out more than ever and made her hair seem even blonder.

“I was just looking for Wyatt.”

“Ain’t gonna find him in here.” Serena giggled.

Tabitha flushed, feeling stupid, but Jules didn’t notice. She just smiled and offered, “He’s boxing.”

“Ah.” Tabitha smiled back, because that’d save her from wandering around and peeking in all the classes. Wyatt took so many, he could be in any one of them. “Thank you.”

“Sure thing.” Jules had a look on her face, as if she knew something Tabitha didn’t. “He’ll be happy to see you.”

Serena giggled again, and this time Jules laughed with her.

Tabitha walked out of the bathroom feeling as if she wasn’t just left out of the joke but was somehow part of it. She’d given up trying to understand other girls. Scared of boys, uncomfortable around girls. Tabitha had more issues than Clay.

She knew where the boxing was, because she’d come to the rec center sometimes. It was cool in there, and it got her out of the house over the long summer months. Even if she couldn’t afford to take any of the classes, there were activities that were free on Tuesdays, and sometimes she just liked to watch Wyatt take his classes.

He was one of those people who was good at everything. In that respect, he was very much like his sister. He might not excel at school, but he did well enough, and once school was out and they let him loose on the football field or put him in a boxing ring, he was amazing.

Tabitha’s fingers itched to grab one of her notebooks just thinking about it. Sometimes she wrote stories when she was on the outs with the library. Brett liked to rip up her books. He knew it took her forever to find the money to pay the library back for them and re-earn the privilege of borrowing more.

So she wrote her own stories, but she always changed Wyatt’s name so no one would know she was writing about him. Tabitha learned a long time ago that her imagination was one of the few things that couldn’t be taken away from her. She liked stories with real heroes and over-the-top adventures, ones that she could get completely lost in. Wyatt Conner made good hero material.

She walked into the room, seeing that Wyatt was actually in the ring with Manny Hardan, who was thirteen and bigger than him. That didn’t seem to deter him. Wyatt bounced around him, red boxing gloves held up as he dodged each of Manny’s blows. She winced every time Manny took a swing, but Wyatt ducked and moved in a way that was almost like dancing.

Tabitha sat on one of the benches in the corner, willing to wait patiently until he was done with practice. Fighting didn’t bother her like it did some girls. She saw it all the time in her backyard or around the corner at the trailer park. Her uncles would get into fights. Her brother would get into fights. Last month, before he’d run off, Clay had gotten into it with both Brett and Vaughn, and he’d held his own.

Growing up where they did, fighting was just a way of life, but Tabitha liked watching this version of it much better, without the dirt or asphalt breaking their falls. Here there were rules.

“Dang it, Conner, does this look like a martial arts class?” The coach leaned over the ropes, his face flushed red as he glared at Wyatt. “If I catch you kicking again, you’re sitting on the bench in the corner with the girls for the rest of practice!”

She glanced around her to see if she’d missed some other girl. Six boys were hanging out and talking on the other side of the room, but the only person in the corner was her.

Wyatt looked toward her, and Tabitha could see him frown. Then Manny capitalized on his distraction and punched him hard enough that Tabitha flinched. Rather than go down, Wyatt responded by punching him back, making Manny’s head snap roughly to the side. Then he bounced back and kicked Manny in the stomach as if to make his point.

“Foul, Conner!” the coach yelled and pointed to where Tabitha was sitting. “You’re out for the rest of practice! Disqualified.”

Wyatt ducked under the rope as the coach called one of the other boys in to finish the round. He was shirtless and covered in sweat, but he didn’t seem to mind as he walked over to where Tabitha was sitting.

He fell down on the bench next to her and held out his gloves. “Untie ’em.”

She didn’t question his manners. He was mumbling through his mouth guard, and she knew he couldn’t say much. She just made quick work of untying his first glove. When she got it off, he pulled out his mouth guard that was covered in spit and blood.

Gross.

Tabitha went to work on his other glove rather than say anything.

“What’re you doing here?” Wyatt asked because he was always good at filling in the silence. “Did they change community days?”

She shook her head as she pulled off his other glove and set it down on the bench next to the first one. Then she looked up and studied him in concern. “Are you okay?”

“Right as rain.” Wyatt tossed his mouth guard on the bench. “I think I was winning till the coach got technical.”

Tabitha tried to bite her tongue, but she couldn’t help but point out, “You put that in your mouth.”

“What?” Wyatt frowned at her. “The mouth guard? So?”

“And you just put it on the bench.” Tabitha gave him a look when he didn’t seem to be getting what she was saying. “People sweat on that bench.”

He laughed as he started picking at the white tape wrapped tightly around his knuckles. “You’re weird, Tab.”

Tabitha couldn’t argue with that. She knew she didn’t fit in, so she just pointed out, “I don’t think it’s sanitary.”

“My dad washes ’em in the dishwasher. It’ll be fine.”

Double gross.

“Poor Jules.”

If she had to eat on dishes washed in the same machine as her brother’s dirty mouth guard, she’d pull a Clay and live on the streets.

“Poor Jules? Poor Me. I’m stuck living with her.” Wyatt snorted as he looked up and frowned. “You sunburned?”

Tabitha cupped her hot cheeks, feeling embarrassed. “Yes, a little.”

“Is your brother picking on you? Is that why you’ve been outside so much?”

Tabitha shook her head as she silently debated with herself about Clay. She often sugarcoated things. Wyatt knew Brett was an annoyance, but he didn’t know how cruel he could get. He knew Tabitha and Clay were poor, but he didn’t understand there were still nights when she didn’t eat. Telling Wyatt about Clay running away felt like a huge betrayal of trust. If only she had more friends, but Wyatt was the only other person she talked to.

“You know you can come hang out at the rec center,” Wyatt went on like he always did when Tabitha was searching for the right words. “Or you could hang out at my house after my dad gets off work. I know you hate my dad, but—”

“I don’t hate your dad,” Tabitha said defensively. “My family does.”

“Figures.” Wyatt looked away and huffed. “Only criminals hate my dad.”

That was true, so Tabitha didn’t argue with him. She just sat there silently and thought about Wyatt’s world in comparison to hers. To him, Clay would be a criminal. That was likely why he hated him so much. Even if he didn’t know the details, he could probably sense it. Clay stole things all the time. Food, clothes, one time he even stole a headband for Tabitha. She wore it because she didn’t have many pretty things.

“I have to go now.” Tabitha stood up, determined to look for Clay on her own. Asking Wyatt for help was a horrible idea. Heroes didn’t help the bad guys. They only helped people who lived in nice houses and had food to eat without having to steal it. “I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

“Oh, hey!” Wyatt reached out and grabbed her arm. “You don’t have to leave. I was being a jerk.”

“No, you weren’t.” She shook her head quickly, because she wasn’t mad at him. He was always honest, and she liked that about him. She pulled her arm out of his. “I just have something to do. Bye, Wyatt.”

She ran out the door before she could change her mind, because she really wanted to believe she wasn’t one of the bad guys, but the truth was she wasn’t so sure. Just like Clay, she often thought it was a matter of time. She knew stealing was wrong, but she sort of agreed with Clay—being hungry was worse.

She ran down the hallway, having the thought that maybe today was a good day to start being what she was meant to be. She really needed a hat. Her face burned so badly from too much sun. Or maybe some sunscreen they kept at the front of the store during the summer months. She knew because she spied them all the time, and she wanted it desperately. She loved the sun. It just didn’t love her.

Sunscreen would solve everything. The Dowers wouldn’t miss one little bottle.

She was so caught up in thought, she almost ran smack into someone at the end of the hallway. She skidded to a halt and shouted triumphantly when she saw who it was. “Clay!”

Without thinking, she jumped at him and wrapped both her arms around his neck. Clay stood there awkwardly, letting her hug him.

“You’re sunburned.” Clay was clearly looking away to cover up how uncomfortable he felt with Tabitha hanging on him, but he didn’t push her away, which was a minor miracle. He had been meaner than a grizzly bear the last time she’d seen him. He even offered helpfully, “I could steal ya some sunscreen.”

Tabitha laughed and hugged him tighter, seeing the peace offering for what it was.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Tabitha hit his shoulder when she pulled away. “Why didn’t you—”

Clay cut her off by coughing loudly. “Piglet.”

Tabitha turned around, seeing Wyatt standing there. “Oh.”

Bold as ever, still dressed in his boxing shorts with the white tape wrapped around both knuckles, Wyatt walked up to them. He eyed Clay’s stained clothes and long hair with a look of distaste. Clay was dirty, but Tabitha still stiffened in his defense.

“Ain’t you got somewhere to be, Conner?” Clay growled, his voice low with danger. “I know you ain’t got a mama, pig, but the sheriff’s always got someone round to make sure his piglets follow the rules.”

Tabitha gasped and turned to Clay in horror. She couldn’t believe he’d just said that. He didn’t even notice her shock. His eyes were narrowed menacingly, but then so were Wyatt’s.

“Better a mama who’s dead, than one who has been behind bars more times than you can count, not that that’s saying a whole lot far as you’re concerned. We all know school’s not your thing,” Wyatt retaliated without even flinching as he met Clay’s furious glare fearlessly. He leaned in, giving Clay an evil smile. “I’ve seen them drag her in, Powers. Most of the time, she’s so out of it she can’t even walk.”

“Fuck you, Conner!” Clay took a threatening step forward. “Don’t you talk ’bout my mama.”

“Why not?” Wyatt laughed. “Everyone does. The whole dang town knows she’s trash.”

Tabitha had backed away from both of them, sensing impending violence, and she wasn’t even surprised when Clay lashed out first. His fist connected with Wyatt’s jaw, making a responding crack that had Tabitha wanting to close her eyes, but she didn’t.

“Clay, no!” she shouted before she could stop herself when she saw Clay was going to hit him a second time. “Please don’t—”

Her words were cut off when Wyatt lashed back with stunning speed, dodging Clay’s second punch and then catching him in the side with a hard jab that made Clay gasp out loud in pain. Maybe it was the tape on his fists, maybe it was because Wyatt was better cared for and well fed, maybe it was just the black belt he’d earned at the beginning of the summer. Whatever the reason, Wyatt Conner was able to drag Clay Powers, the biggest kid in their grade, to the ground with very little problem. The horror of it trapped her voice in the back of her throat.

Tabitha flattened herself against the wall, watching with wide eyes as the only two friends she had in the entire world went after each other with a wild fury she’d seen too many times before.

A crowd of kids gathered around the fight, but Tabitha barely noticed them cheering on the violence with rabid enthusiasm. It felt like all the color fell out of her world to the sickening sound of fists against skin.

She’d never believed in Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. They never came to her house. She’d always known they weren’t real, but she had unwaveringly believed in real-life heroes with every fiber of her being until the moment she saw Wyatt Conner slam Clay’s head against the cement hard enough to make a sickening thud.

All boys turned mean eventually.

Tabitha turned around and left before she could see who won.

It wasn’t until she’d started burning all her notebooks in the bin in the backyard that she snapped out of her shock enough to feel guilty about leaving Clay. It wasn’t his fault Tabitha had been naive enough to still believe in fairy tales. He would think she was stupid for believing Wyatt was a hero to begin with. If he’d known about her stories, he would have probably stopped talking to her.

She threw some sticks into the fire that was dancing up past the metal rim as the smoke curled toward the sky. She had more notebooks than she realized, and all her hard work burned impressively well. She wanted to watch them for a few more minutes; then she’d go look for Clay and say sorry for being a bad friend. He was tough. She’d seen him fight many times before, and she knew he’d be okay, but she still needed to find him. Maybe she’d try her hand at stealing and grab him something to eat from Maple’s.

“If Mama catches you playing with fire, she’ll tan your ass.”

Tabitha jumped when Brett came down the steps in the backyard. Then she quickly looked around the yard, making sure she hadn’t forgotten to throw one of the notebooks in the fire. She’d been hiding them for years. It’d be terrible for him to get ahold of one now and make fun of her on the day she knew they weren’t true. All those stories about one unique boy saving lost orphans, feeding the homeless cookies, or rescuing puppies out of abandoned mines, and it’d been a lie. He’d grown up mean just like the rest of them.

She was still distracted with looking for the notebooks when Brett walked past her.

“Don’t burn the house down, runt.” He shoved her, forcing her to throw out her hands to stop herself from falling into the fire. She screeched when both her open palms connected with the metal bin. He paused when Tabitha jumped back, holding out her hands from the shock of pain. He narrowed his eyes at her. “You start wailing, and I’ll give you something to cry about.”

He walked off quickly, which was a small blessing. He must have wanted to put distance between them in case the burns were serious enough for him to get in trouble. Tabitha fell to the ground, looking at her hands that were already scorched red. As she watched, blisters formed, and the pain radiating out from the burns was so intense she tasted blood as she bit her lip to keep from screaming again.

It wasn’t until Brett was riding his bike down the driveway that the first sob was torn out of her. The burns gave her the excuse to cry, and she used it to her full advantage. Tabitha curled up in the dirt and sobbed over make-believe heroes and real-life villains until the sun went down and all her dreams turned to ash.

Chapter Eight

“I’m telling, Wyatt! If you don’t stop hitting him, I’m telling right now!”

It was Jules’s voice ringing over the shouting crowd that caused the first thread of clarity to filter in past the red haze of fury. Wyatt hated Clay for his constant piglet jabs and scowling bad attitude. He was the meanest kid in their class. No one liked him. Which was why it really galled Wyatt that Tabitha was always hanging on him. She’d never hugged Wyatt like that, and he was nicer than Clay Powers.

He was better-looking too.

Tabitha didn’t pay half as much attention to him as she did to Clay. It wasn’t fair, and he hit Clay again out of the burning frustration that had been building for as long as he could remember. He wasn’t even sure why it made him so angry, but it did.

“Coach Jasper!”

Dang, but Jules was loud. Her voice echoed all the way down the hallway as she took off running toward the boxing ring. Several of the girls followed after her, and other students turned away rather than get caught gawking at the fight.

Wyatt had the good sense to try to get off Clay before the coach showed up, but that didn’t stop Clay from punching him one more time in the side. The punch lacked the strength his other jabs had, but on instinct Wyatt pulled his fist back in retaliation to get another good hit in. He paused when he looked at Clay’s face.

Clay was covered in blood, so much so Wyatt couldn’t tell where it was all coming from. The icy rush of fear and horror was so overwhelming Wyatt got sick to his stomach between one heartbeat and the next.

He couldn’t have possibly done that. Clay’s lip was split. His eye left eye was already swollen shut, and his mouth was bleeding so much he had to spit blood rather than choke.

Wyatt had been fighting all his life. On the mat. In the ring. He never appreciated all those annoying rules until right then. It was horrifying what a little fit of fury could cause, and it was his fault.

“Are you okay?” Wyatt managed to whisper past the nausea rising in the back of his throat.

“Get off me, piglet.” Clay’s voice was slurred, but there was a snarl to it as he shoved at Wyatt for good measure, forcing him to the ground.

Wyatt stayed where he was, staring at Clay, who wiped at his mouth. Clay’s one good eye was still narrowed menacingly at Wyatt. The hatred was so blatant the few students left watching backed up when Clay got to his feet.

He wavered where he stood, and on instinct, Wyatt reached out to him. Clay flinched, and Wyatt had never felt so low in his entire life. It was as if he were looking at a person outside himself. He couldn’t put it together that he had been the one to do this, that he had somehow turned into everything he had been raised to fight against. Someone who hurt rather than helped. A person who let his anger overrule his common sense, and all because he’d seen Tabitha hug Clay. It had caused such raw fury to surge through his bloodstream he actually saw red.

He was in so much trouble.

As he stood there considering how many different ways his father was going to bury him for this, Clay took off, and Wyatt couldn’t even think to stop him before Jules’s shrill voice carried down the hallway again.

“I think they’re both hurt! Hurry!”

“Conner!” Coach Jasper was running full-out but stopped to glare down the hallway before he turned to Wyatt and studied him with wide, horrified eyes. “Did that Powers boy do that to you? I got half a mind to call the sheriff on him. I would if I didn’t know he was gonna lose his marbles over you.”

“What?” Wyatt frowned and wiped at his mouth and then looked at his hand, finding it covered with blood.

“Are you okay, Wy?” Jules asked in concern as she came up behind Coach Jasper. “Your eye is swollen near closed. Coach Jasper, I think we do need to call my daddy.”

Coach Jasper huffed in defeat before he leaned down to look at Wyatt’s face. It was obvious he wasn’t thrilled about the idea of calling up the sheriff to tell him his son got into a fight when he was supposed to be in boxing. “Why the heck didn’t ya send someone after me before you let that big redneck beat ya near to death?”

Wyatt blinked in shock. “You think it was his fault?”

“Wasn’t it?”

Wyatt looked to Jules, who was glancing between the coach and Wyatt. Her lips were pinched in disapproval, but amazingly his sister stayed silent. She wasn’t going to rat him out. Too bad Wyatt’s conscience wouldn’t let him run with it.

“I did it.” Wyatt shook his head in defeat. “The fight was my fault, and he’s hurt worse than me. A lot worse. Someone ought to go find him.”

Wyatt turned to leave, because he was fairly certain he should be the one to go make sure Clay was okay. Even if he didn’t like him, he sure didn’t want him dropping dead for hugging Tabitha.

“Whoa, there, boy.” Coach Jasper grabbed his arm. “You ain’t looking too peachy either. We got to put in a call to the sheriff’s office right now.”

“Are you gonna tell him it’s my fault?” Wyatt couldn’t help but ask.

“Well, I surely ain’t gonna lie to him.” The coach laughed bitterly. “If I’m going under the bus, you’re going down with me. Why the heck couldn’t you wait until after boxing to start the dang fight?”

Wyatt’s father studied Wyatt’s face under the flickering florescent lights in Coach Jasper’s office. “If he hit you first, why do you think it was your fault?”

Wyatt shrugged. He wasn’t real sure why everyone was set and determined to make this fight Clay’s fault instead of his. “I just think it is.”

“What aren’t you telling me? ’Cause I know we ain’t hearing the whole story.” His father turned to glare at Coach Jasper. “And what the heck was Wyatt doing out of class? Is the Powers boy taking classes here? Why’s he just walking in off the street? It ain’t even a community day. What the heck kinda operation are you running, Jasper?”

Coach Jasper noticeably paled; he opened his mouth, and the words seemed stuck in his throat. “I, um—”

Jules kicked Wyatt’s leg from her seat next to him, and Wyatt grunted, hearing her silent communication loud and clear.

“I sorta said some things ’bout his mama,” Wyatt mumbled under his breath.

His father’s head snapped around, and he narrowed dark eyes at him. “What did you say?”

“Something ’bout her being trash.”

Coach Jasper winced. “Well, it can’t be the first time he heard that.”

“I might’ve mentioned something ’bout seeing her being dragged into the sheriff’s office.”

His father groaned. “Christ, Wyatt.”

Wyatt felt his face flame. It sounded so much worse when he repeated it to his father.

“Well, I’d surely have decked you for that.” His father shook his head. “That mouth of yours. It’s always way ahead of your brain. What made ya say something so half-cocked?”

Wyatt shrugged and looked to Jules uncertainly because he was almost positive she knew the real reason.

“Clay wasn’t looking too good, Daddy. He was bleeding more than Wyatt is,” Jules whispered as if choosing that to be the better confession than Wyatt’s crush on Tabitha. “I think he needs a doctor.”

“How bad was he?” his father asked in concern.

“Bad,” Jules and Wyatt said in unison in the way they were apt to do in stressful situations like this.

“Wyatt does have a black belt,” Jasper said with a sidelong glance at the sheriff. “And he’s fighting way above his age group in boxing.”

Wyatt couldn’t help but sit up at that. “Really?”

His father turned to arch an eyebrow at him, as if daring him to say more. Wyatt shrank back and lowered his gaze rather than ask how far above his age group Coach Jasper thought he was fighting, but it was on the tip of his tongue.

“Okay, come on.” His father stood up and picked his sheriff’s hat up off Coach Jasper’s desk. “We got to go find the Powers boy.”

It wasn’t until they got into his sheriff’s jeep and away from prying eyes that his father let loose.

“I swear, Wyatt, you’re gonna be the death of me. What gives you the right to go run your mouth ’bout things you see at my place of work? That sorta thing’s supposed to be kept private. The way you’re heading, Jules is gonna be the next sheriff ’cause I ain’t even sure I can trust you anymore.”

Wyatt turned to narrow his eyes at Jules, expecting her to add insult to injury. Instead she was looking out the window, flinching when their father started in again as if it were her under the gun.

“What’d you got to say ’bout all that?”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Well, sorry surely ain’t gonna cut it this time. I hope you’re thinking of a mighty fine apology for Powers, ’cause I ain’t doubting for a moment that it was your fault. That mouth of yours could make a saint violent.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“I ain’t never been so ashamed of my kin. I got half a mind to lock you up. You know what aggravated assault means, don’t ya?”

Wyatt nodded. “Yes, sir. I know what it means.”

“That’s a mighty serious offense. You feel like explaining to Judge Carter why you decided to run your mouth just ’cause you like the sound of your voice and then beat a boy that ain’t got half as many privileges as you to make yourself feel bigger and meaner?”

Wyatt shook his head as he avoided looking at his father, who was driving faster than usual, which was saying something. “No, sir.”

“Then what’re you gonna do to make up for it? ’Cause I’m truly considering it. Since it’s fun to run your mouth ’bout being hauled into the sheriff’s office, maybe it’s time you find out what it feels like.”

Wyatt shrugged again. He had no earthly idea what he could do to make up for this. On instinct he looked at Jules. His sister had an answer for everything.

“I wouldn’t say Wyatt was bigger than Clay,” Jules put in without missing a beat, as if she couldn’t resist his silent cry for help. “I think Clay’s taller.”

“Well, taller don’t mean—”

“And bigger.” Jules held out her hand as if imitating a giant. “And I heard from Susie that he got into a fight at the trailer park and beat both Vaughn Davis and Brett McMillen, and they’re two years older.”

“But—”

“And Clay threw the first punch,” Jules went on as if her father hadn’t tried to argue.

“Only ’cause of Wyatt’s mouth. What he said was beyond cruel.”

“But you’re always saying not to lose our tempers ’cause of words.” Jules voice took on an innocent, high-pitched tone like it always did when she was being manipulative, and for some reason only Wyatt ever noticed the change. “Isn’t that true, Daddy?”

“Well, it’s true, but that don’t make it okay what he did.”

“But if you’re arresting people for words, wouldn’t ya have to arrest everyone?”

“I’m arresting him for beating on the boy.”

“But that was self-defense, and you said if anyone tries to hurt us, we should defend ourselves and—”

“Jules, just hush. I’m sick of both your mouths.”

Jules opened her mouth as if to argue that point too, before their father turned to glare at her. “I ain’t kidding, missy. You’re ’bout to be in as much trouble as Wyatt.”

“That seems unfair.” Jules folded her arms over her chest. “Like I’m not allowed to have an opinion. Miss Katling says it’s like the woman’s revolution never happened round here, and it’s our job to remind fellas of our rights.”

“Miss Katling has armpit hair and a nonexistent dating record,” his father said with a growl of frustration. “What the hell kinda things was she teaching you in that young woman’s class anyhow?”

Wyatt gave his father a wide-eyed look of warning. Jules had told him what she learned in that young woman’s class Miss Katling was hosting at the rec center, and he’d rather be grounded the rest of the summer than hear Jules blurt it all out in front of their father. He wasn’t even surprised when Jules started before their father could catch the hint.

“They told us about periods and sex and—”

“Forget it.” He held up his hands in defeat. “Please, Jules. Hush for five minutes. I’m begging you. I got a headache a mile wide.”

“Seems like if we’re arresting people for words, it surely ain’t nice to say Miss Katling has armpit hair.” Jules huffed. “I like Miss Katling.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I heard you,” Jules said sullenly.

“I did too,” Wyatt couldn’t help but point out. “And you said she had a bad dating record.”

“God almighty, you two wear me out and confuse me in between. If you’re not killing each other, you’re doing this. Don’t think for one moment I don’t know what you did, Juliet. You’re changing the subject on purpose. You always bring up Miss Katling when you’re trying to get out of trouble. He’s still grounded.”

Jules turned and gave Wyatt an apologetic look, and Wyatt could only shrug in response. He surely couldn’t have put up that good of a defense for himself. If it’d been left up to him, he’d probably be spending the night in a jail cell.

His sister had a dark gift.

“And guess what you’re doing right now, buddy. You’re going out to the Powers place with me to say sorry to him face-to-face. I ain’t facing that alone.”

Wyatt nodded, deciding it was the least he deserved.

Chapter Nine

Wyatt never had to say sorry. Turned out there was no Clay Powers at the trailer park. He’d run away from home, and Wyatt went from feeling bad to horrible when his father had to launch a full-out search to find the homeless, injured kid his son had beaten black and blue.

When the sun set and their father still hadn’t returned from his quest to find Clay, Deputy Henry Caraway came and stayed with them. Though both Jules and Wyatt knew how to heat up one of the stacks of frozen meals their father had stored in the freezer, Henry took over and fixed them a real meal, which would’ve been a nice novelty if he didn’t come bearing bad news.

“Can you imagine him living on the streets all this time? How the heck’s he been surviving? You missed it, but after he dropped y’all off at home, your daddy dragged that dumb fool who’d been in charge of the Powers boy in for endangering a minor. Why the heck didn’t he report a kid his age running away?”

Wyatt was going to be physically ill. His stomach lurched, and he looked down at his food with a moan of misery. “I ain’t really hungry.”

“Boy, you’re always hungry.”

“Not always.”

“I think you’re upsetting him.” Jules gave Henry a look. “He already feels bad because of the fight. Now he found out he was beating on a homeless kid. He probably wants to drown himself.”

Nice of Jules to voice all his innermost demons out loud. Why’d God have to curse him with a twin who knew what he was thinking more often than not?

“You really sick, Wyatt?”

“Yes, I’m really sick.” Wyatt rubbed his head. “Can I go lay down?”

“Maybe I oughta call the doc,” Henry mused as he studied Wyatt across the table. “You ain’t looking so great tonight, boy.”

“I’m fine.” Wyatt got up without permission, hoping to take the attention off his bruised face because the last thing he wanted was Dr. Philips showing up. “I’m just tired.”

Henry didn’t stop him from sulking up to bed. Wyatt crawled under the covers, wishing he could go to sleep, but the pounding in his head, the rolling in his stomach, and the knowledge that Clay Powers was out there feeling worse than he did kept him staring at the darkened ceiling. He was so caught up in his thoughts he winced when the door to his bedroom opened, casting a ray of light from the hallway over his face.

He threw his hands over his eyes. “Close it quick.”

The door clicked shut, and Jules whispered, “How come you’re hiding up here like a coward?”

“I ain’t a coward.” He moaned. “I’m sick, Ju Ju.”

“I thought you were just hiding from Henry.” Her voice was suddenly low and concerned.

“That too. But I swear to God, I’m one wrong move from throwing up.”

“Maybe it’s a stomach bug. I hope you don’t give it me.” Jules sat down on his bed, making it bounce because she was always high energy.

That was the wrong move, and Wyatt physically shoved his sister to the ground in his attempt to make it out of bed and to his bathroom fast enough. He retched into the toilet, losing not just his dinner, but anything he’d likely eaten for the past week. He’d never thrown up so violently.

“Henry!” Jules’s voice echoed off the tile in the bathroom.

“Don’t!” Wyatt growled, hugging the toilet because just talking was making him worse, and the throbbing in his head made him feel like he was going to pass out right there on the tile. “He’ll call Dad, and then he’ll stop looking for Clay.”

“But—”

“Stomach flu don’t kill people,” Wyatt reminded her and then promptly threw up again.

“Jules?” Henry came bursting into Wyatt’s room.

In his life, he’d never seen someone move or think as fast as Jules. She managed to run out of his bathroom, shutting the door behind, and then say in a falsely bright voice, “Can you show me how to heat up some leftovers for Wyatt? Daddy told me to look after him.”

“That’s what you were screeching over?” Henry asked in disbelief. “I thought someone was dying up here.”

“Nope,” Jules said without missing a beat.

“Where’s Wyatt?” he asked, sounding suspicious.

“Brushing his teeth.”

“He’s gonna eat dinner after he brushes his teeth?”

“Boys are gross,” Jules said with such confidence even Wyatt was inclined to believe her.

“Okay, come on, missy. I reckon you ought to learn how to heat up leftovers, ’cause the sheriff surely ain’t gonna teach ya. Has he thought of putting you in a home economics class since he can’t cook to save his life?”

“You’re saying I’m supposed to learn ’cause I’m a girl?” Jules’s voice was shrill with insult.

“Now I ain’t saying that.”

“You didn’t ask Wyatt to take a home economics class.” Jules’s voice drifted out of the room and down the hallway. “You know Miss Katling says…”

Wyatt was on the floor when Jules showed back up. The cool tile was a nice distraction from the downward spiral his reality had taken in the past twelve hours. It seemed a mighty feat to ruin his life before middle school. The room was spinning, and he wished he had the energy to get up and flip off the bathroom light. It was making his headache so much worse.

“I brought you food.”

“Thanks, Ju Ju Bean,” he mumbled despite both of them knowing he wasn’t going to eat it.

“Your face looks pretty bad.”

“I reckon so,” Wyatt agreed.

“Did you fight with him ’cause of Tabitha?”

Wyatt grunted in agreement because the sound of his own voice made everything so much more painful.

“That was pretty dumb.”

He did a thumbs-up because he could always count on Jules to state the obvious.

“What’s so special ’bout her anyway? At least ten other girls have asked you to go steady. Prettier girls.”

“Shut up,” he couldn’t help but growl. “She’s pretty.”

“I guess, but she’s got like a million freckles.”

He actually managed to smile, which nearly killed his split lip. “I like freckles.”

“You are so weird.”

“And you ain’t?” he mumbled and managed to roll on his side to look at his sister, who was sitting cross-legged in her nightgown on the floor next to him. “I am so green.”

Jules pulled back. “Don’t breathe on me.”

Wyatt made a point of blowing in her direction just because. When Jules screeched, he groaned and put his hand to his head once more. “Your voice, Ju Ju. Didn’t ya hear me say I’m dying?”

“Why’s my voice make your head hurt?”

“’Cause it’s annoying.”

“You’re annoying,” Jules shot back quickly before her voice softened. “But really, are you sure you got a stomach bug?”

“Why else would I be puking?”

Jules leaned over to feel his forehead, and Wyatt blew on her again. He didn’t count on her shoving his head when he did it, and he had to choke back a shout from the white-hot pulse of pain.

He covered his head protectively and let out a half sob. “I hate you.”

Jules touched his head again, as if testing to see if she got the same response. He let out a low growl and shoved her in retaliation. The movement made his stomach lurch, and he had to jump to knees and throw up again. It was only as he was hovering over the toilet that he realized he should’ve puked on Jules instead—just because.

“Wy Wy,” Jules whispered. “I think there’s something really wrong with you.”

It wasn’t one of Jules’s more brilliant observations.

“Your daddy’s home.” Henry’s voice carried up from downstairs because all cops seemed to have those loud, booming voices. “He’s got the Powers boy with him.”

Wyatt wiped his mouth and collapsed against the tile, knowing he should be relieved they’d found Clay, but he was too sick to manage it. He’d been competing in sports since he was old enough to walk. He’d broken his arm once in judo. He’d cracked a rib in football. He and Jules had shared a million illnesses, and none of that had him feeling worse than he did at that moment. The guilt sure didn’t help his problem.

“I’m telling.” Jules hopped to her feet. “I think you need Dr. Philips.”

Chapter Ten

Jules ran down the stairs, having the fleeting thought that she probably ought to put a robe on before Clay Powers walked into the house. Her Daddy got funny about things like that lately, but it seemed like too much to be fussed with. She stopped when she saw her father helping Clay through the door.

As amazing as it was, he looked worse than her brother. Clay was doubled over. His face was bruised twice as badly as Wyatt’s, and he sort of looked like he was going to…

“Oh shit!” Her father growled when Clay puked on his shoes in the entryway.

Jules thought he was angry about the mess but instead he just picked up Clay like he weighed nothing even though he was the tallest kid in the sixth grade.

“Forget it, Henry. I got to drive this boy up to Mercy. I thought I could get away with calling Doc Philips, but Wyatt’s given him a concussion for sure. I’ll pay ya extra to stay with the twins till morning.”

“Shoot, Sheriff, you ain’t gotta pay me.”

“Wyatt’s throwing up too!” Jules shouted when her father turned on his heel and was already out the door.

He swung around, staring at her with wide eyes. “What?”

“You never told me that!” Henry gave her a horrified look before he turned back to her father defensively. “I swear, Sheriff, they never—”

“Take Powers.” Her father walked back to Henry and handed over Clay, who looked so sick he didn’t even care that he was in a house full of cops and piglets.

Her father took the stairs two at a time, and Jules ran to keep up with his long, powerful stride.

“Why the heck didn’t you tell Henry he was ill?”

“He didn’t want you to stop looking for Clay.”

Her father burst into Wyatt’s room. His eyes were so wide and terrified it scared Jules too. When he found Wyatt on the floor, he let out a low, primal sound of horror. “Oh God, Wy!”

Jules was already in tears. Her hands were shaking, and for one horrifying moment she had the thought of living the rest of her life without her twin. Her voice was a high-pitched screech of fear because she didn’t for one moment doubt the cruelty of fate that could yank the people she loved away from her.

“Shut her up.” Wyatt pressed both his hands to his head. “I’d rather be in a jail cell.”

“Jules, hush.” Her father leaned down and scooped up Wyatt, which made her brother groan in pain. “Just take a deep breath. We’re gonna take him up to Mercy. They’ll fix him.”

He didn’t sound very sure about it, because his voice was shaking, and Jules wasn’t inclined to believe him under the circumstances, because her father was always unbendingly confident.

“I’m coming,” she said quickly, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that if Wyatt was going to the hospital, she was too. “Is he dying? Please don’t let him die, Daddy.”

“Will you stop talk talking ’bout him dying? No one’s dying.” Her father sounded like an angry bear as he turned to walk out of the bedroom with Wyatt.

“Grandpa died! And our mama died, and if Wyatt dies, I’ll die ’cause—”

“Juliet!”

She let out a sob of horror as she followed him down the hallway. “I need to go with you. I can’t let him go to the hospital without me ’cause—”

“Then get dressed!”

Jules had never gotten dressed so fast in her entire life.

Henry offered to come with them, but there was no room in the sheriff’s jeep. So they made a very odd crew as Jules sat in the front set with her daddy, who was driving at least fifty miles over the speed limit to Mercy General with his sirens blazing. It seemed the noise wasn’t helping either Clay or Wyatt, who were both in the backseat with buckets in their laps and a green look on both their faces. Every once in a while, one or the other of them would lean over and throw up, and every time they did, her father would stomp on the gas harder.

The nerves had Jules talking a mile a minute. She was worse than Wyatt at the moment.

“What does a concussion mean? Does it mean he’s broken his head? I know something’s wrong with his head. I can feel it.”

“Something like that.”

Jules let out another screech of horror.

“Dang it, Jules, it’s not that bad. I’ve had a concussion before. Do I look dead?”

Something about that scared Jules even more, and she let out another sob.

“Jules,” Wyatt groaned from the backseat. “If I promise not to die, will you stop howling?”

Jules sniffed and turned to look at him. “Maybe.”

“I’m not gonna die,” Wyatt assured her. “I promise.”

She sniffed again as she studied her brother, with his bruised face, sitting next to his longtime enemy. Wyatt was the world’s worst liar. If he promised something, he always meant it. She felt a wave of relief wash over her almost instantly. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Wyatt agreed as he fell back against the seat. “She’ll be quiet now.”

“She ain’t been quiet since we left.” Clay’s hand was on his head, and his eyes were closed in misery. “It’s worse than the siren.”

“As long as you promise,” Jules reiterated.

“I promise, Ju Ju. I ain’t dying. It’s gonna take more than this.”

That helped even more, and Jules took the first clear breath since her father’s reaction to Wyatt on the floor had terrified her. “He’ll be okay. That means I’ll be okay.”

“Twins are weird.” Clay grunted, sounding truly mystified.

“Boy, you got not idea.” Her father sighed. “I still ain’t figured the two of them out.”

The doctors said later that it was a real special trick for Clay and Wyatt to give each other matching concussions that were serious enough to earn them both an extended stay at Mercy General’s pediatric ward.

Wyatt was sort of thankful for the head injury, because if not, his father would’ve surely shot him for putting Clay Powers in the hospital for four days. As it was, all his father could do was throw up his hands in defeat and keep his head low every time he walked by the nurses’ station.

He was so embarrassed and angry he threatened to take Wyatt out of all his classes and force him to spend his spare time mopping up the sheriff’s office. By some miracle, Wyatt had a Jules moment and suggested that instead of taking him out of classes, which he’d need if he was going be sheriff one day, he ought to just put Clay in the classes so they could fight on padding.

After all, it wasn’t their fists that caused the serious injuries—it was the concrete.

His father told him if he hit Clay again, he’d be grounded until his wedding day.

Wyatt didn’t see what the big deal was. It seemed like a sporting injury to him, and his father didn’t lose his marbles when Wyatt broke his arm in judo. Jules had dislocated her shoulder in karate two months ago, and she got a new video game console for her room.

Wyatt already decided the fight didn’t count. Fights with friends were okay. He fought with his friends all the time in boxing and karate.

“Are ya ever gonna accept my apology?” Wyatt asked, giving Clay a look across the breakfast table. “It’s been five days.”

Clay shrugged, looking unconcerned with the time that passed as he ate his second serving of eggs. Wyatt didn’t know how Clay could eat like that while still recovering. Wyatt’s head still had him feeling queasy even after the hospital discharged them last night. Clay had a more severe concussion than Wyatt, and he was eating like they were going to run out of food.

“You want more?” Wyatt asked curiously, while having the off thought he probably ought to stop Clay before he got legitimately sick.

Clay didn’t respond, but he did stand up and walk back to the stove. He dished himself up a third serving of eggs Henry had fixed for them because his father had been busier than usual dealing with the fallout from the fight. The people from the state had stopped by last night, but largely due to Wyatt and Jules’s whining, his father told them Clay could stay there until he healed up.

“You don’t think the state’s really gonna take ya, do you?”

“Yup. Surprised they ain’t dragged me away already.”

Clay was talking. That seemed like a minor improvement since he barely responded to Wyatt’s questions despite the two of them being together nonstop for almost a week. They even got to share a room in the hospital.

“You can’t go. We’re supposed to be buddies.”

“I’d rather go with the state.”

“Nah, that ain’t true.”

Clay gave him a dark look that said in no uncertain terms that it was true, but Wyatt’s theory was if he kept reminding Clay enough times of their new friendship, eventually he would forgive him.

“I said I was sorry ’bout a million times.”

“Whatever.” Clay turned back and sat at the table with a fresh plate of eggs. “I ain’t gonna be your friend. No way.”

“You can’t just take off with the state,” Wyatt argued. “Dad said they could take you to another city and—”

“Sounds good to me.”

“What ‘bout Tabitha?” he couldn’t help but bark, because if Tabitha liked Wyatt half as much as she liked Clay, he’d do anything to stay near her. “You can’t just up and leave her.”

“Tab’s fine.”

Wyatt let out a growl of frustration. His father thought Wyatt’s mouth could make a saint violent, but he hadn’t spent a week hanging around Clay Powers day and night. He was not an easy kid to be best buddies with. “You’re an asshole.”

Clay’s head shot up, and it was obvious he heard some sort of violence in Wyatt’s tone. “You gonna start hitting me again?”

“No, but she deserves a better fella than you.”

Clay’s eyes narrowed at Wyatt. “I ain’t her fella.”

“You sure act like you’re her fella. I saw you hugging,” Wyatt couldn’t help but grumble. The headache that wouldn’t end was making him grouchy. “She’s sweet on you.”

Then the most amazing thing happened; Clay Powers laughed. A hard, genuine laugh that seemed so strange coming from the somber, intense kid Wyatt had grown accustomed to over the past few days.

“What, Conner? You want her to be sweet on you instead?”

Wyatt shrugged. “Maybe.”

Clay stopped laughing. He looked shocked at the admission.

“Maybe you could help me out,” Wyatt mused thoughtfully when Clay didn’t have a response. “Tell her something good ’bout me.”

“Why would I do that?” He was looking at Wyatt like he’d grown two heads. “I hate you.”

“Naw, we’re best buddies,” Wyatt reminded him. “We’re supposed to help each other out and tell each other things. I told you a secret. Tell me one.”

“No.”

“You ain’t exactly easy to be best buddies with, Powers.”

“That’s ’cause I ain’t your buddy.”

“Sure you are,” Wyatt said confidently. “Now are you gonna tell Tabitha something good ’bout me or what?”

Clay was focused on his eggs rather than Wyatt’s romantic crises. Wyatt didn’t think Clay understood the gravity of the situation.

“I’m serious, Powers. I got to go steady with that girl.”

“Forget it.” Clay finally huffed, as if willing to do anything to shut Wyatt up. “Her mama would never let her hang out with a piglet.”

“She would if you helped me out,” Wyatt pressed before he added, “I mean, that ain’t the reason we’re buddies, but I got to find a way to get her to like me, and you’re the best one to help.”

Clay rolled his eyes, looking disgusted by the entire topic.

“What?” Wyatt questioned self-consciously.

“Nothing.” Clay grunted as he went back to eating, the air of sadness around him nearly choking the air out of the room.

“No, tell me. What?”

Clay lifted his gaze to Wyatt and seemed hesitant before he shrugged. “I’m pretty sure she already likes you.”

“Really?” Wyatt grinned triumphantly, but then he really took a moment to notice how miserable Clay seemed, and he couldn’t help but try to reach out to his friend. “Hey, I know you’re down because of your mama, but I ain’t got one either. That’s why we’re good buddies.”

Clay sighed tiredly and reminded Wyatt for what had to be the millionth time. “We’re not buddies.”

Wyatt knew with absolute conviction Clay didn’t mean it. They didn’t suffer through two very painful concussions together to walk the other way once they’d healed up. Those were battle wounds. It was like surviving a war together. Wyatt just chose to forget they’d been on opposing sides. He knew Clay was supposed to be his best friend. It felt like destiny.

Just like he knew he was supposed to grow up, be sheriff, and marry Tabitha McMillen.