“What’s that face?” Chomps pushes my shoulder.

“Just need some air. I don’t think everyone in here actually showered,” I try to tease, but my voice comes out weird.

The cold air tingles on my skin as I step onto the porch, and the voices and music lower to a steady, unrecognizable hum. Before thinking, I go to the cooler on the porch and grab a beer for something to do. No ice in here. At these temps, it’s more a problem of them all freezing. Sort of funny that we use coolers in the winter to keep stuff warm. I’m pathetically trying to distract myself from the gnawing at my insides over…what…change? No, not change. Confusion. It’s confusion and not knowing what to expect about anything, which is stupid. Whatever’s happening or not happening between Mitch and me isn’t everything. It’s one thing. It’s just that Mitch was one of the few things that I thought I’d always be able to count on.

My gaze goes to the window again where I expect to see Mitch and Rebecca in some corner, trying to eat the other’s faces, but instead they’re dancing. Slow and awkward because Mitch wouldn’t know how to dance any other way, but he’s holding her like she’s everything. Eyes closed, knowing the team’s going to give him shit for it later. There’s an odd sort of detached realization that I don’t want to be standing in Becca’s place, but also that I don’t want to be ignored by my best friend. I have no idea how to reconcile my feelings yet. How to really want one without the other.

I slide my fingers over the tab on the top of the beer, but all I can think about is Dad. How I lost him because some stupid asshole wanted to get wasted at a party. My hands feel shaky as I set the beer in the cooler and push my way back inside.

I shove the keys at Trinna and Chomps. “I have to go.”

“What?” Matt grabs me in a sideways hug. “You just got here!”

“Yeah. I know.” I glance toward Mitch again. He doesn’t even see that I’m leaving. That I’m upset. The guy who answers my texts the second I hit send probably won’t know I left. I shove Matt off and head for the door, needing out. Home.

…

My chest sinks when I pull into the driveway, and Mom’s car isn’t here. Again. I feel even stupider because I knew she was working when she showed up to the game in scrubs.

I keep trying to pull in a full, real breath. Like air will somehow stop all the mess inside me.

It doesn’t, but it does slow it down.

I’ll say goodnight to Gramps and then crawl into bed. I can do this.

As I get closer to the house, I hear my music playing instead of Gramps’s country music. That’s…odd. Since when does he like rock?

The lights in Gramps’s trailer are on, but the door’s open, so I don’t think he’s in there. I jog up the stairs, and panic seizes my chest. Gramps is dancing without a piece of clothing on. His droopy butt cheeks wiggle with each move, and I’m just thankful his back’s to me. This is new. And definitely not good.

What am I supposed to do? My body starts to go numb because I realize this is all going to be my responsibility. The reality of this situation grips at my chest, and all I can think is please don’t let him remember this.

I fumble with my phone as I pull it from my pocket and dial Mom. Her voicemail picks up. No. No. No!

It actually hurts to even type the words. GRMPS DNCING NAKED. WHAT DO I DO?

My phone buzzes in a call.

“Mom?”

“I’m so sorry, honey. I’m one of two nurses in labor and delivery, and we have two women in here. There’s no way I can leave. Not right now. Try to get him to take a sleeping pill, cover him up, and I’ll get home as soon as I can…” I hear muffled sounds in the background before Mom comes back on. “Hold on a sec.”

“Um…” I don’t want to try to give my naked Gramps a sleeping pill. I keep Mom on but go to Messages on my phone.

I send Mitch a quick, desperate text because I don’t want to do this alone. NEED HELP W GRMPS. PLSE COME.

I choke as another sob tries to work its way up. I have to be stronger than this.

“I’m back,” Mom says. “Let me call someone to help, okay?” Guilt is all over her voice.

“No, no. It’s cool,” I lie. “I can do it. Mitch will come.”

“Penny, honey. Really. I’m so sorry.” Mom pulls in a breath and starts talking again, but Gramps spins to face me, his eyes as big as his smile.

“Lucky Penny! How are you?”

“Gotta go, Mom.” I stuff my phone in pocket, my insides shaking again, and try to find something in me that can deal with this. And to not look down too far.

Still no text back from Mitch.

Now what?

Chapter Eleven

Bishop

I’m officially a loser.

What kind of guy loses it at a hockey game and can’t even hang out afterward? But I knew going to the party wouldn’t have been a good idea. Gary would have freaked out.

Penny’s truck pulls in front of her house, and she runs inside. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something pulling me to her house. It was cool of her to try to get me to hang out with them, and the way she tried to help when I lost it. Gramps would expect more of me, bailing the way I did again, and I don’t want to let him down. He’s keeping my secrets and well—shit, I want to see her. I’m lonely, so fucking lonely in these tiny walls, my friends a thousand miles away. Gary next door with Troy. I even called Pat again when I got home from the game. He offered to come get me after my bullshit excuse of no car, but I told him no. Now I wish I hadn’t. It feels like everyone in Alaska has someone to be with but me.

Which is probably my own fault, but still.

I reach for my cigarettes but decide against them before I head for the door. It’s late—well, not late if you consider the fact that she went to a party tonight, but late enough that I shouldn’t be going over to her house. Still, she just got home, and I’m sure Gramps won’t care. Her mom’s car is gone, so I think it’s okay.

Music blares from inside the house and for a minute I wonder if they moved the party here before—oh, shit. They’re listening to me. Not just me, I guess, but my band. Thinking of how she’ll react if she knows makes my gut ache. Everything will change if she knows. It’ll suck if she starts treating me the way other girls do. Will she not give me shit and ride snowmachines and stuff with me if she knows I’m Bishop Riley, pill-head and drummer for Burn instead of Bishop Ripe, moody guy from California?

Wait. Pill-head?

“Gramps! Come here! You can’t go out there!” Penny screams fanatically. The sound of her voice, the hitch of pain in it makes me shove the door open. I’ll probably regret it when she yells at me for walking into her house, but something doesn’t feel right.

Gramps runs around the corner toward the door, buck-naked. Like seriously naked, and I definitely don’t think I should have walked in, but the wild look in his eyes isn’t the Gramps I know.

“I’m a grown man! I know what I’m doing.” There’s a hard edge to his voice I never expected to hear from him.

Penny rounds the corner next and her red-rimmed eyes catch mine. All sorts of things flash across her face: pain, embarrassment, fear, anger, and it doesn’t even bother me that I can read her because this? This is serious. Something is wrong with Gramps.

I’m frozen, not sure what to do, standing in their open doorway, cold air flooding inside. My music pumping through the speakers with a naked Gramps and a broken Penny standing in front of me. No, not broken, but cracked. I don’t think anything can completely break her.

“Get out!” She stomps toward me. “This isn’t your business.” She’s right in front of me and I’m still stuck in the same place. I see her chin quiver and then Gramps’s head drops like he’s confused.