I lurched forward, something mean and loud on the tip of my tongue, when Jude pulled me back.

“I never said I did deserve that,” Jude said, meeting my mom’s eyes.

I could tell, from the blood vessels bursting in her eyes, that this was seriously pissing her off, that this person didn’t cave to her superiority and lower their gaze.

“And those guys never were and never will be my friends. If they ever find their way out of prison and I run across them, I will repay them every hurt they took out on Luce.”

“How refreshing. The felon suggesting we repay violence with violence.”

“Sometimes that’s the only answer,” Jude said, his fingers flexing in my hand.

Mom’s face shadowed. “And sometimes that gets the people you love most killed.”

A figure moved from behind mom. I hadn’t even noticed he was here, his presence was so absent. Shuffling around her and by us, Dad’s face was as shadowed as Mom’s. He tapped my shoulder in passing. “Goodnight all.”

It should have gotten old, mourning the person my dad once was and, at times, hating the shell of a human being he’d become, but it hadn’t. He’d checked out of every facet of life, letting craziness and compulsion rule his few cognizant moments.

Mom steepled her hands over her face. “Lucy, time to say goodnight.”

I grabbed Jude’s arm, steering him for the front door. I couldn’t get out of this crazy house fast enough. “Goodnight, Mom.”

“Lucille Roslyn Larson!” she shouted after us. “Get the hell upstairs right now. And you, Mr. Ryder, get the hell off my property before I call the cops.” Her voice was less angry and more desperate now.

“No, Mom!” I shouted, letting my temper loose. “I’m going to homecoming and I’m going with Jude, because I’m with him and he’s with me and if you can’t handle that, then say goodbye to your only child!”

I’d stabbed her in the soft spot, and it registered immediately on my face. “That boy almost got you killed, Lucy,” she said, her voice a whisper.

I was still every phase of pissed, so my voice was nowhere near a whisper. “This man also saved my life!” Throwing the door open, I practically lunged down the front steps with Jude’s hand in mine.

“Lucy,” she begged from the living room.

“I’ll be home by one,” I said over my shoulder, the anger dimming to a dull roar now that I was certain I’d won the battle. But I was sure I hadn’t won the war. There’d be hell to pay tomorrow morning, so I’d make sure tonight really counted. “Everything will be fine,” I emphasized before turning the corner to the driveway.

“When you say buckle up,” Jude said, pulling a set of keys from his pocket, “you mean suit up for the damn apocalypse.”

“Pretty much,” I said, curling my nose. “Sorry about that back there.”

Jude waved it off, but he couldn’t hide from me how much my mom’s words had cut him. Just liked she’d hoped they would.

“No, those were awful, awful things to say to another human being,” I said. “My parents, they’re complicated people,” I understated, not sure when or if I could ever explain the mess that was the Larson family.

“Luce,” Jude said, stopping me, “I get what a piece of shit I am, and it’s not awful or unfair or incorrect for people to call me out on what I am. But I’d like to think a person can change, and I swear to you I’m going to try to leave my piece of shitedness behind.” His eyes were so earnest, you would have thought he was about to get down on one knee.

“Shitedness?” I repeated, nudging him. “That must be one I missed in Webster’s.”

“Nope,” he said, “that’s one plucked right out of Jude Ryder’s urban dictionary.”

“Nice,” I laughed, tip toeing across the gravel so that the stones wouldn’t trip up my three inch heels.. “And in Lucy Larson’s book of shitedness, you’re nowhere on that list.”

“That may be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he said, tickling at my sides. “Something about a hot woman in a damn fine dress lying through her teeth about me not being a piece of shit is a real turn on.”

“Glad I’m so . . .” And then I noticed the car parked in the driveway, and I stopped in my tracks. “What is that?”

I didn’t speak boy, but I knew that gleaming silver coupe was fast, expensive, and would attract all cops within a mile radius.

“It’s a car,” Jude said, opening the door for me.

“Don’t treat me like one of your one night stand girls,” I said, looking up at him.

“My god, woman,” he said, leaning over the car door, “what does a man have to do to get a free pass from you?”

“I don’t believe in free passes,” I threw back. “I believe in honesty. I’m all old fashioned that way.”

“It’s a ’66 Chevelle,” he said, shutting the door before I could ask any more questions.

“Is it yours?” I asked as he crawled into the driver’s seat.

“Nope.” He turned the key over and the engine fired to life. “It belongs to a buddy of mine.”

“A buddy at the boys’ home?” I knew this line of questioning was making him tense, as his jaw could attest to, but I couldn’t understand why.