DIRT KICKED UP UNDER THE TIRES as we approached. Hanging Hills was a solitary complex in the California desert flanked by mountains. It lay secluded from the state highway. If you drew a straight line from Disneyland to Thousand Oaks, Hanging Hills sat smack bang in the middle. With the redevelopment of several other desert towns underway, Dad was churning up sand quicker than people could picket to stop it.

Today was a level display of architectural triumph and a self-celebration event. Company flags thrashed in the Gabriel Mountain winds. Apart from the mountains, and sprawling desert, was a large-scale retirement home nestled behind the Hanging Hills country club. The latter stood tall and proud, its imposing stone façade casting long shadows across a patch of manicured fake grass. It was here that my father would be hosting the press junket, using the setting to drum up support for his latest venture—a venture that, unbeknownst to him, would serve as the backdrop for our rebellion.

"Wow," Alex breathed, taking in the sight. "This place is... something else."

"Tell me about it," I muttered.

My next move was still under debate in my head. Arriving with Alex alone felt like enough of a snub, but being here now, I wondered what else I could do. It was hard to imagine anyone wanting to live out here, let alone pay top dollar for a cookie-cutter house.

The sun pierced the sky over the tops of the mountains; foliage, hardy pines, and rock formations littered the valley walls. We pulled in, parked, and grabbed our sunglasses. Alex's dark navy suit and loosened skinny black tie gave the impression he'd already returned from a night out. Something about his deconstructed image was incredibly attractive to me.

Pockets of people with press badges dotted the desert landscape, milling in and out of erected cabins that housed the redevelopment plans. It was a bold display of power considering, fifty yards away, The Meadows still operated business as usual. Its aging clientele gathered with sullen frowns and not-so-quiet whispers about the nerve of my father, the local council, and its sponsors.

One minute outside on a day with a forecast of 'burn in hell' was enough. Alex and I traded pained glances as we slammed the car doors shut as a wall of oppressive heat enveloped us.

"So, what happens at these things?" Alex asked. He readjusted his jacket, tugging down on his shirt sleeves.

"We encourage the public to view the redevelopment plans. Then, developers mingle, answer questions, and get the press onside before the conference tomorrow. That way, there should be no surprises."

"But why do it at all?" he asked.

"Because people believe the news. If someone tells you something is good, you not only believe it, you might tell three other people the same thing."

"You know what travels quicker than good press? Bad news. If people don't like something, they are more likely to complain. Take my dad. His story hit the local headlines hard because it gave people something to attach negative experiences to. The news didn't stop at a man who'd made a poor decision and lost his job but about a growing cannabis epidemic—a wider problem with drug dependency in our society." Alex made a 'pfft' sound.

My recollection of the local media storm that dragged Rafael and Parker Realtors into the same spotlight of a national crisis was familiar. "Why did Rafael not take a drug test?"

Alex took in the mountains in the distance. What he said next surprised me.

"Dad refused one. And I didn't hear that from him. It came from Derek, who overheard his court-appointed lawyer."

"If he says he was innocent, why did he never take a test? You have to admit, along with taking a settlement, that doesn't look good."

Alex threw up his hands and shrugged. "There's not a lot he can say after he signed away his voice on the matter. But, listen, it's too hot to stand here." He jolted my arm with a tug and led me to a refuge in a sun-sheltered spot where a group of people were beginning to gather. "Will you answer a question for me?" he asked.

I nodded, more than a little distracted when his hand didn't immediately let go.

"Why do you fight Derek?" The line of his brows drew in deeper as he cupped a hand around his eyes to lessen his squint.

"Easy. Because Derek fights me."

"That's it?" he questioned. "You get nothing else out of it other than an eye-for-an-eye deal?"

I wasn't sure how to answer his question because that's precisely how it had been before now, and it sounded stupid. The crowd was now close enough to warrant inspection. Their average age was a billion, and where were their press badges?

I looked back to Alex. "Would it make you feel better if I promised never to lay a finger on Derek again?" I smiled, waiting to see how he would respond to my answer.

He smiled back. "I know you both can take care of yourselves, but each time seems an escalation on the last. I worry for both of you because that level of hostility isn't sustainable."

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, caught a little off guard. I never considered myself and Derek in those terms, but he was right—my life in its current direction wasn't sustainable. Escalation was all we'd known recently. We would keep pushing each other until something happened that couldn't be undone.

I looked into Alex's eyes. He was right—we couldn't go on like this. It had to stop. I wanted to put an end to this cycle of escalation, and the only way I knew how was by doing something drastic. Taking a deep breath, I finally said, "I give you my word that it stops today."

Alex held my gaze for a moment before nodding slowly in response. "But what if you run into Derek? He won't change."

"Then I won't give him a reason to fight me. Or, at best, I won't fight back. If we sort this problem out between our families, he'll have no reason to want to."

"You would make that promise for him?"

"No." I shook my head. "I'll make it for you." My eyes dropped to my feet to avoid his reaction as a new thought crossed my mind. What then? What would become of Alex and me? Could I wave him goodbye once his family was on their way to living karmic bliss? Would he have reason to talk to me again?

I wasn't ready to give him up just yet. But, even if we succeeded with our families, and I killed a dragon, saved a princess, Alex and I wouldn't get a Disney ending. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around, and an older lady flashed me a set of nicotine-stained teeth.

"Nice you boys could make it," she said, offering a toothy grin that was more menacing than welcoming. She wore a faded pink t-shirt, stretched tight over her round belly, and a pair of denim shorts that looked like they'd been cut off mid-thigh. "I'm Selma, and this is Doris." She pointed to the woman sitting on a camping chair beside her.

Doris squinted up through an orange sun visor that was tugged low over her forehead. Thick, garish red lipstick amplified her ruddy complexion in all the wrong ways.

"You haven't collected your stickers," she urged, gesturing to a pile of fluorescent-colored squares on the ground beside her.

"Stickers? Stickers for what?" I frowned and panned around. Each bystander wore one on their chest, but the message was unclear until I forced a squint to see better. It was then that realization smacked me so hard. We had joined my father's picket line.

"Er, Alex. I'm not supposed to stand here."

He followed my gaze, grinned, and started to chuckle. "You've got to see the humor in it all?

I shook my head. No, I didn't, and neither would Dad.

This made Alex laugh harder. "Tate, it's the only fricken shade out here. Do you want to go back out in that suit? We'll die."

I looked back to Selma, who waited. Two-thirds shorter than Doris, the thinning red hair on her crown made her look like a baby chimpanzee. I wanted no part of this mess, yet here we were—trapped in the middle of it all.

"These are protest stickers," Selma explained, handing us each one with an outstretched palm. "Put it on your shirt and show your solidarity. Today is our last day in residence. Some folks' are staying on to the end. After this, Doris is moving in with her son, and I'm going back to Oklahoma with my niece."

I hesitated until Alex positioned himself over my shoulder. "You said you wanted to change, Tate. Change looks a lot like Selma. Will you walk away from it?"

"Are you leaving the picket line?" I asked.

"Hell no. This is too funny to miss. Do you want another reason to stay in this spot—billboard," was all he added.

I would never be my father's poster child.

Ten minutes later, Alex and I stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Doris and her buddy Selma. I had a sticker badge that read, "Hell no to High-rises." I scanned heads for dads but drew a blank, but he was here somewhere. This wasn't just about Alex, me and my father—it was about the entire community, and the ripple effect his actions were causing.

"We never discussed how we should show a unified front?" I said, turning to face him.

Alex stood deep in thought.

"What are you thinking about? Should I worry?"

"I'm thinking again about the news that travels the fastest..."

There was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, but Alex did the second most surprising thing of the day before I could work out why. He reached around the back of my head and placed a firm, lingering kiss on my mouth.

Shock

Shock

Flutter

For a moment, I forgot where I was, who I was, and why I was there. Is Selma clapping? I fought the urge to pull back, to see if this was an accident, and he'd somehow fallen on my face until I froze, with Alex still plastered to my lips. Dad was going to rupture every artery he had.

But this is what I want; to make a stance? To assert independence and show a unified front?

Right.

I began to move my mouth. My tongue brushed Alex's lips before they parted, and my heart galloped, pounding in my chest. I couldn't breathe. All I wanted was more. Alex grew heavier in my arms at the same time my heart shifted its own weight.

It sounded lame, even in my head, but there were flashes, glimpses of light within his kiss that only amplified the longer my tongue was in his mouth.

Then it happened again until the telltale shutter of flash photography sounded, and a voice cut through the moment. "Dean Parker's son is on the picket line!"

My eyes sprung open to see a guy with a press badge holding a camera. We both snapped back at the same time. Random people held up cell phones to take pictures. My jaw hit the ground, and I turned to glare at Alex.

Shock didn't register the same way on his face. "I didn't mean... It seemed like a good idea, Tate."

Reporters had set assignments. Nobody would care about Alex, just that I had been on the picket line. Still, something had my nerves fired up, and I couldn't shake the feeling everyone around me knew something I didn't.

Then, as if the magnitude of his presence alone could blot out the sun, I caught sight of my father and his pending cold shoulder, three rows in front, surrounded by microphones. All faces turned in our direction.

Shit show.

He stood idle in a sea of animated hands, eyes trained solely on me. The underlying tone of disappointment on his face no longer stung on the surface.

"We should go." I picked up Alex's hand and steered him through the wall of people beginning to crowd us.

"Tate, I said I was sorry."

I pulled on his arm a little harder than intended, needing to swerve us around an incoming reporter. As we left the group behind, I couldn't shake the sense that something monumental had just occurred.

"Say something, Tate," Alex asked.

"That was a little dramatic, don't you think?" We'd crossed a line, and my chipper response wasn't supposed to portion blame, yet I couldn't help it.

He stopped walking and glared at me so hard that the heat from his eyes could have caused horrific burns if I didn't turn away. "Dramatic!"

I tugged on his arm again, but he refused to budge.

"I didn't mean it like that. Please get in the car."

He sighed, shook his head, and stalked ahead—a thick frown built on his face. Back in the car, I wasted no time cranking the engine and getting us out of there. I never pulled up to Alex's house this time but cut the engine an entire block away.

"You've not said a single word to me the whole way home."

I'd wanted to, but my brain was too busy running through every scenario from here on out. It flicked to Derek, Dad, Rafael, and the incessant vibration of my cell phone. I glanced at the screen once to see a text from Flock and a shit tonne of notifications.

Flock: Dude, local news—why are you trending with a hashtag?

"You should go inside. I need to get Flock's car back."

Alex reached for the door handle and paused. "Can I say again, I didn't mean to do that. I didn't think at all. I did."

"It's fine." I tried to smile and let the coolness seep out of my voice, but it was at odds with the rest of my face.

After Alex stepped out, he stood idle at the curbside, and I couldn't look at him. I pulled away and headed in the direction of Flock's. I'd drop the car back, get home and figure out how to damage control. This had become a lot more than a snub.

Social media notifications were pinging every other minute. Finally, curiosity got the better of me. Perhaps, it was better than Flock had made it sound. It could be my presence on the picket line that they'd zeroed in on, not Alex. My phone buzzed again. This time, it was alert to say that Selma Bollhoffer now followed me on Instagram. She'd tagged me in a video playing on a loop in her stories.

I parked outside Flocks and opened the app. Selma had captured every moment of our public display. Alex's hands tangled in my hair, and I saw the moment play out behind his head when the first press member caught wind.

Rewind. Play.

I'd been oblivious.

Rewind. Play.

The kitchen was dark when I turned the key in the lock an hour later and opened the door. All the surfaces are European marble or stainless steel and cool to the touch. Nadine had intended this space to be a welcoming family room, but blood should feel warmer than this.

It was close to 4 pm. I yanked the pull cord and turned on the light. Dad morphed in the brightness perched on a stool. I steadied myself to make it appear that he hadn't made me jump.

Dean Parker stood with his arms crossed and jaw clenched, the blue veins in his temples throbbing with anger. His white hair was slicked back, and the orange hue of his fake tan seemed unnatural against the dim lighting of the room.

"Explain this to me," he demanded, tossing his iPhone onto the table. The headline screamed about my scandalous kiss with Alex, son of his former accountant, Rafael Benitez. My heart sank, but I refused to let him see my fear. Instead, I tried to tap into my earlier rage, remembering how seeing my face on that billboard with him had felt.

"Why did you have to kiss him?

"Why did you put my face on a billboard?"

I looked anywhere but at him. We didn't have that refrigerator with the family Polaroids on. Instead, we had the dent in the wall that Dad punched when Nadine was in a ten-car pile-up on the freeway and the reddish stain on the floor where I'd spilled pasta sauce.

"That's why you did this to me? Your image is part of this company, whether you like it or not," he retorted, his teeth gritted. "But that doesn't mean you can go around making a mockery of me by cavorting with the likes of Alex Benitez. I don't care what you do with your dick, but I mind who you do it with."

"I'm not sleeping with Alex Benitez."

"You're goddamn right. Jesus, Tate. Do you even see the potential damage you've caused? I'm out there, day after day, trying to rebuild the company his father tried to tear down."

I called it a lie. "I thought you were rebranding because the clientele had changed, and we needed to grow with them?" I had him at an impasse; he knew it because storm clouds rolled into his eyes as they darkened.

"Are you lecturing me on business? You have no idea what it takes to keep this town alive." The disdain in his voice cut deep; it was a painful reminder of how distant we had become. "Houses in Epinosa are sixty-nine percent higher than the national average. Do you know why?"

I refused to be baited because he was going to tell me anyway.

"Because demand outstrips supply. The borders of our town over the last ten years have only bled outward, thanks to me. Expansion is better than the town's collapse because Epinosa won't see in the next decade unless the working class stays. There are no jobs. And where there are no jobs—no schools. Why can't you keep your promises anymore? You said you were going to try harder.

In every practical way, Dad's idea made solid business sense. What he never factored into any life decision, however, was the human consequence.

"Then we need to find another way!" I snapped back, unable to bear the weight of his expectations any longer. "One that doesn't involve tearing down people's homes."

"Your naïveté would be charming if it weren't so infuriating," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You really think you can save everyone, don't you? Jobs, homes, opportunities," he continued, gesturing emphatically with his hands. "These are the things that keep a town alive. If we turn our back on progress, we're only hurting ourselves in the long run."

His words hung heavy in the air, like a storm cloud waiting to burst. I knew he was right, at least in part. Epinosa needed change if it was going to survive. But at what cost?

"Don't you see you're stripping the heart of a community? What's left after that? People will leave anyway. Is the price worth it, Dad?" I asked quietly, forcing myself to meet his gaze.

"Sometimes, Tate," he replied, his eyes narrowing. "Understand the bigger picture here. Your association with Alex could jeopardize everything we've worked for. Rafael Benitez almost ruined Parker Realtors. When that client caught him behind our dumpster, it was all over the local news. Our reputation took a massive hit."

I remembered that day well. The look of shame on Rafael's face as he was escorted off the property by security. It was hard to believe that his actions had such far-reaching consequences for my father's business.

"Right now, Epinosa is screaming for attention. If we don't capitalize on that, someone else will. And then where will we be? If I'm not the bad guy someone else is lining up to take my place who will do the deed anyway."

"Maybe... maybe we could start a crowdfunding campaign or partner with a non-profit organization? There must be people out there who want to help preserve the town and its history—get it back on its feet another way," I suggested, desperate to find a solution that didn't involve destroying the lives of innocent people.

"You think that's enough?" My father's anger finally exploded. "You think a few handouts from bleeding-heart liberals will save this town? Wake up, Tate! This isn't some feel-good movie where everything works out in the end. This is real life, and real life is hard. What do you think I've been doing all these years? I've fought to keep this town alive, and now you want to jeopardize everything we've built because you can't face a truth—this is what it takes to save a town. This is how the world works."

As my father's words echoed in my ears, I knew he was right about one thing—this was how the world worked. But that didn't mean it had to stay that way. And as much as the thought of defying my father terrified me, the idea of losing Epinosa—and myself—to a cruel, unforgiving system was even worse. But what about Alex and Rafael?

"I'm going to tell you what you'll do next. Tomorrow, you will be at my side during the press conference. You will tell the room that it was another ploy from Mr. Benitez to attack a company he no longer works for."

I could never do that to Alex or Rafael. "And if I don't?"

"He's a troublemaker—the whole family is. There are still depths that Rafael can sink to."

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of my father's words like a ball and chain around my heart. As much as I wanted to stand up for Alex and his family, I couldn't ignore the possibility that my actions might have consequences far beyond anything I could've imagined for them.

"Is that what you really think, Dad?" I asked. "That a friendship with Alex could bring down your entire company? I don't believe that."

"Son," he sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. "Belief doesn't make something fact. The point is, Rafael has proven time and time again that he can't be trusted. And if you continue to associate with his son, you're putting the entire business at risk."

"But this feud is hurting others. You've not even asked what happened to my face. You did. You happened to my face because the longer your stubborn ass keeps this up, the more I'll get the shit kicked out of me."

Dad paused. Something I'd said had struck one of his only nerves, and I wasn't sure which one. He opened his mouth to speak again, but I turned away.

In that moment, I missed Nadine more than ever. I couldn't help but wonder how different things might have been if she were still here. Maybe my father wouldn't be so driven, so single-minded in his pursuit of success. Maybe we would have found another way. I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back.

"Don't ruin this for me," he added, nodding stiffly. "That's all I ask."

He left the room, saying goodbye the only way we knew how anymore, with the rattle of door frames. As I watched him leave, I knew that it would never be enough, not for either of us.

The house seemed to echo with the aftermath of our argument, and I could still feel the tension in the air like a thick fog. I pulled out my phone, desperate for a distraction—something, anything, to take my mind off the impassable chasm that had formed between my father and me.

An image of Alex at the side of the road flashed in my mind. The guilt hit like a deliberate gut punch—I missed him already. It wasn't just the memory of the kiss itself—although that alone would have been enough to make my heart race—but the realization that there was something more between us than simple attraction.

My gut instinct said Alex had known seconds before that he would kiss me. Which meant he had wanted to. I felt a sharp nudge in my chest. We'd crossed a line, but it was still one I'd break with him, again and again, if he'd still let me. As I scrolled through the comments, I saw how quickly the story was gaining traction. Let them talk. There was no turning back now.

Rewind. Play.

I shot Alex a message.

Me: I'm sorry. I'm not used to this level of attention from the press or my dad, and I'm kind of freaking out.

Alex: You should feel lucky. We weren't born on MTV like half the people we go to school with.

Me: Will you meet me later? You deserve an apology. We could meet halfway. I gave the car back to Flock.

Three dots appeared before they stopped, and my shoulders sank that he was having a change of heart over my reaction before they restarted.

Alex: Name the place.

I exhaled a relieved breath. Alex didn't hate me after all.

Me: The beach. Give me an hour, tops.

Rewind. Play. Save.