CARSON MUST'VE SEEN my headlights through the windows, because he appears in the doorway of the trailer and squints into them until they flick off. When I get out of the car, we jog until we almost crash into each other.

"Hey, what're you doing here?" A smile is plastered on his face, but his expression turns serious when I dab tears from my cheeks. "Whoa, hey, what's going on? What happened?"

"It's--" I laugh, not because it's funny, but because seeing him is so euphoric. The calm after a storm. I don't know how to tell him about my dad, the breakdown I had on the way here, or that I might get in trouble for not telling Mom where I was going. Somehow, when I look at him, all of that is just gone. "I'm okay now," I say. "Can I come in?"

He gently touches the small of my back before we go inside. I haven't been in here since the time we had chili. Other than the AC rattling, it's dead silent.

"My mom's asleep," Carson says, "so we gotta be a little quiet. C'mon, you caught me making food."

I almost feel like I'm trespassing since Dorothy doesn't know I'm here, but apparently this is normal for Carson so I follow him down the hall. The lights are on in the kitchen. A jug filled with a bright blue liquid and a wooden spoon is on the table next to a torn packet of Kool-Aid. The buttery smell of Kraft Mac n' Cheese soaks the air, and steam lifts from the pot on the stove. I'm not in the mood to eat; memories of my dad play from a jumbotron in my head, but the normalcy of the room calms me down. Reminds me that even though the last few hours of my life have been a train wreck, the world always keeps spinning.

"You like mac n' cheese?" Carson asks.

"Not my favorite." I laugh. "I've eaten way too much in my life."

"But you've never had mine. Trust me, it's in a league of its own." He saunters to the stove and stirs the pot, wearing red plaid pajamas and a black, form-fitting T-shirt. My cheeks scorch. Somehow seeing him in his PJs feels super intimate. With his ruffled hair and sleepy eyes, he's never been cuter.

Carson plops a mound of noodles into two bowls. Still with that grin, he pours Kool-Aid into plastic cups. Faint snoring sounds through the walls, and Carson's face flushes.

"Hey, let's eat in my room, that cool?"

"Sure," I say. We haven't had a chance to be alone alone since the night we almost kissed. My heart flutters when I think about what might happen if I stay the night.

Darkness shrouds the bedroom, and Carson shuts the door behind us. Setting his bowl and cup on the floor, he turns on the bedside lamp. A dim, comforting glow settles over the room, and a bundle of unmade sheets is next to the guitar on his bed.

"Glad I made two boxes," he says, sitting on the rug, "'cause one's never enough for me."

I sit cross-legged across from him. "You can eat two boxes?"

"Well, one-and-a-half is normally just right. Once you try it, you'll understand."

The orange lump in the bowl looks like plain old mac n' cheese, but when I stir it, the noodles are bound together by sticky cheese.

"There're like five cheeses in there," Carson says. "Don't be so suspicious. Just try it."

"Okay, okay." So I do. And it's easily the best mac n' cheese I've ever had. Laughing, I say, "Okay, this is pretty good."

"See? Knew you'd love it." His genuine, toothy smile swells my heart. He eats half the bowl in one go. After a few cheesy mouthfuls, my stomach grows sour with the events of today.

"Hey, Carson?" I poke a noodle so it's stuck on a tine of my fork. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"What would you do if your dad came back?"

He glances at the ceiling before he shrugs and keeps eating. "Nothing, probably. Maybe move out and get my own place. Don't wanna live with him ever again."

"Why not?"

"Eh, never really liked my dad. Garnett and Lucas are a lot older than me so they actually got to see some of his good days when they were kids, but me? Nah. Guy barely even glanced at me unless he was pissed off. Having him around sucked."

I picture Kevin Blue at their kitchen table, drinking a coffee over some hunting magazine, ignoring Carson as he tried to show him something he made at school. I picture all the fights that must've happened within these walls, and all the nights Carson must've buried himself in the sheets to hide from it all.

"I'm sorry, Carson. I didn't know that."

"It's in the past now."

"I thought mine was too, but my dad came back today."

He drops his fork in his bowl. "Shit, really? Like he showed up in person?"

"Yep." Tears prick my eyes, but I eat a noodle and try to act normal. "And he pretty much tried to pretend like everything was fine, like he could just march into my life with money and fix it all. Just like that."

"Wow... didn't see that coming."

"I know. I'm pretty pissed."

"What're you gonna do?"

"I don't know. I wish he'd just go away." Setting my bowl on the floor, I play with my necklace and stop at the heart. "It's not only about how he left me. Now that I'm grown up, I can see he was messed-up way before then. He used to do coke around me when I was a toddler, and..."

I clench my eyes. Memories of Dad's friends make me sick. Their laughter bellows around my head, and I'm too small to understand what's going on but I know it isn't right.

"What is it, Jill?" Carson presses. I don't reply, so he sets his bowl and cup beside the closet, next to an old action figure that was in the same spot last time I was here. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

Feeling dramatic, I hug myself. "He'd just let his creepy friends hang out around me. They'd mess with me sometimes."

Carson's eyes narrow. "Mess with you how?"

"Yeah. Not like... that, but..." I shrink. Maybe he'll think differently of me after this. I always try to act strong, but this happened when I was too small to fight back. But I trust Carson; no one's ever seen me the way he does. "It didn't go too far," I say, "but sometimes when my mom was out working, I'd be left with my dad, and he'd invite his band buddies over. They'd put me on their laps and stuff. Put beer on their fingers and stick them in my mouth because they thought it was funny. My dad would get pissed if he wasn't too high to care, but he normally was too high."

"Wow... that's fucked up."

"I know. Even after all that, I was ruined when my dad abandoned me. And it's so stupid, but when I saw him today, I wanted to hate him but I didn't."

Carson's quiet. A distant, waning smile reaches his eyes. "Shit's never easy when it comes to family. You know, I cried like a little bitch when I saw my dad in jail."

"You did?"

He laughs. "Yeah. Not in front of him, obviously. Not in front of anyone. I told my mom I was going for a walk and ran off into this forest nearby and just cried. Just felt so let down by him; he never took responsibility for anything he ever did, and I guess I just wished he was better. 'Cause even though I never liked my dad, I still loved him. Always will." He pauses, and his eyes drift over the table. "I've never told anyone that before."

The air grows heavy with the weight of his secret. "I never thought anyone else would understand it. I love Val, but she doesn't get it. Her parents are awesome. She always tells me my dad's an asshole and I should just forget him, but it's not that simple."

"Got that right. Blood is blood."

Carson takes a sip from his cup. The food has gotten cold, and I've had enough salt and cheese for one night so I wash it down with the blue-raspberry Kool-Aid. Somehow, he's made this taste better too.

Seems like everything in my life is brighter with Carson Blue around.

"Not that hungry anymore," Carson mumbles and picks up the guitar. "You wanna play?"

"I left mine at home. I broke a string and I haven't been able to play much lately."

"Try mine." He shoves it on my lap. Crossing my legs, I adjust the guitar and strum it once. The strings are looser than mine, and the woody, steely sound has a deep resonance. The neck's fatter so it takes me a few chords to adjust, but once I find my rhythm, the music that flows from my fingertips plays itself. I play a song I wrote a few years ago; Carson heard me singing it at work once and said he liked it. I lose myself in the music when I sing. By the time I'm done, it's like the air has returned to my lungs. I can play again.

"Wow, I really do need to keep practicing," I say. "I've lost some callus and this hurts."

"You sound great though. Keep singing like that and you're gonna put me to sleep."

"Hey, I'm not that boring."

"Not what I meant. It's just pretty, like a lullaby."

My cheeks warm. "Thanks. It feels like I haven't sang in weeks."

Carson stretches and yawns. Our shoulders touch, and we glance over each other's faces. I stop at his lips. My heart pumps with adrenaline. Nothing's stopping us; no one's going to come in. I gulp and look away. I've been wanting to be with him for a while now, why am I so nervous?

Carson must sense it, because he takes the guitar, tunes it a little, and plays. My dad taught me, but I remember Carson learned all by himself when we were in the fifth grade. He'd sit in the hallway and practice alone. I used to hear him in the stairwell during recess; he'd get mad when he couldn't get a song right, and I wanted to offer him help, but never did because I thought he'd get offended. Well, he definitely doesn't need it now. Everything he plays is magic, and his voice is raw talent, and honestly I'm starting to really adore him. I don't know what to do with that information.

When he finishes the song, we stay silent. Carson averts his eyes, and I pick at the ends of my hair. Over the sound of my own heartbeat, I can hear Carson's breathing become short, anxious, before he sets the guitar aside and turns so he's facing me.

I've never felt anything like this. A stomach-gnawing, burning intensity that makes every part of me want to be near him, but somehow, my body can't move, even when my mind screams: Just kiss him!

He beats me to it.

It's soft, featherlight. My back melts into his bedframe as he leans his weight on me. He kisses me once, then pulls away and meets my eyes, maybe to check if it's okay.

But now I have a taste of him, and I don't want to stop there. I grab the neck of his shirt and kiss him harder. He tastes like blue-raspberry, and his lips are both soft and rough, enough to make my head float into the clouds. His fingers thread through my hair and he cradles the base of my skull and deepens our kiss. He's an expert at this. Even better than I thought. Our tongues move to the same rhythm, then he kisses my neck and roams my body with his hands. It's like he knows every right place to touch, every spot that increases the heat in my core like a steaming furnace. As soon as his calloused fingers skim the skin beneath my shirt, I'm a goner; dizzy with desire and tipsy from his warmth.

When I prop myself up on the bed, still kissing him, Carson pulls away.

"What is it?" I ask.

He laughs, but it's nervous. "Just never thought I'd get to have you in my bed."

Smiling, I lean back on his pillow, and he crawls on top of me. I say, "I've only done this once."

"We don't have to do more."

"I want to."

"Are you sure?"

I nod, and Carson shuts off the lamp. Moonlight shines through the window and encases us in a silvery hue. Hesitantly, he lowers his weight on me, and my heart pounds. I wait for him to touch me more, but he stiffens.

"Sorry," he says with a laugh. "I'm a little nervous."

"Me too," I choke out. "But-I want this."

"You have no idea how long I've wanted this."

When our lips meet again, it all becomes real. I jolt at the sudden warmth of his fingers under my shirt. I melt, so he runs his hand along my torso, up the curve of my spine until he reaches the back of my bra. He unhooks it no problem, and then his sole focus is getting my shirt off. He's good at this. Really good. And that eases me, because I have no idea what I'm doing.

I haven't had anyone inside me since I was taken advantage of in the forest behind the campground. That guy had been rough and quick. But Carson isn't like that. He touches me slowly, and he grazes the hollow of my thigh with his fingers instead of using something else first. His kisses on my skin are a dizzying blend of fire and ice. He whispers for me to relax, so I rest my head on the soft fabric of his pillow. The smell of his sheets intoxicates me. The ceiling crashes toward my head. When he kisses me there, it gets hard to think.

God, this is really happening.

He reaches into the gap between his bed and the wall, giving me a moment to breathe. I try to collect my head and focus on the Labatt Blue flag. The moon between the cracks in his blinds. Carson rifles around with something cardboard, something plastic. A condom. As he slides it on, my stomach knots up.

All this time I wondered what it'd be like to be under him, and now I am. And it's better than I expected. But it's scary too. Things will be different now. But when he asks if I'm sure again, I say yes; I've never been so sure of anything.

Because even though none of this was in my plan, I can see in Carson's eyes that he cares about me. And he isn't going to hurt me. When we connect, there's no pressure, no anxiety. Just him, looking at me like I'm the only thing in the world.

Like he always has, even when I was too blind to see it.

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A/N: WELL? how are we feeling? I love hearing from you guys so please comment <333