Another gust of wind passed through me, whipping through my hair and creeping up the hem of my shirt and cuffs of my pants. It was a good thing I had finished crying relatively quickly. At this point, I was half sure the teardrops would have turned to ice halfway through sliding down my cheeks.

It was getting late, the sun dipping into the rows of identical suburban rooftops, and any heat I had managed to soak up was being eaten away by the cool night. And yet, here I was, sitting on a park bench with my knees tucked up to my chest and my hands buried in my sleeves for warmth.

It was the same park I had first met Ellie at so many years ago. It was smack in the center in the nearest route between our houses. Just a couple of blocks and I could be at her door. She'd let me stay there, no questions asked.

No — that's not quite true. There would be an assault of questions. I'd have to recount the whole story of my mother's tired eyes and my cruel words. It would turn into an argument about dealing again. Maybe Ellie couldn't understand why I needed to sell weed, and maybe my mom would never either, but that didn't change the fact that it was my best option.

So when my phone beeped with a text from Maverick, asking if I wanted to go to a party with him, I hardly hesitated to respond. A distraction was exactly what I needed right now, and it wouldn't hurt to get out of this cold either.

His truck rolled to the curb beside the park within ten minutes. I climbed into the passenger's seat and pulled the seatbelt across my chest. I rubbed my hands together to work out some of the cold, thankful Maverick already had the heat cranked up, and looked at him expectantly when he didn't immediately throw the vehicle into drive.

"Jesus, aren't you freezing?" he asked. Those familiar dark eyes crinkled with apprehension and inky hair spilled onto his forehead. "How long have you been out here? You don't even have a jacket."

Before I could defend myself, he was already digging into the backseat. After pushing around the pile of odds and ends he accumulated back there, he tugged out a sweater and tossed it at me. Too cold to be bashful, I slipped it on without hesitation. It smelled like him — or at least whatever aftershave he used. It took me every ounce of self control I had not to bury my face in the fabric.

His hand, the knuckles battered and cut, hovered over the gearshift, contemplating a moment before he turned to me. "You know, we don't have to go to this party. We could just drive around for a while, go someplace else."

He could tell something happened, I could feel it. The staring, the hesitancy. I glanced in the side mirror, checking to see how puffy my eyes were. My face was shaded a distinct red, but that could just be from the cold, right?

"I want to go," I insisted. It was a lie, and we both knew, but he didn't say anything else, just huffed out a breath and pulled the vehicle back onto the road. To my surprise, we arrived within minutes. We hadn't even escaped the city limits. I could have melted into the seat for how deflated I felt. Seeing a bunch of people from my high school was the last thing I wanted to do right now. Maverick could tell.

"We really don't have to go if you're not feeling up to it," he began.

"I'm fine, really," I said, "Let's just go."

"Whatever you say."

And so I sat nibbling on trail mix for over a half an hour. Maverick stuck by my side for whatever reason, but we scarcely talked. He was too awkward to ask the burning question: what the hell was going on with me? And I was too miserable to even try to entertain the both of us. It was a full time job just trying to keep the tears from welling back up in my eyes. So much for a distraction.

I spotted Raven, as well as countless other classmates I wanted to avoid at all costs, but just as I was formulating some lame excuse to disappear, a flash of blonde hair rounded the doorway and plopped into the chair next to me. A wide grin was stretched across Sol's face, but it faltered when he caught my expression. I was such an easy read. Couldn't I mask anything?

But he didn't shrink back. Instead he nudged my arm with a closed fist, his lips quirked up as he said, "Hey doc, got time for another procedure tonight? I'm thinking about picking a fight."

"Oh yeah, just let me grab my scalpel. Hope you're not squeamish," I deadpanned, wryly chewing on another bite of trail mix.

"As long as it's not a colonoscopy I think I can handle it."

I laughed despite myself, the carefree giggle sounding foreign from my own lungs. I was still moments away from tears, my eyes burning, but the ache in my chest had subsided. It was the first time I smiled all night.

Sol laughed too, mostly at my reaction, a satisfied smile wrapping around his lips. His hand rested on the inside of my forearm, his features softening to something more serious. "You alright, Ang? You look a little off tonight."

The chair on my other side scraped back and I only caught a glimpse of Maverick before he walked off, hands running through his hair before digging into the pockets of his jeans. I turned back to Sol, my laughter completely expelled from the air. He dropped his eyes and reached for the trail mix, forcing a joke about me poisoning him, but I could tell something was off.

"I'll catch up with you later," I muttered, but I didn't wait for a response before kicking my chair back and following after Maverick. I weaved through the people and to the front door, shaking off the cold when the first cool gust of the night hit me.

The house's porch was wooden and long, wrapping around the front side of the house. Maverick was already on the far end, a cigarette hanging past his lips. He was turning out his pockets when we locked eyes. He stopped.

"You've got my lighter," he said.

"Huh?"

"In the sweater pocket."

"Oh right." I dug my hand inside, fingers closing around the cool metal. I hesitated a moment, but then tossed it to him. He could do whatever he wanted. It wasn't any of my business.

He caught it easily, one-handed. He flicked the top open and a flame sparked into life. He held it, paused, just inches away from the tip of his cigarette. His dark eyes briefly flicked to mine. Reluctantly, he snapped the lighter shut and shoved the cigarette back into the box. Another hand ran through his hair.

"It's okay if you want to," I said, crossing across rickety wooden decking. I sunk into the porch swing, rocking it back with my heels. "I won't stop you."

He didn't answer, just hunched over the railing with his elbows resting on its surface. The dim porch light cast a yellow glow against his skin, just enough for me to make out his squinted eyes and creased forehead. He was on edge.

"So did you start up again?" I asked. The question was burning my tongue. I had to ask.

He nodded. His nail dug into the porch rail, picking at the peeling white paint. Everything in this fricken town was falling apart.

The silence felt too heavy. A part of me regretted following him out here. Surely Solomon or Ducky would be better at making sure he was okay than me. But I couldn't just leave now, so I forced out more dead conversation, the first thing that came to my mind.

"You were right. Coming here was a bad idea."

"I can take you home if you want."

I shook my head. "I can't be in my house right now." My voice was raw, more honest than I intended, and much too vulnerable for it to be anything less than embarrassing. Neither of us could ignore the ache behind my words.

The silence weighed on both of us, tugging at my gut until Maverick finally broke. He kicked off from the rail and faced me. "Look, I'm not really good at this whole touchy-feely bullcrap, so if—"

"I'm not looking for a shoulder to cry on."

He stopped short, nodded, and then sunk into the seat next to me. His extra weight rocked the swing back and disjointed my previous rhythm. He was hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees. In the dim glow of the porch light, I could just barely make out a thin strip of ink that crawled up his neck. I couldn't make out the design with the collar of his jacket masking most of it, and it felt intrusive to stare, so I returned my eyes to the ground.

I shrugged to adjust the oversized sweater that hung loosely from my shoulders. Absent-mindedly, I slid my hands back into the pockets, my fingers searching for warmth. Instead they found a folded up piece of paper.

With a quick glance at Maverick's figure, still hunched over trying to rub the exhaustion from his eyes, I pulled it out. I unfolded it, eyes scanning over the quick strokes of pen and small, jagged letters that adorned the page. It was undoubtedly Maverick's handwriting, and the little doodles that bordered the words were even more evidence. And if that wasn't enough, the word "Angel," scrawled at the top was a pretty clear indicator.

Maverick's head popped up when he heard the crinkling of paper. He snatched it from my hands before I had time to register what it meant, but even then my cheeks were already colored a deep red. He crudely folded the paper back up and shoved it into his jeans pocket.

"What is it?" I asked. I shouldn't have — it was already bad enough that I was snooping through his stuff, but the words came out before I had a chance to stop them.

"Nothing."

His voice was clipped, short. The seconds of silence that ticked by screamed at me to fill the void. I was always ruining everything between us, making everything awkward any chance I got.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"Just forget about it."

This was a mistake. This whole night was a mistake. I shouldn't have followed him out here. I shouldn't have even come to this party. I shouldn't have left the house. I shouldn't have yelled at my mom. I should have never lied to her. My whole life was turning into a series of mistakes, one right after the other.

I was sat there, biting the inside of my lip to keep the ache inside my chest at bay, but Maverick interrupted my thoughts.

"It's just a song. It's not like I'm obsessed with you. I just got bored in class and I didn't have anything to write about and that's it." The words spilled out quickly, almost agitated, but not so much at me. He was irritated with himself.

A deep-rooted feeling in my chest told me I should say something, so the first words that came to mind poured out of my mouth, no matter how embarrassing it was to admit.

"I wrote a poem about you too."He glanced up at me, but I couldn't meet his eyes. My cheeks were burning. I was too mortified to do anything more than stare at my hands. "It was weird. I hadn't been writing for so long. A part of me never wanted to put anything down on paper ever again after — after — well, you know. Then the words just started coming. I don't know. It's stupid."

Another pause followed my words, one much too long. One that made me wish I hadn't said anything at all. He must think I'm some lovesick freak. He must think I'm some indecisive girl just stringing him along because she can't make up her mind. But as much as I should have, I couldn't get up from that porch swing.

"Can I read it?"

"No," I said, appalled, nearly laughing, "not in a million years."

"Come on," he said, nudging my arm, "I've read your other stuff."

"Without my permission."

"Fair enough."

He sunk back into the seat, finally relaxing from his rigid position. I leaned back as well, the mushy cushions deflating under my weight. The chair was far from comfortable, and it was still freezing out here, but I no longer wanted to retreat inside to the party with too-loud music and half-drunk kids.

"How'd you get over Ellie?" His voice was low, guarded. The question weighed between us before he added, "You don't have to answer that."

"No, it's alright," I said, my fingernails picking into the hem of his sweater, but it still took me a moment to gather my words. "I guess she was always my best friend first. I knew it would never work out, even if she was gay. Things sort of faded with time. Most days I don't even think about it. But — I don't know. You think you're over someone and then they do something so simple and everything comes rushing back."

Another pause.

"We're so screwed," he breathed, hardly loud enough for me to hear.

I didn't notice the stinging in my eyes until the first tear streaked down my cheek. I wiped it away impatiently. It was ridiculous. I shouldn't be crying over this. I wouldn't be if things were normal right now — if my mom didn't hate me, if I could actually get some sleep at night, if I didn't have this goddamn ache in the middle of my chest all the time.

Maverick's hand hovered a moment before dropping down against his leg again. His eyes flicked over to the front lawn, pretending he hadn't seen anything.

He wasn't like Sol. Those small, comforting touches didn't come natural to him. He could have a girl pressed up against the wall moaning his name with no problem, but God forbid he needs to console anyone. In an instant he was turned into a bumbling idiot, all awkward too-long limbs with no idea where to put his hands.

But despite all this, he shifted his arm and wrapped it around my shoulders. Tentatively, I leaned into his chest, letting my head rest against his shoulder. His body was rigid against mine, clearly out of his element, but I didn't mind. My hands curled against the outside of his jacket and I let my eyes close, ignoring the way my heart hammered in my chest.

"Do you know Harlow called my mom to tell her that you're my new dangerous, criminal boyfriend?" I asked him, my tone teasing. I don't know why I said it.

Maverick cracked a smile, his voice low when he answered. "He pulled me into his office the other day to tell me to stop forcing my negative influence on you."

"What did you say to him?" He could hear the smile in my voice.

"I told him the truth. The only one being influenced is me. The infamous Angelica Moore has me wrapped around her little finger."

We both laughed and I could feel the vibrations that rumbled through his chest, relishing in the way his electricity sparked through me.

But we weren't the only ones laughing. Raven stumbled out of the house with her arm slung around the shoulders of a short brunette I recognized to be a grade below us. Her sharp, distinct laughter bubbled from her chest, dying out when her eyes caught Maverick and I together on the porch swing. She stopped short, swaying with the alcohol that swam in her veins.

"Figured it was only a matter of time before he made you his bitch." Her words were acidic.

Maverick's arm tightened around my shoulder, but he didn't say anything and neither did I. I didn't have anything to prove, not to her.

The brunette tugged at Raven's sleeve, muttering in a low voice about them leaving. Something that resembled an embarrassed glance was sent my way. But Raven wasn't done yet. She took a pace forward, her lip curled back as she fired off another verbal assault.

"How long did it take for you to spread your legs for him? A week? A day?"

"Screw off," Maverick shot back. His voice was deep, as frigid as ice. Raven remained unphased.

"Oh what are you going to do, Mavy? Put me in the hospital just like you did to Tristan?" she challenged. My surprise must have shown plainly, because she added, "What, did he not tell you? You ought to see his handiwork. A broken wrist and twenty-two stitches."

"He got what was coming to him," Maverick replied. His voice was void of any emotion, not a hint of remorse.

"That's my friend you're talking about."

"Yeah? Send him some flowers for me."

The brunette had resorted to tugging her down the steps of the porch, but Raven wasn't quite finished yet. As she crossed the front lawn she yelled back at us, "Karma goes both ways, Mav. You're next."

Once again, his arm tightened around my shoulders, pulling me closer into his chest, as if he was afraid of me drifting away. But it was too late, whatever comfortable atmosphere we stumbled into before had completely dispelled. Silence cloaked us for the rest of the night. We rocked on the porch swing for well over an hour after that. I felt like a stranger in my bones the whole time, disjointed from the body he held.

We didn't say a word until the car ride back to my house. He reached for my wrist the moment he shifted into park, catching me before I could escape. His dark eyes were pleading. The expression looked foreign on his face.

"You saw what he did to Sol. You know I didn't have a choice."

I nodded. "I don't blame you for what you did."

I meant it, but even as I said the words the only thing I could see were the cuts along his knuckles. It was the same hand that held me in place.

"Hey Mav, were you the one that wrote all that stuff on Raven's locker last year?" I asked. I resented how small my voice sounded.

"No, not that anyone would believe me," he replied, not bothering to hide the irritation. "Raven's a psycho. Honestly wouldn't surprise me if she wrote that shit herself for the attention."

His eyes were earnest when he returned them to mine. "I'm not perfect, but I'm not that kind of person. Really. I'm not."

I nodded, a small sense of relief easing into my shoulders. 

"I'll see you in class," I said softly, and he let my skin slip from his grip. I tugged up at the hem of his sweater.

"Keep it," he told me. I nodded, pushed open the car door, and ducked my head from the cold until I was inside the safety of my house. I kicked off my shoes and crawled under my sheets with Maverick's sweater still wrapped around me as I tossed and turned.

I was too tired to cry anymore, but as much as my eyes ached with exhaustion, I couldn't pass out. I waited another hour, my arms always wrapped tightly around my torso, breathing in Maverick's faded scent. I started to wish I was back on that porch swing with him, the steady beat of his heart there to lull me to sleep.

When the ache in my chest grew too deep to bear, I gave up and stripped the sweater off. I paced down the hallway, bare toes curling into the carpet and hand hovering over the knob to my mother's room. I stood frozen as the seconds ticked by, but eventually I slipped inside the room, crawling under the covers of the bed, hands outstretched and searching for my mom.

My arms closed around her bony frame, hesitancy in my movements. A part of me feared she would send me out, but instead her hand closed over mine. I relaxed into the mattress, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, and for the first time all night, I didn't feel so cold.