The side of Tyler's truck cools my back even though the evening air is warm and wet. This season the temperatures are going up and down, ranging from cold to hot in the course of a single day. Today it's warm—not hot, but just plain, basic warm—and I hate it.

It's the weather that confuses everyone. No one knows whether to wear a coat, put on boots or go straight out into the morning wearing shorts. Around halfway through the day is when everyone realizes what they've worn isn't appropriate for the weather—some go home cold and some go home sweating out their hairlines.

Right now, it's somewhere in the middle. The truck is pressing up against the thin material of my sweater, the sleeves pushed up to my elbows. Tyler has been inside for a good fifteen minutes and I can't help but fidget and start worrying.

I still only partially know what's going on. The basics are enough but even so, I want to know everything. I'm still out of the loop when it comes to Tyler. I still don't understand everything. To be honest, the more I think about it, the more I realize that I barely know him at all. We only started talking a few weeks ago. Before that he was just another boy at school.

I know nothing about him, compared to the things I've told him about me. Things I told him when I hardly knew him. Stupid things I told a virtual stranger. A part of me wonders why I opened up to him after only knowing him for a few days. But another part of me shrugs it off and thinks of it as inevitable.

I had to tell someone eventually.

I just didn't expect it to be him.

I look up quickly when the doors to the bar open and my shoulder slump in relief when Tyler walks out, head low. He walks towards me slowly, not in any way hasty and I guess that he's doing it to avoid arousing suspicion. When he stops in front of me, he lets out a shaky breath.

"Let's go," he says, and I hand him the keys to the truck.

He heads over to the driver's seat and I slip into the passenger side. His hands are shaking as he puts the key in the ignition. I try not to mention anything, but when he begins to fumble so much that the key won't go in, I reach over and place my hand over his. He flinches. I keep my hand there, watching him carefully. Tyler finally sighs and his entire body sags. I move his hand away and he drops the keys onto the space beside us. His fingers immediately run through his black hair and another long sigh escapes his lips.

"Tyler . . .?" I ask quietly.

"It's never that easy," he whispers to himself.

"What's never . . . Ty, what happened?"

He moves his hands away from his face and places them on the steering wheel, shaking his head back and forth. "It's too easy. Too simple."

"Did you get your files?" I ask.

He nods. "I got all of them."

I snap my head over to look at him, eyes wide. "All of them?"

"Everyone's," he says. "There were too many and it was taking too long to just find mine."

"Well . . . that's not a bad thing, right?" I ask. "I mean, now you have all evidence of you being there. Every fight you had with other people is in the files too, right?"

"But it was so simple." Tyler looks at me. "I just walked right in there and then walked right out. Why was Carl so off guard? So careless over security?"

I open my mouth but I have no answer to give him so I close it. I look out the windows to make sure no one is watching, and that no one has come out of the bar after Tyler. But when I look at the main doors, people are already standing there.

"Tyler," I say and tilt my head towards the bar. "Look."

He follows my gaze and frowns as he takes in the group of men standing at the entrance, off to the side a little. They're all much older than us, many pushing about forty, maybe fifty years old. Luckily, the interior light in the truck is off. Most would think the truck was deserted unless they looked hard enough.

There are five of them and one is dominant over the conversation, talking the most and receiving the most attention. Another man comes in and seems to be angry, causing a quiet argument to ensue.

"Do you know them?" I ask.

"The big guy," Tyler says. "He's like a bouncer or bodyguard."

"For who?"

"You see the guy in the white shirt? The one talking the most?" he asks and I nod. "That's Carl."

I squint my eyes and lean forward a little further. Another man is blocking my view of his face and it's only when he finally moves that my stomach drops. Carl's face is now clearly visible.

"Franny?" Tyler asks, his voice a little worried. "You okay? You went all quiet . . . "

"I know him."

Tyler becomes silent beside me for a moment. "How?"

"He used to come around to the house and talk to my dad," I explain. "I thought he was a friend. He stopped visiting before summer started."

"Did he visit annually?" Tyler's pries. "Once every month perhaps?"

"Once every two months," I say quietly. "Exactly."

"Like a money collector?"

Dread fills me and I nod, turning back to look at Tyler. "You don't think . . . "

"Your dad gambles, right?" Tyler doesn't expect an answer, he already knows. "Do you know what he gambles on? Who he gambles on?"

"Ty, he wouldn't do that. He's never showed any interest in fighting!"

"But he could," Tyler says. "He could be betting all his money on fights. And losing each time. He doesn't have the money to pay up so Carl comes around every two months and forces it off him. Leaves your dad in so much debt that he has nothing to give anymore."

"They might just be friends," I whisper.

"Franny," Tyler says and I feel his hand suddenly cupping my cheek, pulling my head to face him. "Can you honestly look me in the eyes right now and tell me that your dad is friends with a man like Carl? Honestly."

His eyes are fierce as he stares at me. I feel more vulnerable than ever as I sit before him, having nowhere to go and no place to hide. I shake my head and clench my eyes shut. "He wouldn't be friends with him."

Tyler's hand drops from my cheek and, pitifully, I miss the warmth almost immediately.

"We should get out of here," he says. "We need to talk anyway."

As the engine roars to life, I look over to where the men were to find them all gone, no evidence of them ever being present. Tyler pulls the truck out of the parking lot and off down the street. I don't know where we're going or even if Tyler knows himself. But I don't ask. I trust him.

Probably more than I should.

***

When Tyler stops the car ten minutes later it's by the side of a road with rain pounding down on the windows. He cuts the engine and we sit there in silence, the only noise from the harsh, continuous rainfall.

Suddenly Tyler undoes his seatbelt and reaches over towards me. I lean back as he opens the glove compartment and pulls out the little curtains I'd seen earlier. He takes one and hands me the other, and we attach them to the side windows.

Together, we get the front and back windows covered up and now only a little light comes in around the edges. Tyler reaches up and presses a button, and the little light in the ceiling illuminates the interior. It's weak but enough for me to see him.

"Isn't that going to run the battery down?" I ask.

He shrugs. "She might be an old truck but she's actually pretty efficient when it comes to saving power."

I nod, unsure what to say. His truck is a she.

"What are you going to do with the files?" I ask.

"There's a fireplace at my house that my mom uses a lot. I'll burn the papers in there when they're not looking. Then they'll finally be gone, forever." I place a hand on Tyler's shoulder gently and he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "I need to tell you something," Tyler says. "About Carl and you."

"What do you mean?" I frown.

"I went to see him the other day," he says. "To scope out his office, see where the cabinets were so I wasn't fumbling around today. But I also went to confront him. And as I did . . . he threatened you."

"Threatened me?"

"It's wasn't exactly direct, but he knew you," he explains. "Knew of you and that we'd been around each other for a while. I thought he had people following me but now I think it might be because of your dad. He would have already known you if he was visiting your dad all the time. He knows things about you."

"He can't know that much," I say. "He's only come to see my dad, that isn't enough."

"He knows we go to school together and he knows what school I go to. Therefore, he knows where you are during school hours. He knows where you live. Therefore, he knows where you are after school hours. That's enough, Franny."

"But . . . but I have nothing to do with this." I turn my wide eyes on Tyler. "I didn't do anything to him."

"But you're right in the middle," Tyler says softly. "I'm sorry but you were always involved. Even before you met me. You were involved the second your dad started betting on the fights."

My hands clench against my knees. Tyler says something else but I don't hear him over the rain and the thoughts running through my mind. I stare down at my knuckles which have turned white from the pressure and slowly release them with a gasp.

Tyler shifts closer and places a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm but not painful. Enough to let me know he's there but not too much to become threatening.

"Franny . . . you're okay." He leans his head down until I look at him. "You're going to be fine. Nothing's going to happen to you. To us."

I stare at him. And he stares back. He looks at me the way that used to make me feel on edge. That made me feel exposed and vulnerable. The way I used to hate him looking at me. But now I see no fault. I see no problem. I see comfort, worry and understanding. And it doesn't scare me. It doesn't worry me how much I trust this boy and how far I would test that trust.

Maybe it's a bad thing.

Maybe it's what I need.

"You're not as bad as you think," I say quietly without thinking and Tyler frowns. "I can tell you went through some tough crap last year . . . and that's why you started fighting. I know you're not ready to tell me. I went through some tough crap last year. And, well, I guess you're not as different as I thought. You're not some strange enigma or some fucked-up druggie. You're just going through a rough patch." I shrug. "Aren't we all?"

A hint of a smile plays along Tyler's features. I notice that he's closer, closer than before. His hand is still on my shoulder and slowly he runs it down my arm to my elbow, where his thumb strokes the crease absentmindedly.

His face is inches from mine, our noses so close they could touch and our lips are in painfully close proximity. One little movement forward and they could meet. They could touch. We could kiss. One little move that takes only a fraction of a second to do and only a fraction of that to decide.

But neither of us has the guts.

Tyler leans back, and his hand slowly falls from my elbow.

"It's late," he says, and I nod, my heart beating too fast for me to form words.

The rain has slowed down and by the time Tyler pulls the truck back onto the road, he doesn't even need to use the wipers. But the tense silence that follows during the entire journey makes me wish for the rain to come back twice as loud and hard.

One step forward, two steps back.