Tyler was sitting on my doorstep, waiting for me when I got home. He stood when I approached, lowering the hood on his sweater as I joined him on the porch.

"Tyler, your face!" The cut through his brow was red and angry. "That looks kind of deep."

"It'll leave a nice scar." He winced as I touched his face, reaching for my hand and pulling it gently away. "I'm okay."

"What happened?"

"Your boyfriend. He was waiting when I got out of the water."

"You need to squash this."

Tyler rolled his eyes.

"No, Tyler, I'm serious. This has gone too far." I exhaled. "Come inside. I'll fix you up. Just..." I put my finger to my lips, so he knew to keep quiet.

Inside, he followed me through the dark—down the hallway and up the stairs, tiptoeing past Trina's closed bedroom door. She always trusted me to keep my ten o'clock curfew, so I never had to worry about backseat parenting, or sneaking boys into my room.

I closed the door behind us, then grabbed the first aid kit from the bathroom. I walked in on him taking the grand tour of my bedroom. Tyler was a Grammy-award winning star. A Grammy-award winning star was poking through my Giga Pet collection and lighting scented candles.

I took a seat on the bed, opening the tin and rummaging through the emergency supplies. Between dancing and gymnastics, I had a lengthy list of injuries. Girl Scouts taught me the rest.

"Does it hurt?" I asked, splashing a piece of gauze with alcohol.

"Not as much as my pride. He suckered me. Won't happen again."

I dabbed the wound; Tyler hissed in pain, releasing an angry breath through his nose.

"You're enjoying this aren't you?"

"Little bit. Now keep still."

Tyler sighed, his gaze on the ceiling as I worked. "This is familiar."

"What?"

"Me, showing up at your door, a mess. You, cleaning me up."

"Your dad. He doesn't still..."

"No," he said, quietly. "Not in a long time."

"Good." I exhaled, faltering at the way Tyler was looking at me. He wouldn't tolerate being called a victim and he wouldn't stand for sympathy. Just like the old days, all I could do was be there for him.

I finished cleaning the cut. It was wide, but shallower than I thought. Tyler was right, the scar would be wicked when it healed. The line through his brow would only make him more handsome, more rugged, than he already was. My gaze traveled the canvas that was his face. From his dramatic green eyes, down his sculpted nose to his stubborn chin. And those lips, they were designed for kissing...

They spread in a knowing, half-grin. "What?"

I blinked. "Huh?"

"You're staring at me, weird-o. What is it? Is there something in my nose?" He lifted his nose and leaned close, snorting like a pig.

"Yeah. And it's the same size as your brain." I pushed him away. "He hit you pretty hard."

"Your boy can swing; I'll give him that much."

"You're lucky he didn't kill you."

"I'm not the one who lost the fight." Tyler paused, serious green eyes fastened on me as I concentrated on applying the butterfly stitches. "Do you still like him?"

"Does it matter?"

"He hit me in the face with a piece of driftwood, hell yeah it matters."

Glaring, I pressed the butterfly stitches with more force than necessary.

"Ow!" Tyler grabbed my wrists with his warm, tattooed hands. His gaze was hardened but his hands were gentle.

"I'm tired of friends telling me who I should and shouldn't like. I'm not in trouble, you are."

"You think I'm scared of him?"

I pulled away. "I think you made a really bad decision. You pushed the captain of the basketball team into the ocean. Eric's not gonna let this go."

I scooped up the used gauze, dumping them in the small, white trash can by my door. When I turned and faced Tyler, he was already on his feet, arms swinging in frustration.

"I can handle myself. He hit me once and I put his ass in the dirt."

"And that's the problem, Tyler." I folded my arms. "You don't have to beat Eric just to prove you're better than him."

"Yes, I do. Cuz Eric wants to win for the same reason. You wouldn't understand."

I wasn't famous, and I wasn't a dude, so maybe that was true. "It's too bad we didn't keep in touch while you were gone. Things might have been different." We might have been different.

"I know it's been a long time, Ali, but I still care about you. I know things have been hard since I left—"

I scoffed. How presumptuous. "You think all my problems started because you left town? Don't flatter yourself, Tyler. My dad left when I was three and my mom died four years ago. You're not even a blip on the screen. You don't know me anymore."

"Next time, try looking me in the eye when you say that. Maybe I'll believe you." He stepped forward, hands in his pockets. "You're wrong, Preston. I do know you. You volunteer at hospitals and teach kids how to dance. In sixth grade you switched science projects with Tandy Baker because you knew she'd fail if she didn't get an A. You like pickles but you hate cucumbers. You have a lamp beside your bed because you're afraid of the dark. And no matter what you're doing or where you are, you'll drop everything and come running when I need you."

"Bet that speech works on all the girls."

He shrugged. "What girls? I only see you."

"That sounded like a recycled song lyric."

He chuckled. "It's corny, but it's the truth. And I'm sorry we didn't stay in touch. But I'm here now... How have you been?"

"I'm fine. My world didn't stop without you, Tyler. I have friends."

"Like that girl who was with you at the hotel?" He walked to my vanity. Nonchalant, he took a seat, inspecting a bottle of sparkly nail polish. "What's her name?" he asked, with an innocence I didn't trust for a second.

"Her name's Quinn. And no, you can't date her." I leaned against my computer desk, watching through the vanity's mirror as Tyler painted his nails.

"She's not my type." He blew on his hand. "I just wanted to make sure she's looking out for you."

"I don't want your friend. I want..." He set the toy aside, folding his hands in his lap. He shrugged. "I wanna be here for you the way you and your mom were always here for me."

"She's my best friend. We have a lot in common—her dad's gone, we both hate the same people, she's into the performing arts too. That's probably why we click."

"We used to click."

"We used to talk," I replied, walking to the desk. I placed Tyler's hands under the nail lamp and pushed the on button. "There's a lot of things she doesn't know about me. Things I've only told you. Butthead."

Something in his nostalgic gaze looked a lot like my own regrets. "We're family," he said. "We keep each other's secrets."

Some things never change.

***

We talked until four in the morning, catching up on the years past like they happened yesterday. I knew we only shared the best stories, the ones that made us laugh. The rest, the ones that made us sad, scared, and angry, we saved for the rainy days.

Tyler was flopped on my bed, eyes closed as he yawned. "You know why I like you, Preston?"

"Because you're an Aries and I'm a Libra?" I sat cross-legged on my computer chair, turning in circles as I rode the last waves of the energy drink. "Wow. That explains a lot..."

Tyler snored. His right hand dangled over the bed, his sparkly, purple nails the same shade as mine. All of a sudden, I knew the answer to his question.

"You like that we're the same."

I turned out the lights and climbed into bed. As if drawn naturally to the warmth, Tyler turned and grabbed me, holding me close like an extra pillow. I fell asleep in his arms, floating on the image of his handsome face carved by moonlight and darkness.

***