Monday morning, Dad dropped me and Rachel off at the front of the school. I hadn't done this since I got my car on my sixteenth birthday. I was embarrassed to be back in this position. I felt like everyone was staring at me.

I quickly realized I wasn't being paranoid. They really were staring at me. Gawking might be a better word for it. The evidence of the accident was written across my face and arms. I almost wore long sleeves today for this exact reason. But it was so goddamn hot out, I would've had a heatstroke.

"Get a fucking life, losers!" Rachel snapped. She rubbed my shoulder. "You gonna be okay?"

I nodded. "I'm fine, Bean."

She scrutinized me with a look of uncertainty, but she left, running out to the courtyard to join her friends. They had all gathered around Rachel's best friend Jenny to watch a video on her phone. Rachel's new boyfriend ran up behind her and threw his arms around her, spinning her around. He kissed her neck as she giggled and squealed, "Dylan!"

I was glad she'd gotten over Zack. Though Zack probably wasn't as happy about it, since—according to Rachel—her new boyfriend was his best friend until about three weeks ago, when Rachel swooped in. It was astounding the amount of spite one tiny girl could hold. But she genuinely seemed happy with Dylan, and he seemed like a nice guy the few times he'd come around our house. Unlike Zack, Dylan actually made it to his meet-the-parents dinner.

I waded through a current of well-wishers, most of whom I couldn't name if my life depended on it. I couldn't go five feet without someone stopping me to ask, "How are you doing?" or to say, "I'm glad you're alright." Even a couple teachers spoke to me.

I turned my eyes to the ground, stuffing my headphones into my ears, though I didn't bother playing anything, ignoring everyone, even if they called my name. I pretended like I didn't hear. I had somewhere to be and not long to get there.

Pushing through the exit door at the end of the hall, I paused outside to scan the student parking lot. When Jackson's muscle car roared down the lane, I hurried through the lines of cars toward his assigned spot, three down from my space. It stung to see it empty.

My parents had found a way to lock my phone so I couldn't call or text anyone except them, Rachel, and emergency services, so I hadn't spoken to Jackson since Friday afternoon in Emmett's hospital room. The only person allowed to visit me at home was Emmett—with an orchestra's worth of strings attached.

Before Jackson could get out, I circled to the passenger door and climbed in. "I need to talk to you."

Jackson pulled his door shut and cranked the engine to blast the air conditioning, to prevent us from dying in the suffocating heat already encroaching after just a few seconds of the car being off. "Is something wrong?"

"It's about Emmett."

"Is he okay?"

"He's fine."

Jackson silently stared at me for a long moment. "Is this about him calling you his boyfriend?"

I nodded, my stomach twisting into knots. "I am. H-He... He's my boyfriend. We're together. Dating."

"Are you bi?" Jackson asked, curiously. Then he furrowed his brow, quickly adding, "Is that okay to ask?"

"It's okay with me. And no. I don't think so. I'm pretty sure I'm just gay," I said. He stared at me, examining my face carefully. "Does that bother you?"

"I guess I'm just confused," he said. "I mean, you've had at least one girlfriend every year pretty much since like seventh grade."

It actually surprised me he was the first person to bring this up. Everyone else just took my word for it without question. Or maybe they were just too afraid of offending me to ask. Jackson wasn't one for tiptoeing around the subject. Not with me anyway.

"I was never attracted to any of them. I mean, like, I recognize that they're all pretty girls, it just didn't do anything for me."

"Then why did you date them?"

A reasonable question. One I'd given a lot of thought to over these last few weeks.

"Because that's what I thought I was supposed to do. I didn't even realize I was just going through the motions until I met Emmett and found out how deeply I could connect with someone. How much I could want someone." I raised my brows, hoping he'd catch my meaning without me having to spell it out.

"You really had no idea before him?" Jackson sounded baffled. I imagined the actual question going through his mind: How could you not know?

I had wondered that every day since these feelings emerged. I used to assume that gay people just always knew, but were too afraid to say it out loud at first. I never knew it could sneak up on someone like it had for me. It was all so much more complicated than I thought.

I shook my head. "Not a clue. I thought I was just broken somehow. Emotionally stunted. Like I would never feel things the way other people do." I assumed that was a result of losing my dad. Experiencing such a profound loss at such a young age will mess up a kid. At least that's basically what my therapist said when I started having panic attacks at the ripe old age of nine.

"And Emmett changed that?"

"Yeah. I finally understood what you guys meant when you talked about the girls you wanted to sleep with. I honestly thought y'all were being overdramatic about craving it."

"We probably were, to be honest."

"No, but, seriously, dude." I grabbed his arm. "I didn't know how visceral attraction could be. I wanted Emmett so fucking bad from that day at the course. You don't even want to know what I thought about doing to him out there when he put his arms around me."

Jackson laughed and clapped me on the leg. "And here all this time I thought you were just a gentlemen. Guess you just needed to meet the right person to bring out your inner horndog."

"Shut up." I shoved him and we both laughed. "It's not just that I want him, though. He also made me get the way people talk about love, which is something I never really thought I'd have."

Emmett shined light into the dark recesses of my broken heart, mending the cracks with every laugh and smile that he saved for me. Every kiss and touch, every I love you, brought me closer to feeling like an actual human being.

"You love him?" Jackson raised his brows in shock, a hint of amusement playing at his lips.

He probably thought it was way too soon to be making such declarations. But to him, I'd been with Emmett for three days. I'd been living with these feelings for nearly two months.

"I do." I bit my bottom lip, nodding.

Jackson gripped my shoulder, staring into my eyes rather intensely. "I hope you know this doesn't change anything between us. You're still like my brother, no matter where your dick points you."

"That may be my favorite response so far," I said, cracking a smile.

Jackson rubbed a hand over his stubbly chin. "Honestly, for real, I love you so much more than my actual brother."

"That's not really saying much. Your brother is an asshole."

Jackson pushed his lips to one side, nodding. "I can't argue with that."

Lucas was four years older than us and he used to delight in torturing Jackson with headlocks, noogies, and pantsing him in public places—most notably a public pool when Jackson was fourteen, exposing Jackson's business to two dozen strangers and several of our friends. Thankfully, Lucas went to college the year we started high school. I couldn't imagine the hell he'd wreak on Jackson if they attended the same school.

A few rows over, Duke got out of his SUV, once again wearing his letterman's jacket, despite the heat. My muscles tensed, my blood running cold.

Seeing my reaction, Jackson said, "You know about him and Emmett, right? They're like a thing."

I gave a slight nod. "That's over. Duke didn't take it so well. He punched me in the gut."

"So he knows about you guys?" Jackson sounded concerned.

"Yeah." I turned to Jackson, gripping his arm. "But nobody else at school knows. Except Rachel and Summer. And I'd like to keep it that way."

"I won't say anything." Jackson peered out the windshield at Duke. "But he might. You know how vindictive he can be when he feels like he's been screwed over. Remember when Courtney cheated on him sophomore year?"

Courtney's windshield got shattered by a brick the same day Duke found out. Someone also scratched "whore" on her locker so deep it cut through the red paint into the metal. There was no proof that Duke committed either act, but everyone suspected him. No one else had motive.

I shook my head. "I doubt he'd say anything. If he outs me, I could out him."

"You wouldn't do that. You'd never do anything to make someone suffer."

"Of course not."

"No, dude." Jackson twisted in his seat to face me. "I'm saying he knows you well enough to know you would never do that."

I chewed on the nail of my middle finger, contemplating. Would Duke really do that to me? Would people even believe him if he tried? I had always presented as straight before I met Emmett.

But perhaps most importantly, would I care if everyone believed it?

That was a question that needed some serious consideration.