"Dammit, Dylan. Listen to yourself. Don't you see the way she manipulates you? That you believe you have to do something? No, son, she has to do something. She has to take responsibility."

"Well, she isn't, okay?" Therefore, I have to. Everyone liked to talk at him, but no one offered solutions.

"I don't know how to get you to see it." His uncle scratched the back of his head, staring down at his boots. "I can't just stand here and let you waste your life." His jaw hardened. "You know how I know you're something special?"

He didn't give a shit. It didn't solve his problem. Dylan reached for the tape dispenser, but his uncle's hand blocked him.

"Because after you stole your aunt's car, you never got into trouble again. Your whole ugly history with vandalism, theft, getting into fights, it ended. Just like that."

Dylan looked away. Facing his uncle that day had sickened him. Knowing he'd betrayed his family had made him hate himself. He vowed that day he'd never cross those lines again. And he hadn't. He'd just worked his ass off to make enough money to support her.

Money she used to buy drugs.

"You were fourteen years old, and you could have easily followed in your mom's footsteps. Why wouldn't you? The life-the sick bastards-she exposed you to? Yeah, you could've gone down that road. Ended up just like her. But you didn't. Instead, you got some steel in your spine and forged your own path."

His uncle's gaze turned hard, intense. Like he wanted to drill the message into his brain.

"Unlike your mom, you've got a moral compass. After you stole that car, you set up boundaries for yourself. That showed us all what you were made of. Dylan, you've got to know, we're rooting for you. You impress the hell out of us."

He appreciated hearing that. He did. But it didn't offer a solution.

His uncle sighed, scrubbed his face. "And now you've got a great chance to make something of yourself. We don't want to see you blow it. Son, every time you do something for her, you cheat her of having the ability to do it for herself. Every time you give her money, you're keeping her an addict. You want her to change? Then give her a reason to. You change. If she wants you in her life, then she's gonna have to do things differently. Make different choices. Give her the chance to decide which is more important to her. The drugs or her boy."

He turned sharply to look at his uncle. His uncle had nailed it. That was it, right there. That's what it all boiled down to.

But dammit all to hell-was he ready to find out the answer?

Dylan checked his phone. Nothing from his mom. He hadn't heard from her in three hours. Excusing himself from the kitchen table, he made his way through the rowdy crowd to get some quiet in the hallway outside the bathrooms.

Living with Kelsi and her parents wasn't working for his mom. It put a strain on her because she had to be on her best behavior or risk getting kicked out, and she didn't handle stress well. Obviously.

And Nicole certainly didn't appreciate him staying with Kelsi's family. But, as Kelsi constantly reminded him, he couldn't think about Nicole just then. He had a huge problem to handle and no real options. He wasn't wasting the money he'd earned the past two weeks on a motel. He'd found some trailer homes to rent in a safe-looking park outside Carbondale but doubted his mom would live by herself so far from her friends.

But he did know his mom couldn't keep staying with Kelsi's parents.

Did this mean he had to quit school and get a full-time job to pay for rent and bills and food? His gut screamed no because, come on, where the hell would that lead?

A couple of the guys he'd grown up with got up when they heard a Limp Bizkit song, all of them completely wasted. They grabbed the nearest girls, grinding on them, and Kelsi stumbled her way through the crowd to get in on it.

It struck Dylan right then, as he watched his friends party the same way they had throughout high school, how familiar it all felt. He'd only had a few months away, but he just didn't want to be part of this scene anymore.

Pulling up his phone, he texted Sawyer.

Let's get out of here. Meet you outside.

As he headed for the door, he tried to get Kelsi's attention to let her know he was leaving, but she had her head tilted back as she ground her pelvis into some guy he didn't recognize.

And then he saw Sawyer with his usual swagger and cockiness making his way across the living room. The moment he saw Dylan, he raised a hand.

Once they reached each other, Sawyer dangled his keys. "Let's ride."

They headed outside into the fresh but icy cold air, and Dylan was relieved to have this time alone with his closest friend. As they trampled down the metal stairs in their boots, Dylan said, "Hey, you never told me how school went." His breath came out a pure white fog.

"Good." Sawyer shrugged. "You know."

"No, I don't. You haven't said shit about it." They hadn't talked much while his friend had been in motorcycle repair school.

"What's to tell?"

"It was your dream, man. You finally did it. So, how come you're back working for your dad?"

"It's winter. There're no motorcycles to repair in Colorado."

"You could've stayed in Florida. What's keeping you here?"

He shrugged again. "Family."

"We always said we'd get out of here. See the world. Do shit."

"I did shit. I went to school in Florida for three months." Finally, he cracked a smile. At his truck, he hit the keypad and the locks popped up. "We gonna talk, or we gonna ride?"

"Ride." Dylan jerked the door open. "Cold as shit out here." He got into the truck, with the crumpled fast food bags and engine parts littered everywhere, and it hit him again, the sameness of it all. He was back in the world he'd grown up in, but for some reason it no longer fit.

Some reason? How about Nicole? Because it didn't matter that he'd only known her a few months, she'd gotten deep inside him. She'd become a flickering light, a constant reminder of what he could have. If he could only figure how to manage his mom.

As they headed down the street, the glove box popped open and boxes of chew tumbled out. "Still a slob."

"Give me a break, man. You've been gone three months." At the stop sign, Sawyer looked in both directions. Left would take them to the mountains-a long drive they'd fill with music, conversation, and a lot of laughter. Right would take them back into town-with a stop at the diner, where they'd find others to hang out with.

Sawyer turned right. "Roads are closed up around the Pass. Shit ton of snow up there. So, how's school?"

"It's good. I like it."

"Yeah? What're the girls like?"

Dylan ran a finger over his top lip, not sure what to say.

"What's that expression?"

"What expression?"

Sawyer stepped on the brake, jerking them to a stop in the middle of Pueblo Boulevard.

"What're you doing?" Dylan snapped.

"You got a girl."

He looked away, only because he couldn't stop the smile. "Yeah."

"What the fuck, man? That expression-you're serious."

"Yeah, I'm serious."

"Then what are you doing back in Gun Powder living with Kelsi fucking Reynolds?"

"My mom."

Sawyer's expression-man, it gutted him, knowing his closest friend didn't get it, either. Only Kelsi seemed to understand Dylan's responsibility.

Someone honked behind them. Sawyer opened his window and motioned for the driver to go around them. The engine roared as the truck passed, guys hanging out the window swearing and giving them the finger.

Sawyer laughed. "Perkins and Daughtry."

"You know I can't bail on my mom."

"What I know is that she's never gonna let you do shit in life, and that's fucked up." The moment Dylan opened his mouth to argue, Sawyer held up his palm. "Stop. Forget it. Look, you're my brother, man, and I'm with you no matter what. Let's just drop it and go have a fuckin' burger."

A Florida Georgia Line song came on, and they didn't talk again until they reached the diner. As soon as Sawyer angled into a spot in front, Dylan got out of the truck. Motion across the street caught his eye. Bodies entangled, an elbow cocked back, a punch to the gut.

Sawyer followed his gaze. "What the fuck? Dude's hitting a woman."

They raced across the street, dodging traffic. A couple other guys mobilized, too, so when they got to the scene, the victim threw her head back and screamed.

It was his mom.

Dylan started for the bastard-realized right away it was Jeff Blakely. But Sawyer gave him a shove in his mom's direction. "You take care of her. We got him."

Sawyer and the others took off after Jeff, leaving Dylan alone with her. He held onto her shoulders. She turned away from him, tears shining on her face. She reeked of booze. "That cocksucker. I'm gonna kill him."

"Careful, Mom. You're bleeding."

"It's nothing. Let's get of here." When she started to walk off, she winced, a hand covering her rib.

"He hurt you. Dammit." Taking her arm, he led her away from the seedy bar to a streetlamp and examined her there. She'd have some bruises, but otherwise her face looked okay. But the way she kept wincing-she could have some broken ribs. He pulled out his phone.

"Who're you calling?"

The guys came walking around the corner of the building. Dylan lowered his phone. "Did you get him?"

"Nah, fucker's long gone." A couple of them headed back to their trucks, a few went into the bar.

"I'll get the truck." Sawyer loped across the street.

Dylan's mom had collapsed on the sidewalk, her back against the lamppost. He crouched beside her, a hand on her leg, and called Kelsi.

"Hey, baby, where'd you go?" She was completely wasted.

"Listen, I'm heading to the hospital. Just wanted to let you know I'm not coming back to the party."

"No. No hospital." His mom started to get up but cried out in pain.

"Stay put." He heard the rumble of Sawyer's truck, as headlights whipped around.

"I'll be there in a second." Kelsi hung up, and he immediately called her back.

"What, baby?" she answered.

"You don't know where I am, and you're not driving drunk. Sawyer's taking us."

"No. I'm fine. Just give me...ow, fuck. What's your problem, bitch?" He could hear two drunk girls shouting and couldn't deal with it, so he hung up.

Sawyer's truck eased to the curb, country music blaring. The music shut off, and Sawyer leaned toward the passenger side window. "Let's go."

Dylan reached under his mom's arms to lift her. She whined and moaned until Dylan shot Sawyer a look. "A hand?"

Sawyer got out of the truck and swung around to the sidewalk. Together, they lifted his mom and got her into the front seat.

"Oh, shit, oh, God, Jesus, Dylan, it hurts. It hurts so bad."

"Yeah, I know. We're gonna get you to the hospital."

"No. No hospital."

"You have to go, Mom. Jesus, he beat you up."

"Take me home. I just need to rest. I'm not going to a hospital."

Sawyer leaned forward. "Dude, she's strung out. She's not gonna cooperate. You don't want to take her to the hospital like this."

Fuck. He slammed his palm into the dashboard.

"Where to?" Sawyer asked.

"Police station."

"No fucking way. I'm not going to the cops." His mom lunged across him, trying to open the door.

He had to physically restrain her. "What's your problem? The guy beat the shit out of you. Of course we're going to the police."

"He'll kill me. The bastard will kill me. Is that what you want? You want me dead?"

"No. I don't want you dead." I want you normal.

"It'd be for the best. Then you could stay at your fancy college with all those rich pieces of shit and never have to worry about me again. Because I'm such a burden. I'm such a pain in the ass. Do it, Dylan. Take me to the cops. I'll be dead by tomorrow."

Dylan sat there, his mom muttering, his oldest friend watching him. He had no options. No matter which path he chose-dropping out of school, staying in school, setting her up in another apartment, arranging for her to live with Kelsi's family until school ended in May-his mom would still hang out with drug dealers, spend the money he sent her on drugs and booze, and make the shittiest choices possible.

A sense of calm came over him. Because it was so perfectly clear.