Apparently, at the coffee place in town, his mom had overheard a bunch of women who'd just moved their kids into dorms talking about the empty nest, how they didn't know what to do with themselves without their kids at home. Lorraine had gotten agitated, so his uncle had called her sponsor and gotten her to bed early.

But just because she wasn't in the hotel room didn't mean she'd gotten loaded. This trip had to be hard for her-facing the reality that her son wasn't going to be there to take care of her. But that didn't mean she'd taken something. She could be walking around town.

She didn't have drug dealers out here. Besides, didn't bars close at two AM in Wilmington County?

It could be all right.

Heading down the stairs, he heard voices. A group talked quietly on the couch in the living room, and some others hung out in the kitchen. Hoping to slip by unnoticed, he opened the front door.

"Dylan?" a girl called from the sofa.

He paused, turning to her.

"Some woman came by looking for you."

Christ. "When?"

The girl looked to the others in the group. They seemed to be hiding their amusement. "Half hour ago?"

"We told her you were sleeping," another girl said.

"Why didn't you get me?"

Everyone looked away. One of the guys snickered. "She was wasted."

Disappointment slammed him so hard he reached for the doorframe. "So, you sent her away?" He closed his eyes-just for a moment-and he felt like he was floating.

Oh, Mom.

Fuck.

Why?

"Not exactly. She said she was hungry and, like, just walked right into the kitchen."

"Like she owned the place. She was crazy."

She was crazy. He hated hearing that about his mom.

Heaving off the crushing blow of his mom's set-back, Dylan forced himself to focus on the conversation. He had to find her, make sure she was okay.

"Garret and those guys were kind of mean to her. They kicked her out."

Oh, shit. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"She didn't seem like someone you'd know."

His mom could be anywhere by now. "Do you know what happened to her?"

"No, sorry. But you don't know anyone from around here, right? Aren't you from Colorado?"

He ignored them, walked out the door, and shut it hard behind him. He scrubbed his jaw, gazing up at the star-speckled sky.

Damn. They'd hurt her. And he knew his mom.

She'd hurt them right back.

Leaning over, he shoved his feet into his boots, then headed toward town.

Hurrying toward Main Street, he pulled out his phone and called her. If she wasn't too fucked up, she'd answer him. As it rang, he considered where she might have gone. In Gun Powder, he knew where to check. Set at the base of three mountains, where two rivers met, the town was small but heavy on tourist traffic. That meant lots of Wild West kitsch and Outfitter companies. And it was small enough that he knew just where to find the parties and dealers his mom frequented.

But he didn't know a damn thing about Wilmington. When her phone went to voicemail, he left a message in a calm, untroubled voice. "Hey, Mom. It's Dylan. Give me a call, okay?"

He hated that she was hurting. His uncle had thought seeing him in college would be an incentive for his mom, but what if it had the opposite reaction? What if it freaked her out to the point she relapsed?

Jesus. She couldn't blow this shot with her family. He needed their help in taking care of her.

As he reached the bridge, he looked around carefully. If he could get to her before she got too wasted, everything would be all right. A couple of beers wouldn't make his uncle disown her again.

A flash of red on the road caught his eye. Immediately, he thought of Garrett. His housemate had a red Ferrari. But why would Garrett drive into town at four in the morning?

He tensed at the idea that Garrett had his mom in the car. But, no, the girl had said he'd kicked her out of the house. They'd seen her leave. Garrett and his buddies wouldn't come after her. Would they?

Just as he headed across the grass to the gazebo, the roar of an engine caught his attention. The Ferrari raced across the bridge, going so fast the driver barely controlled it. Lynyrd Skynyrd blasted out the open windows.

Garrett wouldn't drive it like that. Dread rushed him so hard he felt sick to his stomach.

The car jerked, bouncing onto the curb, before slamming back down onto the street. Dylan took off at a run. Jesus, it couldn't be his mom, could it?

Please tell me she didn't steal Garrett's car.

Tires squealed as the driver wrenched the wheel, sending the Ferrari into a spin in the middle of the intersection. A familiar shriek split the night.

"Mom." He waved his arms as he ran into the intersection. "Mom. Jesus Christ, stop. Stop the fucking car."

As she pulled donuts on Main Street, her face lit up in flashes from the streetlights. He could hear her hysterical laughter over the pounding rhythm of the music.

"Mom." He saw the moment she recognized him, her feral joy turning into shock. The car slammed to a stop, his mom flopping forward and back like a rag doll. Heavy silence filled the air, as the car stalled. And then she burst out laughing.

Anger tore through him, and he gripped the window, leaning in. "Get out of the car."

But his mom just reached for the stereo. "Turn it back on. I liked that song."

Nothing sickened him more than hearing her slur. "Can you please get out of the car?"

With glazed eyes, she smiled. "I don't want to. I'm having fun."

"Okay, then just move over and let me drive."

"Oh, hell no. This is my ride. But you can get in if you want. Come on, let's open this baby up, see what she can do." She was so wasted, he could hardly make out her words.

His body shook with fear and anxiety, but he kept his tone light. "Come on, Mom. Let me have a turn."

Gazing up at him, recognition softened her features. "Dylan."

"Yeah, Mom. I'm here."

"You're my boy." She looked at him with pure gratitude. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'll never have to know."

"That's right. We stick together like..." She looked confused. "It's you and me, right? It's always been us against the world. You'll always take care of me, right, baby?"

"Always. Now, let me have a turn with this car, okay?"

"Okay, my boy. You can have a turn. But then I get it again, right?"

Headlights flashed, and fear sliced through him. He straightened to see over the roof of the car. "Move over. There's a car coming, and I need to get us out of the intersection." Oh, Christ. What if it was a cop? Between the music, the growling engine, and her laughter someone had to have heard or seen something. He couldn't afford trouble.

But instead of moving over, his mom looked up at him. "You're not trying to trick me, are you? I know you. You're always tricking me." She reached over to the passenger seat, bringing a bottle of vodka to her mouth.

"Mom, please. Move over." He opened the door, keeping watch of the headlights. But the car turned onto a street before the intersection. "We have to go."

The moment she climbed into the passenger seat, Dylan lunged inside, shutting the door. With any luck, Garrett had gone to sleep without noticing his keys missing. Before taking off, though, Dylan shot a quick text to his uncle.

Found her. Give me fifteen to get her back to hotel.

But what if Garrett had noticed? What if he'd called the police? Dylan was so used to dealing with his mom on his own, he hadn't even considered getting his uncle's help. But stealing a car? This was serious.

He texted again. She borrowed a car. Come on. Jesus, this was not the time to protect her. A housemate's Ferrari. Meet you at the house?

Hands shaking, he reached for the wheel, only to notice the leather Ferrari keychain. "Hey, Mom? How'd you steal his keys?"

"I didn't steal them. I borrowed them." She pulled a card out of her bra. "Borrowed this, too. But nothing's open in this shitty town, so I couldn't use it."

"You stole Garrett's credit card?"

Wanting to keep the car quiet, he eased into first gear then, quickly as possible, he shifted into second and then third. Five minutes, and he'd have it back at the house. "Tell me exactly where you found the keys."

"I don't know."

"Mom, listen to me. Right now I'm driving a stolen car, and you're holding a stolen credit card. We could go to prison. This is serious, okay? But it's four in the morning, and I have a chance to put everything back before he finds out. Now, please tell me exactly where you found the keys."

"In the kitchen." She leaned over, nearly collapsing into him. Shoving him, she burst out laughing. "Here, sit up a little so I can pull the stick out of your ass." Her laughter hurt his ears, and all he could think about was not drawing attention. "Come on, Dylan. This is fun."

He hit the buttons to close the windows and turned onto his street. No one was out, but he couldn't see the Scholar House yet.

"These people suck. Do you know how they treated me?"

"They didn't know who you were."

"I told them I was looking for you."

"Yeah, but I hadn't introduced you. They thought you were some strange lady who walked into a house on campus."

"I was looking for my baby." She tried to stroke his hair, but she didn't seem to have the strength to reach that high. "I can't do this, Dylan. I can't. I don't want you to go to school here."

"I know that, Mom."

"Why do you want to live in New York anyway? You could go to CU. It's just as good. And you could be with your friends. You don't want to lose Kelsi, do you? She's going to move on if you don't come back for her."

He wanted Kelsi to move on. Very much. And he needed to get away from his friends. From that whole life. "I got a free ride to the top university in the country." But they'd been over it a hundred times. She'd never get it.

"Boulder's just as good. And then you could commute. We could get one of those new apartments off Brice. You know the ones with balconies?"

The university in Boulder was an hour and a half from Gun Powder. He wasn't commuting. Up ahead, he saw people on the lawn.

His pulse spiked, blood roaring in his ears. He was fucked. Part of him had known taking this opportunity could never work. He just hadn't imagined having it blow up on his second day of school and in such a blaze of glory.

As he edged the Ferrari to the curb, he saw a small crowd had gathered. His uncle stood talking to Garrett just off to the side.

"Oh, great. The fucksticks are out." She flicked on the stereo, and a Guns 'N Roses song came blaring out. She leaned out the window. "Woo hoo!"

"Mom. Don't say anything. Let Uncle Zach take care of this."

"Take care of what? I didn't do anything wrong."

"I need you to give me the credit card."

Her lips pinched, and he could tell she was about to go off. So, he leaned in close. "If he calls the police, we go to jail. Do you want me to go to jail? I can't take care of you if I'm in jail."

She blinked a few times, like she was trying to clear her head. It could go either way, depending on how fucked up she'd gotten. One thing he knew, it never had anything to do with his welfare. He had to threaten hers.

Finally, she blew out a breath and handed over the credit card. Tilting the bottle to her mouth, she drained the last of the vodka. Then, she got out of the car, the bottle clanking on the ground.

As Dylan got out his side, Garrett came rushing up to him.

"Motherfucker, you stole my car." Both hands thumped his chest, but Dylan didn't budge.

"Oh, my God, leave my son alone." His mom wavered, her words slurred. "He didn't do anything. What's your problem? I just borrowed it for a minute. Nothing happened."

"Mom. I need you to be quiet."

Uncle Zach made a quick assessment of the car. "Okay, let's all keep calm here. I don't see any damage."

Without a word, Dylan handed over the credit card.

Garrett's eyes went wide, and he punched the air in rapid succession. "She took my fucking credit card? Are you insane?"