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But her mother has just entered rehab, and I guess Bambi needs someone to talk to.

My immediate instinct is to blow her off. I’ve got way too much shit on my to-do list, like stealing Stratos back from my goddamn uncle, to worry about caring for Bambi’s delicate ass.

But there aren’t many people Bambi trusts, so on some level, I’m glad she at least has me. She really doesn’t have anyone else, and after all my family has done to her, it’s the least I could do.

“Do you want something else?” I ask her, watching as she pushes the dry salad she’s been working on for forty-five minutes around with the plastic fork. We’re in the Commons, which makes the scene even that much more absurd as whatfeels like a thousand pimple-faced freshmen move around our table. I check my watch, and my knee bounces up and down.

“No,” she says, her voice small. She looks collapsed on herself. Even her dark hair, which is usually done to perfection like her mother modeled for her, hangs lifeless around her shoulders.

Bambi lifts her head and smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She looks pale and fragile, like she might break at any moment.

A flash of Bambi at fourteen, curled into a ball on the floor of Rainn’s old bedroom, bleeding everywhere as her abortion medicines began to work, nearly knocks me back into my chair.

I hold back a wince at the memory.

I don’t often think of that night or what she confessed: how her mother helped her terminate the pregnancy created with my much older brother. I don’t usually think about the fact that my twenty-year-old sibling, a man whom teenage Bambi thought she was in love with, was manipulating her into sex and had impregnated her.

Only to die in a fiery car crash before he could ever take accountability for his actions.

Perfect Rainn wasn’t so perfect after all.

I check my watch again, fighting the urge to pull out my phone. I know Bambi’s been through hell, but I can’t seem to shut down the checklist running through my head.

Bambi stirs the few remaining leaves, her fork scraping against the plastic bowl.

“Have you talked to her?” I ask, presenting the question cautiously. She shakes her head and then, after a pause, she nods.

“I haven’t spoken with her directly, but she did ask the facility to contact me to let me know she’ll miss me.” Bambi’s face twists, and dread fills my stomach.

If she cries…fuck.

My leg starts to bounce in double time.

Bambi leans back in her chair and sucks in a breath, gratefully stopping her tears from falling.

With a forced smile, she says, “Let’s get out of here and get some fresh air. Maybe go catch a movie or something?”

Hope is heavy in her tone, but the idea of dragging this out beyond the time I’ve already invested causes a headache to form behind my eyebrows.

I grimace, making a show of looking at my watch.

“Damn, I wish I could, Bambi,” I say, stacking on the regret. The truth is, my next class isn’t until this evening, so I have a solid five hours before I have to be anywhere.

But there it is like a brick to the face: the list of things I have to do rolls through my mind like one of those old-fashioned till registers.

“Class and work,” I offer, shrugging.

She smiles again, but it’s a little less bright this time.

“But look, if you need anything—anything I can bring you or do for you—just let me know,” I say, stacking our trash so we can hurry up and get the fuck out of here. But when I reach for her bowl, she stops me with her small hand on top of mine.

“Thank you, Storm,” she says, and tears pop to her lower lids. “You’re always there for me, and you don’t know how much I appreciate it.” She smiles again and blinks, lifting her free hand to catch the single tear that starts to fall to her cheek.

“Don’t mention it,” I say. “That’s what friends are for.”

I smile.

“Right,” she says. “Friends. The best of friends.” She finally lets go of my hand.