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I shudder, turning away from her, not wanting her to see anymore, and race toward the stairs. When I reach the bottom, Grandpa and Violet are both waiting with worried expressions. Both of them look at my face and gape at me.

“I’m sorry,” I choke out, hating that they’re seeing me so…lost and out of control. “I have to find Tate.”

Rushing past them, I make my way to the door in the kitchen that leads to the garage. Just because I don’t drive, and neither does Grandpa, for that matter, it doesn’t mean we haven’t maintained our vehicles. Dad comes over from time to time to get them serviced and take them for a drive. My old-ass Jeep remains in its spot, ready for its first drive by me in ages.

The engine fires to life and for a second, I remember being a teenager, driving all over this town like I owned it. So much has changed in nearly two decades. So fucking much.

It feels like it takes forever for the garage door to lift. While it does its thing, I hunt down Tate’s address in my phone. Once I figure out which apartment complex it is, I back the Jeep out and race down the driveway. I’m shocked that I actually remember how to drive, but it’s clearly muscle memory and something you don’t forget even after a long-ass time.

My phone starts to blow up with phone calls from Dad and Dempsey. Callum must’ve already called and told them the news. I don’t have time to deal with them right now. I need to get to Tate.

I race through a stop sign and a car blares its horn at me. It then decides to follow me, honking a few more times, gesticulating out the window for me to stop. I stick my hand out the window and flip them off. Out of ingrained habit, I look at my reflection in the rearview mirror and nearly run off the road.

“Monster,” I snap, jerking the mirror and twisting it down.

Breathing a sigh of relief that I don’t have to look at myself, I continue to barrel down the road. His apartment is on the other side of town, about fifteen minutes away. I feel like time is slipping through my fingers. The longer it takes, the more time Baker has to hurt Tate.

When did Baker turn into this?

I don’t remember him being gay or liking men. I certainly don’t remember him being abusive in any way. He was always the life of the party. The guy who was always down to have a good time. And he never stopped fucking grinning. As a teen, that kind of person was fun to be around.

Going back further, when we were kids, he was rambunctious and adventurous. We’d get into a lot of trouble together for tearing shit up with one of our shenanigans.

Never once did I think him to be violent or cruel, though.

If anything, he was the exact opposite.

Some people hide their ugly deep inside.

My ugly is on my face for all to see.

I swerve around an old person driving twenty below the speed limit and race past them. If a cop sees me, they can follow my ass all the way to the apartment building and provide reinforcement.

Of course I don’t have such luck.

When I was sixteen, I got plenty of tickets. Where’s a cop when you’re actually trying to get caught?

As I get closer to my destination, fear curdles my stomach, making me nauseous. Baker has been leading two very distinct lives—like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde—so the very fact he’s letting those two lives intersect right now is terrifying.

He’s losing control.

If he’s losing control, that means he’ll be reckless and might do something he can’t take back.

Please, for the love of God, don’t hurt my sweet boy.

Pain lances at me from all directions until my heart feels like it has thousands of stab wounds. I can’t lose another person I care so deeply about. It’ll destroy me completely this time.

My phone rings again and it’s Dad. I answer just to get my mind off terrible thoughts of Tate dying.

“Where are you going?” Dad demands through the line.

“Tate’s apartment. Baker has him.”

“Baker? The kid you used to run around with until…” Until Mom’s death.

“Yup. And I’m guessing he just bullshitted me when he said you gave him my number?”

“Jude, I haven’t spoken to the kid since you were in high school. Why?”