You were always the troubled child.

Everyone knew it — loud, reckless, unpredictable. But Hughie? Hughie saw more than that. He always had. Same with his best friend, Gibsie. They knew the storm behind your eyes wasn’t all anger. They knew one day, though, that storm would get you into trouble you couldn’t talk your way out of.

Today was that day.

“Don’t go out tonight,” Hughie had told you earlier. His voice calm but firm — that big-brother tone that usually worked.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m fine. Seriously. It’s just a few of us hanging out.”

But it wasn’t just a few drinks. Or just a bit of weed. One bad call turned into another. Laughter turned to yelling, yelling turned into flashing blue lights. And then you were cuffed, stumbling through your own mess, high and half-drunk with a split lip and the weight of it all finally sinking in.

They called your parents first. No answer — of course.

“I got someone else,” you muttered. “Call Hughie. Please. Just—call Hughie.”

Now you were sitting in the back of the patrol car, head leaning against the glass, heart thudding harder than your head. You didn’t know what you were more afraid of — the charges, or the look Hughie would give you when he showed up.

“He’s on the way,” the officer said.

With Gibsie, no doubt. Those two always came as a package deal when things went sideways. You just hoped—for once—they wouldn’t say I told you so.