“Both of you are crazy,” he mumbles. “And when you fall to your deaths, I’m using the bulldozer to shove your bodies into a ditch. On your mark...”

I do a quick study of the tree and before I can completely formulate my path up, Chris yells, “Go.”

Damn. Ryan springs up and I do, too. I kick off the side of the tree and grab the first thick low branch. I swing up, get my footing and jump to grab the next. The tree shakes as me and Ryan navigate through the fragile limps, thick foliage, all while trying to beat the other.

Ryan doesn’t like to lose and I don’t like losing to Ryan. There’s a mean streak in me that likes to see the kid squirm. With each jump, every pull up, that adrenaline that I crave pumps through my body. Leaves fall into my hair, small sticks bounce off my face. Below us, people call out our names, clap, cheer us on, but it’s Abby’s voice that’s driving me to go faster, higher and then the nest is within sight.

Another push off with my legs, a reach of my arm and right as I smack my hand on the branch so does another hand and I immediately call the win. “Got here first.”

“No way, Logan. That win was mine.”

“Who won?” I call down.

Both of our names are shouted back up to us, and declaring it a draw is never an option for Ryan. He wants a win and he wants a win that’s decisive. “We do it again.”

The way his eyes bore into me, there’s no doubt what he sees—me, his friend, the guy he hates losing to. “Fine, we do it again and I’ll kick your ass again.”

“Keep talking big, Logan, but we both know I got this.”

“I got action to back me up.”

Ryan crouches on his branch and puts his hand on the trunk to steady himself. He looks out on the land and I have to admit, it’s a sight. Miles and miles of green on the ground and an infinity of blue in the sky.

“Can I ask you something?” he hedges.

“Shoot.”

“Is it going to kill you? The diabetes?”

I straddle the branch, letting my legs dangle and contemplate going for the nest that’s nestled at the far end of the tree as a gift to Abby. “People die from it, but odds are—no. As long as I take care of myself I should be fine. Dad says I’ll die doing something crazy with you before any complication with the diabetes pops up.”

“Considering we’re dangling at least two stories up a tree, can’t say I disagree.”

I chuckle and so does he.

“I’m going to have a lot of questions. We all are.”

And I’ll need to answer them. “All right.”

“You should have told me.”

“Yeah.” Guess I should have trusted our friendship more. “Just didn’t want anyone to treat me different.”

“Good luck with that.”

A low-level ripple of anger in my bloodstream. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ryan releases a grin that’s only a fraction of the crazy found in me. “Everyone knows you’re insane and not a thing is normal about you.”

The anger washes away and I nod, okay with being different.

A downy head peaks out from the nest and we hear a tiny screech. Wow. There’s actually baby birds in there. “Want a baby bird?” I call to Abby.

She shakes her head as she stares up at me. “They should stay with their parents.”

Yeah, they should and as I go to say something deep, Abby shouts up to me, “But I still want a bunny! Stuffed ones don’t count!”

“She’s a bit demanding,” Ryan says.

“Yeah, but I like her.” More than like and by the smile on Ryan’s face, he understands.

Abby

Working as a team, the boys hand off bale of hay after bale of hay to the next guy in line until it reaches Chris and he neatly stacks it in the barn. They work under lamps hung in the rafters. They’ve been at it all day. In the fields, in the barn, picking up, stacking, never ceasing.

Night is just about to completely fall. There’s only a sliver of red and pink in the western sky. The rest of the world is dark. Very dark. Except for the scattered fireflies dancing across the field.

Logan has his shirt off, all the boys do, but it’s Logan that I can’t stop staring at. He’s gorgeous. Black hair, dark eyes, muscles that ripple with every movement. A fine sheet of sweat covers him and I’ve spent the past twenty minutes imagining caressing my fingers along the lines of his chest. His jeans ride low and I can spot the tip of his black underwear.

I breathe in deeply. Logan wears briefs and it looks like the type that’s tight to him. I breathe out. God, I’m attracted to the boy. But that’s not new information. My fingers brush my lips and I recall how it felt when Logan kissed me in my bed. The weight of his body over mine, the pressure of his tantalizing lips, the intoxicating smell of dark spices.

I’m warm, very warm, and it’s not due to the summer heat.

West picks up the last bale and hands it to Noah who gives it to Isaiah who hands it to Ryan who gives it to Logan who finally offers it to Chris. Each of the boys are weary, exhausted, and I don’t have the heart to ask how much they are making doing such backbreaking work. I hope it’s a financial windfall. I hope it’s enough to offset the way they sway on their dead feet.

In silence, they gather their things and I have no doubt they’re heading for the cabin. There’s a small shower in there. Too small. And if the water spouting from the showerhead is anything like the water that drips from the sink it’ll look funky and smell just as bad.

West walks past and blows me a kiss. I flip him off. Isaiah’s my friend. Noah’s close to being a friend. West is what I would imagine it is like to have an annoying older brother.

Chris tosses his shirt over his shoulder and drinks from an almost empty gallon jug.

“Hey, Chris,” I say as everyone starts to leave.

He pauses by me, giving the rest of the guys enough space to ease past and us enough privacy that I can ask while not feeling like a fool. “If I’m stuck here, I want to help.”

Chris sizes me up and I bristle with his assessment. I’m too small and not strong enough. It’s written all over his face. I could hang for a bit with them though, but I’m not stupid enough to think I could hang with them the entire time. But still, I could help.

“Can you drive the tractor? I feel like an idiot being on there with them working their asses off and nobody will switch with me.”

I bite my bottom lip. The answer is no. I barely know how to drive, let alone drive a tractor, but I’m bored and I hate feeling useless. “Sure.”

“Good. Thanks.” He glances over his shoulder at Logan. “Do me a favor and give him a break. I can understand why you’re mad, but...”

The glare I give him causes Chris to not finish his statement.

“Just give him a break.”

“Are you saying that because you feel sorry for him?” I blurt, irritated that he thinks he has the right to voice an opinion on my life. Like what Logan confessed to him regarding me was Logan’s business to share. “Because Logan admitted he has diabetes you want me to pity him?”

Chris works his jaw. “I’m saying it because he cares about you, but if you can’t get past what he told us, maybe you shouldn’t give him a break. Maybe I should drive you back to Louisville now.”

I wither, but Chris doesn’t see it because he strides off. I don’t know Chris that well. I only know Ryan and him through the occasional time Logan has brought me along to participate in whatever craziness he was interested in doing with Ryan and Chris. Pissing off my host, not my plan.

Logan shoves his shirt hard into his backpack and my head falls back. Pissing off Logan because he overhead that little conversation with Chris was most definitely not in the plan.

He snatches his stuff off the ground and stalks for the door.

“You think you’re the one that gets to be mad?” I demand. “You betrayed what I told you and then I find out you’ve been lying to me the entire time.”

Logan rounds on me, anger blaring from his eyes. “How is keeping my diabetes a secret any different from keeping your grandmother a secret from us? From me?”

“Diabetes is something inside you. Something you can’t change. Something that I’m guessing could kill you.”

“Like dealing drugs won’t kill you? At least you have a choice. I don’t. And so you know, diabetes isn’t cancer or a death sentence. My pancreas doesn’t produce insulin so I inject some into my body to make up for it.”

“It can’t be that simple.”

“You’re right, it’s not, but excuse the fuck out of me if I don’t want to be known as the boy with diabetes. The broken boy everyone feels sorry for and does things for because of pity.”

My words being flung back at me hurt. A sharp knife cutting into me over and over again. “I was mad. I didn’t mean what I said to Chris. This isn’t about pity or feeling sorry for you. You didn’t trust me!”

“You didn’t trust me, either!” Logan shouts then circles away from me. His chest expands and deflates at a rapid pace and he tosses his pack to the ground.

He threads his fingers behind his head and yells, “Dammit!”