People say all the time how they’d die for someone they love, in a heartbeat, they usually follow the statement with, but most have never and will never be faced with a situation where they’d have to put their money where their mouth is.

It’s easy to say I’d die for you in a moment of hyped emotion or an attempt to prove your love or loyalty.

But would they?

If you stared down the barrel of a custom, steel-bodied, Glock when the safety’s off, would they step in front of it?

Probably not.

“You okay?”

My elbow lifts, flying around with my body, but the guy jumps back before he catches it to the jawbone.

His hands lift and he takes a careful step back. “Hey, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you, but we got off the bus almost five minutes ago, and you’ve been standing there staring at the stop sign ever since.”

I turn back to the stop sign I had no idea I was looking at.

My dad banged my head against that once.

Bass taught me how to ride a bike. My mom came out pretending to be proud, and he followed.

I fell and he strolled over.

A perfect fatherly thing to do, right? Lift your little girl off the ground when she falls flat against it.

He did, my bike too. He even helped me out of my helmet, while Bass stood by warily watching, an apology in his eyes. And then as we crossed the street, my dad pretended to bump into me. My head “just happened” to knock right into the metal post, leaving a large knot in the center.

To anyone around, it was a harmless accident. I might have even thought so too, if he didn’t take the time to whisper, “Now you know what it will feel like next time you fall.” He threw my helmet in the trash that night.

The guy clears his throat and I blink out of the memory.

I say the first thing that comes to mind. “I don’t like this stop sign.”

He chuckles, his eyes quickly taking me in. “Yeah, I’m not a fan of that yield sign on the next block up,” he jokes. “You headed that way?” He points forward.

I nod.

“Well, I was a scout, and scouts are required to help people cross the street.”

“Old people.”

He grins. “I was hoping you didn’t know that.”

A light laugh leaves me, and we both step up to the curb.

He’s not a creep, doesn’t try to hold my arm or hand or anything, and he doesn’t drop behind me to check out my ass. We walk side by side across the street.

We don’t speak as we make it past the first few houses, but when we get to the curb of the next block, he turns to me.

I look from his blond hair to his light eyes.

He tips his head. “You don’t seem eager to get wherever you’re going.”

“I’m not.”

He nods, glances away and turns back with a slight tilt of his head. “There’s a taco truck a couple streets back.” He motions toward where we came. “I could eat.”

Yeah. “I could eat, too.”

He grins and we head in the direction he suggested.

We order burritos and sit across from one another at a picnic table.

“So.” He stares at me.

“So.” I laugh lightly. “I hope I didn’t keep you from something.”

“Not at all, this is where I was headed.”

My brows pull in and I smile. “But you were walking in the opposite direction.”

He opens his mouth, but then laughs it off. “Yeah, no. I just mean I was planning on getting some heartburn this afternoon. Figured it may as well be now instead of later.”

A low laugh leaves me. “So where were you going?”

“Oh, uh, I missed my stop, but what about you? You seemed to know the area.”

“What makes you think I don’t live over here?”

“I would have seen on my walk home before if you did.”

“I thought you got off on the wrong stop?” I tease.

He frowns, but a quick chuckle leaves him. “Yeah, no, I—” He’s cut off by the ringing of my phone.

I pull it out to look at the screen, seeing Royce’s name flashing across it.

“You can get that,” the guy says.

My eyes pop up finding his on my screen, they lift, and a quick grin forms on his lips.

“Trust me, I have to,” I joke, even if it is lost on him.

I answer the call, climb off the seat and take a few steps away.

“Hey.”

“You’re not at the house, at the school, or anywhere in between. That leaves one place, little Bishop.”

Yeah, right. Like he would expect—

“Your mom ain’t there no more.”

I freeze.

“Garbage goes out as soon as we’re made aware of it. No exceptions.”

“Is she...” I trail off. “Where is she?”

“Where are you?”

My eyes cut to... shit, did he even tell me his name?

Wait.

I spin around. “Where are you?”

He goes silent, so I mute the call but keep it to my ear as I turn back to the table with a small smile. “I have to go.”

There’s a slight pinch at the edges of his eyes, but when he blinks, it’s gone, and then our order is called.

He nods, holding a finger up and runs over to grab it, quickly handing me mine, but he doesn’t let it go. “What’s your name?”

Oh, yeah! Names. “I’m Brielle.”

He nods, a smile slowly forming. “You’re Brielle. I’m August.”

“You have five seconds to tell me where you are.” Royce’s voice fills my ear.

“Nice to meet you, maybe I’ll see you around.”

“You will.”

I pause, but then wave and rush away.

I take the phone off of mute and sigh. “I’m crossing eleventh on J.”

“I’m on Tenth passing I.”

My eyes widen and step back into the street. Sure enough, a shiny black SUV comes around the corner.

It rolls to a stop in front of me. I can’t see through the windshield, but still make my way to the passenger door and slip inside.

Royce looks from me to the burrito in my hand and rolls forward.

He whips into the taco truck parking lot and gets out.

He walks slowly, surveying the people around, but August isn’t one of them.

I don’t know where he went, but he’s somehow already long gone.

Royce steps up to the window, talking with the man behind it for several seconds, and he doesn’t come back to the car until a burrito of his own is in his hands.

His face is stern, eyes hard, but he slips a pair of black-lensed sunglasses over them. He drives us back to the Brayshaw property without a word, stopping in front of the group home, so I climb out and head inside.

I go straight to my room, lock the door, and step into the bathroom to wash my hands.

When I come back out, I freeze.

Royce is halfway through my window.

He says nothing, acts as if this is normal behavior, and drops onto the carpet.

He starts to eat, so I drop right beside him and do the same thing.

It takes him several bites before he speaks and when he does, it’s not a question I expect.

“What’s yours?”

“My what?”

“Your zodiac whatever.” His eyes flick up to mine. “You asked me mine. What’s yours?”