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“Yep,” I say, nodding. “On my way out.”

“Me too,” he says. “Walk with me?”

“Sure thing,” I say, giving him a bright smile. The other three back off, and Hugh motions for me to go in front of him, so that it’s his back turned to them, not mine.

“Thanks,” I say, once we’ve put some distance between them and us.

He only grunts in response, and my phone goes off in my pocket. I pull it out to see a text from the customer we left on the path behind us.

Next time, have what I want.

I text back:

Next time, make your mind up faster and at least you won’t leave empty-handed.

Because there will be a next time. The guy spends too much money for me to send him elsewhere, even if he is kind of a creep.

“Things like that happen a lot?” Hugh asks.

I shrug. “Girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

Which is true, and also reminds me. I shoot a text to Felicity Turnado, taking a stab in the dark that her number might still be the same but wording it carefully in case it’s not.

My number hasn’t changed. Call me if you need anything. Anytime.

I can’t turn away white trash cash, and I can’t turn away Turnado cash, either.

“Well,” Hugh says, picking our conversation back up. “A girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do, but maybe she doesn’t have to do it alone. Like, for her own safety.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, ducking under a branch. “And what’s your cut?”

“Nothing.” Hugh’s footsteps fall dead behind me, and I turn to see that he’s genuinely shocked. “I just don’t want you getting hurt, is all. If I didn’t run the trails on the weekends, that could’ve gone bad, back there.”

“It could’ve,” I agree, and turn back to the path. We’re quiet until we break out into the light, sunshine falling on my face. “All right,” I say. “I try to keep it to once a month, different spots. I’ll let you know. We’ll meet up and you . . .”

And he protects me, I think. For nothing. For no reason.

“Cool,” he says.

We trade numbers, and I wait for the text that says what he wants in return.

It doesn’t come.

Chapter 60

Felicity

Sophomore Year

“Tress and Hugh?” Maddie’s voice is high, unbelieving, soaked in vodka.

“That’s what I heard,” Brynn says, shrugging. “I guess they’ve been, like, hanging out.”

I think of Hugh in Gretchen’s bathroom, yanking his shirt off, helping me clean up. He’s a nice guy. “Good for her,” I say, but I say it into my drink, the words echoing back at me from the sides of a red Solo cup.

And I mean it, kind of. I ignore the little drop in my stomach and the ideas that had taken root that day when I looked at Patrick’s hand and wished it were Hugh’s. It’s the least I can do for Tress. Well, that and funnel her constant cash for pills.

“Whatever,” Gretchen says. “There’s no way Hugh is smashing trash.”