It doesn’t mean anything.
It means everything.
He wished he knew which one was true. He was beginning to think he truly hated Logan. The one kid in school who everybody loved—the star quarterback, honor roll student sure to be named valedictorian, the one person with enough self-esteem to do his own thing regardless of what anybody else thought—and Nate found himself wishing Logan would disappear. Wishing he’d suddenly pack up and move far, far away.
By Sunday, he’d worked himself into a real funk. He’d wasted his entire holiday weekend staring at the TV, and what had Cody done? He had no idea, of course, but that didn’t stop him from imagining all kinds of scenarios, most of them featuring Logan.
The weather had been cold but mild all week, but a freak snowstorm blew in early Sunday afternoon, gusts of wind bending the trees and making the windows creak in their panes. Nate watched out the window as the snow started to fly, almost horizontal in the wind.
Maybe he could call Cody. Maybe he could go to the Hole, knock on trailers until he found the right one. Maybe he could . . .
What? Suddenly declare his love for Cody?
Yeah. Great idea.
Six o’clock rolled around. They had leftover Chinese takeout in the fridge, but Nate figured he’d wait for his dad to come home so they could eat together. He suddenly felt more connected to his father than he had in a long time.
But his dad didn’t arrive.
It wasn’t unusual for him to be a bit late, but by the time eight o’clock had come and gone, Nate was beginning to worry. He could call the station, but that was generally frowned upon. Besides, his dad was unlikely to be hanging around there after the end of his shift. Maybe he’d gone out for a drink with some of the other cops? But no, that seemed unlikely. He did that on occasion, but rarely on Sundays, and never without calling to let Nate know.
It was nearly nine when his dad came in, the Wyoming wind throwing the door back against the wall, carrying in a flurry of snow. His dad shoved the door closed and dropped his hat on the coffee table. His face was pale and gaunt.
“Dad, what happened? Why are you so late?”
His dad crossed the living room in three long strides and pulled Nate into his arms. He was shaking as he held Nate close.
“Dad?” Nate’s face was squished against his dad’s cold, wet cop coat. It wasn’t so much that Nate objected to being hugged as that it was a bit unusual. “What’s going on?”
His dad let him go, pushing his hair back from his face. “Something’s happened, Nate.” He shrugged off his coat and turned to hang it in the closet, still talking. “I’ve been trying to decide if I should tell you. I’m not supposed to, but you’ll find out anyway. I just—” He turned to face Nate. “You can’t tell anyone. I’m sure it’ll spread through the school like wildfire, but it can’t start with you. Do you understand?”
Nate swallowed, his heart beginning to race. “Yes.” Was it his mom? His grandma? No, that didn’t explain why his dad was late, and it certainly didn’t fit with his dad’s warning about keeping quiet about it. “What is it?”
“There’s been an accident. Some kids from your school—”
“Is it Cody?”
“Cody?” His dad frowned. “No. It has nothing to do with him.”
Nate fell back onto the couch, his hand to his chest. No, not Cody, thank God. But somebody his dad expected him to know. “Who?”
His dad sank down to perch on the edge of the coffee table, their knees vying for space. “A boy and his sister. Logan and Shelley Robertson. Do you know them?”
Nate’s heart skipped a beat. For half a second, his brain screamed, You did this! This is your fault! He’d been wishing for Logan to go away, but not like this. He’d never wanted anything like this. “I know Logan. I’ve met his sister, but—”
“You’re friends with him?”
Nate hesitated, flashing through every conversation he’d ever had with Logan. “Not quite friends, but— Jesus, Dad. What happened? Are you telling me they’re—”
“They were driving home from Casper. God knows what they were doing in a Camaro in this storm, but they must have hit a patch of ice. They collided with a semi. They—” He shook his head, placing his hand on Nate’s knee. “Jesus, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get those images out of my head. Just so much blood, and those two kids looking so small—”
“Oh my God! They’re dead?”
His dad’s head jerked. Not quite a nod. Not quite a gesture of denial, either. “The girl is. She died on impact. But Logan . . .” He swallowed. “He’s in the ICU in Casper.”