“Hey, what happened to Paul? We didn’t stay friends.”

“Paul Nelson is dead,” John said, matter-of-factly, and Colin’s blood froze. “Shot three times in a drive-by shooting a few years ago. Retaliation from another gang over a murder. One we think T.J. was involved in. Both T.J. Nelson and Kenny Nelson are on the run now. They’re wanted for other crimes over the years.”

His whole body turned to ice. “Wow,” Colin said heavily, grappling with the shocking news. “Paul died before he was thirty.”

“Gangs are a young man’s business,” John said. “You don’t find many old men in street gangs. The young men usually die or wind up in prison by the time they hit thirty. Like Stefano. Like Paul.”

“What about T.J. and Kenny Nelson? They must be in their forties. What’s their secret to a long life as a gang man?”

“I’d like to know. Because they’re the exception to the rule,” John said, then thanked them for their time and walked away.

* * *

The bell above the door jingled. Marcus looked up from his math book as a guy in jeans and a black T-shirt entered the convenience store where he worked.

Marcus nodded a hello then returned to the page in front of him, as his mind replayed the day. Talking to Elle had unburdened him, and he was more fired up than ever about his plans. College, living on his own, getting to know his unknown family—he’d wanted all of that for so long, and he was close to having it. Living with his dad had been stifling for so many reasons. Sometimes he missed seeing his stepmom and his little sisters now that he was no longer at home with them, but Marcus was glad to live with his friends. He was on a path to becoming an assistant manager here at the store, and that was helping him make ends meet, along with his savings from little jobs over the years.

As he worked through some equations, the guy grabbed a bag of chips and sauntered over to the counter. He was about Marcus’s age, maybe a year older. He had a goatee, light eyes, and a black and blue fingernail on his right hand, as if he’d slammed it in a car door.

The guy tossed the bag on the counter, as if it were a prize he’d won at a fair. “I’ll take this tasty bag of barbecue chips, please,” he said, stretching out the last word.

“Sure,” Marcus said, scanning the bag. “That’ll be a dollar and two cents.”

The guy jammed his hands into his pockets, riffling around. He pulled out a flip phone and set it on the counter, eyeing it dismissively. “Someday I’ll get an iPhone.” Stuffing his hand into his pocket again, he produced a wadded-up bill, then spread it open. “Shit. I only have a one.”

“That’s cool. I got it,” Marcus said, reaching into the change tin to grab two pennies.

“You are the man,” the guy said with a too-wide grin as he pointed his index fingers at Marcus like guns.

“No problem.”

The guy glanced at the textbook and stabbed his finger against it. “You learning algebra or something like that?”

Marcus nodded, not bothering to explain that he was well beyond ninth grade math at this point. “Studying for school.”

“College?” the guy asked, as if he’d never heard of it before.

“That’s the goal.”

“Man, that shit looks hard. I can’t even imagine.”

Marcus smiled faintly. He wasn’t worried. He wanted the challenge. Wanted to meet it and exceed it.

The guy ripped open the bag with a loud pop and stuffed a chip in his mouth, crunching loudly, like he was showing off how well his teeth worked. “My goal is to never need college,” he said, then cocked his head like he was studying him. “See you later,” he finally said, then walked to the door and stopped to add, “Marcus.”

A chill swept through him as the bell jingled and the guy left.

How the hell did he know his name?

He glanced down at his work shirt and laughed at himself. His nametag was on. “Duh,” he said, and he returned to his textbook.

* * *

Colin’s bike pounded against the bumpy trail, vibrations thrumming in his bones. He leaned into the curve, relentlessly focusing on the single track beneath the wheel and the 180-degree turn ahead of him on the descent.

Whipping past the switchback, he stomped the pedals, chasing speed, chasing adrenaline, and finding it on the hills of Red Rock Canyon with his mountain bike. Dirt churned up beneath him as he attacked the toughest trail, leaving the latest twists and turns in the never-ending saga of their mother in a swirl of dust.

When he reached the bottom, his heart hammered mercilessly, but he’d beaten his brother.

Michael had determination on his side, but Colin possessed that too, along with a more potent dose of fearlessness. Sometimes fearless meant you were faster on a downhill. Tonight, with the sun sinking low on the horizon, the time on the bike was therapy—it was necessary to shed the frustrations he felt over Elle, but also the guilt he still harbored over his mistakes as a kid. Riding a rocky downhill required extreme concentration, and the rattle and hum of the wheels on the ground had forced everything else from his brain, narrowing his focus to only the bike and the trail, and besting his brother.

Michael rolled up next to him, stopping his bike.

“Streak’s still intact,” Colin said, his breath coming fast as he wheeled to the water fountain at the base of the hill. “I continue to reign supreme on two wheels.”

“Watch it. You’re lucky I still ride with you,” Michael teased, as he unsnapped his helmet.

After a drink of water, Colin let the therapy continue, this time with words. Because he wasn’t done. The silt on the riverbed of the past had been well and truly stirred up tonight. “Michael,” he said, stripping away the macho bravado. “I still feel like shit for being friends with those guys.”

His brother got off his bike, resting his palm on the seat. “You’re not responsible. Your friendship played no role in the murder.”

“But what if I hadn’t been friends with Paul? What if I’d never known them? Would things be different?” he asked, letting the question hang in the air.

Michael dropped a hand to Colin’s shoulder. “Forget the ‘what if.’ Focus on the real. And that’s this: she didn’t find Stefano through you,” he said, his voice firm and clear. “She found Stefano on her own. She found those others on her own. Hell, for all we know she might have found them through her lover. The one thing I know for certain is she didn’t find them through you being buddies with T.J’s little bro when you were twelve and thirteen. That is not how it happened. But even if it had, for the sake of argument, let me ask you this. Who arranged for the murder?”

“She did,” he said softly.

“Who hired Stefano?”

“She did.” His voice picked up volume.

“Who planned a murder?”

“She did.” His tone was strong and certain now.

“Exactly,” Michael said, bending to the water fountain and gulping up a stream. As he rose, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

“But I’ve made the same mistakes she made,” Colin said quietly, guilt stitched into his voice, into his goddamn heart and soul. Most days, he didn’t beat himself up. But some days, he did. Some days he was consumed with the emotion.

Michael raised a finger and pointed it at Colin. “You didn’t do what she did. You made mistakes that are fucking forgivable. You made mistakes that hurt yourself. You made mistakes that a human being makes. You did not kill a man. You are not like her.”

Colin pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose and exhaled, visualizing letting go of all this guilt.

Soon, soon, he had to say good-bye to it.

“Speaking of what ifs, have you ever heard from your ‘what if’ girl?” Colin asked as they loaded their bikes on the roof rack a few minutes later.

Michael shook his head. “Not lately. That’s why she’s a ‘what if’ girl.”