Ben Braeden sat, knees to his chin and his back against the wall, fingers curling through his deep black hair. Someone had taught him how to fix a car. He was sure of it from the moment he opened the hood of his mom's four-wheel drive. Someone used to drive him to school, someone who wasn't his mother. It was deep in his gut, the feeling that tugged and squirmed and wouldn't let go. There was a buzz in his toes and an ache in his stomach and mind—what was it? Someone threw their head back when they laughed and made Ben burn with the desire to be just like them when he grew up. Who was it? Someone made his mom so happy, he wished it could be like that forever. Who, damn it, who? Someone made him feel at home and taught him anything was possible and brought home whiskey for his mother and told him he was the best kid in the world and taught him football and showed him how to flirt and whispered a Beatles song when they thought no one could hear them. Who the hell had brought his hopes up to an unfathomable high...then disappeared from his memory? Lisa Braeden, world-weary single parent of a junior year teenage boy, stepped over and motioned that they leave. Ben had just punched a boy. And he had no fu**ing clue why.