Johnny Bishop crashed into my life like a hurricane. Not once, but twice. The first time, we were teenagers. He was the star quarterback destined to save our small town's high school team. I was the music nerd desperate to shine, but always falling short. Until him.

It all started with an unexpected phone call. Two years after my fiancé passed away in an accident, his father died suddenly, leaving Brad’s adult special-needs brother with no one to care for him. The next thing I knew, I was on a cross-country drive to New Hampshire where I’d be moving in to look after Scottie until I could get him into a group home. The last thing I ever expected? I wouldn’t be taking care of him alone.

At first, I thought I’d hate spending the summer with Archie Remington—the conceited son of my parents’ friends. What I knew about Archie: He was gorgeous, pre-law, and had always treated me like I didn’t exist when we were younger. When our families bought a house together on an island in Maine, he and I were forced to share a bathroom.

They say everyone’s a superhero to someone. I’m not sure who I’m supposed to save, but I know who saved me. His name was Christopher. And up until the day he pulled me from death’s grip, he was nothing more than a boy I felt sorry for. In a blink of an eye, he became the only person who made me feel safe. And then he disappeared. I wasn’t going to have hope. I wouldn’t let myself wish. Those things - they weren’t for girls like me. That’s what I believed... until the new boy.

Nico Medina's world is 11 miles away from mine. During the day, it's a place where doors are open - where homes are lived in, and neighbors love. But when the sun sets, it becomes a place where young boys are afraid, where eyes watch from idling cars that hide in the shadows and wicked smoke flows from pipes. West End is the kind of place that people survive. It buries them - one at a time, one way or another. And when Nico was a little boy, his mom always told him to run.