That last time was different. From his usual spot on the floor, Roderick used one of his hands to unzip his own fly, and he stroked himself while he sucked off his friend. I was dying slowly in my hideout, my eyes glued to his hand on his cock. Jared was almost ready to blow, and so was I—hands free.

But that didn’t happen. Because Roderick’s gaze shifted in the dark.

He lifted those blue eyes and looked right at me. And his expression told me that he’d known I was there. He’d known it all along.

You would’ve thought I’d turn around to run, but I froze, my shame complete. And then? He stared at me while he came all over his hand.

God. Even now—years later—the memory gets me hard. The sheer nerve of those boys getting off on school property. They were living, and I was watching.

But man did I like watching.

A sharp whistle from the farmhouse breaks my reverie. It’s my mother calling me in to dinner. I hang up the rake on the side of the barn, adjust my jeans, and head toward the house.

Eight years later I’m still thinking about Roderick Waites. And I’m still keeping secrets, still doing exactly what everyone expects of me.

Nothing has changed, really. Nothing at all.

TWENTY-SEVEN

I just jinxed us

As I kick off my boots in the mudroom, I take a deep breath and try to rearrange my thoughts. I’ve lived here my whole life, but lately the place really brings me down. “Hey, Ma,” I say, after entering the kitchen. “How are you doing?”

“Okay,” she says from the stove. Then she drops her voice. “But your father is a bear today. And there’s something we need to talk about at dinner.”

“Okay. Sure,” I agree. Although my father is a bear almost all the time, and we both know it. “Are we making some sandwiches?”

“No, I cooked!” she says. “Chicken casserole.”

“Great,” I say, mostly meaning it.

My mom’s cooking is bland, and that dish is particularly tasteless. She’d never been a great cook, but when her doctor suggested she cut down on the sodium, the menu took a turn for the worse. Chicken casserole with no salt? Trust me, you don’t want any. Even Rexie prefers his kibble to mom’s casserole.

I’ll eat it anyway, though, because I’m hungry, and it’s free. For a few years now, I’ve been saving up to rent a place of my own. My dream is to live in town.

My pile of cash is pretty tall at this point, so when Dad is back to work again, I can start looking for something cheap. There’s even a chance that I’ll rent a house in Colebury from Zara, my boss at the coffee shop. She’s probably losing her next-door tenant next month. “He was offered a job in another state,” she’d said. “If they leave, I’ll rent the house to you on the cheap, if you can help me with the yard work and the snow removal this winter.” And then she’d named a price that fit my budget, especially if I got a roommate.