As we wind through town toward the lake, the transition from seaside to lakeside unfolds like a familiar story. The salt air gradually gives way to the earthy perfume of redwood trees embracing the lake. This aroma, rich and grounding, whispers of home and belonging. I roll down the window, letting the humid air wash over my face, the familiarity of it cleansing something deep inside me—a yearning I've carried since last summer without knowing it.

The long driveway appears ahead, concealed from the street like a secret passage. The house and its lakefront backdrop wait five hundred miles away, hidden from view until that final turn. Despite the deep sense of rightness that comes with returning, an undercurrent of unease reminds me how much has shifted. The lake house stands solid and unchanged, but everything else feels different.

The second Ollie kills the engine, the front door flies open and Lydia bursts out, already barrelling down the stairs toward us with the kind of energy that makes exhaustion look like a foreign concept.

"Oh, my God! You're finally here!" She reaches for Mom's door before we can unbuckle. "I've been watching for you since breakfast!"

"Oh God, Lydia, my neck. Hold on will you. Let me get out of⁠⁠—"

"I'm just so happy to see you all!"

I watch these two women reunite and something in my chest loosens. Their friendship exists outside of time, untouched by distance or circumstance. It's the kind of bond that makes you believe in permanence—the way Mom has Lydia, and Lydia has Mom, constant as the tides.

Some friendships stand immovable against time's current. Like the one I share with the blue-eyed boy standing at the top of the porch steps, his smile catching the light like the sun on water. Jake's presence has always been a constant, especially when everything else spins off axis.

This summer stretches before me like a blank page.

It's a new chapter because, this summer, things will be different.

I will be different.

The girl who left Eden two years ago died with her father. It's time to discover who she's become—and maybe find a way to make peace with the boy who never showed up to say goodbye.

3. Busted

CHAPTER 3

BUSTED

NATE

"Nate, where the fuck are you?" Jay's voice grates against my already frayed nerves, each word like sandpaper on raw skin.

"I'm about ten minutes out." My jaw clenches tight enough to crack teeth, the muscle twitching beneath my skin like a live wire.

"Hurry the fuck up, man. They're waiting and these people don't like waiting." The panic in his voice feeds the rage simmering beneath my skin, a pot about to boil over.

"Jay, relax." The words come out low, dangerous—a rattlesnake's warning before the strike.

"Relax? I'll relax when I'm dead, Nate. Which is going to be in about two minutes if you're not here."

"I'm hanging up now."