I end the call with enough force to crack my screen, watching as notifications flood the display like vultures circling prey. Missed calls, texts, demands piling up like bodies in a mass grave. Another buzz cuts through the silence—Jake, adding his voice to the chorus of people who think they own a piece of me.

Jake

Seriously, where the fuck are you?

Jake

Mom wants you home NOW.

Jake

Stop being a dick and reply to her calls.

I ignore it, letting it join the dozen other unopened messages from him, Mom, and Farrah. Farrah’s name on my phone screen feels like a bad taste I can't wash out. I still don't know why I've let her cling to me for this long.

The morning started with me hauling ass out of the house, escaping Mom's endless nagging about the Wells coming back this summer. She's been hammering on about it for days like it's some impending apocalypse, and just the thought of sharing space with them all summer makes my skin crawl.

Last time I saw the Wells family was nearly two years ago. The memory hits like a sucker punch. I was a fucking wreck when David died, and the guilt of blowing off his funeral still eats at me like acid in my gut. They're probably all still pissed about it, but showing up wasted and ready to explode would have been worse. At least, that's the lie I keep feeding myself to get through each day.

The truth sits heavier, a weight pressing against my lungs: I couldn't handle it.

Couldn't stomach a world without David, the one person who saw past my bullshit and still gave a damn.

Couldn't bear seeing Nora broken when I was already shattered beyond repair.

The Mustang roars to life under my hands, the engine's growl matching the chaos in my head as I point it toward the other side of Lake Eden. Today, my thoughts are a war zone, memories exploding like land mines with every breath. The human mind is a torture chamber, stuck on replay, obsessing over every failure, every promise broken like bones that never set right.

I try to steady myself because that's what everyone expects—good old Nate, always in control, always holding it together. But with everything I'm walking into, the tension builds like a sealed pressure cooker about to blow. Memories of two summers ago flood in, sharp as broken glass and twice as dangerous. I crank the radio, desperate to drown out the chaos, and fucking "Save Me" by Remo starts playing. I laugh, but it's a sound that would make devils flinch. The universe really knows how to twist the knife.

The bait shop looms ahead, its peeling Tack and Bait sign swaying in the humid breeze like a hangman's noose. Jay's already outside, a nervous shadow pacing the warped boards of the porch. His fingers drum against his thigh in a frantic rhythm that matches my pulse.