He must have caught the subtle shift in my voice because his confident smirk faltered, and the playful glint in his eyes vanished, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty.

But it was gone as fast as it came.

“Relax.” He shut the book. “I’m just messing with you.”

“Yeah?” I shot back. “Well, I’m not laughing.”

For a moment, he just looked at me.

Then he tossed the book back onto my towel.

I grabbed it, brushing sand off the cover.

Before I could open my mouth, a voice called from behind us.

I turned just in time to see Sydney walking toward us, two drinks in her hands, her blue sundress fluttering in the breeze.

She looked perfect. Put together.

Right for him.

Blake glanced at her, then turned to me one last time.

For a split second, something passed between us.

Something I hated.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he adjusted his sunglasses, flashed me a grin that didn’t reach his eyes, and turned away.

I watched him go, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on my chest.

37

BLAKE, 1999

18 years old

The house smelled like whiskey and cigarettes.

I curled into myself, knees tucked to my chest, my ribs pressing against my skin. My fingers gripped the fabric of my torn shirt, as if I could make myself disappear inside it. The corner was dark, but not dark enough. Nothing was ever dark enough to hide from him. I shuddered violently.

I could still hear it. The slow, measured breathing of a man who had already decided what would happen next. The click of a belt buckle. The feeling of my own heartbeat, pounding against my skin like it was trying to escape before the pain could reach it.

“You think you’re smart? You think you can hide from me?”

His voice slurred, footsteps heavy as he staggered closer.

My breath came too fast, too loud, too obvious.

“Come here, boy.”

No.

No, no, no.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

No, no, no, no, no.

“You think you’re special? Think somebody’s gonna come save you? No one’s coming for you. No one cares.”

I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw ached, pressing my forehead against my knees. If I stayed small, if I stayed silent, maybe⁠—

A fist closed around my wrist like a vice, yanking me up, my body colliding with something solid and reeking of liquor.

“Did I say you could sit there?”

Pain bloomed in my arm, sharp and immediate. My head snapped back against the wall, stars bursting behind my eyelids. The room spun. My lungs seized, panic clawing up my throat as the grip on my wrist tightened.

“You useless little shit. I’ll teach you how to run.”

The first hit wasn’t the worst. It never was.

The first was a warning. A promise.