A knock sounded against the wood planks at the end of the aisle, and she jumped, then placed a hand on her horse’s shoulder to steady him when he snorted. No one ever came out this early. It was barely six in the morning.

A figure stood at the other end of the barn, in the wide doorway, backed by sunshine, so she couldn’t make out who it was.

She set down the brush. “Hello?” she called. “Can I help you?”

“Layne?”

Her step faltered—and then the clouds shifted, just a little, enough so she could recognize Gabriel standing at the end of the barn.

It sent her heart dancing with a skip and a flutter. She hadn’t heard from him since Saturday, of course, because she’d practically been on house arrest. Really, she hadn’t been sure how she’d face him, after the things her father had said.

But now, seeing him here, she almost fell over her own feet trying to get down the aisle. He was wearing running shoes again. Shorts and a dark hoodie. His face was a bit flushed, his eyes dark with the sun at his back.

It wasn’t just that he was here. He’d run. How many miles had he said? Four?

But then she realized he wasn’t coming toward her. He wasn’t smiling. He was just standing there, that tense, inscrutable expression on his face.

She stopped short, trying to get her breath and heartbeat to settle into a steady rhythm. She stared up at him, wondering if he hated her now, if her father’s words had ruined everything, if she’d be starting school today without a single ally. Or maybe it was those e-mails.

Maybe he’d seen. Maybe he’d reconsidered.

She was a freak.

An outcast.

Only now, she wasn’t hidden. Her secrets were out there, for the whole world to see.

For a horrifying moment, she worried she was going to throw up again.

And then she did something worse.

She started sobbing.

Huge, choking sobs that made her shoulders shake and her body tremble. Her hands were over her eyes, and her legs couldn’t carry her weight on top of this onslaught of emotion.

Then his hands caught her shoulders, drawing her in against his chest. “Layne. Layne, please.”

“They put it all over the Internet. I knew . . . I knew it would be bad—” She choked again.

“I’m sorry.” She felt his breath on her hair. “Layne, I’m sorry.”

“Even Kara . . . Kara was e-mailing with them.”

“Your friend is a bitch. And she doesn’t deserve you.”

“She was my only friend.”

“No. She wasn’t.”