Layne sat on the stretcher in the ER and hugged her arms across her chest. Her parents were right on the other side of the privacy curtain, having a whispered argument.

Like she was an idiot. Like she couldn’t hear every word.

“Didn’t you tell them?” her mother hissed. Layne could smell her Chanel perfume from here. “I can’t believe they’re not even examining her.”

“Tell them what, Charlotte?” Her father’s voice was tired. “She’s fine.”

“She’s not fine, David.” Her mother spat his name like it tasted bad. “She’s already damaged enough, and now you’re acting like nothing—”

“I’m not acting like anything. Why don’t you get a handle on the histrionics. I’m sure you have a pill or something you can take.”

Layne wanted to lie down on this stretcher and put the pillow over her face.

She’s already damaged enough.

Thanks, Mom.

The paramedics had said they were taking her to the ER as a precaution, but a doctor had listened to her lungs and shined a light in her eyes and declared her perfectly well. He’d told her that normally people had breathing difficulties from smoke inhalation, coughing, shortness of breath. She didn’t have any of those things. Now she was just waiting for a piece of paper so she could get out of here.

No one knew about Gabriel. No one asked.

She didn’t start out keeping him a secret—she just didn’t know what to say, or when to say it. People kept speaking over her head, never asking her anything more than whether she knew what day it was or how to contact her parents.

She’d found his lighter in the grass beside her, probably dropped when he’d grabbed his things and run. She’d shoved it into her pocket. Even now, she could slide her hand between the fabric panels and run her thumb along the slick metal casing.

I don’t want you to hate me.

She thought about the recent arson attacks in the area. Was he telling her he was responsible?

Had he started the fire in the barn?

They’d lain together in the grass for at least fifteen minutes, maybe more. If he’d put this lighter to a bale of hay or something, how long would it have taken the place to go up like that?

Surely faster than fifteen minutes, right?

And when would he have done it? Though she hadn’t had her eyes on him every second they’d been together that morning, she couldn’t see how he would have been able to climb into the hayloft and start a fire without her even noticing.

Beyond that, why would he have done it?

She kept running his words through her brain, as if they were a math problem, and all she had to do was find the right equation to solve for X.