Away. He looks down at me, jerking his chin again. Away.

You’re not going.

Jake stands in the truck bed, suddenly aware something is going on, and I clench my jaw to fight the tears. Suddenly, I want nothing more than to be away. Where I can’t be seen or looked at or detested.

“No, it’s fine,” I say quietly to Noah, choking on the tears in my throat.

And I back away, turning for the house.

“Tiernan,” Jake calls.

But I cut him off. “I didn’t want to go anyway,” I tell him, my eyes watering. “Sounds boring.”

And I jog up the stairs and walk into the house, hearing the engines rev, and after a moment, the high-pitched whir of them speeding away.

I head for the staircase, but I halt in the middle of the living room, realizing there’s nothing up there for me either. Another closed door. Another place to hide. Another room to pass the time until…

I drop my eyes, needles prickling the back of my throat.

Until I don’t have to worry about being seen.

My chin trembles, and a tear falls. I swipe it away.

I don’t want to think, because then I’ll be fucking alone, and that’s all I ever am.

The truck fires up outside, and I close my eyes, thinking I should be relieved my uncle is leaving, too. I should be thankful he didn’t come in after me. Neither one of us is the heart-to-heart kind, are we?

He’s giving me space.

But he just leaves, the sound of his engine disappearing down the road, and I stand there for less than a minute before setting off upstairs and opening my bedroom door.

I bypass my suitcase, still laying empty on the floor, and grab my backpack, double-checking my little First Aid kit is inside and take my sunscreen, stuffing it in the front pocket. Pulling my phone off the charger, I leave the room and head downstairs, filling up a water bottle and packing a few snacks.

I walk toward the front door, but then I stop, remembering.

Protection.

I head back through the kitchen and open the door to the garage, stepping down the few stairs and gazing at the row of rifles on the rack.

I wish I didn’t have to carry one. I’d look like an idiot—or a terrorist—walking down Ventura with a firearm slung over my shoulder. But my uncle is right. This isn’t the city. I could run into trouble.

I chew my lips, no idea what I’m really looking at. I don’t know about preciseness or ease of use, so I just grab the one I know how to use and open the drawer underneath, finding the bullets. Loading the weapon, I swing the strap of the rifle over my shoulder.

Quickly, I sift through my uncle’s tools, finding a flashlight, and then grab a clean towel off the basket on top of the dryer. I put everything in my pack, zip it up, and pull it on, ready to go.

Stepping out of the shop and around the house, I head for the woods, climbing the steep incline Jake took me through on the horse the other day. I think I remember the way. It’s a straight shot up and around some rocks, and then I continue on, going deeper into the trees. There should be a worn path… I would think.

I should text my uncle and let him know where I’m going.

But instead, I keep my phone tucked away in my pocket.

Reaching the top of the hill, I follow the dirt path around some boulders, keeping my eyes open and my ears trained, but after a few minutes, the headache that always seems to be aching around the back of my head fades away, and I inhale deep breaths, smelling the needles of the evergreens and the wet earth under my shoes.

Maybe I should turn back and put on Noah’s old boots he loaned me yesterday, but I can’t care that my sneakers have zero traction right now. My stomach is unknotting, and all I can hear is the creaking of the trees and the water coming from somewhere.

After a while, I’m not even paying attention to my surroundings anymore. I follow the trail I’m not sure is an actual trail, but it winds through the trees, guiding me deeper into the quiet and the solitude, and I peer through to see if I can make out the peak in the distance. But it’s too thick.

I take off Noah’s hat and shake out my locks, the breeze feeling good on my scalp and the wind clearing my head. I close my eyes.

But suddenly, I hear a rock fall behind me, bouncing off a boulder or something, and I jerk around, scanning the woods I just walked through.

The pulse in my neck throbs as the sunlight streams through the trees to the forest floor, and I train my eyes, trying to see around trunks and rocks. I reach to my side, clutching the butt of the rifle.

If it’s an animal, I won’t see it until it wants me to. I swallow, trying to catch sight of anything.

But there’s nothing.

No movement.

I remain still for a few more moments, making sure nothing is there and turn around, occasionally looking over my shoulder and keeping my eyes open just in case. It’s probably nothing. Trees fall, rocks spill, animals scurry…

I reach the top of another steep incline, the land leveling out, and look at the trail ahead, trying to remember how much farther it is.

But then I look left, doing a double-take, and see it.

I smile. Like actually smile.

I head for the pond Jake and I passed the other day, relieved I didn’t get lost. I climb down the rocks and come to the little beach and look out at the rock walls surrounding the water. Lush foliage hugs the sides, trees tower overhead, but there’s enough sunlight getting through to shimmer across the still water.

It’s empty. No people, no noise, and the warmth of the sun feels good.

I debate for a moment if I should strip, glancing around as if someone may be watching, but I decide to keep my clothes on. Or most of them.

I set the rifle down and drop my pack before unbuttoning Noah’s shirt. Wearing a sports bra underneath, I pull off his shirt and drop it to the ground with my hat, starting my Spotify playlist on my phone and setting it down before walking into the water with my sneakers on. I’ll get dry on the walk back. I’d rather not be in my underwear if anyone shows up. Or shoeless if an animal does.

I wade out and then shoot off, “Look Back at It” playing as I swim out to the middle of the small pond. Another smile I can’t hold back spreads across my face.

This feels good. The cool water sends chills over my body, giving me a sudden burst of energy, and I dive down and then come back up, my hair now soaked and slicked back.

Lying back, I float, the weightlessness and water in my ears making me feel alone.

But not lonely for once.

I glide my fingers under the water, my hair floating around me, and I smile again, because it’s the first time since I’ve been here that the world feels like a big place. It helps to get outside. To get lost a little.

I always forgot that.

A faint rumble hits my ears, and I lift my head up, treading water as I see a dirt bike pull up to the beach.

My face falls and my body tenses. Who is that?

He takes off his helmet, a dark blond head coming into view as his hair sticks up, kind of all messy-sexy, and it takes me less than a second to recognize Terrance Holcomb. Whom I’ve yet to actually meet.

“Hey,” he calls out, climbing off his bike.

I don’t respond. What is he doing here? I look and listen. Are they all coming?

He heads for the water, pulling off his boots and socks, and I realize he’s coming in. Keeping his jeans on, he walks into the pond, pulling off his shirt and tossing it back to the rocks.