told me every thought inside his head, every secret of his heart, every longing within his soul.
After Jaxon came to my rescue at the party, he drove me home in a beat-up maroon sedan I’ve never seen before. It’s bumper hung so low, it scraped the curb with a shower of sparks every time we went up a hill.
He was mostly silent as we wound through the dark streets toward Cormorant House. I was equally quiet, caught up in my own head, too consumed by the memory of Ryan’s reaching hands to make much small talk. I tried not to glance too often in his direction, feeling somewhat awkward in his presence despite our long history.
I’ve known Jaxon since I was an infant. He’s Archer’s older brother — and his spitting image, surplus a few tattoos. But we’ve never been particularly close. Four years is a big age gap when you’re young. And by the time we were all teenagers, Jaxon was already heading down a very different path. One of overdoses and rehab stints and, eventually, a three-year sentence at Cedar-Junction.
Despite his time behind bars, Jaxon doesn’t seem any worse for wear. He still has that sly smile, that darting gaze that never lingers long enough to get a proper read on his thoughts. When he walked me to the boathouse, he ruffled my hair like a little sister as we said our goodbyes.
Like old times.
That was almost an hour ago. It’s nearly midnight, now. I shiver against the wood planks, chilled to the bone. The warmth of the day has long since faded. My shorts and t-shirt offer little protection from the wind whipping off the water. Goosebumps break out across my skin; I rub my arms to subdue them, a futile task.
I should go inside. Climb into bed, shut my eyes, reset the day. But, looming emptily behind me, Cormorant House feels just as cold as the night. An inhospitable specter, devoid of life. I don’t want to walk its vacant halls alone. Doing so makes me feel like a ghost. As though, at any given moment, I could simply…
Disappear.
The sound of raised voices drifts to me on the wind. I sit up, glancing around for the source. Straining my ears, I realize it’s coming from the house.
Two men, speaking rapidly.
They’re too far away to make out any of their words. I should probably feel fear as I climb to my feet, but I’m too numb from cold to feel much of anything. Bested by my own incorrigible curiosity, I move quietly down the dock, toward solid ground.
I follow the voices up the path to the estate, my footfalls silent against the grass. My hand curls tightly around my keys, the only weapon at my disposal. Their metal edges dig sharply into my palm.
I keep to the shadows — an unseen eavesdropper in the dark. The argument grows louder as I approach the house. I’m nearly to the terrace when one of the voices becomes identifiable.
I stop in my tracks.
“She isn’t my girlfriend.” I hear Archer scoff. “Don’t tell my that’s why you thought she’d help you? You’re even dumber than I thought.”
I duck instinctually behind a maple tree, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Who is he talking about?
I strain to catch more of their conversation. My eyes widen when I recognize Jaxon’s voice, responding. “That girl will do anything for you. Anything.”
“Maybe back when we were kids,” Archer volleys back. “You’ve been away a long time, Jaxon. Things change. People grow apart.”
“Bullshit. I was gone two years, but I haven’t forgotten the way you look at that girl.”
How’s that? I think hopefully.
“How’s that?” Archer asks flatly.
“Like she’s the light at the end of a very dark tunnel.”
My heart lurches into my throat and lodges there. Breath becomes an impossibility.
“God, you really must be high.” Archer’s cold laugh sends shrapnel into the fabric of my soul. “You think I actually like being her friend? I tolerate her for exactly one reason: her parents paid my tuition to Exeter. As soon as I walk across that graduation stage, I plan to keep on walking, right out of her life.”
My eyes are stinging from the wind. That’s why I’m crying.
The wind.
Just the wind.
I brush the tears off my face, but they keep coming. The pain inside my chest is crippling. My knees threaten to buckle beneath me. I reach for the tree trunk to steady myself.
“Jo Valentine means nothing to me,” Archer tells Jaxon. There’s not an ounce of