Credence

“What’s this?” I dart my eyes up to Noah before taking the bag he’s handing me.

We’ve been running to town every chance we get over the past few weeks, anticipating the end of our cheeseburger and milkshake runs. I also needed to hit the pharmacy today to stock up on everything under the sun that can remedy what might hit me up on the peak this winter, when I won’t be able to go to town for what ails me. I’m prepared for headaches, sinus issues, joint pain, back pain, cramps, allergies—not that I currently have those, but you never know—and I’m about to be all stocked up on my birth control.

I debated going off, but… I guess it’s just best to stay on my routine.

He shrugs. “I’ve never gotten a girl a birthday present,” he says as I peer into the bag. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to wear it.”

I reach in, pulling out a T-shirt and baseball cap. We stand in the corner of the store, waiting for my script to be filled, and I set the bag on the floor, fanning out the shirt.

It’s light blue with the town’s emblem on the breast, and I turn it over, seeing the same Van der Berg Extreme logo covering the whole back. It’s just like Noah’s, only his is white.

I grin. “Is this your way of telling me you want your clothes back?”

“Just thought you might like something that fits you a little bet—” He pauses, rethinking. “Actually, my clothes look pretty good on you. I just thought you’d like something new is all.”

Yeah. I love it. I don’t have many T-shirts of my own. Just school ones, and those don’t have good memories, so this one will be fun to wear.

I look at the burgundy-colored cap with the word WILD written in cursive.

“It was either that or DIVA,” he says.

I laugh and pull it onto my head, peering at him under the bill. “I am a DIVA,” I allow. “But I’d rather be a wild diva.”

I reach in, wrapping one arm around his neck for a quick hug. “Thanks.”

I pull away, but his arm is around my waist, holding me to him for a real hug. I falter, taken back.

But then, I tighten my embrace.

It feels good—hugging someone who doesn’t want to pull away first.

“My mom calls me sometimes,” he says, his voice low and pained. “My dad doesn’t know.”

I back up, releasing him, so I can look in his eyes.

“Not sure why I’m telling you.” His voice is quiet. “She wants money in her commissary account.”

I watch him, listening. No one talks about her. I don’t even know why she’s in jail.

“And I put the money in her account, because I let myself enjoy the idea for a moment that she needs me.” He gives me a sad smile, looking so solemn. So serious. Not Noah. “Even though I know I’m just the first person she assumes she can take advantage of. She knows my dad won’t talk to her. That Kaleb can’t talk to her.”

Noah can’t talk to Jake. I gathered that much in my first week here.

He doesn’t have anyone in that house to really connect to. I never really saw that before.

“I wish she was dead.” Noah stares at the floor but then looks up at me. “I wish she was dead, because then I could love her.”

I stare at him, and he stares at me, both of us barely breathing but calm.

He steps closer, “Would you rather be used than never thought of at all?”

“Would you rather be never thought of at all or used?” I throw back.

Even now, I’m not sure. At least his mother knows he exists and can put on a show of love, even if it’s fake.

But then…at least my parents didn’t lie to me. They didn’t toy with me or jerk me around. I always knew where I stood.

Who had it worse? Him or me?

“Try the shirt on before we leave,” Noah says.

I blink at the sudden change in subject.

He steps closer, a hardness in his eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago as he backs me up farther into the corner.

“I don’t want it too tight,” he explains.

He hovers, his body an inch from mine as he looks down at me.

What? Here? My eyes flash to the store around us.

“Noah…”

“I’m really glad you’re here,” he whispers, cutting me off. “I’m glad you came back.”

“Why do you want me here so much?”

“Why not?”

I study his eyes. “Because when you leave, I won’t be wherever you go.”

He falls silent, but his gaze doesn’t leave mine. He wants to leave here so badly, and he will. Eventually.

Eventually, I’ll leave, too. He doesn’t need me. He needs a life raft.

Looking around and not seeing anyone around us, I shield myself between him and the corner as I pull off his old T-shirt I’m wearing and hand it to him.

Refitting my cap, I slip my arms through the new one, his eyes on me making my skin tingle as I avoid his gaze.

My bra covers more than a bikini, and I’m still in my jeans. Overall, I’m much more dressed than I was at the lake all those weeks ago when they took me fishing.

But with my hair hanging in two scraggly braids, a baseball hat, and dirt under my fingernails for the first time in my life, I’ve never felt this pretty.

How he looks at me…

How Jake looks at me…

How Kaleb refuses to look at me, but I know he’s aware of my every move when we’re in the same room.

The skin of my breasts, only half covered in my hot pink bra, burns with fire under Noah’s gaze, and I pull the shirt on over my head, feeling Noah’s hands brush my arms as he reaches up to help pull it down over my body.

I fix my hat again, his fingers still gripping the hem below my hips.

I’m afraid to meet his eyes but I can feel the heat rolling off him.

“The local guys don’t talk to you,” he orders in a raspy voice. “They don’t touch you tonight. Do you understand?”

I nod, still not meeting his gaze. My heart pumps so hard it hurts, but my stomach is flipping like I’m riding a roller coaster.

He finally releases me and backs up. “It looks nice.”

What does?

Oh, the shirt. Right.

“Tiernan,” someone calls.

And I dart past him to get my prescription, anything to get away.

Hours later, I’m twirling in my room, smiling as my new summer dress fans out along with my hair. It’s too cold to wear this tonight, but I’m going to anyway. After seeing it on sale in a shop earlier, I got an itch to clean under my fingernails and put on some make-up for my birthday dinner, since this could very well be the last time we hit town. A storm is coming.

U2’s “Dancing Barefoot” plays, and I move, closing my eyes and running my hands up under my hair. My homework is desperately late, I have missed calls—probably birthday wishes from Mirai and friends of my parents—and my shipment of paperbacks to get me through the winter is delayed in Denver, but… I deleted all my social media and I’m now a legal adult, completely in charge of where I can go and what I can do, so any weight on my shoulders feels a lot lighter now. I’m actually excited, even though the guys are busy dreading the boring coming months.

I spin and spin, but then I spot a figure out of the corner of my eye and stumble to a stop, seeing Kaleb standing in the hallway. He looks like he just came down from his room, paused in the middle of pulling on his T-shirt as he watches me.

My pulse quickens. It’s unsettling to have his attention, because I’m never sure what he’s thinking, but I always feel like it’s not good.

Stalking over, I kick the door shut, smiling to myself as I pick up my heels and sit on the bed, sliding my feet in. I feel great, and I’m not letting him ruin my night. Carter, my parents’ security, is taking care of the house back in L.A., Mirai and our lawyer are handling all of my parents’ estate business, and for the first time in my life I get to be a kid tonight. Smiling, laughing, playing, being around people who care about me… It seems weird that I finally get that on the day I become an adult, but I won’t analyze it. I’m taking it.

Buckling up my Louboutins, a Christmas gift from my parents last year—courtesy of Mirai, of course—set with pretty crystals and five-inch heels, I grab a cream-colored shawl to go over my dark pink dress and head out of the room.

Kaleb is long gone, and I carry the shawl as I fluff up my loose curls and smooth out my dress. It’s simple and innocent, but totally not me. Backless and short—falling mid-thigh—it has a deep cleavage and spaghetti straps. My heels clack on the wooden stairs, and I walk through the living room, seeing the guys around the table as I set my shawl and phone down and go for my purse.

Digging out my license and cash, I turn and hand it to my uncle. “Would you hold this in your wallet?” I ask. “It saves me from carrying a bag.”

But he just looks at me, kind of scowling.

“What?” I say.

“You’re overdressed.”

I tsk, giving him a coy smile as I stuff my card and money in his hand. “There’s no such thing.”

Of course, compared to them I am overdressed. They’re all in jeans, Noah double-fisting Budweisers.

“People don’t dress like that here,” Jake points out.

And he really didn’t need to say that. It’s not like I haven’t noticed.

“I don’t fit in anywhere,” I tell him. “I’m used to it.”

Seriously. I feel good. Stop hyperventilating.

He cocks an eyebrow and turns away, and I can see Noah’s concerned gaze flash to his.

Jake finally shoves a large package over to me, exquisitely wrapped in silver paper with a big silver bow.

I reach for it. “What’s this?”

It’s a weird shape.

But all he says is, “Open it.”

The paper looks just as pretty as everything under my Christmas trees growing up, and I can’t help but feel the smile I’m wearing. I know he knows what’s inside. Which means he picked it out. Hell, he might’ve even wrapped it, too.

I rip the paper, tearing it off in large sheets and picking at the scraps until the whole thing comes into view, and I look at the compound bow with a pink camouflage pattern and six arrows.

I pick it up. “Wow.”

“Do you know how to shoot it?” my uncle asks.

“A little.” I fist the grip and draw the band back, aiming toward the fridge. “I haven’t used one in a long time.”

And I’ve never used a compound bow. They didn’t have these at camp.

“Noah set up a target in the barn,” he tells me. “You can practice before we take it out hunting.”

I drop my arms and look at him. “Hunting?”

They all stand silent, and I gaze around at them as if there was a stipulation in my contract for living here that I missed.

“I don’t think I want to do that.” I set the bow down on the table. I’ll cook the meat. I’m not supplying it, though.

But Noah just laughs, and Jake shakes his head.

“We’ll talk about it,” he says.

Just as long as it’s not today.

“Well, thank you.” I give him a peck on the cheek. “I really love it.”

He nods once but won’t meet my eyes. He clears his throat. “I’ll go warm up the truck.”

I grab my wrap and swing it around my shoulders. An Aran Islands sweater from Mirai to keep me warm this winter, a shirt and hat to help me blend in with the locals, and a new toy. Better than any birthday so far.

But as I move to follow Jake, Kaleb steps in front of me, stopping me.

I look up.

He pauses a moment before he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a long strap of dark brown leather.

I narrow my eyes as he offers it to me.

The horn outside honks, but we stay, Noah approaching my side.

“What’s this?” I reach out and take it, threading it through my hand and turning it over.

“He makes them,” Noah says.

It’s a belt. Dark and tanned with carvings in the leather and an antique-looking silver buckle. I study the etchings. There are trees, a waterfall, the peak—the view from my bedroom window, actually—something that looks like a braid of hair, a horse, and a dreamcatcher.

I swallow. Why would he put a dreamcatcher on there?

But it is beautiful. He made this himself?

Then I notice something else, and I chuckle.

“The notches go all the way to the buckle,” I point out. “I’m flattered, but my waist isn’t that small.”

Noah leans in, whispering, “But your wrists are.”

My heart skips, and I dart my eyes up to Kaleb as he stares down at me.

What?

But Noah just laughs, both of them leaving me there as they head outside.

And I don’t realize I’m staring back down at the belt, spacing off until Jake honks again, making me jump.

“Give it to me!” I shout as Noah holds my phone out of my reach. “Come on.”

He plants his hand on my forehead and pushes me back as we sit at the table and he inspects the photo. “Holy shit,” he says loud enough for everyone around us to hear. “Why do you hide this?”

I launch up and snatch the phone out of his hand, plopping back down in my seat. “Because it’s a dumb picture.”

“Then why do you keep it on your phone?”

“Because,” I tell him. “It’s the only thing I’ve done that I’m proud of.”

I go to exit out of the link to the one article about me ever written, along with the photo shoot the magazine insisted be done to accompany it, but Jake plucks my cell out of my hands instead, taking his turn to look at the pic.

I glare, opening my big mouth to protest, but I decide against it, casting a worried glance around at the other families trying to have a peaceful meal in the steak house.

It was my fault, showing it to Noah in the first place. Last spring, Vanity Fair did an exposé on the children of the stars and featured me in their “collection.” Unfortunately, a photo shoot came with the territory, one shot in particular of me in my French braids, a sports bra, and some lacrosse gear. I looked sweaty and dirty but kinda sexy, and even though the entire thing was a lie concocted by my parents’ publicists to make me look and sound incredible, I really liked the experience. Even though I’d never played lacrosse in my life.

It was the one time I felt large.

Yes, the article was bullshit about how involved I was in school. Nothing was true in regard to my activism and hobbies, and I only got the feature because of my parents. I hated the idea when they made me do it.

The photo shoot, though… I felt pretty. Even if I felt stupid after it was over.

“It’s a great picture. We’ll put it up on the website,” Noah tells his father and then lifts his arms, knife and fork in hand as he recites the words on an imaginary header. “The New Addition to Van der Berg Extreme.”

I roll my eyes, turning my attention to Jake. “Give it to me.”

He passes it to Kaleb who takes it and barely glances at it before handing it to Noah.

“Now,” I grit through my teeth, trying to keep our banter down. I only meant to brag about how I’ve worn less in public than I am tonight when Jake got snippy about my backless dress again at dinner. I didn’t want them gawking at me in my bra, though. In public.

Glasses and silverware clank in the rustic old restaurant, and the smell of barbecue sauce and French fries fills the air, making my nose sting from time to time.

The steak was overcooked, the Coke is watered down, and the floor is so greasy, I can spell my name on it with the heel of my shoe.

But I wouldn’t have anything different for my eighteenth birthday. I’ve had more fun already tonight than I did in all my past birthdays combined.

Noah hands the phone back to me, and I take it, turning it off and sticking it under my thigh, so they can’t get it again.

“So, what do you say?” he asks. “Wanna look sexy like that on our website?”

“Shut up.”

I tuck my chair back in and take a sip of my soda.

“It’s a really good idea,” Noah argues, turning to his father. “That’s what we’re missing in our marketing. Something pretty.”

“Noah, Jesus…” Jake shifts uncomfortably in his chair and lifts his bottle to his lips.

“No, seriously,” he continues. “Look at all the other sites. All the shows and expos we go to. What do they all have in common? Hot girls. We could get a photographer up at the house and do a photo shoot of her on the bikes. It’ll be great.”

“It’ll be snowing by morning,” Jake says. “No photographers are getting up the mountain.” He shoots his eyes to me. “And no one’s getting down.”

I pause, a shiver almost running through me as I hold my uncle’s eyes. I’m not sure if I see a warning or a challenge there in regard to the months ahead, but I raise my glass in a cheers, ready for whatever.

Jake grins, raising his beer and Noah follows, all of us clanking our glass together. Kaleb eats his meal.

“Besides,” Jake adds, setting his beer down, “we may never see her again after the spring anyway. Not sure we want to add her to the letterhead quite yet.”

I shake my head, knowing he wouldn’t mind if I stayed forever and would love the assurance right now that I will.

I love being wanted.

But college looms. I’ll need to make decisions soon.

Noah looks at me. “You won’t leave us, will you?”

I laugh, unsure how to answer that.

Instead, I just tip my chin at my uncle. “May I have a non-virgin beer for my birthday?”

He knows full well I’m taking advantage of the allowance in this state that anyone under twenty-one can drink on private property, as long as they’re under parental supervision.

So let’s go home to private property, so I can do that.

But Jake has different plans.

“Let’s go into the bar,” he says.

My eyes widen. And I’m out of my chair before any of them.

Noah, Kaleb, and I head out of the restaurant while Jake pays the bill, and Noah takes my hand as we trail down a long hallway, entering the noise-ridden saloon that’s connected to the restaurant. Country music plays on the juke-box, and I crunch peanut shells under my shoes as we walk under the dim lights and past the pool tables and bar stools.

Eyes immediately turn in our direction as people huddle in small groups and the music blares. I suddenly feel overdressed like Jake suggested.

A few interested pairs of eyes floated up and down my attire as we sat down in the restaurant earlier, because I haven’t met many people in town, and they probably wondered who I was, but now… my skin warms under their gazes, and I clutch Noah’s hand, a little uncomfortable. The place is filled with T-shirts, jeans, and beards, and who’s the moron coming in here dressed for a cocktail party in Malibu?

I meet several pairs of eyes as we pass tables of people drinking and smoking.

Kaleb tosses some money on the bar and gestures to all of us at the bartender, but the guy cocks his head, eyeing me with suspicion.

“It’s okay, Mike,” I hear my uncle suddenly say behind me.

I turn around, seeing him give the guy a smile, and that seems to do it, because the bartender nods and reaches down to pull four Buds out of the cooler, popping the tops for all of us.

“Let’s go.” Noah nudges my arm.

I follow them all—except for Kaleb, because he disappeared once he got his beer—over to the foosball table, and Noah and I pair up against Jake. I ignore the eyes I feel on my back and take a sip of my beer before setting it down on the table with Noah’s and Jake’s.

“They played this on The Karate Kid, right?”

Jake’s eyes light up. “Very good.”

I almost laugh at his delighted expression. Seems there’s still hope for me yet.

We play a few games, Jake winning every time despite being by himself, and I have to pull my hair over my shoulder to get it off my back by the time we finish the third game, because I’m starting to sweat.

The music in here isn’t my style usually, but the crowd feeds off it, loud and happy, and I barely even notice the cold gusts of wind that rush through the front door every time someone arrives or leaves. Some old-timer walks through, dusting snow off his hat, but nothing disturbs the good time.

“I’m gonna grab another one,” Jake tells us after the last game, gesturing to his beer.

I pick up mine still sitting on the table, untouched, and look around the room as he walks off.

Some racers sit off to the back, and I recognize a few of the guys and girls from the group at my uncle’s house a couple times, and I spot a woman in a cheap little veil surrounded by others at the bar, all of them throwing back shots. Her tight, black T-shirt reads “Marissa’s Last Stand” in blingy jewels that sparkle in the dim light.

The song on the jukebox ends, and a few couples nestled on a small patch of floor who are dancing let go of each other and make their way back to their tables.

“Wanna play some pool?” Noah shouts over the noise.

I stare at the jukebox, bringing the bottle to my lips. “I want to play some music,” I tell him and flash him an apologetic smile as I hold out my hand for money. “Please?”

He rolls his eyes but reaches into his pocket and digs out some ones for me. Jake has my money. Noah knows I’m good for it.

He hands me a couple bills, and I snatch them up. “Thank you.”

Strolling off, I head for the music.

Jake stands at the bar, talking to some guy, and I still haven’t seen Kaleb since we got in here. I stop at the jukebox and look around for him. Kaleb has barely spared me a glance since he gave me the belt earlier tonight, but something about his present keeps gnawing at me, and I’m not sure why.

He made it. By hand. For me.

He knew my birthday was coming.

I love that each of them put some thought into what I might like, even though they really didn’t have to get me anything at all. It was nice opening up a gift I would buy for myself, instead of a lavish present that tries way too hard to put a price on impressing someone.

Kaleb put in hours of work, though. The thought of him in his workroom in the barn, quietly working, head hung over my belt, out there alone all that time… for me.

But then I shake my head.

I’m overanalyzing. He probably had that belt already made and laying around. He just grabbed it as he was leaving his room, and it probably does have some weirdo sexual undertone with all those notches, like Noah said.

I scroll the song selections, finally seeing something not country and put in a bill, dialing in the letter and number. “Do You Want to Touch Me There” by Joan Jett starts playing, and all of a sudden some cheers go off. I turn my head over my shoulder to see the bachelorette party holding up their arms and moving toward me, already dancing.

I smile, ready to move out of the way, but they start screaming the words, one of them taking my hand and pulling me in with them. I laugh, unsure of what to do.

I look around for my uncle or Noah to rescue me, but in a moment, I’m trapped and can’t see anyone. All of us crowd the small area, and I barely have room to move as everyone jumps, sways, and rocks out, the wooden floor underneath us taking a beating.

Others close their eyes, and after a few moments, I take a deep breath and do the same, letting the music and people feed me.

My head reels.

I’ve always been awkward with other women. Always. I’m either worried they’ll feel they have to hold my hand in social situations or aggravated because they do. I hate being an albatross around their necks or being treated like an ignorant little sister they need to take under their wing.

This isn’t like that, though. I just have to dance.

I sing along with the song, flip my hair, and move my body to the music, laughing with them and feeling the energy buzz on every inch of my skin. If I had to talk to these girls, it would be a challenge, but for now, I can enjoy the music.

Lifting up my arms, I bang my head to the lyrics, unashamed of going crazy, because so is everyone else, and I relax.

Finally, I relax.

Until I open my eyes.

Jake stands paused in the middle of raising his beer to his mouth, watching me at the bar. His lips are parted slightly, and he looks like he isn’t breathing. My heart drops into my stomach, and I slow for a moment, taking a mental inventory to make sure he’s not mad.

I’m not dancing with a local boy.

I’m not naked.

I came with three male relatives, so I’m not unarmed or unprotected.

He’s not angry, I don’t think. He’s just… watching me.

A flutter hits my stomach.

Shifting my gaze, I see Noah at the pool table with some buddies, taking a shot of something brown, his eyes immediately turning back over to me as if he’s been keeping an eye out the whole time. His gaze is soft, but his lips are tight.

A smile tugs at my mouth, but I don’t let it out.

The bride-to-be wraps an arm around my waist, and I hang my arm over another woman’s shoulder, and we sing and dance, but every smile I wear is for someone else. Everything I do I hope Jake sees, and every move I make I hope Noah is watching.

I love their attention.

As the song ends, I laugh with the girls, all of us dispersing as a slow tune starts, and I turn around to head to my uncle at the bar.

But as soon as I spin around, someone is there, and I look up to see Terrance Holcomb.

“Hey, California,” he says, slipping his hands to my waist.

I start to push him away. “Off.”

Jake wouldn’t lie about that clubhouse this guy keeps. I don’t want anything to do with him.

“You’ve met my friend?” he asks.

Huh?

At that moment, someone comes up behind me, and I turn my head to see Cici at my back. She holds my hips, too, laying her chin on my shoulder.

They’re friends? How does that work with Kaleb in the picture?

I fight their hold, trying not to make a scene, but every time I get loose, they reclaim their hold again.

I look around for Jake or Noah, but we’re surrounded by people all of a sudden. Lots of people.

Men.

What the hell?

All the ladies on the dance floor are gone, now replaced with Holcomb’s Motocross buddies.

Realization dawns. We’re being surrounded by cover, so Jake and Noah can’t see.

“What if I told you that Kaleb did hit me in the cave that day?” Cici says behind me. “Would you still want to spend the winter locked up on the peak with him?”

I pause, stunned. What?

“And what if I told you,” Cici continues, tracing the spaghetti strap of my dress, “that he can’t wait to make you bleed, too, and he’s just biding his time until you have no means of escaping him.”

My mouth goes dry, and my skin crawls. Kaleb…

Kaleb isn’t like that.

Holcomb shakes his head, smirking. “They warned you about me, didn’t they?” he says. “You should’ve been warned about them. They only wanted you because you’re rich and beautiful. Think of what your money will do for Van der Berg Extreme and what your body will do in their beds.”

I shake my head. No.

“Noah won’t need a sponsor,” Holcomb goes on. “He’ll have you. More money than the rest of us could ever raise, and he won’t have to jump through hoops to get it, because you love him and you’ll let him have anything he wants.”

“No.”

“None of them have touched you, then?” Cici asks.

I clench my teeth. But the wheels turn anyway, remembering Kaleb and me on the hood of the car and Jake and me in the kitchen.

“You haven’t felt threatened?” Holcomb presses. “Not once?”

If you had been dancing with a man like that in public, I would’ve taken you over my knee.

I breathe hard and shallow, recalling my uncle’s threat all those weeks ago. Cici probably heard him when he pulled me away and told Terrance.

“And now you’re eighteen,” Terrance adds. “Perfectly legal in all fifty states, just in time for the snow.”

Words lodge in my throat, and I yank my arms free of them.

“They don’t really like you,” Cici tells me. “You’re useful. Just like the rest of us who service them.” She rubs circles on my belly as her head remains on my shoulder. “And when they fuck you pregnant, they’ll control you—and your bank account—forever.”

No. They’re my home. The peak is my home.

“Stay with us,” Holcomb whispers, getting closer. “Come home with me.”

Tears pool as they sandwich me, and as Holcomb dips his mouth into my neck, I start to cry out.

No.

But just then, a hand wraps around my wrist and yanks me free of them. I gasp, stumbling off the dance floor and right into Kaleb as he pulls me into his body. He brings me in, my forehead meeting his, and I look up at him through my watery eyes.

He presses his lips hard to my forehead, and I still for a moment.

Kaleb…

Holcomb and Cici’s words swirl in my head, but as Kaleb’s warmth washes over me, everything they said starts to fade away more and more until there’s nothing but him.

I exhale, closing my eyes.

They’re not my parents. This is real. They care about me, and they want me here.

Kaleb draws back, our foreheads meeting again as he looks down into my eyes, unblinking. Swiping his thumbs under my eyes, he dries my tears.

I go to assure him that I’m okay, but before I can, he drops his hands, his gaze turning dark, and he shoves me behind him before lunging for Holcomb.

Grabbing him by the neck, he throws Terrance into the jukebox, knocking into other people on the dance floor in the process.

I wince, watching the guy hit the machine, the glass case cracking.

All hell breaks loose. Motocross guys go after Kaleb, a bottle crashes to the floor, and a group of women gets pushed into a table, the legs scraping across the floor.

“Kaleb!” I cry.

Cici takes her opportunity while he’s distracted, shoving me in the chest, and I stumble back, my eyes burning with anger. Noah grabs my hand and yanks me away, my eyes burning into hers as she disappears in the crowd.

He pulls me across the bar, and I look back at the pit of brawlers on the dance floor, not seeing Kaleb anywhere. Do they have him on the floor or something?

The bartender leaps over the bar with a baseball bat, and Jake takes me from Noah as Noah runs back for his brother.

“Are you okay?” Jake asks.

I nod quickly, too worried about the boys. I can’t even say someone else started it. Kaleb technically made the first move.

His kiss still warms my forehead.

“Get in the truck.” Jake shoves his keys at me and pushes me toward the door.

I step backward, the music stopped and bystanders watching the fight. My heart hammers in my chest, feeling like this is my fault for some reason, but I know it’s not.

If I weren’t here, though…

Jake digs through the fray, finding his sons, and I spin around, running outside and to our truck parked on the curb.

Snow falls, fat flakes hitting my hair and bare shoulders, and I rip off my heels, jogging across the frigid, wet pavement to the truck.

Climbing in, I toss my heels in the back and start the engine.

I shiver, turning on the heaters and starting the wipers. Thankfully, the windows haven’t frosted yet, and I blow into my hands, trying to warm them up. I left my shawl inside, dammit.

The door to the bar flies open, and I look over, seeing Kaleb charge out, followed quickly by his father and brother. He heads around the truck for the driver’s side.

“Are you okay?” I ask as he opens the door.

But I know I won’t get an answer.

Pushing me over, he climbs in and shifts the truck into first as Jake takes the seat next to me and Noah climbs in the back.

I take the hint and scurry into the back seat to join him.

The bar door opens again and guys rush out, Terrance leading the pack, and I barely have time to look at Kaleb before he shifts gears again, putting the truck in reverse this time.

“Aw, fuck,” Noah says like he knows what Kaleb is about to do, and I whip my head around just as Kaleb slams on the gas. Our truck heads straight for a row of bikes, and I grapple for the handle above my door, taking hold of it and squeezing my eyes shut as the truck drives right over the dirt bikes.

“Kaleb!” Jake yells.

But it’s too late. We rock side to side, crawling over the motorcycles, and my heart lodges in my throat, but I almost want to laugh, too.

They deserved that.

“You motherfucker!” I hear someone yell.

And then a loud bark. “You’re dead!”

I look out the window and suddenly see two cops across the street, dressed in heavy jackets and winter hats as they step out of their cruiser.

“Oh, shit,” I gasp.

“Kaleb, go now!” Noah yells, seeing what I’m seeing.

He doesn’t hesitate further. Before the officers can stop him, Kaleb hits the gas, speeds off, and I look out the rear window, seeing the guys scramble for their bikes and the cops jump back in their car.

The truck races through the night, the snow whipping across the windshield in the black night, and I slip my shoes back on.

Kaleb kills the headlights, as if the whole town doesn’t know where we’re going, and I peer over the back of his seat, trying to see what he sees in his rearview mirror.

Lights trail us far back, and I hear the tires spin underneath us as the slick snow turns to ice. Jake flips on the defroster.

“Are they really chasing us in this weather?” I blurt out, looking behind me. “Maybe you should stop.”

They’re on dirt bikes. It’s freezing. This could get a lot worse than it already has if there’s an accident.

No one hears me, though.

“Slow down,” Jake orders him.

But Kaleb doesn’t listen. The truck fishtails, and Kaleb jerks the wheel to the shoulder, using the gravel for traction as he gets us farther and farther up into the mountains.

The bikes gain on us, since they’re carrying less weight, but then I see a couple of headlights drop as if the bikes slid. The others follow Kaleb’s example and use the shoulder as the cops’ red and blue lights flash behind.

No, no, no… This is bad.

We keep going, and I notice less lights behind us now as some of the racers giving chase decide to give up in the thick snowfall and save it for another day.

Why are we running, though? A bar fight isn’t a big deal, but Kaleb destroying property is. The pursuit won’t end once we’re behind our front door.

All of a sudden, the police lights disappear. I watch their headlights, seeing them turn around and head back to town, as well.

They know where to find Kaleb tomorrow, I guess.

The tires skid under us, and the truck starts sailing backward. I suck in a breath, digging my nails into the back of Kaleb’s seat. We shouldn’t be doing this.

“Oh, my God,” I mumble, looking down the cliff on my side of the truck, fear paralyzing me at the drop.

The bikes behind us struggle to climb the road, and just as I’m about to suggest we stop or get out to walk back to the house, since we’re less than a mile away, Kaleb turns the wheel right and takes us off the road. The truck plummets into a ditch, and he punches the gas, taking us up into the forest, the truck moving more steadily through the trees.

I look behind me, seeing the bikes fall behind, lost in the darkness, snow, and without Kaleb’s taillights to follow, they won’t know where they’re going.

I don’t think I breathe the entire way home.

Kaleb drives over the forest floor, taking us up to the house, and when he pulls the truck to a stop, we all climb out, looking around for any sign of the cops or racers.

“Get inside now!” Jake orders.

We run into the house, slamming the door behind us, and Noah falls back on the door, breathing hard.

What did we do?

There’s going to be a punishment for that. They won’t let it go.

All of a sudden, though, Noah starts laughing.

Hysterically.

I stand up and scowl down at him. “This isn’t funny,” I growl. “Someone could’ve died. They’ll still be up here once the snow stops. The cops will arrest him.”

I look at Kaleb, who’s as cool as a cucumber, moving into the kitchen and whipping off his shirt like he’s getting ready for bed or some shit.

Noah’s laughter dies down, and he rises, coming to stand next to me. “The snow won’t stop,” he tells me.

I meet his eyes as he pats my arm.

“Until April,” he finishes.

And he follows Kaleb to the fridge for a beer.