Credence

“Is it okay if take a truck to town and do some food shopping?” I sit at the breakfast table, toying with the burnt bacon in my hand and feeling it crumble onto the plate like a potato chip. “I can pick up anything you might need, too, while I’m out.”

Jake looks up at me, chewing his food, and I zone in right between his eyes—focusing—to get my mind off the fact that his stupid shirt is off again. I mean, seriously. Do these men ever get completely dressed? Women survive with the heat and sweat all the time without discarding our clothing.

“What do you need to eat other than bacon?” he questions.

But I keep my expression even, not indulging his joke.

He finally laughs. “Of course, you can take the truck.”

Reaching into his back pocket, he opens his wallet and pulls out some cash, tossing it into the middle of the table while Noah downs the rest of his milk.

“I have money,” I insist. I can contribute to my own expenses.

But he just argues back. “So do I,” he says. “We don’t need de Haas money in this house.”

de Haas money.

He slips his wallet back into his pocket, and I glance down at the hundred bucks he dropped on the table—far more than I actually need.

But I think he knows that. He just wants me to see that he can accommodate my lofty standards as much as his brother could.

Unfortunately, I can’t stop myself. “You won’t take de Haas money, but you’ll take a de Haas.”

And I raise my eyes again, locking gazes with him. If he resents my parents’ money in this house, then surely he resents me in this house, too.

“You’re ours,” he states plainly. “We pay for what you need.”

I stare at him another moment, and then Noah reaches into the middle of the table, snatching up the cash.

“I’ll go with her. I need some shit.”

We both get up, clearing our plates and loading the dishwasher.

“Toss the plastic bags into the barrel when you unpack groceries,” Jake tells us, still eating at the table. “I’m burning trash this afternoon.”

I stop and glare at the back of his head. “Burning trash?” I repeat, searching for an argument he’ll listen to. “Please…don’t. It’s bad for you, breathing it in, and it’s really bad for the planet.” I circle the table to face him. “It’s illegal for a reason.”

Burning leaves is one thing. But plastic and…

His fork clangs on the plate, and he picks his cup of coffee up. “Garbage trucks don’t get up here, sweetheart.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I retort. “You can’t burn plastic or inked paper or—”

“California girls are environmentally conscious, aren’t they?” Noah laughs from the sink. “No plastic straws. You have to bring your own bags to the supermarket. I hear they only flush the toilet every other time they go, too.”

I dig in my eyebrows so deep it hurts. “Yeah, sometimes we’ll even shower together to conserve water. It’s awesome.”

I hear Jake snort, and I drop my eyes again, arching an eyebrow at myself. Not sure where my newfound sarcasm came from, but I harden my jaw, not allowing myself to enjoy it.

I turn to leave, but I stop and glare at Jake again. “And that de Haas money is hard-earned,” I say. “My parents made contributions to the world. People value what they did whether you liked them or not. Whether I liked them or not.”

I blink at the words coming out of my mouth, surprising myself. But while I had my problems with my parents, I realize for the first time that I’m a little protective of their legacy.

“The world will remember them,” I point out.

“And so will I.” Jake leans back in his chair, regarding me with an amused look. “Especially with you around.”

I hesitate, his words unnerving me for some reason. The sense of permanence in his tone. Like I’m here to stay.

“I might not stick around,” I suddenly blurt out.

But then I immediately regret it. He took me in when he didn’t have to. And I came here willingly. I should be more grateful.

But…he did threaten to keep me here against my will yesterday, too.

“You’re kind of a prick sometimes,” I tell him.

Noah jerks his head in our direction, his eyes wide as his gaze darts from me to his father.

But Jake makes no move, just sitting there and looking at me with the same amusement on his face.

“I’m a teddy bear, Tiernan.” He stands up, his fingers threaded through the handle of his coffee cup. “You still haven’t met Kaleb yet.”

I hear Noah laugh behind him, both of them in on some joke I clearly don’t understand. I twist around, heading up to my room to clean up.

“Put on a proper shirt before you go out!” Jake yells after me.

I snarl to myself, stomping a little harder on the stairs than I mean to.

I make your food. It’s really not smart to provoke me.

I shower quickly, getting the sticky heat off me, as well as the dirt and smell from the barn. I’m pretty sure I’ll have to shower again later, just so I can wash my hair. I don’t have time right now, though.

Running a brush through my hair, I slip on the same baseball cap Noah loaned me this morning and rush out of the room with my little crossbody purse and wearing a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

Jake is actually pretty stocked on food, especially fresh stuff, but in the rush to come here, I’d forgotten to arrange for a few…other things I’d need.

When I walk outside, Noah is already waiting for me. He sits on a dirt bike with a helmet on his head and another one in his hand.

I hesitate for a moment, glancing at the truck behind his bike. Are we driving separately or…?

“What are you doing?” I ask, stepping down the wide wooden steps.

“Taking us to town.”

He holds the spare helmet out to me, and I look down at it and then back up to him, seeing wisps of his blond hair hanging over his forehead under the helmet.

I raise my eyebrows. We’re taking the bike to town? “Where are the groceries supposed to go?” I ask him.

But he just laughs under his breath, turns on the bike, and twists the handle, revving the engine. “Climb on. I don’t bite,” he tells me. And then he shoots me a mischievous look. “My little cousins, anyway.”

I almost roll my eyes. Taking the helmet, I fix it over my baseball cap, but the front knocks the bill of the hat, making the fit uncomfortable. I fumble for a moment, finally pulling off the helmet again and then the hat.

But Noah takes my arms, stopping me. “Like this,” he says. And he takes the hat, fits it backward onto my head, and then plops the helmet down over it, the bill now resting at the back of my skull.

Oh.

I’d rather have the cap in town, since my hair is in shambles right now, so this works.

He fastens the strap under my chin, and I try to avert my eyes, but he has this lazy half-smile on his lips that kind of makes my body hum. And blue eyes behind black lashes with the sides of his gray T-shirt cut out to show off golden, muscular arms, and he wears persistently scruffy jeans, because he never has to try too hard to impress anyone.

I’m jealous. He doesn’t have a plan in the world.

It might’ve been a little nice to have cousins growing up. Maybe it would’ve been fun if I’d spent my summers here, growing up in the sun and the banter and the dirt with him.

He makes me less nervous than Jake, too.

His eyes meet mine, and I look away, taking over and forcing his hands away as I finish tightening the strap.

“You ever been on a motorcycle?” he asks.

“No.” I climb on behind him, situating my purse to my side as it hangs across my body.

“I’m gentle,” he assures me. “Ask any girl.”

“I’m not any girl,” I say, sliding my arms around him and locking my hands in front. “You hurt me, and you still have to go home with me and deal with me.”

“Good point.”

He snaps the visor on his own helmet down and takes off, making my breath catch in my throat.

Jesus. I instinctively tighten my hold and clench my thighs around him as my stomach drops into my feet. The bike wobbles more than a truck, and I dart my eyes side to side, trying to keep my balance, but he’s not slowing down, and all I can really do is hold on. He might know what he’s doing, but this is new to me. I blink long and hard and then simply look down, keeping my eyes off the road.

These hills were a little steep coming up in the truck with Jake. I don’t think I need to see us going down on a dirt bike. Is this even street legal?

I hold him close, just staring at his T-shirt, so I won’t look at anything else, but after a moment, I try to loosen my grip on him a little. I’m plastered to his back. I’m probably making him uncomfortable.

But he takes one hand off a handle and pulls my arms tighter around him again, forcing my chest into his back.

He turns his head, raising his visor. “Hold on!” he shouts.

Fine. I refasten my hands around him.

We ride all the way down the gravel drive and come to the paved road, turning left and heading back the same way I came up two days ago, gravity forcing my body into Noah’s the entire time.

Once we’re on blacktop, and the terrain is a little more even, I raise my eyes and take in the trees on both sides, as well as the dense wooded areas surrounding us. Slopes, cliffs, and rockfalls, I’m seeing the land around us a lot more clearly than when I came up in the dark the day before yesterday.

Jake isn’t lying. Even with all the trees that will shed their leaves in the winter, there are lots of conifers which will block visibility in the heavy snows. The land changes, gullies suddenly rising into steep cliffs, and the sides of the road are decorated with sporadic piles of rocks that spilled from uncertain land. It’s dangerous enough to be up here in good weather. The city won’t pay for a truck to shovel snow and salt the roads for one family.

Which—I’m guessing—is exactly how my uncle wants it. Does Noah like it that way? His words from yesterday play back in my head. I would leave. I would leave in a heartbeat. You’re here, and you don’t have to be. I have to be here, but I don’t want to be.

So why does he stay? Jake can’t make him. He’s a legal adult.

We twist and turn, winding down the road as it turns into a highway, and it takes a good twenty minutes before we see the town come into view. A couple of steeples peek out from the tops of the trees, and brick buildings line streets shaded with abundant green maples that I know will be orange and red come October.

We come to our first stop sign, and he lifts up his visor now that we’re slowing down.

“Do you have others?” I ask. “Cousins, I mean?”

I don’t know why I care.

But he just shakes his head. “No.” And then thinks better of it. “Well, maybe. I don’t know.”

I’m it on his father’s side, so that just leaves his mom. Where is she? I haven’t known Jake long, but it’s hard picturing him domesticated. Were they married?

For a moment, it’s easy to think well of him, raising two boys on his own, but it’s also easy to understand how he could drive someone so far up the wall that she ran for the hills.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask Noah about her, but if he tells me something sad, like she’s dead or abandoned them at birth, I don’t know how to respond to things I can’t do anything about. My sympathy just comes off disingenuous.

He grips his handlebars, the veins in his forearms bulging out of his skin, and I tighten my hold as he takes off again, entering the main drag of town with all the shops lining the street.

We pull up to a store and park, Noah backing into a space and turning off the bike.

“I’ll teach you to ride if you want,” Noah offers as we climb off and remove our helmets. “If you stay.”

I follow his lead, leaving my helmet on the other handlebar and turn my cap back around, following him onto the sidewalk. “You barely know me, and I’m not friendly,” I mumble. “Why do you want me to stay?”

“Because nothing changes up on the peak. Not ever.”

What does that mean?

I enter the store, not responding, because I’m not sure what he’s talking about.

“Hey, Sheryl,” he calls out, and the lady at the counter smiles back at him as she hands a customer her bag.

I look around, seeing the store is really small. For crying out loud, there’s like six aisles. They better have ramen.

“Grab what you need,” Noah tells me. “I’ll meet you at the register.”

And he heads off, disappearing down an aisle to the right.

I take a basket from the stack, thankful he’s headed in the opposite direction, and veer off to the back, toward the pharmacy.

The store is small, but it’s kind of cute. It has the turn-of-the-century vibe with an old-fashioned register and polished wood everywhere. I pass a bar with an old soda fountain and a menu of sundaes and other treats, a couple of patrons sitting on stools and enjoying homemade milkshakes.

Stopping at the counter in the back of the store, I quickly look around for Noah before I address the pharmacist.

“May I help you?” he says with a smile.

“Yes,” I say quietly. “I’d like to have a prescription transferred to here, if possible. Do I just give you the phone number of my pharmacy back home?”

“Oh, yes.” He pulls a pen out of his white jacket and slides a pad of paper over. “That’s easy. I’ll just call your pharmacy. We can have it refilled for you today.”

Cool.

“The number, please?”

I dictate the number, watching him write it down. “213-555-3100.”

“Your name?”

“Tiernan de Haas. Birthdate eleven—one—of oh one.”

“And what is the prescription for?” he asks.

I glance around for Noah again. “Um, it’s the only prescription I have with them.”

He raises his eyes, laughing a little. “I just need the name, so I know what to confirm with them.”

I tap my foot. “Tri-Sprintec,” I answer quickly without moving my lips.

He nods as if he’s never had an overly nosy and playful cousin who would just love to know why I’m on birth control and why-ever would I need it, locked on a mountain all winter without access to men.

I watch him make the call, enter things on the computer, and finally hang up.

He looks over at me. “Give me ten minutes,” he says before he turns around to head into the back.

I’m tempted to ask him to fill several months in advance, but I don’t know yet if I’m staying, so if I need more to get me through the winter, I’ll just come back. With the truck and without Noah next time.

Honestly, I don’t even need to be on the pill, much less on it all winter, but it’s easier to stay on the routine I’ve been on since I was fourteen than to stop and have to start again.

I move through the store, finding a few things on my list here and there. Some snacks I like, more sunscreen, the multi-vitamins I forgot, and some candles. I grab a spare set of ear buds, some pens and paper, and I find the ramen in the last aisle. It’s the cheap forty-seven-cent stuff, but I want it.

“Hey,” a female voice says behind me.

I turn, seeing a woman about my age staring at me.

“Hi,” I say back. But I retreat a step, because she’s close.

She’s in tight jeans, work boots, and has long, dark hair hanging down in loose curls. Her hands are tucked into a fitted camo sweatshirt, and her full red lips are slightly pursed.

“Nice hat,” she says.

Is it? I don’t think I even read what it said before Noah gave it to me, and I put it on. It’s not new, though.

“Thank you.”

Her red lips are tight and her eyes narrow on me. Does she know me? I haven’t met anyone yet.

I continue around her, moving down the aisle.

“Are you one of the racers’ girlfriends?” she inquires, following me as I walk.

I glance at her as I pick up a loofah and some body wash. Racers’ girlfriends?

Oh, right. There’s a Motocross scene up here. Not sure why she would think that has anything to do with me.

“No. Sorry.”

I continue down the aisle, but she keeps trailing me.

“Then where did you get that hat?”

My hat… I stop and turn my head toward her, opening my mouth to answer, but then I close it again. Have I done something wrong? Who is she?

“If you’re not with Motocross,” she asks again, “then how’d you get that swag?”

“Someone gave it to me.” I reply tightly and move up to the register, grabbing a bag of coffee beans on my way. “Is there a problem?”

“Just askin’,” she replies. “You don’t live here, do you?”

I almost snort. She sounds so hopeful.

I keep my mouth shut, though. I’m not sure if this is a small-town thing, but where I’m from we don’t dole out personal information just because someone is an uncontrollable, nosy-parker. She might think I’m rude, but in L.A., we call it “not getting robbed, raped, or killed.”

“She does live here, actually,” Noah answers her, coming up to my side. “She lives with us.”

And then he dumps an armful of crap onto the counter and puts his arm around me, grinning at the woman like he’s rubbing something in.

What’s going on?

But something catches my attention, and I drop my gaze to the pile of stuff he’s buying. I narrow my eyes as I count. One, two, three…

Eight boxes of condoms. Eight.

I shoot him a look, cocking an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t need the economy size they sell online?”

“Can I get it by tonight?” he retorts, looking down at me.

I roll my eyes, but I kind of feel like I want to smile or…laugh, because he’s such an idiot.

But I hold it back.

I look away, because I can’t respond with anything witty, and he just laughs, his demeanor cooling when he focuses his attention back on the woman.

“Step off,” he warns her.

She looks between him and me, and finally walks out as Sheryl starts to ring up our groceries. I pull a couple reusable grocery bags off the nearby rack and drop them on the counter, too.

I guess I was right. She was being rude, because Noah seemed out of patience with her on arrival.

“Cici Diggins,” he tells me, taking out the cash his father put on the table. “Gets real insecure when something prettier comes into town.”

Meaning me?

“She won’t be happy about you living with us,” Noah adds.

“Why?”

“You’ll find out.” He laughs and takes the grocery bags. “I’m going to have too much fun watching this play out.”

Watching what play out? I frown. I don’t like drama.

I let Noah carry the stuff outside as I run back to the pharmacy to pick up my prescription. I toss out the bag and slip the credit card-like pill package into my back pocket as I leave the store.

As I approach the bike, I see a huge backpack secured in front of the handlebars, and I let out a breath, relieved I wouldn’t have to try to carry this stuff and hold onto him on the ride home.

I flip my hat backward again and pick up my helmet, seeing Noah staring across the street with his helmet still in his hand. A slight smirk plays on his lips.

I follow his gaze.

Some guy—the same guy, I think, that came to the house with the group of bikers yesterday—sits at a table at a café with a bunch of others, he and Noah locked in a stare.

I thought he might be Kaleb, but he doesn’t look like he grew up milking cows and cleaning horse stalls. The guy is dressed in the kind of jeans that men who deep condition their hair wear, and he looks like his name is Blaine and his favorite type of girls are named Kassidee.

“You know him, right?” I turn back to Noah.

He nods, “Terrance Holcomb. Up and coming Motocross star.” And then he pulls me into his body, and a gasp lodges in my throat as he fastens my chin strap for me. “And he’s not looking at me, Tiernan.”

Noah gets close, his chest brushing mine and making tingles spread through my belly, and I suddenly go blank. Who were we talking about again?

He leans in, his breath falling across my face, and I notice a three-inch scar down his jaw as he gives me a wicked little smile.

“What are you doing?” I ask. Why’s he so close?

But he just smirks again. “Rubbing it in,” he answers. And then his eyes dart behind me to the guy across the street as he tightens my strap. “That you’re untouchable to him.”

Because why? I’m yours? Gross.

“You’re nauseating,” I grumble.

And he just chuckles, shoving me away playfully and slipping on his own helmet.

We climb back on the bike and waste no time heading back toward home. I thought for sure he’d try to diddle around with friends or a girlfriend, but he races through town like he’s in a hurry.

Or in a hurry to get me back.

I start putting pieces together in my head. The little show he just put on for that guy in town. Jake’s advice that I stay away from local guys. The order to put on a proper shirt before I left today. Father and son don’t get along well, but they seem to have that in common, at least. Both of them are stifling.

It’s not entirely awful. I might’ve liked to see my father act that way from time to time. Really stifling is bad. A little stifling…I don’t know. Kind of feels like someone cares, I guess. Maybe I would’ve liked more rules growing up.

Unfortunately for Jake and Noah, I’ve learned to live without them, so it’s a little late.

I hold tight onto Noah as he climbs the roads up into the mountains again, but thankfully he’s going much slower now, because I feel gravity pulling me backward, and I’m afraid I’ll slide off the bike.

I fist my hands, my muscles burning as I hold onto him.

When we get to a spot where the terrain evens out, I loosen my grip to relax my arms for a moment, and he pulls off to the side of the road, the bike resting at the edge of a precipice.

My stomach flips a moment, but then I notice the view through the trees below. The town spreads before us in a valley with the backdrop of the mountains, trees, and land lying in the distance. The great expanse—everything in one picture—makes my heart swell.

“Wow,” I say under my breath.

We sit there for several moments, taking in the view, and Noah removes his helmet, running his hand through his hair.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” he asks.

I blink, coming back to reality. My parents just died. Should I be chatty?

But I swallow the words before I can speak them. Their passing isn’t why I am the way I am, but I’m not explaining myself just because everyone else has their idea of what ‘normal’ should be.

“My dad thinks you resent your parents and that’s why you’re not sad about them dying,” Noah says, still looking out at the valley below. “I think you are sad, but not as much as you’re angry, because actually, it was the other way around, wasn’t it? They resented you.”

I harden my jaw. He and his father talked about me? Who says I’m not sad? How would he know anything? Is there some checklist of specified behavior that’s acceptable when family members die? Some people commit suicide after a loved one’s death. Is that proof they’re sadder than me?

I drop my arms from his body.

“We’ve got the Internet here, too, you know?” he says. “Hannes and Amelia de Haas. They were obsessed with each other.”

He turns his head, so I can see his lips as he talks, but I’m frozen.

He goes on, “And they had a kid, because that’s what they thought they were supposed to do, and then they realized parenthood wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Raising you took them away from each other.”

I force the needles down my throat, feeling the tears start to pool, but I don’t let them collect. How does he know all that?

“So, they turned you over to whoever they could as soon as you were old enough,” he tells me. “Boarding schools, sleepaway summer camps, nannies…”

My chin shakes, and I let it, because I know he can’t see me.

“You didn’t resent your parents,” he finally says. “You loved them.”

Hours later, long after I’ve gone to bed, I hear his words again. Raising you took them away from each other. They resented you. You loved them.

No.

I try to back away, but something has my hand, and it aches. I pull and yank, but the pain grows stronger, and I keep taking steps back, but no matter how hard I try I’m not going anywhere, and I can’t get my hand free.

What has me? Let go. Let go.

I loved them once. I did. But…

I wrack my hand, trying to get it loose from whatever has it, but I can’t turn, and I can’t run.

I loved them once. But not now.

I don’t know. I don’t know.

My eyes snap open, and I feel my cold thumb against the bare skin of my stomach. I blink and sit up, the pain in my hand throbbing as I wince. I look down and see my hand is caught in my T-shirt, the small hole I went to bed with now a gaping tear in the shirt.

I pull my hand free, fisting it to get the blood flowing again.

“Shit,” I hiss.

And then I shoot out my other hand, knocking my alarm clock off the nightstand with a growl.

I came here to get space. To get away, but if anything, I’m more fucked up than when I came. Three days, and I’m having nightmares and night terrors for the first time since fourth grade. I don’t need this shit. Noah had no business bringing up personal things with me, much less regarding a situation he knows nothing about. If I want to talk, I will.

Wiping the sweat off my upper lip, I throw off the covers, turn on the lamp, and hit the ground, digging under the bed for my suitcase. I don’t have to go home, but I don’t have to stay here. They don’t like me. I don’t like them. There are tons of places where people will leave me alone. I’ve always wanted to go to Costa Rica. Rent a treehouse. Hike with the spiders and the snakes. Live amongst the insects of unusual size. All of it sounds worlds better than here.

Charging out of the room, I head downstairs, seeing every light is off and hearing the grandfather clock ticking away.

Jake will be up in a few hours. I should leave before he wakes. I’m not sure how far I’ll get. It’ll probably take me two days just to walk back to town with my luggage.

Swinging around the bannister and heading into the kitchen, I open the door to the garage and jog down the five steps to the washer and dryer. Chills spread down my legs, bare in my sleep shorts from the cold night, and I open the dryer, pulling out the small load of clothes I’d dried earlier, including Noah’s flannel.

I pull out a new, clean T-shirt, lifting up my ripped one to quickly change.

But the doorknob to the shop door suddenly jiggles.

I jerk my head left, dropping my shirt back down.

My mouth falls open and a thousand thoughts race through my head as I train my ears in case I misheard. Jake and Noah are upstairs asleep, right? It’s after one in the morning.

Less than a second later, the handle shakes again, and a thud lands on the other side of the door. I jump and grab a rusty, steel bar off the worktable. I stand frozen a moment longer before backing up and deciding to run back in the house to get my uncle.

But before I can spin around, the door is suddenly kicked open, and I suck in a breath as leaves blow in with the wind, and I see a mess of animal and blood as I stumble back into the railing and fall. I land on my ass and catch myself on my hands behind me, the breath knocked out of me. What the hell?

A man steps over the threshold of the shop, wearing jeans and blood running down his bare chest from the dead animal carcass hanging around his neck. I watch, my mouth suddenly dry and my heart lodged in my throat, as he walks over to the long wooden table and slings the dead deer, foot-long antlers and all, onto the table and turns around to kick the shop door closed again.

I gape in horror. Streams of blood run down his back, covering his spine, and I dart my eyes over to the animal, seeing its head hang limply off the table. I look away for a moment, pushing the bile back down my throat.

Is he where the deer came from that was here when I arrived a few days ago, too?

Turning around, his eyes meet mine as he heads to the wash basin next to the dryer. He looks away again and turns on the water.

I try to wet my mouth, generate any kind of saliva, but the blood all over him… Jesus. I fist my palms behind me.

Who…?

And then it finally hits me.

This is Kaleb. The older son.

He pulls up the hose and leans over the sink, running the water over his dark hair and down his back, cleaning the mess off his body. When he stands up straight again, I watch as he rubs the water over the back of his neck, and I notice a thin, faint tattoo running vertically from the bottom of his skull to his shoulder. Some kind of script.

His hands glide down, over his stomach, making the muscles there flex and the water drench his jeans. The overhead bulb swings back and forth from the wind he let in, the light hitting him and then the darkness swallowing him up again.

But I see him turn his head again—looking at me. His dark eyes fall down my body and stop, zoning in with his jaw flexing, and my stomach flips and then drops, every hair on my body standing on end. The room suddenly feels so small.

I inhale a breath. “Um, you’re, uh…” I say, standing up. “You’re… um, Kaleb, right?”

He meets my eyes again, and I see that his aren’t really dark, after all. They’re green.

But he looks mad.

His black eyebrows narrow, casting this shadow over his gaze, and he turns back around as if I’m not here, finishing his washing. He turns off the water and grabs a shop cloth, wiping off his face and neck and then runs it over the top of his head, smoothing his hair back and soaking up the drenched strands.

Hello?

What’s his problem? Why isn’t he answering me?

As he turns toward me, though, and tosses the shop cloth into the sink, he meets my eyes again, holding my stare, and then he cocks his head a little. I almost laugh. The gesture makes him look so innocent. Like a curious puppy.

But then his loaded eyes drop to my stomach again, and his chest rises and falls heavier, and I clench my thighs. Instinctively, I put my hand where his eyes are, and I feel it.

The bare skin of my stomach.

My breath catches in my throat, and I look down, seeing I’m still wearing my ripped T-shirt, the fabric torn and exposing my belly. I cringe. This whole time…

But as I trail my hand, my fingers brush the exposed underside of my fucking breast, and I stop breathing altogether. I pull down my shirt as much as it will go and back up, ready to scramble for the stairs.

As soon as I move, he moves, walking right for me. He approaches, droplets of water hanging from his skin, and I dart toward the stairs, but he shoots out his hand, grabs me, and shoves me into the wall instead.

Wha…

I gasp, fear curdling in my stomach.

He presses his body into mine, taking my waist in one hand and planting his other hand on the wall above my head, and dips his forehead down to mine, looking into my eyes. The embrace is intimate, and it feels like he’ll kiss me, but he doesn’t. I open my mouth to say something, but his breath brushes my lips—hot and heady—and the room is spinning.

He’s cold, but I feel warmer inside. Like I’m about to sweat.

Reaching up, he takes the ribbon I’m wearing and runs it through his fingers before bringing a lock of my hair to his nose and smelling it.

Then he dips to the side, running his nose over my ear, up my hairline, and across my forehead, inhaling me.

Smelling me.

It’s weird, but I can’t move. I shiver, pleasure at the gesture making my body react. My skin tightens, the flesh of my nipples pebbling and chafing against my T-shirt, and I close my eyes for a moment, loving the electric current flowing under my skin.

I should push him away.

I can’t lift my arms for some reason, though.

“I, um,” I choke out. “I don’t think you should—”

But he reaches between us with one hand, his forehead resting on mine with fire in his eyes as he starts ripping open his belt and undoing his jeans.

Whoa, what? My mouth falls open. “Wait, stop.” I plant my hands on his chest. “You can’t…What are you…”

But he presses himself into me, breathing harder with his teeth bared a little, and I feel the hard ridge of him rubbing between my legs.

I exhale hard, my eyelids fluttering.

He slides his hands down the back of my shorts, cupping my ass as he lifts me into his arms and spins us around. My stomach somersaults, and I can only grab onto him as he lands me down on the hood of a car, pulling my ass forward, so he nestles between my legs.

“Kaleb,” I say, trying to push him away. “Kal—”

He fists the back of my hair and presses his body into mine as he comes down on my mouth, hungry and wild, kissing me and shutting me up. His tongue dives in, and I moan with the throbbing down low.

Stop!

Holy shit.

He rolls his hips into me, faster and faster, breathing hard as he bites and chews at my lips before sucking on my tongue so hard, my thighs are on fire.

What the hell is he doing? Fuck! Have we met or something?

I finally swallow. “Stop!” I shout, my pulse ringing in my ears. “Stop. Just stop!”

But he comes down on top of me, forcing me back onto the car, and his hot mouth finds my stomach.

I shake my head, tears hanging at the corners, because it feels so good, and I don’t want it to. I don’t want him to go lower. I don’t want to wrap my legs around him. None of this feels good or warm, and none of it makes me feel soft on the inside like I could kiss him back.

I close my eyes as his lips suck and nibble their way across my stomach, and I feel air hit my left breast, knowing it’s popped out from the rip in the shirt again. I feel him pause, and I dig my nails into the car, because I know he sees it.

I wait for it, wanting to shake my head to stop him, but failing at even trying, and then… he catches my nipple between his teeth, his warm mouth sending heat pouring over my whole body. I let out a loud groan, hearing my nails screech across the hood of the car.

“Please stop,” I murmur, but I know he hears me. He growls and yanks me back down to the end of the car, diving for my stomach again as he starts to pull off my sleep shorts.

I grit my teeth together. “Stop,” I mutter.

But he doesn’t. His kisses only get lower, trailing over my hip bones as he eats me up, and warmth pools between my legs, almost burning with needing something there.

“Stop,” I mouth.

He gets my shorts and panties down over my ass and comes down, sucking my lower belly, just an inch above my clit, and I rise up, growling as I slap him across the face. “Stop, I said! Stop!”

He freezes, looking at me in the eye and glaring. Sweat glistens down his neck, and his breathing is ragged as he digs his fingers in my hips, fisting his hands.

“When someone tells you to stop, you stop!” I bark. “Can’t you fucking understand? Are you stupid or something?”

And he snarls, grabbing me by my upper arms and scowling down at me. A whimper escapes, but I scowl right-the-fuck back.

His chest heaves, and I can feel the heat on his breath and still see the desire in his eyes, and I feel it, too, even though I hate to admit it. For a moment there—maybe longer—I wanted to do this. For a moment, I was soft again.

It was hard to stop.

But this is his fault. I told him to stop like six times, and I certainly didn’t invite the attention, so his blue balls are on him. I don’t have to love the first person I fuck, but I don’t want to be scared, either. He’s like a machine.

He glares down at me, not letting go, and I stare back.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey,” someone says, rushing into the garage. “Stop! Man, get off her.”

Noah comes up, pulling Kaleb’s fingers off my arms and pushing him away.

“Dude, she ain’t a townie,” he tells Kaleb, holding his shoulders and looking him in the eye.

But Kaleb’s glower is still on me. I quickly slide off the hood of the car and fix my shorts, seeing his gaze fall down my body again. Not a townie? Like it’s okay to treat anyone like that?

“Dude, look at me,” Noah barks at him.

Slowly, Kaleb pulls his gaze away and finally meets his brother’s.

“It’s Dad’s… brother’s daughter,” Noah explains, and I hear humor in his tone. “Remember? The step-brother he hates? This is his kid.” Noah gestures to me. “She’s family. She’s staying with us for a while. You can’t fuck her.”

And then Noah releases him, laughing under his breath.

“This isn’t funny!” I snap. And then I glare at Kaleb, now able to finally find my goddamn voice. “What the hell is the matter with you? Huh?”

“Just cut him some slack,” Noah says. “He’s always starving when he comes back from being in the woods this long.”

“Then eat!”

“That’s what he was doing,” Noah shoots back, glancing at me.

Eating.

Eating me.

Oh, you’re fucking clever, aren’t you? Assholes.

Kaleb watches me, cocking his head a little to the side again, and then he brings up his thumb, wiping the corner of his mouth like you do after a meal.

In the woods. In. That’s what they meant. Kaleb disappears into the forest for spells.

Maybe he should disappear again.

“Why do you keep answering for him?” I ask Noah.

“Because he doesn’t talk.”

“What?”

“He doesn’t speak, Tiernan.” Noah turns his head only enough for me to see his lips move. “He hasn’t spoken since he was four years old.”

I look at Kaleb, not sure how to process the information. A touch of pity winds through me, but I think he sees it, because he glares down at me as he refastens his jeans and yanks his belt free, the end of it snapping in the air with his anger.

I flex my jaw. “Is he deaf, too?” I snap. “I told him to stop.”

“He can hear you just fine.” Noah sighs. “He’s just not used… to women…”

“Saying no?”

“Women like you,” Noah retorts.

Like me? There are plenty of girls like me in town.

Kaleb casts me one more look before he turns around and heads up the stairs, back into the house, and Noah faces me, his eyes taking in my clothes. I quickly pull my shirt down, but I’m too mad to be embarrassed.

I can’t remember why I came to the shop in the first place.

Mute? He’s mute? He can speak. Noah said he hasn’t spoken since he was four, not that he lost his ability to speak when he was four. Why doesn’t he talk?

And what does he do in the woods by himself?

I still see his eyes, looking down at me, when he pushed me into the wall and rested his forehead against mine. The way he looked at me…

His mouth on my… My cheeks warm.

“He won’t do it again,” Noah tells me, turning around to face me with an amused smile. “He didn’t know who you were, Tiernan. Sorry.”

He lingers for a moment longer and then turns to leave, following his brother.

And I stand in the garage, staring at the slivers in the hood of the car where I scratched the paint just a few minutes ago. For several minutes, I’m lost in thought about where that would’ve gone if Noah hadn’t come in. If I hadn’t forced myself to push his brother away.

And how much of it might not have been Kaleb’s fault.