I'm trapped. Exactly where he wants me.
But I can't let him win. I'm a master at this mental game. It's how I've survived out here on my own for so long, and I don’t know what it is that's making me lose it this time. Maybe it's because I'm out of practice? Or maybe it's that I thought I was free.
Or maybe it's Sloane.
He didn't just send her here as a message. He sent her knowing she'd get under my skin and eat away at my conscience, and now I'm not just preparing for war. I'm also preparing to do it knowing there's something in this whole thing I might lose.
Just like my friendship with Domingo.
Just like my conscience in business.
Just like that little kid, burned alive because I didn't do my job as thoroughly as I should have.
Sloane is a liability. But she's one I won't give up.
That's where Cal Maddox read me wrong.
12
SLOANE
Ipull the quilt tighter around my shoulders and stare at the ceiling. The bedroom's cold even though the fire's burning in the main room, and I just can't seem to get warm. Or maybe it's not the temperature. Maybe it's the guilt eating through my chest, making everything feel colder than it should.
I was cruel back in the truck when we were fighting. I said things I didn't mean. And I feel bad about that now. Since the moment I showed up here, I've been a pain in Dane's ass, and all he's done is take care of me, even when I provoked him to anger. And now I've gone and made it worse, even if I did have noble intentions toward my friend.
He's being tormented by these packages. Week after week, someone's dragging up every terrible thing he's ever done and forcing him to relive it. And instead of supporting him and showing him we're in this together, I threw a fucking tantrum.
God, I'm selfish.
I sit up, pushing the quilt aside, and swing my legs out of bed. The floor is cold beneath my bare feet. I grab one of his flannelshirts from the chair and pull it on over the tank top I'm wearing, then pad into the main room. The fire crackles, and I shiver, but I look to the kitchen where his coffee pot sits on the counter, still half full from this morning.
I want to do something to make this better, so I pour a cup and add the ridiculous amount of sugar he pretends not to want but always drinks anyway. Then I stand there as the microwave reheats it, trying to figure out how to apologize to a man who doesn't accept apologies easily.
He's trying to reform himself. That's what this whole thing is about, isn't it? He left that life, walked away from the violence and the killing, and started over here in the mountains. It might not be much—a cabin, some solitude—but it's his. And he's letting me share that for now.
If changing my appearance is what it takes to keep us safe, then that's what I'll do. He was right about Wade. If the sheriff doesn't buy our story, everything falls apart. Dane goes to prison for harboring me. I get sent home where Cal can find me easily. We both lose.
So I'll cut my hair. Bleach it. Become someone else for a while.
I dig under the bathroom sink and find some bleach, then find the scissors on the bathroom counter and grab the coffee from the microwave and carry the supplies out to the barn, coffee in one hand, bleach and scissors in the other.
The door is cracked open, and I push through and find Dane inside pacing. His jacket is off, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, and the package from earlier sits open on the workbench—another box, another horror I don't understand. From here I cansee what looks like glass, maybe an ornament, but I can't make out the details.
And Dane barely notices me. This is eating him alive and I hate that I can't stop it.
"Hey." I keep my voice soft this time as I tiptoe in and raise the mug in surrender.
He looks up at me and grunts, "What are you doing out here?" But his voice is strained. Maybe I've read him all wrong and he's not hiding from me. Maybe he's hiding from his past, and that's why he's out here so much.
"Bringing you coffee." I hold up the mug. "And an apology."
He doesn't take the coffee at first, but his expression hardens for a moment.
"I'm sorry," I say, moving closer. "For being selfish and stubborn and not thinking about what you're dealing with. You're right about Wade. And I should've listened instead of fighting you."
He takes the coffee now, wrapping both hands around the mug but not drinking. "You were right too. I can't ask you to erase yourself just because I'm scared."
"You weren't wrong to be scared. This…" I gesture at the package on the workbench. "This is serious. Someone's trying to destroy you, piece by piece. And I made it worse by being reckless."
