The past few weeks or so have been me justsurviving. Surviving out of my car. Surviving through the fire. Surviving through the gossip. Surviving through the instincts. I haven’tspoken to anyone. Not to Beck, not to Hayes, not to Ford. Hell, I’ve barely spoken to Tansy.
It’s going to be hard to leave her behind, to leave everyone behind, but I’ve left myself with no choice. If I don’t go now, then I might be trapped in a place that hates me forever.
But now, I’m at the finish line. Almost.
One more night, and I’m out. The town won’t even know I’m gone until I’m already too far to care.
It’s late. The rain’s pounding hard against the window. That’s how it always starts, isn’t it? A storm. The atmosphere has felt thick with it for a good few days now, and the house creaks under the pressure as if it’s about to fall in on me.
Doesn’t matter, though.
I’ll be out of here soon enough.
Back to doing the one thing that makes any of this worth it: exposing those who take advantage of others.
I’m sitting on the bed, blanket wrapped around me in a cocoon, hoping maybe I’ll just fall asleep through the whole thing and wake up with a one-way ticket out of town in my hand. But that’s not how my life works. It never has been.
That’s when I hear it.
A noise that doesn’t belong.
Not rain. Not wind.
Something else.
A soft, wet slap against the floorboards, like the storm has somehow gotten inside the house.
Oh, no. No, no, no.
I stand up, the blanket slipping off my shoulders as I stumble downstairs to the source of the noise. I can’t see anything at first, just the dim glow of the lamplight casting shadows across the room.
But then I spot it.
The water, creeping across the floor in little waves, dark and slick, pushing into the corners way too quickly for my liking.
Shit.
My heart kicks into overdrive, and I’m already moving before my brain can even process. The storm’s trying to drown me in my own house. My feet are wet before I even get to the hallway. There’s more water. It’s all over the place—the kind of water you don’t see until it’s already too late. It’s creeping in from under the doorframe, too. The smell of damp wood hits me with a punch to the gut.
Oh, god. Not now. Please.
I don’t even know where to start. My head’s a mess, heart racing, hands shaking. This is what happens when you try to cut corners. You skip a few repairs. You pretend things are fine. But the truth is, nothing is fine.
Nothing was ever fine.
The floodwater’s rising faster than I can even think. There’s no stopping it now. I grab a towel from the kitchen, but I might as well be mopping up the ocean with a dish rag. I’m useless, completely useless. My stomach churns with the realization that this is happening, that I’m not prepared for it, and that I never wanted to be here in the first place.
I need help.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, my hands shaking slightly, and dial Tansy’s number. The phone rings, each chime loud like a countdown to the chaos waiting to unfold. She picks up after the third ring, as if I haven’t been MIA for the past two weeks.
There’s way too much shock and excitement in her voice.
“Hey, Lo! What’s up?”
I try to sound casual, but my words come out rushed, frantic. “Tansy, I… look, I need your help. My house is flooding.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end, and I can hear her moving around. “What? How? Is it the pipes? What happened?”
