And more scared for her than I’ve ever been in my life.
I wait a moment before walking to my truck, half hoping the door will crack open again, that she’ll call after me, even by accident.
Nothing.
Just silence thick enough to choke on.
Whatever this is… It’s bigger than me. Bigger than her pride.
And I won’t let it consume her.
Even if she’s locking me out of the one place she needs me most.
Chapter 22
Lucky
ThesecondEthanstepsout, the silence punches me.
Then—
Click.
His weight leaves the porch.
Click.
I double-check the deadbolt and twist every lock on every window myself. One, two, three. My breath is shaking by the time the latch falls, but I keep going. Curtains. Blinds. Windows. Every damn thing that has a crack or a line of sight gets closed until the lake house feels like a bunker.
Only then do I slide down the hallway wall, knees to my chest.
And it hits me.
Him.
In my bed.
Breathing as if he belonged there.
Waiting.
Watching.
My lungs seize. I press my palms to my temples to stop the replay, but it doesn’t listen. Trauma never listens.
“You’re not there,” I whisper to myself. “You’re not in that house. You’re not twenty-one. He can’t find you. Jett hasn’t succeeded. The press hasn’t. You’re invisible here.”
Invisible.
It’s supposed to be comforting. My therapist called it a grounding phrase — something factual, something external.
But tonight it feels like an accusation.
I force myself to stand. My body feels hollow, like I’m piloting it from two rooms away. I fumble into the kitchen. Still dark. I don’t turn on the lights. Darkness is safer than visibility.
The kettle clicks on. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to still the tremors. My tea tastes like boiled metal and dread, but my therapist said routine helps.
So I drink it.
