I peer out the window. “Yep.”
“Good. Make sure you lock up and set the alarm when you get there.”
“I will.”
“And if a serial killer comes—”
“I’ll dive off the dock and swim to the Martin house.”
Mom and I have discussed many a contingency plan about how to escape a killer. I’m not too worried about getting murdered in Lake Tahoe, though. Our house is in a gated, affluent neighborhood, a nice perk that comes from having a father with a long and illustrious career in professional hockey alongside my surrogate uncle Garrett. Our families can afford nice things, and while I don’t consider myself spoiled, I recognize how fortunate I am and try to never take that for granted.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Mom’s voice softens. “On the Isaac front, I mean.”
“I’m fine,” I assure her, then repeat the motto she recited to me growing up whenever something shitty happened. Like in the fifthgrade when my best friend dumped me for no perceivable reason and proceeded to bully me for six torturous months. “Bruised but not broken, right?”
“Exactly. I love you, my girl.”
“Love you too.”
I slide the phone into my purse and focus out the window, the dark scenery blurring past my vision. The driver doesn’t try to make small talk, and I adore him for that. I haven’t been good company to anyone since Isaac decided to film himself in a cowboy costume smacking Heather’s ass as he fucked her from behind.
Did I mention they made their little tape on Halloween?
Heather was dressed as a sexy astronaut and kept screaming “Yes, Houston!” I don’t think she realized Houston isn’t a person. They both set women’s lib back about a hundred years.
This summer away is going to be good for me. I desperately need it. And not to nurse a broken heart like my parents believe. With every day that passes, Isaac gets smaller in my mental rearview mirror. Six weeks later, my ego is more bruised than my heart, and the more pressing issue weighing me down is what the hell I’m going to do with my life.
I banish the familiar doubts and frustrations, because thanks to my mom, I’ve been given a reprieve. I don’t need to figure it all out right this second. I have three months to come up with a plan.
Three months to get to know myself.
The car’s tires crunch over gravel, stopping at the enormous iron gates, where I have to lean halfway out the window to enter the code. A few moments later, the sprawling lake house comes into view.
Our house is a little…extra. Located on the west shore, it’s eight thousand square feet and offers panoramic views of the water and the surrounding Sierra Nevada mountains. It’s more of a compound ifanything, with the main house, various outbuildings, and a gorgeous two-story boathouse boasting its own four-bedroom apartment upstairs.
It was a long journey from Boston, but when the car stops and I glimpse the house, with its massive windows that reflect the lake and sky, every mile feels worth it.
As the driver hops out to get my suitcase, I step into the alpine air and inhale deeply. I love the way it smells here. So crisp and fresh. Like freedom.
“Thank you so much,” I tell the dark-haired man, then wait until the sedan disappears down the long drive before I turn toward the wide stone steps.
I input another code at the front entrance, and the huge double doors unlock for me. Another familiar smell fills my happy nostrils. Cedar, leather, and fireplace smoke. Inside is a mix of natural stone and exposed beams. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlook the wraparound upper deck, with gorgeous views of the lower deck, dock, and boathouse.
I roll my suitcase toward the grand staircase and leave it at the bottom. I’ll lug it up later. Upstairs are twelve bedrooms, most with en suite baths, while three of the rooms have wall-to-wall bunks to accommodate the large family gatherings we hold every summer. When I was younger, the girls would all pile into a room and have monthlong sleepovers. As the co-owning families, the Grahams and I get our own rooms now.
I go into the kitchen and open the fridge, not expecting much since Henry isn’t delivering groceries until tomorrow. But I’m startled to find a case of beer and an entire shelf of still and sparkling water. I reach for a bottle, then decidewhat the helland pry one of the beers from the case instead. It’s some artsy IPA, which makes no differenceto me because all beer tastes the same no matter where it’s from or what it’s called.
I wander through the great room toward the french doors and step onto the deck, sipping my beer as I approach the railing. The slight breeze tickles my neck, drawing my attention to the lake. Natural stone steps wind down to the second deck below and then lower still to the dock. We even have our own private beach and a long pier extending from the boathouse.
It’s cool out, but I don’t mind. I take the stairs down to the dock, the weathered slats creaking slightly beneath my sneakers as I walk to the edge. A sense of peace washes over me as I listen to the low drone of insects and the soft hush of water lapping at the wooden pillars beneath the deck.
The moon sits low in the sky tonight, practically in reach. Its light creates silvery lines across the water. Lake Tahoe is so beautiful. I could see myself living here full-time one day.
“This is going to be a good summer,” I murmur to myself.
My voice sounds so quiet in the still night air. I swallow another sip of my beer just as the dock creaks again. I catch a flash of movement and turn my head, and my heart rockets into my throat when I glimpse the shadowy figure only a few feet away.
He stumbles toward me, making a growling sound, thick and menacing.
