I raise my eyebrows.
“You want to come with us?” he asks.
I look behind him, recognizing the guy from town yesterday.
Terrance. The one he apparently doesn’t like, but I guess they travel in the same circles, and it’s a small town, so… He pulls on his helmet, a smile in his eyes as he watches me.
I glance at Jake for a way out.
He jumps down from the bed, jerking his chin at me. “I have to make a run to town anyway. Go ahead,” he tells me. “Have fun, but stay with Noah.”
My stomach sinks. I don’t like being around people I don’t know. I don’t like being around people.
When I turn back around, though, I see Kaleb strolling out of the stables, pulling his shirt on, and the girl he had in the stall following him.
The girl from the store yesterday. The one who tried to get in my face.
I stare at her—tight jeans, loose green tank top, long black hair—and a brick sits in my stomach.
“Come on.” Noah holds a helmet out to me. “Ride with me.”
And for some reason, I kind of want to now. My feet move without thinking.
I walk over to Noah, meeting Terrance Holcomb’s eyes for a moment as I pass.
But as soon as I stop at Noah’s bike, turn my cap around, and reach for the helmet, another hand shoots out and pulls it away before I can get to it.
I look up, seeing Kaleb. He only hesitates a moment, glaring down at me, before tossing the helmet to the ground and away from me. Taking my arm, he pulls me away from the bikes, and I stumble and straighten just in time as he walks into me, forcing me backward.
My heart hammers in my chest as he stares down at me, and then he jerks his chin toward the house. He doesn’t have to say a word for me to know he’s ordering me inside.
Away from them. Away from him.
“Kaleb,” I hear Noah chide.
But snickers and snorts break out around the group, and despite the twinge of anger I feel, my eyes start to burn.
Away. He looks down at me, jerking his chin again. Away.
You’re not going.
Jake stands in the truck bed, suddenly aware something is going on, and I clench my jaw to fight the tears. Suddenly, I want nothing more than to be away. Where I can’t be seen or looked at or detested.
“No, it’s fine,” I say quietly to Noah, choking on the tears in my throat.
And I back away, turning for the house.
“Tiernan,” Jake calls.
But I cut him off. “I didn’t want to go anyway,” I tell him, my eyes watering. “Sounds boring.”
And I jog up the stairs and walk into the house, hearing the engines rev, and after a moment, the high-pitched whir of them speeding away.
I head for the staircase, but I halt in the middle of the living room, realizing there’s nothing up there for me either. Another closed door. Another place to hide. Another room to pass the time until…
I drop my eyes, needles prickling the back of my throat.
Until I don’t have to worry about being seen.
My chin trembles, and a tear falls. I swipe it away.
I don’t want to think, because then I’ll be fucking alone, and that’s all I ever am.
The truck fires up outside, and I close my eyes, thinking I should be relieved my uncle is leaving, too. I should be thankful he didn’t come in after me. Neither one of us is the heart-to-heart kind, are we?
He’s giving me space.
But he just leaves, the sound of his engine disappearing down the road, and I stand there for less than a minute before setting off upstairs and opening my bedroom door.
I bypass my suitcase, still laying empty on the floor, and grab my backpack, double-checking my little First Aid kit is inside and take my sunscreen, stuffing it in the front pocket. Pulling my phone off the charger, I leave the room and head downstairs, filling up a water bottle and packing a few snacks.
I walk toward the front door, but then I stop, remembering.
Protection.
I head back through the kitchen and open the door to the garage, stepping down the few stairs and gazing at the row of rifles on the rack.
I wish I didn’t have to carry one. I’d look like an idiot—or a terrorist—walking down Ventura with a firearm slung over my shoulder. But my uncle is right. This isn’t the city. I could run into trouble.
I chew my lips, no idea what I’m really looking at. I don’t know about preciseness or ease of use, so I just grab the one I know how to use and open the drawer underneath, finding the bullets. Loading the weapon, I swing the strap of the rifle over my shoulder.
Quickly, I sift through my uncle’s tools, finding a flashlight, and then grab a clean towel off the basket on top of the dryer. I put everything in my pack, zip it up, and pull it on, ready to go.