“Then Eliza,” I sum up and he laughs.
“Good summation of my whole life, really. ‘Then Eliza.’ Anyway, we picked right up where we’d left off, like no time had passed.”
I look over at him and see he’s watching Eliza, too. “And then you just … decided to travel the world together?”
“Something like that, yeah,” he says, then looks back at me. “And you and our intrepid Mr. Johannsen?”
I briefly tell him about meeting Nico at the Cove, about the months in Maui, and he nods as I finish.
“Aren’t we a pair of lucky sods, then? Meeting people to take up on these glorious adventures.”
Something about that surprises me. I don’t know why, but I’d just assumed this had all been Jake’s idea. He grins, nudging me with his elbow. “She’s very persuasive, my Eliza. When she says, ‘We should sail to a fucking deserted island,’ well. You find yourself sailing to a fucking deserted island.”
I can see that. Eliza has that kind of energy—she’s the sort of person you want to please for whatever reason. Maybe it’s because she presents you with a version of yourself that you desperately want to live up to.
Something sparkles in the sunlight, catching my eye, and I see that farther down the tree line, there’s a line of empty beer and wine bottles set up.
Raising an eyebrow at Jake, I point. “You doing that frat guy thing of collecting empties?”
He laughs. “Not exactly.”
There’s a plain black box made of heavy plastic or maybe metal sitting next to the stack of books, and he goes over to it now, flipping it open.
Nestled inside is a gun.
My mouth goes dry.
I’ve never actually seen a gun up close before. Nico has a flare gun of course, locked in a bright orange-and-white box back in the cabin, but this is the real deal, a sleek, lethal thing of dark metal, and when Jake sees my face, he laughs again.
“Trust me, petal, you don’t want to be out in the middle of nowhere and not have one of these things. Although I am not using it for anything more interesting than shooting bottles.”
He holds it up to me.
“Wanna try?”
I don’t like guns, have never seen the need for one, but I look over into the darkness of the trees, remembering what Robbie said about someone living here.
“I guess?” I say. The next thing I know, it’s in my hand, warm and heavy, and Jake is standing behind me, showing me how high to lift my arms, how to widen my stance.
“It has a hell of a kickback if you’re not ready for it,” he says, “so be sure you’re as steady as you can be. Eyes on the target, elbows loose. There’s a girl.”
He’s right there at my back, his skin warm against mine, and I’m suddenly very aware that he’s shirtless and I’m just wearing a one-piece. But there’s nothing creepy in how he stands, and he keeps a respectful distance as he helps me position my arms.
“Aim,” he says, and I pick one of the biggest bottles, a bright blue one I remember was filled with Riesling just a day or so ago.
I slide back the hammer, my heart pounding in my ears.
“Now picture it’s someone you really hate, and fire,” he says.
I laugh, but even as he says it, I suddenly see Robbie’s face in front of me, calling me girlie, that fucking blueberry in his teeth.
I pull the trigger.
BEFORE
They don’t go home after Rome after all. Instead, they move on to London, where the weather is cooler, the nights out are more raucous, and Brittany wonders why she ever thought she wanted to end this trip early.
Chloe had asked if it was cool if she came, too, as Brittany had hoped she would. Amma agreed—though Brittany saw the way her eyes hardened and her jaw tightened as she replied flatly, “That’s a great idea.”
They kick off their first night in London at a pub, of course. It has some stupid name—something clichéd and obvious like the Crowned Stag—and the walls are dark, covered in paintings of men in nice coats killing perfectly innocent animals. While Amma is at the bar, ordering more drinks, Chloe slips her hand into some guy’s jacket, pulls out a wad of bills, and hands it to Brittany.
For a moment, Brittany is stunned.
You can’t just rob people. This is pickpocketing, like they’re orphans in Charles Dickens or some shit, but Chloe just winks at her, and before she can stop herself, Brittany stuffs the cash into her purse.
She lies awake in the hostel that night, waiting—for sirens or men with flashlights to burst in, to turn her purse upside down until the money falls out. She’ll confess everything, she’ll tell them she was stupid and made a huge mistake.