Chapter 1
Lexie
IfeellikeI’vebeen run over by an eighteen-wheeler.
Or at least my body does. I’m used to always being in pain, one way or another, but this has to be one of my worst days. I only have myself to blame, though. Going on a cross-country drive alone while barely taking any breaks was dumb. I can see that now. Gymnastics—and the countless injuries it has given me—has transformed my twenty-five-year-old body into that of an elderly woman.
Down the quiet country road, my headlights catch on a large sign, and when I squint, I see it readsEvermore Christmas Tree Farm. Thank freaking god. I put my blinker on, and a groan escapes my lips as I turn onto the gravel road that leads to my rental. I’m not sure what the sound is for, if I’m honest. Relief at finally being here? Despair that this is what my life has come to? Who knows. I’m too exhausted to even understand myself.
I drive for another two hundred yards through a thick canopy of fir trees before coming across a small wooden shack that resembles the one I’ve seen on the rental website. If I continued even farther down the road, I would reach a bigger house that resembles a giant version of the cabin, with similar wooden beams and a huffing chimney. The lights in what I assume is the owner’s house are on, and fairy lights are hung all over the front porch, creating a holiday-like vibe, even in September.
Once my car has come to a halt in front of the cabin’s front door, I rest my head back and let my eyes fall shut. This is it. The place I’ll be living in for god knows how long. I can’t think too much about what that implies, or else I might break down into a full-on panic attack. Instead, I force myself to exit the car.
My back cracks in fifty different places as I stretch and take a look around. Even in the darkness, the cabin looks cozy and safe. Sure, it’s kind of in the middle of nowhere, but it doesn’t feel like the kind of place I’ll get attacked in overnight. At least, I hope not. That would just be the cherry on top.
Faint music is emanating from the warm house at the end of the road, but otherwise, everything is utterly quiet. No busy intersections with honking cars and rushing drivers. No planes flying overhead or sirens going off or shouting matches from balconies.
Peace.
After inhaling another deep breath of pine-scented air, I pop the trunk and pull out the three duffel bags I’d packed before leaving the house in Phoenix. Once again, a rush of dread fills me as I’m reminded that this is everything I have in this world. Some clothes, a few pairs of running shoes, a dozen leotards, and a few trophies I brought with me as mementos. That’s it. My whole life, able to fit into three bags.
Don’t go there, Lexie.Self-pity has never done me any good. The only thing that could help right now is training until I can barely keep my eyes open… Or tequila. Tequila would definitely help.
Closing the trunk and locking the doors to my run-down Kia, I walk to the out-of-place garden gnome, where the guy I’m renting from said I’d find the keys to the cabin. Balancing my stuff on one shoulder, I bend down and lift the little man.Bingo.
Steps creaking under my weight, I reach the freshly painted, deep-brown wooden door. Once it’s unlocked, I walk inside and turn on the lights before dropping everything onto the hardwood floor. I then take a look around, humming. It’s cute. The entire space is one big room, with furniture and decoration I’d dare call vintage, but it’s clean and smells of lemon disinfectant and fresh air. I’ll take that any day over the cigarette-and-beer smell I’ve had to endure on a daily basis since I was a kid.
Directly in front of the door is a kitchenette with a two-burner stove and miniature fridge. To its left is the small living room, with a couch sitting in front of a gorgeous bay window and old-school fireplace, and the far end of the cabin is occupied by a double bed, onto which a burgundy wool cover was thrown. I walk straight to it and sit down, finding the mattress surprisingly comfortable. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting much when I responded to the ad and asked if this cabin could be rented long term. So long as I had a place that wasn’t too sketchy, where I could sleep in between work and practice, I’d take it. It’s not like I’ll have much free time to spend here anyway. With the schedule I’m about to have, it’ll be a miracle if I end up not sleeping at the gym every night.
The cable box under the small television shows it’s almost midnight. Untying my short ponytail, I drag a hand through my hair, eyes shut. If I’m lucky, I can aim for six hours of sleep to get rid of the driving fatigue before I have to be up and functional. No matter how much I love my sleep, I won’t allow myself to be a second late tomorrow. I need this gig.
With one last face rub, I get up and head toward the bathroom on the opposite side of the cabin, then rid myself of my tight leggings and sweatshirt. I don’t remember the last time I changed my clothes, but it very well might have been two days ago, at the truck stop between Saint Louis and Indianapolis. It’s not like there was anyone with me to complain about the smell.
Is this what rock bottom feels like? Yep, I think it is.
Once naked, I jump into the shower and spend a good twenty minutes scrubbing the four days of gas station bathrooms and greasy breakfast sandwiches from my skin. The owner of the cabin kindly left toiletries in the bathroom, which I’m thankful for since I haven’t even considered going shopping for groceries and supplies yet. Tomorrow. I can barely keep my eyes open anymore, and my bad shoulder is screaming for a good night’s rest.
Turning the water off, I walk out and grab one of the white fluffy towels that were left on the bathroom counter. Without giving a single thought to skincare or hair brushing, I walk to the bed with my eyes half-closed. If I could fall asleep upright, I would.
Bending to retrieve one of my bags, I open it to find my pajamas.
And that is when everything goes to hell.
The second I drop my towel to the ground, the cabin’s front door opens, and a tall man with a buzz cut and a flannel shirt bursts in, yelling, “Who’s there?”
The high-pitched scream that comes out of me would be embarrassing if I wasn’t certain I was about to get killed.
So this is it. A life of shitty days interspersed with rare good ones, always waiting for the other shoe to drop and hopelessly wishing for the tide to change, only to get murdered after just having turned twenty-five in an AirBnB in the middle of nowhere, Vermont. Just my luck.
“Jesus fuck!” the guy shouts as he spins in my direction and jumps so hard, he trips onto the edge of the welcome mat and falls onto his ass. Meanwhile, I continue screaming. I can’t seem to stop. That is, until I notice that the guy is staring at me from his spot on the ground.
Because of course my murder had to happen while I was buck naked.
In a flash, I bend down to grip my towel, all the while screaming, “Get out! I’m calling the cops, you freak!”
“The hell you are!” the guy says with a huff as he gets back to his feet. “You’re the one trespassing!”
“Trespassing?” I say, wrapping the towel around my body as tightly as I can. “I rented this place.You’retrespassing.” My heart is beating so erratically I can barely hear anything over the rush of blood in my ears. “And being a total creep.”
