Outside, the wind stirs the trees. A dog barks in the distance. Somewhere in the house, a floorboard creaks like the ghosts of our past are stirring behind the walls. But right now none of that matters.
I’ll find Braden’s journal—one way or another.
Even if I have to tear the whole town apart to do it.
Mac's curled on her bed now, wrapped in a blanket that smells like her vanilla perfume. She doesn’t say much, but her silence speaks louder than words.
I try Lola’s number again, my thumb hovering over the screen.
Disconnected.
No ring, no voicemail—just a dead line.
“Still nothing?” Mac asks softly, her voice raw.
I shake my head. “It’s been disconnected.”
She closes her eyes, like she already knows.
I crouch in front of her and take her hands gently in mine. “I’m gonna find her, okay? You need to stay here, stay warm. I ran you a bath—go relax. Just for a bit.”
She hesitates, then nods. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
I press a kiss to her knuckles. “Too late. I fell in love with you.”
A tiny smile flickers. It’s enough to make me want to burn the whole damn world down for her.
I grab my keys.
The ride’s only ten minutes, but every second has my heart lodged somewhere between my ribs and throat. I don’t know what I’m expecting—Lola’s car out front, maybe. Her curtains fluttering. Lights on. Something normal.
But the second I pull up, my gut twists.
Her front garden is a jungle. Grass up to my waist. Weeds choking the path. The mailbox is stuffed, lid barely hanging on. Envelopes bleached and curled from weeks in the sun.
I kill the engine and climb out slowly.
Curtains drawn tight. No sound. No movement.
I rap my knuckles on the door. Once. Twice.
Nothing.
I knock again, harder this time. “Lola?” Silence.
I peer through a crack in the curtain near the front window—dust coats the glass. No lights. No signs of life. Just darkness. My skin prickles. She hasn’t been here for a while. And if she has… she hasn’t wanted anyone to know. I back up slowly, eyessweeping over every inch of the property. A rusted wind chime clinks from the porch. One of the upstairs windows is cracked open just an inch, like maybe she needed air once but couldn’t bear to leave it wide. I don’t know. All I know is the woman who might’ve taken Braden’s journal is gone. She never said anything about moving. Then again, I never asked. Maybe the guys know more… Or maybe it’s time to get law enforcement involved. What the Hell is she playing at? Is it some sort of game? And whatever this is—whatever game she’s running—how the fuck does she plan on ending it?
Chapter 19
Kayla
The house is quiet, but my thoughts are anything but.
The windows are cracked open just enough to let the night breathe through, carrying the scent of pine from the meadow. I lie on Logan’s side of the bed, legs curled up, his oversized t-shirt swallowing me whole. It smells like him—faint musk and cedar and something warm I can’t name. It anchors me and unravels me all at once.
My hair is still damp from the bath he ran me, twisted up in a loose, messy bun that’s slipping every time I shift on the sheets. I try not to move. I don’t want to ruin the shape of his pillow, theway his side of the bed dips from how he sleeps curled toward me.
I should feel comforted. I should feelsafe.
