Fear creeps up the back of my neck. The police have only been a vague, distant threat since Aiden and I got together. I’ve been more concerned with keeping my friends from finding out. But now all I can see are images of swirling police lights. I get a vision of Aiden in cuffs and it makes me want to fall to my knees.
“No. She says she won’t, as long as I stay away from you. But Aiden, I . . . I can’t stay away from you.” I want to hear him say it back: that I’m worth the risk, that he can’t stand the idea of being apart from me. The naked fear in his voice is scaring me more than the threat of the cops. I think of the feel of sand whipping out from under my feet that day in Cannon Beach. The sense that the world wasn’t as solid as I thought.
He stops in his pacing and turns his face toward me. I still can’t see his features.
“This is a felony, Elyse. If we get caught I’ll be on the sex offender registry for the rest of my life.”
“I’m sorry.” Tears sting my eyes. What am I apologizing for—getting caught? Coming here now? Being with him in the first place? “I don’t know what to do.”
The lantern finally stops bouncing around. He’s taken it off his backpack and sets it down on a flat rock. Finally I can see his face—his brow furrowed, his mouth twisting unhappily. He sits next to me on the steps, but he doesn’t put an arm around me.
“I don’t either,” he says. The hardness has left his voice. Now he just sounds exhausted. “So do you think your mom will keep her word?”
I hesitate, then nod. “She doesn’t like the cops. She wouldn’t talk to them unless she really felt like she had to.”
“What about your friend?” he asks. “Brynn—will she tell anyone else?”
That I’m less sure of.
“I think she might be done with me,” I say finally. “We talked at school today. She was pretty mad. I think she’ll leave us alone.”
“Think, or know?”
I hug my sweater closer around me. “I can’t be sure.”
He puts his face in his hands. “Fuck.”
We sit like that for a few minutes. I’m still trembling, but now it’s as much fear as cold. I don’t know how I expected him to react—but the distance he’s keeping between us makes me feel more alone than I’ve ever felt before.
“We should never have started this,” he finally whispers. He looks up and sees my face. All at once his expression softens. “You’re cold.”
He takes off his fleece jacket and tucks it around my shoulders. The gesture is too much. A sob escapes my throat. I can’t hold it back anymore. I break down.
“It can’t end like this,” I choke out.
He pulls me close. I nestle against him, his neck warm against my cheek. His fingers curl around the back of my head.
“They’ll always be watching now, though,” he says. “We’ll never be alone. Not really.”
I think about the cabin in the Gorge, tucked away among the trees, quiet and secret and ours. I know we can’t live there forever, not really.
But couldn’t we go somewhere else?
“Aiden,” I breathe. “Let’s leave.”
He’s silent for a minute. I feel the rise and fall of his breath beneath his shoulders.
“Elyse . . .”
“No, seriously, Aiden. Let’s get out of here.”
“Where would we go?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Away. New York. L.A. Somewhere we can disappear in a crowd. Somewhere we can be together, alone.”
He shakes his head. “Think of what you’d be giving up . . .”
“What?” I snort. “Life with my mom? Thirty hours a week mopping up spilled soda? A best friend who . . .” The words catch in my throat. I want to say “stabs me in the back,” but I know that’s not right. I know Brynn thinks she’s helping me. Still, who is she to decide what’s right for me? I’ve been taking care of myself as long as I can remember. I don’t need her—or my mom, for that matter—thinking she knows better.
“It won’t work.” But he looks like he’s running calculations, plotting a course. “What will we do? How will we get by?”
“We’ll figure it out. You did, when you were a teenager.”
“That was different. I didn’t have to take care of someone else.”
“You won’t have to take care of me,” I say. “We’ll take care of each other. We’ll do it together.”
He exhales gently. His breath floats away in a cloud.
“I don’t want you to regret it,” he whispers. “But I would go anywhere to be with you.”
I put my hands on either side of his face, look into his eyes. “Then let’s go. Because I’m yours, Aiden.”
Our lips meet, my fingers cold on his warm cheeks. He gives a little groan of frustration.
“I need a few days to get things ready,” he says.
My heart leaps. “Does that mean yes?”
He gives a strangled laugh. “It means I must be out of my mind.” He kisses me again. “But the thought of living without you is worse than the thought of being caught.”
Every last doubt dissolves. It’s all I wanted to hear. I wipe my face, tears and rain mingling together.
“Do you think you can be ready by this weekend?” he asks.
“I can be ready by midnight tonight,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Friday. I’ll pick you up at the bus stop by the school at midnight.” He examines my face, then smooths my hair back from my forehead. “When we go, we’ll have to move fast. Be ready.”
I nod. I’m already making a mental list of what I’ll need.
I’m already saying goodbye to everything else.
THIRTY-THREE
Gabe
The flames race along the bottom of the house, faster than I could have imagined. I’m moving before I even have a plan.
I run toward the window, waving my arms, but Catherine and her father are already moving, turned away from the window and heading into another room. My phone is in my hand, 911 already punched in. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” The voice sounds far away. I pound on the window.
“Catherine!” I scream. “Fire!”
“Sir, I’m going to need you to calm down . . .”
I take off around the side of the house, looking for the nearest door. The smell of burned wood and gasoline clogs my nostrils. In my hand the emergency operator’s voice buzzes low and calm. “What is your location, sir?”
“I’m at 157 Meadowlark. There’s a house fire. I can smell gas. There are two people in the house. Hurry, please!” I hang up the phone as I skid around the corner to the front just in time to see the porch erupt into flame.
Fire engulfs the steps, dancing up the pillars into the eaves. I stagger back, blinded by the lurid orange light. A sudden gust of air sweeps in, and for a moment the flames dim.
Then they roar back, stronger than ever.
From far away I hear the sound of sirens. But there’s no time to wait.
I grab a cinder block from the edge of the flower bed. I don’t even feel its weight as I throw it with all my might at the nearest window. The sound of breaking glass is swallowed by the noise from the flames. Jumping up, I grab at the edge of the window and swing my leg over the sill.
“Catherine!” I yell. “Catherine! Where are you?”
I’m in a spartan living room. There’s a plain brown couch, a small flat-screen TV on the wall, and three floor lamps. No decorations, no shelves or old granny-square afghans or anything remotely personal. I can already see a thin gray haze along the ceiling. A fire alarm shrills through the air.
Where is she?
I stumble toward the hallway, and suddenly she’s there, standing in front of me, coughing into her hands. Her eyes squint through the smoke. “Gabe? What are you . . .”
Her father staggers out of one of the rooms, sliding a beat-up leather bag over his shoulder. “The window’s jammed. We have to go out the front. Go. Go, go.”
Then he sees me.
“What the hell . . .” His voice is a low snarl.
“The front door’s on fire,” I say quickly. “I broke a window in the living room. Go!”
He grabs Catherine and pushes her ahead of him, shoving past me. I stagger into a wall that’s so hot I can feel the skin on my hand peel away.