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I make it all the way to the base of the stairs before another fierce gust of wind rattles the siding.

Two seconds later the power goes out.

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It's okay. It's all going to be all right.

I climb back up to the main floor of the house repeating that reassuring mantra in my mind, but it does little to set my jangling nerves at ease. Darkness is falling fast. Up here on the mountain, the power goes on and off at random. It could be up again in a couple of minutes, or I could be sitting here for days.

At least we have contingencies.

As I make my way to the generator, I call the power company on the phone to report the outage, for what little good that will do. There are only a handful of families living on Lonely Peak, so we're pretty literally their last priority.

By the time I get outside, a light, frigid rain has started up. I pull the hood of my jacket over my head and hold it up against the heavy wind as I dart toward the shed. My father made sure the generator had plenty of fuel, so I go ahead and get it fired up.

Only.

Nothing.

Despair claws at my chest. I mean, I'll be okay without power for a little while. We have plenty of firewood and candles, but mygrowing sense of dread about being out here in the wild alone is crowding out my rational thoughts.

I try again and then again. I swear my father tested this the other day, but something must be wrong. I troubleshoot the best I can, but I was a dummy and forgot to bring a flashlight, and the light on my cell phone is only doing so much.

Okay, breathe.

I dart back to the house to get a light and maybe an Idiot's Guide to Home Repair. I find the former if not the latter. I'm going to have to make do. I put my hand on the doorknob and look out through the glass to find the sky nearly black, the rain pouring down in sheets.

Only then the darkness breaks. Bright light pierces through.

Headlights.

Irrational panic makes my breathing speed. There aren't many serial killers living on the mountain—or at least I don't think there are. It's too soon for the power company to be here, though, which leaves…

"Cayden?" The name escapes my lips before I've really thought it through. Huge surges inside me, making my lungs expand. A little of the panicked haze clears.

Because I'd know that bright blue pickup truckanywhere.

Back when I lived here for real, we were both too young to drive. This pickup was his daddy's. He'd come to pick us up from school sometimes, and Cayden and I would ride in the bed, laughing and tumbling around as the truck climbed the twisty mountain roads. It's a wonder we didn't manage to get ourselves killed, but man, we had a time.

When Cayden's father passed, it only made sense that he would have inherited his truck. Every time I've been back here to visit Grandma, I spotted the truck around town or saw it parked at the head of the Tucker place's driveway. I saw it in a corner of the lot at the funeral home last week.

And now it's here, pulling up in front of my grandmother's old, abandoned, darkened house, and in my entire life, I've never had a sight fill me with more pure relief.

Right up until the moment the truck shuts off and the cabin lights come on.

Right. Because of course Cayden wouldn't come to rescue me alone. He had to bring his asshole best friend, Jax.

Back in middle school, the two of them were practically inseparable, and I never in my entire life understood why. While Cayden was kind and soft-spoken, Jax was brash and abrasive. He put up with me when Cayden was around, but whenever the nice boy from next door was out of sight, Jax would pull out this sneering face that always made me feel small and pathetic—and maybe I was. After skipping a grade in elementary school, I was always the youngest one around. Dweeby and awkward and more interested in classic painters than the latest country pop stars, but really—did Jax have to throw it in my face all the time?

The open, soaring part of my heart shuts down. I step through the door as the two of them dart through the rain. Holding up my lit flashlight, I greet them with a probably-too-defensive, "What are you two doing here?"

My resolve is tested as they step into the torch's glow.

They're soaked through. Cayden's sandy hair glistens with water, and the T-shirt he's wearing underneath his leather jacket is plastered to his muscular chest. Jax is just as wet. He slicks his long, black hair from his face. His dark eyes gleam in the harsh light. Somehow, he doesn't even have to say a word and I can feel his judgment. It makes me feel self-conscious and self-aware in a way I never really am around anyone else. Naked.

Warmth pools in my blood.

These guys have always been unfairly handsome, but right now they look like they just stepped off a runway. You know, if male models doubled as lumberjacks, that is. Jax licks his lips.Something in his gaze goes predatory, and for a second I have this shocking awareness of how vulnerable I am right now. I'm all alone in the middle of nowhere. If I screamed, no one would hear me.