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Blue and red lights flashing across Brielle’s, my then best friend’s house.

Two men in uniform knocking on her door.

We’re here for Ophelia. Ophelia Monroe. She’s supposed to be spending the night here.

Brielle’s mom’s hand rested on the top of my head. She trembled.

I was five-years-old. My black hair in pigtails, and my dark eyes wide as one of the police officers crouched to my eye level.

We’re so sorry, sweetheart. There was an accident. The plane your parents were on crashed. There were no survivors. Is there anyone we can contact on your behalf?

No one to call. No family left. No money, either. My parents spent what little they had on the plane tickets to Seattle. Dad traveled for a job interview. It’d taken me years to understand that both my parents had been unemployed for months.

It wasn’t cold that day. No sleet. No rain.

It was springtime.

Finding out you’re alone like that, though? That’ll suck the warmth right out of the room. Out of your bones.

James’s gaze is just that. Cold. Aloof.

Terrifying.

“Let me go.” The longer I stare back, the less conviction there is in my voice.

His head cocks. Eyebrows lower.

His expression shifts a fraction.

Is he…

Hope flutters in my chest.

Does he care about me? Does he finally see me, the person?

He could. Then he’d be my hero. If someone has the power to fix this, it’s him.

But he doesn’t. Because—gross—Topher’s lips are on my shoulder. His hand makes a fist in my hair.

I’m seconds from throwing up, and James is staring at his son, who’s pressing his mouth to my body.

But he just stands there.

He won’t save me. It’s up to me to save myself.

Finding a good use for my stupid heels, I lift one and stomp on Topher’s foot.

“Only making this harder on yourself,” he growls, hauling me out of his dad’s hold.

My cheek slams into the wall. It’s warm and hard. I’m being contained by it.

I’d rather be outside in the rain that had started pouring seconds ago. Would sell my soul to be out there, soaked to the bone.

Hell, I’d risk getting hit by lightning.

Anything other than this.

“Topher,” James scolds. “Be careful.”