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"No."

"Well, you'll figure it out. How'd you get here, anyway?"

"Um, someone gave me a ride…but he didn't know that he gave me a ride."

"Stowaway. Okay. Well, let me know if you need anything."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I ask.

She pauses, pursing her lips as if thinking it over before she pulls down the collar of her shirt, revealing a scar stretching from one side of her neck to the other, like her throat had been slit.

"See this?"

I nod.

"Husband did it to me thirty years ago. I know what it's like to run for your life from a man. I'll lock the door, okay?"

"Okay."

She leaves, closing the door. I watch the deadbolt turn behind her and finally breathe, relieved to be alive, yet alone and terrified of what comes next.

ten

Hey There, Lilah. What's it Like in Winter Falls?

Noah

Ilean against the wall with my arms crossed in front of my body, my eyes shooting daggers across the room.

Twenty minutes. That's all it took for Miles to run off with his ex-girlfriend and leave me here, standing alone. Apparently, she broke up with her new boyfriend a few days ago. She'd been texting him the last time we hung out, but he told me he was just helping her through it…as a friend.

I didn't even get one dance.

I watch as he pulls a flask from his jacket pocket—the same one he shared with me in the car on the way over. The two of them laugh while leaning over the high top table as they empty its contents into their punch. They each take a drink before heading back to the dance floor.

I don't know what I did wrong, but it's the same every time. Even in the sexy black dress with the makeup, I'm still just me.

"Isn't that your date over there making out with MacKenzie Stevens?"

I purse my lips and glare at Tate before replying.

"Honestly, Tate, I really don't need your shit right now."

"I'm not here to give you shit. I came to ask you to dance."

My eyes widen. "God, am I really so pathetic that you feel like you have to come over here and offer me a pity dance? Fucking…no."

"A pity dance? Why would it be a pity dance? I assure you, I have not an ounce of pity for how fucking sexy you look in that dress."

"Tate, stop. I'm serious—you're making it worse."

"Well, he's an idiot, anyway. And he has a small dick."

I scoff. "Yeah, I know."

Tate narrows his eyes. "What do you mean, you know? How do you know?"

"How doyouknow?"