Page 31

Because it’s not just a laptop.
It was a key—my key—to getting out of Barrett Valley and away from the future my father’s been planning for me since I was fifteen. Without it, it doesn’t matter that Damien’s brother agreed to keep letting me study at Northpoint—without it, I can’t finish course work for the semester. Can’t study for my finals or take them. Can’t earn my grade or my course credits. I can’t even email my professors and let them know what happened or ask for an extension.
Without it, I can’t escape.
I had panic attacks that started a few months after Luke died. They’d mostly hit me while I was sleeping. I’d sit up from a dead sleep in a blind panic. Unable to breathe. Skin somehow hot and clammy at the same time. Heart ricocheting around my ribcage like a bullet, so hard and fast I was sure it was going to punch its way through my chest. Lungs squeezed so tight they felt like a couple of balloons, ready to burst. I’d lay there in the dark, convinced that I was dying and that it was no less than I deserved. That’s when Luke started talking to me.
It’s okay, Kaity.
It’s going to be okay.
We’ll get through this together.
Breathe, Kaity. Just breathe...
I can feel the panic start to build. The pressure of it behind my eyes, pushing my vision in and out of focus. Invisible hands gripped around my lungs so tight I let out a soft wheeze in response while my heart starts to gallop.
Breathe, Kaity. Just breathe...
Like he knows something is wrong, Damien frowns. “Kait—”
“I was serious before—you better be careful, going into town for the next couple of days,” I tell him, changing the subject before the panic strapped around my chest has a chance to tighten and squeeze me into hysterics. I refuse to fall apart over this. Maybe later, but not now. “Brock can hold a grudge if he has a mind to, especially when he feels like he’s been challenged.”
I would know.
“I’m not worried about Brock Morris,” Damien waves his name away with a dismissive swipe of his hand. “I’m worried about you. Are you—”
“You don’t have to worry about me.” I give him a headshake and make my way toward him while he moves out of the doorway to let me pass. “I’m fine.” Before I can make my getaway, he reaches out and lays a work-roughened hand on my forearm because it’s a lie and he knows it.
“Maybe if you talk to your dad, he’ll change his mind,” Damien says carefully because while we might be friends, he’s also Tom Barrett’s man, through and through. He’d rather jump off the hay loft onto a pile of rusty pitchforks than challenge my father.
“He’s not going to change his mind,” I say, giving him a small, sad headshake.
“Why not?” The Tom Barrett he knows is tough but reasonable. Firm but fair because he’s never challenged him. Never asked for more than what my father was willing to offer.
Never disappointed or embarrassed him.
Sullied the Barrett name with rumors and accusation.
“You know why.” I pull my hand out from under his arm as gently as I can. “You’ve lived in this town for four years, Damien—I know you’ve heard all about me by now.”
Like I took a swing at him, Damien takes a step back, mouth open to reassure me that he doesn’t believe the things he’s heard others whispering about me. Maybe even deny that he’s heard those whispers, altogether.
“It’s okay.” I shake my head, cutting off his protests and reassurances before he can even form them. “You don’t have to say it. I better get in the house though and check on Abbey.” Abbey is eighteen, she doesn’t need me to check on her and we both know it. Instead of pointing that out, Damien just gives me a nod.
“Alright, Kait.” Backing away from me slowly, he sighs. “If you need something—”
“I’ll holler,” I tell him, giving him a bland, over the shoulder smile as I walk away because we both know I won’t.
“What was that about?”
When I walk through the front door, I find Abbey waiting for me, sitting at the foot of the stairs where I usually kick off my boots. As soon as she sees me, she shoots up from her seat and starts peppering me with questions.
“I already told you,” I say on a weary sigh. “There’s nothing going on between Damien and me—I swear. He’s like—”
“Your brother—I know.” She wrinkles her pert, freckle spattered nose when she says it like she thinks I’m nuts. “I’m not talking about him. I’m talking about Brock Morris.”
“Oh.” I was pretty sure that’s who she was talking about. I was just hoping to distract her by mentioning Damien. I should’ve known better—Abbey is flighty and spoiled but she’s also as tenacious as they come when she’s got her mind set. There’s no shaking her. Not even Damien Bravebird can distract her when she’s chewing on something. “That.”