Page 33

Dallas

I’ve never once set foot in the Raffertys’ house until today.

At first, I feel ridiculous strolling up to the front door and hitting the doorbell, like I’m about to ask if Aiden can come out and play.

It looks like a castle, with its wrought iron gates and stone columns and moat around the foundation— a moat. Granted, I’ve only heard rumors about how the Raffertys acquired their wealth. I used to think Colson was just messing with me when he said Aiden’s dad is a black-market dealer. Now, I’m not so sure.

I glance at my phone before sliding it into my back pocket. 8:16AM. Still enough time before I have to head to the airport. I didn’t even know how to get ahold of Aiden. It’s not like I have his number, and I couldn’t find him anywhere on social media. Like I’m surprised. He’s such a creep that he’s probably transforming into an actual ghoul at this point. The legion of the undead have no use for likes and follows—OK, maybe follows…

All that to say, I had to leave him a note. In the letterbox. Outside his gate. I wasn’t even sure he still lived here.

I need to talk to you in person. Here’s my number…

To my utter shock, Aiden actually responds. Granted, it’s just a date and time followed by four numbers. But I punched them into the keypad at the gate and it slowly swung open.

A few moments later, the heavy mahogany door opens and Aiden’s towering frame fills the doorway. I haven’t seen him in years, evident by the fact that the only part of his body not covered in tattoos is his face and most of his hands. But he still has those double lip rings that make him look like he has fangs.

“Hey, Dally,” he drawls with amusement.

“Hey.” I straighten up, refocusing on why I’m here. “Thanks for meeting with me.”

“Anything for an old friend. Look at you,” he drags his eyes up and down my figure, “all grown up.”

I hate how he can still make my skin crawl. But I’m not seven, or 11, or even 15 anymore. I’m not scared of Aiden Rafferty. I’m the one who asked to meet with him, after all.

“So did you,” I reply, cocking my head and returning the same fiery gaze.

His mouth curls and he steps aside so I can enter the house. Twin marble statues of two dogs stand guard on either side of the doorway that reveals into the great room. Is this where Colson, Alex, and Mason came to hang out, throw parties, and shoot off guns in the woods out back? No wonder everyone thought they were gods. Money talks, and Aiden’s did enough talking for all of them.

“Sorry I can’t stick around longer to catch up,” Aiden’s voice echoes behind me. “Wheels up at ten hundred.”

I’ve heard he flies planes now, and for the Rhodens, no less. I caught that much before Colson vanished into the wilderness two years ago.

“I actually have to catch a flight myself,” I reply, coming to a halt at the group of black leather club chairs arranged around a gilded coffee table. “This won’t take long, but I need your help.”

Might as well cut to the chase. I don’t think Aiden’s one for small talk and pleasantries anyway.

“ My help?” He looks down at me through hooded eyes.

I square my shoulders and look right back up at him. “You’re a criminal, right?”

“Depends who’s asking.”

“I need to know the best way to surveil someone, so I know where they are at all times.”

“Who?”

“Bowen Garrison.”

Aiden doesn’t move a muscle, only stares back at me with his stormy obsidian eyes.

“Why?” he finally asks, his voice deep and foreboding.

I tighten my jaw with resolve. “Because I’m going to take him down for what he did to Evie.”

And me …but I don’t mention that part.

He doesn’t miss a beat. “You and who else?”

“Just me. And you if you agree to help me.”

Aiden’s brow shoots up with amusement. “Oh, really? If I agree to help you?”

“I’m doing it whether you help me or not.” I take a step toward, not giving him the chance to doubt me. “It’s already happening, Aiden. I play video games with Bowen almost every night. He loves me. We’re besties. I’m the coolest person he’s ever met. And, soon, he’s going to tell me what he did to Evie in excruciating detail. And when he does, I’ll have hours upon hours of his own words telling everyone what kind of monster he is. And I will fucking destroy him! ” I hiss, my shoulders trembling by the time I’m done.

“You’re friends with him?” Aiden narrows his eyes and for a moment I think he’s about to grab me and tear me limb from limb.

I step back with a smirk. “Riley is.”

“Who the fuck is Riley?”

“Me—with a voice mod, a picture of some guy on a dirt bike, and a better K/D than him.”

Aiden blinks a few times as he registers what I’m saying.

“You’re hustling him?”

He furrows his brow slightly and I can’t tell from his expression whether he’s impressed or completely weirded out.

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? Because he murdered my sister, Aiden!”

“Why now? ” he clarifies.

I look down at the marble floor. What do I even say to him? Isn’t the original reason enough? I don’t know why I’m surprised; as if Aiden would ever help me do anything. As if Aiden cares about anyone.

But then I pause, and recall the faintest of memories.

Aiden loves her.

“Have you—” I lift my head and clear my throat. “Have you ever wondered whether it’s worse if someone you love dies or if they just decide to leave and never come back?”

Aiden just stares at me, unmoving.

“Is it better to know they’re still alive somewhere far away, or does it even matter? Because when it comes down to it, they’re still not here, they’re not coming back, and their absence is just another kind of death you can’t mourn.”

“Who says you can’t mourn them?” Aiden’s response catches me off-guard, as does the look he’s giving me, a shadow cast over his eyes and his lip twitching with disdain.

“My sister’s dead, my brother’s gone, but I’m still here. And so is Bowen . I’m not stupid, Rory told me what Bowen said to Colson. And even if it wasn’t Evie back then, maybe it would’ve been someone else. It could’ve been me or another girl who crossed his path…” I pause, “even Sydney.”

Aiden’s eyes bore into me like a leopard stalking its prey, the rest of his body motionless except for his chest rising and falling in slow, deep breaths. After a prolonged silence, I let out a huff and head for the door in defeat.

“Fine,” Aiden’s voice booms behind me.

I come to a halt and slowly turn back around.

It only takes a couple of strides before he’s at my chest. “You don’t ask questions, you see what I let you see, and if I find out you’ve physically gone anywhere near him, I’m out and I’ll take my toys with me. And— ” he adds, “I’ll tell your brother.”

I’m not even friends with Aiden and he knows how to negotiate with me. But we don’t have to be friends; he knows my brother and if he did that, my plan would be over before it began.

“Deal,” I say without hesitation, turning for the door again.

“Dally,” Aiden calls at my back. “If he catches you, he’ll destroy you,” he warns, “he doesn’t give a fuck.”

I grab the black iron handle and hesitate, reckoning with the fact that I’m here, standing in Aiden Rafferty’s house because I’ve embarked on a journey where there’s no turning back.

“Why do you think I’m here?” I say over my shoulder. “He’s already tried, Aiden.”

I hold his eyes long enough for him to see what he needs to see and know I’m not playing games. His mouth opens ever so slightly, but I’m out the door before he can respond. Maybe I’ll cry more about it later, but right now, I need to stay focused.

I start down the stone steps, only to startle when I hear a crash echo from inside, followed by a roar that reverberates against the door. Moments later, I catch the sound of glass breaking punctuated by furious grunts and curses.

I check my phone again—still on schedule. I should head to the airport. Soon, I’m back behind the wheel of my Civic, leaving Aiden to deal with the aftermath of my visit however he sees fit. Maybe I just made a deal with the devil. Only time will tell.

But I can’t dwell on it right now. There’s still more to do. And one thing’s for sure—maybe Colson was right…

I need to lean into being a prick.

●●●

Snow still blankets the landscape when the plane finally descends from the dense clouds on its final approach into Montrose. I recognize almost every mountain we’re flying over. In many ways, it’s like stepping into another world, especially since I left the Midwest in a t-shirt and have to put on a parka before setting foot outside the doors at baggage claim.

I don’t have to wait long until a red Jeep Cherokee whips into the first open space as soon as I reach the curb. It’s Mary, for sure, confirmed when she jumps out of the driver’s seat and scurries around the back bumper.

“Dallas!” she crows with excitement, wrapping me in a hug as soon as she’s within arm’s reach.

I squeeze her back, inhaling the familiar floral fragrance of her long sandy hair and the worn leather of her oversized coat. She pulls back and all I see are her radiant white teeth and the sparkle in her deep brown eyes as she scans my face.

“Where’d you come from?” I ask. “I literally just walked out the door.”

“I’ve been circling for the last half hour,” Mary replies as she opens the lift gate. “There’s no way I’d make you walk to the short-term lot in this.” She glances off into the distance as fluffy snowflakes start to fall.

A gust of wind blows through the terminal, turning it into a veritable wind tunnel. I cringe at the icy gust and relinquish my suitcase to Mary, who hoists it into the back. Then we both hurry back to the front of the SUV where it’s much warmer.

“Did you decide to bring one last storm with you?” she quips as she darts out of the space and back out onto the road. “Rude. But I brought you a coffee anyway,” she adds with a nod to the console.

I pick up the white paper cup and gasp with excitement. “A triple shot blonde honey oat milk latte? You remembered!”

“ Please, ” Mary casts me a sideways glance, “someone around here has to be responsible for the truly important things.”

She’s right, I doubt my dad could tell anyone what kind of coffee I like. But Mary understands these things. She’s only 11 years older than me and she’s usually mistaken for my sister or Colson’s girlfriend whenever we go out.

There’s a reason my mom harps so much on teen pregnancy; because she was 17 and my dad was 18 when Colson was born. It’s also probably why my mom only dated older men after that, and eventually married one. My dad, however, did the opposite and opted for eternal youth.

I’ve heard the story about a thousand times. Mary St. James was working at her family’s butchering facility in Gunnison one summer while she was home from college when my dad, Dean Lutz, rolled up with his cattle for slaughter. And every time he saw her after that, it was, “Hey, Bloody Mary,” until he finally asked her on a date.

Good thing she likes dad jokes.

The rumor was that he locked down Mary because the St. Jameses own the only meat processing facility within 200 miles, so now he takes priority on the schedule. He never bothered to correct anyone, but that’s how my dad rolls. And they never did get married, but they’re practically inseparable. I was too young to care before, but now I’m glad that my dad has Mary so that he’s got someone besides the cattle, especially in the winter.

Mary finally turns onto the gravel road leading further into the valley and a sudden relief washes over me when the house finally comes into view. The landscape is still stark, frozen and lifeless except for the pines jutting up from the earth. It’s mysterious and ominous in the cold months, but right now it feels like a life boat, a warm blanket…

A safe haven.

As soon as I open my door, three dogs—two Great Pyrenees and a black German Shepherd—trot toward the Jeep.

“Todd…Margo…” I coo, reaching down to pet the massive white dogs.

My dad doesn’t let me name his dogs anymore, evident from their monikers referencing a Chevy Chase movie rather than flowers or cartoon characters. But Colson does.

Todd and Margo run off to resume their patrols around the ranch, but the German Shepherd lingers, waiting his turn to make sure I’m not a threat. I’ve never seen this dog in person, just like I haven’t seen my brother in two years. I got a text from Colson one day with a picture of a black puppy with comical ears and giant paws, asking what he should name him. I could’ve picked anything, but only one name came to mind.

Ponyboy.

Colson thought it was dumb, but then I told him he was dumb for asking my opinion and then not taking it. Then he asked me why Ponyboy and I told him it was none of his goddamn business. End of story.

“ Pony, ” I squat down and let him sniff the side of my head while I scratch his neck.

It’s almost like he knows who I am. The glint from the light pole catches his collar and reflects off the brass name plate riveted to the leather. I gently pull him closer to read the engraving.

RUN MOTHERFUCKER

Typical.

Giving Pony one more scratch behind the ear, I move to stand and then head to the back of the Jeep to retrieve my luggage. White smoke drifts out of the chimney, promising that the inside of the log house is much more inviting than the impending storm we’ve managed to outrun.

And I’m not disappointed. I don’t know what kind of interior decorator my dad is, but I’m sure the only reason why the inside of the house looks like something straight out of Williams Sonoma is because of the woman behind me. I would say my dad’s contribution is the pair of massive elk antlers above the mantle or the black bear skin hanging behind the dining table, but it’s equally likely that’s Mary, too.

My dad’s at the sink next to the coffeemaker. It never turns off, but miraculously still chugs along. Granted, he probably just buys the same one each time it dies. They could be on their 20 th Cuisinart and I’d never know.

Mary has more than a few inches on me, but my dad still dwarfs her. People say I take after my mom; short, black hair, and a smile exactly like hers. But it’s clear who my brother takes after.

She hangs her coat on the hook next to the door and walks up behind him, giving him a couple pats on the shoulder. “Did those new snips work on the fence?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I replaced those panels. Are you picking up Dallas?”

“Already did,” she nods at me with a smile.

“Gee, thanks, Dad,” I scoff. “Care much?”

I barely get the last word out when he turns around and I freeze.

Oh…my god…

It’s not my dad.

My mouth still hanging open, Colson sets down his coffee mug on the counter and starts across the living room, “Dally,” he drawls with a smile as he approaches.

The broad shoulders, the intimidating height, and now his dark auburn hair is grown out and pulled back through his Mossy Oak cap in a haphazard bun. He looks exactly like my dad. And then, as though I’ve stepped into a parallel universe, my actual dad emerges from the hallway, the only difference being his standard shadow of a beard.

My eyes dart back to Colson and I raise my arms just in time for him to embrace me around the shoulders.

“Long time, no see,” he rumbles.

After a few seconds, I pull back. “Tell me about it, hillbilly,” I shoot back while making a show of examining his hair. “Where the hell have you been?”

“There aren’t many barbers in the Arctic circle,” he smirks. But even through his smile, he looks different; more intense, if that’s even possible.

Before I can lob another snarky response at him, my dad eclipses Colson. I throw my arms around his neck as soon as he leans down and he lifts my feet off the ground.

“Dallas, Dallas, Bo Ballas!” his deep voice reverberates in my ear with the same name he’s called me since I was a baby and the same faint aroma of coffee lingering on his shirt. “Was your flight on time? Those yay-hoos at Montrose didn’t lose any of your luggage, did they?”

“No,” I laugh as he lowers me back to the floor. “But they almost didn’t let me board the plane,” I say with a more serious tone. “The gate agents thought I was an unaccompanied minor with the wrong ticket. I tried to tell them, but they kept asking for my parents’ names.”

“What?” he deadpans, his eyes darkening.

“ Yeah, ” I say incredulously. “They searched my bag for weed and then quizzed me on the state capitols. I got New Hampshire wrong and they put me in a tiny room and called security.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” my dad snarls, his face awash with rage.

Did I mention that Colson also gets his temper from our dad?

“Dean,” Mary mutters, nudging his side, “she’s kidding.”

And, like Colson, his knee-jerk reactions also make him easy to mess with.

Dad squints down at me, connecting the dots before letting out a sigh. Meanwhile, Colson is shaking with laughter behind him.

“What were you going to do,” he snickers as our dad steps past him, “drive to Montrose and beat some ass at the ticket counter?”

Dad swings his arm out and hooks Colson around the neck, jerking him down to his waist. Gripping him in a headlock, he continues to the kitchen while Colson tries to pry himself free, but he’s laughing so hard that he can only stumble along next to him. Our dad’s probably the only one who can toss Colson around; he’s the same size and spends all day with 40 head of cattle.

“Dinner in an hour,” Mary calls as she scrolls through the music on her phone. Finally, she settles on some Bone Thugs and connects her phone to the speakers mounted on the sideboard.

“Do you need any help?” I ask.

“No way, that’s their job,” she nods to the kitchen. “Steak frites. Take your stuff up to your room and I’ll get the wine.”

I don’t argue. This is the only place I’ll eat a plate of steak and potatoes because I’ve never found anywhere else that measures up. When I step into my room, it looks exactly like it did in high school . It didn’t matter that I spent one week max here each year, the deep purple paint and strings of lights cascading down the wall above the headboard were an absolute must in order to maintain the same vibe I had at my mom’s house. But unlike my mom’s house, there’s no baggage and no drama tangled in the good memories like brambles and briars. It feels like home, but also an escape.

After taking my time and savoring the calm, I step back out into the hallway, where the savory aroma of skirt steak searing in cast iron hits my nostrils. As I approach the stairs, I catch sight of Colson’s reflection in the bathroom mirror through the open door. He takes a drink out of the faucet before straightening up and throwing his head back, swallowing hard. He tosses a pill bottle back into the open toiletry bag on the sink before flipping the light off and I quickly turn my back before he can see me.

I’m instantly reminded of how much better I eat when I come here, especially now that I live in a decrepit slum with three other people with varying degrees of culinary skill. I should be basking in the abundance of red meat and starch, but for some reason I can’t get the image out of my head of Colson right after he downed whatever pill he took in the bathroom.

He swallowed, paused, and looked straight in the mirror with a look I can only describe as…

Bothered.

I know Colson’s face. And I haven’t seen him look like that for a long time. Not since he left our house one morning, walked into the woods, and came back a different person. But that happened six years ago, long before he decided to disappear only two years ago.

Dad and Mary go to bed early because they get up at the ass crack of dawn every day to start chores on the ranch. This is a beautiful place, but I remember why I chose to go to school in the city rather than live here; there’s no chance I’ll get ambushed by a mountain lion or trampled in a stampede.

Colson and I remain in the living room while I show him pictures from the last couple of years, including the one from my 21 st birthday months ago.

He pauses on a picture of Austin and me. “God, that kid’s still around?”

“Sometimes,” I shrug, “when he’s not travelling for games or doing rich people things.”

“But Bostwick’s such a tool… ” Colson whines.

He’s not wrong, and I wish Austin was a better friend, but the night of my birthday was a really good one. It’s the closest it’s ever been to the way things used to be without being trapped in the confines of high school. It was the night I decided that I wouldn’t ice Austin out just yet. He knew me before the day my life divided itself into “before” and “after.” Maybe I want to hold onto that.

“Yeah, well, he still showed up,” I snip. “That’s what matters.”

I don’t intend for it to come out like it does, but it’s pretty fucking rich that Colson’s taking jabs at Austin for showing up at my birthday while he was MIA without so much as a text. Colson always used to be at my birthday, and then he just disappeared.

Without another word, I snatch my phone from Colson and toss it onto the cushion next to me.

There’s a long pause before he speaks. “I should’ve been there, Dallas, but I couldn’t. Not after what happened.”

“It wasn’t because of Evie, so don’t do that,” I snap. “Does it have anything to do with those pills you take?”

A spark ignites behind his radioactive eyes and, this time, I stare right back because I don’t care what he thinks, especially if he’s just going to disappear back into the tundra once I get back on an airplane.

The sofa cushion gives as Colson rises from his seat and brushes past my knees. He strides into the dining room, opens the sideboard cupboard, and retrieves a bottle of whiskey. In three more strides, he’s in the kitchen pulling two juice glasses off the shelf.

“One or two fingers?” he asks as he gives himself a heavy pour.

I don’t even like whiskey, but I hear myself answering, “One.”

He pours mine and then proceeds to pour a double for himself and throw it back in one gulp. Then he immediately refills it and downs that one, too. He pours a third and returns to the living room, handing me the glass as he passes. I tip it back, holding the amber liquid in my mouth for a moment while I run my eyes along the walls, covered in framed photos that span generations of Lutzes, most of which include men and women mounted on horseback and majestic views from mountainsides. And cattle. Lots of cattle.

“I used to miss the way things used to be when it was just Mason, Aiden, Alex, and me,” Colson begins, “before shit hit the fan.”

“I know the feeling.”

“I didn’t have any real problems back then,” he muses. “I didn’t know shit about losing anything before Evie died. But the guys were there, and even though I felt so alone, I knew I wasn’t. Because of them…” He trails off for a moment, and then turns to me with a languid smile. “Hey, remember when Alex used to sneak into our house to play video games with you?”

Oh my god…

“Then I beat his ass that one time I caught him coming downstairs,” he laughs to himself.

The whiskey must be hitting him right about now. I bring my own glass to my lips and take a gulp, arching my brow in acknowledgement and hoping he’ll move on.

“I heard he got caught in all that shit that went down on that base years ago, when all those guys died in that attack and then the brass got hauled in front of Congress. I don’t even remember where it was. Did you know Alex’s dad was a Marine and he got deployed to the Middle East, too? Fucking wild…”

Now Colson’s rambling like I’m not even here, lost in his own mind. And I really wish he’d stop.

“A while ago, I was sitting in my truck up in Kaktovik and I looked at the group text. I don’t know what made me open it because I never have service there, but the last one was from Aiden. And he said Alex died.”

And, just like that, the earth cracks in two. My muscles go rigid and I feel my jaw start to drop before I snap it shut again. I try not to move a muscle even though my heart feels like it’s about to burst straight through my chest. Colson’s still rambling, acting like he didn’t just say what he just said.

“Alex was always the one looking out for everyone,” he continues with a momentary slur. “And he’d fucking fight, Dally. He’d go to the mat for any of us, and he’d always win.”

“I bet,” I mutter, clenching my teeth to maintain my composure. “How, um, what hap—”

Colson flinches and mumbles a curse before reaching behind his back. He pulls his phone out of his jeans and glances at it with disdain before ignoring the notification and tossing it on the side table.

“I can’t go back to Dire Ridge, Dallas,” he states with sudden conviction that catches me off-guard. “Something happened.”

Join the club.

“What happened?”

Is he finally going to tell me why he left so abruptly the day of his college graduation, why he took some pictures with us, went home, threw all his shit in his Bronco, and drove out here?

Colson rakes his teeth over his bottom lip. “There was— is this girl…” He trails off for a moment, a faraway look in his eye before he flinches like he just remembered where he is. “She was supposed to come out here with me.”

“ Here? ” I don’t ever remember him talking about a girlfriend, or girl of any kind.

“Yeah.” Colson closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I was going to take her with me, wherever I ended up going. And I would have, except—” he stops himself, scrunching his face painfully.

Jesus Christ, did he run away across the whole damn country because he was torn up over some girl? Since when does Colson let a woman get in his head?

“Except what?” I press, becoming more and more insistent that he finally tell me what spooked him so much.

“You want to know what I did to her?”

“If it’ll explain why you abandoned me,” I say with an edge.

At first, I say it to try and get a rise out of him, to ensure he keeps talking and doesn’t veer off on another tangent. I don’t think I can survive another one. But I also say it because I am angry at him. Because now I’m caught in the crossfire between him and Bowen. And, most of all, I’m angry that Bowen is trying to destroy who I am and turn me into a hollowed-out shell just because he hates my brother.

The bitter smile on Colson’s face suggests that my tactics are working.

“After the first night I saw her on campus, I never let her out of my sight. I even followed her home over winter break. And then I waited for her to go to sleep before I popped her lock, went into her room, and sat next to her bed…all night long.”

A heavy silence hangs between us as I let his words sink in.

“Colson,” I say softly, careful to maintain my tranquil tone, “had you ever spoken to her before?”

Part of me already knows the answer.

A sheepish grin creeps across his face. “No.”

“Why not?”

His eyes wander across the room, settling on the wood burning stove as the flames dance in his eyes. “She needed to be punished first.”

“What for?”

“The first time I saw her was at a party. I watched her for a while, and then some girl she was with started getting sloppy. It didn’t take long to realize her friend had been drugged, so I waited while Brett—that’s her name—took care of her.” Colson’s eyes begin to darken. “This asshole, Trey, was hanging around them the whole time, acting like he was trying to help. I already knew him from high school, he went to St. Iggy.”

Trey from St. Iggy? Like…Austin’s cousin, Trey?

“He was a fucking sleaze, so I figured he was the one who did it.” Colson empties his glass, swallowing hard. “Brett found someone to take the girl home, so Trey helped get her outside. But after that, I couldn’t find Brett. Come to find out, she disappeared with Trey. ”

I watch Colson intently as he glares at the flames, his lip twitching as he recalls the memory.

“What’d you do?” I ask dubiously, unsure if I want to know the answer.

“I broke his goddamn knee,” Colson snickers, “just like Aiden did to Jay Rhinehardt.”

Jay Rhinehardt? Bowen’s friend, Jay Rhinehardt?

Then he smiles like he’s reliving the moment. “Mase and I went and found him one night. Stupid motherfucker still had that shit on him. So, I balanced that little bottle on his kneecap and smashed the fuck out of both of them at the same time. Then I got in my truck and drove up to the lake.”

“To Brett’s house?”

“Don’t worry,” Colson grins in response to my ambiguous expression, “I told her all about it a few months later.”

“You told her?” I balk. “How’d that go?”

Slowly, he turns back to the fire. “ Absolutely amazing… ” he murmurs on his breath. “She loved it. She loved everything I did.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. “She liked it?”

“She gets it. She gets me. And it didn’t matter how fucked up I was, she saw all of me and she still wanted to be with me. She still wanted me to be her only. ”

I pause to swallow the ever-growing lump in my throat. “So, if she gets you, why isn’t she here now?”

“Everyone has their breaking point,” he says after a long silence. “I had a nightmare that night. I put a gun to Bowen’s head. I wanted him to say what he did to Evie, and then I was going to put a bullet between his eyes. Except when I woke up, it wasn’t Bowen. It was Brett. She was the one I was throwing around the room. I put a fucking gun in her mouth, Dallas,” he rasps.

My stomach drops and a sobering realization washes over me.

“Then what happened?”

“I woke up. And before I could do anything, she bolted. She wouldn’t answer texts, she wouldn’t answer calls, she wouldn’t even look at me in class.”

Can you blame her?

“I almost went to her apartment, but if she hadn’t told anyone what happened yet, she would have then. Leaving for a while was better than prison. So, that’s why I take the pills, Dallas,” Colson’s tone becomes increasingly more agitated, “because I went to the doctor and told them I tried to murder my girlfriend in my sleep. And now I get to take meds every day to remind myself that Bowen fucking Garrison is still ruining my goddamn life!”

“How long were you planning on staying away?” I ask, knowing how easy it is for time to elapse and promises to be forgotten.

“Paige asked me the same thing when I told her what happened,” Colson chuckles.

Who’s Paige?

I don’t get to ask him before his tone shifts again. “But Brett was— is everything, and I can’t go back there if I can’t be with her.”

But I need him. I need Colson to come home. I know what I have to do to neutralize Bowen Garrison as a threat, and I’ve made my own plan for it, but Aiden’s words hang heavy in the back of my mind.

You and who else?

There’s a reason Bowen stayed at a safe distance as long as Colson lived nearby. And I was happy to live in ignorance for six years, not even bothering to commit Bowen’s face to memory until it was too late.

But I can’t tell Colson about Bowen yet. Maybe never. Colson’s like a bomb; I can’t set him off without some kind of precision. But I have to tell him about the nightmares. No one wanted to tell him before, including me, and look what happened. Maybe if he hadn’t tried to kill this girl, maybe he wouldn’t have run off, and then maybe…

“Colson,” I start before I can lose my nerve, “that’s not the first time you’ve done something like that.”

“What do you mean?” he squints.

“I mean…” Just say it. “You did the same thing to me the night after you found Evie in the woods. You fell asleep in my room and I woke up to you dragging me around because you thought I was Evie and you had to protect me from Bowen.”

“No. When I woke up this time, I remembered doing it. That’s what happens. That’s what the doctors said.”

“You didn’t remember it back then,” I say firmly, “it’s why Scott locked up your guns and mom told me to lock my door at night until you left for college.”

Colson opens his mouth, but the realization renders him silent. He can’t argue with any of it, and things that didn’t make sense before suddenly become clear.

“Everyone thought it was just a nightmare because of what you’d seen,” I say softly, ready to shoulder the blame, “so none of us ever told you.”

Colson’s face falls, his mouth still open as his eyes dart back and forth across the floor. Moments later, his jaw tightens and he propels himself up. He storms across the living room, throws open the front door, and disappears into the frigid night, slamming the door behind him.

As soon as he’s gone, my hand flies to my mouth, my face contorts, and my chest convulses with airy sobs.

Alex…Alex…

It’s as though everything’s come crashing down— again. How have I lost everyone— again?

Suddenly, four pops echo from outside in quick succession. I leap from the sofa and bolt for the door, but then stop after just a few feet. Another four pops echo through the trees. Colson didn’t shoot himself. If he had, there would’ve only been one shot. He starts firing again, unloading his gun into the night.

I retreat to my room, an absolute wreck. I almost text Shelby, but I have no idea how to explain that my brother’s a stalker, he tried to shoot the object of his affection because he thought she was the man who’s currently hunting me , he has a sleep disorder that everyone kept secret for six years, and Alex Barrera is dead. Yeah, I’ll pass for now.

I’m still thinking about it while trying desperately to fall asleep. My mind is racing and there are still so many questions that haven’t been answered. Eventually, I decide to get up and crack my door. Peering into the hall, I can still see faint light from the stairway. I creep toward it and make my way back to the first floor, where I find Colson asleep on the sofa. At least he didn’t wander off in despair and freeze to death in the woods.

I glance at his phone, still sitting on the side table. Before I can talk myself out of it, I pick it up and tap the screen. Seizing an opportunity, I crouch down by his hand dangling off the edge of the cushion and gently press his thumb to the glass. The screen instantly unlocks and I silently creep into the kitchen where I won’t accidentally wake him.

I need to find out more about this girl, Brett. There are a lot of things about my brother that I don't understand, but one thing I know is that he doesn't chase girls. He never has. And the fact that he is, or was chasing this one is nothing short of significant. Starting with his contacts, I quickly find her among the few B names he has.

Brett Sorensen.

Having found a name, I start to return to the living room, but then hesitate. Since I already have his phone…

I tap the text message icon and prepare to search his entire history for her. But I don’t need to look far. In fact, Brett Sorensen’s name is the second one listed in Colson’s messages. My eyes round when I open the thread and find three texts just from today.

COLSON (8:02PM): Unpopular opinion… Friends didn’t age well

COLSON (11:16AM): It feels like you’re still in my truck when this comes on

Attached, there’s an image of his stereo face with Satellite by STARSET playing.

COLSON (8:21AM): Dallas is flying in today. I think you’d like her a lot. She likes dark stuff too, but she’s really happy all the time and likes to talk. She talks enough for everyone, so you never feel like you’re alone. I told you I’d bring you out here with me, and I still will if you want. I promise.

The more I scroll, the harder it hits me. Colson’s been texting her. He’s still been texting her as though she can see his messages. They vary in length, from one-sentence commentary on books to paragraphs describing his innermost thoughts. Finally, I arrive at one dated two years ago.

COLSON (3:34AM): Baby please talk to me. I don’t know what happened but I promise it never will again. I would never intentionally hurt you like that. You’re the only one I want for the rest of my life and I’d let you cut a pound of flesh off me if it made up for what I did. You’re my fucking heart, Brett Ashley. I know you think my soul is nothing but a dark void, but I’ve seen yours too and how it’s the only one that will ever fit with mine. I know you love me enough to know I’m telling you the truth because I’ve never loved anyone more than I love you. And Brett I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you.

Tears streaming down my face, I read another week’s worth of heart-wrenching, unanswered text messages until I finally decide I’ve seen enough. I need to return Colson’s phone before he wakes up and discovers me poring through his secrets. But not before doing something else I hope I don’t immediately regret.

I take a moment to open Colson’s photos, preparing for the very real possibility of seeing something that will make me vomit all over the kitchen floor. Granted, I’ve seen a lot of messed up shit when it comes to my brother. Fortunately, this is not one of those times. Instead, I drag the scroll bar down until I find the right date—two years ago.

It might be a long shot, but I scan the faces anyway. It’s ridiculous, really, searching for a face I’ve never seen. There are a lot of pictures of the forest, his Bronco, his Bronco in the forest, parties, hiking, and a lot of other random shit. But then my heart catches and I stop scrolling. There’s a long string of pictures that don’t look like the rest.

The most recent ones are selfies of Colson and a girl with a pile of strawberry blonde curls tied in a bun at the top of her head. This must be Brett Sorensen. Her cheek is pressed against his and she has a radiant smile that makes her hazel eyes pop. I wonder if she drank battery acid or primordial ooze from a sewer pipe when she was a kid, too. Regardless, she looks ecstatic to be sitting next to my brother. Quickly, I send the picture to my phone and then delete it from the text history.

Then I notice the rest of the pictures, and I’m not sure whether to be excited that I found her or horrified that Colson was telling the truth. There must be at least 100 photos of Brett. Brett standing next to a tree, Brett sitting at a table eating, Brett sitting in class— a lot of Brett sitting in class—Brett standing at her car, Brett with a group of girls, Brett in the library, Brett walking through campus…

The photos of Brett end on a picture of her standing among a crowd of people, probably at a party. But the ones taken after that give me pause. There’s one that looks like it’s being taken through a large window covered by a sheer curtain. She’s standing at a dresser with her hair wrapped in a towel…and she’s naked.

No, he didn’t.

In the next one, Brett’s still partially obscured by the curtains, but she’s lying in bed looking at her phone. The next ones are much darker. These were taken inside the room. There’s one from up above while Brett sleeps on her side and another looking straight on.

The last image has a different icon on it— a video .

I glance around the corner at Colson still asleep on the sofa and make sure the sound is off before playing. It’s from the same viewpoint as the photo, except now I can see Brett’s shoulder gently rise and fall with each breath. Slowly, Colson’s hand comes into frame and he gently brushes the stray curls out of her face with his fingertips. My eyes round and my mouth opens as I watch her eyes flutter open, stare at him for a few seconds, and then close again as she drifts off.

My hands shaking, I close out of all the apps on his phone and quickly replace it on the living room side table. I’ve seen all I need to see. Once I’m safely back upstairs in my room, I’m compelled to send a text of my own. Laying in my bed, my eyes blurry with tears, my thumbs peck at the glass in search of validations that don’t exist.

ME (11:21PM): Are you still coming to GalactiCon?

I don’t know where AJ lives, but I don’t expect him to answer right away. After casually finding out that Alex is dead, killed somewhere on the other side of the world, I have to talk to someone. And, to my surprise, my phone vibrates with a response a few minutes later.

AJ (11:26PM): Absolutely

ME (11:26PM): There are a lot of things I need to tell you and I wish I could right now. It would be so much better if I could tell you everything.

AJ (11:28PM): You know I’m here for you, Ry. Why can’t you tell me now?

Maybe because I still don’t know who I can trust. And right now, I want to be able to trust AJ more than anything. I snapped at Colson about Austin because part of me still wants to hold onto the “before” Dallas. But there’s only now, and that’s the only part of me that AJ knows—the tiny details that comprise me, and not just a name or face. And, for some reason, that puts him on another level. And I’m going to need someone like him, who understands me, if I’m going to do what I’m about to do.

I wish I could forget about Bowen Garrison. I wish I could forget everything. But the only thing that’s keeping me sane is pure vengeance. If I stop, I’m afraid I’ll lose myself and I’ll never be able to come back. Colson never forgot, and neither can I.

I never wanted to admit it, but Colson and I share a lot more than parents. We’re very different, but also very much the same in ways that I never understood until now. And maybe now’s not the time to fight genetics. The reality is that I can’t do this without Colson. I can’t do this all by myself, even with Aiden’s clandestine surveillance and bad attitude. I need someone with as much of a stake in this as me.

And this woman, Brett—my brother’s obsession—is my only hope. There can’t be anyone else on this earth who would think what Colson did was remotely appealing. But, for some reason, she did. And maybe she still does. There has to be something different woven into the fabric of her being that clicks with Colson’s deviance and utter irreverence. There has to be a reason that she’s the only woman who can bring my brother to his knees.

And because of that, she’s also the only one who can bring my brother back home.

So, am I really going to offer her up like a sacrifice? Am I going to help my brother hunt this woman like an elk on this mountain being tracked by a wolfpack?

Yes. I am.

Because before I offer up Brett Sorensen as tribute to my brother— the wolf —I need to find her.

I will search for her, I will find her, and I will bring both of them back home.