𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

[ ₁₉₉₆! ]

The way to the lake felt like a marathon.

Taissa had said it was only four miles out—maybe five—but Annie Jo was starting to think the trees were moving behind their backs. Every hill they crossed, every hollow they passed through, looked exactly the same: moss-slicked stones, branches clawing at their clothes, the same bruised-gray sky overhead.

Every breath felt like a chore. Every step heavier than the last.

Annie Jo was sweating through her shirt and her ribs ached with every jostle of the backpack on her back. She shifted it higher, hissing at the pull along her side, and wiped her palms against her shorts. Her shoes sloshed with every step and her socks had been wet for miles.

She let herself fall into step with Natalie, whose shoulders were tense as she gripped the edge of the stretcher between them.

"I'm starting to think I should've voted to stay at the crash site," Annie muttered under her breath.

Natalie chuckled in agreement. "Too late now."

Every few yards, the stretcher dipped unevenly, thanks to one of the JV. Coach Ben let out a soft grunt, but he hadn't said much since their last break. Annie sent him a small, helpless smile and pressed forward.

Step. Step. Breathe.

Ignore the pain in her ribs.

Ignore the dampness sinking into her socks.

She glanced back once. Laura Lee was somewhere near the middle of the group, walking beside Lottie, her backpack slung over both shoulders. She hadn't looked in Annie's direction since she'd handed her a water bottle in the morning. That had been the only interaction between them all day.

Annie looked back down at her shoes.

"I think Laura Lee's mad at me," she said, voice barely above the wind, just loud enough for Natalie to hear.

Natalie didn't look over, but her mouth twitched, like she was trying not to react. "Yeah?"

Annie Jo nodded, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat. "We haven't gone this long without talking since we were, like, two."

Natalie shifted her grip on the stretcher and looked at her. "Maybe you should talk to her."

"I tried." Annie kicked a tree root hard enough to make her toe throb. "She just gives me short answers and says she's tired."

"Maybe she is," Natalie said, her voice unreadable. Then, after a moment: "Or maybe she doesn't know what to say either."

Annie glanced over. Natalie wasn't looking at her, just ahead—like she didn't want to push too far, but wanted Annie to know she was listening. Annie looked back again. Laura Lee's gaze was fixed on the path in front of her, arms crossed tight over her chest.

There was something about it that stung more than yelling would have.

"She's always been the one who knew what to say," Annie murmured, looking at the trees. "Even when we were little. I'd cry during a service and she'd whisper the prayers in my ear."

Natalie raised an eyebrow, a small smile on her face. "That's kind of creepy."

Annie huffed out a breath—not quite a laugh. "You didn't grow up in our house. Everything had to be perfect. Holy. We have a framed photo of the Pope in the kitchen."

"No way," Natalie said, genuinely in disbelief.

"I wish I was kidding."

For a moment, she was there again—knees against the cold tile of the church, Laura Lee whispering don't fidget while their father loomed behind them. Their mother's soft voice in the car after, asking if they'd remembered to keep their eyes closed during the Our Father.

Being good wasn't just expected. It was holy.

She blinked hard and looked down again, throat thick. "She always had the answers. I just... copied her."

Natalie didn't respond back, but she didn't need to. Her silence didn't feel judgmental. Just... there.

They kept walking.

The trees grew thinner. The air, colder. Their footsteps felt louder on the packed earth, the quiet turning heavy again. Natalie's grip on the stretcher slipped, but she tightened her hands just in time.

"Look," Natalie said, a little breathless, brushing damp hair from her face. "We're here."

Annie Jo stopped short, one hand still braced against the strap of her backpack.

Through the trees—just past a rise in the ground and between two narrow pines—there it was.

Water.

Wide and silver and still, it stretched out like a mirror, rimmed with low fog and jagged rock. The surface barely rippled, quiet as glass, like it had been waiting there in secret this whole time.

For a second, Annie couldn't speak.

They'd made it to the lake.

Behind her, twigs snapped and voices lifted as the others caught up in messy waves—scraped, sweating, half-delirious. A few gasped. Someone swore. The kind of stunned, shaky sounds people make when they've stopped believing something is real and then, suddenly, it is.

"Oh shit!" Van yelled, bursting forward with new energy. She whooped, grinning ear to ear as she broke into a sprint down the slope toward the shoreline. "Oh hell yeah, bitches!"

The spell cracked. A few JV girls and a couple others—Mari, Laura Lee, even Akilah—let out loud, relieved laughs and took off after her, stumbling down the hill like a stampede.

Annie Jo let out a startled laugh as Van whooped again, stripping off her shirt and jeans off, diving straight in. Annie smiled as she followed at a slower pace, pushing through low branches, heart racing in a different way now. Natalie's shoulder brushed hers as they went down the last hill.

At the edge of the water, Annie stopped. Her shoes sank into the damp earth. She brought both hands to her mouth, pressing her palms against her lips, eyes wide.

The lake shimmered.

Still. Quiet. Real.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, barely aware she'd spoken aloud.

Beside her, Natalie came to a stop.

She didn't look at the lake.

She looked at Annie.

Eyes steady. Quiet. Soft.

"Yeah," she said. "It is."

‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

It didn't take long before the others started peeling off layers.

Bags were dropped. Shirts were flung over shoulders. Shoes kicked off. Socks forgotten. Girls rushed past in sports bras and underwear, shrieking as they bolted toward the water, their laughter echoing through the trees like something from a life they weren't living anymore.

Molly hung back.

She sat on a half-submerged rock just off the shoreline, the sling Misty had rigged earlier slumped on the ground beside her. With careful fingers, she tugged the collar of her shirt wide and looked down at her shoulder for the first time since the crash.

A wash of purple and sickly yellow bloomed across her skin like paint spilled in the wrong place. The bruising had spread all the way to her collarbone, and the joint itself still looked slightly misshapen, like something inside hadn't quite made it back again. She winced, drawing in a sharp breath through her nose. Her stomach turned.

Her good hand worked the hem of her shirt up and over her head in slow, cautious motions. She bit the inside of her cheek when her bad arm twinged. The sports bra underneath was soaked with sweat and clung to her ribs, her breath hitching in uneven waves as she finally settled there—half-undressed, half-there.

The water lapped gently at the edge of her sneakers.

Everyone else was already splashing, diving, screaming.

They had laughed—really laughed—for the first time in what felt like weeks.

And somewhere near the center of it all, Travis stood with his back turned to her, his silhouette blurred by mist and light. His shirt was gone. So was the bite in his shoulders. For once, he looked still.

Molly didn't move. She just crouched, one arm cradled protectively across her body, and stared out across the water like it might answer her back.

She was still thinking about what she'd said to him. That quiet conversation in the dark. That flicker in his eyes when she said she cared. Even when he didn't.

You think you're the only one who lost him.

And maybe he wasn't looking at her now. Maybe he hadn't said anything since. But he hadn't yelled either. He hadn't pushed her away. And somehow, that felt worse. Like the silence might swallow them both whole.

Molly let her gaze drift back to the lake.

It was beautiful. Still and silver. Cold enough to shock the air out of your lungs.

But she wasn't ready to touch it yet.

At the shore, Annie Jo lingered at the edge, her fingers curled in the hem of her shirt.

She could hear the splash of bodies hitting the lake, the occasional scream of cold shock followed by fits of laughter. Van's voice carried over the water—something about a "wet cat"—but Annie barely processed it.

Because Natalie was standing just a few feet in front of her.

She'd already ditched her shows and socks, and now, without care, she tugged the hem of her grey shirt up and over her head.

Annie turned her eyes away immediately. Too fast. Like the movement had burned her.

She looked down at her own shoes instead, swallowing hard.

Out of the corner of her eye, she still saw it. Natalie's red bra, stark and soaked with sweat. A faded scar along her ribs.

"I'm going in," Natalie said, stepping toward the lake. Her voice was low and easy. She tipped her head back and rolled her shoulders once, like she was trying to let the sun warm her all the way through.

Then she glanced over her shoulder. "It feels nice."

Annie Jo nodded once, mute. She didn't trust her voice.

She didn't trust her eyes either.

Natalie stepped in, one foot, then the other. She flinched a little and then kept walking until the water reached her waist. Her hair was wild around her face, and when she turned to look back, it was through a veil of light and water.

"Come on," she called.

Annie Jo hesitated.

Everything about this was different. She was used to changing in the locker room, she had since her freshman year of college. But it felt different now. She wasn't supposed to feel anything about it at all.

"You waiting for an invitation?" Natalie teased.

Annie forced a laugh, but it was too thin, too sharp around the edges. Her whole torso was one giant bruise.

She sucked in a breath.

And then she gripped the hem of her shirt and pulled.

It stuck for a second, clinging to the sweat along her spine, and her bad side pulled with the motion, her body protesting. She managed to get it off without gasping, though just barely. Her arms crossed quickly over her stomach like she could still hide something, like the bra she wore was somehow more revealing than any of the others.

Natalie wasn't watching her. She was facing the other way now, eyes on everyone else splashing each other out toward the middle of the lake.

That helped.

Annie stepped forward, one foot, then the other. The water met her ankles and she flinched at the cold. Another step. The lake crept up her calves, her knees. She hissed through her teeth and bit down on a curse. But the cold was doing something—numbing, yes, but also quieting. The throb in her ribs dulled, the tightness in her spine loosened just slightly.

When she looked up, Natalie was waiting. One arm was extended, palm up. The other floated lightly at her side, half-submerged. She didn't say anything this time, but she smiled.

And Annie smiled back as she reached for her hand.

Their hands touched—brief, damp, but real.

And something flickered in the silence between them. Not loud. Not overwhelming. Just a spark of warmth beneath the cold, a moment longer than it needed to be.

Annie Jo felt it all the way down her spine.

She let Natalie tug her deeper into the water, where the ache in her body could finally let go—just for a little while.

‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

Molly's toes curled in the dirt as she stood, the hem of her shorts catching the wind. Her fingers fidgeted along the waistband absently, the fabric clinging to her legs in all the wrong places. The sling was discarded on a patch of grass behind her, and her shoulder ached—deep, electric, every pulse like something unfinished.

Near the water, Jackie was standing knee-deep in her shorts, brushing damp hair off her neck, her face soft with something almost like peace.

Molly pushed herself to her feet.

The gravel bit underfoot, but she ignored it, walking with a stiffness that came more from everything inside her than the injury. She made her way toward the water's edge, where Jackie and Mari were standing.

As soon as the cold hit her feet, she flinched. "Shit," she muttered under her breath. "That's cold."

Mari looked over, grinning. "You getting in or just swearing about it?"

Before Molly could answer, a sudden blur rushed past them.

Travis.

He launched himself through the shallows, his feet kicking up water in wild arcs. A spray hit Molly square in the thighs, soaking her shorts in one streaked splash.

"Asshole!" she yelled, but she was laughing—really laughing, not the hollow, tight-lipped kind she'd been forcing since the crash. Her hand flew instinctively to shield her shoulder, but even that pain couldn't cut through the sharp, sudden brightness of it.

Travis grinned back at her, shaking his head like a dog and splashing a little more deliberately in her direction.

Mari watched him with a tilted head, her eyes following the length of his arms, the way the lake clung to his chest. "Is Travis actually..." She squinted, like trying to see something new. "Hot?"

Molly blinked at her, deadpan. "No."

Mari raised her eyebrows, clearly unconvinced.

"He's an idiot," Molly added quickly, adjusting her damp shorts with one hand and looking away. But her mouth was too tight, her ears too warm, and she didn't say it again.

Instead, she turned her back to Mari, fingers trembling a little as she hooked them into the waistband of her shorts and began inching them down carefully—awkwardly, balancing on one leg, trying not to jar her shoulder. She peeled the fabric off inch by inch, hating the way her bare skin felt exposed and tight and stupid.

Then she turned toward the deeper part of the lake.

Natalie stood there, half-submerged, her eyes distant and quiet. And just beyond her—

Annie Jo, waist-deep, laughing with Van as she splashed cold water toward her, her hair slicked back and cheeks flushed pink. Her laughter rang across the lake like something real.

Molly began wading in, the cold biting up her legs. She gritted her teeth and pushed forward, the water numbing the ache in her bones.

She reached Natalie from behind and said, "You look like you're having a lot of fun."

Natalie startled—visibly—and twisted back. "Jesus, Molly. What the hell?"

Molly didn't flinch. "I see the way you look at her."

Natalie's mouth opened. Closed. "What are you—"

"Don't bullshit me," Molly cut in, calm and razor-edged. "You think you keep it hidden well?"

Natalie didn't respond at first. Just looked back at the water, where Annie Jo was throwing a handful of lake water toward Van, all limbs and stubborn grace. She moved like someone finally forgetting to hurt.

"Like the way you look at Travis?" Natalie said quietly.

Molly stiffened. Her jaw worked for a second, clenched tight. "That's not—"

"Isn't it?" Natalie's voice was low, tired.

Molly turned toward her fully, water up to her stomach now, the cold biting past the surface. "She doesn't know." she said, softer now. "But I can tell she feels it."

That silenced Natalie.

Molly looked at her, really looked—saw the softness behind the sharpness, the way Natalie's shoulders curved slightly inward when she thought no one was watching. The flicker of fear behind her smirk.

"You scare her, Nat," Molly said, gentler than before. "And I don't think you mean to. But if you keep playing this like it doesn't matter, she's going to figure it out the wrong way."

Natalie's brow furrowed. "I'm not playing anything."

"Then stop acting like you've got nothing to lose," Molly snapped. "Because if you break her, she's not the only one who'll fall apart. You will too."

They were quiet a long moment. The lake lapped against their waists, and someone whooped in the distance—probably Van again.

Molly finally said, "Just be serious with her. Don't look at her like that unless you mean it."

Natalie's gaze was distant now. Her fingers drifted through the water, slow and aimless.

"I do," she said, almost too low to hear.

Molly didn't smile. She didn't soften.

But she nodded, like that was the answer she'd been waiting for. Then she turned and waded deeper into the lake, toward Travis.

‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

At the edge of the water, Annie Jo turned—and found Laura Lee watching her.

Not glaring. Not distant. Just... watching.

Her arms were crossed loosely over her chest, her blonde hair dark with lake water and sticking in pieces to her face, and her expression was unreadable. Something in between worry and recognition. Something that made Annie's stomach twist.

She hesitated, then started swimming—slow, awkward strokes through the cold. Every movement tugged at her ribs, but she kept going. She didn't stop until they were waist-deep and close enough to hear each other breathe.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

"I'm sorry," Annie said finally, voice small.

Laura Lee didn't move.

"I know I've been..." Annie's voice caught. "I've been weird."

"You haven't," Laura Lee said quietly. "Not really."

Annie looked down. The water moved gently through her fingers, soft and steady, like it didn't care what she was or wasn't holding together.

"I just don't know what I'm supposed to be doing right now."

"Me neither," Laura Lee said.

That surprised her. Annie looked up. Laura Lee was staring out at the trees like they might offer an answer.

"I keep thinking," she continued, "that if I pray hard enough, God will just... make it clear. Like He always used to."

Annie bit her lip. Her voice, when it came, felt raw. "Did He?"

Laura Lee hesitated. Then: "I used to think so."

The silence between them stretched like a thread soaked in water. Tension softened it. But it held.

"I don't want to fight with you," Annie said. She hated how close her voice was to breaking.

"I'm not mad at you," Laura Lee said. "I just—"

She shook her head a little, wiping water from her cheek.

"I don't know how to be here. Without... all of it. Our house. Our family. Sundays. Certainty. Everything that told us who we were."

Annie blinked hard. Her eyes stung. "Me either."

A bird called somewhere behind them, soft and distant. The lake lapped gently against their hips.

"I thought I knew myself," Annie whispered. "What I believed. What was right. What was good. I thought I could hold onto it no matter what."

Laura Lee didn't speak.

"But it's all—" Annie drew in a breath that trembled. "It's all slipping. And I'm scared, Lo. I don't even know what I'm feeling half the time. It's like it's not mine."

Laura Lee reached forward, slowly, and touched her wrist beneath the surface. Her fingers were cold and sure.

Annie nearly cried at that. Not because it hurt. But because it didn't.

Laura Lee's voice came soft and low. "Maybe... maybe it's not about holding on. Maybe it's about staying close. To each other. While everything else falls."

Annie stared at her, throat burning.

"I don't want to lose you," she whispered.

"You won't," Laura Lee said. Her hand slid gently down Annie's arm, anchoring them. "Hey. Look at me. We're still us."

And for the first time in what felt like years, Annie believed it.

They stood there like that—two girls waist-deep in a lake the world didn't know existed, their fingers barely touching, shoulders brushing. The sun was breaking through the trees in narrow shafts, gold slicing across the water and making it shimmer like stained glass.

For a moment, it felt like church.

But quieter. And more true.

‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

At least an hour had passed since they'd arrived at the lake. The sun had shifted, hotter now, stretching long shadows across the water. Everyone had split off into little groups. The JV girls were playing a rowdy game of chicken, shrieking and laughing as Natalie waded in just far enough to referee. Laura Lee had wandered over to Lottie and was sitting cross-legged on the bank, her hair drying in messy waves. Molly stood near the edge of the water with Travis, her arm tucked carefully against her ribs, her laughter barely audible.

Annie Jo was hanging back. The sun felt good on her shoulders, and her skin had mostly dried. Her ribs still ached in bursts, but she could breathe now without flinching.

She wandered up the slope where Misty and Coach Ben were stationed on the stony beach. Misty was kneeling beside him in the dirt, picking up rocks, humming something. Ben was sitting up on his stretcher, covering his legs with a blanket.

"I can take over for a bit," Annie said softly. "If you want to go swim."

Misty looked up, bright-eyed and startled, like a deer hearing its name. "Oh! That's okay. I don't really—swimming's not really my thing."

Annie smiled politely, but Ben raised an eyebrow. "Misty," he said, voice firm but not unkind, "go."

"But—"

"You've been with me for hours. Take a break. Go cool off."

Misty blinked a few times, then stood up, brushing dirt from her jeans. "Okay," she said slowly. "But if you need anything—"

"I'll come get you straight away," Annie said, smiling kindly at the girl.

Annie by no means hated Misty. She was just... weird.

Misty lingered for a breath too long, then finally walked away toward the shore. She didn't go far, though. Just enough to watch them from a distance.

Ben let out a sigh the second she was gone. "She's so..." He trailed off.

Annie snorted. "She means well. Mostly."

The dirty blonde settled onto the sand beside him, crossing her legs and letting her arms rest on her knees. The quiet there was different. The water still sounded close, but the air felt heavier. More private.

"For what?"

"For pulling her away. And for... volunteering to stay back with me during the vote. Not everyone would've done that."

Annie shrugged, a little self-conscious. "Someone had to."

"No," Ben said. "They didn't. That's the thing."

She glanced at him. His face was pale and sunburned, but his eyes were steady. Tired, but clear.

"You're good at this," he added. "Keeping calm. Not panicking."

"I'm not sure that's true," she said quietly.

"Still. You're solid. That matters."

The words sunk somewhere deep. She didn't know how to respond, so she just gave a small, crooked smile.

They sat in the silence for a few moments. Somewhere below, someone screamed with laughter—probably Van. Misty had crept back just within earshot, pretending not to eavesdrop.

Ben tilted his head toward her, smirking. "You're about to lose your window."

"I know," Annie murmured, standing up. She dusted off her shorts and gave him a parting glance. "Good luck."

He gave her a grimace. "Pray for me."

She rolled her eyes playfully, waving goodbye before she started walking back down toward the lake, and behind her, Misty swooped in like a bird of prey returning to a nest. Annie glanced over her shoulder at Ben, who caught her eye and gave a tiny, exaggerated look of despair. She laughed under her breath and kept moving.

She was halfway back to the water when she heard it.

"Hey, stranger."

Natalie.

Annie turned, her heart already fluttering before she saw her. There she was—dripping wet, wild blonde hair stuck in pieces to her neck, boots abandoned somewhere behind them in the brush. She hadn't bothered to get dressed again. Just the red bra and black underwear, the lakewater still clinging to her skin in silver drops, her hand resting lazily on her hip.

"Hey," Annie said, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear. Her voice came out softer than she meant it to.

They stood there for a second—awkward and not. The space between them buzzed with a quiet tension, almost shy. Almost like something else.

Natalie didn't speak right away. Her mouth curled into something not quite a smile, just the barest shift of expression. "You disappearing on me?"

Annie lifted one shoulder. Her whole body still damp, her clothes sticking to her in odd places. "Not on purpose."

The hush that followed wasn't uncomfortable. Just full. They were close enough that Annie could see the drops on Natalie's collarbone, the faint freckles across her chest, the small scar on her knee. Close enough that she could feel her presence like a second sun.

The light was golden now, the kind that turned the world soft and slow. The air was cooler, finally—but Annie's skin was flushed, hot.

And she wasn't sure it was from the sun.

Natalie shifted again, brushing her damp arm lightly against Annie's. "Molly came up earlier."

"Oh?"

"She said something stupid." Natalie's gaze flicked toward the lake, like it offered an exit.

Annie angled toward her, her brow pinching. "Like what?"

Natalie didn't quite meet her eyes. "She told me to be careful."

Annie's stomach did a weird little flip. She blinked. "Careful?"

"Yeah," Natalie said, voice quieter now. "You know. With you."

Annie's heart beat louder. "What does that mean?"

Natalie let out a slow breath. "No idea. Maybe she thinks I bite."

Annie gave a short, startled laugh—more out of nerves than humor. "You kind of do."

Natalie smiled at that, quick and genuine. And for a heartbeat, Annie forgot how to stand.

She looked away, fingers curling at the hem of her damp shirt, tugging a loose thread. It gave her something to do with her hands, which suddenly felt too obvious. Too visible.

"She's been weird with me too," she murmured. "Molly, I mean."

"Maybe it's contagious." Natalie bumped her elbow again, this time letting it linger—warm, sure, grounding.

Annie didn't move.

There was something behind her ribs again. That strange, breathless ache. Not quite pain. Not quite anything she knew how to name. It wasn't the bruises this time. It was something else—something deeper, quieter, more dangerous.

Natalie's voice cut through the quiet again, gentler this time. "How's your side?"

Annie shrugged, trying not to sound as breathless as she felt. "Better. Still sore."

"I could clock someone with a rock," Natalie said, dry as ever. "Even the odds."

A laugh caught in Annie's throat—surprised, real. "Please don't."

The quiet that followed wasn't heavy anymore. It felt like the kind of silence that opened space for something else. Something Annie couldn't define, but wanted—wanted so badly it scared her.

Then Natalie turned toward her, fully this time. Her voice softened.

"I think Molly's just... worried."

Annie swallowed. "About what?"

Natalie didn't answer right away. Her eyes tracked Annie's hands—still fidgeting with the thread—then drifted up again.

"I think she thinks I'm gonna mess something up," she said. "And maybe she's not wrong."

Annie's heart beat once, hard.

"Why would you?"

Natalie paused. Then, simply, "I wouldn't."

And this time, she didn't look away.

Something shifted in Annie's chest. Her breath caught again, and this time she didn't let it go. She just looked at her—Natalie, standing there like she wasn't afraid of being seen. Like she wanted to be seen. Her sharpness softened in the light, her mouth parted slightly, her hair curling at the ends. Annie didn't know what was happening, not really. But she felt it. A low pull, quiet and insistent.

She reached out before she could stop herself, her fingers brushing against Natalie's wrist. Just a light touch, almost nothing.

But Natalie didn't pull away.

Her skin was warm. Solid. Real.

And that—that did something to Annie. Something tender and terrifying. She could feel her pulse in her fingertips.

Natalie's eyes flickered. She was still looking at her, but not with that biting edge she showed the others. This was different. This was careful.

And suddenly, Annie understood. Not all of it. Not clearly. But enough. Enough to feel her whole world shift slightly on its axis.

Natalie cared.

That's what this was. That's what she meant.

Annie didn't know what to do with it. But she didn't let go.

Natalie looked at her like maybe she didn't want her to.

And for that small, perfect moment, it didn't need to be named. It was just there. Like a new thing sprouting between them, fragile and wild and too green to touch.

Then—

"Guys! Look!"

Both their heads turned.

Lottie stood knee-deep in the water, her eyes locked on the woods behind them, arm raised and pointing.

Annie squinted past her, toward the trees. Something there—half-hidden in the brush.

A glint. Sharp. Bright.

Like a mirror.

Or a reflection.

Her breath hitched.

And without thinking, her fingers tightened around Natalie's.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Well... did someone say cabin?

Thank you so much for making it through Chapter Ten! The sun's out, the team's in the lake, and the trauma's just vaguely below the surface. This was a huge chapter for emotions, shifting loyalties, and slow-burn tension—that Natalie x Annie Jo energy is simmering now, and we're only just beginning.

Also... I may or may not have actually sobbed while writing the Annie Jo and Laura Lee scene. (Okay. I did. Like ugly cried. Multiple times.) That moment meant everything to me—and I hope it cracked something open in you too...

I'm not ready for that scene.

As always, comments, votes, and library adds are part of what brings life to this story. Let me know your favorite line, emotional gut-punch, or tiny character moment you can't stop thinking about. I read every single comment (at least twice) and respond to all of them.

Now let's place bets... who is getting together first? Annie and Nat or Travis and Molly?

P.S. I'm back on the TikTok chaos. Find me @p0isonyouth.wp for new edits and sneak peeks.

Question of the Chapter: Who would you absolutely not want to be stuck next to on the hike to the lake?

Bonus Question: What songs remind you most of this book (I need to add to the playlist)

Until next time,
Lyss