Page 172 of We Drank the Dawn

I recoiled in fear, which made him roll his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, boy, toughen up. You’re such an embarrassment. Get out of the car before I beat your ass. My weekend is up and I’ve got shit to do.”

Mom opened the door, frowning at Dad because she hated him.

Or maybe she was frowning at me because I was pretty sure she hated me, too.

A shadow loomed behind her.

Suddenly desperate, I shrieked, “No! I’m not going.”

With a growl, he lunged at me.

I gasped.

Focus…focus on something…focus…

Struggling to remember grounding tactics, I clumsily pawed at the realities around me.

The prickling sensation at the back of my neck. The book on my chest. The irritating smell of hay. The quiet shifting of horses below. Peter laughing.

I looked down to see my long sleeve tugged up to my elbow, the end of my cigarette hovering millimeters away from the cluster of scars on the inside of my forearm. My muscles pulled tight, resisting the temptation to embody that hurt, just for a second…

With a jerk, I stamped the cigarette into the thigh of my jeans then flicked the butt into through the open loft doors.

FIFTY-NINE

Sarah

We had officially reached a state of delirium.

The water was way colder than we thought it would be, and trying to climb out via a half-rotten dock was also way harder than we anticipated. Of course, we cackled like maniacs the entire time, and something in me healed as we laughed together.

Oh, how my soul had needed this.

Moment by moment, the pieces of my heart stitched together, becoming whole again.

The entire front of my body was streaked with dry mud from pushing myself out of the water on the side of the dock. Considering we were standing in our underwear, I envisioned sharing another kiss or having at least one romantic moment? But no. Our teeth instantly chattered as we pulled the dry clothes back over our bodies, stumbling around as wet skin resisted fabric.

Peter’s words were broken. “I take back what I said—about it not being that cold—holy shit.”

“And we’ve got a long walk back, genius.”

“The way here—didn’t seem too bad.”

As if making a point, the wind whipped, making us both gasp.

“Let’s go.” Peter tugged me back into the grass.

Gravel crunched beneath our feet as we jogged up the driveway. And even though the chilly air bit at my skin, I couldn’t wipe the stupid smile off my face. I was so happy. Peter and I were okay—more than okay.

The fifth wheel graciously blocked us from the wind. As Peter launched for the door, I pulled him in the opposite direction. “Wait! Let’s try the outdoor shower!”

Standing about five feet from the fifth wheel was an outdoor shower with three wooden walls and one curtain. It was wonderfully private at the back of the ranch. I felt perfectly safe stripping all the way down as the water billowed to a full, steaming temperature. Plunging myself beneath the flow, I gave a long, heavy sigh of relief as the hot water whisked away the cold droplets still clinging to my hair, warming me from the outside in.

But Peter hung back, hovering just inside the open curtain.

Pulling my head out from under the stream, I asked, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said. But he didn’t sound okay. His voice had suddenly changed, sounding tense.