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Away from here.

Away from him.

I’d never wanted anything more in my entire life.

My mother found me twenty minutes later. She didn’t ask what happened. She never did. Just helped me to my feet with gentle hands and dabbed at my lip with a cool cloth.

“The school in Scotland is very prestigious,” she said softly. “You’ll get a wonderful education. And the countryside is beautiful. You’ll love it there.”

She was giving me permission to want it. To see it as escape rather than exile.

I nodded.

“When?” I asked.

“Next fall.”

She kissed my forehead, carefully, avoiding the bruise already forming on my cheek.

That night, alone in my room, I let myself cry. Not because of the pain. Not because of what my father had said.

But because I finally had a way out.

Scotland became my salvation.

I’m instantly pulled back to the present when Cameron’s palm settles on my thigh.

I glance at him and manage a smile. He smiles back, a little uncertain, but there.

The road gets bumpier as we approach the house, and then it comes into view through the trees.

It’s a large, rectangular house raised on stilts—flood protection for when the river swells—with a big wraparound porch and lantern lighting already glowing. Several cars are parked in the clearing.

“The guys are already here,” I say, and I can hear the excitement creeping into my voice despite everything.

I park and jump out, heading to the back to pull our bags from the trunk. Cameron helps me, and we carry them across the pea-gravel drive to the bottom of the steps leading up to the porch.

“Leave it here,” I tell him, setting my bag down. “Billy will get them.”

Cameron looks at me with questioning eyes.

“The groundskeeper,” I add. “He’s family. Distant cousin. We help him out.”

I see Cameron processing this, the class dynamics already registering on his face.

I bound up the steps two at a time. “Come on.”

Cameron follows more carefully. I can tell he’s cautious from the way he’s holding his shoulders, the way his eyes are taking everything in.

When we reach the door, I turn to him. “Don’t worry,” I say quietly. “They’re nice.”

I open the door, and we’re immediately met with celebratory shouts.

“Luc! Finally!”

“About fucking time, man!”

Every surface is already littered with beer cans. College football plays on the massive TV mounted above the fireplace: Alabama versus Auburn. The guys get up from the couches and greet me with smiles and shoulder claps. Austen first, then Alex, then Matt.