Chapter 2

Brooke's POV

Before I could get out of the booth, Easton clamped a hand around my wrist.

His grip was crushing, his fingers digging into my clammy skin.

"Brooke, stop acting like a spoiled child," he hissed, dragging me straight toward the glass exit doors. "You're always the reasonable one. We've been driving six hours—nobody has the patience for your tantrums right now."

He didn't give me a chance to argue.

He hauled me into the blinding noon heat and dragged me toward the big Chevy SUV.

Avery had already climbed into the corner of the back seat; Kenzie sat comfortably up front, adjusting the vents so the cold air blew directly into her face.

Hiram yanked open the rear door.

"Brooke, middle seat," Hiram ordered. "Avery wants to stretch out on the left, and the big Coleman cooler's on the right."

There wasn't a square inch of space in the middle.

The floor mat was buried under plastic shopping bags, empty coffee cups, and two heavy camera backpacks.

"There's nowhere for my legs," I said, staring at the cramped space. "The cooler's taking up the entire footwell."

"Prop your feet on the cooler," Easton said, sliding into the driver's seat. "It's only three hours to the next stop."

I wrenched my arm free of Easton's grip—but stranded on a scenic highway in the middle of nowhere, I had nowhere to go.

Gritting my teeth, I got in.

The instant my right heel touched the floor, the raw blister tore open with an agonizing stab of pain.

I bit the inside of my cheek and swallowed the cry.

I squeezed myself into the narrow middle seat.

My knees jammed up against the back of the center console, my shoulders crushed between Avery's bulky frame and the hard plastic edge of the cooler. I couldn't move an inch.

Easton started the engine, shifted into gear, and merged into traffic.

Less than two minutes in, he reached over and pressed the adjustment button on the side of Kenzie's seat.

The passenger seat reclined all the way back, the headrest slamming solidly into my kneecaps.

"Better for your neck, Kenzie?" Easton asked softly, undisguised tenderness in his eyes.

"So much better, thank you," Kenzie sighed, closing her eyes. "Easton, you're so thoughtful."

The seat's cold plastic frame dug brutally into my left shinbone.

"Easton, you're about to break my leg," I said from the back. "Move the seat forward one inch."

Kenzie shifted at once, eyes opening, brow knitting with concern.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry, Brooke! I can sit up straight—my migraine really isn't that bad—"

"Quiet, Kenzie," Hiram interrupted from behind his sunglasses. "You need your rest. Brooke, stop whining. Just angle your knees a little to the right. There's plenty of room."

"There's a giant cooler on my right, Hiram," I said.

"Then endure it," Hiram snapped. "Kenzie's blood-sugar condition is a real diagnosis. You walked a few miles—big deal—and now you're manufacturing drama over nothing."

My left sneaker was pinned on a flattened fast-food bag, grease seeping out and staining the toe.

I let my head fall back against the headrest and closed my eyes.

The SUV jolted along the scenic road, lurching violently over every pothole.

Every jolt sent a white-hot spike of pain up through my shredded heels.

My socks were soaked through with blood, glued to the torn flesh.

Twenty minutes crawled into an hour.

Up front, the AC blasted at full strength; back here, crammed in the middle, the air was stale and suffocating.

My right calf, locked at an awkward angle against the rigid cooler, began to cramp violently.

I tried to shift my weight, but my shoe snagged on a strap dangling from Avery's backpack.

Dull pulses of pain radiated from my heels all the way to my lower back.

Nobody in the car said a word to me.

Hiram, Avery, and Easton discussed at length which hiking trail to take the next morning.

They argued cheerfully over which craft-beer bar near the park was worth a visit.

And any time Kenzie stirred—or let out the faintest sigh—Easton instantly fussed:

"Kenzie, want some water?"

"Should I turn the music down?"

"There's ginger candy in the door pocket if you feel nauseous."

He never once asked if I was thirsty.

He never once asked why I held my ankle stiff in midair, afraid to let it touch anything.

In the late afternoon, Easton pulled into a crowded viewpoint at the foot of the mountains.

"Everybody out for a group photo," he announced, cutting the engine.

The doors flew open.

Avery jumped out first, raising his arms high in a stretch.

I dragged my numb, cramping legs across the floor and lowered myself onto the dusty ground.

The moment my feet hit the gravel, the crusted skin on my heels ripped open all over again.

Before I could bite it back, a sharp hiss of pain escaped my throat.

I grabbed the edge of the car door to keep from collapsing.

I looked down at my shoes.

The white canvas of both heels had turned a shocking, ugly dark red.

Blood had soaked clean through the fabric, dripping onto the rubber soles.

I looked up, desperate for Easton to glance my way.

But he was already several meters ahead, holding a big black umbrella over Kenzie's head, terrified the afternoon sun might burn her fair, delicate skin.

Hiram walked on her other side, dutifully carrying her designer bag and insulated tumbler.

They looked for all the world like a royal honor guard, escorting some priceless, fragile treasure.

A passing elderly couple looked at Easton and Kenzie and smiled warmly.

"What a lovely young couple," the old lady murmured to her husband. "Look how attentive he is to her."

Easton didn't correct her.

He just smiled politely and guided Kenzie toward the wooden overlook.

I stood alone by the open car door, my hand pressed against the warm metal, trembling.

I let go and hobbled toward the public restroom.

Every step was a long, exquisite torture.

I trailed dozens of meters behind the four of them, dragging my feet through the dust.

At one point, Easton glanced back.

He didn't see my blood-stained shoes.

He didn't see my paper-white face.

"Brooke, hurry up!" he called impatiently, waving. "The light's changing—we need you to take the group photo!"

Avery pulled out his phone, cackling:

"Brooke walks like an eighty-year-old today! Come on, snail!"

I stopped walking.

I looked at the four of them lined up against the rough timber railing overlooking the canyon.

Hiram had his arm around Kenzie's shoulders, tucking her comfortably into the umbrella's shade.

Easton stood on her right, beaming with pride.

Avery leaned in from the left, flashing a peace sign.

There was no room for me in that frame. There hadn't been for a long time.