Chapter 2

It snowed heavily overnight. I was inches deep in it when I stepped outside in the morning. The cold air clung to my lungs and the breaths I took pierced me sharply.

I’d always liked it when it rained back home, but the snow was completely different. It was unpredictable, unforgiving, and undeniably beautiful. Fresh snow is about as magical as a unicorn for a Cali girl.

“I don’t want you going out in this,” Grandpa said, appearing quietly by my side. “Wait a while. I’ll get the snow chains on the tires.”

The roads had been plowed, but like I said, snow was unpredictable.

“Black ice,” Grandpa said. “You never know.”

Grandma came out of the house and took me by the arm.

“Come have some breakfast, Grace.”

She made me a bowl of oatmeal to warm me and poured me a mug of coffee even though she didn’t really approve of giving me caffeine. She still thought I was too young.

“I’m a legal adult, Grandma. I could buy cigarettes if I wanted to.”

“But you don’t want to,” she said severely and topped off my cup. The lesser of two evils, I guess.

My grandparents would probably lock me up in a closet with a bible if they knew half the shit that I did.

I heard the front screen door clang as Grandpa shook his boots. He was stern and super old, but Grandpa wasn’t a bad guy. The world had been different in his time. It didn’t make everything he did okay, but it at least explained a lot of it. I wanted to be understanding because I knew that he was hard on me because he cared.

I checked my watch. It was almost ten after seven. I would need to get going if I was going to make it to school by seven-thirty to meet Gabe.

The school parking lot only had one parked car when I got there. A black Kia Sorento, parked under a tree off to the back, the car still running with the driver inside. I walked up to it and rapped my knuckles on the window.

Warm hazel eyes met mine through the glass.

Gabe turned off the engine and stepped out of the car, pulling his messenger bag from the passenger seat. The sun was shining down on him, illuminating all of his features and bringing out the deep amber of his eyes. His hair was in that same intentional state of messiness that made him look youthful and carefree. He was the kind of beautiful that almost hurt to look at, like he was made up of rays of sunlight, blinding me.

“Hi,” I said breathlessly.

“Hey,” he said with a smile. The sight of it tore the despair from my bones, hollowing out the weight of sadness that I carried until I could barely feel it. It was a wonder that a smile alone could hold so much power.

I followed him in a daze into the school. He switched on the lights, brightening all the gray of the hallways, casting out all the shadows. The way he interacted with the world, the way it adapted to his motions, the way his tall body took up so much space but lent back so much in return, made me want to go back to my bed and curl up with my thoughts.

Watching him was like watching the stars align. He made everything fall into place.

I took my seat in the back and worked on my assignments with my head down, burying my brain in all the words and numbers and the bullshit that was somehow supposed to prepare me for the fucked up world out there. Maybe someday the Pythagorean Theorem would be useful somehow, but for now, the only purpose it served was clouding my mind with three sides of a triangle instead of three sides of desperation from wanting something I couldn’t have.

Gabe was at his desk grading workbooks, one free hand flattened on the desk, the long fingers splayed out like a starfish. His eyes moved quickly over the text, his brows furrowed deep in thought. I could see a glimpse of passion there; he was consumed by his work. The scratch of his red marker was the only sound louder than the heartbeat thrumming in my ears.

Emma lingered in my thoughts, whispering dreams. My feelings were like puzzles she could have solved. She would have known what to say to still my heart, to calm me from this storm, to keep me from drowning in the need of wanting someone so badly that it made my body ache.

“Caught up?” Gabe asked when I put my pencil down.

I nodded. I’d completed two hours’ work in twenty-five minutes. Back home in California, I’d been a good student—excellent, actually. My junior year had been all about AP classes and SAT tutoring on the weekends. The content in the workbooks was easy, just the basics of a high school education. It was a breeze for a former overachiever like me.

I dropped off the workbook at Gabe’s desk, looking at my feet the whole walk up. It was strange how some people have such a profound effect on you that sometimes you can’t even look at them.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked, sliding my workbook in front of him from the edge of his desk.

“Better,” I said. It wasn’t a lie. Today was ... bearable.

He opened my workbook and began grading, his marker hovering over every page. He was fast, scanning my answers quickly.

I was about to walk away when he stopped me.

“Wait,” he said. “I’m a third of the way through and you haven’t gotten a single question wrong.”

I chewed my bottom lip nervously.

“Why are you in this class, Grace?”

For the first time in months, I was feeling embarrassed about my grades. I’d had every plan of ghosting through senior year with as little effort as possible. It hadn’t seemed like a big deal, especially since I wasn’t planning on going to college. It didn’t seem fair. Emma had wanted to go to Yale so badly. I’d stolen that from her.

“I didn’t apply myself,” I said lamely.

“And your teachers didn’t do anything to help you?” He sounded annoyed.

“It’s not their responsibility to hold my hand through every class.”

“You don’t need any hand-holding. You’re a gifted student. Why the hell didn’t anyone stop you from sabotaging yourself like this?” He slid his chair back and ran a hand down his face, looking as frustrated as Mom probably felt. She’d said the same things.

“I’m a big girl, Gabe,” I said, looking up at him. “I can take responsibility for my actions.”

His eyes burned dark.

“This stops now,” he said firmly. “No more slacking off. I’m not going to let you throw your future away.”

“I’ll graduate,” I assured him. I’d already promised Mom that I would. That was the whole reason I’d agreed to make up the credits.

“And what are your plans after graduation?”

“Nothing,” I said, knowing he’d already guessed as much.

“Don’t you want to leave this town?” he asked.

I shrugged. “What’s there to do?”

“Study. Travel. Explore. There’s a whole world out there.”

“Not for me,” I said, shaking my head. “There’s nothing out there.”

“Nothing you think you deserve,” he corrected, seeing right through my words.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said, my words coming out in a whisper. It was getting hard to talk. I didn’t want anyone in my head dissecting all of my shitty decisions. It made me feel naked, raw, exposed.

“Yes, I do.”

I was too weak to fight him. The conversation needed to end before he could unfold all the chaos and see the unhealthy thoughts in my head. Then he would join the short list of people that wanted me to go see a shrink and talk it all out. No one understood that I didn’t want or deserve salvation.

“You’re punishing yourself,” he said quietly.

He was piecing it all together. Terror spiked in my veins.

“I-I’m not,” I said too quickly.

“How did your sister die?”

Fuck.

“Car accident,” I said.

The events flashed in my mind; the sound of metal crunching and glass shattering; the jerk of the car; the smoke and the fumes burning my nose; the taste of blood; the sounds of the hydraulic rescue tools prying the doors off; the firefighters cutting off my seatbelt; the paramedics strapping me down, begging me to stop screaming because Emma was being laid out on the road, a white sheet rustling in the wind before it was used to cover her body.

“You were in the accident.” He didn’t even have to ask. He knew.

Fear had manifested into a physical form in the back of my throat. I couldn’t swallow it down. I was bare and vulnerable now, stripped of the armor, and forced to face the man who was breaking through all of my defenses.

I hated it. I hated being read.

“You’re feeling survivor’s guilt, Grace,” he said gently. “You’re not letting yourself live because you don’t think you deserve to be alive.”

“S-Stop,” I said shakily, feeling sudden anger course through my veins. “You-You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?”

He unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve and rolled it up, wincing. Every inch began to reveal a story written in deep gash marks. Then he turned his hands and opened them, revealing palms with jagged scars. How had I missed them?