Page 2 of Trapper Road

But Willa was there, on the step below her, blocking any exit. The staircase was too narrow to push past her. Juliette would have to shove her friend down the stairs and into the hallway if she wanted to escape.

“No secrets, remember?” Willa said in her soft, lilting voice.

Juliette clenched her jaw tight. She knew what would happen if she told them about Beau; they’d tell her she was being an idiot. They’d ask if she’d ever talked to him on the phone or seen him via video, and when she told them he wasn’t allowed to take his phone to school and lived out on a farm with crap reception, they’d use it as proof that he wasn’t who he said he was.

They’d claim he was some forty-year-old pervert luring her into a sex trafficking ring, or a serial killer, or old Mr. Cooper from school who was skinny and bald and rumored to have a thing for young girls.

They wouldn’t understand that she and Beau had been talking for months. He’d sent photos, and she’d been smart enough to reverse image search them to make sure they weren’t fake. He’d even sent an audio recording of him singing a song he wrote for her. No pervert or serial killer would waste that much time on someone like her.

She wasn’t worth it.

There were easier targets out there. That was how Juliette knew Beau was real.

When Juliette didn’t immediately answer her friends, Willa placed a hand on her arm. Her palm was soft and cool, despite the stifling heat of the house. “We’re worried about you, Juliette.”

Her concern felt real, but Juliette didn’t care. She didn’t care about either of them anymore. Not when she had Beau.

Juliette forced a smile. “I’m fine,” she told them. “I promise. I just have to go.”

Her two friends exchanged a glance. Once upon a time, Juliette would have been able to understand their silent conversation. Now she didn’t even bother to try.

“Cool,” Mandy eventually said. “We’ll go with you.”

Juliette’s cheeks burned hot, her insides boiling. She wanted to tell them no. She didn’t want them there when she met Beau. They weren’t part of the fantasy she’d built up of the moment in her mind. But she also knew better than anyone how stubborn Mandy could be, and telling her no was a surefire way to guarantee her continued presence.

She forced herself to take a deep breath and relax her shoulders.Let them come, she told herself. Once she met Beau, everything would change. Juliette would finally be free, no matter what the cost.

1

GWEN

Rehab is a bitch, but so am I.

For months, I’ve been working on a badly screwed-up leg and hip, and today, finally, I get a full-fledged grin out of my physical therapist, who offers her hand to slap as I finish my last leg press. “That was perfect,” she says. “How’s it feel?”

“Great,” I lie. I want to throw up. “Fabulous.”

“Well, you’ve made wonderful progress. I think you can move to at-home exercise from now on; you don’t need me coaching you anymore. Congratulations, Gwen. You’ve worked hard, and it shows.”

After the nausea passes, I manage a smile back. “Thanks,” I say. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I know you well enough to know that’s not true,” she says as she helps me up. There’s a twinge, but it settles quickly. My muscles are strong; my bones have knitted. One surgery, which was a bit of a miracle considering how badly I’d fucked myself up, but then ... there hadn’t been a whole lot of choice.

It had been either jump several stories to a concrete floor or stay on a metal stairwell and get electrocuted. Sometimes, you make a split-second call. Maybe it’s the right one. Maybe not. But you make the choice and you deal with the consequences.

My consequences involved a shattered lower left leg, several snapped ribs, and a cracked pelvis. Still, it was better than frying to death. All in all, I’d been lucky. Though that didn’t mean I was completely healed. Maybe the bones had knitted back together, but some scars run deep and aren’t physical.

If only psychotherapy were as straightforward as physical therapy. Then I might feel a little closer to who I was before a madman tried to destroy my life. Again.

I dry the sweat from my face and neck and hand the towel back, and then I’m suddenly done. Finished. Walking out the double doors and into a bright Knoxville morning with a breath of fall chill coming around the corners.

There’s a coffee shop two doors down, and I settle into the seat across from Sam Cade, who lowers the newspaper—an actual newspaper—to give me a questioning raise of eyebrows. The morning looks good on him. His hair’s grown out a little, rough around the edges and in need of a trim, the ghost of a beard he hasn’t shaved off yet. A clever face with the warmest eyes I’ve ever seen. He’s got glints of silver in his hair, here and there; I wonder if he’s noticed. Or cares.

“Well?” He asks it when I don’t immediately tell him, and I smile.

“Graduated,” I say. “I’m on my own.”

Sam’s relief is genuine, and it warms me. “Thank God. How does it feel?”

---