Chapter 27
Sierra
Ihead back to my room to finish packing. I need to leave before my resolve slips—before anyone talks me out of it.
If Reid or Luke see me trying to leave, they’ll do everything they can to convince me this isn’t my fault. To make me stay.
But it is my fault, and I do have to go.
I can see it clearly now. Whatever’s broken in me doesn’t stay contained—it spills out, and people get hurt.
I thought I had it under control. I don’t. I can’t risk hurting anyone else.
Besides, I’ve already gotten what I came for. I know this place isn’t a cult. Bertha is more than fine—better than me, if anything—and I’ve got enough footage for the video. There’s no real reason to stay.
Except… I want to say goodbye.
To the morning meditation sessions. To Nadia and the yoga group. To Bertha, of course—and Amanda. To the kitchen guys. To the hiking group. Even the small moments at breakfast—the jokes, the easy conversations.
I didn’t think it would matter. But it does.
And the men…
I know if I see them, I won’t leave. Reid will try to reason with me. Luke will try to charm me into staying. Talon… he won’t say anything. He’ll just turn away—and somehow that’ll feel worse.
It’ll be too much. I’ll break, and I’ll stay, and everything will get worse.
That’s not fair to any of them.
I write a few short letters instead. Just enough to say thank you. Enough to make it feel like I didn’t disappear without a word.
Then I grab my bag and slip into the hallway, hoping I can make it out without running into anyone.
No such luck.
“Leaving already?”
I spin around. Amanda’s coming back from the kitchen, a bowl of ice cream in her hand. When she sees me, her arm jerks slightly, like she almost hides it, then she steadies herself.
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile. “Something came up. I need to head home.”
“Oh.” She takes a bite, watching me. “Have you told Reid?”
“He knows.”
It’s not exactly a lie. Just not the full truth.
If he’d realized what I meant, he wouldn’t have left me alone.
But right now, he’s gone. Luke’s gone. Talon’s gone.
It’s the only window I’m going to get.
“Oh,” Amanda says again, quieter this time. There’s something like disappointment in her tone.
“I’m sorry. Here.” I pull out a business card and hand it to her. “This has my number. My address too—I left it in your letter.”
“You left me a letter?”
“Of course. I told you I wanted to keep in touch.”
“But we just met.”
I shrug. “Does it matter?”
She studies me for a second, then smiles—small and a little unsteady.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
“You’re welcome,” and I meant it. “If you need anything, call me. Even if it’s just…” I give a small, half-hearted laugh. “Help hiding a body.”
She doesn’t laugh.
I hug her quickly, then pull away before I lose my nerve.
I leave Tal’s letter in his shed on one of the rabbit cages, along with some cash for the car. The rest I left on the table in the entrance hall where the post usually goes.
Then I head to my car, get in, adjust the seat, check everything once more, and start the engine.
With a deep breath, I pull away.
The urge to cry hits almost immediately, but I hold it back. Not yet.
This isn’t the first time I’ve had to leave everything behind.
I’ve done it before. More than once.
The first time, I ran from my childhood.
The second, from Reid.
Each time, I rebuilt. A new place, new people, even a new version of myself—someone steadier, someone better. Someone who wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes.
It worked.
Until I came back here. Until I saw him again.
Now I’m right back where I started—only this time, I’m dragging other people down with me.
No more.
This ends now.
When I reach the fork in the road, I turn left off the metaled track and onto a smoother, wider asphalt surface.
It’s a little out of my way, but today I’m choosing the longer, easier route rather than risking the older, steeper mountain pass.
It adds time to the journey, but I’m in no mood for any wild adventures.
I just want to get home, lock the door, and go to bed.
The silence in the car starts to get oppressive, so I reach for my phone to play some music—then I pause, a thought occurring from nowhere.
I wonder if Reid fixed the radio when he sorted out the heat sensor?
Only one way to find out… I tap the button on the steering wheel.
Sound fills the car.
The radio works.
I blink, surprised. It hasn’t worked in years.
Of course he fixed it. That’s just like him.
The heater is stronger too, and the whole drive feels smoother.
Talon is not the sort to just patch things up—he takes care of things properly.
“Thank you,” I whisper into the empty car, a dull ache settling in my chest. “Thank you.”
I can picture him—shrugging it off, rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding my eyes. One of those rare smiles when he lets his guard down. The way he listens, always catching everything even when he pretends not to.
My grip tightens on the wheel.
I don’t want to go.
But I have to.
This is for the best.
They deserve better than this, all three of them.
I’d been driving about forty-five minutes or maybe a little under an hour, and I’m still in the mountains, when I notice the sky darkening and the temperature cooling noticeably It’s been gray all day, but now the clouds are thicker, lower. A heavy drop of rain hits the windshield.
“Shit.”
The last thing I need right now is rain.
For a moment, it’s just a drizzle. Maybe it’ll pass. I shiver in my thin shirt and turn up the heater, glad of the warmth that immediately belts out into the little cabin.
The car was never great in the rain—fogged glass, bad wipers—but those are fixed now. The heater hums steadily, the wipers cutting clean arcs across the glass.
I should be fine.
The rain picks up. Faster. Heavier.
The clouds shift overhead, dark and closing in.
A storm is coming, and it’s moving faster than I am.
I scan the road for somewhere to stop—nothing but trees. I check my map. There’s a motel and gas station a few miles ahead.
Maybe I can make it.
The road is empty, so I press down on the gas.
That’s a mistake.
The moment the speedometer climbs past sixty, the engine lets out a sharp, violent pop.
Everything happens at once.
The car jerks, slides—tires screaming as I slam the brakes.
My heart hammers against my ribs as the world spins.
I clutch the wheel, fighting for control.
Oh God.
Is this it?
Is this how it ends?
The car slams into the curb and jolts to a stop.
Silence.
For a second, I don’t move. My heart is still racing, my hands locked tight around the wheel, fingers aching.
I’m… alive.
I drag in a breath. Then another.
Did that just happen? Did I almost—
No.
I can’t think about that.
What the hell?
Thunder cracks overhead, snapping me back.
Okay.
Car’s dead. Middle of nowhere. Storm coming.
What now?
I grab my phone and almost call Reid.
Almost.
Then I stop.
No.
I call AAA instead.
“Thank you for calling AAA. Your call may be recorded for quality assurance. If this is a roadside emergency, please stay on the line.”
After a few prompts, a voice comes through. “Hello, my name is Melissa, and it is my pleasure to assist you. How can I help you today?”
“Hi, um—my car just broke down. I’m on the side of the road, and there’s a storm coming.”
Silence.
I frown. “I need help.”
The line cuts out.
I pull the phone back and stare at the screen.
No service.
“Fuck!” I slam my hand against the steering wheel. “Why is everything going wrong today?”
Thunder answers, louder this time. Getting closer. The sky darkens to an ominous copper color.
And then, just a few drops at first, but rapidly picking up the pace, the rain comes down in earnest.