Chapter Eight
He headed straight for the grocery store, windows down, wind tearing through his hair.
Dust curled behind the truck as he hit the main road.
For the first time since landing on the ranch, the world didn’t press in on him.
He sat behind the wheel like any other guy running errands instead of someone being monitored.
Sunlight warmed his arm through the open window.
Music thumped from the radio, steady and loud, and he drummed his fingers on the wheel in time with the beat.
The road stretched wide and open, nothing but sky and asphalt ahead.
For a few miles, the ranch, the rules, and the constant pressure slipped off his shoulders.
Pieces of his old life drifted back—late-night drives, fast food wrappers on the floor, no one tracking his location or timing his return. Not freedom exactly, but close enough to taste.
And he held onto that feeling for as long as the road let him.
Pieces that hadn’t been taken. Pieces he could still claim.
He grabbed his phone at a red light and fired off a text.
Ethan: At the grocery store. Meet me in the fruit and vegetable aisle.
Sarah: OTW
His pulse quickened. He hadn’t seen his sister in weeks. The thought of her walking toward him—alive, safe, smiling—made his chest tighten in the best way.
Inside the store, he pulled up Carter’s list. The man had a thing for produce.
Grapes, apples, berries, greens—half the damn list looked like a farmer’s market exploded.
Ethan grabbed plastic bags and started counting out fruit as if he knew what he was doing.
He tied each bag neatly, trying to match the tidy rows he’d seen in Carter’s fridge.
He’d never shopped like this. Growing up, his mother handled everything. In college, he lived on dining hall food and whatever fast-food place stayed open past midnight. This whole adult grocery run thing seemed foreign, but weirdly satisfying.
He reached for a container of strawberries when a familiar voice cut through the aisle.
“Ethan!”
Sarah barreled into him, arms tight around his neck. He lifted her off the ground without thinking.
“You okay?” she asked, pulling back to study his face.
“Not even close,” he said, grinning anyway. “But right now, I need you to help me shop.” He handed her the phone as if it weighed a hundred pounds.
She scanned the list. “Is all this for you?”
“Mr. Higgins sent me with it. He’s making me eat all my meals with him at his cabin.”
Sarah laughed, loud enough that a woman picking out avocados glanced over. “Told you your partying would catch up with you. How could you not go?”
“I had the best time of my life,” he said. “Just wish he’d let me go back and repeat it.”
She leaned in close, whispering, “Any boyfriends?”
“No. Just hookups.”
“Figures.” She nudged him with her shoulder and started tossing steaks, chicken, and ribs into the cart as if she owned the place.
“Whatever you think looks good,” Ethan said. He trusted her taste more than his own.
Sarah slid a pack of ribs into the cart and lowered her voice. “So… you’re working under Higgins now?”
Ethan kept his eyes on the meat case. “Yeah.”
She nudged him with her elbow. “And you like him, don’t you?”
“Why would you say that?”
She gave him a look—one she’d perfected back in high school when she tried setting him up with every quiet boy in the marching band. “He’s hot.”
“He’s also ex-military,” Ethan said. “And my boss.”
“Mm-hmm.” She grabbed a pack of pork chops, inspecting the label like it held classified intel. “Ex-military men notice everything. Patterns. Habits. People. Especially people under them.”
Ethan’s stomach tightened. She wasn’t wrong.
She dropped the pork chops into the cart. “But I haven’t seen him with any girls. Not once. Four weeks on the ranch and nothing.”
“He is hot,” Ethan muttered. “But that doesn’t mean he’s gay.”
Sarah shrugged, a small, knowing lift of her shoulders. “You’ll figure it out. Or he will.”
They’d grown up under a man who monitored every move, every friend, every secret. They knew what it meant to be watched. They knew how to read the watchers.
Sarah leaned closer. “Just… be careful. Guys like him? They see more than they say.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I know.” Changing the subject, he asked, “Are you really leaving soon?”
“Three days,” she said, grabbing another pack of chicken. “I still need a converter. And maybe a coat that doesn’t scream ‘American student.’”
“I’ll order you a converter right now. My accounts are all closed, so I’ll send you a link.” He scrolled to , copied the link and sent it to her.
“All your accounts?”
“Yes.”
“Dad’s so mean to you.”
“Paris is gonna eat you alive,” Ethan said with a grin. “In a good way.”
She bumped him with her hip. “Better than Dad eating you alive.”
He snorted. “Too late.”
They moved down the aisle, the cart rattling over a loose tile. Sarah reached for another pack of ribs, then paused. “Hey,” she said, “why aren’t you staying at home?”
Ethan kept his eyes on the meat case. “Dad dumped me and my stuff in the old green barn.”
She froze, hand hovering over more steaks. “He what?”
“He didn’t want me in the house.”
Sarah’s jaw tightened. She didn’t argue. Didn’t defend him. Didn’t defend their father. She just grabbed the steaks and dropped them into the cart harder than necessary.
“Mom didn’t say anything,” she muttered.
“Dad told me not to talk to you or her.”
Her eyes flicked up, sharp and angry. “He doesn’t get to decide that.”
Ethan shrugged and pushed the cart toward the checkout. “He thinks he does.”
They unloaded the groceries onto the belt. Sarah helped bag everything, her movements quick and tight, like she was trying not to explode in the middle of the store.
Ethan reached the truck and set the grocery bags in the bed. Sarah hovered beside him, shifting her tote higher on her shoulder. The red passport holder peeked out again, bright against her shirt.
He touched her elbow. “Hey… I need you to go through Dad’s laptop. Find the file he has on me.”
Sarah’s fingers tightened around the strap of her tote. Not a freeze—more like a slow, careful grip, the way she held a pen when she was thinking through a translation. Her eyes flicked toward the parking lot entrance, checking for their father’s truck even though she knew he wasn’t coming.
“Ethan…” Her voice thinned, not from fear but calculation. She pressed her lips together, the way she did when conjugating something tricky in French. “Why?”
“He gave a copy to Higgins.”
“If he catches me, he’ll pull my trip. He’ll pull everything.”
“I know,” Ethan said. “But I need it.”
She looked down at her tote again, thumb-brushing the edge of her passport holder. Paris wasn’t just a trip for her—it was her escape, independence, the first thing she’d earned without their father’s fingerprints on it. Risking that wasn’t small.
She stepped closer for a hug. Not a dramatic hug—just a quick, firm press of her forehead to his shoulder, a gesture she’d done since they were kids. A quiet, private thing.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll try. Only when he’s out. And if anything feels off, I’m stopping.”
Ethan nodded. His stomach twisted. He hadn’t meant to drag her into his mess. But he needed that file. Needed to know what Higgins had read about him.
She stepped back, wiping her eyes as if dust had gotten into them. “And, Ethan? Don’t let him make you feel like you’re nothing.”
He nodded, throat tight. “Thanks for coming.”
She squeezed his arm once more, then headed for her car, passport holder bouncing against her hip.
Ethan climbed into the driver’s seat and let out a long breath.
The cab smelled of dust and old leather.
For a second, he wished he could stay right there in that moment with his sister close and no rules breathing down his neck.
He smirked, ready to start the engine—then paused.
Something tugged at him. He unlocked his phone to check the time, thumb brushing over the screen—then froze.