Chapter 2
NOAH
That stupid fucking spoiled brat ruined my life. And then nearly killed me with her car.
But goddamn, she looked good doing it.
My jaw tenses and palms sweat as I hover in the shadows of the tree line, none other than Rue Iverson herself, giving me a show from her mother’s front porch. This place looks like a dumpster now, but then again, her mother always was a piece of trash.
She just hid it well.
Rue, on the other hand, didn’t initially seem to be cut from the same cloth. She was charming and sweet to me, her pretty light brown hair falling past her shoulders in a messy sort of way. Her bright blue-green eyes always felt warm rather than icy, and that warmth matched the tone of her laugh…
But then, she showed her true colors.
And I think she’s as fucking heartless as the rest of this town.
The fat little dog on the front porch lets out another bay, and I roll my eyes as Rue jumps out of her skin. She’s clearly paranoid and unnerved by the beagle, and I can imagine why. That’s what happens when you have to live with the ghost of the boyfriend you murdered…
And the knowledge you sent an innocent man to prison.
I redirect my attention from my mind back to the physical, watching as the dog spins in a circle, his nose twitching so furiously I can see it from half a football field away. While he’s agitated, my guess is he won’t leave the porch.
I’m not a rabbit, and he knows it.
I run my fingers over the unruly stubble lining my jaw.
I should keep moving. I should set up camp.
But I can’t take my eyes off Rue in the flesh.
I haven’t seen her in a decade, and even then, it was sparse.
It’s been much, much longer since we ran these woods together, and still, as she sweeps across the porch to grab the beagle, her frame still reminds me of the little girl I used to know.
And love.
Fuck, I loved her.
But love can morph to hate the moment you get stabbed in the back.
And for that reason, I force my gaze away from her and down to the dirty hiking boots on my feet.
Under different circumstances, I might be concerned she would call the cops about a strange man she saw in the road, but I highly doubt that’ll happen.
Weird shit happens around here all the time.
And she’s got too many skeletons in her closet.
Rue holds the dog in her arms, and then kisses the top of its head. Her eyes squeeze closed for a second, and all the tension appears to drain from her face.
It must be nice to find such moments of peace.
I can’t remember the last time I was able to do something like that—and it’s her fault. That’s something I just can’t let go.
Which is exactly why I grab a fucking stick and knock it into the side of a tree beside me.
The noise pierces the morning in a way that has the birds ceasing to chirp, and Rue’s eyes fly open, wide as they can go, as she takes a clumsy startled step backward.
She collides with a planter, and the pot of dead vegetation crashes to the floor.
The dog squirms in her arms, but by some miracle, she doesn’t let go.
Her head whips around, as she continues to back toward the front door. Her painted nails dig into the white fur of the senior citizen hound, and I don’t have to be close to see the fear creeping across that pretty little face of hers.
And while it’s not justice, it still feels so goddamned good.
I watch her in her fearful, paranoid stupor, my stick hovering over the trunk of the tree. Part of me wants to beat it senselessly, until the stick breaks into two pieces, but the other part likes the way her body language appears to question itself.
She’s not sure what she heard.
Rue keeps her eyes trained on the woods, nearly tripping over the door’s threshold as she backs into the house.
Oh Rue, you act like prey, but you’re a fucking predator.
As the front door slams shut, I consider standing there, circling the house and waiting for her to reappear—but right now, that’s not in my plans.
So, I spin on my heels and head back into the woods, thankful for the cover it provides. There’s a chill in the air, and honestly, I was hoping summer would last a little longer. I’d rather lay in my sweat than freeze to death.
I need more supplies before winter settles in.
Or I need to leave. I grit my teeth at the thought of trying to hitchhike again.
It puts me at greater risk of being caught, even if I’m back in my home location.
Based on what I know about myself, I’m more likely to get caught if I’m in an unfamiliar area.
Out here, I know the ravines, the creeks, and the housing placements like the back of my hand.
Nothing’s changed all that much in ten years.
Not even Rue Iverson.
I breathe in the scent of damp earth as I slink back deeper into the trees. Even with winter stripping them of their leaves, they still block out the sun. My fingertips brush the trunk of a Pine, and I pause there for a moment, squeezing my eyes shut.
It feels good to be here. To be out. To be able to breathe without having to watch my fucking back.
Well, I am still having to watch my back.
But I’ll take the U.S. Marshals any day over a bunch of hotheaded inmates with nothing to lose.
I press my palm a little tighter to the bark for one more deep breath, and then keep moving.
I don’t stop until I make it to my stash, which consists of a sleeping bag and a backpack, neither of which I walked out of North Willard Penitentiary with.
They were procured along the way, and now, they’re all I have.
My hands wrap around the strap of the backpack, and I sling it up and over my shoulder, bothered by how light it feels. I’ll have to do something for food soon, and the thought alone sends my stomach growling.
It’s a dilemma I’m certain Rue has never fucking faced with her fancy little car and designer clothes. I don’t know what the hell she did when they loaded me up and hauled me away, but whatever it was, it obviously was profitable.
Or maybe Matthew’s family is taking care of her.
I can barely stomach the thought of that. I can barely stomach the thought of anything when it comes to Rue Iverson. I just damn sure didn’t think she’d stick around this putrid town.
But here she is.
And I’m not sure she ever left.
My boots are quiet as I move through the trees, but the pounding in the side of my head is anything but. My head swirls with a life I once lived here, in these woods. And yet, I don’t want to think about Rue.
But she was the best thing about this place.
My eyes flicker through the tree trunks and brush, catching sight of the lake below. The sound of a motorboat bellows through the silence in the trees, and I freeze. There’s a bluff between myself and the waters, but I need to lay low until I get my bearings.
I take a hard left and slip into thicker brush.
It cuts at the state-issued denim that I still haven’t managed to find a replacement for.
I wince but ignore it for the most part.
Pain is part of living—though, if something doesn’t start going my way I might just find a good rope and strong oak tree.
My fists curl at my sides as the familiar ache starts in my chest. I don’t know how to outrun the feeling of dread, as if my life is just a waste of space.
Not a soul gives a shit about me.
And that sets off the painful spiral of memory. My family and my Club abandoned me the moment the guilty verdict was read.
Not a single fucking visit. Not a phone call. Not a letter.
Well, unless you include the letters sent by Matthew’s family, filled with daunting prose and praying my soul be redeemed for the heinous crime I committed.
But I threw those in the trash.
They were sending them to the wrong person.
And with every step I take, deeper into the uncharted woods, my mind goes over all the letters I sent to Rue. I didn’t beg her to take the rightful blame. I just begged her to not fucking abandon me for taking the fall.
And as much as I thought I could let it go…
I’m not sure I can.
I knew the universe was doing me a solid when I got out of there, and now, I don’t think it’s a coincidence Rue was the first person I saw when I made it here.
Karma is a bitch.
And it’s coming for Rue Iverson.