Chapter 10
He Always Knows
Summer
For the first time in months, I almost feel like myself.
My laughter is clumsy—brittle at the edges—but it’s still laughter, and it tumbles out of me until my ribs ache. Constance rolls her eyes at Adelaide’s story about the guy who tried to take her home in his rusted pickup, and Adelaide nearly spits coffee back into her mug.
We talk in circles—gossip I’ve missed, names from school, the latest Rosefield scandals. An hour slips away, and my jaw hurts from smiling. This is why I need them. Constance and Adelaide drag me out of the dark corners of myself. They remind me there are still pieces of a world untouched by Jacob.
Constance leans against the arm of the couch, curls frizzing around her face, eyes bright with mischief.
“Okay, what’s got you smiling like that? You look like a girl with a secret.”
I shrug, but warmth creeps into my cheeks. “Just memories. You two. The way we were.”
Adelaide snorts. “Please don’t tell me you’re about to bring up Patrick Pockface again. I still have nightmares about how obsessed you were with him sophomore year.”
I groan, laughing into my sleeve. “God, I’d forgotten about him—until now.”
“Forgotten?” Constance arches a brow. “I saw him last week. You wouldn’t recognize him. No acne, grown a beard. He’s actually—dare I say—hot.”
Adelaide gasps. “Don’t lie. Don’t you dare.”
“Swear on my aunt’s grave.”
Their banter is so easy, so light, I almost forget everything else. Almost.
But then the smile slips before I can catch it. My chest tightens. Jacob floods my mind—last night, the way he pressed my thighs apart until I thought I’d shatter from terror and wanting.
Then Benny. His hands. His voice. His words.
The thought curdles inside me, and I must wear it on my face because Adelaide stops mid-sip.
“What is it?” she asks softly.
My mouth opens before I can stop it. “There was this guy. At the bar. A stranger.” I let out a weak laugh, shaking my head like I can shake him out of me.
“I thought it would be the worst night of my life, sitting there with Jacob. But then he asked me to dance. His name’s Benny.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since. ”
Constance’s brows knit. “You danced with this guy? With Jacob there? And he’s still alive?” She laughs—if only she knew the real Jacob. If the bar had been empty, he would’ve skinned Benny alive and made me watch.
“I know. It was reckless. But the way he looked at me—it felt like he saw me. Not Jacob’s possession. Not some trophy.”
Adelaide sets her mug down, eyes glimmering with something dangerously close to hope. “Tell me everything. Was he gorgeous?”
“Tall. Dark hair. Built like he knows what real work is. He sings, plays guitar. He….” I hesitate, then press on because I need to say it out loud. “He made me feel free for three minutes. Like I could walk off that dance floor and never look back.”
Constance doesn’t smile. She leans forward, voice low. “And what did Jacob do?”
“He watched. Didn’t stop it. Not until later.” I bite my lip. “But the next day… Benny showed up at the house.”
Adelaide exhales, romantic. Constance mutters, “Christ, Summer. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? If Jacob knew—”
“He does know,” I whisper. “He has surveillance around the property.”
Adelaide presses her hand to her mouth. Constance’s voice drops. “You’re playing with fire.”
I nod, staring at my lap. “I know. And I can’t stop. I think that’s why—”
Adelaide leans closer, whispering softly. “Summer… he showed up at your house? That’s not just a bar flirtation. That’s—something.”
Constance’s tone cuts like a blade. “It’s a death wish, that’s what it is. Jacob’s got eyes everywhere. He probably already knows Benny’s every move.”
My throat tightens. I’m not sure what hurts more—the fear in their eyes or the way a traitorous heat coils in my stomach when I think about Jacob knowing.
“Jacob is—” I fumble for words. “He’s a monster. But he’s safe. He makes me feel things I can’t explain. And Benny….”
Constance cuts me off. “Benny’s a man who doesn’t know what he’s walking into. He has no idea what Jacob will do if he thinks another guy’s got you feeling like this.”
Her words slice through me, jagged and true. Jacob doesn’t see me—he owns me. The difference feels paper-thin when you’re living inside it.
“I can’t stop thinking about him,” I admit, my voice trembling. “But when Jacob touches me—” The words die in my throat. “I hate him,” I whisper instead. “But sometimes… sometimes I want him too. And that terrifies me. That’s why I have to get out. I’m losing myself.”
Adelaide’s face softens. She reaches across the space between us, fingers curling around mine. “Trauma messes with your head. It confuses things. Don’t twist how Jacob makes you feel it into something it isn’t.”
But Constance isn’t as gentle. She leans in.
“Listen to me. He’s not complicated. He’s not tragic.
He’s not misunderstood. He’s a predator—and you’re the prey.
Every time you give in, every time you tell yourself it’s want instead of fear, you let him win.
This is why we always kept you away from him—remember? ”
I flinch. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Then prove it. Keep your head down. Get through the next few months and get to Blackwood. But if he hurts you again, Summer, I swear to God, I’ll—”
“You won’t do anything,” Adelaide cuts in, calm but firm. “We’ll get her the hotel like we promised, and we’ll stay for a couple of weeks. We’ve both got vacation time.”
“I’d still love to smack the son of a bitch,” Constance mutters. Then, quieter: “But seriously, Summer—you need to stop questioning your feelings. This isn’t you. You don’t have to obey every rule he sets. Make your own choices.”
For a second, I imagine it—defying him openly, tearing off his hold like chains. But the vision breaks before it can bloom. I can see his face when he finds out. The sting of the belt. The end of his gun. The way he’d strip me down to bone just to make me remember I’m his.
“I can’t,” I breathe. “Not yet.”
Constance’s jaw tightens. She wants to argue, but Adelaide lays a hand on her arm. “Don’t push her. Not now. She needs us, not another lecture.”
The room softens, the tension thinning under Adelaide’s calm. She turns back to me, voice steady. “Summer, whatever you’re feeling—it doesn’t define you. It doesn’t make you weak. It just means you’re surviving.”
Her words land like forgiveness. But guilt claws at me instead.
Because surviving doesn’t feel like surviving when part of me aches for the man who breaks me.
I look between them—my girls, my anchors—and realize what I’m really afraid of.
Not Jacob’s wrath. Not even the men he says he’s protecting me from.
I’m afraid of the day I stop fighting him.
The day I forget why I ever hated him at all.
“When I get to Blackwood,” I whisper, “things will be different. I’ll have housing. Classes. A future. Neither Jacob nor Jackson will be able to touch me there.”
The words hang between us, fragile as glass.
Constance exhales roughly. “You talk like he’s just going to let you walk out the door. You think Jacob Darnell’s the type to shrug and say, ‘Fair enough, sweetheart, off you go’? He’s obsessed with you. It won’t be that simple.”
Adelaide frowns, gentler. “She knows that, Con. But this is solid. We can pull it off together. Don’t tear it down.”
“I’m not.” Constance’s tone softens when she sees me shrink. “I’m just saying—he’s watching you. Always. You can’t treat this like some fairy tale where you slip away in the night, and he never notices. He will notice. And when he does—” She stops, lips pressed tight.
My chest constricts. Because she’s right. I know she’s right. But the thought of never escaping—never even trying—feels worse than the risk.
“I have to believe it’s possible,” I whisper. “If I don’t, I may as well lie down and call this life mine.”
Adelaide squeezes my hand. Her palm is warm, grounding. “Then that’s what we’ll hold onto. Blackwood. Six months. Until then, we’ll cover for you. Whatever you need.”
The words sting sweet—hope and sorrow tangled together.
Constance studies me, her jaw tight. “Fine. But if you’re serious, you have to be smarter than him. You can’t let him catch even a whiff of doubt. He’ll sniff it out.”
I nod, though the truth is I don’t know if I’m clever enough to beat him. Every time I try, I stumble—and he’s there, waiting, smiling like a wolf.
The room quiets again. Adelaide fills the silence with stories about classmates—who’s pregnant, who moved to the city, who got arrested for stealing from the hardware store.
I let her chatter wash over me, the sound of normal life smoothing the edges of my thoughts.
For a little while, I even manage to smile.
But the clock on the wall ticks too loud. Each second chips away at the illusion. Eventually, I push up from the chair, tugging my hoodie tighter. “I should go. If he comes home and I’m not there….”
I don’t finish. I don’t need to.
Adelaide squeezes my hand once more. “Then go, carefully. And remember—Blackwood. Six months.”
Constance doesn’t move, just fixes me with that jagged, prophetic stare. Her voice drops to a whisper. “Be careful, Summer.
I nod and turn toward the door, pulling the hood up, trying to disguise the girl I’ve become. I’m halfway across the porch when Adelaide calls after me, her tone light on purpose.
“Oh, and by the way—we’re going to Dogwood later. Thought we might catch a glimpse of this Benny fella.”
A startled laugh slips from me, soft and unwilling but real. “You two are impossible,” I say, shaking my head. The sound trembles, thinner than it should. Because even as it leaves my lips, I know Jacob will smell it on me—the trace of them, of freedom.
The door clicks shut behind me. My breath fogs in the cold, vanishing before I can catch it. I tug the hood lower—not for warmth but for the illusion of cover.
The walk back feels longer than it did coming here.
Each step heavier. Each shadow darker. I keep glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting headlights to sweep the road or, worse, Jacob’s truck crawling slow.
The houses thin. Branches claw across the sky, black against the light.
My sneakers crunch over gravel, loud in the silence—like the world is announcing me.
My pulse pounds so hard I’m sure anyone watching could hear it.
I tell myself to breathe. To stay calm. To remember the way it felt with my girls—laughter spilling over coffee, Constance rolling her eyes, Adelaide’s hand on mine. But the memory is already fragile, splintering.
At the orchard trail, I hesitate. The shortcut is faster but hidden. Both are dangerous in their own way. I take the road. At least there, if something happens, someone might see.
My chest tightens with every step that takes me closer to his house. The air thickens, heavy as wet cloth. The trees lean inward, branches whispering like they know where I’m headed.
Constance’s warning echoes in my head: He always knows.
By the time the porch comes into view, my stomach is twisted in knots. The house sits dark and silent—but silence doesn’t mean empty. Silence is Jacob’s favorite weapon.
I stop at the edge of the drive, frozen. I could turn back. Keep walking—past the treeline, past Rosefield, past every road that’s ever led me here.
But I don’t. I can’t.
So I walk. Slow, careful steps up the gravel, each one loud as a gunshot in my chest. The porch looms closer.
The wood looks darker tonight, the boards like teeth waiting to snap.
The handle glints dull silver in the dying light.
My hand shakes as I reach for it. Inside, the air will be thicker—his air, his space, his rules.
I swallow hard, force myself forward, and press my palm to the door. The wood feels warm, as if the house itself has a pulse.
I turn the handle.
The door creaks open into silence—the kind that listens, the kind that waits.
I step inside.
The door clicks shut behind me.
And I already know: there’s a war waiting for me.